Читать книгу Down to the Potter’s House - Annette Valentine - Страница 14

The carriage headed up South Main Street. I was inside Millicent and Jim’s house before Henry rode out of sight.

“Are you just about frozen? Here,” Millicent said, turning me around, “warm your backside. Give me your coat . . . all this extra . . . and thaw out! Why didn’t Henry come in? He should have. I mean, he’s been out in the cold for hours!”

“Stubborn. What else? I think he was a little bit insulated, if you know what I mean.”

“No! I don’t want to hear it.” Millicent put up a hand to ward off the mention of alcohol. “Is he going to Emma’s Christmas Day?”

“He promised. But I guess I didn’t even bring up Father and Francine. Should I have?”

“Probably not. Emma’s planning on everybody! Father won’t disappoint her . . . awkward as that’s gonna be.”

Millicent and I gave each other knowing looks. With no further speculation about what to expect come Christmas Day, we moved into the kitchen.

“I didn’t give you much of a chance to get warmed up,” she said and busied herself with uncovering the shortbread while I tinkered with the tea kettle. “It’s fine, fine,” I said.

But it wasn’t—the expectation was too high to contain, and practically at the same moment and without warning, we both squealed like stuck pigs.

“What time’s he coming?” I carelessly twirled myself around between the washbasin and stove, teapot held high in the air.

“Oh, dear!” Millicent was coy. “You are expecting someone?”

“Sister!” I brushed by her as Louise came bounding into the kitchen.

“Well! My favorite second grader, right here!” I squatted just in time for her to come flying into my arms. “And tell me: what is Santa bringing you?”

Dark-brown hair spiraled in curls over her shoulders. Her smiled showed the loss of two front teeth. “Flossie Flirt,” she said and skipped away.

“A doll, of course. The thing says ‘Ma Ma,’” Millicent whispered with a wink. “Alright. Now, Gracie Mae. Mr. Hagan will be here about four o’clock. That is if Jim lets him off. Ten after, maybe. Your cheeks are still nice and rosy from the out-of-doors. That’s good.”

Whether they were bitten by the cold ride from Russellville or the rip-roaring fire in the fireplace in the living room, by the time Simon Hagan arrived they were completely flushed. I could feel it.

Millicent and even little Louise had made themselves scarce. I heard the knock on the door and took a deep breath. One last peek in the mirror, one last twist to the notable black curl at my left cheek.

“And a good afternoon to you, Mr. Hagan. Do come in.”

Hat in hand, it seemed his head narrowly cleared the door frame. “Gracie Maxwell! So good to see you again. Jim’s done me a big favor, I’m sure, arranging this time.”

“May I take that for you, and your coat? It’s lovely to have you visit. Please, have a seat. won’t you?”

“You were in quite a hurry to leave his store . . . on our meeting—”

“Oh, that!” My face couldn’t have gotten any redder. Convinced it was trying, I sat in the chair next to the maroon mohair divan where he settled. “I’ll pour us some tea. Cream?”

“Yes, I think so.” He laughed. “If you are. I’ve not had much tea in my lifetime. This is a real treat, and I’ve been looking forward to getting to know you. So this is also a treat. I’d like to think I masterminded our improbable little meeting at the candy counter. However that happened, I’m glad for it.” He smiled. A charming smile, bold, warm, confident.

I was quite sure he was not about to melt right into the wool rug on the floor at Millicent’s house, as I was. Suave. Gallant, I thought. Cheeky. I took a sip of tea. He did the same. “I’ve been interested to know about the Shawnee Indian that was found on your family’s farm. What can you tell me? “

“Not much. I’ve been holed up in Albuquerque, New Mexico, for a while. Before that I was in Detroit for close to eight years. Sorry to say, and as much as I have to catch up on happenings here in Todd County, I haven’t been back here but twice in ten years. My dad’s probably the expert on the Indian you’re referring to. But you’re a teacher. I’m impressed with that. A very high ambition.”

“Well, it is and one that thrills me to no end. This is my first year, although I’ve taught a Sunday school class at Logan College and the Negro children to read and write. High school girls, too, over the years I was there. You have no way of knowing this, Mr. Hagan, but your father was responsible for getting me the job I have in Russellville. I’m indebted to him,” I said and passed the plate of shortbread.

“He’s something, alright. I’m proud to call him my father. And it’s hard to believe all that he’s accomplished with a third-grade education. School board member is only one of them.” He paused and grinned. “Actually, my dad did tell me that about you. He thinks very highly of you, Gracie . . . if I may call you Gracie. And please, try calling me Simon.” He lit a cigarette and returned the lighter to his vest pocket.

“So, Albuquerque. What on earth took you there?”

Simon stood up, walked to the fireplace. He ran his fingers through the waves in his hair, and I thought I would faint just as little Louise pranced into the room. “Try calling him Simon, Aunt Gracie,” she said, giggling.

Simon tossed his cigarette into the fireplace. “And who’s this?” He lifted her with a brisk swoop, both of them laughing.

“Louise Annabelle Carver.”

“Well, Louise Annabelle Carver, I’m Simon Newton Hagan. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I have a brother just about your age. Seven. Am I right?”

“Yes, sir. What’s his name?”

“John. We call him Big John. Know why?” Simon acknowledged Millicent with a head nod as she entered the parlor.

“Bet it’s ’cause he’s big!”

“Mr. Hagan, so good to see you. Now, Louise, we have things to do for supper. You’re welcome to stay.” Millicent directed her invitation to Simon.

“Thank you, but I’ll visit just a while longer and not interrupt your evening meal. Glad we’ve had the chance to chat at the store, though. I might not’ve been here today without your help.”

I cut my eyes at Millicent. She and Louise skedaddled. “You were just going to tell me about Albuquerque, Mr. Hag—Simon.”

He pursed his lips in an ah-ha moment. “Good. Very good.” He sat back down. “Oh, that’s a story. Version one is that I did some acting and attended the University of New Mexico to become a doctor.”

I scooted to the edge of my chair, set my empty cup on the table in front of me, all ears.

“Version two, and the beginning of that story: I had tuberculosis and went from Detroit out there to a sanatorium.”

“That must have been horrible. I’m glad you’re well. But you’re smoking?”

“TB’s an infection. I’m certainly over it. But, yes, I did start back smoking.”

My mention had made for an inopportune little lull in our conversation. Simon smiled and cocked his head in a most attractive way. “You’re my envy, Gracie. Wish I could’ve continued college, but the depression seemed to take the air right outta my sails. Who knows . . . maybe one day?”

“Never give up. You know, it’s been my vision to help others, particularly teaching them, since I was quite young. I believe God’s set me on a path. Currently, that desire has me going to the mission field. In May. How about you? What will you be doing, now that you’re back? Working for Jim? Or are you staying?”

“Let’s see . . . that was three questions in one. If I’d had plans to leave, I would have changed them by now. Having met you, I mean.” Simon’s big brown eyes were deeply inquisitive if not dejected. “The mission field? Somehow it has a far-away ring to it.”

“Africa. The Sudan,” I said, unapologetically. “Yes, pretty far.”

“Gosh! It’s the other side of the world! Tell me you’re kidding!”

It was plain to tell he hoped I was.

“No, I’m completely serious. Big jump for a girl from the backwoods of Kentucky, isn’t it?” I watched his reaction, knowing he’d seen much more of the world than I, realizing his dreams, too, exceeded the boundary lines of Todd County. “I’ve been coming back to Elkton for brief visits during my four years of college. I am very familiar with pupils in poor rural areas and how they—and those I’ve seen in Alabama—have to make do with what little their school districts can put together. Standardization is happening, but it’s still in infancy because of federal bureaucracy and government legislation. I want to help make a change. But about three months ago something altered my direction—again. You see, I read a novel called In His Steps: What Would Jesus Do? It’s written by a man, Charles M. Sheldon. I may have a yearning for the spectacular, I don’t know. But I read that book about the same time I heard an inspirational speaker talk about the intense need in the Sudan. It prompted me to rethink where I was going from here. And it anointed me with the freedom to leave.”

Simon’s face had turned blank. The shortbread he’d picked up was still in his hand. “Gracie.” He faltered. “Gracie, I think that is tremendous. You have me wanting to hear every detail,” he said and laid the cookie on the saucer. “Partly, I’d like to change that vision and keep you here for selfish reasons. Frankly, I’d like to court you. But I am aware enough of God to know not to try to control what he’s got His hand on. That’s been too much, in my experience. Doesn’t make me not want to see you again, though.” He settled back on the divan. “Betcha Big John—and he’s my half-brother, by the way—can tell you all you want to know about the Shawnees. Dang! If I promise to brush up on my history, may I call on you again? If I get down—”

“No, don’t. Please!” I’d stopped him in the nick of time from getting on his knees in his gray flannel trousers. “I would like that, Simon.”

“Then it’s settled. No, wait. Guess it’s not exactly settled. Where . . . when can I reach you? I’ll telephone here? I’ll come here . . . I’ll go there,” he said with a stagey wink.

“Come over . . . for dinner.” Millicent arrived, unannounced, wiping her hands on her apron. “Excuse me. I was sure you were about to get away before I could invite you. Christmas Eve. Here. I’ll talk to Jim. Y’all could cut us a tree, get it in the truck after work, and come on over. That’s a nice arrangement, isn’t it? You are still using that old truck from time to time, right?”

Simon looked at me. I looked at him. He smiled, I smiled, and we both nodded a yes.

“Well, thank you very much, Millicent. Jim does let me borrow the truck . . . in exchange for Hannah’s canned goods. Which means I then trade in on chores for my stepmother. It’s high finance, but with gasoline being such as it is . . . Yes, it works.”

“Some of us will decorate the tree,” Millicent said, her personality bubbling, “and Gracie will cook.”

I registered a look that did not include a smile.

“It’s been my pleasure, Gracie. And I’ll see you on Wednesday evening.”

With our goodbyes said, Simon slipped on his overcoat, set his fedora at a rakish angle atop his head, and was out the door.

“Sister,” I said with an accusatory inflection, my back to Millicent, my shoulders arched like a predatory cat’s before I turned around.

She conceded with ridiculously raised eyebrows. Her tongue clucked. “That’s why the good Lord gave us sisters.”