The Baby Bump

by Jennifer Greene

  Ginger gulped. “So...who’s handling the tea now? The shop? The grounds?”

  “Well, I am, honey child. Me and Cornelius. We closed the shop after...” He frowned. “I don’t know exactly when. A little while ago.”

  “Okay. So who’s doing the grounds around the house? The mowing. The gardens and trees and all.”

  “Cornelius and I had a theory about that. We need some goats.”

  “Goats,” Ginger echoed.

  “Yup. We have a heap of acreage that’s nothing but lawn. Goats love grass. Wouldn’t cost us a thing. The goats could eat the grass without using a lick of gas or needing a tractor at all.”

  Ginger was getting a thump of anxiety in her tummy again. “So...right now we don’t have a lawn service or a farm manager?”

  “We both think goats could do the work. They’d be happy. We’d be happy. Don’t you think that sounds like fun, sweetheart?”

  “I do. I do.” She’d inherited the ability to lie from her father. “Gramps, do you know who did your taxes last year? I mean, do you have an accountant in town?”

  “Why, honey, you know your grandma does all that. I always oversaw the business, the farm. But it was your grandma who did all the work with figures. We never depended on outsiders for that kind of thing. Why are you asking all these questions? We can do something fun. Like play cards. Or put out the backgammon board. After dinner, we could take the golf cart around before the bugs hit.”

  He was right, Ginger realized. There was no point in asking any more questions. Every answer she’d heard so far was downright scary. There appeared to be no one running the place. Not the tea plantation. Not the house. Gramps seemed under the impression that Grandma was still alive, still there with him. The whole situation was more overwhelming than she’d ever expected.

  Ginger wondered if she could somehow will herself to faint again. It certainly helped her block out things earlier that day.... Except that fainting brought on Ike, as if he had some invisible radar when anything embarrassing or upsetting was happening to her.

  She still couldn’t figure out what possessed her to kiss him. He’d been a white knight, sort of. And she’d been starving and hadn’t realized it. And a simple gesture like a hug or a kiss just didn’t seem like that big a deal....

  But it was.

  It was a big deal because she already knew she was susceptible to doctors.

  She also knew that impulsiveness got her into trouble every time. A woman could make a mistake. Everyone did that. No one could avoid it. But the measure of a woman was partly how she handled those mistakes.

  Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. She’d been trying to drill that mantra into her head. A doctor might seem like great husband potential for lots of women—but not her. Doctors invariably put their jobs first, their own needs, and played by their own rule book.

  Ike for sure played by his own rule book.

  Keeping her heart a long, long way away from him was an easy for-sure.

  Chapter Four

  The next day, by midmorning, Ginger was not only reenergized, but conquering the world at the speed of sound. She’d put both boys to work by wrapping microfiber fabric around their shoes. Their job was to shuffle around the entire downstairs. It might not be the most glamorous way to dust the hardwood floors, but it was good enough. They were, of course, complaining mightily.

  She’d hunkered down in the kitchen to clean, and figured she wasn’t likely to escape the room for another three years at best. She’d found flour moths. That discovery canceled out any other plans she’d had for the day. She immediately started removing everything from the cupboards. Her first thought was to wash every surface with bleach, but she worried fumes that strong couldn’t be good with a pregnancy, so she pulled on old plastic gloves, mixed up strong soap and a disinfectant, then unearthed a serious scrub brush.

  The top west side cupboards were completely emptied out when she was interrupted by the sound of a motor—a lawn motor. She glanced outside, and then immediately climbed down and sprinted outside. A total stranger was driving a green lawn-mowing tractor. She’d never seen either the tractor or the man before, but once she chased after him—and finally won his attention—she could at least make out his features. He was an older black man, with a graying head of hair and soft eyes.

  He shut off the mower when he spotted her.

  “I don’t understand,” she started with. “Who are you and why are you here?”

  “I’m Jed, ma’am.”

  His voice was liquid sweet, but that explained precisely nothing. “You don’t work for my grandfather.”

  “No, ma’am. I’m retired. Don’t work no more.”

  When she started another question, he gently interrupted with a more thorough explanation. “I stopped working anything regular, but I’m sure not ready for a rocking chair yet, and I have time on my hands. Dr. Ike now, he delivered my grandchild, knowing ahead the family couldn’t pay him. So I’m paying it off this way. By doing things he finds for me to do. Not to worry. I’ll check the oil and the gas and the blades when I put the mower back in the shop. I know my way around tractors.”

  She didn’t know what to say, and when she didn’t come up with anything fast enough, he just tipped his baseball cap and started the noisy motor again.

  She stood there, hands on hips, and debated whether to call Ike immediately to give him what for...or to wait. Waiting seemed the wiser choice, because he’d be in the middle of his workday, likely seeing patients. So she went back toward the kitchen, thinking that the cleaning chore would give her time to think up what to say to him, besides.

  She checked on Gramps and Cornelius, who’d turned on a radio to some station channeling rock and roll from the 1950s. But they were moving—at least until she showed up, and then they complained that they were too old to do this much exercise, that she was killing them, that she was cruel. She brewed everyone a fresh pot of Charleston’s Best—everybody’s favorite tea—then sent them back to work.

  The kitchen looked as insurmountable as it had when she left it—but it wasn’t as if she had an option to give up. The job had to be done, so she hunkered back down. She had her head under the sink when she heard the front doorbell.

  She waited, thinking that her guys would obviously answer it—but no. The bell rang. Then rang again. She stood up and yanked off her plastic gloves as she stomped down the hall. A lady was on the other side of the screen door. A plump lady, wearing an old calico dress, her thin brown hair tied up in a haphazard bun.

  “I know who you are,” she said gruffly. “You’re Cashner’s granddaughter, Ginger Gautier. And I’m your new cook.”

  Ginger frowned. “I don’t understand. We don’t have a cook.”

  “Well, you do now. I don’t do tofu, I’m telling you right off. No sushi, either. You want something fancy, you need somebody else.”

  Ginger started to speak, but the woman was downright belligerent, particularly for someone who’d shown up out of the blue. Without giving her any chance to answer, the lady pushed open the screen door and marched herself inside, aiming straight down the hall to the kitchen.

  “Now just wait one minute. I don’t even know who you are.”

  “My name’s Sarah. Just Sarah. And like I said, I already know you’re Ginger. Your grandma and I used to help out at church dinners now and then. A great lady, your grandma. Knew the value of a day’s work, she did. Good grief.”

  When Sarah-Just-Sarah reached the doorway to the kitchen, she whipped around with an annoyed expression. “This kitchen is a complete mess. No one could cook in there right now.”

  Ginger threw up her hands. “I’d have told you that. If it was any of your business. Or if you’d asked.”

  Sarah ignored her, just propped her hands on her hips as she poked and
peered around at the kitchen set up. “Well, here’s the thing. The court says I got a problem with anger management. I don’t think so. I think you’d be mad, too, if you had a no-count bum of a husband like mine. So the thing is, I got three children to feed. Which means I can’t take on jobs where you have to show up for regular hours. My youngest one is on the sickly side, besides. So I’ll just show up as I can. I’ll get a meal cooking or a slow cooker going or whatever’s going to work that day. You’ll be able to eat it hot or just reheat. I’m a good cook. Close to a great cook. No one’s ever complained about my cooking. Ever.”

  “I’m sure that’s true. If I was looking for a cook. But—”

  Sarah-Just-Sarah’s chin shot up another notch. “Dr. Ike. He’s been seeing my kids since he came to town. That’s almost four years. I paid him when I could, but I could never seem to hold a job, between the kids and my no-good husband. So I’d bring Dr. Ike cookies or a pie, or maybe cornbread with wildflower honey. Anyways, when all three of my kids got sick in September, he didn’t even send me a bill. Never even brought it up. And the thing was, I couldn’t even try to work then, not with sick kids. So I cornered him, I did. Said I was nobody’s charity case, even if I couldn’t immediately pay my bill. And he said, ‘I could need a favor down the pike.’ So I’m his favor. Well, holy moly. You are in a mess in here, aren’t you?”

  Every word that came out of the woman’s mouth sounded angry. Ginger hadn’t been able to get a word in, but she was starting to get the picture that Sarah simply talked that way. Mad. And even more mad as she squinted at the scandalized war zone in the kitchen.

  It wasn’t as if Ginger could help it. She was in the worst part of the mess, of course. Drawers gaped open, drying from where she’d washed inside. Water had sloshed on the floor here and there. Buckets blocked anyone from walking around. Cans from some of the lower cabinets were strewn on the ground while those shelves got cleaned. The dishwasher was running. The table was covered with rolls of shelf paper, which Ginger expected to cover the surfaces—once the place had been disinfected and cleaned and dried.

  “There is no possibility I could cook in this mess,” Sarah said stridently.

  “Well, of course you can’t,” Ginger said crossly.

  “But then, neither could you. So this afternoon, I’ll just drop off dinner. Say around six. And at that time, I’ll fill out a little schedule for you, so you know what food I’m making and when I’m making it. You’ll need to grocery shop. I’m not doing that.”

  Ginger lifted her fingertips to her temple. She had the oddest headache. “Of course you wouldn’t shop for me—”

  “But I’ll give you a list of what to buy. For the dinners. Whatever you want to eat for breakfast or lunch, that’s on you, not me.”

  “Now you just wait a minute—”

  But Sarah ignored her again, said something rude and dismissive, and then just marched for the front door as furiously fast as she’d walked in.

  Ginger stared after her, aghast. One crazy encounter that morning had been bewildering enough—but two? In the same day? People didn’t behave like that. Not normal people.

  It was as if some unseen force had instructed both Jed and Sarah to ignore any attempt she made to say no.

  That unseen-force was a three-letter word, of course. Ike. But that was precisely the upsetting part. She was in over her head in every way, and was likely to be overwhelmed by messes and problems for a good long time. For just those reasons, she wanted no association with Ike. She didn’t want to be thinking about kissing and that look in his eyes and her making an idiot of herself every time she was near him.

  She didn’t want to think about Ike.

  She half turned and faced her wreck of a kitchen again. She didn’t have time for a heart attack or a mental breakdown. Maybe later in the day, but not now.

  She searched out her guys, found they’d tried hiding in rockers on the veranda. That was okay, they’d done more than enough work for the day. She made sandwiches, took them out on a tray, and by the time they’d finished a makeshift lunch, the boys were nodding off. She headed back to the kitchen.

  The war zone finally started to turn the corner. In another hour, all surfaces were scrubbed and sparkling. Cupboards were all lined with fresh paper. She’d saved the worst for last—the very top cupboard shelves to the right of the sink. It was like the mystery shelf in every house—the place that no one could reach—and was inevitably filled with things no one had seen in decades. Dishes with cracks. Dishes that had no function anyone could think of. Teapots—the ugly ones that Grandma had never wanted in the living room collection. Dust. Peppermint schnapps. Tequila—five bottles, all with the worms.

  She didn’t want to do it. Her back ached. Her fingers and hands felt sore from scrubbing. Her shoulders and arms were whining about how she’d abused them for hours now.

  But there was just that one last shelf. And then she’d be completely done.

  She crawled up and then stood up on the counter, scrub brush in hand—which was when she heard a rap on the door—for the third interruption that day.

  This time, though, she was ready. She climbed down and bolted for the front door. Unfortunately, Gramps and Cornelius were still out on the front veranda. Before she could push open the screen, she could hear her guys and their joyful greetings for the visitor.

  She could have raced to the bathroom to freshen up, but what was the point? He’d already seen her at her worst. Twice. And it wasn’t as if she was trying to attract the man. So she was wearing plastic gloves and no shoes and her hair hadn’t seen a brush in a long time, not counting the lack of makeup or the details.

  And of course, it was Ike. Ike and the slobbering, mournful hound, who dragged herself up the steps only to fall in a heap in everyone’s way.

  Pansy only looked half as disreputable as her owner. Ike wore a clay-colored T-shirt that was frayed at the neck, a derelict pair of shorts, sandals that looked to be about a hundred years old. Maybe he’d shaved yesterday.

  Still, she felt it. The fever climbing up from her toes, weakening her heart. There were fevers and there were fevers. A fever of ninety-nine, anyone started to feel yucky. A fever of one hundred generally brought her to her knees. A fever of one-oh-one and she knew she was in deep trouble, sick trouble. Only when a fever reached around a hundred and two did some weird factor kick in, and she started to feel euphoric. Goofy euphoric. High and giddy and crazy. All fear gone. All reality dismissed from sight.

  That was precisely how she felt around Ike. The wrong kind of fever.

  And he was looking at her the same way. The wrong kind of way.

  Gramps and Cornelius were still asking why he’d come by.

  “Well, I sure didn’t come to see you two old reprobates,” he said wryly. “I came to see Ginger. Because I figured around now she was planning to tear a strip off my hide, and I might as well get it over with.”

  “Why on earth?” Cornelius asked.

  “Yeah, why on earth,” Ginger echoed.

  “I suspect you think I should have asked you first, before sending out some help.”

  “You could have asked me. But then, I needed help. Which you knew.”

  She saw the slightest frown crease his forehead. Probably he wasn’t expecting her calm, amiable tone—not just because of the circumstances, but because he’d never heard it before. “I did know you could use a hand,” he agreed. “I also had patients who needed to pay their own way. So it seemed like a good idea to me. Nobody gets hurt. Everyone gets something they need.”

  “Except,” she said gently, “that it was manipulative and domineering. You didn’t ask first. You just assumed you knew best. What was best for me. What was best for my grandfather. I asked around, but I couldn’t find anyone who elected you God.”

  “Ouch,” Ike said.

  S
he didn’t respond, just headed back in the house. She didn’t lock the screen door, just gave it the opportunity to close with a decided thwack.

  Ike winced when the door slammed, then scratched the back of his neck.

  “What on earth did you do to that girl to set her off?” Cornelius demanded.

  Cashner set his chair rocking again. “She’s a firecracker. Always has been. Always will be. If I were you, Doc, I’d steer clear for a while.”

  Cornelius looked at him. “Don’t listen to him. Listen to me. If you let her fester on her own, she’ll build up a heap of temper. Then you’ll leave and we’ll be left here to get the brunt of it.”

  “Well, I guess that’s true,” Cashner reluctantly admitted. “Ike, you best go after her. Believe it. We’ll both stay out here, out of your way completely.”

  Cashner was lucid for a change—a good sign. Cornelius was even making sense. So Ike could put those two concerns out of his mind, at least for a few minutes. “Pansy, stay,” he murmured, and then aimed inside.

  He found Ginger by following the fumes.

  She was standing on the kitchen counter in her bare feet. Her goal was apparently to empty the contents from the top cupboard shelf. Two bottles of tequila were open and in the process of pouring down the drain, and she was about to lean down with a third. When she saw him in the doorway, she jumped.

  He surged forward at rocket speed, scared she’d fall—a risk that was hardly far-fetched, considering her behavior the other day. Yet when he sprinted close enough to lift his arms to support her, she moved back an inch. Just enough so he didn’t touch her. And said crossly, “I wasn’t going to fall. You just startled me.”

  “You startled me, too. Or the smell did. I take it you don’t like tequila?”

  “I have no idea. But you can take it to the bank, I won’t be drinking anything with worms in the bottle. Years ago, Gramps had an employee, worked in the tea, always brought Gramps a bottle at the end of the season. They kept accumulating. Grandma and I just ignored them. She had the same feeling about the worms that I did.” Then, “If you came for another kiss, you’re not going to get one.”