After the Fire (21 page)

“Blue! What kind of a name is that!” Milly demanded.

“I think it comes out of an old cowboy song,” Henrietta said, “but I’m not sure.”

“The least you’d think she could do was give the poor child a decent name,” Milly said.

“I don’t know,” Henrietta said. “It’s not as silly as Hen.”

“Well, but you have a
real
name.”

They were sitting out on Milly’s deck, having morning coffee on another lovely summer day.

“What’s important is that they’re both all right,” Henrietta said. “It was awfully hard on her finding Miss James like that.”

“Is it true what I hear, that Miss James has left her her house?”

Henrietta nodded.

“Why doesn’t she name her for Miss James, then?”

“Lily Anne?” Henrietta asked.

“Well … I must say she seems to land on her feet, with all her sins rewarded.”

“It’s a sweet cradle you’ve given her,” Henrietta said.

“The baby had to have somewhere to sleep, and I don’t suppose Miss James had one of those tucked up in
her
attic.”

Milly did feel outclassed by Miss James’ gesture. She’d been so rarely generous in these last years that she resented having her sense of beneficence cut short. She was also irritated that Henrietta had seen the baby, and she had not. But some scruple she didn’t understand in herself was making her wait for an invitation which probably would not be forthcoming. She would have to wait until Red came back to work.

“Red was very pleased. She said she liked having something with a history for the baby.”

“I’ve got an old highchair up there, too,” Milly said. “She can have that when she needs it. Why I’ve kept those things around all these years I can’t think.”

“For grandchildren?”

“Having children seems the farthest thing from my kids’ minds. It’s gone out of fashion in their generation.”

“Some of them are waiting longer, and that’s not a bad thing,” Henrietta replied.

Henrietta was born to be resigned, Milly thought, and was not sorry to see her looking around for her handbag. She’d gone a bit dithery since she’d been sick. Without Hart, she didn’t seem to have reason enough to pull herself back together.

“Do you think we ought to do something about Miss James?” Henrietta asked as she got up to go. “Just a little tea or something like that?”

“Who’d go?” Milly asked.

“Probably most people,” Henrietta said, but there was no energy in her voice.

“It’s not necessary, Hen,” Milly said.

“Perhaps not,” Henrietta said. “It does seem sad, though, just to go.”

When Henrietta had taken herself off, Milly remained sitting in the sun, aware that her own sense of importance had begun to fade, that it was harder for her to imagine being the cause for concern for her children. When a child you had born and raised could simply disappear, be unheard of for years, you could almost hope something dreadful had happened to her to cancel the sense of her complete indifference. Milly had bought that cradle for Nora, who might even have children of her own by now. Odd. Had she and Forbes really been that dreadful? The other two seemed to have managed, but they’d been younger. Nora. Milly thought of her as a baby or with a baby, the two images blurring. She wanted to see Red’s baby. She wanted to be asked.

H
ENRIETTA RUMMAGED AROUND IN
her own store of goods, looking for something for Red’s baby. Even as she looked, she knew she wouldn’t find anything. Having lost so many babies, she had become superstitious about things accumulated for them. She only remembered now how she had given away everything, had not even so much as a diaper waiting for the child who finally lived, and she’d given away each of her sons’ clothes and toys as he had outgrown them. How long it had taken her, out of what abundance of sorrow, to see that she couldn’t outwit the jealous gods. They took whom they pleased. She had that cumbersome silver tea set, all that china, but there wasn’t so much as a baby cup or spoon to hand on to the grandchildren she had resolutely refused to hope for.

Then she found a lambskin still sealed in cellophane, a spare she had kept for Hart when the one he had been using became worn past comfort. He had been removed from her care before he needed it. Under it she found still unused very soft towels also intended for Hart. Needs of the newborn and the dying were often similar. The feel of that softness returned her to a self who had not seemed to mind the tending of either helpless child or helpless man.

With these excuses to visit Red again, so soon after her first quick call to assure herself that Red and the baby were all right, Henrietta set out. She hoped, once the presents were offered and she’d chatted with Red awhile, that it might be possible to raise the problem of Miss James’ house. Henrietta had talked with the lawyer. Though it would take some time to settle the estate, there was no reason why Red couldn’t move in at once. But Henrietta would have to be cautious.

She found Red sitting up in the rocker nursing the baby. The table was cluttered with baby things, boxes of Pampers, stuffed animals.

“People keep coming by,” Red said in puzzled explanation.

“Well, of course,” Henrietta said, not as confident of this community response as she sounded.

“I haven’t even had time to put anything away,” Red apologized. “There really isn’t any place to put it.”

“Well, this can go into the cradle,” Henrietta said, taking the wrapper from the lambskin. “And you can take it wherever you take the baby so that she’ll feel at home.”

“It’s beautiful,” Red said, reaching out to touch it.

The baby, distracted, began to fuss.

“We shouldn’t talk while you’re nursing,” Henrietta said. “Shall I make a pot of tea?”

“I’m out of water. You’d have to go to the well.”

Henrietta was glad of a chore that would leave Red quiet with the baby. As she worked the pump, she admitted a primitive pleasure in standing out in the carefully tended little vegetable garden. But it was one thing to experience this old-fashioned ritual in the warm summer sun, another in the cold of winter. Red knew that. She’d lived here for four years, but not with a baby. Surely she’d see the reason for moving to Miss James’ house. Carrying the bucket back, Henrietta saw Blackie’s rope attached to a stump.

“Where’s the dog?” she asked.

“Karen’s taken her for a run,” Red said, holding the baby on her shoulder. “She doesn’t want her to get jealous of the baby, but she won’t. She already understands about Blue. Better than Karen does.”

Henrietta admired how relaxed and confident Red was with the baby. It had been an easy birth, Jane had said, hardly any tearing. It was those wonderful wide hips. So little had been given to Red, Henrietta felt gratitude that at least the shape of her body was a blessing.

“Do you want to hold her?” Red offered.

“Oh yes,” Henrietta said, reaching out for her, a good-sized baby for only two days old, but, of course, tiny. “How much does she weigh?”

“About eight pounds, we figure,” Red said. “A roasting chicken.”

Henrietta wanted to suggest having her checked by a doctor, but Jane had warned her not to push Red about such things. She wouldn’t be irresponsible, but she wanted as little help as possible. Blue was a healthy baby.

“Little Blue,” Henrietta said, smiling down at the tiny face which rewarded her with a large yawn.

“Why not let her try the lambskin?” Red suggested.

The baby settled at once. The kettle whistled on the wood stove. The sound made Henrietta aware of how warm she was, for, even with the door and window open, the stove threw off too much heat.

“We could take chairs outside,” Red suggested.

They were still sitting in the doorway when Karen and Blackie returned.

“She’d play fetch all day if you let her,” Karen said. “Shall I tie her up?”

“No,” Red said. “She’s all right.”

Red let the dog push past her into the cabin where she went right up to the cradle, nosing the lambskin and the baby.

“Is that all right?” Karen asked nervously.

“She can’t learn to baby-sit without smelling her,” Red said.

Satisfied, Blackie backed away, snorted, and lay down a few feet from the cradle.

“I was wondering,” Red said, turning to Henrietta, “if it would be all right if Karen rented Miss James’ place for August.”

Karen gave Henrietta a nervous glance.

“Well, Red, it’s yours,” Henrietta said. “The lawyer says you can move in yourself whenever you want.”

“Then she can,” Red said.

“But only if you—” Karen began.

“I can’t now,” Red said. “I had this all figured out here, and I just can’t think about anything else yet.”

“It would be so much more convenient—” Henrietta began.

“I’m used to this,” Red said firmly, but then she added, “Maybe later, maybe in September.”

Henrietta would have to be content with that for now.

When she left, Karen walked back up the road with her.

“I didn’t want to agree to it,” Karen said. “I tried to persuade her, but she somehow needs to prove something about doing it her way. And maybe she needs time, too, before she’d feel comfortable there. I didn’t ever go in after Miss James died, but it’s a bit hard, even for me.”

“But she is over … hating the idea?” Henrietta asked.

“I think so.”

“Miss James was afraid it might hurt her pride,” Henrietta said.

“She doesn’t know how to let people … help her,” Karen said bleakly.

Poor Karen, she seemed on the edge of other people’s lives rather than in the center of her own. In some ways she seemed younger than Red, who did know her own mind, a little more than was wise perhaps. It was hard for these young women, who either wouldn’t or couldn’t take the ordinary ways out, who had instead to make lives for themselves. Henrietta did not envy them.

The news of Karen’s own legacy did not send her running in protest out of her cottage. She was under no misapprehension that her mother had wanted to die for Karen’s sake. But the lawyer’s letter did confuse and depress her. She could not put it away in the ugly handbag stuffed with jewelry and try to forget it. Within a few months she would have two hundred thousand dollars to do with what she saw fit. How puny it made her own year’s savings of which she had begun to grow proud. It was not the whole of her mother’s estate. The rest of it had been left to her father. She wondered if he would feel minimized by it, too. Had her mother’s money been responsible for the kind of house they had lived in, her father’s expensive cars? It had certainly been responsible for her mother’s running away. Without it, she couldn’t have left.

“I don’t need it,” Karen said aloud. “I don’t want it.”

“Give it away then,” she answered herself.

“Dad would have me committed!” she protested.

Karen had no idea what to do with unnecessary money but put it in the bank until there was enough to buy something. She was still so new at saving that she hadn’t had to make any real decisions. Up to now, she’d had fantasies rather than plans. Buying a house had been years in the future. Even buying some few things of her own, pots and pans, dishes, she hadn’t seriously thought about. Her only substantial possession, her car, had been given to her by her father, and he paid the insurance.

Now in a few months, if she wanted to, she could buy a little house and furnish it, not because someone had loved her and wanted her to have it though. How angry she had been at Red, and it was an anger fed with envy, that she could be given Miss James’ house and not want it, then turn it over almost casually to Karen as if it really weren’t worth having.

Red had changed. From someone who needed to learn things and was willing to ask, she was all of a sudden deaf to any advice, and bossy. The dog was nearly as bad, growling at Karen when she got anywhere close to the baby unless Red told her it was all right. Karen wanted to say to them both, “Have your precious baby. I don’t want to smell it or to baby-sit.”

Karen had never liked children, and this creature seemed no more than an open-ended digestive tract. The best Karen could do was to imagine that she might like it well enough when it was toilet-trained and could walk and talk.

She supposed that must be how a good many men felt, and she was newly admiring of a man like Rat who had conquered such a natural aversion and tended his own child, who was old enough now to begin to look human, hair on his head, a recognizable smile.

It startled her that such a small thing could rouse such strong emotion in her, nearly like jealousy. But anything that suddenly became the whole focus of someone’s life was bound to be resented. You weren’t supposed to talk to Red when the baby was nursing. You weren’t supposed to speak above a whisper when she was asleep, but the stupid dog could put a wet nose right on her, no matter what it had been sniffing five minutes before.

Karen was being unreasonable. She knew that. But she had worked hard to be Red’s friend and had begun to think Red cared for her a little, too. And Red did. She’d offered her the house. But their relationship had changed. Red was suddenly in charge and doing her favors. Karen had imagined that Red would be more vulnerable and open when she had the baby. Instead she had become a Landowner and a Mother.

Last night in the pub, for the first time Karen hadn’t retreated when Milly said Miss High-and-Mighty wasn’t issuing invitations yet to view the Royal Child.

“Just go,” Rat had said. “That’s what everyone else is doing.”

Milly had, after all, given Red the cradle. The least she could do was ask Milly over. But Red had no manners.

“You wanted her to want you,” Karen said firmly. “And she doesn’t. She’s never wanted anything but that baby.”

“Did I really want her?” Karen asked herself.

“Yes, no. I just wanted, and she was there.”

Karen got up and walked out onto her deck, restless and ashamed of herself. She looked out on a view that could now absorb and soothe her, a modest accomplishment for a year’s living here, but a real one. She could be alone. And soon she’d have to tell the owners whether or not she’d be back in September. This might be one of her last days here.