Bishop's Road (4 page)

Sometimes she stays there a long time. Now and then she has fallen asleep and awakened with the sun on her face and the little ants in her clothes. Other times she has had to leave and run as hard as she can to get the pain out and on those nights she promises herself she will never go back but it's been a long winter and here she is again.

Ruth sits and stares at herself in the mirror. She brushes her hair that hasn't been colored for two years or more and is streaked gray to her chin and solid black to her waist. It took three bottles of dye the last time she did it and she dripped some in the sink and on the hall rug when she walked back to her room. Mrs. Miflin never did get the stains out and complains to Ruth when-ever she's pissed about something and happens to be anywhere
near the third floor bathroom at the same time Ruth is. There's nothing to be done about it. She tried bleach and steel wool and gave it up for a bad job.

The moon laughs at Ruth and she becomes more and more irritated. Itching all over. She trudges to the bathroom and scrubs her face. In the shower she turns the water cold and hard on her skin and leaves it that way for a long time. Back in her room she sits again and stares at her hair. The moon is still laughing but not so much at her as near her, inclined to share some cosmic joke if only Ruth will listen.

Ruth's hair has always looked as though it wants off her head and to fly. Her mother had combed and tied and buckled it down in vain. The minute her back was turned it was gone again. Her father called it ‘nigger knots' and wouldn't let Ruth out in the summer unless it was raining. If she was tanned she would look like one of those friggin' coloureds and he wasn't having that. When he caught sight of Ruth with her hair all over the place he would go into a rage - yelling and hollering there was no way he could be the father of a youngster with a head on her like that. And he would find a pencil and paper and try to figure out where he was when Ruth's mother got pregnant and who might have been around in his absence. Hours he spent at it, but not being mathematically inclined, never did come up with an answer though he asked the question often enough.

And now here is Ruth with the moon over her shoulder and her hair dries soft and floats about her face. How long since she let it free? How long since she was free? How long since she supported the warm weight of a strong man? How long since she dug her heels into a mattress and howled? And why the hell is she thinking this way? It's that damned moon! She curses as she yanks the curtains to shut it out but they never did close properly and a thin streak of blue winks in the mirror when she turns off the overhead light.

Ruth is wrong, though, and while the moon may be in on it, she is not the cause. This particular disturbance hitched a ride with Judy. It is in her pockets and on her face and finding the inhabitants of Mrs. Miflin's house needing a little more than they had bargained for, has decided to stay awhile. With the moon's blessing it is creeping under doors and through closets leaving a smudge of itself on shirts and underwear, photographs and letters. And it goes to the attic for a quick look around before sliding under Mrs. Miflin's pillow to nap.

Tonight Ginny Mustard doesn't leave her nest under the rhododendron until the music stops and the lights go out in the big house. At midnight she walks home with the moon to guide her steps. Lets herself in the front door. Climbs the stairs to her room and crawls under her covers, the creak creaking of a cradle lulling her to sleep.

The new day begins with a bang. Judy is furious because Mrs. Miflin has forbidden her to visit friends on Caine's Street. She started off asking nicely for permission and when that didn't work she took to stomping around the house, slamming doors and yelling about what a bitch Mrs. Miflin is and how she's going to report her to the authorities for keeping her locked up. Maggie is hiding in her room with her shoebox tucked under the bed and both hands pressed to her ears and she hums as loud as she can to drown the terrible sounds, lies on the floor and curls in a ball,
rocks back and forth, back and forth.

Ruth is pissed. She has been trying to write a quiet letter to someone she hasn't heard tell of in years, who visited her dreams last night. She can't think with that racket going on and twice has pushed pen through paper in exasperation.

Eve is in the garden looking for signs of new life. She went back inside when the fight began and found a pair of blue earmuffs for silence and is quite content to pick away at the earth despite the battle.

Old Father Delaney poked his head out of the rectory at one point and wondered briefly what the fuss was all about but he hasn't been in that house since it was a convent and it will take more than blood-curdling screams to entice him there again.

It would be easy enough for Judy to overpower the round Mrs. Miflin and escape, but she chooses not to. Would rather do some screaming and slamming. Mrs. Miflin is right, of course, though that's the last thing Judy will admit aloud. She just wants to get over to Jimmy's house for a bit of weed, is all. She hasn't been high since last week and Jimmy owes her big time since she's the only one who knows he beat the crap out of Frankie and the cops are still looking. When Frankie gets out of his coma he'll tell for sure but right now only Judy can point the finger. It's killing her to have the upper hand and see it go to waste. Still and all she has to clean up her act. She has had as many chances as she'll ever get. The joke is they don't know the half of it but they might any day now and a bad move will have her in shit so deep she'll never get out again.

So as quickly as she blows up she calms down. Tells Mrs. Miflin she's sorry for calling her names and making such a fuss and heads out to the garden to see what Eve is up to. When she sees Judy coming Eve takes off her earmuffs and smiles hello. Judy had a grammy once who was nice to her and she likes old women though this one is older than anyone she has ever seen
before. She asks Eve what she's doing and actually listens to the answer. Judy, who has never noticed a flower in her life, can walk on dandelion and crocus alike and not blink an eye, hears where the primrose will grow and how high the clematis will climb and the best place to plant calendula and morning glory. She touches the curled leaves of monkshood and columbine and when Eve describes the workings of a compost bin and where she'd put one if Mrs. Miflin would only allow it, Judy blows her own sharp mind by volunteering to build one.

“Doesn't sound too complicated,” she says. “If we had some wood. Do you think missus might have some in the basement? There's always wood in basements. Probably a saw and hammer too.”

Mrs. Miflin follows them to the foot of the basement stairs, yammering all the while about the smells and the flies and the rats more than likely and why can't Eve just get some nice fertilizer instead it's bad enough what with mud being tracked in over the floor all spring she's not putting up with rats on top of it, and that she isn't. Judy says she's bored out of her friggin' skin with nothing to do around here and if Eve wants a compost bin why shouldn't she have one. Judy knows of a boarding house over on Caine's Street where they let the tenants do whatever they friggin' well want and wouldn't it be nice now if Eve decided to pack up and move there. And just think how much you'll save on garbage bags with the potato peels and all going into the bin. And Mrs. Miflin, who prides herself on the rapid growth of her savings account, gives up and grumbles her way to the kitchen to prepare lunch.

The old basement is musty and damp, full of boxes and bags and nuts and bolts, trunks and dead things waiting. Mrs. Miflin never comes here if she can help it, lets the furnace man find his own way around. As Judy reasoned, there is wood. Tools. Nails. The only thing missing is chicken wire and Eve says maybe
they can buy it at the hardware store out near the mall but it will be difficult bringing it home on the bus. Judy has a cousin who might have some. He's always collecting junk for one thing or another and after they drag their treasures to the backyard she makes a phone call. Comes out with a grin on her face. Says, “Well now, we got our chicken wire. As much as we need. Harold is going to bring it over this afternoon. I told him make sure he does. I told him if he doesn't get it here by two-thirty sharp I'm going to tell the cops he's been trying to get into my pants since I was ten years old. See, Eve, you just got to know how to talk to people.” And Eve smiles the saddest smile. Says, “Thank you.”

Mrs. Miflin calls through the kitchen window. “One of you run upstairs and bang on Ginny Mustard's door and tell her to get herself out of that bed and come down for lunch. If she doesn't eat she'll be moping around the whole day with her stomach rumbling and I'll be damned if she's getting anything else before supper. Go on, now, and get her up.”

Ginny Mustard has not slept this soundly for a long time. All through the night she was rocked gentle and held so close. When she hears Judy's knock and opens her eyes it is almost noon. She is ravenous. Races to the bathroom to wash her face and practically leaps over the others to get to her seat at table. She even eats the leftovers that Ruth pushes onto her plate. It isn't until Mrs. Miflin goes to make tea that she hears the song from the attic - hears
hush little baby don't say a word -
and when she begins to hum along everyone stares at her and then jumps when Mrs. Miflin drops the kettle on her way from the stove to the counter and screams. They rush to find her flat out on the floor and burning, boiling water splashed all over her chubby legs. While Eve hurries upstairs to find ointment, Judy picks up the whimpering Mrs. Miflin and carries her - with no more effort than if she were a little bird - to the armchair by the kitchen window.

“The best thing now, Mrs. Miflin,” says Eve on her rush
back into the room, “is to get yourself into a bath and stay there until the burning stops. And then we'll put this on and you'll be fine in no time. Ruth, you go run a cool bath for Mrs. Miflin, dear, and while the tub is filling tell Maggie everything's okay and she can come out of her room. She gets so upset when there's either bit of noise at all in the house. Ginny Mustard, you go in and start clearing the table and Judy, you help her with the dishes after you carry Mrs. Miflin upstairs so she can have a lovely bath and stop the burning. Now, Mrs. Miflin, don't you worry about a thing. Once you're setded in the tub I'll bring you a nice cup of tea and you can just relax.”

And Mrs. Miflin, whose job it has always been to do what-ever bossing around needs to be done, is at a loss. No one has every volunteered to look after her that she can remember, and the pain is getting to the point where she feels like crying. She folds and gives in. And here's Judy with the strongest arms picking her up body and bones, carrying her to the bathtub. She sits on the edge while Eve helps her out of her clothes, doesn't even blush with her round body exposed to other eyes and slides with relief into the tepid water.

Downstairs the ratde of pots and pans. Sounds of washing and drying and putting away. Ginny Mustard has a vague feeling that she is to blame for Mrs. Miflin's misfortune but can't quite put her finger on what she did wrong. Maggie stands at the end of the counter, clutching her shoebox and waiting. Ruth sits in the armchair while Ginny Mustard and Judy work. When Eve comes back she tells them that things are probably going to be a little different around here for a few days while Mrs. Miflin recovers. She can do the cooking if they will help out with the cleaning and whatever else it is that keeps Mrs. Miflin on the run day and night.