Seasons of Her Life

by Fern Michaels

  “Then, Ruby Blue, I accept your promise. To me,” he said, his eyes twinkling again, “a promise is more binding than a legal contract. If you’re up to it, I’ll show you the way. It’s no more than a block or so by city standards. I’ll have someone drive your car around later.”

  It was a long building almost obscured by lush plumeria and huge banyan trees. Diamond-shaped windows and a heavy oak door gave it a fairytale quality. Everywhere, as far as she could see, were well-tended flowers and blooming hibiscus. The grass was trimmed and more green than a meadow of emeralds. A dog woofed softly.

  The priest smiled. “That’s Joshua, the guardian of this little establishment. Unfortunately, he is old, but he’s particularly fond of children.”

  The building on the inside was as inviting as the outside. It was larger than she thought, with a kitchen, a sitting room, and three dormitory-style bedrooms with cots and dressers. However, there was only one bathroom. The priest apologized.

  It was colorful with framed prints on the wall, obviously hung by some previous guests. The furniture was wicker with faded flowered cushions. A monstrous radio stood in the corner. Lamps made from shells and glass jars adorned all the little tables. On the tile floor straw mats formed a checkerboard pattern. The kitchen was modern and clean, as was the bathroom. There was even a service area that held a wringer washing machine. Two taut clotheslines stretched across the length of the backyard. To Ruby it was a palace.

  “Come along, Mrs. Blue, and I’ll introduce you to your roommates. They usually sit outdoors at this time of day with a glass of pineapple juice they make themselves.”

  Joshua, the taffy-colored springer spaniel, trotted over to Ruby and sniffed at her feet. Dark, liquid-brown eyes stared up at her. She hunched over and scratched the dog’s silky ears.

  The garden, Ruby decided, had to be the most beautiful spot on earth, at least the most beautiful that she’d ever seen. The colors of the brilliant, fragrant flowers seemed to explode about her. She inhaled deeply, savoring their exotic scents. The garden was walled in with decorative whitewashed cinder blocks, a perfect backdrop for the equally white trellises and climbing vines. The women, she noted, wore brightly colored, long dresses and sandals; the three men wore loose cotton trousers and flowered shirts. They were all elderly. It was hard to imagine them working as hard as they would need to to maintain the building and grounds.

  They were smiling at her now and she smiled in return. One lady, who looked to be in her eighties, was holding out a glass of pineapple juice. Another held out her arms to take Martha. Still another motioned her, with a wide smile, to take her place at the table. Father Joachim urged her forward. “For a little while, this will be your family, my dear,” he said, beaming.

  “Father, how can these people do all the work required to maintain the grounds and house? When people reach their age, they shouldn’t have to work like this.”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more, but these people, as you call them, refuse to take charity. They’re proud. When they can no longer contribute, they leave, it’s that simple.”

  Shocked, Ruby asked, “But where do they go?”

  Father Joachim shrugged. “I don’t know, and the others won’t tell. Most of them,” he said, lowering his voice, “die here, peacefully in their sleep.”

  Suddenly, Ruby felt Martha leave her arms. Instinctively, she reacted and would have prevented the woman named Mattie from taking her child but for the pressure on her arm from the pastor. Martha squirmed and whimpered and then laughed as Mattie chucked her under the chin. The others crowded around, but not close enough to frighten the child. Joshua woofed his approval and immediately set about licking one of Martha’s pudgy legs. The child giggled as she tried to touch the dog’s lapping tongue.

  “I think,” the pastor said in an approving voice, “that Joshua has finally found a friend. He, too, is displaced. I found him half starved and wounded several years ago. I suppose you could say he’s our mascot as well as our protector. He won’t harm the child, so have no fear.”

  Ruby didn’t really want the tart pineapple juice, but she drank it anyway. There was no way she was going to offend these smiling people.

  “I’ll leave you now. I have duties that require my attention. If you need me, send Joshua. All you have to say is ‘Fetch Father Joachim.’ Believe it or not, he understands.”

  “Father ... how can I ...”

  “Shhh, child, it’s not necessary. I’m just glad you found us. If you ever want to talk, come over to the priory after supper. I’m always available.”

  Ruby took her place at the table. Mattie held out her hand and Ruby grasped it. Nelie, a twin of Mattie, looked to be the same age, her hands gnarled and bent with what Ruby assumed was arthritis. Rosie was perhaps a few years younger than Mattie and Nelie. She smiled, her two gold front teeth gleaming in the afternoon sun. Ruby smiled self-consciously when Martha tried to reach for the artificial teeth. Rosie laughed uproariously. Martha was enjoying herself. The men, as old as the women, were grinning and clapping their hands. Simon, who was bent-over and had skin the color of a brown nut, said in a squeaky voice that Martha loved, “Hello, little one.” Kalo, who said he was the youngest at seventy-nine, clapped his hands in delight. It was obvious that Kalo was retarded, but he pointed to the neatly trimmed flower beds to indicate he was responsible for their perfection. In a rush, he left his chair, and a few moments later his arms were full of plumeria. He held them out to indicate they were for Ruby, and then transferred them to Nelie, who immediately started to make a lei for her. Peter, a white-haired, toothless man, bowed formally and said, “May I hold your child?”

  Ruby nodded.

  “His family was killed when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor,” Mattie said quietly. “He loves children, we all do. But none of us has a family. Perhaps you will allow us to love this child as a granddaughter.”

  “Can I be your granddaughter, too?” Ruby asked in a choked voice.

  They looked at one another uncertainly.

  Ruby waved her hands to encompass Martha. “Both of us could use grandparents. Even after we leave. I’ll come back and bring Martha. I promise.”

  “You will come back?”

  Ruby nodded, tears brimming in her eyes. She propped her elbows on the table, her gaze gentle, a smile on her lips. The Corps had fouled up, and she’d landed right side up. Until matters were straightened out, she couldn’t think of a better place to be. In the end, her grandmother had always said, things worked out for the best. This was the best.

  In the days to come Ruby worked from sunup to sundown, cleaning, scrubbing, doing laundry, ironing, and cooking, while the grandmothers and grandfathers looked after her daughter. Often she would find herself drifting into sleep at the supper table. Kalo, who sat next to her, nudged her and grinned, motioning to her fork. The others smiled indulgently. In the beginning they’d protested when she took over their chores, but when she explained she had to do it or leave, they gladly relinquished their duties in favor of baby-sitting. More than once Nelie or Rosie helped her to her cot, where she slept deeply and dreamlessly. She belonged, and so did her daughter, and that was all she cared about. Once a week Ruby called the base housing officer to see if the mistake in her housing assignment had been rectified. The answer was always the same.

  She thought about driving out to the base to inquire for her mail, but some instinct told her any mail addressed to her previous address would have been marked Return to Sender, so she didn’t bother to make the long drive. Besides, she had too much work to do and no extra money for gas.

  Her intentions, when she first arrived, were to write to everyone and tell them where she was, but at the end of the day she was too weary to do anything but sleep. She had written one letter to Andrew, giving him her address in care of St. Andrew’s. She hoped he would be pleased that she had ended up in such a place.

  The day Ruby counted the change in her purse and found only two dollars, she realized
she’d been at St. Andrew’s for six full weeks. She couldn’t put off calling the bank in Washington any longer. The two dollars would go toward paying for the phone call. She’d mentally chided herself for not calling sooner. When Martha took her afternoon nap, she would walk to the avenue and search for a phone booth. She realized suddenly, with the time difference, that she’d have to make the call early in the morning, as the bank closed at two o’clock. Tomorrow would be soon enough, she decided. She could set the breakfast table after supper was cleared away and make dough for cinnamon buns before she went to bed. If she cut the pineapple and made the breakfast juice, she wouldn’t be shirking her duty. As long as she was going to the avenue, she would write to Andrew and mail the letter along the way. It was also time to make another call to the base.

  Ruby stared down at the basket of ironing at her feet. Just yesterday Peter had complained that his pants were too stiff. The grandparents didn’t like starch, she had to remember that. No one had ironed prior to her arrival, but they oohed and aahed over neatly hung long dresses and pressed shirts and trousers. Secretly, Ruby suspected they thought her efforts foolish. The heat and humidity, in an hour’s time, left all the garments limp and wrinkled. She didn’t care. It was part of her work schedule.

  There wasn’t a lot Ruby Blue cared about these days.

  The following morning, while the dew still sparkled on the grass, Ruby trudged to the avenue in search of a phone booth, the change from her purse clutched in her hand. On waking, she’d decided to try to make the call collect and person-to-person to save the two dollars if possible.

  Ten minutes later Ruby walked away in a daze. There was only nine dollars in her account. Two sump pumps had to be purchased for the house on Poplar Street because of heavy rainfall. A new refrigerator had to be purchased when the one on O Street started to smoke and couldn’t be repaired. A section of the fence on Poplar Street had gone down from the same spell of rainy weather and had to be reinforced. Two of the back steps on O Street had to be replaced or the insurance company wouldn’t renew the insurance policy. Bruno hadn’t been able to do any of the work because he’d been diagnosed with a hernia, and the doctor had forbidden any type of manual labor. She’d wanted to ask for a loan, but she was too proud. She couldn’t call Rena either. She had enough on her mind with Bruno. She figured she was ahead of the game, since the bank accepted her collect call.

  Halfway down the street she stopped and returned to the phone booth. She dropped in her dime and dialed the familiar number of the housing office. Nothing had changed, and there was no mail waiting for her. She’d wasted her dime. Now she had only a dollar and ninety cents left.

  She had to put a good face on things. The grandparents reacted to her mood changes. If she was simply tired or weary, they clucked their tongues and tried to help in little ways, smiles on their faces. Three days ago Rosie had seen her counting her small hoard of change. She’d watched when she handed the money over to the milkman for Martha’s milk. They knew somehow that she was worried, and in turn, their own faces showed anxiety.

  Today was laundry day. The pile of sheets staring her in the face made Ruby want to cry. She had to bake, too. Tuesday was always her busiest day.

  Perhaps if she’d been more alert and less tired she would have noted that Kalo had absented himself the past few days right after lunch. She should have noted the pleased, secretive looks on the other grandparents’ faces, but she’d missed that, too. Martha had been fretful, that she’d noticed, probably because her last stubborn tooth refused to come through her gums.

  Ruby wiped her tears as she folded the last of the sheets. After dinner she would make up the beds, give Martha her bath, and turn in early. She was somewhat tired physically, but mentally she was totally exhausted. She was close now to being destitute, which meant not being able to provide for her daughter. The fact that she’d managed, up till now, to buy her child’s milk, made her circumstances bearable. She knew, without a doubt, that Father Joachim would add another quart of milk to the priory bill, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask. She was Martha’s mother, and milk was her responsibility. She’d already had to give up Martha’s vitamins, and she herself needed new shoes.

  The table was set with the flowers Martha picked each afternoon; Ruby always put them on the table in a low bowl of water. She loved seeing Martha clap her hands and say “flowers.” Tonight there was stew made with lamb that was cooked until it fell apart, suitable for old gums. The grandparents loved to sop fresh bread in the thick gravy. Even Martha liked sucking on the bread crust.

  Ruby squared her shoulders and did her best to carry on a cheerful conversation. She knew she wasn’t carrying it off when Peter arose and carried the plates to the sink. The others were still sitting, which was unusual, since there was no dessert on baking day. Something was going on, she decided when she noticed the smug looks on the faces around the table. She waited, certain they were going to tell her a story about what Martha and Joshua had done that afternoon. She always giggled and clapped her hands for Martha’s benefit.

  “We have a present for you, Miss Ruby,” Rosie said, her gold teeth sparkling. “Kalo, give the present to Miss Ruby.”

  Kalo rose from the table to walk around to her seat. He smiled, his eyes alight with mischief as he dug into his pockets for a small burlap sack he’d fashioned himself. It clanked softly when he placed it on the table where her plate had been. She looked at the old man, pure delight on her face. “For me?” He grinned. They all grinned. Even Martha had stopped banging her spoon on the table at this strange happening. She was certain the bag was full of lucky stones. She’d told Kalo how she’d fished for them in the crick back in Barstow. Every day he’d come to her with a pebble of sorts, and even though they weren’t real lucky stones, she said they were. He now had a pile of them big enough to fill a grocery bag.

  Ruby dumped the contents of the bag on the table and burst into tears.

  “For Martha’s milk,” Simon said happily. “Now you stay longer.”

  “Is honest money,” Peter said happily. “No charity. Gift for Martha.”

  “We old, not dumb. We see you count money,” Mattie said in her best English. “Enough for gas, too. You take us for ride to beach so we walk in water.”

  Ruby blew her nose. “Yes, more than enough, but I don’t understand. Where did you get this?” she said, pointing to the mound of coins and crumpled dollar bills.

  “We made leis and straw dolls. Kalo took them to Waikiki and sold them to tourists. Honest money. Is all yours, Miss Ruby,” Nelie said happily.

  “But how did he get there? It’s so far,” Ruby said, aghast.

  “He walked,” Rosie said importantly.

  Ruby burst into tears a second time. How had the bandy-legged little man walked all that way and, with his aversion to speech, managed to sell their wares? She was off her chair in a flash, wrapping her arms around him. He beamed with pleasure. Then she hugged them all and kissed them until she thought her lips would fall off.

  “How much it is?” Mattie demanded.

  “Enough for a king.” Ruby laughed. “Or a queen.” She counted out the change in little piles, straightened the crumpled dollars to lie flat on the table. “I do believe there is forty-two dollars and twenty-five cents here. Lord in heaven, how can I ever thank you?”

  “You stay. We go in car, eh?” Rosie laughed.

  “You bet we go in the car. Tomorrow we’ll go. No housework, no cooking, no nothing tomorrow. Tomorrow is St. Andrew’s day, according to Ruby Blue.”

  “Not charity,” Nelie said, wagging her finger as they trooped out of the kitchen, Joshua in their wake.

  Ruby was wiping the last of the dishes when Father Joachim knocked on the screen door, a letter in his hand.

  The pastor’s eyes were sad when Ruby related the story of the money for Martha’s milk. “I don’t know what they’ll do when you leave. They’ve grown so attached to you and your daughter. I knew what they were doing, and
I gave them my blessing. Perhaps this letter will have your answers. Thank you, Ruby, for being so kind to my little flock.”

  “Father, if it weren’t for you, Martha and I would be living on the beach without a roof over our heads. By now we’d have starved to death. It is I who should thank you. You must believe me when I tell you I will never forget this, and somehow I’ll make it all right. It might take me a while, but I’ll do it.”

  “Bless you, child. It’s time for evening service. We’ll talk again. I hope this letter has good news. Good night, my dear.”

  Ruby sat down at the table with the last of the coffee to read her husband’s letter.

  Dear Ruby,

  What the hell is this goddamn shit you’re feeding me that you’re living in some fucking mission on charity with our kid? If that’s the best you can do, you better try again, and don’t go giving me that crap that the Corps put you out on the street with a kid. The Corps doesn’t do things like that. You must have done something to have them move you out, if that’s really what happened. Who did you rub the wrong way? I bet anything you stuck your nose up in the air and didn’t play the game. That’s right, isn’t it, Ruby?

  All I can say to you is you damn well better not be living at some mission on the cuff. How could you be so damn stupid! How’s this going to look? The fact that Mrs. Frankel hasn’t been in touch makes me believe you really screwed up. And don’t think for one minute I believe that crap about mixed-up orders. I’m sure there was a mixup, but they would have caught it in a matter of days.

  When I get back, all I can say is you better be living on base or off, but not in any goddamn mission. Now, get off your ass and do something about it before I get back. In the meantime I’ll do what I can from here.

  I have only six more weeks to go and then I’ll be home. I’m real disappointed in the way you’re handling things. With the exception of that Dixie thing, you got off to a real good start. I thought you could handle motherhood. What’s the big deal? If you stop and think about all that’s gone wrong for you, you should realize how many mistakes you’ve made along the way. The Corps has a long memory. Delivering the kid on your own for starters is so out of whack we’ll never hear the end of it. That stunt you pulled ripping up your I.D. and PX cards will stay with us, too. Things like that don’t go away.