‘‘Oh, my God,’’ Mary shouted. ‘‘You’re in love with him!’’
Norah quick-smiled. ‘‘You can’t say that, Mary. Haven’t you always said, ‘Poor Norah. She can’t love anybody except herself’?’’
Rossa stopped for a word with Mary when he brought Denny back on his way into town. ‘‘I was wrong about him, Mary. He’s not all muscle. He’s got a brain up there. And get him to sing ‘Home on the Range’ for you.’’
‘‘Aren’t you the one,’’ Mary said, sparing herself having to thank him.
Christopher Columbus could not have had more to tell returning from America than Denny coming back from Donel Rossa’s farm.
‘‘Did you learn how to milk a cow?’’ Mary asked.
‘‘And how to squirt milk in the cat’s mouth,’’ Denny said.
Mary remembered learning to milk and the kick of the cow who didn’t think much of how she went about it, and she thought of Norah’s going on about how she had begged to be brought over. She’d known when she landed she’d never go back. In steerage, sick as a dog all the way.
And him threatening to send her back if she didn’t give in to him. ‘‘Lie down on the bale there and turn up your arse.’’ She’d never got over it, even with Michael. And Norah saying, ‘‘I know how you feel.’’ Norah had gone home and pulled down the blinds on the windows that faced the barn. When she came out of the house it was by the front door and she never looked across. Nor had she hung a stitch on the clothesline.
‘‘I didn’t get to do much milking,’’ Denny said. ‘‘It’s terrible hard on the wrists, you know.’’
‘‘Is it now? Would you teach your granny to milk ducks?’’
Denny told things in spurts. He’d have told them better, Mary thought, if they’d had a tune to them— how the men on the wagon took the pitchfork away from him and made him load the sheaves by hand. ‘‘I couldn’t get the hang of it, you see. They said I’d be murdering them.’’ And Mrs. Rossa’s pies: ‘‘The look of them made your mouth water. Only she’d made a mistake and put salt instead of sugar in them. You should’ve seen Donel. I thought he was going to hit her. But he put his arm around her at the last minute, and told the men, ‘I’ll make it up to you,’ and he sure did. Two bottles. He told me after he was taking an awful chance. One of the ones he didn’t know could’ve been a spy, a Revenue agent.’’
Rossa had kept Dennis a day and a night after the combine pushed on to the next farm, and to hear Denny tell it, nothing as wonderful had ever happened to him before. He discovered Rossa’s collection of guns that he kept locked in the harness room. Rossa was a hunter. He showed Denny how to load and carry a shotgun, and had taken him out at dawn that very morning to shoot at the crows where they were cleaning up grain left in the harvest stubble.
‘‘I told him about the gun in Norah’s storeroom. You didn’t even see it, I bet.’’
‘‘I’ve seen it,’’ Mary said.
‘‘It’s a shotgun, Donel says. I knew that myself when I seen his. He says if Norah would let me borrow it, he’d help me clean it up and oil it. And he’ll take me hunting with him in the fall. They hunt small game with it—squirrels and rabbits. He told me you can make a better rabbit stew than Mrs. Rossa.’’
‘‘Once in my life,’’ Mary said. ‘‘Once in my life. Donel skinned it for me and I pretended it was an old rooster.’’
Denny pulled his chair closer to hers. He wet his lips. ‘‘Would you ask Aunt Norah for me?’’
She should never have taken him over there, Mary thought, but she’d been all over that with herself. And she ought not to have made fun of Norah, blurting out that she was in love, though she didn’t believe it for a minute. From the way Norah was carrying on since, Mary wasn’t sure what was going on with her.
‘‘I’ll have to think about it,’’ Mary said. She’d begun to feel sorry for her sister, the boob, the big, blubbering boob. ‘‘There’s enough to do in the onion patch to keep you busy. And for God’s sake take off the clothes you’re wearing and soak them in the tub.’’
‘‘I will,’’ Denny said. ‘‘I sweated a lot. Donel says we should keep the gun ready just to fire off and scare the Revenue men if they come snooping around. He says they might.’’
‘‘I said I’ll think about it,’’ Mary said.
How many times in those three days had Norah said, ‘‘How dare she!’’ and attacked with fury every chore she could put her mind to. She scoured the kitchen and bathroom sinks, the toilet bowl, the front steps. She finished the last of the schoolgirls’ dresses, folded them, and called round for them to be picked up. Her anger fed on memories of one good thing after another that Mary had spoiled for her. Even the piano. The dead piano in her parlor— Mary’s joke.
But her anger and her feeling of shame wore down, and that morning when she heard Rossa’s truck pull up to the barn, she looked out through the crack of daylight between the blind and the window frame, and watched Denny’s return. She pulled up all the blinds and boiled an egg for breakfast.
‘‘I could have done this myself,’’ the girl said, wanting to hand in the dress without a hello or how-are-you when Norah opened the door. Margaret surely taught her better.
‘‘Come in and let me look at you,’’ Norah said.
‘‘Dad’s in a terrible hurry.’’
‘‘No, dear. You are.’’ Norah smiled and backed into the house. ‘‘I know your father.’’ Tom Dixon was a great talker. Mary got to know more about what was happening in the town from an hour with him than Norah learned reading a month of the Hope Valley News.
The girl had little choice but to follow her indoors.
‘‘If you had more time,’’ Norah said, ‘‘I’d ask you to play your latest piece for me.’’
‘‘When I pick up the dress, maybe,’’ the thirteen-year-old said. She was even less fond of Norah’s piano than of the one at home. She could kick hers and the place she’d kicked wouldn’t show.
‘‘You’ll have to put the dress on, dear, if I’m going to pin it up.’’
‘‘Mother said . . .’’
Norah stopped her. ‘‘Elaine, I know how to alter a dress.’’
The girl took the dress into the bathroom and put it on.
Why they named her Elaine, Norah would never know. From a poem Margaret had read, she remembered. Or was it after someone in Tom’s family? He was English. She certainly wasn’t Norah’s notion of an Elaine. No wonder they called her Lainie.
What was her hurry? Norah wondered when she let her out of the house and watched her lope across the way. Did the girl hate her that much? Norah did know she was fonder of Mary and her ramshackle house. It struck her then: Denny.
Lainie burst into Mary’s kitchen. ‘‘She’s spooky!’’
‘‘That’s enough,’’ Tom said.
Mary chuckled. ‘‘I think it myself sometimes.’’ She turned up her cheek for a kiss. ‘‘Is it you that’s growing or me that’s shrinking?’’
‘‘Where’s Denny?’’ the girl asked.
‘‘Didn’t I tell you?’’ Tom said to Mary. He was right. The girl had reached the age where one word said it all: boys.
‘‘I’ve fixed him a jar of tea. You can take it down to him in the far field and make him share it with you.’’
‘‘You have the devil in you, Mary,’’ Tom said.
She gave that rattle of a laugh. ‘‘Sure, it’s broad daylight.’’
And the blinds were up next door. Wouldn’t Norah be watching with the frozen heart of a chaperone? Mary pushed their tea things out of the way. ‘‘I’ve a question or two for you, Tom. You’re wearing your badge, I see.’’
‘‘If I didn’t the sheriff would take it from me.’’
‘‘I thought maybe something was up. The Revenue men going round, say. Or is Donel filling Denny’s head with goblins?’’
‘‘I’m on the side of the Feds. I have to be,’’ Tom said. ‘‘It’s the law.’’
�
��‘Would they be after Donel, do you think?’’
‘‘I’m not in their confidence, Mary.’’
She let it go. ‘‘Wouldn’t you think they’d have more to do in this country than put and take laws like that one?’’
‘‘It’s a country for and by the people,’’ Tom said. Scratch a veteran and find a patriot. Mary could beat time to it.
‘‘You know Donel’s put down money on a building in town,’’ he added.
‘‘Is that a fact?’’ she said, all ears.
‘‘I’ve heard he’ll be opening a business of some sort, a big one.’’
‘‘And quitting the farm?’’
‘‘The farm’s quitting a lot of us these days, Mary.’’
Mary envisioned the main street of Hopetown as she had last paid it attention. Vacancies galore.
‘‘What kind of business, do you think?’’
‘‘It’s a ways off,’’ Tom said.
‘‘He plans ahead,’’ Mary said. She was thinking of Donel’s palaver about the horse and the truck. ‘‘And he has money. Sure, that’s what makes the mare go, Tom. Money makes the mare go.’’
‘‘I’ll put the dishes in the sink for you,’’ Tom said, getting up.
‘‘Leave them. There’s something I’d like you to do for me while you’re here: Give Denny a hand with a cupboard he’s to bring over from Norah’s.’’
She made her way to the telephone and gave it a mighty crank.
‘‘Are you feeling better, Norah?’’ The very tone of Mary’s voice, the purr of concern, put Norah on guard.
‘‘I’m doing fine,’’ Norah said.
‘‘Ah, that’s good news. I was worried about you,’’ Mary chirped. ‘‘I was wondering if you felt up to it, while I have Tom here, could him and Denny pick up the cupboard? I can’t count on Donel these days.’’
‘‘I’ll go down and unlock the door,’’ Norah said.
‘‘Would it be less trouble if I sent Denny ahead for the key?’’
‘‘I said I’ll go down.’’ She’d send Denny ahead for the key, taunting her, that’s what it was, Norah thought.
She was sure of it when all four of them crowded down the cellar steps. The girl giggling and Denny coming down backwards to give her his hand. A gentleman!
‘‘Hey! It’s creepy in here,’’ the girl squealed.
‘‘Couldn’t we have more light?’’ Mary called. ‘‘Tom wants to look at your furnace while he’s here.’’
Denny opened the storeroom door for her, where she pulled the switch that lit up the whole cellar. Denny seemed to light up with it, as though she had conjured the light for his delight. She could not conceal the pleasure of looking at him, but she turned on Mary. ‘‘Is that light enough for you?’’
‘‘Ah, Norah, you’re still not yourself. It’s Denny made me come along and speak to you for him. I think he’s afraid of you, God knows why.’’ She gave a swipe of her hand at Lainie, who’d crept up, never wanting to miss anything. ‘‘Go there with your father, girl. He’ll need your advice.’’ And to Norah, ‘‘Can we come in for a minute?’’ Her stick ahead of her, she was already in the storeroom. Canny as a scavenger, she saw the gun, but didn’t let on at first. Then: ‘‘There it is!’’ She looked up at her sister. ‘‘It’s the gun, Norah. It’s been on his mind ever since we were here. If I’d known at the time, I’d have said something.’’
Norah’s brief shock of pleasure went dead. She felt let down by Denny, betrayed, him letting Mary in on the little bond she’d thought between him and herself. Afraid of her? Mary’s nonsense. Nobody was afraid of her. He was shy. That’s what she loved about him.
He stood there holding his breath, waiting for the next word.
‘‘What about the gun, Denny? Can’t you tell me yourself?’’ She didn’t want to hear any more from Mary.
‘‘Aunt Norah,’’ he started.
‘‘Just plain Norah, Denny.’’
He nodded. ‘‘Could we borrow it, Aunt Norah?’’
‘‘Who’s the ‘we,’ Dennis?’’
‘‘Mr. Rossa and me. He’ll help me clean it up and take me hunting with him in the fall.’’
Norah did not like Donel Rossa. She didn’t trust him—all his trips to and from Chicago, and his ‘‘holy water,’’ his ‘‘smiles’’ as he called them. He was in the business, she was sure. Why he coddled Mary, she never knew, but she did know how he treated her. Like she was a crook, like she’d befuddled the old lady into leaving her everything. In truth, he made her feel about herself the way she felt about him.
‘‘Have you ever fired a gun in your life, Denny?’’
‘‘I have—in the amusement park in White City. I shot down the whole row of ducks and I took the prize. It was a kewpie doll I gave to my mother.’’
‘‘Oh, my God,’’ Mary said. ‘‘Tell her about the crows in the field this morning.’’
Denny repeated the story much as he’d told it to Mary. He wasn’t sizzling, Mary thought, but he was holding his own. And so was Norah. Mary could see her guard going up. She was afraid of losing something, of something being taken away from her, and she didn’t like Donel, Mary knew.
Tom and the girl had come to the door.
‘‘Rossa knows guns,’’ Tom said. ‘‘He’ll teach you proper. I’m not a hunter myself, but I know one when I see the gun in his hand.’’
‘‘Dad won’t even shoot a fox,’’ Lainie said. ‘‘I’m a better shot than he is.’’
The bold thing, Norah thought. Next she’d want to go hunting with Denny and to hide in a duck blind with him.
‘‘Could I show you, Aunt Norah?’’ Not waiting for leave, he darted across the room and took the gun in hand. He brushed away the dust and broke the breech. Not easily. It needed his strength.
‘‘Empty,’’ he said of the cartridge chamber. ‘‘You must never take a chance.’’ He locked the gun again and held it crosswise to himself and waited.
They were all waiting. Except Mary, who had neither patience nor use for guns, especially this one. She was determined Denny could become the apple of Donel’s eye. ‘‘What good is it to you, Norah? Couldn’t I have taken it the day we were in here cleaning out for you?’’
‘‘You could not,’’ Norah said. ‘‘Shall I tell you why?’’
‘‘There’s no need.’’ She turned round to the door. ‘‘Come on, Denny, let’s go home.’’
Norah spoke out so that all of them would hear. ‘‘You may borrow the gun, Denny, if you give me your word as a gentleman, it stays in this house when you’re not out hunting with it. But you must give me your word.’’
‘‘I do,’’ Denny said with such fervor it made Mary laugh.
She laughed, but with no great pleasure. Norah had won something though she wasn’t sure what. Her back was to them when Denny put the gun back from where he had taken it.
‘‘Thank you, Norah,’’ he said, up close to her face.
Norah thought it eloquent, that soft, rich voice. Simple and eloquent. ‘‘We’ll have a key made for you, Denny.’’
His smile went through her.
Tom was already testing the weight of the cupboard. He had rarely visited the sisters that they did not end things with a quarrel between them. He wanted away. ‘‘Let’s go, Denny. I want to get home before the cows come in.’’
Lainie was there first, lifting the other end of the huge pine box with its clattering doors. ‘‘Lay it down flat and you could put a couple of bodies in it,’’ she said to her father just above a whisper.
‘‘Never mind,’’ he said. But he let her help. He always said she was more help to him than ever a boy would have been.
Denny wanted to telephone Donel that very night and tell him he’d be able to go hunting with him in the fall.
‘‘When you next see him, it’ll be time enough,’’ Mary said, and when he drooped like a spent daisy, she explained, ‘‘Donel Rossa has more on his mind than teaching you how to sh
oot rabbits.’’
‘‘I know that, but I could start working on the gun by myself. It’s terrible rusty.’’ He suddenly brightened. ‘‘I know what I’ll do—I’ll go in town to the hardware store and they’ll tell me what I need.’’
‘‘I’m sure they will,’’ Mary said. ‘‘And maybe they’ll tell you how to pay for it.’’
A storm blew up in the night and set the beaded curtain rustling. Old bones, she thought. That’s what it was made of. She hadn’t listened to it much since he had come and she had a terrible premonition that she was going to lose him. It was a new kind of pain, as though she needed it. She reached for the flask under the lumpy pillow. She was going to lose that, too.
Rain came with the wind and in the morning she knew they were not going to pick a second round of tomatoes or plough under the potato field. She also knew that one thing she had to do about Denny was keep him busy. She waited for him to come up from emptying the slops and wash the bucket at the outdoor pump. By the time he came in he was soaked to the skin. From the storage bin under the sofa she brought out a checkered wool shirt of Michael’s she’d intended to wear herself someday. The someday had never come. ‘‘It’ll keep you warm hunting ducks,’’ she said. ‘‘Put it on for now.’’
At the first break in the weather they went out to the padlocked back door of the barn. ‘‘This is where the cows came in,’’ Mary said, and Dennis, with his nose in the air, said, ‘‘I can tell.’’
Piled along the cement frames where once there had been stanchions were several sheets of beaverboard and the lumber they had not used in carving a place of her own for Mary. Donel had been generous and he dreamed big dreams. She would remind him, when the right time came, of how they’d planned a second room, and maybe a second stove off Mary’s parlor. She pointed out to Denny the slit of light in the roof, a boxed vent to where a chimney pipe might be raised.
It was her dream at the moment, not Denny’s. He wandered off. He was a city boy, sure, and he’d met cows for the first time in his life at Donel’s, and he’d caught the smell of them here.
Sisters On the Case Page 31