There had been an emptiness in him, though, that had started to fill in. And somehow that had to do with Lolly.
George rewound the wire. “Well, we’re—oh, will you look at this?”
He bent over and ran his fingers over the post. “Someone’s gone and carved something on it.”
“Let me see.” Bud pushed George aside and leaned in close. “Yup. Someone’s carved a cat here.”
“A cat? Now, why on earth would someone do that?” George stood up and dusted his hands off on the back of his overalls.
“Kind-hearted woman.” Suddenly doors flew open and windows came unshuttered in Colin’s mind. “Kind-hearted woman,” he repeated. “That’s what I saw. This was the spot!”
The brothers, he realized, were standing stock-still, staring at him as if he’d totally gone around the bend.
“It’s the hobo sign. It means that a woman lives here who will feed you. A kind-hearted woman.”
“Who? Lolly?” Bud chortled. “Lolly is a kind-hearted woman? You sure didn’t grow up with her.”
“I think she’s a kind-hearted woman,” Colin said.
George held up his hand. “Wait. Say that again.”
“Say what?”
“She’s a kind-hearted woman,” Colin repeated.
“That’s what he was saying,” George said to his brother. “When we brought him into the house, and he kept saying something, and you, doofus, thought he was saying ‘cigarette.’ ”
“Who’s the doofus?” Bud shot back. “You thought he was asking for a cigar.”
“A cigar? I don’t smoke,” Colin said.
“You weren’t very clear when you first got to our house,” George explained, “and we misunderstood what you said. Just forget that part. So you were really saying kind-hearted woman! I would never have guessed.”
Bud snorted. “Especially if he had met Lolly. Her heart’s made of stones and thistles and barbed wire.”
George shushed him and as the two brothers joshed with each other, Colin thought of Lolly and smiled. Kind-hearted woman, indeed!
❧
That night, after the dishes were done and George and Bud were seated in front of the radio listening to the news, Colin and Lolly went for a walk. The sun was low but not set entirely.
“I want to show you something,” Colin said to her, and he led her to the fence post with the carving on it. “This is where I hit my head.”
She tilted her head in confusion. “Yes?”
“Look.” He took her hand and traced the outline of the cat with the heart in it. “It’s the kind-hearted woman sign.”
“Who carved it? You?”
He laughed. “Lolly, if I’d carved it, you wouldn’t be able to tell if it was a cat or an alligator. I don’t know who carved it on here. Someone you’d helped before, I assume.”
“Me?”
“Lolly, you’re the kind-hearted woman. You’re my kind-hearted woman.”
❧
She wrote quickly, leaning over the kitchen counter next to the cake that had just come out of the oven, pouring the words of her imaginary love onto the paper. For some people, perhaps such love existed, but there was no place in her life for flowery phrases and romantic gestures. Yet in her notebook, with a flourish of her pencil, her life could change.
She began again to write the story she wanted to live.
As the letters fell onto the paper, the depression vanished. There was wealth in the land, waterfalls ran silver in the sunlight, flowers lifted sunny heads to the heavens and rejoiced.
And through it all she was happy.
Her hero had no name. Giving him a name would have grounded the dream, limited the scope so that it could never reach as far as it did now.
Her brothers would return soon, bringing both Colin and the dog with them, and her world would burst into crazed activity, with her brothers talking at the same time trying to tell her something they’d found that she probably didn’t even care about, while Colin tried to help her finish supper preparations, and the dog ran in frantic circles around her feet on the off-chance she’d drop something edible.
Her heart flowed onto the page. Love lost, love found. It was the theme she knew really nothing about, but the drama appealed to the romantic in her.
There was a sound behind her, and she quickly closed the little book and stuffed it in her pocket.
“What are you doing?” Bud asked.
She shrugged. She couldn’t lie, but on the other hand, she couldn’t tell him the truth. He’d pester her forever.
“You were doing something.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m always doing something, you know that. Why, do you want to clean the counter for me? Is that what you’re doing in here?” She’d learned a long time ago that the best way to get rid of her brothers was to ask them to do a household chore. They evaporated like water on a skillet in the face of a cleaning rag.
George and Colin were at the door. They had it half-cracked open, and the dog bounded in before she could stop him, a wriggling squirrel in his mouth. He dropped it cheerfully at her feet and chased it around the kitchen, barking as it climbed the Hoosier cabinet, leaped across to the curtains and pulled them down rod and all, ran over the counter, through the cake she’d set out to cool, and down the hall to the bedrooms.
“Bruno!” they shouted in unison. And while she tried to get Bruno out of the house—which he did not want to do, not with a squirrel running loose in the house, a squirrel that he had caught himself, no less—the men tried to shoo the equally excited animal out.
At last the squirrel had been rescued and released, the dog had been pacified with a beef bone, and Lolly slumped as she looked at the cake. The top of it had been torn apart when the squirrel had raced across it, and crumbs littered the countertop. No one could eat it now. She sighed and scraped it into the dog’s dish.
Where was her hero when she needed him the most?
five
The forest is fragranced with green. Deep moss cushions our path, and each footstep releases lush, woodsy aromas that surround us. The trees are in the height of summer glory, each leaf displaying its own variant of green. From the jeweled shrubbery of emerald and jade to the graying patina of lichen on the tree trunks to the dazzling brilliance of bright green grass in a patch of sun through the canopy, we are blessed by the richness of the day, we two, who stroll hand in hand.
August seemed to fly by on winged feet. Each sunlit hour passed entirely too quickly as summer breathed its most fiery breaths in the grand finale of the season.
Every day Colin got stronger, and every day Lolly became more attached to him. From being able to reach the bread plate on the highest cupboard shelf to holding the outside washbasin when she needed to empty it, he had become an integral part of her life.
The question that was never answered—because it was never asked—was what would happen in the future. Would he stay on with them? As much as she’d enjoy having him around, their lives couldn’t stay this way forever. He was living in the old house, a temporary arrangement at best, but it was only a matter of time before the tongues in town would begin to wag, with Hildegard and Amelia leading the way.
And if he chose to leave? That was the worst outcome possible. Where would he go? Back on the road? Living from town to town, shivering his way across a wintry America in search of—in search of what?
She couldn’t bear the thought of him leaving and going back to living as a vagabond. He was flourishing with them. Alone—why, who knew where that lifestyle could lead him?
Would he have a safe place to lay his head at night? Would he have enough to eat? Would he be safe?
Would he miss her?
She cut the thought before it went any further. It wasn’t productive, and it could only make her sad. What she needed to do today was go into town and
do some shopping. George told her the evening before that Martin Jorgens, the grocer, had asked him if she had any eggs she could sell him. He’d run short.
One thing her chickens did was lay eggs, and lots of them. She’d gathered them in a basket lined with a kitchen towel, and asked George to drive her to town.
Colin and Bud were out in the back with Bruno, ostensibly planning a toolshed near the chicken coop, but she was sure they probably were just talking. There was no reason to interrupt them. Plus it was always simply easier to leave someone at home, or else Bruno would chase after the truck until one of her brothers took pity on him and let him ride in the bed of the truck—and then they had the dog to contend with for the rest of the day.
It wasn’t going to be a long trip to town anyway. The eggs had to be delivered quickly, since in this heat they’d run the risk of spoiling. She’d do that first, and then stop at the drugstore to get some aspirin.
The trip to town was pleasant. George wasn’t a big talker, so Lolly was able to roll the window down, lean her head out, and let the air blow on her face and just relax.
“You look just like Bruno right now,” George said.
Lolly pulled her head back into the cab of the truck. “I do not.”
“Well, okay, you’re not drooling and you haven’t barked at any squirrels, but you have the same blissful expression on your face that he does when he sticks his head out the window.”
She laughed. “It does feel wonderful, George, and you should probably try it—sometime when you’re not driving, of course. Especially when it’s this hot, the wind on my face feels great.” She had a sudden terrible thought. “Be honest. Does my hair look all right?”
He snorted. “As much as it ever does.”
Trust a brother not to give an answer that told her any-thing. She tried to check her reflection in the mirror he had rigged up after nearly backing up over the minister one time, but he kept swatting her away. “You’re going to make me drive off the road here. Hey, you’re sticking your elbow in my ear. Ow! Stop it! Your hair’s fine. It’s growing on your head, it’s not purple, what more do you want?”
“Forget it,” she answered. He’d never understand.
“I’ll be at Ruth’s having a cola,” he said. “Meet me there when you’re through.”
She suppressed a smile. Her brother spent a lot of time at Ruth’s Café, most of it talking to Ruth. He could make a single cola last for hours if necessary, although she suspected that Ruth would freshen it as necessary to keep him here.
She waited until he’d parked the truck along the main street before giving her appearance a quick check. No one would ever beg to paint her portrait, but she was presentable.
With her basket of eggs balanced carefully on her arm, she entered the grocery store. The market wasn’t crowded at all. Two women paused at the fruit and vegetable counter and casually examined the celery while chattering away.
Martin Jorgens greeted her. “Oh, Lolly, I’m so glad you’re here. I’m down to the last egg. I hope you brought me at least a dozen.”
“Two dozen, if that’s all right.”
She put the basket on the counter and carefully unfolded the towel that was tucked around the precious cargo. “They all look whole.”
“Lucky, knowing the way George drives,” Martin answered, and they both laughed. George was probably the most sedate driver in Valley Junction. She could probably have put the eggs on the hood of the truck while they rode into town, and the eggs would still be intact.
The women had stopped talking and looked over at her. She recognized them as wives of farmers on the northeast side of town. She didn’t know them well, but she smiled and nodded at them. “Think it’ll cool off ever?”
The women smiled back and one of them said, “I would hope so. Cooling off would do everyone good, I think,” and the other woman laughed before turning her attention to a packet of carrots and saying something under her breath to her companion.
Lolly felt the blood rush to her face. She had no idea what prompted this from these women that she barely knew, but the condescension was obvious.
What could have brought this on? She checked to make sure the hem of her dress wasn’t tucked up behind her and that her shoes matched.
The two women put their heads together and made a great act of pretending to discuss the carrots, but their gazes flitted back to Lolly and they snickered.
Then they laid down the carrots, and both women left together, still smiling over some shared secret.
Martin shook his head. “Biddies,” he muttered as he took the eggs from the basket. “I’m surprised they don’t cackle and lay their own eggs. Come in here every time their husbands visit town, and I’ve yet to sell them a thing. Apparently my products aren’t as highfalutin as what they’d get in Mankato.”
Lolly frowned. “I thought they were talking about me.”
“Probably were,” he said almost cheerfully. “Those two are the kind that aren’t happy unless they have someone else’s arm to chew on. Don’t waste any time on them. They sure won’t waste any on you, unless it’s to find something to talk about.”
“But that’s hardly reassuring,” she answered.
He shrugged. “Lolly, they will talk about you, I can guarantee that. They’ll talk about me. They’ll talk about Ruth over at the café, and Joe at the drugstore. If they see the minister, they’ll talk about him, and if they don’t see him, they’ll still talk about him.”
She laughed. “Point taken.”
“Why some people have to be that way is beyond me. I figure I have enough to do chasing after my own life without getting that picky about everybody else’s life, too. You know, if we all took a page from the Good Book and do unto others, the world would be a right friendlier place.”
“Martin, I feel a lot better!”
She was much happier when she left, the coins from the sale of the eggs jingling in her dress pocket. When she got home, she’d put some aside and drop them into the glass jar she had hidden in the back of her closet. It wasn’t the most original place to hide it, but her brothers weren’t the most original thinkers, so she figured the money was safe.
What she was going to do with it, she had no idea, although the thought of a trip to Paris was lovely. At the rate she was going, she’d have enough saved to go by the time she was two hundred and three.
Her next stop was the drugstore. It was, as always, dark and fragrant with the scent of wintergreen and licorice and alcohol.
Joe Albee called a hello as she walked to the counter. The floor of the pharmacy was made of wide wooden planks and they creaked loudly under her feet. It was all part of the charm of the drugstore.
“What can I get you, Lolly?” he asked.
“Just a box of aspirin today,” she answered.
“Those brothers of yours giving you a headache, are they?” He chuckled as he retrieved the aspirin for her.
“They wouldn’t be my brothers if they weren’t.”
“Those two can do some pretty crazy things, that’s for sure.” He handed her the aspirin. “Here you go. Now, you try not to overheat, you hear me?”
She was probably reading too much into innocent conver-sations, she told herself as she walked toward the café. It was August after all, and it was hot, and people were trying to cool off.
If only she had her notebook with her! This would translate well into the emerging story she was writing. As soon as she got home, she would steal a few minutes away and write this part of the tale.
She strolled to the café, taking her time as she spun the story out in her mind. She was in no hurry. George always dallied at the café to talk to Ruth, and although he might bark at her about how slow she was, she knew he truly didn’t mind.
Maybe she could take some time to window-shop.
The display at Leubner’s Store
featured a woman’s dress in a raucous pattern of yellow and red swirls. Just looking at it made Lolly dizzy. A brooch thick with faux gems caught the matching scarf flung dramatically over one shoulder.
It was undoubtedly out of the price range of most women in Valley Junction, but she knew what would happen.
The dress was one of a kind, the sign below it boasted. The designer’s name wasn’t one she’d heard of, but that didn’t mean much. She wasn’t up on the current fashion scene.
She had time, she realized, to step into Leubner’s and see what the styles were. She made her own dresses, but maybe she could get a few ideas for updating her patterns.
The rotating blades on the ceiling moved the air in the store, but failed to cool it. A young woman stood behind the counter, a Chinese paper fan languidly waving in her hand.
“Afternoon!” she called. She was the daughter of the teacher in Valley Junction, a pretty young woman with elegantly straight hair as black as a raven’s wing. She was in Bud’s class at school, and had always struck Lolly as someone who seemed much older than she undoubtedly was.
“Good afternoon,” Lolly replied.
“Can I show you something?”
“Well, I have to admit that I was drawn in by the dress in the window.”
The young woman nodded. “It’s already sold. But you can take a look at it if you want.”
“Thanks, but it’s not quite my style.”
The clerk laughed. “It’s almost no one’s style.”
Lolly didn’t need to ask who had bought it, or why it was still on display if it had been sold, or what the sales clerk’s comment meant.
The dress on the mannequin was very small. Only a tiny, quite petite woman could wear it.
But in two or three weeks, the dress, Lolly knew, would vanish from the store window and appear on the body of Hildegard Hopper.
The purpose of this artfully engineered ruse was common knowledge in Valley Junction. Hildegard had created it herself.
She had Leubner’s send away for the dress in her size, and when it arrived, the smaller version would disappear. Hildegard had made the slight mistake of confiding her reasoning to one of the store’s earlier and chattier clerks, who had almost immediately left the employ of Leubner’s once the story escaped into the fast-moving environment of Valley Junction’s rumor mill.
Kind-Hearted Woman Page 6