In Open Spaces (36 page)

I got my thoughts together enough to remember what we’d discussed at our last meeting, and when they called my name, I was able to stand and sputter what I remembered. I sat down, happy I hadn’t been first. Following these presentations, I heard little of what was said. The organization had done wonders during the late thirties, nearly doubling the number of rural homes with electrical services, but for those of us fifty miles from the nearest center, the wait would be a long one. Knowing this sometimes made the meetings an exercise in futility, and I justified my inattention with this knowledge. As they wound down toward the end of the meeting, I pictured myself walking to Sophie’s door, and tried to imagine her expression when she saw me. I envisioned everything from the most beautiful, pleasant smile to frantic confusion.

I heard something about elections. The next thing I knew, my name was called from the back of the room as a nominee for something. I almost asked the guy next to me what I’d been nominated for, but I didn’t want my inattention to be obvious, so instead I listened as I was voted the new vice president of the Black Hills Rural Electrification Association. I nodded when they asked if I accepted the position, and acknowledged the applause. By this time, I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there. The meeting was adjourned, and I tried to sneak out. But people offered their congratulations, and the next thing I knew the
outgoing vice president was at my side, telling me he wanted to go over a few things before I took off.

I tried to dodge him, telling him I was in a hurry, but he insisted it would only take a minute or two. Fifteen minutes later, when he still wasn’t done, I told him I couldn’t stay.

By the time I got back in my pickup, I had forgotten every excuse I invented for showing up at Sophie’s. So on the way over, I decided I had to use the cake. The rain had stopped, for which I was grateful. I hadn’t been to her house before and was worried that I would have a hard time finding it in the rain. Still, I couldn’t find it. Jack had given me directions, but he’d never been there either, and I found myself sitting in front of a house with “Gregory” on the mailbox. I went to the door to ask.

The woman looked me up and down with a slight grin once I told her whose house I was looking for.

“You a friend of Sophie’s?” she asked.

“Well, not exactly. I met her and her husband years ago.”

She stood quiet, and raised her eyebrows, waiting for more of an explanation. I didn’t want to get into it, so I looked down the street, as if I might try another house.

“Her husband passed on, you know,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am, I did know that. I have a cake for her. My mother baked a cake for her and the children.”

“Well, isn’t that nice,” she said, crossing her arms under an ample bosom.

Under the best of conditions, I don’t have much patience for someone who makes people’s business their own. I felt myself about to say something uncharacteristic for me, something rude. But I held my tongue. “Ma’am, I’m in quite a hurry, if you don’t mind,” I said.

“I see.” She chuckled a little, a nasty sort of laugh that irritated me even more. “Well, what you want to do is go to the end of this road…”
She gave me the directions, making every effort to not hurry about it, pointing and repeating each thing two or three times. I nodded politely until she finished. But I couldn’t endure her request that I repeat the whole thing back to her.

“Thanks much,” I said, racing back to the pickup.

“Well I never,” I heard her mutter.

And finally I sat in front of Sophie Andrews’s house. My first thought was to leave before she saw me. My second thought was to forget about the cake altogether, and walk up with no plan at all. But I changed my mind about both, cradling the fragile cake in both hands and stepping from the pickup. I swung the door shut with my foot and walked cautiously toward the house, stepping off the muddy path and onto the shining wet grass. I slid my boots through the lawn, trying to wipe the mud off.

The climb up the steps was the worst part. I knew I had most likely been seen by then, that my options were down to one, and I almost ran out of breath, although there were only four steps. I walked across the porch, trying not to let my heels tread too heavily on the wooden floor. But boots against floors only make one noise—loud—and I shivered at the door, wondering how the hell I would knock without half the cake falling out of its wrapping. But I didn’t have to worry, as the door suddenly swung open.

There, just above the lower half of the screen door, was a round head framed in blond hair straight as straw. A little girl smiled, showing a missing tooth. She pushed on the screen, bumping my arm with the frame before I stepped back. She opened it.

“Hi, mister,” she said. “Are you here to see Albert?”

I blinked, holding the cake in front of me like a small puppy. “Albert?” Must be her brother, I thought.

“Yes, Albert. He’s inside if you want to see him, talkin’ to Mother.”

“Oh, all right. Well, I really came to see your mother, not Albert.”

“Well, she’s talking to Albert.” The girl looked to be about five, and
wore a blue-and-white cotton gingham dress with a blue sash tied around her waist. She twisted one hand in the other, then lifted her arms in front of her body. One wrist was bent backward in a position only children can manage without breaking a bone.

“Do you think you could tell her that there’s someone here to see her, or do you think she doesn’t want to be bothered?” I asked.

She thought about it, squinting with one eye. “I think she doesn’t want to be bothered,” she said. “Because every time I try to talk to her when she’s talking to Albert, she tells me she doesn’t want to be bothered while Albert is here and that I should wait until Albert leaves to ask her.” She let go of the one hand with the other, and began swinging them at her sides. Then she clasped them behind her back.

It was then that I realized Albert must be another gentleman caller. I was miserable. I wondered if I should leave, just scoot on back to the pickup and drive away. Or if I should somehow let Sophie know I was there, maybe leave the cake with the little girl. But I knew the girl would never be able to manage the cake, which was about to crumble in my hands.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Laurie,” she said. “Laurie Andrews.”

“Okay, Laurie. Do you think you could just show me where the kitchen is, because I have a cake here that my mother baked for you and your mom and your brothers and sisters.”

“I only have one sister,” she said.

“All right, your brothers and sister. Laurie, if you could just show me where the kitchen is, I’ll put the cake in there and then I’ll go.”

“That’s where Mother and Albert are,” Laurie said. “Mother and Albert are in the kitchen.”

“Laurie? Who are you talking to?” A voice came from within the house. It was a woman’s voice—Sophie’s. I whispered to myself, “Please come to the door.”

“A man with a cake,” Laurie shouted.

“A cake?”

“Yeah, a cake for me and you and Wade and Andrew and Millie,” she shouted.

And she appeared.

“Blake!” Sophie held her hand to her collar, gripping the lace and reaching with the other hand to push the screen door open wider. “My goodness, what a surprise. Laurie, why didn’t you tell me it was Blake Arbuckle? Blake, I’m so sorry. How long has she kept you waiting out here?”

“He never told me his name was Blake Arbunkle anyways,” Laurie said.

“It wasn’t that long.” I stepped inside and wiped my feet. “I have a cake here from my mother,” I said. “It fell on the drive in, so it’s a little busted up, but it shouldn’t taste any different.”

Sophie reached for it, but I pulled it back.

“Maybe I should just set it down somewhere,” I said. “I’m afraid if I give it to you, it’ll fall apart right there in your hands.”

She looked a little unsure about what to do, and I remembered Albert in the kitchen.

“Listen, Sophie, I know I shouldn’t have dropped in without giving you some notice, so if you have some company, I’ll just come by another time. I’ll leave this cake here and you can worry about it later.” I started to put the cake on a table in the entryway.

“Oh, no no no, Blake. No, please don’t go. It’s only Albert. He’s a friend of the family. No. Come on into the kitchen and we’ll take care of that cake. Have a cup of coffee.” She led me, lightly touching my arm, which tingled, back through the hallway and into a small, crowded-with-chairs kitchen. At the table sat a handsome, black-haired, brown-eyed man about my age. He had a dark mustache that looked to be made of wax. The top of his head was too short, as if someone had ground off a couple inches. He had no forehead. And from the subtle, unfriendly look he gave me, I could see he was not just a friend of the family.

“Albert,” Sophie said, “this is Blake Arbuckle. He lives out by Alzada. Blake, Albert Carroll.”

I set the cake on the counter, then reached out to grip the hand waiting for me. Albert’s hand was soft and a little damp, and he loosened his grip the moment I tightened mine. “How do,” we both said.

Laurie stood on her toes at the counter and with her thumb and forefinger lifted the cloth to look at the cake. A chunk fell out and tumbled onto the floor, first hitting Laurie’s shoe. “Oops,” she said.

Albert laughed, a big, boisterous “ha ha” that had a harsh edge to it. I had a strong notion I was not going to enjoy this man’s company. Laurie bent to pick up the piece of cake, but it crumbled in her small, pudgy hands. This made Albert laugh even harder.

“Albert!” Sophie said.

The more Laurie tried to pick up the lump of chocolate, the more it crumbled, and the more restless I got. I crouched down and began to scoop up the crumbs.

“Let me!” Laurie said.

“Okay. I’ll just help,” I said. “You get the big ones, and I’ll get the little ones.”

As Albert continued to chortle, Laurie carefully plucked a chunk of the fluffy cake in each hand and stood up, keeping her eyes fixed on them, like cups of tea. She set them on the counter. I brushed the remaining crumbs into one hand and dumped them into a slop bucket under the table.

“Thank you, Blake,” Sophie said. “Can you say thank you to Blake, Laurie?”

“Thank you, Blake,” Laurie echoed, without enthusiasm.

“That cake looks like it’s seen better days,” Albert said.

“It had a rough ride into town,” I said through my teeth.

What followed was the most stilted, unnatural half hour of conversation I’ve ever been party to. Sophie did her best to keep things moving, asking each of us questions, but I was so flustered I could hardly talk, and Albert thought himself quite a wit. Each time she asked him something, he made a joke of it, which annoyed the hell out of me. My curiosity and sense of humor were absent, bludgeoned by embarrassment and Albert’s lack of charm.

His smart-alecky remarks made Sophie uncomfortable, more uncomfortable than she already was, and I couldn’t believe Albert didn’t see this. I wondered why she would even be interested in someone like him. But after he told me what he did, that he was the vice president of the First National Bank, which he reminded us of several times, I began to understand. Here was a widow, twice over, with four small children and no visible means of support. How could she not consider the interest of a man of Albert’s position? The thought made me miserable, thinking what little I had to offer.

But I fumbled through the conversation, spending most of the time studying Sophie from the corner of my eye. She looked older, but she hadn’t aged that much considering what she’d been through. Her hair was still crow black, and the creases around her eyes made her look wiser, more worldly. The joints of her slender hands were swollen from farm life, but otherwise she looked much the same. I only wished I could talk to her alone. My discomfort finally got the best of me.

“Well, Sophie, I’ve still got a long drive ahead of me, so I think I best get going,” I said. “Good meeting you, Albert.” I almost choked on this lie, hoping my insincerity showed.

“Oh, do you really have to go already?” Sophie asked. I figured she was just being polite, so I insisted.

“Hey, the poor guy wants to go,” Albert said. “Let him go.”

I glared at him for just a second, not long enough that Sophie would notice, but hoping Albert would get the message that I didn’t appreciate much about him. But he didn’t seem ruffled. He was the
kind of guy who wouldn’t catch something so subtle, I decided.

Sophie showed me to the door, and Laurie followed right behind, licking chocolate from her fingers.

“Blake, thank you again for the cake. The kids will love it.”

“Where are the others, anyway?” I asked.

“They’re not home from school yet,” she said.

“Oh, of course.” Just one more reason to feel foolish.

“I’m going to school next year,” Laurie said. “When I’m six.”

“That’s good,” I said. “You should go to school as much as you can. Because you never know when you might have to start working.”

Laurie looked up at me, her blue eyes not comprehending, and I realized I was talking way over her head. I decided I’d said enough.