The Summer of Mrs. MacGregor

by Betty R. Wright

  Mr. Reston looked puzzled for a moment, and then his expression cleared. “Oh, yes. It’s nice to have pictures. She’ll want reminders of her visit, I guess.”

  “Lillian takes lots of snaps,” Mrs. Reston emphasized the name. “It’s a nice hobby.”

  Lillina nibbled an oatmeal cookie and didn’t bother to protest that photography was more than a hobby to her. The Restons don’t understand her at all, Caroline thought. It was easy to believe there might be many “misunderstandings” this summer.

  The telephone rang just as they finished their cocoa. It was Mr. Kramer, saying that Rafe was back in his pen. Then Mrs. Reston insisted on calling Joe so he could meet Caroline halfway home. “I’d never forgive myself if something happened,” she boomed. “Lillian is a great one for walking in the evening, and I don’t approve, I’m sure. Anything could happen.…”

  How strange it was to hear Lillina talked about as if she were a little girl! The odd thing was that she actually looked younger, sitting between the Restons in the small, shining kitchen. The white tunic looked different here too. It was just two bath towels sewn together, and rather clumsily sewn at that.

  “Thanks for the cocoa,” Caroline said. “I’ll see you, Lillina.”

  Lillina looked up from her cocoa and smiled. “That will be wonderful, dear,” she said. “Maybe we’ll have another adventure.”

  But not with a killer dog. Caroline was uneasy; it was the way she’d felt at the mall. Lillina was an unpredictable, firecracker kind of person, always rocketing off in unexpected directions. Firecrackers can be scary, she thought as she hurried along the sidewalk toward home.

  The moon was brilliant now, and she could see Joe waiting at the curve, his tall, broad-shouldered figure unmistakable. “Thanks for coming,” she said, when they met. She felt like throwing her arms around him, but she didn’t. “I’ll never forget that darned dog snarling at us in the dark.”

  “I’ll bet your nutty friend attracts trouble the way honey attracts flies,” Joe said in reply. They turned toward home, and that was his only comment on his meeting with Lillina.

  It was enough.

  Chapter 11

  During the two weeks that followed, Caroline saw Lillina only briefly. Mrs. Reston refused to permit any more evening walks, and Caroline usually had chores to do in the afternoon when she returned from Mr. Jameson’s house. She and Lillina did plan a picnic one day, but Lillina canceled it at the last minute because of another “tiny misunderstanding.”

  “We’ll get together soon,” she promised on the telephone. “Tell me about your job, Caroline. I want to write to Eleanor about it.”

  Caroline didn’t know if her job was going well or not. She was still working, but Mr. Jameson continued to complain, and sometimes he shouted at her. He didn’t use the walker that she always left within his reach. He refused Joe’s offer to take him downtown “if you have any errands there.”

  He never complimented Caroline on the lunches she prepared for him, even though she was becoming more daring with her menus. She made French toast at home for Joe, and then made it again the next day for Mr. Jameson. She fixed waffles for breakfast, and when Joe pronounced them “not bad at all,” she carried the waffle iron across the street to Mr. Jameson’s kitchen. She tried her mother’s recipe for tuna-burgers, combining tuna, onions, hard-boiled eggs, and mushroom soup. “Gettin’ pretty fancy,” was all Mr. Jameson said after he’d cleaned his plate.

  Still, she had a feeling that he waited eagerly for her arrival each morning. One day, they sorted through a box of letters and clippings he’d been saving for years. She saw pictures of a round, smiling Mrs. Jameson who had died long ago. She learned that Mr. Jameson had won an amateur swimming championship when he was twenty-six and had been the Grand River bowling champion when he was forty. She found out that he’d once worked on an oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico and for years had driven a semitrailer truck all over the United States. After the box was back on the closet shelf, Caroline wondered if he’d suggested the “sorting” to show her, and himself, that he hadn’t always been a sick old man.

  A letter came from his niece Jean, and Mr. Jameson gave it to Caroline to read. It was full of news about Jean’s family and questions about her uncle’s health. “Please ask that nice neighbor of yours to write again and tell me more about yourself,” it said. “I worry.”

  “How many hours have you been here?” Mr. Jameson asked abruptly at the end of the second week. He was in his usual chair in front of the television set. “Turn that stupid thing off.”

  Caroline obeyed. “It’s been about two weeks,” she said. “Every day except one.”

  “That ain’t what I asked you,” Mr. Jameson snapped. “How many hours?”

  “I—I don’t know.”

  He rolled his eyes in disgust. “Never goin’ to get anywhere that way,” he said. “It’s twenty hours and a half, total. I kept track in my head. Good thing somebody did. Is two-fifty an hour okay with you?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he struggled to his feet and lurched toward the little hall leading to his bedroom. Caroline followed him into the bedroom and opened the top dresser drawer when he had trouble doing it himself. He pushed the box of stationery out of the way and stood looking at the money underneath. After a moment, he took out two bills and laid them on the dresser. Then he put the box back in place, and Caroline closed the drawer.

  “Those are yours,” he said gruffly. “You get a quarter besides. Take it out of the can in the kitchen.” He scowled. “What’s the matter? You expectin’ more?”

  “Oh, no!” Caroline stared at the fifty-dollar bill and the one, lying side by side. “That’s plenty!”

  Mr. Jameson sniffed and began his uncertain journey back to the living room. “It’s what you earned,” he snapped, “so that’s what you get.”

  Caroline crumpled the money in her fist. She felt like a millionaire! If Linda were home, she’d run across the street this very minute to show her the money. If only somebody were there!

  “I’m going to England for Christmas,” she told Mr. Jameson, her excitement bubbling over. For the first time the trip seemed possible. Just two or three more weeks on the job …

  “You ain’t goin’ on what you earn from me,” Mr. Jameson said. “Don’t you know how much an airplane ticket costs?”

  Caroline explained about Jeannie Richmond’s invitation and Grandma Parks’s offer to pay for the flight. “All I have to earn is my spending money,” she said.

  “Your folks goin’ to let a little thing like you go off by herself?”

  “I’m not so little.” Caroline wished she hadn’t started this conversation. “I’d better fix your lunch now. It’s after twelve.”

  She was glad she’d brought him a special treat, since it had turned out to be a special day. “I made soup last night,” she announced when his tray was ready. “There was a recipe in the paper. I hope you like it.”

  Mr. Jameson’s scowl deepened. “Too hot for soup,” he said. “Don’t you know that?”

  Caroline set the tray in front of him. “It’s cold soup,” she said triumphantly. “It’s cucumber soup.”

  Mr. Jameson made a face. “Never heard of it,” he said. “I like my cucumbers in a salad.” He dipped a spoon into the pale green soup and lifted it to his lips, while Caroline watched and fingered the fifty-one dollars in her pocket.

  “Tastes queer,” he announced. “What’d you put in it besides cucumbers?”

  “Buttermilk,” Caroline told him. “Green onions and parsley. My stepfather liked it.”

  “Your stepfather and I would probably disagree about a lot of things.” Mr. Jameson pushed the soup bowl away. “I’ll have a peanut-butter sandwich,” he said. “If that ain’t too ordinary for a high-class cook.”

  Any other day, Caroline’s feelings would have been hurt, but today she was too happy to care. She made the sandwich hurriedly, and a half hour later with Mr. Jameson stretched out for his nap, she
was back across the street. Lillina waited on the front steps of the Cabots’ house. When she saw Caroline coming, she strolled to meet her with her elegant highfashion walk.

  “I had to come,” she murmured. “This has been the most heavenly day!”

  “What happened?” Caroline had been about to display her fifty-one dollars, but she stopped.

  “Well, first of all,” Lillina said, whirling Miss America style up the walk to the house, “first of all, I’ve practically finished my novel. And it really is excellent, Caroline, though I probably shouldn’t say so.”

  “That’s terrific!” Caroline exclaimed. She was genuinely pleased, even though finishing a novel made her fifty-one dollars seem less thrilling.

  “And,” Lillina rushed on, “I had a marvelous letter from dear Frederick. Our house is coming along beautifully, and guess what! He’s bought me a puppy!”

  “A puppy!” No wonder Lillina was excited. Her eyes were almost feverishly bright, and her cheeks were pink under their sprinkle of freckles. “What kind of puppy?”

  “An Afghan hound.” Lillina took a folded piece of paper from the pocket of her lavender skirt and spread it on the step between them. It was a photograph of a model posed at the top of a flight of stone steps. She had long hair, parted in the middle and falling straight on either side of her thin face. The dog beside her had a thin face, too, and its long hair fell to its shoulders. “That’s an Afghan,” Lillina said. “Won’t it be marvelous to take her for walks in Central Park?” She leaned back on her elbows and smiled down at the picture, as if the puppy itself were sitting there at her side.

  “I get along with all animals,” she said. Caroline knew she was thinking about Rafe. “I can hardly wait to see my puppy.”

  Caroline felt a twinge of envy and was ashamed. After all, Lillina was her friend. “I thought it was dangerous to walk in Central Park,” she said.

  “Not with an Afghan,” Lillina retorted. “And I have something else to tell you, Caroline. Or rather, something to give you—a surprise. Let’s go to the Talbott Inn for ice cream, to celebrate. Then I’ll give you your surprise.”

  “The Talbott Inn is expensive,” Caroline said, but she was ready to go. After all, Lillina didn’t know it yet, but Caroline had something to celebrate, too. And she had two dollar bills and some change in her piggy bank. She could order the biggest banana split on the menu without dipping into her brand-new travel fund.

  Forty-five minutes later, Lillina was leading the way across the lobby of the Inn. It was a beautiful room, all gold and green and brown, with a huge metal urn full of dried flowers on a pedestal in the center of the carpet. Caroline looked around admiringly, but Lillina seemed to take all this grandeur for granted. She stopped first at the entrance to the formal dining room and stood in the archway looking around with an air of haughty approval. A piano tinkled softly in one corner.

  “We must have dinner here one evening,” Lillina said. “It’s rather nice, isn’t it?” Then she led the way back across the lobby to the coffee shop.

  “Now,” she said, after they were seated in a sunny yellow booth and had ordered their banana splits. “Here’s your surprise, Caroline. It came in the same mail as my letter from Frederick.” She produced a pale gray envelope addressed to Miss Caroline Cabot, in care of Mrs. Frederick MacGregor, 801 Barker Road, Grand River, Wisconsin.

  “I’m sorry the envelope is damaged,” Lillina said. “Uncle Charles collects stamps, and this was a new one he especially wanted. I told him you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Who’s it from?” Caroline asked. But she knew. The letter was from Eleanor. Eleanor, who looked like Caroline and carried herself proudly, who had a glamorous, talented sister but didn’t let it bother her, because her own life was full of interesting projects. Eleanor, who was thinking of becoming a nurse someday because she was good with people. Eleanor, who would understand how thrilling it was to receive fifty-one dollars for sticking with a difficult job. Caroline slid the single sheet of gray stationery from its envelope and read the typewritten message:

  Dear Caroline,

  My sister Lillina has told me all about you. She says you and she have marvelous times together. She says you are a very good friend, and I’m sure that if I were in Grand River, we’d be good friends, too. So I thought I’d write and say hello.

  I hope your job is going all right. Lillina says the person you work for is very cross, but you help him a lot. That’s really great.

  I’m sorry your sister is sick. She must be a wonderful person, but I think you must be wonderful, too.

  Last week I had my hair cut short, and I like it this way very much. Lillina says you and I look a lot alike, so I thought maybe you’d want to have your hair cut the same way. I’m sending a picture I found in a magazine. This is the way my hair looks now.

  If you want to write to me, we can be pen pals. Good-bye for now.

  Your friend,

  Eleanor

  Caroline read the letter twice before passing it across the table. “You can read it if you want to,” she said. “Eleanor and I are going to be pen pals.” She examined the picture. The girl in the photo was dark-haired and a little older than Caroline. Her hair was short and shining; it turned up slightly at the ends, and there was a suggestion of soft bangs across her forehead. Caroline held up the picture for Lillina to see.

  “Marvelous,” Lillina said. “That’s the absolutely perfect style for Eleanor. She hates spending a lot of time on her looks, but this cut will be easy to take care of.”

  Caroline touched her bushy ponytail. It was fastened with a rubber band at the nape of her neck.

  “I could have mine cut, I guess,” she said slowly. “I don’t like fussing with it, that’s for sure.” She studied the picture again.

  Lillina shrugged. “It’s up to you, dear. I enjoy arranging my hair—but then, we’re very different, aren’t we? And if this cut is right for Eleanor—”

  “—then it’s right for me,” Caroline finished. She could hardly wait to do it. She would tell Eleanor when she answered the letter.

  The thought of the haircut—of being like Eleanor in yet another way—made the triple-dip, strawberry and hot fudge banana split an anticlimax when it finally arrived. Caroline read the letter two more times while she was eating.

  “I can lend you money for the haircut,” Lillina offered. “If it’s a problem, I mean.”

  That reminded Caroline of her own good news. “I was paid today.” She tried to match Lillina’s casual tone. “So I have money. I have half of what I need to go to England.”

  Lillina threw up her hands in a dramatic gesture of amazement. “That’s marvelous!” she exclaimed. “I’m really proud of you, Caroline.”

  Caroline felt a little shiver of concern. She was pretty sure her mother and Joe had forgotten all about the Richmonds’ invitation. What if they said no! For the first time she realized she didn’t want the sheltering, smothering kind of love that they showered on Linda.

  When the bill arrived, Lillina picked it up. “My treat, Caroline,” she said grandly. “Because my novel is nearly finished, and our house is nearly ready, and because I have a puppy—and because you’re going to England, of course.” She took a wallet from her floppy shoulder bag and produced a thick wad of bills. “Actually, this is Frederick’s treat,” she said. “He always sends much more money than I need.”

  Caroline protested, but not much. She would pay next time, she promised herself—after the money for the trip to England was in the bank. And after Mom and Joe say I can go.

  She followed Lillina out of the coffee shop, walking tall and holding Eleanor’s letter as if it were a good-luck charm she would keep forever.

  Chapter 12

  “You should have told me,” Joe said. “You should have checked with your mother before you did a thing like that.”

  “Don’t you like it?” Caroline touched the back of her neck, which felt strangely bare.

  Joe shook his head im
patiently. “That’s not the point, and you know it, Carrie. Cutting your hair is a big step.”

  “Well, if I asked, you’d say ‘Do what you want.’ And Mom isn’t here, so I couldn’t ask her, could I?”

  “Watch your tone,” Joe snapped. “You could have called the clinic and talked it over. I suppose your weird friend convinced you you should do it.”

  “Nobody convinced me.” Caroline scooped up her dust cloth and the bottle of lemon oil and started out of the living room. “And I’m sorry I bothered to polish all the furniture if nobody’s even going to notice. I can’t do anything right around here.”

  “Now just wait a minute!” Joe caught her arm and swung her around. “You don’t look like yourself, Carrie. You don’t even walk the way you used to. Give me a chance to get accustomed to it. What’s more, you don’t sound like yourself either, and I don’t want to get used to that. What in blazes has happened to you?”

  Caroline didn’t know what had happened to her. She’d felt different ever since she’d come home from the beauty salon. It was as if the hair stylist had snipped away a Caroline-cocoon and sent a sleek new butterfly-person out into the world. A person who refused to be ignored or taken for granted!

  “I just want you to care what I do,” she said, close to tears. “I don’t just want to be here, I want to be somebody.”

  Joe released her arm, and they stared at each other. Caroline wondered where those words had come from; she hadn’t meant to say them, didn’t even remember thinking them before they spouted from her lips.

  “Of course you’re somebody.” Now Joe sounded confused. “What the heck kind of talk is that?” He slumped into a chair and rubbed his forehead in mock despair. “Girls!” he muttered. “I wish your mother was home.”

  “So do I.” Caroline stood uncertainly in front of him. She had never challenged Joe before, had always tried to please him. She still wanted to please him. What was going on here, anyway?