Becky looked squarely into her mother’s eyes and said very simply, ‘‘Marry Mr. Farley, Mother. I think you love him more than you know, and sometimes you can be too independent for your own good.’’
‘‘Can I now?’’ Roberta chided good-naturedly, tipping her head.
‘‘Yes, you can . . . so think about it.’’ Becky got up and padded barefoot toward the doorway. Reaching it, she paused and said over her shoulder, ‘‘Besides, if you marry him you two won’t have to kiss under a blanket on the porch swing anymore. You can come in the house where you belong.’’
Less than one hour later, Roberta called Gabe on the telephone.
‘‘Good morning, Gabriel,’’ she greeted.
‘‘Wh . . .’’ His surprise was evident even before he said so. ‘‘Why, this is a surprise.’’
‘‘I didn’t wake you up, did I?’’
‘‘No, I was up having my coffee, getting set to go to work.’’
‘‘Did you sleep well?’’
He cleared his throat. ‘‘Actually, no, I didn’t, Roberta.’’
‘‘Oh?’’ she said, dropping an undertone of flirtatiousness into the single syllable. ‘‘Why’s that?’’
He chuckled deep in his throat and the sound prompted pleasant shivers up her trunk.
She laughed with him, and for a while the operator had only silence to listen in on.
‘‘I’ve been thinking,’’ Roberta went on, ‘‘there’s a Boston troupe at the Opera House tonight. They’re doing an Oscar Wilde play and I promised the girls I’d take them. Would you and Isobel want to come along?’’
‘‘Oscar Wilde?’’ Gabe said.
‘‘The Importance of Being Earnest.’’
‘‘Oh.’’
She could tell he knew nothing about Oscar Wilde or his plays.
‘‘Have you ever been before?’’
‘‘To a play? Ah . . . no, no I haven’t.’’
She smiled and imagined him feeling out of his element. ‘‘It’s all right, Gabriel. I haven’t built any porches or grown any rosebushes, but that’s not saying we both can’t learn.’’
In his silence she recognized a return of the concupiscence between them and wished—amazing herself suddenly—that he were there, that she could see him even if only briefly, be kissed by him and feel the vibrancy of his presence, be cleansed by it and lose the shadings that remained from her nightmare. Tonight seemed such a long time to wait.
‘‘Gabriel? What do you say?’’
‘‘I’m willing to give it a try.’’
She smiled and felt young. And energized. And impatient!
‘‘Gabriel?’’ she said, realizing that romantic longing is not reserved for only the very young.
‘‘What, Roberta?’’
‘‘Tonight seems a very long time away.’’
She had a hectic schedule at work that day, with plenty of medical tasks to occupy her mind. But Gabriel occupied it, too, in spite of the diversity of her chores.
She took a bean out of the nose of a five-year-old boy whose mother had made it worse by trying to extract it with a buttonhook. She sent to the doctor a man with a toe that had swollen his foot to twice its size after he’d chopped through his shoe with an axe and split the toe joint. She retaped the fractured ribs of a teamster who had been flattened up against a fish shed wall when his lead horse spooked at the sound of a steam whistle down on the docks. She verified an outbreak of measles at a farm southwest of town, and treated not only the family’s three children, but also their pet pig, who had erupted with the pustules at the same time as the toddlers.
Between all these jobs, she drove, covering a total of sixty-five miles. And while she bounced and bumped and rocked over dry gravel roads with her hair jarring loose and her uniform getting cloudy, she thought of Gabriel and planned how, at the end of the afternoon, she’d indulge in a full-blown bath, and would wash her hair and pin it up the way he liked: It wouldn’t hurt her to indulge him this one time on the night she intended to accept his proposal of marriage. She would put on her single good linen dress with the bell sleeves and the fagoting across the bodice, and she would say to him, ‘‘Gabriel, I accept your proposal. I’d be very proud to be your wife.’’
But when she got home in the late afternoon a strange woman was sitting on her new porch swing, dressed in a hat that looked as if bees should be carrying nectar into it. Beneath it her straight summer suit and brown lace-up oxfords looked severe. So did her prim white gloves.
She wasn’t swinging, just sitting properly with her ankles crossed and her purse handle caught over her wrist. When Roberta drove up, she rose and waited at the top of the porch steps.
‘‘Mrs. Jewett?’’ she said, at Roberta’s approach.
‘‘Yes?’’
‘‘My name is Alda Quimby. I’m a member of the Camden school board, and I’ve been asked to come and speak to you by our chairman, Mr. Boynton.’’
‘‘About what?’’
‘‘Is there somewhere we can speak privately?’’
‘‘No, there’s not. The front porch will have to do. Sit down where you were and I’ll stand. Just a minute though, I’ve got to say hello to my girls first.’’ She went inside, shouting, ‘‘Girls! I’m home!’’
There happened to be five of them there that day, plus two boys—Ethan Ogier and his younger brother, Elmer. They were all in the backyard, some sorting through a collection of seashells and some lounging on the back steps, while Elmer Ogier hung upside down by his knees from the clothesline pole, trying to impress the younger girls.
Roberta went through the kitchen and called out the back door, ‘‘Hi, everyone, I’m home!’’
Susan came to the opposite side of the screen and whispered, ‘‘Who’s that woman, Mother?’’
‘‘I don’t know. I’ll tell you later. Pump me some bathwater, will you, Susan? Thanks.’’
Back on the front porch Alda Quimby remained standing as Roberta came out in her dusty uniform.
‘‘Now, Mrs. Quimby . . . what can I do for you?’’
‘‘I’m here on official business, Mrs. Jewett, and I may as well warn you, it isn’t pleasant.’’
Roberta knew exactly what it was, and exhibited no patience.
‘‘Well, spit it out then. That bunch of dried-up hussies known as the Benevolent Society thinks I’m not a fit mother, isn’t that right?’’
Mrs. Quimby’s mouth dropped open, then snapped shut tight as a mussel shell. Her hat was ringed with cabbage roses the color of her own nipples— if she has any, thought Roberta. The flowers fairly trembled on her self-righteous head.
‘‘Mr. Boynton’s wife is a member of that society and she brought some things to her husband’s attention—’’
‘‘That he was too lily-livered to come here and talk to me about himself, probably because he thinks I won’t buy my next motorcar from him, and he’s right. I won’t!’’
‘‘It’s come to our attention that your children are left to fend for themselves five days a week, and that in your absence a number of the other town children have taken to gathering here at your house without any sort of adult supervision. Is that correct?’’
‘‘I work to support my children— that’s correct!’’ Roberta snapped.
‘‘Some of them are in your backyard right now.’’
‘‘That’s right.’’
Mrs. Quimby’s mouth puckered as if she were getting ready to sip hot tea. ‘‘You’re divorced, I believe.’’
‘‘Yes, thank God. And I’m a licensed nurse, and the owner of this house, and the owner of that motorcar, and quite capable of raising my children on my own.’’
‘‘Mrs. Jewett, I’ll save us both some time and make this as plain as possible. Complaints have been waged about your causing a fistfight between two men in this town, one of whom is married—and is, to add to the shamefulness of the incident—your own brother-in-law. The fracas, I’m told, was witnessed by his own wife
and children, who—rumor has it—heard the vilest language that night, and heard things about you that no child should ever hear, and which, I might add, raised eyebrows from one end of this town to another. One of Camden’s most respected businessmen has subsequently been walking around deplorably defaced, and your motorcar has been seen late at night parked in front of the other man’s house. He’s been seen on your front porch so much that concern has been expressed for his daughter’s welfare as well. Your children have been heard to say that they had to eat fudge for supper because their mother didn’t come home until after dark, but left them to fend for themselves at mealtime. And today there’s a rumor that you and Mr. Farley were seen spooning on this very swing at midnight last night!
‘‘Mrs. Jewett, I’m sure you’ll understand that the members of the school board must concern themselves with the welfare of any child whose well-being is threatened by a lack of normal daily parental care, and whose home is being run like a bordello.’’
Roberta scarcely trusted herself to remain on the porch lest she send Alda Quimby bouncing backward down its steps on her know-it-all, highfalutin’ ass.
‘‘You erudite jackasses don’t know the first thing about what makes a good parent!’’ she shouted. ‘‘If you did, you’d be at Elfred Spear’s door right now. I’ll ask you to leave, Mrs. Quimby, and if you want to question my morals or the care I give my children, you’d better be prepared to do so through legal channels, because I shall fight you until I’m dead before I’ll let you take my girls away. Now get off my porch and don’t ever set foot on it again!’’
‘‘The school board asked me to—’’
‘‘Get off, I said!’’
‘‘Mrs. Jewett, at the next school board meeting—’’
‘‘Off!’’ Roberta gave Mrs. Quimby a little help. ‘‘And tell that pantywaist Boynton to do his own dirty work next time instead of sending a woman to do it for him!’’
She didn’t have to push Mrs. Quimby again. One step in her direction and the woman scuttled off with her cabbage roses trembling.
When Gabriel arrived that evening he found Roberta in a state of extreme agitation, still in her soiled uniform with her bath untaken. She filled him in on what had happened, then raved, ‘‘How dare they!’’ pacing up and down her living room. ‘‘Gabriel, I’m so mad I could kill somebody! I swear, if I owned a gun, I would! They send that prissy know-it-all over here with her Virgin Mary white gloves and her hatful of cabbage roses to tell me I don’t know how to raise my kids!’’
The girls were all hovering around, as incensed as their mother.
Rebecca said, ‘‘I’ll go tell that school board a thing or two!’’
‘‘Yeah, our mother is the best one in the world!’’ added Susan.
Isobel said, ‘‘I’ll tell them too, the idiots!’’
‘‘Could they really take us away from her?’’ Lydia asked, at ten still young enough to be more fearful than angry.
‘‘I don’t think so,’’ Gabe said. ‘‘Roberta, I’m so sorry.’’
Then something most wonderful happened: Gabriel took Roberta in his arms right there in the middle of her living room with all four of their girls looking on. And nobody thought a thing of it. She put her face against his neck and folded her arms up his back, and for that moment, while she took strength from him, the six of them felt a supreme rightness about being together.
‘‘Oh, Gabe,’’ she told him, loud enough for the girls to hear, ‘‘I’m so glad I’ve got you right now.’’
‘‘Don’t you worry, Roberta, I won’t let anybody take anything away from you—ever.’’
Her eyes were closed and tears had darkened her lashes. ‘‘I’ve never been much of a crybaby, but I must admit, I’ve been close to it since that woman left.’’
‘‘Well, that’s perfectly understandable. Now listen, I’m not the only one behind you . . . the girls are too . . . aren’t you, girls?’’
He opened the circle of two and it became a circle of six as their daughters came and closed in around the two of them. If there was ever a moment when the two families bonded, this was it. There in the house that had brought Roberta and Gabriel together, where they had overcome their first aversion for each other, and had fought and forgiven and shared their first kiss, and where their children had become fast friends, they formed a ring of connectedness on this occasion when it was so badly needed.
‘‘Now, listen,’’ Gabe said, ‘‘we’re not going to let this keep us from going to the theater, are we?’’
Roberta despaired. ‘‘Oh, Gabe, I haven’t even changed clothes, and I was going to take a bath and fix my hair.’’
Gabe checked his watch. ‘‘Do something quick. We’ll wait, won’t we, girls? Besides, it’s not fair to keep the girls from having fun just because Alda Quimby and her bunch have got hair balls in their craws. What do you say?’’
Alda Quimby had annihilated Roberta’s wonderful day and changed it from one of exhilaration to one of vexation; now here was Gabriel, trying valiantly to rescue the mood: a true reversal of roles for him and Roberta.
‘‘Oh, all right,’’ she conceded, ‘‘but I might need some help. Becky, can you come upstairs with me and bring a basin of water?’’
While the others went out on the porch to wait, Roberta hurried upstairs to get ready.
Around seven-thirty that evening Maude Farley was doing some hoeing in her vegetable garden when her son Seth came walking around the side of the house and made his way to the end of the row of green beans. The gnats always bothered Maude when she got sweaty, and they got awfully pesky at this time of evening, so she’d tied a dishtowel on her head to keep them out of her hair.
‘‘Hi, Ma,’’ he said.
Maude flung a piece of quack grass into a bushel basket and turned. Her face was shiny and pink beneath the big white knot. ‘‘Well, Seth, what’re you doing here?’’
‘‘Came to talk to you about something.’’
‘‘You mind if I keep working while you do it?’’
‘‘Aurelia sent over a dish of apple betty for you, left over from supper. Why don’t you wash your hands and dig into it, and we’ll sit down on the step over here and talk?’’
Maude had bent down and pulled another weed. It hung from her dirty fingers as she straightened to study her son. ‘‘Well, all right,’’ she said, tossing the weed in with the others, then leaning her hoe against the bushel basket.
She had a backyard pump. Seth worked the handle while she washed her hands, then leaned over to wipe the excess water on the grass. Walking toward the back step, she said, ‘‘Apple betty, huh?’’
‘‘She knows how you like anything with apples in it.’’
‘‘Aurelia’s a good woman. You’re lucky to have her. You mind going in and getting me a spoon?’’
They sat on the back step and she ate the apple betty while they both looked over her vegetable and flower gardens, which covered much of her backyard. The lateday sun laid elongated shadows beside the tomato bushes and the cucumber vines. She didn’t need to plant so many vegetables anymore, but she was one for giving food away to her kids. A family of wrens was raising its second batch of babies in a little white house that hung on a low branch of a box elder tree. The male flew in with a worm, poked it into the hole, then perched outside and started serenading.
‘‘Ma, I came to talk to you about Gabe and Roberta Jewett.’’
She stopped eating for a couple of seconds. ‘‘He been seein’ a lot of her?’’
‘‘A lot.’’
‘‘Mm.’’ She started eating again.
‘‘I know you don’t like her, but you’d better prepare yourself, ’cause he’s asked her to marry him, and if you ask me, you’re being just plain stubborn about that woman. Hell, Ma, you haven’t even met her.’’
‘‘How could I? He doesn’t bring her around here to introduce her, does he?’’
‘‘Why would he, as outspoken as you’ve
been?’’
‘‘ ’Pears you two have been doing plenty of talking.’’
‘‘He tells me a lot. Matter of fact, the longer he’s known her, the more talkative he gets.’’
‘‘He know you’re over here lecturing me?’’
‘‘Nope. Did that on my own. Thought you needed it.’’
‘‘Everybody in town’s talkin’ about how the Benevolent Society and the school board are up in arms over how she raises them kids of hers, and my granddaughter’s practically living at her place. So is he.’’
‘‘Oh, he is not. He’s courtin’ her—wouldn’t you expect a courtin’ man to go sit on a woman’s front porch now and then?’’
Maude finished her apple betty and set the bowl aside. She pinched the corners of her lips clean and said, ‘‘How come you’re takin’ sides on this?’’
‘‘ ’Cause Gabe’s so happy. Haven’t seen him this happy since Caroline died, and if you were around him more you’d see it for yourself.’’
She gazed off into the distance. Finally Maude sighed and pushed her dishtowel off her head. Unknotting it, with her elbows on her knees and her skirt drooping, she said, ‘‘Guess you’re right. I have been stubborn. Didn’t like the idea of my boy getting tangled up with a divorced woman.’’
‘‘Well, I’ll tell you what—you keep it up and you won’t see much of him, ’cause if she marries him his loyalties will be to her, and that would be just silly for the two of you not to be on friendly terms just ’cause she was married once before.’’
‘‘So she hasn’t said yes yet?’’
‘‘Not as far as I know. But the way their kids get along together, and just from things he says, I think she will.’’
She stared at the dishtowel in her hands. ‘‘Aw, you’re probably right. Being stubborn is lonely business. I miss takin’ him cookies, and what am I going to do with all those cucumbers and tomatoes in the garden? You and Aurelia can’t keep up with ’em.’’
He put his hand between her shoulder blades and kissed her temple.