THREE
“Please, Mr. Rainwater. Leave that.”
He was crouched, picking pieces of broken china off the kitchen linoleum. He glanced up at her but continued what he was doing. “I’m afraid the boy will hurt himself again.”
“Margaret and I will tend to the mess, and to Solly.”
Margaret was at the stove drizzling bacon grease from that morning’s breakfast into the greens. Solly was sitting in his customary chair at the kitchen table, rocking back and forth, fiddling with a yo-yo that Margaret must have given him from his box of toys. He wound the string around his index finger, unwound it. His concentration was fixed on the winding and rewinding.
The crisis had passed, and he didn’t appear to be suffering any lasting effects, but would she know if he were? She had to take his passivity as a good sign. Looking at his blond head bowed over the yo-yo, she felt the familiar pinching sensation deep within her heart, a mix of unqualified love and the fear that even that might not be sufficient to protect him.
Mr. Rainwater came to his feet and held out his hands. Ella took the dustpan off the nail from which it hung on the wall and extended it to him. He carefully placed the chips of broken dishware in it. “Those are the larger pieces. There are some slivers I couldn’t pick out of the starch.”
“We’ll watch for them when we clean up.”
He turned to the sink and washed the starch off his hands, then dried them on a dish towel. She would have felt awkward making herself so at home in someone else’s kitchen, especially a stranger’s. He seemed to suffer no such self-consciousness.
She set the dustpan on the floor in the corner. “Margaret, could you get out the lunch things while I speak with Mr. Rainwater?”
“Yes, ma’am. You want me to get this baby’s lunch, too?”
“Please. Peel an orange and section it. A butter and grape jelly sandwich, cut in half. Put them on the blue plate he likes.”
“Yes, ma’am. You tend to the gentleman here.” She smiled at Mr. Rainwater, obviously pleased that he was about to join the household. His willingness to help during an emergency situation had earned her hard-won approval. “Them sheets need hanging, but they can keep till after lunch.”
“Thank you, Margaret.” Ella turned and gestured the man toward the hallway. “Mr. Rainwater?”
“We can talk here.”
Ella preferred not to discuss business in the kitchen, where, as anticipated, the temperature had climbed. She was also worried about the sheets in the washtub that needed to be wrung through the wringer, probably twice, before being hung on the clothesline to dry. She was afraid that Margaret would get heavy-handed with the bacon grease, which she was prone to do. Margaret was also a gossip. On several occasions Ella had been forced to chide her for sharing personal information about their boarders and about Ella herself.
Her major concern, however, was Solly, although the red marks on his skin had faded so they were barely visible now, and the burns didn’t seem to be hurting him. For the moment he was pacified.
She wasn’t. The accident with the starch had left her frazzled and distracted. She’d been further shaken by what Dr. Kincaid had told her about Mr. Rainwater. Although her livelihood depended on keeping her house filled to capacity, to take in a dying man was an unappealing prospect on numerous levels, not the least of which was that she already had her hands full, what with keeping her other boarders happy and dealing with Solly.
However, Mr. Rainwater’s unfortunate circumstance was the only hindrance to his being a suitable boarder. On that basis alone, how could she live with her conscience if she refused to rent the room to him?
Dr. Kincaid should have informed her of his condition first, before she’d agreed to let him the room. Mr. Rainwater should have told her himself. The omission had left her at a distinct disadvantage, and he was placing her at one now by discussing business in the presence of her talkative maid.
Trying to keep the resentment from her voice, she said, “You’ll find envelopes in your nightstand drawer. There’s a collection box for your rent on a table under the stairs. I collect the rent each Monday, but you’ll pay me the first week in advance before you move in. Is that satisfactory?”
“Yes. Fine.”
“To avoid confusion, don’t forget to write your name on the envelope before leaving it in the box.”
“I won’t.”
Knowing what she now did, she found his steady gaze even more unsettling. She was relieved when Margaret drew his attention. “Here, sweet pea. Here’s your lunch fixed just the way you like it.” She set the blue plate on the table in front of Solly.
Solly didn’t respond either to Margaret or to the food. He continued to rock, continued to wind the yo-yo string around his finger.
“About meals,” Ella said, drawing Mr. Rainwater’s attention back to her. “A full breakfast is served each morning at eight o’clock, but you can get coffee here in the kitchen before that. Dinner is at six-thirty. So as not to waste food, I would appreciate being notified if you plan to have a meal out.”
“I doubt I’ll have any meals out.”
If he hadn’t been there, she would have pulled the pins from her bun and shaken it loose. It had slipped farther down onto her neck, where it felt hot and heavy. “For lunch, I put out cold cuts, cheese, fruit. Sometimes leftovers.” She motioned toward Margaret, who was unwrapping slices of ham from waxed butcher paper. “It’s on the dining table between noon and one, and it’s first come, first served.” She glanced at the wall clock. “I’m running a bit late today, but the Dunnes rarely eat more than a piece of fruit anyway, and Mr. Hastings is out of town.”
“Are they your only boarders, besides myself?”
She nodded. “The sisters share the largest room, at the opposite end of the hall from yours. Mr. Hastings has the room at the top of the stairs.”
“And you and Solly?”
“Here on the ground floor. On Sunday,” she said briskly, “I serve the main meal at two o’clock. That gives me time to return from church. Everyone is on their own for Sunday night supper, but the kitchen is open for your use. I only ask that you clean up after yourself.”
“Of course.”
“Is there anything you shouldn’t eat?” She asked that of all her new boarders, although it might appear to him that she had singled him out because of his illness.
As though following her thoughts, he gave a faint smile. “I can eat anything, and I’m not a picky eater.”
“Any questions so far?”
“When may I move in?”
Dodging that for the moment, she pressed on. “Bed linens are changed once a week. I ask that you use only three towels between wash days. Keep the bathroom tidy as a courtesy to Mr. Hastings. He’s expected to do the same for you. If you have any complaints, bring them to me.
“I don’t allow liquor in the house. I expect basic, common courtesy and sensitivity to the other tenants’ privacy and comfort. If you have visitors, you can receive them in the formal parlor, but please give me notice. Arrangements can be made for refreshments to be served to guests. For a nominal charge you can have a guest for dinner, but only if I’m informed ahead of time.”
“I won’t have any visitors, no guests for dinner.”
His eyes burned as intensely, as blue, as the pilot light on her stove. They arrested her for a moment, then she looked away. “I’ll give you the post office box number so you can pass it along to your family and friends.”
“I’ll be very surprised if I receive any mail.”
“Well, in case you do, only I have the key to the box. I’ll leave your mail in your room. You can rely on my discretion.”
“I’m certain of that.”
“Does all of this sound acceptable, Mr. Rainwater?”
Having waited patiently for her to go over the rules of the house, he repeated, “When may I move in?”
That was the third time he’d asked. Understandably. Time would be an issue to a man for whom, according to Dr. Kincaid, time was short.
“Tuesday.”
“This is Thursday.”
“As I explained, the room needs to be cleaned. Can you continue to stay with Dr. and Mrs. Kincaid until the room is ready?”
“I’ve been with them for two nights already. They’ve been very hospitable and have given me the use of their boys’ bedroom. But the boys are having to sleep on pallets in the living room, inconveniencing everyone. I’d like to move in tomorrow at the latest.”
“The room won’t be ready by then. This is wash day. Margaret and I can’t postpone doing the laundry in order to prepare the room for you. The furniture must be removed so the floor can be scrubbed. The mattress and pillows need to be taken out and aired.” With irritation, she brushed back a lock of hair that was clinging to her cheek. “I can’t possibly get everything done by tomorrow.”
“My new preacher’s looking for work.”
Ella looked toward Margaret. “What?”
“Brother Calvin,” she said. “He just come to town to take over the pulpit. But our congregation can’t pay him nothing. He’s sleeping on a member’s porch, and they’s feeding him, but he’s wanting to earn some money so he can get a place of his own and move his wife here. She’s down in South Texas with her folks, and he’s missing her something awful. For a little bit of nothing he’d do them chores for you, Miz Barron. You ought not to be doing all that heavy lifting anyhow, and my back’s hurting just thinking about hauling that mattress down them stairs and back up again. Why’n’t you let me fetch Brother Calvin?”
Ella glanced at Mr. Rainwater, who was following this conversation with interest. He said, “I’d be willing to pay Brother Calvin’s fee.”
Margaret smiled as though the matter had been settled. She headed toward the hallway, where the telephone was. “I’ll call over to the store right now.” To Mr. Rainwater she said, “Randall’s Dry Goods and Grocery is where my boy, Jimmy, works. While he’s on a delivery, he can run right over to where the preacher’s stayin’ and tell him to get hisself over here.”
When Margaret was out of earshot, Mr. Rainwater said to Ella, “I hope that’s all right with you.”
It wasn’t. This was her house. All decisions regarding it were hers to make. But it seemed that nothing was normal this morning. Everything was out of whack. She was being swept along by an unusual series of events. In fact she felt overtaken by them, and that sense of floundering alarmed her. Routine wasn’t just a preference, it was a necessity.
But in the grand scheme of things, retaining the services of Brother Calvin was a small matter, and she would look peevish to object to so workable a plan, especially since Mr. Rainwater had offered to pay for the man’s services.
However, she wasn’t quite ready to concede. “I would prefer to do the work myself, Mr. Rainwater.”
“Because your standards are so high.”
“I’m not afraid of hard work.”
“No one would doubt that.”
“But since time is a factor …”
She hadn’t intended to mention his limited time. She let the sentence dwindle without finishing it. Embarrassment made her face feel even hotter than it already did.
He said, “This is a good plan. It will save you a lot of labor. It will spare Margaret’s back. And it will hasten Brother Calvin’s reunion with his wife.”
Again, she noticed the gleam of amusement in his eyes, and she thought that, if she smiled, he would also. But she didn’t, so neither did he. “And it accommodates you,” she pointed out.
“It does, yes.”
She sighed defeat. “All right. But if you would give me through tomorrow morning, I would appreciate it.”
“How about four o’clock tomorrow afternoon?”
“Four? Yes, good. By then I’ll have the room ready.”
“I’ll be sure to come with cash in hand. To cover Brother Calvin’s charges and the first week’s rent.”
He grinned, but she didn’t return it. Instead, she motioned him toward the hall, indicating that their business was concluded.
“I can go out the back way.”
Nodding, she walked him to the screened back door. As he went down the steps, he put on his hat. At the bottom of the steps, he turned back and doffed the brim. “Mrs. Barron.”
“Mr. Rainwater. I hope you’ll be comfortable here.”
She had other duties to attend to, the first of which was to see that Solly ate his lunch. But for some reason, she didn’t turn away. She maintained eye contact with the man who would share her address for the last weeks of his life. Did her pity show? she wondered. It must have.
He said, “He told you, didn’t he? Murdy told you about me.”
Being coy wasn’t in Ella’s nature. Besides, she wouldn’t insult the man by lying. “He thought I should know.”
He nodded, not only in confirmation of what he suspected but also in what seemed to be approval of her straightforwardness. “I’d thank you not to tell the others. Knowing makes people uncomfortable, they start watching what they say. In any case, I don’t want a fuss made over it. I don’t want to be treated differently from anyone else.”
“I won’t say anything to anyone.”
“Thank you.”
“There’s no need to thank me, Mr. Rainwater.”
“See what I mean?” he said, grinning. “You’re already making concessions for me.”
She had the grace to look abashed.
His grin held for several moments, then he turned serious again. “Does he talk?”
“What?”
“Your son.”
He motioned with his head. She turned. Behind her, Solly was still at the table. His lunch remained untouched. He was winding the yo-yo string around his finger, unwinding it, winding it again as he rocked forward and back to a beat that only he could hear.
She came around to Mr. Rainwater again and shook her head. “No. He doesn’t talk.”
“Well,” he said pleasantly, “I find that most people who do often have nothing worthwhile to say.”
His easy dismissal of Solly’s limitations was almost more difficult to withstand than the rude, curious stares of strangers, and she reacted with a totally unexpected rush of tears. Perhaps he saw them and wanted to spare her embarrassment, because he said no more, only touched the brim of his hat again, turned, and walked away.