Eden Hill Read online

  “Neil, all you’ve got now is a trailer on a cleared lot. I’ve got a refrigerator but no groceries, a living room but no couch, and a baby coming but no nursery. And,” she added, “no telephone to call Mother.”

  It stung, but she was right. As of this moment, the business was nothing more than a flattened space with little flags, a stack of building materials covered with a tarp and six inches of snow, and a dream in his head. How could something that seemed so right have gone so wrong?

  “Trust me, JoAnn.”

  “I wish I could right now, Neil. I really wish I could.”

  WITH VIRGIL FED and happily off to work, Mavine wanted nothing more than to go back to bed. The week had been taxing—she’d taken all afternoon yesterday to prepare meat loaf for dinner and had stayed up to read a bit of Longfellow—so she’d gotten to bed well after her usual bedtime. A short night, after a very trying day. She was tired, pure and simple.

  But a morning nap was out of the question. Another snowfall had blown in overnight, but the sun was out now, making it extraordinarily bright outside. The light would certainly keep her awake.

  Also, Alma was coming over for lunch today, so she needed to get the kitchen presentable. Virgil’s empty breakfast plate went into the sink, along with the last of her bottle of Lux Liquid dishwashing detergent. Something was still bothering her, and she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Virgil hadn’t said anything more about Monday’s unpleasant luncheon conversation and seemed happy enough since, so . . .

  “Mom?”

  Mavine was caught quite by surprise. Vee was off school again today, but he was up before noon. Still in his pajamas, though.

  “I’m hungry.”

  Which was not a surprise. At his young age, Vee already had twice the appetite of his father, and even after a big meat loaf dinner and coconut cream pie, the monster in his stomach was apparently growling and demanding to be satisfied.

  “Alma will be here soon, and she’s bringing our lunch. You don’t need anything to eat before then.”

  “But I’m hungry now!”

  Mavine sighed. “There are cornflakes in the pantry.” She was cooked out, and besides it was high time the boy learned to fix his own breakfast.

  “Where’s the milk?” Vee had found the box and an empty bowl, and had managed to pour at least some of the flakes into the dish.

  She opened the door of the ancient Kelvinator, retrieved the milk bottle, and slammed it onto the table in front of her son. “There.” It would be up to him to pour it onto his breakfast and add his own sugar. If he wanted a spoon to eat it with, he’d have to get that too.

  Mavine stopped. Why was she being so hard on him today? After all, he was only ten, and there were no cigars in sight this morning. And he was used to having his breakfast made for him. Virgil was also accustomed to having his breakfast, lunch, and dinner made and ready. But if her two men were spoiled, it was because she did the spoiling.

  “I’m sorry, Vee. I’m just really tired today.”

  “It’s okay, Mom. What time is Aunt Alma coming?”

  “Anytime now.” WNTC’s eleven o’clock news had begun on the radio. “After lunch we’re going to Gladys’s to get our hair done. It’s Friday, remember?”

  Vee finished his cornflakes almost quicker than he’d poured them. Good thing, too. No sooner had Mavine sent the boy upstairs to get dressed and cleared the table than there was a knock on the front door. Alma held a basket with various small containers and several mysterious items wrapped in tinfoil.

  “I brought pot roast and potatoes.” She removed a covered dish and held it aloft. “Made it this morning. I thought you and Vee might like something besides soup for lunch today.”

  Mavine followed her into the kitchen. “Thanks, Alma. Vee loves pot roast.”

  “Hi, Aunt Alma!” Vee had found some blue jeans and a shirt, and had managed to get them onto his body.

  “Hello, Vee!” Alma smiled, and Mavine relaxed. “I’ll get this, Mavine.” Alma found a casserole dish and emptied the roast into it, spacing out the carrots and the potatoes to the sides. The foil shapes enclosed homemade rolls that went onto a cookie sheet for warming. She lit the stove and popped the meal into the oven to reheat.

  “Thank you, Alma.” Mavine was especially relieved; most of her dishes were still soaking in the sink.

  Once the food was warmed through, Mavine removed the pan of rolls as Alma was filling glasses of water. “Vee, would you get the roast? And use pot holders.”

  Vee Junior dutifully, though awkwardly and begrudgingly, took the dish from the oven and carried it to the table, sloshing some of the beef drippings as he set it down. Mavine was about to light into him for soiling her best tablecloth when Alma intervened with a damp dishrag.

  “Thank you for your help, Vee.” Alma smiled at him. “Don’t you worry yourself. No harm done. This will come out in the wash.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Mavine said as she withdrew several items from the cabinet drawer. “Thank you for your help. Put these around, please.”

  Vee grinned, then took the forks and knives from her and scattered them around the table. Mavine smiled; she could teach him the idea of place settings another time.

  The door opened, and Welby and Virgil entered to join them for lunch, as promised. They all took their places and said grace, then began the meal. Conversation was pleasant, and Virgil seemed very much himself, although Mavine found herself quiet and with little to say.

  Alma passed the food to Virgil, who filled his plate. “Welby tells me the new Zipco place is coming along across the street. Are you concerned at all?”

  He wiped his mouth with a napkin, hiding his expression, but his eyes widened. “Yes, I am, Alma. Mr. Alexander is building one of those full-service places like the Shell station in Quincy. Moving kind of slow, though.”

  “Those things take time, I guess.” Alma set the dish on the counter. With five at the small kitchen table, things had become a bit crowded. “And Vee, how are you doing? Are you enjoying your day off from school?”

  “Okay, I guess. I’ve been reading,” Vee said after swallowing the last bite of his third helping. Enormous quantities of beef and potatoes proved his cornflakes hadn’t hurt his appetite a bit. “Mom, can I go outside and ride my sled now?”

  “Yes, but be careful. And wear your heavy coat and mittens!” Her admonition was lost; Vee was already gone.

  “Vee’s been reading the classics,” Mavine offered as their son closed the door, her spirits lifting from the thought. “Someday, maybe it will help him get into a really good college. Maybe even get a scholarship.”

  Virgil looked startled; he hadn’t been able to get his napkin to his face quickly enough. Had she said something hurtful again, without really meaning to?

  “Ladies, thanks for inviting us for lunch,” said Welby, as he ate the last bite of the tender beef. “This has been delightful!”

  Mavine brightened. “You’re welcome, Welby. We’re always happy to cook for our men.”

  Virgil agreed, having regained his composure. “Wonderful! Mavine, just think, if you’d become a teacher like you talked about, Welby and I could only have a tasty lunch like this on snow days.”

  Mavine froze, like she’d been hit by Virgil’s tire tool. All morning, she’d thought they’d both been able to come to peace with the discussion earlier in the week. Here Virgil was bringing it back up again. In front of Welby and Alma. Was he retaliating for whatever she’d said to offend him? It hurt, but she was too tired to argue. Did he have any idea what he had just said? Had she been reduced in his mind to simply the cook for a meal she hadn’t even made?

  She stared—no, glared—at her husband. Yes, he knew, at least now, that he’d said something thoughtless and insensitive. He looked like a farmer who’d just made a bad misstep in a cow pasture.

  “May I drive you to Gladys’s?” said Welby, nodding toward Alma. “Virgil and I need to get back to work, but I can take you over first.
”

  Alma, who’d placed the leftovers in the refrigerator, answered for both, and without consulting Mavine. “You know, it’s such a beautiful afternoon, I think we’ll just walk over and enjoy the bright sun. The snowplows have been through this morning and the roads are clear.”

  “Well, we’ll be at Osgood’s if you need us.” At that, Welby nodded and eased Virgil out the door on both feet before he could plant one in his mouth again.

  Sunny and bright or not, it was still cold. Mavine fetched her heaviest coat and scarf from the hall closet, noting that Vee’s mittens were still in the basket. She tied the scarf under her chin, tucking the ends inside her coat.

  While her back was turned, a friendly arm circled her shoulders. “What’s the matter, Mavine? You haven’t been yourself during lunch, or all month, for that matter.”

  “I’m just tired, Alma. Vee’s more of a challenge these days, now that he’s in the fifth grade and has to catch the early bus. He has more homework, and Virgil has to get up early and work so hard, and I have to—”

  Alma turned Mavine toward her and looked straight into her eyes. “This has nothing to do with Vee. What’s really the matter? Is something going on between you and Virgil?”

  “Oh, Alma, we’re both fine, and Vee is fine. It’s just that I’m coming up on my fortieth birthday, and I wonder sometimes if I made the right choices in life. Marrying Virgil, becoming a mother, not trying harder to become a teacher. And wanting Vee Junior to have more opportunities than what Virgil has had. Nobody’s fault, of course.”

  “What brought all this on?”

  Immediately the Pageant article came to mind, and Mavine chastised herself. After all these months, shouldn’t she have put all that foolishness behind her? But if it stuck with her this long, maybe it wasn’t foolish after all. “I read an article a couple of months back about men neglecting their marriage as they get—more mature. I showed it to Virgil, but I suspect he barely looked at it. Probably thought it was silly. I still love him, and I suppose he still loves me, but sometimes he just takes me for granted. Like today. And sometimes I wish he saw what I need without me having to tell him.” Was she wrong to want that?

  “Has Virgil ever done anything to make you doubt that he loves you?”

  “No, but he seemed very surprised when I showed him the article. It was by a famous marriage counselor and had a questionnaire to go with it, and I took the test while I was waiting under the dryer. When I answered the questions, the score at the bottom told me that I could expect more of my husband.”

  “Mavine, Virgil’s one of the finest men I know. You know reading has always been difficult for him. He was probably just confused and didn’t understand.”

  “But I want him to tell me he loves me. And recognize what I gave up to marry him. I need to hear him say it.”

  Alma took her own coat from the hall closet. “Honey, men don’t always know how to say what they feel. He’s showing you love the only way he knows how.”

  “But the article—”

  “Mavine.” Alma turned to face the younger woman. “Virgil loves you more than you can imagine. Don’t waste a single minute doubting that. And he’s concerned about the new service station going in. Give him some grace and the respect he deserves. Just love him through it. After all, a good man is far more valuable than a successful man, any day of the week. And one more thing, Mavine.”

  She stopped to look her older friend in the eyes. In those eyes was great wisdom. “Yes?”

  “Never give up on your dreams. Or your dreams for Vee Junior. The good Lord may yet have something in mind for both of you.”

  The Glamour Nook was not crowded. Lula Mae Prewitt had brought her daughter, Darlene, for her yearly trim, and Anna Belle Stacy, freshly coiffed and stiffly sprayed, had stayed to chat. Mavine looked around the room, particularly at the framed beauty school certificate hanging on the wall. One of her oldest friends, Gladys Blanford had run her beauty shop from the front of the little yellow house ever since she and Tom married, and before that she did hair out of her ex-husband George’s home when they lived across the road next to Welby and Alma. Mavine had always felt it led to their divorce, that George got tired of walking through the house in his boxer shorts to get a beer only to find some woman under the dryer in the hallway. Gladys would only say they were happier apart than they were together. That fact never quite showed in her face, but then again, few things did behind two coats of foundation.

  Actually, Gladys always said that George had been the reason she was a beauty operator in the first place. And she told the story often. His job at the power plant had him away for long hours and left her looking for something to do. She’d taken a job in Quincy for a few weeks, but the long drive and the work at the five-and-dime didn’t suit her. She’d found a sixteen-week correspondence course from Mr. Timothy’s School of Hair Styling in Hollywood and signed up. Soon thereafter, she’d ordered the advanced course, which taught her how to do coloring and permanents, and came with tinfoil, rollers, and, when she graduated, an elegant embossed diploma.

  Gladys opened the Glamour Nook, and most of the women of Eden Hill had become her customers. She was open on Fridays, and sold Avon and Tupperware the rest of the week, but on slow days she would look over her latest lessons. Mr. Timothy had just opened a school of cosmetology, she’d said, and as a preferred customer, Gladys was eligible for his introductory offer. Soon she would offer manicures and pedicures along with the usual gossip. Mavine couldn’t wait—her nails were a wreck.

  Not surprisingly, Eden Hill’s newest residents were the topic of conversation.

  “I hear she’s in the . . . family way, and due real soon,” Gladys was saying to Lula Mae while unbraiding Darlene’s pigtails. “Anna Belle, you and Grover might want to stock up on diapers and pins.”

  “It’s no surprise at all.” Lula Mae hovered over the beauty chair, approving the beautician’s handiwork. “You know how the kids are these days, listening to Elvis and all that electric guitar music. Reverend Caudill says it makes you lose all your virtues. I won’t let Frank listen to the radio anymore.”

  Gladys fumbled and nearly dropped the scissors onto the floor. “My husband, Tom, says her husband, Cornelius—I think that’s his name—seems like a decent fellow. Met him at the courthouse when he came by to fill out his tax registration. Supposed to start building soon, he says.” She removed the smock from Darlene and brushed the clippings from the girl’s neck.

  “Well, I suppose the deputy sheriff ought to know. Thanks for fitting us in, Gladys. I never could cut her pigtails straight. Afternoon, Mavine. You too, Alma.” Lula Mae handed Gladys a couple of bills from her purse, then pulled her coat over her shoulders. “See you all next time!”

  Gladys brushed off the chair by the shampoo bowl, readying the space for two of her most loyal customers.

  Before long, both women were styled and curled. Mavine was still sitting under the dryer, and Gladys had teased her friend’s silver hair into a flattering style. Mavine had picked up the latest Pageant and was reading it when the dryer shut off.

  “Mavine, let’s get you brushed out and ready to go.” Gladys helped her climb into the chair. “Doesn’t Alma look beautiful?”

  Mavine returned Alma’s smile. “Indeed, she does.” Soon Mavine was finished, and smiling into the mirror herself. “You’ve done a wonderful job on both of us.”

  “Thank you. I’ll see you both in two weeks. Mavine, you can take the new Pageant with you if you’d like.”

  “No, thank you,” said Alma, taking the magazine from Mavine’s hands, tossing it onto the table, and ushering the younger woman to the door.

  “Mavine, you certainly don’t need another of those magazines.” Alma fitted her scarf carefully around her fresh hairdo. “I suppose I’ll walk on home from here. Thank you for the lunch invitation.”

  Mavine demurred. “It was your pot roast, Alma. I should be thanking you.”

  “Oh, it’s my pleasur
e. And just send the dish home with Welby anytime next week.”

  “I’ll do that. Good-bye, Alma, and thanks for your advice.”

  Alma smiled and started for her own little cottage just across the street. Yes, her older friend’s counsel was good and trustworthy. She’d known Alma nearly as long as Virgil had known Welby, and she had deep appreciation for the woman’s friendship. A friendship that went far beyond sharing lunch on a cold Friday in January.

  The roast? Virgil and Vee would likely eat the leftovers for Saturday’s lunch. Between the two, the pan would likely be licked clean and would only need a quick dunk in the sink with a splash of Lux Liquid to get it sparkling.

  Dishwashing detergent? Oh dear. She was completely out, having used the last of it this morning. Fortunately, Stacy’s Grocery was right on her way home, and she could quickly stop in and still return in time to have the kitchen straightened up before Virgil returned. Her funds were low, but she had a dollar bill left—enough for a squeeze bottle of the bright-pink dish soap.

  Anna Belle was minding the counter when Mavine arrived, her hairdo still glued together from a fresh coat of Aqua Net. Not surprisingly, the store was quiet. Grover, clad in his usual greasy apron, was helping the only other customer retrieve an item from a top shelf at one side. She couldn’t see the woman clearly, nor did she recognize the voice.

  The Lux was right on the shelf where she expected, near the Duz and the Oxydol. She also grabbed a loaf of butter-top bread—Virgil’s favorite—and a pound of packaged ground beef from the meat cooler. The total was well over a dollar, but with the change in her coin purse she could just make it. Tucking the bottle of detergent in her elbow, she walked around to the cash register. Grover spoke and waved as he went back behind the meat counter; she could only nod without dropping something.

  A young woman stood at the register, chatting with Anna Belle. Her hair was tied back in a simple ponytail. There were several items on the counter, including a tin of Spam, a jar of Tang, and some cans of beans.