Morning Glory

Chapter 5

They went for a walk when the midmorning sun had lifted well above the trees-a green and gold day smelling of deep summer. Will had never walked with a woman and her children before. It held a strange, unexpected appeal. He noticed her way with the children, how she carried Baby Thomas on one hip with his heel flattening her smock. How, as they set off from the porch, she reached back for Donald Wade, inviting, "Come on, honey, you lead the way," and helped him off the last step. How she watched him gallop ahead, smiling after him as if she’d never before seen his flopping yellow hair, his baggy striped overalls. How she locked her hands beneath Thomas’s backside, leaned from the waist, took a deep pull of the clear air and said to the sky, "My, if this day ain’t a blessin’." How she called ahead, "Careful o’that wire in the grass there, Donald Wade!" How she plucked a leaf and handed it to Thomas, then let him touch her nose with it and pretended it tickled her and made the young one giggle.

Watching, Will became entranced. Lord, she was some mother. Always kind voiced. Always finding the good in things. Always concerned about her boys. Always making them feel important. Nobody had ever made Will feel important, only in the way.

He studied her covertly, noting more clearly the bulk of her belly, outlined by the baby’s leg. Donald Wade had said she gets tired. Recalling the boy’s words, Will considered offering to carry the baby, but he felt out of his depth around Thomas. He’d be no good at getting his nose tickled or making chitchat. Besides, she might not cotton to a stranger like him handling Glendon Dinsmore’s boys.

They went around to the back of the house where the dishtowel flapped on a line strung between teetering clothespoles that had been shimmed up by crude wood braces. Beyond these were more junkpiles before the woods began-pines, oaks, hickories and more. Sparrows flitted from tree to tree ahead, and Eleanor followed with her finger, telling the boys, "See? Chipping sparrows." A brown thrasher swept past and perched on a dead limb. Again she pointed it out and named it. The sun glinted off the boys’ blond heads and painted their mother’s dress an even brighter hue. They walked along a faint double path worn by wheels some time ago. Sometimes Donald Wade skipped, swinging his arms widely. The younger one tipped his head back and looked at the sky, his hand resting on his mother’s shoulder. They were so happy! Will hadn’t come up against many happy people in his day. It was arresting.

A short distance from the house they came upon an east-facing hill covered by regular rows of squat fruit trees.

"This here’s the orchard," Eleanor announced, gazing over its length and breadth.

"Big," Will observed.

"And you ain’t seen half of it. These here are peach. Down yonder is a whole string of apples and pears… and oranges, too. Glendon had this idea to try orange trees, but they never did much." She smiled wistfully. "Too far north for them."

Will stepped off the path and inspected a cluster of fruit. "Could have used a little spraying."

"I know." Unconsciously she stroked the baby’s back. "Glendon planned to do that, but he died in April and never got the chance."

This far south the trees should have been sprayed long before April, Will thought, but refrained from saying so. They moved on.

"How old are these trees?"

"I don’t know exactly. Glendon’s daddy planted most of them when he was still alive. All except the oranges, like I said. There’s apples, too, just about every kind imaginable, but I never learned their names. Glendon’s daddy, he knew a lot about them, but he died before I married Glendon. He was a junker, too, just like Glendon. Went to auction sales and traded stuff with anybody that came along. No reason to any of it, it seemed." Abruptly, she inquired, "You ever tasted quince? Those there are quince."

"Sour as rhubarb."

"Make a luscious pie, though."

"I wouldn’t know about that, ma’am."

"Bet you’d like to try one, wouldn’t you?"

He gave her a sideward glance. "Reckon I would."

"Could use a little fat on them bones, Mr. Parker."

He leveled his eyes on the quince trees and tugged his hat brim so low it cut off his view of the horizon. Thankfully, she changed the subject.

"So where’d you eat ’em, then?"

"California."

"California?" She peered up at him with her head cocked. "You been there?"

"Picked fruit there one summer when I was a kid."

"You see any movie stars?"

"Movie stars?" He wouldn’t have guessed she’d know much about movie stars. "No." He glanced at her. "You ever seen any?"

She laughed. "Now where would I see movie stars when I never even seen a movie?"

"Never?"

She shook her head. "Heard about ’em from the kids in school, though."

He wished he could promise to take her sometime, but where would he get the money for movies? And even if he had it, there was no theater in Whitney. Besides, she avoided the town.

"In California, the movie stars are only in Hollywood, and it gets cold in parts where there are mountains. And the ocean’s dirty. It stinks."

She could see she had her work cut out for her if she was to get that pessimism out of him. "You always so jolly?"

He would have tugged his hat brim lower, but if he did he’d be unable to see where he was walking. "Well, California isn’t like what you think."

"You know, I can’t say I’d mind if you’d smile a little more often."

He tossed her a sullen glance. "About what?"

"Maybe, Mr. Parker, you got to find that out for yourself." She let the baby slip from her hip. "Lord, Thomas, if you ain’t gettin’ heavier than a guilty conscience, I don’t know. Come on, take Mommy’s hand and I’ll show you somethin’."

She showed him things Will would have missed: a branch shaped like a dog’s paw-"A man could whittle forever and not make anything prettier," she declared. A place where something tiny had nested in the grass and left a collection of empty seed pods-"If I was a mouse, I’d love livin’ right here in this pretty-smellin’ orchard, wouldn’t you?" A green katydid camouflaged upon a greener blade of grass-"Y’ got to look close to see he’s makin’ the sound with his wings." And in the adjacent woods a magnolia tree with a deep bowl, head-high, where its branches met, and within that bowl, a second tree taken root: a sturdy little oak growing straight and healthy.

"How’d it get there?" Donald Wade asked.

"How d’ you think?"

"I dunno."

She squatted beside the boys, gazing up at piggyback trees. "Well, there was this wise old owl lived in these woods, and one evenin’ at dusk he came by and I ast him the same thing. I says to him, how’d that li’l old oak tree get t’ growin’ in that magnolia?" She grinned at Donald Wade. "Know what he told me?"

"Uh-uh." Donald Wade stared at his mother, mystified. She dropped to her rump and sat like an Indian, stripping bark from a stick with her thumbnail as she went on.

"Well, he said there was two squirrels lived here, years ago. One of ’em was a hard worker, spent every day totin’ acorns into that little pocket in the tree up there." She pointed with the stick. "The other squirrel, well, he was lazy. Laid on his back on that limb over there"-she pointed again, to a nearby pine-"and made a pillow out of his tail and crossed his legs and watched the busy squirrel gettin’ ready for winter. He waited until there was so many nuts they was about to start spillin’ over the edge. Then when the hardworking squirrel went off to look for one last nut, the lazy one scrambled up there and ate and ate and ate, until he’d ate every last one of ’em. He was so full he sat on the limb and let out a burp so almighty powerful it knocked him off backwards." She drew a deep breath, braced her hands on her knees and burped loudly, then flopped back, arms outflung. Will smiled. Donald Wade giggled. Baby Thomas squealed.

"But it wasn’t so funny, after all," she continued, gazing at the sky.

Donald Wade sobered and leaned over her to look straight down into her face. "Why not?"

"Because on his way down, he cracked his head on a limb and killed himself deader’n a mackerel."

Donald Wade smacked himself in the head and fell backward, sprawled on the grass beside Eleanor, his eyelids closed but twitching. She rolled up and took Thomas into her lap. "Now when the busy little squirrel come back with that one last nut between his teeth, he climbed up and saw that all his acorns were gone. He opened his mouth to cry and the last acorn he brung up, why, it fell into the nest beneath the nutshells the greedy squirrel had left." Donald Wade, too, sat up, his interest in the story aroused once again. "He knew he couldn’t stay here for the winter, ’cause he’d already gathered up all the nuts for miles around. So he left his cozy nest and didn’t come back till he was old. So old it was hard for him to climb up and down the oak trees like he used to. But he remembered the little nest in the magnolia where it had been warm and dry and safe, and he climbed up there to see it again, just for old times’ sake. And what do you think he found?"

"The oak tree growin’ there?" the older boy ventured.

"That’s right." She finger-combed Donald Wade’s hair off his brow. "A sturdy little oak with enough acorns that the old squirrel never had to run up and down a tree again, ’cause they was growin’ all around his head, right there in his warm, cozy nest."

Donald Wade popped up. "Tell me another one!"

"Uh-uh. Got to go on, show Mr. Parker the rest of the place." She pushed to her feet and reached for Thomas’s hand. "Come on, boys. Donald Wade, you take Thomas’s other hand. Come on, Mr. Parker," she said over her shoulder. "Day’s movin’ on."

Will lagged behind, watching them saunter up the lane, three abreast, holding hands. The rear of her skirt was wrinkled from the damp grass, but she cared not a whit. She was busy pointing out birds, laughing softly, talking to the boys in her singsong Southern fashion. He felt a catch in his heart for the mother he’d never known, the hand he’d never held, the make-believe tales he’d never been told. For a moment he pretended he’d had one like Eleanor Dinsmore. Every kid should have one like her.Maybe, Mr. Parker, you got to find that out for yourself. Her words echoed through his mind as they moved on, and Will found himself glancing back over his shoulder at the oak tree growing out of the magnolia, realizing fully what a rare thing it was.

In time they came to a double flank of beehives, grayed, weathered and untended, dotting the edge of the orchard. He searched his mind for any knowledge of bees, but found none. He saw the hives as a potential source of income, but she gave them wide berth and he recalled that her husband had died tending the bees, was buried somewhere out here in the orchard. But he saw no grave and she pointed none out. In spite of the way Dinsmore had died, Will felt himself drawn to the hives, to the few insects that droned around them, and to the scent of the fruit-wormy or whole-as it warmed beneath the eleven o’clock sun. He wondered about the man who’d been here before him, a man who maintained nothing, finished nothing and apparently never worried about either. How could a man let things run to ruin that way? How could a man lucky enough to own things-so many things-care so little about their condition? Will could count in ten seconds the number of things he’d ever owned: a horse, a saddle, clothing, a razor. Lengthening his stride to catch up with Eleanor Dinsmore, he wondered if she were as hopeless a dreamer as her husband had been.

They came to a pecan grove that looked promising, hanging thick with immature nuts, and in the lane over the next hill a tractor, which blocked their way.

"What’s this?" Will’s eyes lit up.

"Glendon’s old Steel Mule," she explained while Will made a slow circuit around the rusting hulk. "This was where she stopped running, so this is where he left ’er." It was an old Bates Model G, but of what vintage Will couldn’t be sure-’26 or ’27, maybe. At the front it had two wide-set steel wheels, and on each side at the rear three wheels of telescoping size surrounded by tracks with lugs. The lugs were chewed, in some places missing. He glanced at the engine and doubted it would ever make a sound again.

"I know a little about engines, but I think this one’s shot for good."

They moved on, reaching the far end of the property, turning back toward the house on another path. They passed stubbled fields and patches of woods, eventually topping a rise where Will stopped dead, pushed back his hat and gaped. "Holy smokes," he muttered. Below lay a veritable graveyard of iron stoves, rusting in grass tall enough to bend in the wind.

"A bunch of ’em, huh?" Eleanor stopped beside him. "Seemed like he’d haul another one home every week. I said to him, "Glendon, what’re you going to do with all them old stoves when everybody these days is changin’ to gas and kerosene?’ But he just kept hauling ’em in here whenever he heard of someone changin’over."

There had to be five hundred of them, as bright orange as the road to Whitney.

"Holy smokes," Will repeated, lifting his hat and scratching his head, imagining the chore of hauling them out again.

She glanced at his profile, clearly defined against the blue sky, with the hat pushed back beyond his hairline. Did she dare tell him about the rest? Might as well, she decided. He’d find out eventually anyway. "Wait’ll you see the cars."

Will turned her way. After all he’d seen, nothing would be a surprise. "Cars?"

"Wrecks, every one of ’em. Worse’n the Steel Mule."

Hands on hips, he studied the stoves a long moment. At length he sighed, tugged down his hat brim and said, "Well, let’s get it over with."

The cars lay immediately behind the band of woods surrounding the outbuildings-they’d come nearly full circle around the place-and created a clutter of gaping doors and sagging roofs in the long weeds. They approached the windowless wreck of an old 1928 Whippet. Wild honeysuckle climbed over its wire wheels and along the front bumper. On the near runningboard a bird had made its nest against the lee of the back fender.

"Can I drive it?" Donald Wade asked eagerly.

"Sure can. Wanna take Baby Thomas with you?"

"Come on, Thomas." Donald Wade took his brother’s hand, plowed through the grass and helped Thomas board. The two clambered up and sat side by side, bouncing on the tattered seat. Donald Wade pumped the steering wheel left and right, making engine noises with his tongue. When Eleanor and Will approached, he whipped the wheel even more vigorously. Imitating his brother, Thomas stuck out his tongue and blew, sending specks of saliva flying onto a cobweb strung across the faded black paint of the dashboard.

Eleanor stood beside the open door and laughed. The more she laughed, the more the boys bounced and blew. The more they bounced and blew, the more animatedly Donald Wade worked the steering wheel.

She crossed her arms on the window opening, bent forward and propped her chin on a wrist. "Where y’all goin’, fellers?"

"Atlanta!" squealed Donald Wade.

"’Lanta!" parroted Thomas.

"Atlanta?" teased their mother. "What y’all think y’re gonna do clear over there?"

"Don’ know." Donald Wade drove hell-bent for leather, the old wheel spinning in his freckled hands.

"Care to give a pretty lady a ride?"

"Can’t stop-goin’ too fast!"

"Hows ’bout if I just jump on the runnin’ board while you whiz by?"

"Okee-dokee, lady!"

"Ouch!" Eleanor jumped back and grabbed her foot. "You run over my toe, young feller!"

"Eeeeech!" Donald Wade’s stubby foot slammed the brake pedal to the floor as he came to a screeching halt. "Git in, lady."

Eleanor acted affronted. She put her nose in the air and turned away. "Don’t reckon I care to, now you run over my toes that way. Reckon I’ll find myself somebody drives less reckless than you. But you might ask Mr. Parker here if he needs a lift to town. He’s been walkin’ some and he’s probably plum tuckered, ain’t you, Mr. Parker?" She squinted up at him with a crooked smile.

Will had never played such games before. He felt conspicuous and unimaginative, while they all watched him, waiting for a reply. He frantically searched his mind and came up with a sudden stroke of genius. "Next time, boys." He lifted one scuffed boot above the grass. "Just got this here new pair of boots and I gotta get ’em broke in before the dance Saturday night."

"Okee-dokee, mister. Bbvvrr-n-n-n!" More spit accompanied the engine noise, and more laughter from Eleanor Dinsmore. She and Will stood in the dappled light from a wide oak, in grass and honeysuckle to their knees, and Will felt himself becoming a child again, experiencing delights he hadn’t known the first time around. The day was warm and smelled green, and for the moment there seemed no need to rush or plan, to wish or regret. It was enough to watch two blond tykes drivin’ down to Atlanta in a 1928 Whippet.

Eleanor’s laughter faded, but her smile remained as she studied Will. He leaned against the side of the car with his weight on one foot, arms crossed loosely over his chest. The sunlight lit the tip of his nose. On his lips was a genuine smile. "Well, now, would you lookit there," she said softly.

He glanced up and found her studying his mouth. So she’d done it; she’d made him smile. It felt as revitalizing as a full belly, and he neither dimmed nor hid it, but rained it on Eleanor Dinsmore.

"Feels good, don’t it?" she asked quietly.

His brown eyes softened as they appreciated her green ones. "Yes, ma’am," he replied quietly.

Smiling up at him, noting the pleasure in his eyes, Eleanor thrilled at the realization that she and the boys had succeeded in putting it there. Heaven’s sake, what a smile did to Will Parker’s face-eyes hooked down at the corners, lids lowered to half-mast, lips softened, the emotionlessness gone. I could get along with his man quite easy, now I know I can get him to smile.

His smile traveled from her mouth to her rounded stomach, a tarrying trip. She remained unflinching under his steady regard, wondering what he was thinking. "For life" was a long time. Let him look, let him decide. She’d do the same. She had never cared one way or the other about how people looked. But Will Parker, relaxed and smiling, made a fetching sight, no question about it. Only after the thought struck did she grow uneasy beneath his perusal. His gaze lifted and meeting hers, made Eleanor blush inside.

"You know, Mrs. Dinsmore-"

Thomas’s scream interrupted. Will glanced over his shoulder. "What the-"

Donald Wade screamed-pained and panicked.

Will snapped around and shouted, "Jesus Christ, get them out of there!" He lunged toward the car and hauled Donald Wade out by one arm. "Run! Get away from here! Bees!" Half a dozen of them buzzed around Will’s head. One stung him on the neck, another on the wrist, as he reached for a yowling Thomas. By the time he withdrew from the car, the insects swarmed everywhere. Ignoring the stings that fell on him, he swatted the bees off Thomas with his cowboy hat. Eleanor and Donald Wade took off at a run, but just as Will caught up to them Donald Wade tipped over, face first, screaming. Will scooped him up and kept running. His legs were longer than Eleanor’s and he soon outdistanced her. Halting uncertainly, he turned back. Behind him, she struggled along at an awkward gait, supporting her stomach with one hand, fanning the air about her head with the other. The bees had thickened and set up an angry hum.

"Mrs. Dinsmore!" he called.

"Take them and run!" Eleanor hollered. "Don’t wait for me!"

Will saw the terror in her eyes and paused in indecision.

"Go!" she screamed.

One landed on Thomas’s arm. He screamed and began thrashing wildly on Will’s arm. Will turned and barreled up the lane, with the boys bellowing and bouncing. When he’d outrun the swarm, he paused, panting, and spun just in time to see Eleanor stumble and go down on her face. His heart seemed to jump into his mouth. He dropped the boys in the middle of the lane and ordered, "Wait here!" Then he was pounding back to her, ignoring the howls behind him. He ran harder than ever before in his life, toward the woman who rolled over slowly and pushed herself up. On one hip she sat, eyes closed, rocking, clutching her stomach. Oh, Jesus, sonofabitch, Christ-almighty- Will prayed in the only way he knew how-don’t let her be hurt! He skidded to a halt on one knee, reaching for her.

"Mrs. Dinsmore…" he panted.

Her eyes opened. "The boys-are the boys all right?"

"Mostly scared." He took off his hat and flapped angrily at two buzzing bees that hovered about her head. "Git out of here, you sons a bitches!" From up the path the screams continued. Will threw an uncertain glance at the boys, then at Eleanor, fighting panic. He took her by the arms and forced her back. "Lay down here a minute. The bees are gone."

"But the boys-"

"The boys got a few bites, but let ’em howl for a minute. Here now, you lay back like I said." She stopped resisting and wilted to the earth. He stuffed his hat under her. "Here, you put your head on this."

She rested but small pains arced through her abdomen.

"You hurt anything when you fell?" Will asked anxiously, kneeling beside her, wondering what he was supposed to do if she started losing the baby out here in the middle of this weed patch. He watched her stomach lifting and falling in panting beats, wondered if he should touch it, test it. But for what? He sat on one heel, hands resting uncertainly on his thighs.

"I’m okay. Please… would you just see after the boys?"

"But you’re-"

"I’ll just lay here a while. You take the boys up to the well and plaster some mud on their bee stings quick as you can. It’ll cut the swelling."

"But I can’t just leave you here."

"Yes, you can! Now do as I say, Will Parker! Them bee stings could kill Thomas if he got enough of them, and I already lost their daddy to the bees-don’t you understand!" Her eyes filled with tears and Will reluctantly got to his feet. He glanced toward the pair, still sitting abjectly in the middle of the lane, bawling their heads off. He glanced at their mother and pointed authoritatively at her nose.

"Don’t you move until I get back." Then he was off at a run again. A moment later he rescued the two squalling boys and trotted on.

"Maa-maaaaw! I want my maa-maaw!" Donald Wade had several welts on his face and hands. One ear was scarlet and puffed. He ground his fists into his eyes.

"Your mama can’t run as fast as I can. Hang on and we’ll put somethin’ cool on them bites."

Baby Thomas was running from all ports and had bites all over, including a mean-looking cluster on his neck. They’d already begun swelling. At the thought of what could happen, should they be swelling as much on the inside as they were on the out, Will made his legs pump harder. He tried to think rationally, to remember if he’d seen where Mrs. Dinsmore kept her bread knife. A picture of the long silver blade flashed through his mind and he imagined having to slip it into Baby Thomas’s windpipe, through that soft, pink baby skin. His stomach tumbled at the thought. He wasn’t sure he could do it. Goddammit, don’t let this kid choke, you hear me!

Don’t think of it, Parker, just keep runnin’! As long as he’s screaming like a banshee he ain’t strangling.

Baby Thomas yowled all the way back to the yard. Will hit the mud patch by the pump doing seven miles an hour. His left foot flew west, his right east, and a moment later he landed on his seat with a splat. There he sat with two bawling boys. A bubble formed in Baby Thomas’s right nostril. Tears rolled down Donald Wade’s cheeks, wetting the bee stings. Will reached up and pulled Donald Wade’s fist down.

"Here, don’t rub ’em." He sat in the cold, slimy mud and started dabbing it on both boys at once. Thomas fought him tooth and nail, jerking his head back, pushing at Will’s hands. But in time the visible welts were covered. The howling subsided to jerky sobs, then the jerky sobs to breathy chuffs of wonder as it dawned on the boys that they were sitting beneath the pump, being plastered with mud. Will unhooked Donald Wade’s suspenders, turned his bib down and his shirt up. He treated several stings on his back and belly, then removed the baby’s shirt and did likewise.

"They got you, all right," Will confirmed, examining for any he might have missed.

"Are they all right?"

Will’s chin snapped up at the sound of Eleanor’s voice. She stood at the edge of the puddle, holding his flattened hat in her hand. "I thought I told you to stay put till I could get back to you."

"Are they all right?" she repeated.

"I think so. Are you?"

"I think so."

"Mama…" The baby reached toward her, but Will held him in place.

"You sit here a minute, sport. You’ll get your mama all muddy."

Suddenly Eleanor’s face crinkled and a chuckle began deep in her throat. Will shot her a glare.

"What you laughin’ at?"

"Oh, mercy, if you could see the picture you three make." She covered her mouth and doubled forward, laughing. "It just struck me."

Sudden anger boiled up in Will. How dare she stand there cackling when he’d just had five good years scared out of him! When his heart was knocking so hard his temples hurt! When he sat with the mud oozing up through his only pair of jeans! And all because of her and her boys!

"There ain’t a damn thing funny, so stop your crowin’!" He planted both boys on their feet as if they were spades and he was done shoveling. Clumsily he extracted himself from the mud and stood bowlegged, like a toddler with full diapers. All the while she giggled behind her hand. Giggled, for chrissake, when she could be standing there at this very minute having a miscarriage!

He got madder. His head jutted forward. "You crazy, woman?"

"I reckon I am," she managed through her laughter. "Leastways, they all say so, don’t they?"

Her good humor only intensified his choler. Incensed, he pointed. "You git up to the house and-and-" But he didn’t know what to advise. Hell, what was he, a midwife?

"I’m going, Mr. Parker, I’m going," Eleanor returned jauntily. She punched out the dome of his hat and plopped it on her own head, where it fell past her ears. "But how could I pass by without noticing you sitting there in the mud?" She reached down for Baby Thomas and Will barked, "I’ll take care of them! Just get up there and see to yourself!"

She turned away, chuckling, and waddled up the path.

Damn woman didn’t have the sense God gave a box of rocks if she didn’t realize she should be flat on her back, resting, after the fall she’d taken. It’d take some getting used to, living with a single-minded woman who laughed at him every chance she got. And didn’t she know what a scare she gave him? Now that it was over, his knees felt like a pair of rotting tomatoes. That, too, made him mad. Getting watery-kneed over somebody else’s woman, and a stranger to boot! None too gently, he called after her, "How long does this mud have to be on ’em?"

From up the path she called, "Ten minutes or so should do it. I’ll fix somethin’ to help the itching." She dropped his hat on the porch step and disappeared inside.

Will removed the boys’ shoes and let them play in the mud. He himself felt twenty pounds heavier with so much goo hanging off his backside. Now and then he glanced at the house, but she stayed inside. He didn’t know if he wanted her to come out or not. Confounded woman, standing there laughing at him while he was trying to calm down her howling kids. And nobody wore his hat. Nobody!

At the house, Eleanor set to work smashing plantain leaves with a mortar and pestle. You really don’t know a person till you see him mad. So now she’d seen Will Parker mad, and even riled he was pretty mellow-a good sign. What a sight he’d made, sitting in that mudhole with his dark eyes snapping. If he stayed, years from now they’d laugh about it.

She looked up and saw a sight that made her hands fall still. "Well, would y’ look at that," she murmured to herself. Will Parker came stalking toward the house with her two naked sons on his arms. Their rumps looked pink and plump against Parker’s hard brown arms, their hands fragile on his wiry shoulders. He had a long-legged stride, but moved as if hurry were a stranger to him. His head was bare, his shirt unbuttoned with the tails flapping, and he scowled deeply. What a sight to see her boys with a man again. Strangers scared them, but in less than a day they had taken to Will Parker. And in the same length of time she’d seen all she needed to be convinced he’d do all right at daddyin’, whether the boys were his own or not. He’d be gentle with them. And caring.

She watched from the shadows of the kitchen as he approached the house and paused uncertainly at the foot of the porch steps. She stepped out, noting that his pants and shirttails were dripping.

"Y’all washed in that cold well water?"

"Thought you’d be laying down." His voice still hinted at displeasure.

"I had a pang or two but there’s nothin’ serious wrong."

"Shouldn’t you see a doctor or something?"

"Doctor," she scoffed. "What do I need with a doctor?"

"I could walk to town, see if we could get one out here."

"Town ain’t got no use for me, I ain’t got no use for it. I’ll get along just fine."

Lord a-mercy, she was five months pregnant and she hadn’t seen a doctor? His eyes dropped to the dish she held. "What’s that?"

"Crushed plantain leaves for the bites. But we better dry the boys off first. You mind doin’ one while I do the other?"

She was gone inside the house before Will could reply. A moment later she returned with two towels, tossed one to Will and sat on the bottom step with the other. While she dried Donald Wade, Will found himself balancing on the balls of his feet with Thomas between his knees. Another first, he thought, awkwardly drawing the child closer. Thomas was pink and gleaming and his little pecker stuck out like a barricade at a railroad crossing. He stared straight into Will’s eyes, silent. Will grinned. "Got to dry you off, short stuff," he ventured quietly. This time he didn’t feel as ignorant, talking to the little guy. Thomas didn’t yowl or fight him, so he figured he was doing all right. He soon learned that babies do little in the way of helping at bath time. Chiefly, Thomas stared, with his lower lip hanging. He had to have his arms lifted, his fingers separated, his body turned this way and that. Will dried all the cracks and crannies, going easy where the bites were worst. Thomas’s neck was so small and fragile-looking. His skin was soft and he smelled better than any human being Will had ever been near. Unexpected pleasure stole over the man.

He glanced up and discovered Eleanor watching him.

"How you doin’?" She smiled lazily.

"Not bad."

"First time?"

"Yes, ma’am."

"Never had any o’ your own?"

"No, ma’am."

"Never married?"

"No, ma’am."

They fell silent, rubbing down the boys. The mellowness inspired by the task spilled over in Will and softened his annoyance with the woman.

"You scared the hell out of me, you know, falling like that."

"Scared the hell out of myself." Her lazy smile continued.

"Didn’t mean to bark at you that way."

"It’s all right. I understand." After a pause, she added, "Reckon you’re a little shivery in those wet britches yourself."

"They’ll dry."

Thomas stood complacently between Will’s knees, and Will had no warning until he felt something warming the cold denim on his inner thigh. He glanced down, yelped and leaped to his feet. Baby Thomas unconcernedly bowed his legs and continued relieving himself in a splattering yellow arc.

"Mercy, Thomas, look what you’ve done!" Eleanor pushed Donald Wade aside and came up off the step. "Oh, mercy, Mr. Parker, I’m sorry." She dropped a self-conscious glance to Will’s thigh. "Baby Thomas, he ain’t trained yet, you see, and sometimes-well, sometimes-" She fumbled to a stop and turned pink. "I’m awful sorry."

Will stood with feet widespread, surveying the damages. "Like you said, they were wet anyway."

"I’d be happy to wash them for you, and I’ll get you something of Glendon’s to wear till they’re dry," she offered.

He lifted his head and their eyes met. Hers were dismayed, his bemused. A smile began tugging at one corner of his mouth, a smile as slow as his walk, climbing one cheek until an attractive crescent dented it. He snickered. Inside him the laughter built until it erupted. And as Eleanor’s chagrin turned to relief, she joined him.

They stood in the sun laughing together for the first time, with the naked children gazing up at them.

When it ended a subtle change had transpired. Their smiles remained while possibilities drifted through their minds.

"So," he said at length, "is this how you initiate all the men who come up here to answer your ad?" he teased drolly.

"You never know what to expect when you got two this little."

"I’ll remember that next time."

"I’ll get them clothes of Glendon’s and you can take a pail of warm water to the barn."

"Appreciate it, ma’am."

For the moment neither of them moved. They stood rooted by surprise and curiosity, now that they’d seen each other in a new light. Her face radiated more than the reflection of her yellow dress. He thought about reaching up and touching it, thought about what her skin might feel like-maybe soft like Donald Wade’s and warm beneath the sun. Instead, he bent to retrieve his hat from the step and settled it on his head. From the safety of its shadow he told her, "I’ve decided to stay, if you still want me."

"I do," she said directly.

The thrill shot straight to his vitals. For as long as he could remember, nobody had wanted Will Parker. Standing in the sun with one foot on her porch steps and her bare children at his feet, he vowed he’d do his best by her or die trying. "And as far as marrying goes, we’ll put that off till you feel comfortable. And if it’s never, well, fine. I’ll be happy in the barn. How’s that?"

"Fine," she agreed, flashing him a brief, nervous smile. He wondered if her insides were stirring like his. He might never have known had she not at that very moment dropped her gaze and fussily checked the hair at the back of her neck.

Well, I’ll be damned, Will thought. I’ll be ding-dong double damned.