by Mimi Barbour
Two hours later, a whole different story unfolded. As they approached Mrs. Pearson’s small bungalow, Abbie told him what to say to get past the old lady and into her parlour.
“Leave it with me, Abbie. I’m sure we’ll get along splendidly.”
Exasperation made her hesitate. She should warn him. But she’d tried, and he thought he knew better. Except that he needed to see for himself that people weren’t animals. That they had a right to make up their own minds about their living conditions. Didn’t they? “Then I’ll leave you to it, shall I?”
The tall, angular woman who stood, arms crossed, waiting for him to finish stumbling through his explanations, wasn’t the weak old girl he’d expected. She reminded him of his fifth-grade teacher, an old battleaxe, to be exact, who had repeatedly scared the hell out of him.
“Mrs. Pearson? My name is Marcus Chapman, and I’m a friend of Abbie’s.” She didn’t move, nod, or leave. “Abigail Taylor? She’s in hospital right now, and she’s asked me to come and visit with you in her stead.”
“I know the poor dear’s in hospital. She’s also in a coma, so how in the world could she speak to you?” Her eyebrows met over her piercing dark eyes and, pulling her navy cardigan across her chest, she waited.
Caught by a devious old woman! “We spoke before she fell and hit her head.”
“And when you spoke, she asked you to visit me. Twaddle!” She stepped back as if to close the door.
“Wait! I think you’ve misunderstood. What I meant to say was that I’ve visited with the vicar, who was very concerned over who might take on Abbie’s chor…umm, her visits, and I offered to help out. He told me one of her favourite people to come and see was yourself. So, I promised to stop by and ensure you had everything you need.” He saw her softening, and he pushed a little further. “Maybe have a cup of tea with you?”
“Well, young man, you should have said so in the first place. Step inside, and mind you watch where you let that snow melt. Put your galoshes on the mat there.”
“Mrs. Pearson, were you by any chance a teacher?”
“By all means, Mr. Chapman. I taught at the Victoria University in Manchester until I retired a few years ago.” She turned and beckoned him to follow. It was then he saw her stumble and grab onto the wall to keep from falling. Stiffening her shoulders, she resumed her trek into the sitting area and told him to set himself down while she made the tea.
“Can I be of assistance? I’ll carry the tray.” Her expression made him add, “If you like?”
“No, thank you very much. I’m sure I can serve a guest in my own home without needing any assistance.” She raised her voice on the last word.
“Oh, don’t.” Abbie tried to cut him off, but he’d have none of it.
He used the voice that had worked for years with junior clerks. “Everyone needs assistance sometime in their lives, madam.”
The old woman sank down on the nearest chair as if her legs had lost all their strength. Her eyes looked as if they’d pop out of her visibly shrunken face. Even her skin bristled.
“What did you say?”
“You heard me. My offer was made courteously and with kind intentions. Have you reached such an age, or are you in so much discomfort, that you can’t tell the difference?”
“You’d better leave. I find that I’m too busy to offer you refreshments after all.” Her tone might have held some authority in her teaching days, but he heard the fear and weakness threading through her wobbly voice.
“My dear lady. If it’s so difficult for you to accept a sincere offer of help, how will you ever be able to manage living here on your own? I can see you’re in pain. It must be excruciating for you not to be able to hide it anymore.”
“My rheumatism acts up sometimes, that’s true. But I manage.”
“Yes. You have managed. Managed to make the pain worse because you’re forced to overuse your muscles to take care of this place instead of letting them rest. Arthritis is a horrible disease. My grandmother was afflicted, also. But, she, thank heavens, had the good sense to let others do things for her so she didn’t aggravate her body overly. She used the medication the doctors gave her and moved to a charming seniors’ home. It opened up a whole new future for her.”
“Bah! Seniors’ homes. A bunch of old fogies bellyaching about their illnesses all day long.”
“Some, maybe. But most want to forget about their ailments and just get on with enjoying whatever life they have left. Grandmother gladly accepted help from some of the other residents, and then to pay back she read to the ones with poor eyesight. Reading happened to be a favourite pastime for her.” He pretended not to see the multitude of books piled on every surface near this woman’s easy chair.
“Did your grandmother ever regret her move?” Mrs. Pearson’s voice had turned almost timid.
“Not once. With the help of another lady, who couldn’t walk but had strong hands, she wrote a book. I can see that you get a copy, if you like. She wrote a true story about a soldier’s wife during the war.”
“An autobiography, I suppose.”
“Actually, yes. The story focused on her life both before the war and during those awful years of bombing and shelters, when one never knew if they’d be alive to see the next morning. The story ended with her experiences as a widow. It’s a wonderful and uplifting tale. Made me very proud.” He let the silence dwell and sat waiting, quietly.
“They have a new seniors’ home here, you know. I might go to see the place one day.”
“What time tomorrow would be best for you? I can drive you there and save you the discomfort of public transport.”
“ Seriously? How very kind of you.”
“I’m not at all kind. Just resourceful. Would this time tomorrow work for you?”
“As a matter of fact, it would. I will be ready, so as not to keep you waiting. Now, let’s have that tea, shall we?”
“Certainly. Call when you need help with the tray.”
Her harsh stare questioned, and his innocent smile answered.
“Yes, all right,” she said, and then hobbled from the room.
“You are a genius! A flaming genius.” Abbie had gone on, ad nauseam, for the whole drive home. “In one afternoon, you accomplished what I’ve been trying to do for months. I’m ever so grateful. The poor old dear refused to see how badly affected she had become, or acknowledge how difficult it was to live alone and look after herself. Oh, Marcus. You make me so happy that—if I had to live inside someone—I’m glad it’s you.”
“Speaking of living inside someone, don’t you think we should go to the hospital and see how you’re progressing? I do hope the specialist has arrived.”
“It sounds as if you’ll be glad to be rid of me. If I wasn’t so happy with you today, my feelings would be hurt.”
“My dear girl, it’s a matter of common sense. Hold on here? What’s this going on?”
He stopped the car and pulled over into the snow on the side of the road, where two big fellows were ganging up on a smaller person. Hard to tell what gender, but the size difference could be seen at a glance.
He stepped out of the vehicle and approached the skirmish. “Stop that!” He grabbed onto the pulled-back fist of one of the teens before it reached its target. “What is going on here?”
“Don’t be meddlin’ in something that’s none o’ your business, guv. This here trollop is getting her just rewards. She pinched me wallet, she did.”
“Morons, the pair of ya!” Now visible, the female pulled away from the arms holding her and ran to hide behind Marcus. “They’s havin’ you on, sir. They owed me five shillin’s for their drinks, and I aim to get me dues.”
“Take your money, then, and get into my car. I’ll drive you home.”
“Hey, mate. Not fair. She’s fibbin’, she is.” Watching the girl rifle through their money, help herself to the five shillings and then take an extra bit—”For my tip,” she added—obviously infuriated them.
Satisfied, the young woman threw the wallet toward the leader, whirled toward the car, and got in. They looked to each other and then back to Marcus with a “whaddayathink” gleam in their eyes. Under cover, one’s hand reached into his pocket but stopped when he saw Marcus, his stance changing perceptibly, smile with unmistakable glee lighting up his features.
“You figure getting your faces punched in will be worth five shillings?”
Both stopped where they were. Then they backed up. “We’ll get another chance, see if we don’t.” The thugs aimed their words at the small girl huddled in the idling vehicle. With their middle fingers stuck up first toward the girl and then at Marcus, they ambled away, moving slowly to show their lack of respect.
“Good for you, Marcus. Those horrible bullies have been working this area for far too long. They’re a menace.”
“Have you ever tangled with them?” She felt the instant hardness behind the words and experienced his spurt of unmistakable rage from inside.
“ Not really. They’re rather harmless. Just bored. If there were more jobs in the area, maybe this type of situation wouldn’t happen. These youngsters need work to keep them off the streets. What will you do with her?” Since he was walking toward the vehicle and the young girl could be clearly seen, he knew exactly who “her” referred to.
“I have no idea.”
He took his place behind the wheel and turned to look at his passenger. Her scruffy clothes and badly dyed hair had covered up the fact that she was a lot older than he’d thought when he stopped to intervene. “Where can I drop you?”
“If we wait for a few minutes, until those two buggers have left, I’ll be getting out ‘ere. I work at the pub there and live in a room atop. Maybe you could stop by sometime for a pint. It’ll be on me.” The girl looked at him shyly. “Thanks ever so much for your ‘elp. Me boss normally watches to see I get home safely after dark, but during the daylight, I’ve always thought meself safe.”
“How did they steal money from you?” Marcus nodded in the direction the two boys had taken.
“They came into the bar and whinged till I sells ‘em a beer, and then they skedaddled before I could get the money. Had to pay it out of me own wages, I did. So when I saw them loitering, I snatched his lordship’s wallet to get me money back. He caught me, and that’s when you came along.”
“What would you have done if I hadn’t?” Marcus really wanted to know.
“I suppose I’d a had to give ‘em their five shillin’s back, but I wouldn’t a liked it.”
As an afterthought, Marcus asked, “Do you want to call the police and charge them with assault?”
“And have ‘em charge me with theft? No, thanks. I’m just happy to have me money.” The barmaid looked all around and, seeing the way clear, opened the car door and reached across to Marcus, holding out her hand. “Thank you, sir. I’m much obliged.”
Marcus shook her hand and then reached into his pocket, withdrew a business card, and hesitated. “I’d like to know your name?”
“My name is Daisy. Daisy Knight.”
“If you have any more trouble with that lot, Daisy, you give me a call. We’ll sort them out once and for all. Promise?” He handed her his identification.
First she looked at the card and then she smiled at him, her lopsided teeth adding an endearing charm to her rather pointed face. “Yes, Mr. Chapman. I promise.” With another wave, she scanned the area and then skipped across the street and up the side stairs that led to rooms above the pub. After he saw her lights come on, he drove away.
“Oh, Marcus. I’m so glad they didn’t take you up on your dare. What would you have done?”
“Are you serious? What do you mean, what would I have done?” He knew his anger to be somewhat unwarranted, but he couldn’t believe she would question him about his bravery.
“Well, you have too much class to be brawling in the streets, but I know for certain you’d never have left that poor girl to handle the mess on her own. So what would you have done?”
Mollified, just a little, he answered, “A gentleman shouldn’t need to, umm, brawl, if he’s halfway intelligent, now, should he?”
“True. But I reckon being twice their size might have helped.”
He sighed.
And she giggled.
Chapter Eight
“Mother, why are we eating in the living room? I have a perfectly good dining room that already has a table and chairs. I don’t know why you insist we set up the bridge table in here.”
“Oh don’t be so stuffy, Marcus. You know perfectly well why I want to eat in this room. I just told you why.”
“I suppose I haven’t been paying attention, then. Can you tell me again?” His hard-done-by tone made her smile, and he decided that was a better reaction that her reprimanding him as if he still wore short pants.
“Because your dining room is ugly. All that dark heavy furniture and that horrible old chandelier with those amber glass covers… What little light they let through makes the room look drab and spooky. It would be the perfect setting for a Boris Karloff murder mystery. Gives me the creeps.”
“Which means you’ve made up your mind to change it to your liking, and you figure to get me to agree if you make my life uncomfortable enough.”
“Not at all. Really, Marcus, have you looked at the room? When you bought the house, instead of being lazy and buying all the old, out-of-date furnishings with it, why didn’t you call in a decorator and have the house redone properly?” “Because I was concentrating on getting your side liveable so you’d be comfortable. You can have all the fun you want playing with colour swatches and paint chips and organizing your own décor. I want very little. A comfortable bed, and a steady table to eat my food on, not something that wobbles.” He jiggled the table, watching as she grabbed her wine goblet, and then smiled sarcastically.
“Oh, Marcus. She’s right, and you know it. Your dining room is dreadful. All that period stuff is only good for the antique dealer or the dustbin.” Abbie couldn’t help herself. She agreed with his mother and thought her gentle prompting might help him to see the truth. In his position, he deserved better.
“Why is it that you both have to gang up on me?”
“Because she’s right and you’re wrong. Look around you. Without the fireplace being lit and covered with those lovely holly branches and bows, and the beautiful Christmas tree all aglow from the lights and decorations, this gloomy room would be a disaster, also.”
He noticed his mother waited, her hands each holding a utensil, and her one eyebrow raised. “Fine, you win. But it’ll have to be delayed until after the holidays. I’ll call someone in to discuss the changes, but make no mistake, Mother”—he pointed his fork at her and then made a grab at his coffee cup, just in time to keep it from tipping over—”this will be done by me. My selection and my taste, not yours.”
Madeline’s innocent look didn’t fool him a bit. “Surely, you’d want me to help?” His stare didn’t waver, nor did he smile. “You’re such a party pooper. But I can assist if you ask me to? Right?” With her head angled, she smiled charmingly.
“Not likely to take place. I don’t happen to think that purple-and-lime-green wallpaper in any way fits my personality, and I doubt you’ll get me to change my mind.” He pointed to the caftan she’d chosen to wear this evening to dine in. The flowing, robe-like dress, adorned with splashes of greens and purples, exuded more style than taste, but on her, he had to admit, it did look rather stunning.
“Speaking of changing your mind, the vicar tells me you went to see one of his parishioners today. He was worried about her, now that Abbie couldn’t visit. When he called Mrs. Pearson, she informed him that you’d been to see her. And apparently pulled off a miracle by helping her decide that the time might have come for her to visit The Gardens with the intention of moving there herself. The vicar was stunned. He sat down so fast he missed the chair and toppled over onto the footstool. Poor man could’ve hurt himself.”
/>
“I did nothing except talk with her. The woman is extremely intelligent. She came to the decision on her own that the time had come. All I did was offer to drive her there tomorrow in order for her to assess the facility. With all this snow on the ground, and more falling tonight, it would be difficult for her to catch the local bus.” A change of subject became urgent. His mother had never been a fool and had always been able to see through his ploys better than anyone. He didn’t want her questioning how he even knew about Mrs. Pearson.
“Ask her how her day went with the vicar. I’ve been dying to know,” Abbie prompted him, her voice wistful.
“Good idea!” He grabbed onto her suggestion and, resting his chin on his clasped hands to give an impression of interest, enquired, “So, how did your first day go at helping the vicar?”
“I thought you’d never ask. Really, Marcus. You’ve been brooding all evening. What has you so distracted?”
“You first, then I’ll tell you my story.”
“Isn’t this lovely, sharing our… Stop glaring at me. I’m getting to it. I had a wonderful day. That little man is a dynamo, albeit in slow motion. He has a large flock, and so many depend on him and Abbie. It all made my head swim. I imagine as the time passes I’ll learn about all of their problems, and how best to help them, but for now I have to question him about everything. And he’s ever so helpful,” she added, after she looked into her son’s face.
Without thought, he’d stiffened and his jaw clenched. She continued, delight in her expression. “Your protective instinct has always delighted me, Marcus. But in this case, it’s unnecessary. The man’s a sweetheart and is treating me like royalty. He’s extremely worried about the work Abbie does with the Sisters at Holly Mount. The children miss her dreadfully, and some of the little ones have been pining so much they’re becoming quite sickly. I spent a few hours going around and trying to comfort them, but all they ask for is their Abbie.”
“Oh, Marcus. My heart is breaking. I need to get home.”