Читать книгу Tiger Lilly - Sharon Vander Meer - Страница 3

They’re all in bed. I cannot believe I got myself into this dadblamed, cottonpickin’ situation! What in Heaven’s name was I thinking? And if that blighted hound doesn’t quit his barking I’m going to go out there and shoot him!

Lilly fingered her pen, tapping the end on her journal. It had been a most uncomfortable time before she got them settled. She could not for the life of her figure out what to do next. The boys were in Michael’s old room, Annie and Marie in Elizabeth’s.

She’d never done much to either bedroom except dust and vacuum. Not because she expected Harve’s children to come back some day, but because she had no other use for the space. She should probably get rid of the house and use the money to have a rip roaring good old time. Something, to be honest about it, she wasn’t too good at.

After the disaster with the dog she’d forced herself, and yes, she’d had to force herself, to go into the living room and make nice, something else she’d never been too good at, not exactly a desirable trait in a preacher’s wife.

She recalled the stilted exchange with exasperation.

“So, can I get anything for you? Something to eat or drink?”

“Oh, no, no, we’ve been too much trouble already,” Annie said. That’s when the dog had started barking and he hadn’t stopped since. “We stopped at a McDonald’s before we got here.”

Annie had looked like somebody waking from a mid-afternoon nap, confused and shaky. Not at all like the determined child Lilly remembered.

What happened to that defiant little girl? Is the woman always so hesitant? It’s a wonder she’s been able to raise her children. Maybe I was too harsh with Elizabeth and Michael. Harve thought so, but if you don’t stand your ground with little ones, they flat out take over. Just look at that wisenheimer Caleb! Smart mouth, rude kid if ever there was one. That little girl’s cute enough and bright as a brass button, maybe a little too smart for her own good. The other one, Allen? No, not that, Archer? No. Something military.

She wasn’t going into the kitchen at this time of night to look at her cheat sheet. For one thing it sounded like the dog was losing energy. She didn’t want to do anything to get him riled up again.

Allison? No, that’s more a girl’s name. Alexander. That’s it; Alexander, but they call him Alex. Although so far nobody had called him anything, and other than saying “Cool,” when the dog peed on the rug, he hadn’t said much at all. I can live with that. Two wisenheimers are quite enough.

Caleb was a good-looking boy, or would be if he trimmed his hair and got that glower off his face. He, like the other two, was dressed rather shabbily but that could be fashion. Lilly hadn’t a clue why young people dressed like they’d been shopping in a garbage dump but that’s the way of it nowadays.

That Marie, now her you’d have to watch out for; she was quick as a minute and smart with it. She looked exactly like Milly as a child.

At four (and three months she was informed by Marie) Alex was a quiet boy much given to hiding his face in his mother’s body: behind her leg, in her coat, curled at her feet.

Lilly didn’t know much but she knew this family came with a lot of baggage. Annie seemed beaten down by life, or maybe she was just tired and who wouldn’t be after driving three youngsters from… well, wherever they were from.

It was obvious she genuinely loved her children, and was loved in return. The little ones stayed right with her, and Caleb seemed always to have his eyes on her, ready to step in at any second to hold her up.

It was Caleb who had taken control of bringing the evening to a halt. “Mrs. Irish, if it’s okay, we’d like to go to bed.” She was glad enough to see the back of them.

What am I to do tomorrow? They’ll be up and probably hungry. I’ve plenty of food but have no desire to whip up breakfast and find out no one wants to eat it!

Lilly huffed and twitched her nose thinking of her spoiled dinner. “McDonald’s!” she muttered.

Okay, I’m being foolish, but I worked hard on that dinner. Of course, it’s not really spoiled. The meatloaf can be heated and so can the potatoes and veggies. The salad won’t survive too well, but it’ll do. It’s not like everything will go to waste.

Maybe I’d better do something different for breakfast, not just eggs and cereal. When Elizabeth and Michael were little they liked French toast with homemade syrup. I’ll try that out on them. If they don’t like it, what the heck, I do!

A knock on her door startled her. Despite the fact she’d been working out how to solve the problem of breakfast for her guests she’d somehow forgotten she wasn’t alone in the house.

“Yes, just a minute!” Lilly put the journal in her nightstand and closed the drawer firmly. She slipped a robe over her flannel gown. “Who is it?”

“Marie, Mrs., can I come in?

Lilly hurried to the door and swung it open a couple of inches looking down into the angelic face that was both foreign and achingly familiar.

“What on this earth are you doing up?”

“I’m scared.”

Lilly pushed her glasses up with her index finger and twitched her nose.

“Nonsense, there’s not a thing to be scared about. You get yourself to bed.”

“Mama’s crying.”

Lilly’s stomach turned over. She opened the door wider and the girl slipped through.

“Marie?” Annie’s tremulous voice preceded her down the hall. When the light from Lilly’s bedroom caught her face Annie blinked her red swollen eyes and cringed.

“I’m sorry Mrs. Irish. She told me she was going to the bathroom, I didn’t mean for her to disturb you.”

“That’s all right.”

Mrs. Irish. They all called her that, only when they’d first arrived had Annie called her Aunt Lilly.

“No, it isn’t. We’re imposing on you and…” Silent tears streamed down Annie’s cheeks.

Lilly hadn’t been a preacher’s wife for nothing, albeit a pretty lousy one.

“Come in and sit down. Let me get you some water.”

“No, I…”

“Sit. Marie and I will get you a glass of water while you compose yourself.” Sometimes straight talk was the best thing. Coddling people with sweet words just made them feel worse, or at least it did her.

“Come, child, let’s allow your mother a moment.”

Marie looked searchingly at her mother then took Lilly’s hand. “Yes’m.”

As she feared, the moment she walked into the kitchen and turned the lights on the dog began to howl and bark.

“Be QUIET Krank!” Marie commanded in a surprisingly powerful voice for such a little thing.

The noise ceased immediately.

Lilly stared at the child. “Why didn’t you do that earlier, when he was carrying on so?”

Marie shrugged. “Sometimes it works, sometimes it don’t.”

A testament to life, Lilly thought.

“Would you like water, too?”

“Sometimes I pee the bed.”

“Oh, well then.” Lilly cleared her throat at a loss for what to say to this forward and bright replica of her sister.

“My Daddy’s dead.”

“Oh, Marie, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“I think he got runned over by a truck.”

Lilly choked on a combination of surprise and dismay.

“Marie.” The boy was in the same clothes he’d had on earlier. If he’d slept it wasn’t evident. By the set of his mouth she could tell he was angry. “Get to bed. Mom is in there waiting for you.”

Marie dropped her head and toed the hardwood floor. “I didn’t mean nothing.”

“I didn’t say you did, but it’s time you were in bed.”

“G’nite, Mrs.” Marie scurried away, her slapping bare feet going silent when she went from the hardwood floor onto the carpet in the hallway.

“He isn’t dead, we just don’t know where he is or anything about him,” Caleb said and took the water from Lilly’s nerveless fingers. “And we don’t care.” He turned and followed Marie.

“What in this world have I gotten myself into,” Lilly thought. “What in this world.”