The girls’ bedroom was a mess. Neither of the beds was made, and dirty clothes were left where dropped. The two bedrooms shared one minuscule closet with doors left open in both directions. Books, fans, seashells, birds’ nests, rocks, driftwood, shoes, dirty dishes, glasses of water, theater cards tacked to the walls—ye gods, you could barely see the floors.
Gabe wasn’t nosy, but he took a peek into Roberta’s room and found it much the same. The most orderly thing in it appeared to be a stack of folded uniforms on top of her bureau. She had a beat-up chest and from one of its open drawers hung a petticoat with a soiled hem. She slept on the right side of the bed—he observed—on two stacked pillows, beneath a bedspread of yellow chenille. No curtains on the windows, only green shades with tattered bottoms, probably left over from crazy old Breckenridge.
Caroline would have set a match to the lot and called it a gain.
He looked for a picture of the husband but there was none. As he set to work glazing the new windowpane in place, he wondered what George Jewett had looked like.
The day went slowly without her. In only a week he’d grown used to the noises she made, clattering things, humming, playing the piano at ridiculous times, starting the car, coming out to talk to him, raising the smell of coffee brewing.
At noon he sat on the front porch steps and ate his sandwich alone, remembering how they’d sat together last Friday in her kitchen, talking. Time and again he thought, But she’s so different from Caroline, little realizing the implication of his musing.
His mother found him there, eating the last of his cookies.
‘‘Gabriel!’’ she called as she approached on foot across the front yard.
‘‘Well, what are you doing here?’’ he asked, brushing the cookie crumbs off his palms.
‘‘Came to see what you’re doing to old Breckenridge’s place.’’
‘‘It needed lots of work.’’
‘‘Porch looks good.’’
‘‘Seth and I did that last week.’’
‘‘Painted it too, I see.’’
‘‘Ayup. Workin’ inside this week.’’
‘‘I want to take a look. I heard she’s over at school giving shots, so I figured it was okay.’’ She started up the steps around him.
‘‘Hey, Ma, wait now! It’s her place. I can’t just let you walk in there!’’
He was too late. She’d already gone in by the time he got to his feet.
‘‘How’s she going to find out? Lord, this all the furniture she’s got? Piano’s the best thing in the room, and it’s seen some hard use.’’
‘‘Ma, come on, I don’t feel right letting you nose around in here.’’
‘‘I’m not nosing around.’’ Even making the claim she was standing in the doorway inspecting the kitchen. ‘‘I came to talk to you about Isobel.’’
‘‘What about her?’’
‘‘Everybody says she’s running with this woman’s girls and I don’t think Caroline would like it.’’
‘‘Caroline is dead, Ma, and I’ve got to decide those things for myself. And aren’t you the one who reminded me of it just a couple weeks ago?’’
Maude turned. ‘‘Listen, son, you’ve been spending an awful lot of time up here yourself.’’
‘‘Working for her.’’
‘‘On Saturday night?’’
‘‘I wasn’t here on Saturday night.’’
‘‘I heard you were.’’
‘‘Ma, you’ve been on that party line too much.’’
‘‘All I’m saying is this here is a divorced woman, and you’d better mind your P’s and Q’s around her because the entire town knows it. And I don’t want my granddaughter around these wild hooligans, getting a bad reputation.’’
‘‘You know what, Ma?’’ He forced his voice to remain calm. ‘‘I’m getting a little mad here. Been a long time since I’ve been mad, but damn it, I’m a grown man and I don’t have to explain my comings and goings to you. Nor do I have to explain them to a town full of gossips who don’t know Roberta Jewett from Adam. This is the happiest Isobel’s been since Caroline died. They hang around here, a whole gang of girls, singing and making up plays, and they take walks up the mountain and she fries them all fish, and if you want to know the truth, I’ve never seen a mother who spends so much time with her children, or one who enjoys them more. And they like her too. They laugh together, and she’s in there playing the piano with them and having fun. Now what’s wrong with that?’’
‘‘I’m just saying . . . you get your work done and get out of here, Gabriel.’’
He said it quietly, without rancor, but she knew he meant every word. ‘‘I think maybe the one who should get out of here right now is you, Ma.’’
He had a bad afternoon after that, worrying about what his mother was going to tell the other women on the party line, wondering why he hadn’t just come right out and claimed there was nothing between him and Roberta Jewett. It just burned him that people gossiped about her without ever having met her.
At midafternoon Seth showed up.
‘‘Boy, is Ma steaming,’’ he said.
‘‘Ayup.’’
‘‘What the hell did you say to her anyway?’’
‘‘Told her to mind her own business.’’
‘‘That’s about what I figured.’’
‘‘She come down to the shop or what?’’
‘‘Damn right she did, and told me to get up here and see if I could loosen the rocks in your head.’’
‘‘Town’s too small for its own good. Everybody knows everybody else’s business.’’
Seth looked mischievous. ‘‘Ma says she’s all done filling your cookie jar.’’
Gabe angled his brother an amused glance. ‘‘Well, that’ll sure fix me, won’t it?’’ They both laughed and Seth thumped Gabe between the shoulder blades.
‘‘So, you gettin’ along pretty good with Mrs. Jewett or what?’’
‘‘No, nothing like that. We just talk a lot, that’s all.’’
‘‘Didn’t think you ever talked a lot.’’
‘‘About the people we were married to.’’
‘‘Ohhh . . .’’ Seth said, tilting back his head sagely. ‘‘. . . about the people you were married to. Isn’t that interesting?’’
‘‘Not you, too! Damn it, Seth, you’re as bad as Ma!’’
‘‘No, I’m not. I’m just teasing, and I don’t gossip either.’’
‘‘Go on,’’ Gabe said with an affectionate grin. ‘‘Get the hell out of here.’’
* * *
The girls—all four of them—came home after school, hungry, laughing, loquacious, and filled the house with life.
‘‘Your mother said don’t eat her out of house and home, and be sure you pick up after yourselves.’’
Gabe was surprised to find he enjoyed their banter and gaiety. They’d all had shots at school and compared arms and told about a younger girl who’d fainted. More than once he laughed, listening to them, continuing to patch plaster on the inside walls.
‘‘We’re going!’’ one of them called.
‘‘Where?’’ he called back.
‘‘Over to the Spears’ to look at Aunt Grace’s old dresses!’’
‘‘Change your clothes first! Isobel, you go home and change your . . .’’ He was ordering thin air. They were halfway across the yard and he was shaking his head, happy for their freedom, in spite of himself.
They were still gone at five when Roberta came home and found Gabe washing off his mortarboard and tools by the pump. She walked through the quiet house and followed the sounds toward the backyard, where he was down on one knee beside a bucket with his back to the house. He didn’t hear her coming along the curled wooden boards that served as a walkway to the pump. She stopped five feet behind him and said, ‘‘I’m glad you’re still here.’’
He whipped around a quarter turn, caught unawares. Then he settled back on one heel, with a wrist caught on
the lip of his bucket, fingers dripping. ‘‘So how was your first day?’’
‘‘Not bad. Only three children fainted.’’
‘‘Already heard about one of them.’’
‘‘Where are the girls?’’ She reached up to remove a hatpin and her white cap. His eyes dropped to her breasts, then veered away to his tools, which he shook off and dropped into the pail.
‘‘At your sister’s. Went to look at her old dresses.’’
He rose, taking in details. Her apron was dotted with specks of blood here and there and her uniform was wrinkled. A wisp of hair had pulled loose when she removed her cap, and she tucked it behind her ear while asking, ‘‘You in a hurry to leave?’’
‘‘No. Got nothing at home but an empty house.’’
‘‘May I talk to you about something?’’
‘‘Sure,’’ he said, carrying his bucket, walking with her to the back step where she sat with her elbows on her knees. He sat beside her on the wooden step, leaving a discreet distance between them. She held her cap, monkeying with it while she spoke, pushing the pin repeatedly into the hard starched cotton.
‘‘Would you be completely truthful with me?’’ she said.
‘‘Depends on what you’re going to ask.’’
She drew a deep breath. ‘‘Elfred and Grace came over yesterday and told me they were going to have a party for me, to introduce me into polite society, so to speak. She said that they wanted to show the good citizens of Camden that even though I’m a social outcast, they’re willing to have me in their house anyway in the hopes that others will be equally as magnanimous.’’
Amazement broadened his expression and straightened his spine. ‘‘Your sister said that?’’
‘‘Well, no, not exactly in those words, but the essence was the same.’’
‘‘She shouldn’t have done that.’’
‘‘Is it really that bad? Is everybody in this town talking about me just because I’m divorced?’’ She gave up fiddling with her cap and looked at him.
‘‘What do you care what they say? People are thoughtless and ignorant sometimes.’’
‘‘So they are.’’
He shifted his gaze to the pump. ‘‘I don’t gossip much myself, so I wouldn’t know.’’
‘‘I asked you to be honest with me. Please, Gabriel.’’
He, too, had a family member with whom he was displeased. He wished he could unload his dissatisfactions with his mother, but to do so would wound Roberta even more, so he remained silent.
‘‘Why is the woman blamed when the man is unfaithful?’’ she said.
‘‘I don’t know, Roberta.’’
‘‘These people don’t even know me.’’
‘‘No, they don’t. So you’ll just have to face them down and show them you’re a good person.’’
‘‘You think I’m a good person?’’
‘‘Yes, I do. Now that I’ve come to know you, I certainly do. Makes me feel pretty sheepish, too, ’cause when you first came to town I was just like them, making jokes at your expense.’’
‘‘Yes, I remember very well.’’
‘‘Am I forgiven?’’
‘‘Do you want to be?’’
He thought it best not to look at her while divulging, ‘‘My family thinks there’s something going on between you and me, and they’re giving me the raspberries.’’
‘‘What exactly does that mean—the raspberries?’’
‘‘Nothing. Forget I said it.’’
‘‘What? Are they teasing you? Warning you off? What?’’
‘‘Forget it.’’ He got to his feet, picking up his bucket. ‘‘I shouldn’t have said anything. I’d better go.’’
Her temper spiked because she wanted whole honesty and he pulled back, afraid of it. She was a woman accustomed to talking things out, not hiding things; facing issues, not suppressing them.
‘‘All right. Be stubborn!’’ she snapped, rising too, and marching inside, letting the screen door slam between them.
He watched her go, quickly upset by her uncustomary show of temper. After standing awhile, trying to decide how to handle it, he followed her inside, into the smell of wet plaster and the dusting of graham cracker crumbs left behind on the kitchen table by the girls. She was wiping them up with brusque, angry motions, refusing to glance at him when he entered the room.
‘‘I told them to clean up after themselves. Sorry they didn’t.’’
She threw down the dishcloth and slammed a door that had been left gaping. He stood uncertainly for a bit longer, then went through to the front room where he’d piled some tools in preparation for leaving. He felt as if there were a brick in his belly, knowing he’d displeased her. Funny, how very heavy it felt. He got all his tools and his bucket in hand and stood for a minute, alone. Then set them all down again and went back to the kitchen doorway. She was standing at a window with her arms crossed, staring out. Her cap was on the table.
‘‘Roberta,’’ he said.
‘‘What?’’ she snapped, without looking at him.
‘‘It doesn’t matter what they say.’’
She spun angrily and tapped her chest. ‘‘Not to you, but to me it does! My own sister! Your family! Everybody thinking the worst of me when none of it is true! None of it! Just because I’m divorced doesn’t mean I don’t have morals!’’
‘‘I know that,’’ he said quietly.
She picked up her cap and brushed passed him, heading for the stairs. ‘‘Just get out of here,’’ she ordered in disgust. ‘‘I don’t need you. I don’t know why I even thought I could talk to you! I have my girls, and they’re better than the rest of this town put together!’’
Up the stairs she went, and he after her, grabbing her by one arm when she was halfway up. There they stood, on two different levels, she looking down and he looking up, gripping her arm while, on some existential level, they were aware of his having invaded the private part of her house by following her toward her room.
‘‘I shouldn’t have said that about my family. I’m . . . I’m sorry.’’
Her expression remained flat and cold. ‘‘Maybe you should have your brother finish the work around here.’’
He felt a queer stab of loss. Seconds ticked by and he still held her in place. ‘‘That what you want?’’
‘‘Yes, I think it is.’’ And after a pause, sarcastically, ‘‘Of course, just because he’s married doesn’t mean they won’t think I’m entertaining him too, isn’t that right? Would you please release my arm?’’
He did, reluctantly. ‘‘You’ve got my brother all wrong. He’s the only one who stands up for you.’’
‘‘Oh, so you’ve been discussing me with him, too. That makes Elfred and your brother and how many others?’’
Suddenly he grew impatient with her misconstruing everything he said. ‘‘Now stop it!’’ he shouted. ‘‘That’s not true, and you know it. All right, maybe it was with Elfred, at first, but I apologized for that. And I don’t go whispering about you behind your back anymore, not since I’ve gotten to know you better.’’
She forced a wry laugh, touched her brow as if clearing her head and went up the rest of the stairs. ‘‘What are we fighting about? I don’t even know! You’re nothing but my carpenter, for heaven’s sake, and I’m standing here wasting my time with you?’’ She disappeared around the upstairs corner. ‘‘Tell your brother I want him to finish this job!’’ she shouted from her bedroom.
He shouted back, ‘‘I don’t want him to!’’
Her head reappeared. ‘‘Oh no? Well, I do!’’ She disappeared again.
‘‘I started it, I’ll finish it!’’ he yelled. Then even louder, ‘‘Roberta, get back here!’’
She reappeared at the top of the steps, unbuttoning her apron behind her. ‘‘Stop yelling, Farley. Pack up your tools and go, because I don’t know what’s going on between us, but whatever it is, I don’t need the aggravation in my life. I’ve got my girls, and
my job, and my motorcar, and I’m happy as a lark. Now go, and send your brother tomorrow morning!’’
Wham! Her bedroom door slammed.
When she disappeared for the final time he braced an arm on the wall and hung his head, wondering why he was arguing with her . . . a bullheaded, know-it-all smarty who set about proving at every turn that she could get along without a man. After all, she had told him she didn’t want anything to do with men. Why was he hanging around here?
In her room, Roberta slammed her door but it was warped and swung open again. She pressed her spine against it, letting her temper settle. Silence from him. A long silence while she wondered what he was doing down there. Then at last she heard his footsteps clunk away and the sound of his truck driving off.
She removed her uniform and put it in cold water to soak, then played the piano to calm herself.
While she was playing the girls arrived with some of Grace’s old dresses, announcing that they were going to perform The Song of Hiawatha on Sunday afternoon on the front porch. Roberta made sure Isobel went home by six. She was back an hour and a half later though, and said, ‘‘Boy, is my dad a grouch tonight! All I did was ask him if he’d come to Hiawatha, and he nearly bit my head off! He said we always go to Grandma’s on Sunday afternoon, and I got so mad I had to get out of there!’’
Roberta thought smugly, Good! He’s upset me, let him be upset as well!
He did not send Seth to finish the job for the remainder of that week. Instead, he made sure he got there after Roberta left in the morning and finished before she returned in the afternoon. She didn’t know who was doing the work and told herself she didn’t care. Each day she saw progress—the walls sanded, painted, the woodwork revarnished. A new doorknob on the back door. A shim put under one corner of the piano so it sat level. The heat register in the ceiling painted. Her bedroom door adjusted so it would close properly. And that’s when she knew.
On Saturday she commandeered one of Grace’s old dresses from the costume stack, took it in severely, polished up her run-over black shoes and drove over to the Spears’ house for their party.
Who should be there but Gabriel Farley.