Perhaps she would make a decent businesswoman after all.
Chapter Nine
On Tuesday afternoon Al pulled his car down the long driveway of the house where he and Millie lived. He could not call it home, because this giant, hulking structure would never replace the comfortable place where they’d lived and raised their family together. No matter what Millie said, he would always think of this as the Updyke house, after the family that had built it more than a century ago and then unloaded it on him.
He parked beside her car in the wide space at the end of the crumbling driveway. No garage, of course. Yet another sacrifice he’d made for his wife. Come winter when they had to bundle up like Eskimos, brave the icy elements, and scrape frozen snow off of their windshields, she’d be sorry. For his part, he would swallow a thousand I told you so’s and suffer his lot in silence. At least, that was his intention now. When the time came and frostbite threatened, he might not be able to resist the occasional comment, just in case she didn’t remember on her own.
The French doors leading from the dining room onto the porch—or verandah, as Millie insisted on calling it—opened, and his wife appeared in the doorway.
“Albert!” she called as he slid out from behind the wheel. “What are you doing home at two o’clock in the afternoon? Are you sick?”
Rufus bounded into the yard, barking his usual enthusiastic greeting. Al bent to deliver the expected pat on the head. Satisfied, the dog trotted back to the porch.
“I’m fine.” Al closed the front car door and opened the back. “The more I thought about those squirrels, the less work I got done. Something must be done.”
“Justin is taking care of the attic. He’s been up there all morning.”
“I know that. I’m going to reclaim our yard. Give me a hand, would you?”
He pulled out a half-dozen shepherd’s hooks and gave the rounded ends to her. “Let’s take them over there, by the gazebo.”
Rufus trotted beside her as she walked backward across the yard, carrying her half of their burden.
“Are you planning to do some landscaping?”
“No, these are for my birdfeeders.”
She glanced at the empty feeders dangling from the wooden eaves of the gazebo.
“They’re too easy for the squirrels to access there,” he said before she could comment. “I might as well set out a pan of squirrel food and ring a dinner bell. But that stops today.”
They deposited the hooks on the ground and returned to the car, where Al opened the trunk to display several twenty-five pound bags of birdseed.
Millie inspected the contents. “Goodness. You must have emptied the store’s shelves. And what’s that?”
“It’s a squirrel trap.” Al lifted out a wire cage and held it up for her inspection. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of searching the Internet before. These traps come highly recommended. They’re easy to use, and they come in different sizes depending on the animal you want to catch.”
A frown appeared on her face. “The poor squirrels won’t be hurt, will they?”
Of course that would be his soft-hearted wife’s primary concern.
“Not at all,” he assured her. “The traps are completely humane. Here. Grab a couple.”
He handed her a cage for each hand and carried four more across the yard himself. When those were deposited on the ground next to the hooks, they returned for a second load.
“Albert, how many traps did you get?”
He answered while giving her another pair. “Ten. I had to go to three stores.”
When the cages had been piled on the ground, he stood back and surveyed the area. The grass grew thick here, surprising since shade from the tall, ancient trees cast a deep shadow over this entire part of the yard. He’d worked for a month to clear weeds from this one patch, and his efforts showed in a healthy blanket of lawn. Fifty yards away, at the back of the property, sunlight shone on the surface of the pond. One huge oak on the far end stooped low over the water’s edge, and a stand of cattails grew at the opposite end.
Al placed a hand on the post of the gazebo and gave it a shake. Nice and solid. The porch swing inside was in decent shape too. Could use some sanding and a coat of sealant, but then it would be a nice place to sit on a lazy Sunday afternoon and watch the birds flit from feeder to feeder.
“I like it here,” he said.
Delight lit her face. “You mean this house?”
“Definitely not.” He glanced at the towering, multi-angled roof of the structure behind them. “I mean this part of the yard with the gazebo.”
“Oh.” Disappointment showed in the way her shoulders drooped. “Well, at least there’s something you like about our home.”
Her smile held a touch of false bravado, and an answering stab of guilt pricked Al’s conscience. But he would not pretend to an attitude he did not hold. Why in the world was his wife so fond of that old house?
“Do you need help?” She swept her hand to include the materials piled around them. “I was just getting ready to put paint stripper on the staircase handrail.”
“Go ahead.” He scanned the tree branches above them through narrowed eyes. “I have an appointment with some pests.”
When she headed toward the house, Rufus, who had been dozing in a patch of sunlight, leaped to his feet. He hesitated, his eyes going from Millie to Al, clearly torn. But in a contest between the two of them, there was no doubt of the outcome. He trotted inside after Millie.
After a mental survey of the area, Al laid out a plan.
Ninety minutes later, Millie heard the back door bang shut.
“Millie, I’m finished. Come and see.”
Setting her gooey scraper on a stained piece of newspaper, she descended the stairs and met Albert in the kitchen doorway. An eager spark danced in his eyes and his forehead—which was far more exposed than it used to be beneath a rapidly diminishing shock of gray hair—glowed bright red.
“You should have worn a hat.” She placed a cool hand on his flushed skin. “You’ve got a sunburn.”
“Never mind that. Come see what I’ve done.”
He grabbed her hand and tugged. Trailing behind him, she couldn’t help but grin at his enthusiasm. This was the first project about which he’d been truly eager since they left Mulberry Avenue. If only he’d tackle the minor repair jobs she assigned him with as much energy.
When she stepped out onto the verandah, her feet came to a halt on the flagstones. The sight before her was truly impressive.
Hideous, but impressive.
A double line of shepherd hooks protruded from the grass in the exact center of the open space, a birdfeeder dangling from each one. The base of each had been braced with a pile of large rocks and even a few bricks. Ugly wire cages had been positioned on the ground near every hook, and also at the foot of the four largest trees. A breeze blew the unmistakable odor of peanut butter in her direction. At her feet, Rufus lifted his nose and sniffed the air.
“It looks… ” She grasped for a description. “Very effective.”
“Oh, it’ll be effective,” he assured her. “Look at this.”
She followed him into the yard and together they approached the nearest hook.
“These are six feet,” he said, “too tall for a squirrel to jump from the ground.”
Privately, Millie wondered if that were so. From the kitchen window she’d seen squirrels perform some impressive acrobatics.
Albert knelt and pointed out the iron rod. “I’ve coated them with cooking grease so the squirrels can’t climb. And look inside the traps. Those are halved apples covered in peanut butter”—he grinned and finished with a note of triumph—“and sprinkled with birdseed.”
“That would certainly tempt me if I were a squirrel.”
Really, these cages scattered about made the place look like a junkyard. They quite spoiled the natural beauty of the lawn. Imagine what their guests would think if the B&B were open for business. She bit
down on her lower lip and ventured a question. “How long will you leave the traps up?”
“As long as it takes.” He shielded his eyes with a hand and scanned the treetops. “Since we have so many living here, it shouldn’t be long before we catch a few.”
A question came to mind, though she was almost afraid to ask. Hunters ate squirrels, didn’t they? “What will you do with the ones you trap?”
“Release them on the far side of the county.” A look of grim satisfaction settled on his face. “I’m thinking the mayor over in Morleyville needs some squirrels in his yard. That should make Jerry happy.”
She was so relieved she didn’t even chide him for the unkind thought.
Millie stood before the stove, browning hamburger for spaghetti. Through the kitchen window she kept an eye on Albert, who had not budged from the gazebo swing for the past hour. Once or twice she thought he might have fallen asleep, but his head did not nod. Instead, he watched the cages with the same intent stare of a cat stalking a mouse. Rufus, whom she had kicked out of the house half an hour ago to get some air, lay unmoving in the grass not far away.
A cardinal winged in to land on the far feeder and pecked at the seed. Well, that should make her husband happy, anyway. Nothing else seemed to lately. She smashed pink meat violently against the bottom of the skillet. Had she made a mistake convincing him to buy this house? She’d been so certain it was the right thing to do and that Albert would come around after they moved in. Instead, everything had gone wrong from the very beginning.
Unaccustomed to a melancholy mood, Millie brushed a bit of moisture from her cheek. Her deepest desire was to make a happy home for her family. When the children were little it had been so much easier. Make sure the chores got done and the kids got to ball practice and dance lessons on time, cook a family meal every night, oversee the homework. But now, the only “homework” they had was on a house that she loved and her husband tolerated. If only she could think of something to do to make him happy here.
Outside, the bird took flight. Albert heaved himself out of the swing and approached the house with a quick step. Millie brushed at her eyes and greeted him with a smile when he entered.
“I think I’m spooking them by sitting out there. I’ve seen a couple in the trees, but not a single one has come down to the ground.”
“Then why don’t you chop these peppers for me?” She pointed him toward the cutting board on the counter. “We can watch through the window.”
He had no sooner picked up the knife when he jerked to attention, his gaze fixed on something outside. “Finally.”
Coming to his side, Millie watched as a squirrel leaped from the trunk of one of the big trees, clearing the trap by several feet, and landed in the grass. It rose, tail twitching, and cocked its head sideways.
“It sees Rufus.” Millie realized she was whispering, which was silly since they were inside.
“He doesn’t see it.” Annoyance colored Albert’s tone. “That dog sleeps through everything except his supper.”
The squirrel lowered to all fours and scampered across the yard to stop before the nearest wire cage. It inspected the opening, and even put its head inside.
“It smells the peanut butter,” Albert said.
“There’s another one over there.” She pointed out a second squirrel making its cautious way toward one of the other traps.
Eyes gleaming, Albert turned a wide smile on her. He rubbed his hands briskly together. “We’ve got them now.”
Squirrel number one stalked around the cage to the rear, nearest the bait. They watched as it reached through the wire grating in a vain attempt to get the apple.
Beside her, Albert chortled. “Do you think I’m stupid enough to put it where you can reach it, rodent? You have to go inside to get the food.”
The second squirrel ignored the traps completely. It scurried to the base of a shepherd’s hook and rose, eyeing the feeder suspended above its head.
“What’s wrong with that one? The Internet said squirrels love apples.” He rubbed his reddened forehead with a distracted gesture. “Maybe I should have gotten corn.”
“Apparently it has a taste for birdseed,” Millie said.
Al folded his arms. “Just try and get it, pest.”
With no warning, the squirrel jumped. It landed on the pole about a foot and a half off the ground. Its front paws grasped the iron, and the creature dangled there for barely a second before sliding down to the ground.
Al shouted a triumphant “Ha!”
Undeterred, the animal leaped again, grappled for a hold, and again slipped down the pole. Retreating a few feet, it turned and surveyed the iron rod, tail twitching, before making a third attempt.
Chuckling, Millie watched as the poor squirrel clung with all fours only to slide again to the ground. “We should be videoing this for the grandkids.”
Albert pointed, his rich laughter filling the kitchen. “Look, it’s going to try a running start.”
Sure enough, the squirrel darted backward several feet, turned, twitched its tail, and raced toward the pole. It managed to gain a height of almost three feet and wrapped all four paws tightly in a desperate attempt to stay in place. The inevitable downward slide sent both Albert and Millie into hysterical fits.
Squirrel number one abandoned its inspection of the trap and scuttled across the grass, coming to a stop not far from its cohort.
“He’s gaining an audience,” Millie managed to say between giggles.
“He’s persistent, I’ll give him that.” Albert shook his head and wiped at his eyes.
Number two rubbed its front paws together with quick, jerky gestures, apparently trying to rid them of grease, and executed another impressive leap. Millie and Albert collapsed against each other, howling.
After a dozen or more attempts, the squirrel conceded defeat. With a final shake of its bushy tail, it sprinted across the grass, leaped onto a tree trunk, and disappeared in the canopy of leaves. Number one, apparently not willing to risk the same humiliation, followed closely behind.
Albert regained control of himself, though a wide grin remained on his face. At the sight Millie’s heart lightened. It had been too long since they laughed together.
“I’m not giving up on the traps yet,” he said, “but if I stock up on cooking grease, at least my feeders will be safe. Look.”
The cardinal had returned, and this time she’d brought a friend. The two fluttered to a landing on either end of a birdhouse-shaped feeder and proceeded to enjoy a quiet meal.
“I’m glad.” Millie slipped her arm around his waist. If she bided her time, the traps would disappear eventually.
They stood side by side watching the birds, when a sudden movement jerked Millie’s gaze to the side. The squirrel had returned, but this time—
“I don’t believe it.” Albert placed both hands on the edge of the sink and leaned forward until his face was inches from the window. “That squirrel flew.”
“Not flew,” she said. “It jumped.”
As they watched, a second squirrel dropped from the tree branches. It landed on the side of the nearby feeder and scrabbled for a hold while the container swung wildly and birdseed scattered. The two cardinals took off. A trio of new squirrels ran down a nearby tree trunk, descending in a normal way. They darted across the grass to take up positions beneath the hooks while the daredevils showered them from above with seed.
“Look at your dog.” Albert pointed at Rufus, who had finally awakened.
His head came up and, after a quick look at the unusual activity in the yard, he leaped to his feet and bolted toward the house. A second later they heard a scratching and plaintive whine at the back door.
A flush spread across Albert’s face, overtaking the sunburn and turning it purple. “That settles it. Tomorrow I’m ordering wildcat urine.”
He stomped away before Millie recovered enough to reply.
Chapter Ten
A knock sounded on Jerry’s off
ice door. He folded up the softball chart and slid it beneath a book on the edge of his desk. Just last night Cindie had accused him of being obsessed with this ballgame, and in a remote corner of his mind he feared she may be right. But every time he tried to tell himself It’s just a game, Theo’s smirk loomed large in his mind. If only he could wipe that arrogant expression off the man’s face just one time.
Pride goeth before a fall.
Jerry squirmed in his desk chair. His grandmother used to quote that scripture. But it wasn’t pride behind his desire to beat the pants off of Theo Fitzgerald. Was it?
“Come on in.”
The door opened and two women marched into his office. Betty and Frieda. Sally followed the pair, wincing. I tried to stop them, she mouthed.
Nodding in her direction, he smiled at the women. These were, after all, his constituents.
“Good morning, ladies. Have a seat.” He gestured to indicate the chairs opposite his desk. “What can I do for you?”
They settled themselves, Betty tucking her skirt demurely around her knees and Frieda blatantly hiking hers up to display more thigh than Jerry cared to see. He’d decided years ago that Frieda, a widow who lost her husband nearly two decades ago, didn’t intentionally adopt a come-hither attitude. She was lonely, that was all.
Cindie disagreed, and strongly disapproved of the woman.
In the interest of marital harmony, he saw no need to mention today’s meeting.
“We’re not disturbing you, are we?” Frieda tilted her head to eye him sideways.
“Not at all.” He flashed a quick smile in her direction, and then focused his attention on Betty. “What can I do for you ladies?”
“Well, we don’t want to meddle.” The older lady brushed at her skirt. “But we did wonder what all the secrecy was about.”
“And we hope,” added Frieda, “that we weren’t the cause of any discomfort, since we were only offering constructive feedback.”
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