The House on Persimmon Road

by Jackie Weger

  That’s the ticket. She always felt cheerful once she’d aimed her energies toward fruitful occupation.

  — • —

  Agnes spooned prunes onto her shredded wheat. “Isn’t Judy Ann coming to the table?”

  “I thought it best to give her some special attention. I made her cinnamon toast and hot chocolate and let her have it in bed.”

  “Does she seem better?”

  Justine shrugged. “She still won’t have anything to do with Mrs. Pratt—otherwise, she seems her normal self.”

  “Of course she’s normal,” put in Pauline. “She just got carried away by her imagination.”

  “Imagination or not, she believes Mrs. Pratt served herself tea. I’m not trying to convince her otherwise. It upsets her.”

  Agnes made an elaborate gesture out of placing her napkin in her lap. “Don’t either of you find something odd about this house?”

  “Odd? How?”

  “Don’t you think it strange that I always seem to be surrounded by pockets of cold air, even when it’s perfectly warm? I mean—I have the sense the house is—” Agnes floundered. “—well…occupied.”

  Pauline snorted delicately behind her hand. “It is. We’re here. But keep on thinking like that Agnes. You’ll make it to the funny farm yet.”

  “I’m not crazy. I resent you even suggesting I don’t have my wits about me. I have every bit as much sense as you. More! I, at least, can cook.”

  Justine intervened. “What happened to your truce? The big peace summit?”

  Agnes cut a look at Pauline. “The truce was her idea just to get you out of the house while that man came over to move furniture. She kept saying how useless I was—”

  “In a nice way!”

  “There’s no nice way to tell someone she’s useless.”

  “You went along with it!” Pauline sputtered. “Now, you tattle.”

  “The two of you had better get back on track,” warned Justine. “I need peace and quiet in order to work. I’m not of a mind to sort your battles or dress wounds. Do you both understand?”

  Pauline lifted her nose to a regal height. “There’s no need to speak to me as if I were one of the children.”

  “Same here,” huffed Agnes.

  Justine could feel nerves beginning to bunch at the base of her skull. She massaged her neck. “Look, let’s take things one at a time. Mother Hale, your arthritis has always made you more sensitive to atmospheric conditions, and you know your blood pressure is low. You haven’t been taking your potassium. You’re supposed to eat a banana every day. And, Mother, I remind you, we’ve agreed that you wouldn’t go behind my back, anymore.”

  “I promised to try. But, Justine, you don’t handle conflict well at all. I was only trying to save you grief.”

  “I don’t handle—? Mother, did you actually give birth to me or was I a foundling?”

  “Of course you’re my own child. Why would you make a silly comment like that?”

  “Because I had to learn to handle conflict and criticism in the cradle, that’s why.”

  “Darling, I never criticize you. Not overtly. I only…suggest. There’s a difference. And you have a wonderful glow this morning. I trust you slept well?”

  The glow was from the pleasant moments spent with Tucker. A fact Justine had no intention of sharing with her mother. She reached for her lighter. “I need a cigarette.”

  “While we’re eating?”

  Justine clenched her jaw. “I’ll step outside.”

  “Shall we save some of this bacon for Pip?”

  “Eat your fill. He’s old enough to manage his own breakfast when he gets up. If you really want to help, Mother, how about doing the dishes.”

  “Of course,” she said absently. Then the penny dropped. “Wha—?”

  Agnes snickered. “You’re welcome to use my apron, Pauline.”

  Before her elders could thoroughly embroil her in their bickering, Justine shook a cigarette from the pack and escaped through the screen door.

  Damn it! And the day had begun with so much promise! She replayed the moments spent with Tucker, recalling the smooth and fluid way he moved and their banter over coffee. He had a pleasant voice, as deep and persuasive as an actor’s. He probably knew its power, too. He had employed it subtly to make her accept his every word. Still, most of his words had been nice to hear.

  After a couple of puffs, she stepped down into the yard and ground the cigarette beneath her heel. Maybe she ought to cut the dam things in half, or stop altogether, or reconsider Valium, or lock herself in a closet for an hour. Only there were no closets.

  The wind was beginning to gust, trees and shrubs bent under its force. Justine turned her face into the breeze. She could feel the dampness on her skin.

  A movement caught her eye, a shadow in the lee of the outbuildings. The shadow materialized into a man—old, angular, and thin. He looked as if he was walking around, waiting for his turn at last rites. He wore an ancient felt hat, brim turned low, and a shabby coat with the hem hanging loose.

  Tucker’s dad? But Pip had said Tucker had returned the old man to the nursing home.

  Once the stranger had shuffled within speaking distance, he tipped his hat. “How ’do, ma’am. Name’s Milo Roberts.”

  “Justine Hale.”

  “Yes’um. Knowed that.”

  She arched a brow. “You did?”

  “Yes’um. Mr. Kessler told me. I keeps up the yard, the outbuildings, like. Mostly the yard. Gophers ‘n’ snakes are a plague here ’bouts.”

  “Snakes?” Justine backed up onto a step, out of the ankle-high grass. “Mr. Kessler didn’t mention there was a grounds keeper.”

  “Yes’um. I collect the trash, too. You jest put it in the burn barrel yonder.”

  “Do you live nearby, Mr. Roberts?”

  “Fair close. Down the river a piece.”

  He didn’t look capable of it, but she asked anyway. “Could I hire you to hang some curtains?”

  “No’um.”

  “Oh.”

  “Outside work. That’s all I do. Nuthin’ in the house.”

  “Why not in the house?”

  His desiccated old face closed up. “Don’t like workin’ inside.”

  “I see. Well, what about the back porch? The washer-dryer connections are out there and that’s where we’ve put the machines. Could you install those for us?”

  “Might could,” he replied and stood there, waiting.

  “Might? What would make it a sure thing?”

  “Ten dollars.”

  “You’re hired.”

  “Cash.”

  “Okay. When’s a good time for you?”

  “Anytime.”

  “Now?”

  “Reckon not. Once the rain lets up.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Once the rain lets up.”

  “Right.”

  “Yes’um. Nice day to you, ma’am.” He doffed his hat and disappeared the way he’d come, coattails hanging.

  “Thank you,” Justine called to his receding back. She eyed the tall grass and shuddered. Snakes! She should’ve pressed the old man to mow the grass.

  She spied the old chair and footstool amid the boxes they had tossed out. Damn! Her mother should not have thrown them away. Somewhere in the estate manager’s file there had to be an inventory listing all of the furnishings that came with the house, meager though they were. Snakes notwithstanding, no way was she going to be charged an arm and leg for furniture that’d pass for Salvation Army chic.

  She retrieved the pieces from the trash pile and hauled them onto the back porch.

  — • —

  “Aw, c’mon Mom. Let me go fishing.”

  “It’s raining. Anyway, before you go alone, I want to see where your fishing hole is. Make sure it’s safe. Mr. Roberts said there’s a problem with snakes.”

  “Snakes don’t bother you if you don’t bother them. I learned that in Cub Scouts.”

  “My
answer is still no. Now, go find something to do or, help me. I could use a hand untangling wires.”

  “That’s boring.”

  Justine straightened up and rubbed the small of her back. “Listen, Pip, I’m not spending my life entertaining you. You’ve got to learn to entertain yourself. Use your imagination.”

  “We only get one channel on TV. All that’s on is soaps.”

  “We’ll get an antenna for better reception. One thing at a time, for heaven’s sake. However, that’s not what I had in mind. Read a book or work on one of your model cars. When I was your age, I loved to daydream.”

  “Sissy stuff. I’m almost a man.”

  Justine blinked. “Hair under your arms does not make you a man…or even almost a man. You have a long way to go, sweetie. Brain-wise and body-wise.”

  “You don’t like me, Mom. You’re always trying to put me down. It’s because I look like Dad, isn’t it? You don’t want to be reminded.”

  Justine’s jaw dropped. “Did you stay awake last night dreaming that up? I like you. I adore you. You’re my son as much as your father’s. You know what I think? You’re trying to make me the villain. Pip, your father is the one who went away. Not me.”

  He glared at her for a few seconds then spun on his heel and dashed across the hall into his room and slammed the door. The sound reverberated throughout the house.

  Justine slumped down into her desk chair and let her arms dangle over the armrests. “Shoot!”

  Pauline appeared on the threshold. “What was that all about?”

  “Pip’s having a bad day.”

  “Maybe there’s something in the air. Agnes has gone to lie down. Her bones ache. Judy Ann can’t be coaxed out of bed, Pip is in rebellion. Now, you look out of sorts.”

  “Things will be fine, Mother. Just keep a stiff upper lip.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply that I was having a bad day, even if you are trying to turn me into kitchen help. I’m not. I have some ideas. I’d like to discuss them with you.”

  “Can it wait? I’m almost finished linking up.”

  “Couldn’t you at least take a break for some tea?”

  “Reluctantly. Give me fifteen minutes.”

  “You will comb your hair first, won’t you? One always feels better when one looks her best.”

  “Oh, by all means, Mother. I wouldn’t dare to enter your drawing room without first washing up.”

  “Mark my words, Justine, you and Pip are of the same cloth.”

  “You were eavesdropping.”

  “He was shouting. I’ll go make that tea. Which do you prefer? Earl gray or Darjeeling?”

  “You choose. Your taste is much finer than mine.”

  Pauline sniffed. “I did bear a child. But come to think of it, there could’ve been a mix-up in the nursery.”

  Justine laughed. “Wishful thinking, Mother.”

  “If you didn’t have my small ears and my lovely forehead, I would accept it as entirely probable.”

  “The Earl Grey,” Justine said. “I feel like something nice.”

  Chapter Seven

  Agnes emerged from her room as Justine was crossing the hall to enter her own.

  “You feel better after a nap, Agnes?”

  “I couldn’t rest. There are scrabbling noises in the ceiling over my bed.”

  “Squirrels, probably,” Justine replied in a tone of empathy. “I’ve seen them race along that limb that hangs near the roof. Maybe they have a nest in the attic.”

  Agnes tightened the sash on her purple chenille robe. “Something has a nest up there.”

  Justine smiled. “You know there’s no such thing as spirits and goblins turned loose on us mortals.”

  “I don’t know any such thing. Remember Einstein’s theory of relativity. He said just because we can only see things within our own frame of reference don’t mean other things aren’t out there. At least, he said something to that effect. It’s just that if we can’t see a thing, measure it in a practical manner, we tend to say something cannot exist. You went to college, Justine, you ought to know. Why’re you looking at me like that?”

  “You were quoting Einstein. That’s a new one for you.”

  “Philip used to leave his textbooks lying about and since I worked so hard to pay for them, I read them, too. I may be in my seventies, but I’m not brain dead.” Tears suddenly glistened in her eyes. “You know what I was thinking? I worked as a waitress all those years to put Philip through school. Had I put myself through college, got myself that Ph.D. instead of him, I’d be better off. I could’ve had a fine job, been somebody. The way things turned out, I feel like I’ve wasted my life.”

  Justine put her arms around the frail and bony shoulders. “You are somebody, Agnes. And your life hasn’t been a waste. You’re here for me and your grandchildren. That means a lot. Really, when you think about it, that’s pretty special.”

  “I’m a burden to you. Pauline keeps saying—”

  “Mother very often doesn’t think before she speaks. Don’t take everything she says amiss.”

  “I try not to, I remind myself that Evan has only been dead a few months, that she’s lost everything…but she makes me so mad!”

  “I know,” Justine crooned in an effort to remain neutral. “We’re having a cup of tea, come join us.”

  “I think I’ll just work on my contests. Has the postman come?”

  “When it stops raining, I’ll have Pip check.”

  “You don’t think they lost our forwarding address?”

  “I’m sure not.”

  “It would be lovely to win a big contest, wouldn’t it?”

  “It would be lovely if you won even a little one. After I check on Judy Ann, I’ll tell Mother to add another cup, in case you change your mind.”

  Judy Ann was sprawled on the bed, connecting dots in an activity book. Mrs. Pratt, in all her rag-tag splendor, was propped on the chest of drawers.

  The bedroom doors were open. Water gushed off the roof, falling in a haphazard curtain around the porch. Thick-trunked trees in the yard stood as sentries, draping moss passing for hundreds of flags heralding nature in her abundance. The grayness of it all gave Justine a sense of a primeval forest.

  She picked up Mrs. Pratt and sat at the foot of the bed. “Do you believe in magic, sweetie?”

  “On television.”

  “There are certain kinds of magic in real life, too.”

  Judy Ann’s gaze shifted from the book to Mrs. Pratt in her mother’s lap. “Dolls aren’t magic.”

  “Maybe they are. If you wish it hard enough.”

  “I was only doin’ pretend. I didn’t wish anything. Mrs. Pratt picked up the teacup all by herself. She’s alive.”

  “You and Mrs. Pratt have been friends a long time.”

  Judy Ann shrugged.

  Justine tried another tack. “What shall we do with her?”

  “She can stay in my toy box, I guess. If you put the lid down.”

  “Sweetie, are you scared of Mrs. Pratt?”

  “I don’t know what she might do!”

  That tells the whole story, thought Justine. “Suppose I put Mrs. Pratt in my office, keep an eye on her? Just to make sure she’s friendly. That sounds better than banishing her to the toy box.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t like it here.”

  “Sure she does. We all do. You hear that, Mrs. Pratt?”

  Judy Ann gave her mother a grave look, then bent her attention to the activity book.

  Justine sighed despairingly. “I’ll leave the door open, sweetheart. If you want anything, call out.”

  In the great room, the elders were each in their respective staked-out territory. Agnes was at her desk, her back to the room, poring over a contest newsletter. Pauline sat on a sofa in the conversation nook, fussing with the tray, adjusting the cozy on the teapot.

  It was obvious that each was taking great pains to ignore the other, the tension between them being almost visible. Justine felt a su
dden ache in her heart. They were both so dear to her. She would not want to lose either of them. But how to bring them together; put a halt to their bickering? If there was an answer, it escaped her.

  “Ah! Justine. There you are. I was beginning to wonder if you had changed your mind about tea.”

  “I took a few minutes to look in on Judy Ann.”

  “Maybe she’d like for me to read to her later in the afternoon.”

  Justine hid her surprise. Her mother was far too impatient to sit still for storybooks, always had been. It had been her father who had read Justine bedtime stories. The sudden offer to cater to Judy Ann had some underlying meaning. I’m being buttered up, Justine thought, and smoothly, too.

  “I’m sure she’d enjoy that,” she said pleasantly. “Shall I pour?”

  “No dear, you just relax.” Then, in a voice matched only by saccharin, she called to Agnes. “Shall I bring you tea? I’ve an extra cup.”

  Agnes refused. Justine accepted hers, sipped it, then leaned back and waited for the shoe to drop.

  She watched her mother pour her own tea, put the cup down, smooth her wrinkle-free skirt, pick up the cup again, sip from it, put it back down on its saucer, fiddle with the tea cozy and, finally, look up and smile.

  “Tea quite hits the spot doesn’t it? That was one of my first accomplishments—brewing decent tea. My mother—and I wish you had met her Justine, had a firm belief that a lady should know proper tea service.”

  Justine smiled her answer. It must be something big. It was taking an awfully long time for Pauline to pull it out of the hat.

  “That idea I had,” Pauline began. “I’ve really been thinking about it—it’s kept me up nights. I just know it’ll work.”

  “I’m all ears,” Justine encouraged.

  “I knew you’d agree.”

  “Not so fast. What is it you think I’m so agreeable to?”

  “Why, I’ve decided to get a job.”

  Justine sputtered into her tea.

  Agnes lost interest in the newsletter. “I find I’m thirsty after all.” She hobbled across the room and sat down near Justine so that Pauline was obliged to pour.

  The polite task done, Pauline sat ramrod stiff as if facing an inquisition that upon finding her guilty would sentence her to the stake.