The Widow's Choice

by Gilbert, Morris

  “I think that’s possible. He’s worked very hard, but—”

  “We cannot have that, Alona. It’s very important for any young man to be well founded in arithmetic and the sciences.”

  “Perhaps we could hire a tutor to help him.”

  “No need to do that. I’ve always been good at figures. I’ll take some time with him.” He put the paper down and folded his hands over his chest. “School’s almost out, but he’s got all summer. I’ll make out a schedule for him.”

  “What kind of a schedule?”

  “A tutoring schedule for the summer. Students who are weak in an area have to study in the summer.”

  “How would you do that?”

  “Why, I would get him extra books, and I could have him stay inside each morning to study, and then in the evenings I could go over what he’s done.”

  Alona’s heart sank. It was exactly the sort of thing she did not want to see happen. “I’m not sure that would be best.”

  For the first time Oscar showed the stubbornness and resistance that was in him when he was crossed. “Look, Alona, I know we both want what’s best for Tim, but in this case I think I am the better judge.”

  “Tim doesn’t take very well to being punished.”

  “Punishing him! I’m not punishing him!” Oscar exclaimed. “You should see that.”

  The argument became more tense, and Oscar was absolutely unbending.

  “I’m not unreasonable,” he persisted, “but you can surely see that Tim will have to have extra help.” He got to his feet then, saying curtly, “I’m going to bed.” He crossed the room but suddenly turned back around. “Oh, Mrs. Darrow told me about the problem with the dog.”

  “Yes, we did have a disagreement over that.”

  “She said the dog came in the house and tracked the floor up.”

  Alona knew there was trouble brewing. “We’ve always let Buddy come in the house. The boys are very fond of him and so am I.”

  “From now on we’ll have to keep him outside and tied up, I’m afraid.”

  “No, Oscar. We won’t.”

  His mouth drew into a tight line. “Alona, you’re being very unreasonable.”

  “I don’t think I am. I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me, Oscar, but Buddy is a beloved pet. I think it’s cruel to tie up a large dog like that. If you insist, we will keep him out of the house. It’s not what I want, but I’ll agree to that. But I won’t have him tied up.”

  A flush touched Oscar’s cheeks, and Alona knew he was very angry. “I hope we don’t have any more difficulties about this,” she said. “I’ll agree that Buddy can’t come in the house if you agree that he doesn’t have to be tied up.”

  For a moment, it seemed that Oscar would argue, but he finally nodded shortly. “Very well. We’ll compromise on that, but Tim is going to have to do extra work this summer. I’m adamant about that.”

  Alona’s hands were trembling by the time Oscar left the room. She hated confrontation. She went outside and walked down the block, allowing herself time to regain her composure. Overhead the stars were bright, and the night breeze was warm. It was a beautiful night, but she was not feeling peaceful. I’ll have to talk to Tim before Oscar does, she thought. He’s not going to like this one bit!

  ****

  Tim threw himself down at the base of the huge magnolia tree that rose up from the back corner of Oscar’s property. Buddy came up at once and tried to get onto his lap, but Tim pushed him away roughly. “Get away, Buddy! You’re too big to be a lap dog.” His tone of voice offended Buddy, who plopped down facing the other direction. Tim reached over and began to stroke his back. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” he said. “Don’t be mad.”

  He closed his eyes and rested his head back against the rough surface of the tree trunk. He had left the house after lunch—which he had hardly touched. He just didn’t feel like eating much these days. Carl and Zac had gone to explore the creek with the pastor’s boys, but he had been forced to stay home all morning working on his math. On a Saturday! Oscar said he wouldn’t have to do schoolwork every Saturday, but he wanted him to work extra hard these first couple of weeks so he could slack off a little later in the summer. On the first day of summer vacation, Oscar had lectured him about the importance of math and the sciences. He had bought several new textbooks and a supply of paper and pencils. Now as each summer day passed away, Tim was growing more and more unhappy.

  A noise overhead caused him to open his eyes, and he looked up into the tree and saw a red squirrel perched on a limb, sitting up and staring straight at him. The animal’s bright eyes were fixed, and he folded his paws as he considered the boy and the dog beneath him as if they were some exotic species.

  “Hello, squirrel,” Tim said. Buddy jumped up and broke into a furious symphony of wild barking at the squirrel. The squirrel did not move but just stared down at Buddy, who frantically ran around the base of the tree.

  Tim had to smile, for Buddy had been chasing squirrels all of his life. He had never caught one, but he never seemed to understand that he never would.

  “You’re not going to catch any squirrels, and I’m not going to get this dumb old arithmetic, not ever!” Tim stood up and picked up a rock, then threw it at the squirrel, which scolded him and disappeared high up into the tree.

  “Come on, Buddy. Let’s go back to the house.” Buddy reluctantly gave up his futile chase and looked up at Tim, who reached over and fondled his tulip-shaped ears, enjoying their velvety softness. As he did, he looked back and saw that the squirrel had reappeared. A thought came to him, and he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a small tablet and a pencil. Sitting down under the tree again, he then began to sketch the squirrel. The pencil moved rapidly and a sense of peace came over him. He had never analyzed it before, but he now realized that he always felt best when he was sketching or painting. When he finished the drawing, he said, “I can do better than that.”

  He stuffed the notebook and pencil back into his pocket and headed back toward the house. “I wish we lived back in our old place,” he muttered. “Then I wouldn’t have to waste all summer doing this old math.”

  His eyes brightened when he saw Jason’s car parked out front. Jason was the one person he could talk to about art, and now he hurried into the house. He found Jason in the parlor with his mother.

  “Hi, Jason,” Tim said. “I just drew a picture of a squirrel. Look.”

  Jason took a good look at the drawing. “That’s good, Tim. The head’s not quite in proportion, but you’ve done the eyes real well. It’s hard to make eyes seem alive.”

  “Let me see.” Alona took the sketch and studied it. “It’s a miracle to me how people can draw anything. I couldn’t draw a realistic-looking picture if my life depended on it.”

  “Do you want to see some of the other sketches I’ve done this week, Jason? They’re up in my room.”

  “I’d love to.” The two left the parlor and went up to Tim’s room. It was neat enough, with the bed made and most of the clothes hung up. The easel that Jason had given him stood in the corner by the window. It was old and they had had to reinforce it, but Tim loved it.

  Jason examined the painting that was on the easel. It was the scene that Tim saw when he stood at the easel and looked out the window at the back yard. “I like what you’ve done with the texture of the grass here, Tim,” he commented. “And the shadows from the tree are really nice.”

  “Thanks, Jason. Now I have to figure out how to do the bark on the tree.”

  “That’s not easy, as you know.” Jason gave him some pointers about how to get the texture right and then looked at the sketches Tim had done recently.

  “I wish I could go to art school when I get out of high school.”

  “Maybe you can.”

  “Oscar would never let me do that. He wants all of us to go into business.”

  Jason was well acquainted with Oscar’s views on the arts. “You know, I have a frien
d who’s an artist. Jake lives about thirty miles from here. Maybe sometime this summer you and I could go over and see him. We could take some of your drawings and get his ideas.”

  “A real artist! Gosh, he wouldn’t want to see my stuff.”

  “I think he might. He’s not like some artists. He’s a prize-fighter too.”

  “A boxer?” Tim asked with astonishment. “And an artist at the same time?”

  “Well, he doesn’t paint when he’s in the ring. He’s a pretty tough fellow. He was in the navy with me. The boxing champion of the middleweight division. Even though he’s a tough fellow, he likes to paint. But his painting is something you ought to see. He’s even got a few of his pieces in museums now. Would you like to go?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Great. I’ll see what I can arrange.” He saw the boy’s eyes shine with excitement and winked. “And maybe when you get rich and famous, you’ll remember your old friend Jason. Okay?”

  Tim stayed in his bedroom painting while Jason went down to the parlor to talk to Alona. He found her at the piano working out the descant part for Sunday’s choir anthem. He told her about his idea of taking Jason to meet his artist friend.

  “It would have to be some afternoon, Jason. Oscar insists that Tim work on his studies most of the morning.”

  “And I’d have to get off work too. I’ll see if I can arrange something.”

  “That would be great.”

  Jason looked at the music Alona had been working on. “That’s a nice anthem. I still feel odd about going to church, but I do love singing in the choir.”

  “So do I,” Alona said. She suddenly sensed that Jason’s mood had changed. “Are you terribly unhappy, Jason?”

  “I’m not sure about terribly, but I ought not to complain.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I’m not the only one who’s unhappy.”

  Her eyes opened with surprise. “I hope that doesn’t show on me too much.”

  “I think people like us who aren’t really happy learn how to cover up pretty well.”

  “I really have no reason to be unhappy. The boys are being well taken care of. I’ve got a good home. I’m ashamed to complain.”

  “So am I,” Jason said, a weariness in his voice. “Oscar pulled me out of the pit. I might even be dead now if he hadn’t. I was on my way to something really bad.”

  “I know. I feel ungrateful. Oscar’s my husband, and that’s all there is to it.”

  Mrs. Darrow stepped into the parlor. “I’m going to the store,” she said. “Do you need anything?”

  “No, I don’t think so, Mrs. Darrow. Thank you.”

  As the door closed Jason shrugged his shoulders. “Oscar will probably get a report about us.”

  “What do you mean, Jason?”

  “Haven’t you discovered yet that she tells Oscar about everything that goes on around here? She makes everything sound awful. She’ll be telling him how we were all alone in here today.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I was just playing the piano and you came in here to find me.”

  “I know that and you know that, but she’ll make it sound like something else. She’s got a tongue long enough to sit in here and lick the skillet in the kitchen.”

  Alona laughed at the image. “It’ll be all right,” she said. “By the way, I don’t know how to thank you for the attention you’ve given to Tim. You know you’re the only bright spot in his life these days. Thank you so much.”

  “Don’t mention it. He’s a good kid.” He stood up. “Listen, I’ll let you get back to your music.”

  “I’ll see you at dinner tonight.” Alona turned back to the piano as he left the room. As she played the descant part, she was thinking of Jason and what a tragic waste his life was. She was also aware that just talking honestly with him had brought a glow of pleasure to her. Startled at the thought, she closed the lid over the keys and sat quietly staring across the room. I’ll have to be more careful, she thought.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Tim’s Admirer

  The summer of 1941 was miserable for Tim Jennings. His stepfather relentlessly kept him at home every morning until eleven o’clock working on science and mathematics. The studying produced only one real result—Tim learned to hate the subjects even more than he had before! The tension between Tim and Oscar Moran grew all summer, for Oscar was convinced that Timothy could do the work but refused out of pure stubbornness.

  Tim, in fact, had not spent his entire mornings on the books and problems Oscar laid out. He worked at it until his mind seemed to rebel, and then, despite Mrs. Darrow’s frequent visits to assure that he was busy, Tim found other things to do. He kept sketch pads in the drawer of the big desk, and when his mind became too saturated in numbers to think, he would ease one out under his papers and draw sketches. He also kept novels handy, which he had learned to keep well hidden from Mrs. Darrow. He finished They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? and How Green Was My Valley, both of which he loved, and even waded through For Whom the Bell Tolls, which he hated.

  He also listened to popular music, keeping the radio turned down and shutting it off when he heard Mrs. Darrow’s distinctive footsteps in the hallway. He learned to hum along with “I’ll Never Smile Again,” sung by a young man named Frank Sinatra; “When You Wish Upon a Star,” from Walt Disney’s film Pinocchio; and his favorite, “You Are My Sunshine,” by Jimmie Davis.

  Throughout the summer he kept close track of the war in Europe, listening to the newscasts on the radio. The big shock came on June twenty-second when Adolf Hitler, to the astonishment of the world, invaded the Soviet Union, despite a nonaggression pact signed with that country in 1939. The German army struck with all its force, and all summer long the two giants struggled. The Nazis circled Leningrad, and Hitler announced that he would starve the city to death. Hitler also announced that all Jews in Germany would be forced to wear the Star of David, and rumors had begun leaking out of Europe about terrible things happening to Jews confined to ghettos.

  Despite Tim’s secret activities, the summer was miserable for him. He had stopped speaking to Oscar except when spoken to, and the warfare between the two seemed unending. Alona tried to get Tim to modify his attitude toward his stepfather, but he found no reason to do so.

  Once during the height of summer he was sitting with his mother in the back yard under the arbor when a large flock of crows flew over. “Mom, do you remember what Dad always said about crows?”

  “Yes. He said when you see large numbers of crows in the summer it’s a raincrow summer.”

  “And he said a raincrow summer meant something bad was going to happen.”

  “That’s just an old superstition, Tim.”

  “I’m not so sure about that. It was a raincrow summer just before Dad died. Maybe something else bad is going to happen this year.”

  Alona leaned over and put her arm around Tim. “We’re not going to believe that old wives’ tale. Put it out of your mind.” Despite her brave words, she could not watch the crows without a twinge of fear.

  ****

  Finally the summer dragged itself out, and Tim was actually excited for school to start again. One day during the first week of school, he hurried home to read a new book about painting he had checked out of the library. His brothers had gone to play baseball in the park.

  Tim walked along the broad street that led to Oscar’s house. He never thought of it as his house or his mother’s house but always Oscar’s house. He was almost past a large brick house with an enormous yard, and even a barn out back, when he heard his name being called. Turning, he saw Helen Arnette inside the fenced yard, playing with a large German shepherd. Tim stopped and said, “Did you call me?”

  “Yes. Come here.”

  He walked over to the gate opposite Helen. She was, without a doubt, the most popular girl in his school, and probably the prettiest as well, with pretty blond hair and blue eyes. Tim was surprised she even knew his name. There was a small group of students fro
m well-to-do families that hung out together, and Tim never expected to be invited into that group.

  “Hi, Tim.” Helen smiled. “How do you like my dog? His name’s Chip.”

  “He looks like Rin Tin Tin, the dog in the movies.”

  “He does, doesn’t he? He’s supposed to be a guard dog, but he’s nothing but a pushover.” She patted Chip’s head, and he licked her hand, then reared up on the fence. Tim reached out his hand tentatively and stroked the big dog’s head. “We’ve got a collie named Buddy.”

  “Does he look like Lassie?”

  “Sure does. He’s a beautiful dog, but he’s a little sensitive.”

  “What do you mean sensitive?”

  “I mean if you scold him, he goes off and pouts.”

  Helen laughed. She had a nice laugh, and her eyes sparkled. “It’s hard to believe that a dog would pout. What does he do? How can you tell?”

  “Oh, it’s easy enough to tell. If he’s in the house, he goes to a corner, flops down, and sticks his nose in the corner of the wall. He doesn’t move until we go over and make a fuss over him.”

  “I think that’s funny. I never knew a dog could be sensitive like that. You’re not, are you, Chip?” She ruffled the dog’s head. “Why don’t you come in? Mom just made some cookies.”

  Tim was surprised at the invitation but quickly said, “That’d be keen! I love cookies. My mom makes the best in the world.”

  “No she doesn’t. Mine does. When you have one, you’ll see.”

  Tim followed Helen into the house. “You smell that?” she asked as they stepped inside.

  “I sure do.”

  “Mom’s probably still in the kitchen.”

  Tim followed Helen down a long hallway. It was a big house, and he couldn’t believe the number of paintings on the walls. “You’ve got lots of paintings,” he remarked.

  “Oh, my mother loves art—especially paintings.”

  Tim paused to examine one of the paintings. “Why, this is an original—not a print.”