THE HOMEPLACE

by Gilbert, Morris

“None for me, thank you.” Elspeth was staring at a clock over the fireplace. She walked to the mantel. “What a marvelous old clock.”

  “Why, it’s just an old clock that belonged to our grandma,” Davis said.

  Elspeth drew her fingers across the mahogany clock. “This is a John Evans bracket clock.”

  “What does that mean?” Maeva asked.

  “John Evans made some of the finest clocks in England at one time.”

  “Well, it doesn’t run very good anymore,” Cody said. “I tried to fix it, but I couldn’t make it work.”

  “It’s a very fine old piece. I like to see the old things. That’s all I have in my house. I think the new furniture is pretty ugly.”

  The talk went on for some time, but the tension rose in the room. Finally Effie took a deep breath and said, “I’m afraid I don’t have any good news for you.” She forced herself to say the words. “The board met, and Miss Patton and I did all we could, and Mr. Pierce, but we were outvoted.”

  “What does that mean?” Cody demanded. “Does it mean we have to leave here?”

  “I’m afraid it does,” Effie said. She saw her words strike against every face except the baby’s. She had seen fear like this before. Since the stock market crash she had delivered similar bad news to a great many people. It was the worst part of being a banker, and there was nothing she could say that would make things any better.

  Lanie stood up and put Corliss down. Corliss toddled over to Davis, holding up her arms. He picked her up, and she began to touch his face, seeing that he was frowning. She began to whimper.

  “Don’t cry, Corliss, it’ll be all right,” Davis whispered.

  Lanie knew that there was nothing to be done. “Miss Johnson, we all thank you for all the times you helped us when we couldn’t make our payments, and I know if you had your way, it would be different.”

  Effie Johnson looked down. She could not meet the steady gaze of the young woman who, barely out of girlhood brushing against the mysteries of womanhood, had to bear the load for them all. “We’ll be going now.”

  The two women murmured their good-byes and left. They didn’t say a word to each other until they were in the car. After Effie slammed the door harder than necessary, she said, “I’ll get the Baptist folks to praying, and you see what you can do with your Presbyterian bunch.”

  “And I think we’d better go by and tell Sister Myrtle to get her Pentecostals praying.”

  “And the colored church. They’re very fond of these children too.”

  “We’ll see. It’s going to take a miracle if I know Otis Langley!”

  The birthday party was quiet enough, just the family except for Butcher Knife Annie. Davis had brought her, and Maeva made a cake, and all helped make ice cream. But it was a feeble attempt. The presents were small, and everyone was thinking about the last birthday party when everything looked so much brighter.

  Finally Annie said, “It’s gettin’ late. I’d better get home.”

  “I’ll walk home with you, Annie,” Davis said.

  Suddenly Cody said, “You got to remember that we might get out of this thing yet.”

  “No, we won’t,” Lanie said heavily. “It’s all over, Cody.”

  “Don’t you remember before how the angel brought the money? I’ll bet he’ll bring more.”

  Annie, who had turned to go, paused. She was wearing the same ratty old coat and oversized boots that she always wore, and she looked frail, and her expression was filled with pain. “There ain’t gonna be no angel, Cody.”

  “You don’t know that, Annie.”

  “Yes, I do.” Everyone turned to look at Annie, and she dropped her head.

  “It was you, Annie, wasn’t it?” Lanie said. “You’re the one who left the gifts for me and has been putting money out so that we could make our payments. You’re the one!”

  “I wanted to help you,” Annie said in a whisper. She looked up, and they saw the wishes in her eyes. “You’ve been so good to me, but I don’t have no more money.”

  “Don’t you feel bad about that, Annie,” Davis said, putting his arm around her. “We shore appreciate what you done.”

  “I wish I was an angel.” Butcher Knife Annie looked very little like an angel of any sort, but there was love in her eyes. “You’ve been the only people that ever cared about me. If I was an angel, I’d give you this whole blasted town.”

  “I don’t want the whole blasted town,” Maeva burst out. “I just want this place.” She gave a gulping sob, then whirled and left the room.

  “I ain’t seen Maeva cry since she was five years old!” Cody said in awe. “Things are bad to make her squall.”

  “I’d squall myself if it’d help,” Lanie said, “but it won’t. But the Lord’s still the Lord, and He’ll take care of us some way or another.” Her words did not make much of an impression, and she knew they were feeble comfort. “You go ahead and take Annie home, Davis. The rest of us will clean up.”

  “That was pretty nice of old Annie to give us her money,” Cody said after she left. “She ain’t got much.”

  “She may not be an angel of the regular kind,” Lanie said, “but she’s something very special.”

  C H A P T E R 30

  As Roger Langley listened to the conversation his family carried on during dinner, he was struck by a strange impression that he could not explain. Later, as he examined this feeling, he could only describe it as feeling as though he was eating in the family dining room for the first time, though he had eaten hundreds of meals there since childhood. Perhaps his being away at college for a time, and now returning for the spring break, had brought about this strange effect.

  Roger toyed with the steak that he had cut up into tiny fragments, aware that his father was speaking of the Freeman situation. The subject interested him, and he attempted to pull himself out of his alien mood. He glanced around the dining room and was struck by the richness of the furnishings. The enormous room boasted mullioned glass windows at one end that let in the light during the daylight hours. The enormous chandelier over the table served as a surrogate sun during the night. This evening, the golden sunlight illuminated the richness of the Persian carpet beneath the table, which was large enough to seat twelve people with ease. “Well, this carpet cost three thousand dollars,” his father once said, “but it’s worth it. It will last for a lifetime and it could be resold easily enough.”

  Three thousand dollars for a single carpet!

  Roger had put his feet on that carpet hundreds of times and never once thought of how much money he was treading underfoot. His eyes swept the rest of the dining room and paused at the seventeenth-century oak baking cupboard filled with china and silverware, a piece he remembered cost two thousand dollars. An ostentatious gold pattern rimmed the showcased china, imported from France. He did not know the cost of it, but a maid who once broke a piece had been dismissed without references. His eyes moved from the ornate plastered ceiling to the floral curtains to the rich mahogany furniture. The mahogany grandfather clock that boomed out the hours and chimed delicately on the quarter hours caught his attention, and he stared at it. It seemed to transform itself into stacked gold coins. He looked down at the heavy silver fork he was holding in his hand and wondered how much it would cost to replace.

  “I don’t think you should worry about it, dear. Things like that happen during a depression,” his mother said. She was tall and stately in an expensive dress with her fair hair done up in the latest style. Roger stared at his mother and wondered, Have you ever gone without a meal or had to put off buying something because you didn’t have the money? He knew that she never had. She had been born into a wealthy family and married a wealthy husband.

  “Of course you shouldn’t worry about it, Father,” Louise said. “Their situation was impossible from the beginning. How could a group of children keep a household without any parent? You had no other choice.”

  Roger studied his sister. They had always been close, th
ere being only a two-year difference in their ages, and he knew of Louise’s total selfishness. But am I any different? I knew the Freemans were in trouble, but I didn’t do a thing to help them.

  He could keep silent no longer. “I think you ought to reconsider your decision about foreclosure, Dad.”

  Every head at the table turned, and Roger felt like a bug under a microscope. He raised his head defiantly. “After all, it doesn’t mean much to us, but that house is everything to Lanie and her little family.”

  “I can sympathize with the children,” his mother said, “but as Louise said, it’s impossible for them to keep it up. You’ve led a sheltered life, Roger.”

  “I’ve led a sheltered life?” Anger touched Roger. “What about you, Louise? You’ve never wanted for anything in your life.”

  “That’s enough, Roger! Don’t speak to your sister that way,” Otis said. A frown marred his face, and a vein throbbed in the right side of his nose. “You know nothing about the situation.”

  “I know that ‘bunch of kids,’ as you call them, have worked themselves to death trying to make those payments. I know that much. And I think it wouldn’t hurt to show a little Christian charity here. After all, a few late payments won’t break the bank.”

  “That’s enough!” Otis said, an immovable finality in his voice. “You’re not in the real world, Roger. You’re off in college, studying. When you’ve had a little bit of experience, you’ll understand these things better.”

  Roger recalled a picture of a cow and her calf surrounded by a bunch of wolves. It was called Last Stand, and the end was in sight. Though Roger was an easygoing fellow who usually gave in for the sake of family peace, a rebellious streak seemed to touch him now. “I’ve always been proud of our family and proud of your accomplishments, Dad. But I’m not proud of you now.”

  The red vein in Otis Langley’s nose seemed about to burst. He jumped to his feet and shouted, “I’ll not have any of your insolence at this table or anywhere else! You’re excused, Roger!”

  Roger stood, his face pale. “Thank you, Dad, it’s good to be excused from a situation like this.”

  He walked toward the door and did not even pause when his father shouted, “And don’t you come back until you’ve changed your attitude, do you hear me?”

  Otis heard the front door slam, and he stood there for a moment trying to regain his composure. “What’s got into that boy?”

  “Oh, he’ll be all right, Father. He’s just young and idealistic,” Louise said. “Now sit down and finish your dinner.”

  “That’s right, dear,” his wife said. “You were probably the same way when you were his age.”

  “He’s had everything handed to him. No one ever gave me anything,” Otis said. “He’ll have to change his ways and grow up a little bit before he gets out in the world.”

  The March wind brushed red strokes across Roger’s face. He had left the house furious and walked, waiting for his anger to subside, but if anything he grew more upset. He reviewed the explosion—for he could call it no less—numerous times and knew that when he faced his father again an apology would be expected.

  “He’ll wait a long time if he waits for me to apologize,” Roger muttered. Even as he spoke, a solution came into his mind. “It’s one thing to talk, but that’s all I’ve ever done. Now I’m going to do something!” He changed direction and walked swiftly across town, thinking hard until he arrived at the Freeman house. Without pausing, he walked right up on the front porch and knocked firmly on the front door. He could hear voices from within, and finally the door opened. He found himself facing Lanie, who was holding Corliss, wrapped in a blanket. “Why—Roger!”

  “Lanie, I need to talk to you. Can I come in?”

  “Of course.” Stepping back, Lanie allowed him to pass. “I should tell you though that Corliss is sick. It may be contagious.”

  “I’ll take the chance. What seems to be the matter with her?” Roger came closer. “She looks like she’s got a fever.”

  “She has, and it’s getting worse.”

  “What does the doctor say?”

  “We haven’t called the doctor yet.”

  “Why not?”

  Lanie did not answer, and Roger understood it was a matter of money. “Look, she needs to see a doctor. Which doctor do you want?”

  “No, Roger, we don’t have the money.”

  “Well, I do,” Roger said firmly. “Which doctor would you like?”

  “Dr. Merritt, but I couldn’t let you pay the bill.”

  “I doubt if he would charge you, but if he does, I’ve got the money to pay it. But before I go, I want to talk to you about something.”

  “Come on into the living room. It’s warmer in there.” The two walked into the living room, and Roger saw an elderly lady whom he did not know. He had heard about her, though, and when Lanie introduced her as her Aunt Kezia, he nodded and smiled. “I’ve heard about you, Miss Freeman.”

  “What have you heard?”

  The question came so sharply that Roger could not answer. “Well, nothing much.”

  “I guess you heard I was an eccentric old lady. Well, I am. Your name’s Roger?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “How old are you?”

  Roger blinked. “Nineteen, ma’am.”

  “Where do you work?”

  “I’m not working right now. I’m in college.”

  “Oh, what are you gonna do when you get out of that place?”

  “I suppose I’ll go to work in my father’s business.”

  “Is that what you want to do?”

  “No, it’s not.”

  The answer was out before Roger could evaluate it, and he stood there shocked by his own honesty. He had never said as much to a living soul, but the old lady’s aggressiveness disarmed him. “Well, that is, I don’t think I’d like it very much.”

  “Do what you want to, boy. It’s your life, not your father’s.”

  “Aunt Kezia, stop telling people what to do,” Lanie said.

  “That boy needs some help. Don’t you see it? Look at him. He don’t know whether to run in circles, scream, or shout.”

  Roger laughed. “That’s right, Miss Freeman. I have been thinking a lot about my life lately, and I appreciate your input.”

  “What did you want to talk to me about, Roger? Would you like to talk to me alone?”

  “Why would he want to talk to you alone?” Aunt Kezia demanded.

  “Anything he can say to you, he can say to me.” She turned to Roger and said, “You wasn’t aimin’ to speak rudely, were you?”

  “Oh, no!” Roger said. “And I don’t mind speaking in front of you, Miss Freeman. The fact is, Lanie, I’ve got some money. Enough, at least, to make one payment on this house.”

  Lanie stared at Roger. For him to make this offer after his father had behaved so badly touched her greatly. “That’s so sweet of you, Roger.” She smiled warmly. “And it’s like you. I don’t know anybody else who would do such a thing.”

  “Oh, lots of fellows would do it.”

  “What would your family think about this?”

  Roger thought about the anger in his father’s voice and knew it would be magnified a hundredfold if word of Roger’s plan reached his ears. He smiled wanly. “Well, Dad and I don’t see eye-to-eye on this thing. I’ve talked to him and tried to get him to be more lenient, but . . .”

  Lanie saw the whole situation then, and she held Corliss tighter and said, “I think it’s wonderful of you to take our side.”

  Roger looked down at the floor. “You know,” he said quietly, “it’s the first time I ever stood against my father in my whole life.”

  “It’s good to obey your parents, boy, as long as your parents are right,” Aunt Kezia said. “But if they ain’t, smash ’em in the mouth! Not really, of course. What I mean is be sure you’re right, then go ahead.

  That was Crockett that said that, the fellow that died in the Alamo.”

&nbs
p; “That’s a good motto, Miss Freeman,” Roger said. “What about it, Lanie?”

  Lanie was tempted, but she knew it must not be. “No, I can’t let you do it. It wouldn’t solve the problem, Roger. Next month we’ll face the same thing all over again. But it’s wonderful that you made the offer.”

  Roger tried to persuade Lanie, but he saw that it was impossible. “I can at least do one thing. I’m going to get the doctor.”

  “Get Merritt, not that old fogy,” Aunt Kezia commanded.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Roger smiled. “Merritt it is.”

  As soon as Roger stepped inside the door, he was accosted by Nurse Bertha Pickens. “What’s wrong with you, Roger?”

  “I need to see the doctor.”

  “Have you got a pain somewhere?”

  “It’s private.”

  “You can tell me,” Bertha said. “I’ve heard everything.”

  Roger smiled. “Not this time, Miss Bertha. It’s not really my affair, but I do need to see Dr. Merritt.”

  “I’ll see if he’ll talk to you.” Bertha walked into the inner office. She came back almost at once and sniffed. “You can go see him now, but I still say you could’ve told me what the problem is.”

  Roger stepped through the door and halted, for his sister Louise was standing inside. “Why, Roger, what are you doing here?” she asked. “I need to talk to Dr. Merritt for a moment.”

  “What’s the matter? Are you sick?” She placed the back of her hand on his forehead. “You haven’t said anything.”

  “No, I’m not sick.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were after the way you behaved at the dinner table.”

  Roger clamped his lips together, resolved to say nothing, at least not in front of Louise. Finally he gave Owen Merritt a look, and Owen said, “Would you excuse us, Louise?”

  “Now really, Owen, he is my brother. If he’s sick, we need to know about it.”

  Resentment boiled up in Roger. Ignoring her, he said, “Dr. Mer-ritt, Corliss Freeman is very sick.”

  “Sick? What’s wrong with her?” Owen asked with surprise. “I didn’t know anything about this.”