Until Tomorrow, Mr. Marsworth
Page 16
“You may go about your business,” she said kindly, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t finish off your letter with fancy Mrs. Brindle in Gram’s house.
“She won’t see anyone,” I said. “Not even you.”
“Is it that letter Billy wrote to the Tribune?” Mrs. Brindle raised her perfect eyebrows, and I gave a silent nod.
“Please tell her I’m not leaving,” Mrs. Brindle ordered. “Not until we’ve had a word.”
“I don’t know,” I stalled. The last time I’d gone into Gram’s dark bedroom, she’d been curled up like a caterpillar staring at the wall.
“I do,” Mrs. Brindle said. “Please go tell her now.”
I walked into Gram’s room and closed the door on Mrs. Brindle, because I knew without Gram saying, she wouldn’t want Mrs. Brindle to see her messy bed or Gram curled up in the darkness staring at the wall.
“I heard.” Gram sighed. “It’s Gwendolyn.”
“She won’t leave,” I said. I handed Gram her flowered housecoat and set her slippers on the floor beside her bed.
“I look frightful.” Gram fluffed her gray hair with her fingers. She pinched both cheeks for color and gave another sigh.
“Billy’s really sorry,” I said to Gram again. I’d already said it four or five times, but Gram just shrugged it off. “He didn’t want this trouble for you, Gram.”
“Of course he’s sorry,” Gram said. “And he’ll be sorrier than this, you mark my words.” Then she opened up her door and hobbled from her room.
“Gwendolyn.” Gram sounded like her throat was thick with dust. “I’m not up to guests, as you can see.”
“Are you truly sick, Blanche Kelly?” Mrs. Brindle asked matter-of-factly. “Or is this about that letter your grandson wrote to the Tribune?”
“There isn’t any difference.” Gram eased her way into the rocker like it hurt her bones to sit.
“Don’t be silly,” Mrs. Brindle said. “You can’t stay home sick because of something that boy wrote.”
“I’m sick enough,” Gram said. “And you don’t need the Kellys’ trouble at the store. Your business will go bad, and your family has been good to me—”
“Nonsense.” Mrs. Brindle waved her gloves, disgusted. “We can’t run the store without you, you know that good and well. How dare you leave us in the lurch so you can mope. You didn’t write that letter, Billy did. The young folks are all foolish now, you’re not the first good family to have trouble with a child.”
“All my boys were good—” Gram started, but Mrs. Brindle cut her off.
“Blanche, it’s only his opinion. And Billy has every right to say this war is wrong. Dr. Spock believes it’s wrong, and we still sell his mother-and-child guidebook in the store.”
“You see,” I said to Gram, but she said, “Hush.”
Mrs. Brindle glanced out Gram’s screen door, then lowered her strong voice. “I shouldn’t be saying this in public, but I don’t want my own boys in that draft. Warren’s fifteen now, Rusty thirteen, Len and Les eleven. I don’t want a single one sent to Vietnam. (The Brindle kids are rich enough for college, but I didn’t tell her that.) It might have to be the women who take the side of our young men against this draft. The mothers and the grandmothers. I don’t imagine that their fathers—”
“Sisters, too,” I added. “I’m on Billy’s side.”
“Well, good for you,” Mrs. Brindle answered, but she kept her eyes on Gram. “We need you at the store, Blanche. You’re strong enough to take whatever flack some folks might give. You’re not the kind of woman to go to bed and quit. And every day you’re gone is a day that Gordy makes me work the counter by myself. You know I hate that job. Or any job. Gordy’s a fine husband, but I don’t want him for my boss.” She stood up from the couch and inched the gloves back on her hands. “So we’ll see you bright and early?”
“But what about your business?” Gram said. “Wasn’t Monday slow? Today? Folks will stay away.”
“We’ll bounce back,” she said. “And you know you need the money. I’m not sure that Casey’s—”
“No,” Gram said. “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he lets Billy go.”
“But he said Billy was the best,” I said. “He told you that himself when summer started. Standing on the sidewalk when we were new to town.”
“He can’t run a charity,” Mrs. Brindle said like I was stupid. “If the men refuse to buy their gas at Casey’s, or bring their cars in for repair—”
“Well, anyway,” I bragged, “Billy’s going off to college in Pennsylvania soon. He won’t need that job at Casey’s—”
“My goodness, Pennsylvania.” Mrs. Brindle said it like Pennsylvania was a joke. “Really, Blanche?”
“Oh this girl and her notions,” Gram said, embarrassed. “I swear she’ll be the death of me.”
“Not before tomorrow morning.” Mrs. Brindle gave a little laugh. “I have tennis at 10:30.” She opened up her patent-leather purse, and handed me a stick of Dentyne gum. “So bright and early,” she told Gram. “I’ll tell Gordy to expect you. He’ll be thrilled.”
“What do you say, Reen?” Gram was pushing for a thank-you for that gum.
“I say I’m right about that college. Billy’s going to go.”
You know I like to have the last word, Mr. Marsworth. And it was good to get it this time, with Gram and Mrs. Brindle acting like my plan for Billy’s college was a scheme that couldn’t come true. Just so you know that I’m not awful, I ended with a fakey: “Thank you for the Dentyne, ma’am. I’ll share half with Float!”
Aren’t you glad to get some good news, Mr. Marsworth? Fancy Mrs. Brindle saying Billy might be right about the draft! Gram going back to work!!! Me set free to play with Snow Cone at your cottage all day long!!!!!! (Dare can sulk out in Gram’s woods until he rots.)
Aren’t you glad to get a happy story from this house?
Well-Mannered Mostly,
Reenie Kelly
P.S. Can you stand a little bit of bad news?
So far the Gustafsons and Olsons have canceled their subscription to the paper. Dare already lost four houses, but he says he doesn’t care. He says he’s going to quit the paper as soon as Dad comes home.
Yesterday, Billy got a pile of mail, but none of it was good. He has another stack today, but I put them in the trash. I don’t think I like getting mail anymore. You can’t believe the horrible, hateful, hurtful things strangers wrote to Billy, and you can’t believe how low he looked reading their mean words.
Tuesday, August 13, 1968
Dear Miss Kelly,
Unfortunately, I know well what those envelopes contain. I’m sorry for whatever vile insults Billy bears. Unless I am familiar with an address, or it’s a bill that should be paid, I dispose of all suspicious mail now unopened. Perhaps Billy might consider doing so as well.
Were you able to buy food? Perhaps it would be helpful if Carl Grace bought some groceries at Piggly Wiggly for you all.
Sincerely,
H. W. Marsworth
P.S. I do hope your "last words" were correct. Would you please confirm when Billy has applied to Brandenbrook? Of all the good news you might offer, I shall consider that the best.
Wednesday, August 14, 1968
Dear Mr. Marsworth,
Someone hurled a brick through Gram’s front window, and it crashed into the couch, where Billy was asleep!!! It could’ve hit his head! That’s how close it was. Shards of glass were everywhere, including Billy’s skin. Dare came running from his tent the second that he heard it, but he only saw a pickup truck tearing down Gram’s hill.
Gram wouldn’t call the sheriff—you know why.
That’s all I can tell you at 4:30 in the morning.
Gram and Billy are exhausted. I’m exhausted and shaking in my skin.
Billy’s going to drive us o
n our routes.
Shattered,
Reenie Kelly
Wednesday, August 14, 1968
Dear Mr. Marsworth,
Billy never drove us, because someone slashed three tires on Gram’s Plymouth, plus they shaving-creamed the front seat so we’re stranded. (When Gram walked outside to see it, her tired eyes filled up with tears.)
I KNOW you KNOW who did it, and Dare and I know for sure who did it! Rat and Cutler might be slow to get revenge, but somehow they always do.
Gram and Billy had to walk to work this morning. A mile down to Main Street is a long way for Gram to walk. A long, long way.
Dare and I already carried the broken window to the hardware store, and Mr. Rash didn’t seem a bit surprised to hear someone threw a brick into Gram’s house. “Probably for that letter,” Mr. Rash said, his voice suddenly sour with disgust. “You folks got what you deserved.”
He was nothing like the man who had joked with us all summer, or given us Tootsie Pops for shopping in his store. That man was another Mr. Rash. “Could be months before I get to it,” he said about Gram’s window. Then he walked off to the back room without another word.
Do you think he’ll ever fix it? Because he acted like he wouldn’t.
Billy taped a filmy piece of plastic over Gram’s gone window, but one hard rain and Gram’s living room will flood.
I did my best to clean Gram’s car, but it still reeks of Aero Shave, and there’s a soapy, slimy feeling I can’t scrub from the cloth. Right now, Dare has the Plymouth jacked up in Gram’s driveway, and when he finally gets that tire loose we’ll haul it down to Casey’s to get patched. Dare says only one tire at a time because we only have one jack. When it comes to car repair and tires, Dare gets to be the expert. I didn’t spend my days in Denton helping Dad work on our car.
Dare says if Gram’s tires can’t be patched we’ll have to pay for new ones, which means all the college money that we’ve saved will go to Gram. We know we have to pay, because those slashed tires and that shaving cream aren’t really Billy’s fault. Gram and Billy blame his letter, but the blame belongs to us. (I’ll explain it to you someday, Mr. Marsworth. I’m really too ashamed to tell you now.)
The only good news at the Kellys’? For the first time since that letter, we’re back on the same side. Gram made Dare and me walk our routes together, and to tell the truth, I was glad to have Dare with me in the darkness, plotting how he’d fix Gram’s car and get revenge once and for all. Dare revved up for action was better than his silence, or me walking on those empty streets alone.
Still Rattled,
Reenie Kelly
P.S. Just in case you left a letter, I ditched Dare at Snow Cone’s window while I finished delivering on Hillcrest. (Did you ever think Dare Kelly would have a summer crush? I never did.) Thank you for those few words you left inside your box. Maybe after reading this you’ll leave a few more words.
Wednesday, August 14, 1968
Dear Mr. Marsworth,
Did you send Carl Grace to drive Gram home from work????
Gram said he pulled up to Brindle Drug just as she stepped outside at 5:15, and he offered her a ride, and she said yes. (Coincidence or Mr. Marsworth’s kindness? I’m going to vote for #2.)
Apparently Gram knows Carl from the drugstore, and she knows he’s your assistant, and she still took the ride. Maybe things are changing, Mr. Marsworth. If Gram likes Carl Grace enough to take a ride, she might just like you, too. ☺
Which leads me to a question I’ve been waiting WEEKS to ask. Have you gotten enough rest for one big question? I’m hoping that you have. I’d forget it if I could, but I just can’t.
You know that Kelly-Marsworth tie the sheriff mentioned in Gram’s kitchen? The one Gram wouldn’t explain?
Well, Snow Cone found a clue carved into a stump out in your woods.
Does D.W.M. + E.E.B. = FOREVER sound familiar, Mr. Marsworth?
Snow Cone didn’t tell Dare she found it, and I didn’t tell him either, because if E.E.B. is actually Elizabeth (Betsy) Ellen Brighton (later Betsy Kelly) it should be F.J.K. + E.E.B. = FOREVER in that heart. To tell the truth it made me sad to see it, and I hope Dad never sees it, because he always said that Mom was his one and only girl.
Am I right that E.E.B. is Betsy?
Did our Elizabeth Ellen Brighton love your David, Donald, Dennis? Were they like Beth and Billy? Is that how you knew Mom? Did she spend time at your cottage just like us?
And is that D.W.M.’s bear on the twin bed in your cottage? Are those his tennis shoes left on your front rug? His scooter in rafters of the shed? His baseball mitt hanging on the hook? Was it D.’s collection of old baseball cards Dare found in a box? (We’re not snooping through your shed, but I confess we like to look.)
And if all those things are D.’s, where is he now? Is he living in Lake Liberty? Did he marry someone else the way Mom did? (Did Dad know that D. and E. were once FOREVER?)
Do you have grandkids, Mr. Marsworth? Do they ever come to see you? Am I the only kid that writes you letters? (I hope I’m the only kid ☺.)
Please don’t be mad about my questions, and don’t say that I’m a snoop. Some things I need to know and this is one. If Mom REALLY IS E.E.B., then D.W.M. + E.E.B = FOREVER is a lot to keep inside. If your D. is kind like you, I guess I’m not surprised Mom loved him once. Was your D. disappointed when Mom married someone else? Did our families turn to enemies when Mom quit D. for Dad?
You can go ahead and tell me, because I won’t tell Dare or Billy, or any other living soul, cross my heart and hope to die. I’ll keep our secret story to myself.
You can tell me EVERYTHING. In fact, I think you should. Don’t you think E.E.B.’s devoted daughter has a right to know???
Impatiently Awaiting All Your Answers,
Reenie Kelly
P.S. I forgot to say it was extra-kind of Carl Grace to offer to drive Gram every day until we get the tires fixed. Billy stayed late tonight at Casey’s to see if that first tire can be patched. I guess that means he hasn’t lost his job.
P.P.S. I just realized it’s been a WHILE since a letter came from Beth. Do you think maybe Beth and Billy aren’t FOREVER anymore????
P.P.P.S. Don’t you worry, Mr. Marsworth, I’ll make sure Billy gets that Brandenbrook application in the mail, even if he works late on Gram’s tires, and even if he doesn’t have a minute to apply.
P.P.P.P.S. After last night’s brick, we’ve decided to stand guard tonight so no one hurts Gram’s house. Dare’s taking 12–4, and he’s sleeping with his baseball bat in case any trouble comes. I’m taking the first shift, which means I’ve got the lonely hours until midnight to think of Mom and D., and why they were forever once, and Skip without his best friend Jackie Moon, and Billy getting drafted if Brandenbrook says no, or if he doesn’t get a scholarship, or if he has to go to prison just to stay out of the war. And now I’m thinking of those letters calling him a weakling and a weasel, a coward and a traitor, and the one where someone wrote, “You deserve to die a terrible death.” I guess I’d rather think of Mom and D. Could you send an honest answer, because the Marsworth-Kelly story is the one I really want?
Thursday, August 15, 1968
Dear Mr. Marsworth,
Nothing in your milk box when I dropped off last night’s letter, but I thought you’d want to know we made it to the morning safe and sound.
I was still up on my guard shift when Billy came home close to midnight, and I eavesdropped through the screen door while he and Dare talked on Gram’s steps. Billy said again that he was sorry for Gram’s Plymouth, and the brick through the front window, and all the hate that Dare would face now in his life. He said he’d tried his best to be a brother Dare admired, someone to look up to, and he hoped someday he’d get to be that brother once again. “I didn’t mean to let you down, Dare,” he said sadly. “But there are different kinds of courage—”
“But I don’t want them after you, Dare,” Billy said. “Or any of my family.”
“We’re tough enough to take it,” Dare said, and Float barked to agree, and I crept up to the attic so they wouldn’t know I spied.
Can you believe it, Mr. Marsworth? Dare Kelly’s almost on our side!
When Carl Grace drove up for Gram this morning, I ran out to his car to thank him for his help. All his help, including Brandenbrook. Then I asked if you were rested, and if rested meant you’re well, and did he think a couple questions in a letter could have worn you out again. (I don’t want to wear you out with all my questions.)
“I can’t speak for Mr. Marsworth,” Carl Grace said quickly before Gram got to the car. “But he was typing in his study when I left.”
Does that mean an answer’s coming? Does that mean you’ll tell me ALL?
I’m heading to the cottage, so you don’t have to rush. If you need to nap between the sentences, go ahead and doze.
Still Dwelling on Those Six Initials,
Reenie Kelly
P.S. The first tire can’t be patched, but Billy plans to stay tonight to try to fix the second. Don’t worry, Mr. Marsworth, I’ll find a way to help him get that application done. I can’t write the essay (well I “could,” but “shouldn’t”), but I can help him fill out the papers: name and address, parents—all that stuff.
P.P.S. Mrs. Lamb still hasn’t answered, but I wrote to Billy’s high school English teacher, Mrs. Lafayette, the only Denton teacher to bring a baked ham to our house when Mom was sick. I remember how young and shy she seemed standing in our doorway, telling Billy she was sorry to hear Mom wasn’t well, and how embarrassed we all were to have a real-life teacher see our messy house. A kind, young teacher with a baked ham will write Brandenbrook, I’m sure.