Billy Straight

60

No answer to her second knock, and now Mildred Board was worried.

She'd heard the bath filling a half hour ago. Had the missus fallen? Suffered some kind of an attack? Maybe the doctors were wrong and she really was ill.

She turned the doorknob, called out “Ma'am?” as she entered the bedroom. Empty.

And the bed was made!

Not Mildred's tight-cornered creation but a decent tuck. First the bath, now the bed. Why on earth all this independence?

Yesterday, she'd been up extra early and ready. Hearing footsteps at 6 A.M., she went down to find the missus in the kitchen, folded newspaper in front of her, next to a cup of something that turned out to be instant tea.

“Are you all right, ma'am?” she'd said.

“Fine, Mildred. And you?” The missus was smiling but the look in her eyes was… distant.

“Ready to greet the day, ma'am.”

“That's the spirit.”

Fighting a frown, Mildred fixed a proper cup of English Breakfast while glancing at the paper.

The missus smiled. “I must be developing a belated interest in current events.”

“Yes, ma'am. Up early, too.”

“I seem to be doing that lately, don't I? Must be a change in my biorhythm.”

Later that day, she'd found the missus out on the patio with her hand on a stone column, as if she needed support. Looking out at… what? The ruins of the garden? More like nothing. Her eyes had that blank look again, and when Mildred greeted her, they stayed that way for several seconds.

Strange things were happening.

Mildred walked through the bedroom into the first dressing room. No one. The bathroom was empty, too, the tub drained, towels folded.

A long corridor led to the walk-in closet. Standing in the doorway, Mildred repeated, “Ma'am?”

“In here, Mildred. You may come in.”

Mildred hurried through the narrow passage. The rear closet was larger than most rooms, lined with mahogany shelves and racks, built-in drawers. Hand-printed hatboxes, scores of shoes arranged by color. All that was left of the missus's couture collection was a pair of wool coats, a rain slicker, five suits- black, brown, beige, two grays- and a few casual dresses and cashmere sweaters, all encased in plastic wardrobe bags. The missus was standing in front of the mirror applying makeup, fully dressed in one of the gray suits, a thirty-year-old Chanel. She wore pearl earrings, the small ones, lovely. Mildred remembered the diamonds him had showered on the missus. An annoying little man from San Gabriel had examined them with a loupe and a predatory smile.

The Chanel draped the missus's figure perfectly. But… her feet…

White lace-up tennis shoes over bulky white socks.

“I thought I'd go out for a walk, Mildred.” The missus's thick, wavy hair was brushed and sprayed, chestnut embroidered with gray. Her makeup had been applied expertly except for one stray granule of lipstick near the corner of her beautiful mouth. Mildred restrained the impulse to flick it away, but she did give a pointed look and the missus caught the hint and dabbed.

“A walk. Lovely idea, ma'am…” Mildred's eyes lowered again. Those socks!

The missus laughed uneasily. “Not exactly the height of style, I know, but these are easy on the arches. My hamstrings are stiff, Mildred. I tried to stretch them out, but they're still bound up. It's been too long since I walked, Mildred.”

Drawing back her shoulders and straightening her spine, she started down the corridor.

“Do be careful, ma'am. I watered the orchard just twenty minutes ago and drainage seems to be poor, especially in the rear area, the peach trees. Boggy and slippery, you'd think that gardener's boy would have the sense to-”

The missus stopped and placed a delicate hand on Mildred's shoulder. “I'm not walking on the property, dear,” she said. “I'm going around the block.”

“Oh,” said Mildred. “I see.” She didn't. “I'll be happy to come with you-”

“No thank you, dear. I need to think.”

“With all due-”

“I'll be fine, Mildred.” The missus's chin began to shake. She drew back her shoulders.

She took another step. Stopped. “I'm always fine, Mildred. Am I not?”