Asked For (13 page)

“Thank you, Mr. Morgan.” James touched his spoon. Andy tried to say the same, his mouth full, chocolate smeared over his lips. Mr. Morgan smiled, his eyes a mix of white and dark brown. James thought his eyes were exactly like his sundaes—white, chocolate, and something very sweet. How could Pop hate him so much?

“Dig in.” Mr. Morgan nodded at James’ dish. James picked up the spoon he’d been toying with. He’d never had a sundae before. Never had ice cream much to speak of, at all. Once at a birthday party Andy had. James had never forgotten it. Mr. Morgan resumed washing and drying glasses. “I see you’re both in uniform, and you’ve got your glove.” Mr. Morgan nodded toward James’ glove on the counter. “So let’s talk about baseball. What do you say?”

James set the spoon back down. If Mr. Morgan had mentioned fishing, building fences, pulling weeds, any of those things, he would have been fine. But baseball? He stared at the ice cream. It would have been better if he’d kept Magdalena’s dollar and given it to Andy to buy ice cream instead of using those two tokens. He wasn’t supposed to be here. This wasn’t the way he wanted to play baseball.

“You boys have improved. I’ve been watching you.” He’d turned. His eyes were on James, and he was talking to him. Andy wasn’t paying attention. His eyes were full of love over what little sundae he had left. “Your brothers still helping you and your teammates practice?”

James shook his head. “Well, once in awhile. They work for Pop now, so there isn’t much time.”

“They like girls now, too,” Andy finally spoke. His spoon clattered to the counter, and he rubbed his stomach. “Not as much as I like ice cream sundaes, though.”

Mr. Morgan laughed. “That will change in time. Someday you’ll discover how sweet young ladies are. Even the ones you never thought it of.” His smile deepened and his gaze drifted away, possibly to some faraway sweetness, one maybe even sweeter than the chocolate covering Andy’s face.

“Glen?”

Mr. Morgan’s smile disappeared. He looked to the door that led to the kitchen where Ida, his sister, stood.

“Yes? What is it?”

Ida resembled Mr. Morgan. She even wore an apron like his. She started to speak but paused and wiped her hands on the skirt of her apron as she stared at the two boys.

“Hi, Miss Morgan,” Andy chirped. “Mr. Morgan gave us ice cream. It was delicious!”

She nodded. “I see that. I’m glad you liked it.”

James wanted to thank her, too, and tell her how good it tasted. But he hadn’t taken a bite yet. His shiny, clean spoon twinkled, catching a glint of light from the front windows. His ice cream had changed from three mountains to a swirling sea of white and brown, islands of fruit and candy floating on top.

“Me too,” he offered lamely, hoping no one would look at his dish. “Thank you.”

Ida glanced his way, then looked back at Mr. Morgan, her brows drawing together.

“I asked what you want,” Mr. Morgan reminded her.

“When you’re finished, I need your help in the back. I hope it’s soon.” She glanced one more time at James, then retreated through the doorway she’d been standing in. When she was gone, Mr. Morgan rubbed his hands on the towel again, cleaning them, scrubbing them harder than he needed to.

James dug into his ice cream pond, ladled a thick scoop of chocolate and vanilla into his mouth. He would eat it and go, head home, let Mr. Morgan do whatever needed to be done in the back. The syrupy, cool sweetness jarred him. He slowed, let it trickle down his throat, then ladled another spoonful and slid it into his mouth. He could feel Andy’s eyes on him. He could hear him toying with his spoon. James looked at his friend and shook his head. Flavor and sugar flooded his senses as Andy’s eyes begged for a bite. He’d never tasted anything like this; he didn’t think he could share it. “Mmmm, mmmm,” James muttered as another cool sweet bite filled his mouth. It was better than Andy’s birthday. It was like he imagined heaven.

Mr. Morgan watched James. His face was all business now, the glow in his eyes gone. James scooped another spoonful from his dish. The sundae was divine. Bite after bite sweetened James’ world, erasing everything else, making him forget that not all of life was wonderful.

“You gonna eat it all?” Andy looked distressed. James grinned, he could feel the cold chocolate on his lips. Maybe pitching a winning game warranted a treat after all. If Mr. Morgan thought his pitching deserved something like this, maybe small rewards now and then were justified. He scraped every glistening spot of sweetness from the dish with his spoon. He wanted to lick it clean, but he didn’t. Andy’s shoulders sagged and his spoon clattered back to the counter.

“No need to talk about baseball, sir,” James said, running his tongue over his lips. “You just said it all.”

Light filtered back into Mr. Morgan’s eyes. “Sundaes open doorways to the soul,” Mr. Morgan said.

James looked at Andy. Both of them frowned.

“They’re the key that unlocks doors. Serve them to the right person at the right time, and they’re medicine for the heart.” He paused and looked at the boys hard. “You deserved these. Now I expect great things from both of you on the diamond.”

Andy slid off his stool, grinning, and headed to the door. James could hear it open and knew Andy was waiting for him. James paused. He thought Mr. Morgan might be right. The sundae wouldn’t make him a better player, but it had certainly brightened his outlook. Mr. Morgan must have served other sundaes to people like him, people who needed it but didn’t know it until the sundae unlocked their door. “Thank you, Mr. Morgan. We’ll play extra hard.”

Mr. Morgan nodded. He wadded the towel in one fist and propped himself on the counter, leaning on both straight arms. He looked at James, then at Andy, then back to James. “It’s almost a handicap to be born with natural ability at something. You never have to work hard, you just do what’s easy and stay satisfied because you’re a little better than everyone else. But other people are born with heart instead of talent. That’s actually better. Heart is God’s greatest gift to pass from a parent to a child. People with heart never stop getting better. They press onward, they love in exceptional ways—maybe sometimes in unconventional and unexpected ways—but still exceptional.”

James looked at Mr. Morgan. His heart rate kicked up and he could feel it beat a little harder. Mama. His chest swelled. Mama. It was her heart in him. Her heart, her soul. Not Pop’s. Not Pop’s natural ability. He saw it now. That’s why he was different from Pop, and that’s why he could be better. He didn’t need baseball in his blood, because it was her he had, her heart. He was like her. That’s why he worked hard. He saw it. He saw it all as if the door had just opened.

“Mr. Morgan? Would you serve my mama a sundae someday? I know she hardly ever comes to town, and never comes in here, but if you get the chance, would you do it for her? I think she needs it.”

Mr. Morgan glanced at the counter and scoured a spot with his towel. His face took on a hue even darker than his usual deep tone. “There is always that right time, remember that.” Mr. Morgan looked up. “And it’s wrong to pass it up. I always watch for it in everyone, and that includes your mama. When the time’s right, I’ll make sure she knows there’s a sundae waiting for her here. Now you get on, and in the meantime you be all the sundae she needs, okay?”

“Yes, sir.” James smiled. “I will.” He chased after Andy, and they bolted through the door. Mr. Morgan wasn’t so bad. Too bad Pop wasn’t more like him.

Chapter 14

Lana 1934

“Magdalena has turned into a good helper,” Lana said from a chair near the table. She’d been standing but had to sit, her newest infant, Gail, heavy against her shoulder.

“Here, let me take her.” Ella was quick to Lana’s side, lifting the sleeping infant away.

Gail was healthy, her birth not as difficult as the doctor had feared, but Lana had seen the scolding in his eyes every time he looked at Cletus during his visits to their home. She’d never had a doctor attend a pregnancy before, but when he’d heard she was expecting, he stopped by, checked her, taking great pains to assure she and this infant were safe.

Lana had told the doctor that it wasn’t Cletus’ fault she was pregnant. She’d consented, knowing full well, when she resumed being Cletus’ wife, this might happen. The doctor tried to weigh his expression before he let it show on his face, but it was there in his look, the thing he must see too often, and the thing that was true. She was a woman who was a wife, doing what she had to do, whatever the cost. And Lana had survived the cost. Physically. Cletus had warmed to her while Gail was invisible in the womb. Now that Gail was out, Cletus was cold again, unforgiving in his disappointment. Lana didn’t know if she could survive the emotional cost, she didn’t know if her daughters could, either. She didn’t know if he’d let them.

“You really don’t need to be here.” Lana looked up at Ella. “It’s not like last time. I’m stronger than I was after Alex.”

Magdalena marched from the bureau, four plates stacked in her little hands. She set them on the table, then arranged them perfectly, just as Lana had taught her, just as Cletus had taught Lana years ago.

“You need one more plate,” Lana reminded her. Magdalena looked at her, then at the table where her father’s spot was missing a plate.
She’s pretending.
Lana gauged her oldest’s face.
She rides a horse that doesn’t exist, and she’s pretending her father doesn’t, either.
Lana waited. Magdalena stood for a moment, then returned to the bureau where the plates were kept. She brought one more to the table and set it near Pop’s spot, far from the edge and off center. Magdalena turned to the bureau for silverware, tall, straight, and stubborn. Just like her father.

Lana looked at Ella, the older woman biting back a grin. Ella pulled a chair near Lana’s and dropped into it, Gail still sound asleep. “Your babies are all such sweet things,” Ella said, patting Gail. “Even that one.” She nodded toward Magdalena.

Magdalena marched back toward the table, four spoons splayed erect in her fists, like the winning hand in a round of poker.

“She’s very special.” Lana watched her daughter stop at each of the four meticulously arranged plates. With great precision Magdalena aligned a spoon near each. When she finished, she marched back to the bureau for forks, not risking a glance at Lana.

“Lord help that child’s husband someday,” Ella mused, the grin surfacing.

“Husband?” Lana asked. “I hate to say it, but it might take a whole army of husbands to rein that girl in.”

Ella turned Lana’s way. “Dear, if that husband of yours can’t rein her in, no army of men can, either.”

They laughed. It felt good. They watched Magdalena return, four forks proudly fanned out like the tail of a peacock. She set each one in line with its spoon partner, then slapped her hip and galloped away. She was done. She’d made her statement, one Lana would make sure Cletus never heard. She would fix his setting before he came home, just like she always did, something Magdalena always noticed but never commented on. She’d had her say and it placated her, even if her father never knew.

“Your grandma still coming for a visit?”

Lana’s heart skipped a beat, and she nodded. Grandma’s first visit after all these years. She had a guess what prompted it. Worry, something Lana had detected more and more in Grandma’s letters. Grandma chewed on worries the same way she fought a bite of tough meat. It was the only emotion that could undo Grandma’s sense of what was supposed to be and fire her with the fury of what should be. Love was in those letters, too, laced between lines of admonishment and the dull details of Grandma’s daily life. Lana feared Grandma was coming because of Gail. And therefore, because of Cletus. Grandma might come to do the very thing she’d taught Lana never to do—interfere with a man’s castle, make sure the prince was behaving himself and not doing anything that might endanger the girl he’d taken as his princess.

“When will she be here?”

“I think tomorrow. She said the neighbor was coming this way, and she insisted he bring her along. That’s not like her, but I’m glad she did it. I think.”

“What day depends on the neighbor, then. I hope it’s tomorrow and the two of you have a wonderful time.”

Lana nodded. Grandma here. Protecting her young, trying to be Lana’s hero. Someone was going to be hurt. Grandma? Cletus? Herself and her girls? Magdalena galloped into the room, bolted past her and Ella, then charged out again. That was when she knew. It would be Magdalena. Her pretend pony could never take her away fast enough or far enough. Just like the one Lana’s mother had constructed for her. Fake ponies don’t last. The truth eventually comes.

Chapter 15

Lana 1934

The sound of a truck coming up the road had been there all day. Lana had heard it hundreds of times, but each time she ran to the window and looked, it hadn’t been there. But this time it was. A strange truck, without a roar. Different from Cletus’, much milder, much less obtrusive as it turned into the lane.

Lana glanced around the house. All of the rooms were perfect. Scrubbed clean, everything picked up, her children all in freshly laundered clothing. She was exhausted, but the extra effort was worth it. It was Grandma’s first welcome. It had to be just right.

The truck eased along the lane and around the house. The outdoors wasn’t as tidy as it was in here, and she knew it was mostly her fault. She hadn’t been able to do as much since Gail was born, and Cletus wasn’t inclined to help, since Gail was another girl. Lana tried to pretend it didn’t matter, that she could handle the load, but she had five little ones to tend to, and still wasn’t back to normal since the birth. Not as much as she should be, but close. Close enough she could rally and hopefully fool Grandma.

Lana scooped Alex off the floor, muffling a groan. Gail was asleep. Magdalena and Harold had stuck close all day, Magdalena understanding someone special was coming, Harold mimicking her excitement. They followed Lana now, Betsy quiet in the front room just as she’d been all morning, off to the far side, away from her father’s chair. That was Betsy’s place. No one disturbed it. Lana wished Betsy would ride a pretend horse with her sister, but she never suggested it, afraid such an idea would shatter her daughter’s delicate world, a place they all pretended not to notice.