Authors: M. Ruth Myers
At least Woody's health was blooming, along with his friendship with Aaron Finer. Cheering herself with the thought she shivered into the kitchen and dropped her armload of books. Peg was at her bakery job. Rosalie, who had tackled cooking their dinners, was peering into the oven. They had barely exchanged their hellos when a timid knock rattled the door. Kate opened it and was startled to see Tatia hugging herself against the cold, her face a study in despair.
"What on earth...?" Kate drew her inside. "Is something the matter?"
The maid's words tumbled over each other. "Oh, mademoiselle, please!
Madame
has locked herself in her room. She hasn't come out for two days. I thought — I thought perhaps you might reason with her."
"Locked herself.... Has she told you why? Perhaps you should call her doctor."
Tatia was fighting tears. Her voice quavered.
"She said if I sent for the doctor she would send me back where she found me!"
***
Mrs. Cole might be sick, Kate thought as apprehension quickened her steps up the grand, curving staircase. She might be dead. Or crazy. Whatever the explanation, Tatia's report alarmed her. She rapped on the door the maid indicated.
"Mrs. Cole? It's Kate from next door."
Silence met her words. Then: "I'm not in a mood for company. Go away."
Kate tried the doorknob. "Tatia can't get in."
"Of course she can't get in. I locked my door. If I need anything I shall unlock it."
The wretched old woman was spoiled and simply wanted attention, Kate thought in a rush. Then sympathy overtook her indignation. The poor old thing was lonely. Passing day after day without purpose, not unlike Kate herself. Perhaps she wasn't in possession of all her faculties. Perhaps she didn't really know what she was doing.
Although she knocked again, and made attempts at conversation, Kate got no further response. When they were downstairs again, Tatia wrung her hands.
"Perhaps you could send the Portuguese man," she begged. "
Madame
has fascination with him."
It seemed a small enough thing to ask.
But the voice that answered at the number Joe Santayna had given her chattered in a foreign language. Kate realized she would have to go to his house. Because of the weather it had been weeks since she or Aggie risked taking the car out. When she finally got it started and down the drive, she slid off the road twice. It was pitch dark and she was lost for a time before finding Joe's street. Houses and small shops wedged together like sardines. Finally she spotted the market she'd phoned and got out, aware of the lack of streetlights and hoping the small house across from the market was his.
The door had a bell at least. She rotated its wing. The sound had scarcely faded before the door flew open. An exquisite girl wearing outgrown clothes stared at her in surprise.
"Hello." Kate attempted a smile. "I'm looking for Joe Santayna. Is he in?"
Without a word the girl retreated, leaving the door ajar. Kate's old awkwardness rose to envelope her as she wondered whether she should go or stay.
The door opened again. A young woman with a baby on her hip peered out. This had to be the cousin whose husband had run off. "You're looking for Joe?"
Kate nodded, unable to find her voice. The house smelled of grease and sharp spices and cooking. "My name's Kate Hinshaw."
"Joe's at Mass. He'll be home in ten minutes or so." She jiggled the baby, then held the door wider. "Come in."
"Thank you." I should leave a message, Kate thought. But what? She was glad she wore an old sweater and her rough tweed coat. She didn't want to look like she was putting on airs.
Two more small children raced to catch the skirt of the woman holding the door. She gestured with some embarrassment and gave a small smile. "Have a seat. Take off your coat."
Kate sat on one end of a couch whose upholstery was worn off in places. A fierce looking man in stocking feet, and BVDs instead of a shirt, sat in a rocking chair reading the sports pages. A door that must lead to the kitchen flew open and the teenager in clothes too small for her sidled back in. She made no attempt to keep her eyes off Kate. A thickset woman with a plain face followed, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. She sent a questioning look toward the younger woman.
"This is one of Joe's friends. Miss Hinshaw."
"I'm Joe's aunt," said the one with the towel.
"Yes. He's... spoken of you a great deal."
"You know him from when he went off to school, I guess."
It was easier to agree. Kate nodded. Everyone in the room, except possibly the man in the rocker, was measuring her. She was conscious of the onyx ring on her finger, the comparative newness of her two-year-old shoes.
"Would you like a cup of tea?" The words seemed to burst from Joe's aunt.
"Oh, no. Thank you." Did that make her sound snobbish? Too good to accept their hospitality? "Actually — if it's not a lot of trouble, it would be nice. It's getting cold again."
His aunt escaped back toward the kitchen. His cousin with the babies smiled her sad smile. "I was hoping we'd seen the end of winter."
"Yes. So was I." Kate couldn't think of anything else to say. She addressed herself to the younger cousin. "You must be Rose. Joe says you're awfully smart."
The girl gave a shrug that could have been copied from Aggie. Kate's features felt weighted with concrete. Joe's aunt returned with a thick mug of tea, milk and sugar already in it. To Kate's dismay she was the only one served.
"That's nice," she said. "Thank you so much." Nervousness was nearly choking her, but she was determined not to waste the tea. She wished someone else would sit down. No one did.
Two inches into the tea the front door opened and Joe came in. Behind him was a hawk-nosed man with pitted skin and piercing eyes. Joe stopped, nailed in place.
"Kate."
His eyes swept the expressions of his relatives. The man in the rocking chair put down his paper. Kate was on her feet without knowing it.
"I'm sorry to barge in, but there's an emergency at Mrs. Cole's. Tatia — the woman who lives with her — asked me to get you as quickly as possible."
He seemed as tongue-tied as she'd been. "Sure. Okay."
Glad to escape, Kate buttoned her coat.
"Thanks again for the tea. I hate not to finish it, but Mrs. Cole's elderly — and not very well." She nodded to the Santaynas, to the hawk-nosed man who stepped aside as she passed. Then the door closed and she and Joe were in merciful privacy.
"I tried to call," she said weakly. "Whoever answered at the number you gave me didn't speak English."
He was oddly silent. Kate realized he was embarrassed. He smiled at her suddenly. "Don't worry. You did the right thing. What's wrong at Mrs. Cole's?"
She told him, and described her own efforts. "I'm sure my mother's wrong to say she's muddled, but she may be...."
"Sick in spirit?"
"Yes. Exactly. I think she's desperately lonely. I took her a book at Christmas, but I should have done more."
Guilt wrenched at her and she felt weighted down. All these people she felt responsible for in recent months when she'd never had so much as a cat.
"Could you possibly drive?" she asked when they reached the door. She was ashamed to hear her voice catch. "I went into the ditch twice trying to get here."
"You were crazy to chance it."
"Yes, probably. But poor Tatia didn't have anyone else."
As they pulled away, she saw him glance back toward his house.
"They were nice. Your family."
"Not used to having people they don't know drop in. How have you been?"
"Ghastly." Her throat had thickened with the most absurd urge to shed tears. "No, we're fine."
She realized how much she had missed talking to him, and hearing his voice. She described Woody's triumphs. He told her about crusty old Mr. Vogel and his cat, and what his aunties had named the parakeets. Several times he stopped to clean sleet from the windscreen. When they reached her house he pulled the car into its waiting garage.
"I'll take the streetcar back when I’m done," he said as she started to protest. "Why don't you go on into your own place. Mrs. Cole might be embarrassed if you came along. I expect I'm a novelty to her, sort of like her ivory carvings and such."
"How can you joke about it! How can you not resent—"
"What other folks think of me doesn't matter. Only what I think of myself." He gave a teasing nudge. "Don't cry on me, Kate. Your tears will freeze. Go on home."
***
The heavy draperies at her windows were drawn and her room lay in darkness. The silken pillows made mountains around her in the bed. She was tired of Tatia scolding her to eat. Tired of making conversation. Zenaide touched the pearls scattered next to her on the coverlet and felt for the tiniest second the comfort of their company. Her companions, she thought. Her children.
Perhaps if she'd had real children things would be different now. Perhaps—
A firm knock rattled her door. Brisk. As Grandfather's knock had been. Not impatient like her husband's. Certainly not like Tatia's beseeching tap.
"Mrs. Cole, it's Joe Santayna. The one who sails with your neighbor Kate Hinshaw. Are you all right in there?"
She gasped. The Portuguese man! What was he doing here? And Tatia — the nerve of her to bring him upstairs! Had the silly Frenchwoman lost all sense?
"I'm perfectly fine. I'm not receiving guests. Please ask Tatia to show you out."
"Mrs. Cole, we're worried about you. We're afraid you're in there too sick to know what you're doing."
"I assure you I'm in perfect health. Surely I have the right to privacy in my own house!" Her indignation felt ridiculous even as she voiced it. Years had passed since she'd had anything except privacy.
"Not if you worry the people who care about you," countered the voice. "We could argue all evening, but here's what I'm going to do. I'm going downstairs and wait for you for ten minutes. If you haven't come out by then I'll have to come back and break down the door."