by Viqui Litman
He continued on, but Della’s focus jumped to the last column, then down to the bottom of the page. She read it again, trying not to move her lips. Then she looked at Mr. Jacoby, who had fallen silent.
“It’s …”
“Yes,” he said.
She had expected a lot of money, certainly over a hundred thousand dollars, perhaps two or three hundred thousand. But the figure written at the bottom of the ledger page was eight hundred eighty-three thousand, two hundred sixteen dollars.
“I thought …” she looked at him “It’s far greater … Barbara …”
“Her husband insisted on investment quality,” Mr. Jacoby said. “He was very particular, very careful. He bought a great many diamonds. He brought them to us. We would select out one, maybe two for him, sell off the rest.”
“I didn’t …”
“He became quite an expert. They knew him in Europe, in Israel, in South Africa. Even in Hong Kong.”
“He had a business,” Della mumbled. “He traveled to find suppliers, then he was in licensing software.”
“So I understand.”
Della wanted to ask how many stones he had selected out, if they knew whether there were more, somewhere, given to someone else. And she wanted to explain to these people, to this man who would not take the hand of an adult woman, that she did not merit their respect, that her relationship with Richard’s widow was based on fraud, that her relationship with Richard had been adulterous.
“You understand, of course,” Mr. Jacoby said, “it is mostly the large one.” He shook his head. “That’s the only one he bought from me personally.”
“From you?”
“My brother, may he rest in peace, had died by then. It took him—Mr. Morrison—weeks to decide: first to pick the stone, then back and forth, back and forth from Texas, as if he didn’t know, couldn’t make up his mind.”
“That was the last one, then?” Della asked, startled.
“From us, certainly.” He smiled gently. “It was worth more than all the others put together.”
She shook her head to clear it. That doesn’t mean anything, she told herself. Only that he was that much sorrier. And that it’s that much more money for the Ladies Farm.
“I … it’s the Ladies Farm, our bed and breakfast,” she stumbled, explaining what she could. “This means I can … my friends and I will be able to continue there. Barbara” she stopped for a second, “Barbara, Richard’s … Richard’s widow is very sick. We need … oh! this means so much!”
Mr. Jacoby and Alana gazed at her with the same set of brown eyes.
“It is much more than I expected,” Della said again, but this time she was considering the quantity of cash. She looked at the small duffel and the shoulder bag that sat next to the chair.
“Perhaps we can help you there,” said Mr. Jacoby.
Which was how she came to be met at the Amtrak platform in Penn Station by Alana, pulling a red, wheeled cooler behind her. “Cousin Della!” she called. “Cousin Della!” Like a child pulling a wagon, Alana made her way through the crowd pressing forward to board the express to Chicago. “Mama and I couldn’t let you go back to Texas without fixing something.”
By this time, she had reached Della and they stood facing each other as passengers continued to board. “Who would have guessed?” continued Alana. “A Jacoby from Texas!” Della saw a few smiles, then glanced down at the cooler. The bottom, she knew, was filled with stationery boxes packed with hundred-dollar bills.
“Now, don’t open this until you’re home, otherwise it will spoil, and the lox will stink up your whole berth!” Alana took Della’s hand and placed it on the cooler handle. “And next time, you won’t wait twenty years to visit!” With that, the girl leaned forward and touched her cheek to Della’s. “They’re shrink-wrapped, under the dry ice. Don’t unpack till you’re home,” she whispered. “And there really is lox and cream cheese on top. And frozen strudel.”
“Strudel!” Della exclaimed. “Your mother is too good to me.”
“Apple and cherry,” Alana giggled.
Della kissed the girl once more. “Thank you so much.”
“You must call us,” Alana said. “The moment you get home, so we know you’re safe. And then write us a nice, long letter about Texas.”
Della turned to board. The conductor stood on the steps, ready to help her get the cooler onto the train. From the corner of her eye, she saw David Jacoby, an attaché case propped against a tiled column, the newspaper held up in front of his face.
“They packed this one nice and full,” the conductor said, lifting it up to the passenger car. “Ain’t nothing like family for feeding you right.”
“You’re not kidding,” said Della.
Chapter 17
The conductor teased her about her cooler full of home cooking, but Della laughed him off, refusing to share anything but the small sack of raspberry–almond tarts Alana had given her before she left Jacoby Brothers. Her fellow passengers accepted the sweets and shared her amusement that her orthodox cousins had insisted on sending her back to Texas with real—that is, New York—lox and cream cheese, not to mention the strudel.
When she changed trains in Chicago, she found herself ignored, which suited her fine. It might have been better to rent a car, but that, too, had its perils. You avoided the airport X-rays, she reassured herself; it would have been stupid to drive alone for three days with a cooler full of cash. You might never have reached Texas.
When they rolled into Fort Worth the next afternoon, it was Tony, not Kat, who met her train.
“Kat had to take something to the lawyer for Barbara,” Tony explained. “What’s this?”
“Take what?” Della asked, but Tony just shrugged and looked curiously at the cooler. “Oh, I just picked up this little red wagon in New York. We need to stop and get fresh bagels. It’s filled with lox—that’s smoked salmon—and cream cheese.”
“I know what lox is.” He took the handle and, setting the duffel atop the cooler, walked her through the station and out to the car. He caught her up on Barbara’s condition (the collarbone felt okay, but the cancer had entered a new stage), on the parade of inspectors (the zoning people had no problems, but OSHA was concerned about chemical storage in the barn and the salon so he and Dave would have to put up a storage shed), the gravel mining (Kat had prevented them from taking samples and Hugh Jr. had filed a motion to compel them to allow it), and the Ladies Farm itself, which was full of guests.
Nancy’s sister, Hannah, had been drafted to help with the cleaning, and Barbara had called a friend, Dottie, to take over the jewelry classes. Even Rita had been forced to bring in another beautician to help with the facials and manicures. “But she won’t let anyone else do hair,” Tony explained as they headed out of town. “She says she’s the only one who can fix that Texas big hair.”
Della smiled. “She’s right about that. Though I don’t know how she’s doing anyone’s hair if she’s getting married tomorrow.” They picked up ten dozen bagels—that would feed the guests, plus leave some for freezing—then drove straight to see the Huttos. They hooked up with Dave and Rita where the gravel drive met the county road and, after transferring the cooler to the back of Dave’s truck, Della thanked Tony with a peck on the cheek and dispatched him back to Fort Worth.
“I hope someday you share the details of your mystery trip,” he said before he got back into the car.
Della wondered for a second what it would be like to come clean with Tony, imagining that he would simply accept it all and go on doing her bidding; then, she squared her shoulders and touched a hand to the side of his face. “Someday,” she promised.
The Hutto house sat high on a bluff on the south side of the Nolan. From the back porch, where Gladys held court on an old sofa, you could see down to the river and across to the Ladies Farm. When you looked up and focused far in the distance on a clear day, you could see the outline of southwest Fort Worth.
Gladys Hutto
was a chain-smoking, sausage-curled mound of a woman who, with her husband, Ray, received the delegation from the Ladies Farm with a pitcher of tea on the metal table and a case of Dr Pepper on the floor in front of the sofa.
“It’s good to see you,” Della said to her, then looked around for a place to sit. Rita inclined her head to the low stone wall that formed the porch, and Della followed her lead and rested her butt on the warm stones.
“You want to keep a lookout for snakes ’fore you settle in over there,” Gladys warned with no particular urgency. “Little Ray like to have a fit the other day, playing with his action men over there. He comes in screaming, some damn snake knocked his little figures off into the bushes. Trying to get away from Little Ray, probably, but that child was furious. Wanted to find the thing and kill it, but we never did find it. Found a skin though. Rattlesnake. They’re all over. That child’s got a real guardian angel. We had to open five more boxes of cereal to replace that little plastic doll, too.”
Ray spent the duration of the monologue holding up Dr Peppers and making eye contact with each guest. Rita and Dave accepted, leaving Della not much choice about following suit. She guessed the tea was for show.
“They’re all over, this time of year,” Rita picked up the conversation. “We find them on the asphalt path up to the barn all the time. Did Little Ray’s mama get that job in Dallas?”
Della saw the agenda: First we talk about Little Ray; then Little Ray’s mama, whose moving to Dallas would relieve Gladys and Ray of babysitting duties; then Little Ray’s mama’s no-good ex-husband, their nephew Earl; then confirmation that they had gotten Earl to sign back the mineral rights; then the reason for their visit. Should take five, maybe six Dr Peppers apiece, Della thought.
She watched Dave, who had not removed his coveralls for this appointment. He leaned against the house, one leg bent, stork-like, with his foot braced against the masonry. Every now and then he exchanged a glance with Ray, but for the most part, he stared down at his foot, silent.
Rita chirped on about Little Ray’s mama and her new job, then listened as Gladys enumerated the virtues of her former niece by marriage.
“Lord knows she works hard enough,” Gladys said. “Two jobs, most of the time, and not a bit of help from Earl with the baby. Not that he doesn’t pay child support. Even so, it’s a shame to see. Young people like that.” She looked up at Della. “You have kids?”
“One boy who’s grown. He lives in Portland,” Della said. “He and his wife have a little girl.”
Gladys continued her head-shaking. “That’s hard on kids too, being an only child. Ray and I always figured we’d have a house full.” She shook her head enough to make the sausage curls jiggle. “Didn’t happen. Here we are with this big, old place and no one to leave it to but that half-wit Earl.”
“I don’t suppose anyone sets out to raise an only child,” Della observed. The silence that followed assured her that Rita and Dave had shared her tragedy with Gladys and Ray. Bad move, Della chastised silently. Nothing stops a conversation faster than a dead child.
Finally, Dave picked up the earlier thread. “Well, now,” he said, “Earl’s okay. He just needs to find what he wants to do.”
“He’s bright enough,” Rita chirped. “He’s just not ready to be a grown-up yet.”
“Twenty-five with a baby, that’s pretty grown up,” Ray said. He had settled in next to Gladys and spent most of the conversation studying his Dr Pepper. Now he shook his head in agreement with his wife. “That boy’s worthless, I’m afraid. It’s good his mama and daddy’s moved on down to Corpus. It doesn’t make them glad to hear from him.”
“Your sister’s down in Corpus, Ray?” Dave slid his stork foot to the ground. “I thought she’d settled in the valley.” “Nah. You know, her husband’s people are there on the coast.” Ray, as if suddenly aware that he had become the center of attention, clamped his lips and tightened his grip on the Dr Pepper.
“Well, the beach is nice, but I don’t think I’d want to live where it’s all that humid,” Rita opined. “Especially with all those hurricanes.”
“I want a nice little double-wide down on the Rio Grande,” Gladys said. “Nothing fancy, just a little prickly pear and sage out front, nothing to mow and no fencing.” She turned to Della. “So if you’re here to make that happen, let’s get on with it.”
Nothing is ever the way it seems, thought Della.
“Well, not so fast!” Rita said. “This isn’t just Della, you know. Dave and I are in this too. And Kat.”
“And Castleburg, if you don’t hurry up,” Gladys said. “Daddy, reach me another one of those Dr Peppers.”
“Well now, Gladys,” Dave said, “what are you looking at for this place?”
“Well, you know, it’s over twenty acres,” Gladys said. “I hear Castleburg’s offering five-sixty for yours, and you’ve got less than ten over there, don’t you?”
She was looking at Della, but it was Dave who answered. “I guess young Hugh’s been ’round.”
“Well, he makes some sense,” Gladys replied. “Though I don’t much like dealing with Dallas lawyers.”
Now Dave shifted a little and planted both feet wider on the concrete porch. “Whatever happened with Earl’s gravel adventure?” he asked Ray.
Ray shook his head and shrugged. “That boy.”
“I don’t think Earl could find gravel if you poured it over him,” Gladys expounded. “That boy just does everything on the cheap, didn’t want to hire the geologists, you know?”
Dave worked them through it slowly: how the unlikelihood of gravel and the fact that the Hutto place lay outside city limits made it less valuable; how the buildings at the Ladies Farm increased its value; how Castleburg’s offer through Hugh Jr., was not all cash and that theirs—Della’s and Kat’s and Rita’s—would be.
“It’s not that Mama and I want to be greedy,” Ray assured them. “We just want what’s fair. After all, we’ve got our future to consider.”
“And Little Ray’s, too. His own grandparents can’t do much for him, someone’ll have to educate that boy. That’s what Daddy means.”
Mama and Daddy. Little Ray’s future. Della resisted the urge to choke. She resisted the urge to describe the red cooler full of cash. She resisted the urge to ask if the sofa came with the property.
“The thing about it is,” Della tried to speak slowly, “we don’t want to mine any gravel.”
“Well, we know that,” Gladys said. “That’s why we want to sell to you. I just hate thinking that old man’s going to send those bulldozers over here and dig the place up.”
“You know,” Ray said, “when we built this place, the farm-to-market road was just paved. We were the first house on this side of the river.”
“It’s pretty over here,” Della said. “I always love seeing those peaches come into bloom on the hill that faces us.”
“I imagine those lady guests would enjoy a picnic on that hill,” Ray said.
“Plus, you’ll be able to rent out this house,” Gladys said, blocking Della’s impulse to tell Ray that their lady guests had enjoyed many picnics on his hill. “It’s got three bedrooms, plus a big, old family room.”
Della looked at the couch but held her tongue. The house is solid stone, she reminded herself. Even if you have to gut the interior.
“How’s the kitchen?” Rita asked.
“Why, we had that designer down from Fort Worth just two years ago,” Gladys said. As she spoke, she pulled a fleck of tobacco from her outstretched tongue. “Redid the whole thing, put in one of those islands. I prefer a big, old country kitchen myself, but he said this would raise the resale value. It’s the latest thing.”
“Well, let’s go look at it!” Rita motioned Della off the wall. “No, no,” she assured Gladys as the woman stirred. “You sit still. We’ll look on our own, and we won’t touch anything. I promise.”
“Touch all you want,” Gladys invited, settling back into the couch. “Open
the cupboards, flush the toilets.”
Inside, the paneling was dark, but real, Della saw. We could strip it, she thought. We can yank these drapes and put up wooden blinds, or shutters. We can strip the floor, too.
“I guess she just likes a sofa on the porch,” Della murmured as she and Rita inspected the kitchen.
“Oh,” said Rita, “that’s one of those habits she picked up in Cuba, she says. She and Ray were down there before Castro. Some kind of bridge building.”
“Bridge building?”
“Oh, you know. Ray’s an engineer. I think Gladys taught school or something down there, too.”
“Gladys taught school?”
“Well, not school, exactly. Some kind of science academy. She taught chemistry.”
Della opened the pantry door and inspected the adjustable shelving. “You’re joking, right?”
“No ma’am. Here’s her degree, right here on the wall.” Rita pointed to the alcove above a built-in desk. “University of Texas. I guess this is a mixed marriage. Ray’s an Aggie.”
“Kitchen’s better than I thought,” Della murmured, heading for the door.
“Where’re you going?” Rita hissed. “Come here!”
“What?”
Rita shot her a fierce look and motioned her closer.
“What?”
“Dave’s talking to them,” Rita said.
“I know. That’s why I want to be out there.”
“Here!” Rita exclaimed in a loud voice, “look at the view out the side, toward town.” Then in a whisper, “They won’t talk if you’re there.”
“What?”
“For such a smart person, you sure are dense,” Rita grumbled, guiding Della out onto the kitchen steps. “Dave’s talking price. Right now. We can’t go back out till he’s done.”
“What?”