Romancing Olive (23 page)

“He was the most handsome boy I ever laid eyes on,” Theda admitted quietly.

“And us worried about whether men were honorable in their intentions to us and all along, my baby brother, the least honorable of them all.”

Theda opened her mouth but didn’t reply. The two women sat quietly in their thoughts as they had done hundreds of times before.

“Good morning, Mary. How did you sleep?” Olive asked as the girl walked into the kitchen.

“Good,” the girl replied. “I’m goin to keep my door closed. I don’t want that old cat of yours pulling it’s claws on my spread.”

Olive and Theda exchanged glances while Mary’s back was to them.

“I nearly forgot,” Theda said and jumped from the table. “I brought gifts for you and John.”

Mary looked at Olive from under her brow while Theda dug through her valise in the sitting room. “Probably some book on how to serve tea,” Mary whispered.

“Whatever it is, be gracious and thank her,” Olive said quietly.

Theda stood up triumphantly and returned to the kitchen. “Here, Mary, this is for you,” she said and handed the girl a velvet-covered box.

Mary’s eyes widened and she fingered the soft fabric. “What is it?”

“Open it and see,” Theda said and grinned at Olive.

Mary laid the box reverently on the table and lifted the lid. Her mouth fell open and then closed. “I shouldn’t take something so fine.”

“Yes, you should, Mary. Your Aunt Olive and I got our own brush and comb set when we were about your age. Go ahead lift them out,” Theda said.

Mary held up the ivory backed, horse hairbrush and turned it over and over in her hand. She tucked it back in its spot and pulled out the matching comb. “They got an ‘M’ on them.”

“Your initial, Mary,” Theda said.

“Oh, Theda, they’re beautiful,” Olive said and smiled up at her friend.

“I’ll be afraid to use them,” Mary whispered.

Olive laughed. “The one I use on my dresser is the one my father bought me when I was eleven years old. I use it every day.”

Mary replaced the comb and closed the lid formally. “I’m going to sit them on my dresser, right now. Ah . . .ah thank you, Miss Patterson. I never had a gift like this before. Sometimes on my birthday, Pa would bring me some new ribbons or something but never, ever anything like this.”

“You’re welcome, Mary,” Theda replied.

The girl went to her bedroom and Olive smiled at Theda. “What a thoughtful gift, Theda. Mary loves it.”

“Well, after reading your letter, I wanted to get Mary something to treasure. It sounded like she didn’t have many things of her own,” Theda said.

“She had nothing of her own. I’d be embarrassed for you to even see the house they were living in.”

“Good morning John,” Theda said. “I have a gift for you. Well actually, they belonged to your father. Come see.”

Olive turned and smiled to John as he came into the kitchen and wiped the sleep from his eyes. She looked up to Theda and asked, “From his father?”

“Olive,” Theda said excitedly, “I found them when I was supervising the move at your house. Here, John.”

Olive watched the boy accept the worn leather bag with the strings knotted and her breath caught in her throat. “James’ marbles. Where ever did you find them?”

“Wedged behind the dresser in James’s room. Do you remember when he lost them?”

“How could I forget, Theda? Our house was in an uproar for days,” Olive said and sat back, drifting to memories long forgotten. She watched John slowly untie the bag and pull a marble out. He turned it carefully in his hand and when the morning light caught the center, he sank slowly to the floor, examining each one.

Olive and Theda watched the boy finger the smooth glass and Olive saw Theda’s lip tremble.

“My God, Olive,” she said softly. “If I didn’t know better, I would think we were girls again watching James do the same thing.”

“I know,” Olive said.

“Have you ever played marbles, John?” Theda asked. The boy stared at her blankly. “Will you come outside with me? I’ll show you what to do.” Theda offered her hand and John considered. He carefully placed the marbles in the string bag and stood up, placing his hand, tentatively, in Theda’s.

Theda’s face beamed over her shoulder as she looked at Olive and Mary came into the kitchen.

“Where they going?” the girl asked.

“Theda brought your father’s marbles for John and she’s going to teach him how to play,” Olive said smiling.

“She knows how to play marbles?” Mary asked.

Olive laughed. “We entertained your father when he was a boy more times than I can count. I was never very good but Theda was the acknowledged neighborhood champion.”

“Just can’t imagine her playing marbles,” Mary said. “Aunt Olive? Will you come in my room?”

Mary stood beside her dresser. “See, I put them right there in the middle.”

Olive looked at the girl’s dresser bare but for an embroidered scarf and the precious velvet box. “They look perfect. Why don’t you open the box, then you’ll see your comb and brush?”

Mary hemmed and hawed, opened the lid and closed it again. “I don’t know. I like it open, but I sure don’t want nobody coming along and swiping them.”

Olive laughed and hugged Mary. “I don’t think anybody’s going to come along and swipe them. Let’s go see how Theda and John are doing.”

Olive could do nothing but smile when she looked out the screen door with Mary. There was Theda, kneeling on the ground, over a circle drawn in the dirt. “Now this one is a cat’s eye and this one is your aggie. You try to knock my marbles out of the circle. Like this.”

* * *

Jacob arose, with kinks in his neck and sand in his eyes from too few hours of sleep. Luke and Peg had slept with him and even though there were four of them in the house, it had taken on a tomb like quality. He missed the steady hum of Olive’s sewing machine and her voice reading to the children in the evening. Jacob envisioned Olive in her own kitchen now, sewing and smiling, keeping a close eye on John and Mary. Cooking the things his mother had taught her. A vision of domestic tranquility.

Luke and Peg had sat quietly, staring into the fire after dinner. Jacob had tried unsuccessfully to coax them into conversation. They only nodded and looked away. When Peg stood and announced she was going to bed, Jacob was shocked. The girl fought constantly to stay up, fearing she would miss something, Jacob supposed and now she voluntarily climbed into her bed. Luke followed soon after, quiet as well.

Jacob sat a spell in the still of the house trying to convince himself how wonderful it was to have his house back to normal. He stripped to his underwear and stretched out in the rocker. Jacob reached for his tobacco and rolled a cigarette, thinking how grand it was to sit, in his shorts and have a smoke unbothered by a woman and children. But soon his eyes were drawn to the sink filled with dirty dishes from supper. He leaned back in his chair and planned his day following and watched Mark stir in his crib. On the shelf above Mark’s bed sat a neatly folded stack of clean white diapers and wondered how long they would last and if he had better add laundry to his list of chores. His eyes were drawn to the red gingham check cloth that now covered his rough table. Something else to wash, he thought.

But as he looked at the table and the crock of daisies in the center he was reminded of Olive as she stitched the ends of the cloth and spread it across the table before dinner. A last vestige of her influence in his house, now a bit more civilized, he conceded. Homier with the new matching curtains at the window and covers pulled down before bed for the children.

Jacob stood and stretched, shaking off the niggling feeling that his home and his children were bereft without Olive and worse off for it. “Shit,” he said and stood, looking around at his home. It was fine before she came and they would do fine again. His eyes, though, stopped and held as he noticed a spool of dark thread on the mantle. A threaded needle stuck out of its side. And he gave into the loneliness he fought as it swept a cool chill across his bare back. Jacob climbed into bed beside Luke, but soon Peg cried for him and he tucked her under the covers with him. He lay stoically, as small feet dug into his ribs and bony legs kneed him, unable to sleep.

Near dawn, just as Jacob closed his eyes, Peg whimpered in her sleep. He awoke, pulled her tightly to him and kissed her head. “What’s the matter, Peg? Did you have a bad dream?”

The little girl’s long lashes fluttered with sleep and tears and she shook her head. “I’m just sad,” she said.

Jacob pulled her tighter and saw Luke staring and awake. “I’m sad too. We miss Aunt Olive.”

Jacob swallowed and admitted to the children that which he had been unable to admit to himself. “I miss her too.”

* * *

Theda’s visit went by quickly. The two women talked and sewed and tried with little success to turn ground over for a garden.

“Well, Theda, everyone out here has a kitchen garden. Much more than our little beds of flowers and spices back home,” Olive said and straightened. “Flo and Beth feed their families all winter on what they can in the fall,”

“You can do the same with canned goods from the mercantile, Olive,” Theda said and wiped the sweat from her forehead.

The two women turned as they heard the roll of a wagon at the crest of the hill.

“Jacob and the children,” Olive said and smiled. She shaded her eyes and waved back, walking out to greet them.

“Aunt Olive,” Peg cried. Olive stretched her arms out and as Jacob pulled the wagon to a stop, Peg jumped down and raced to Olive. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Peg,” Olive said and squeezed the girl. “Hello, Luke. Where’s your brother?”

Luke ran to her. “I caught a toad yesterday, Aunt Olive.”

The children were smiling and yanking on Olive’s skirt as she laughed and pulled them close for a hug “Did you? How wonderful. My, my, Luke I think you’ve grown since I last saw you and it’s been less than a week.”

Jacob climbed down from the wagon, Mark in his arms. “Olive,” he said.

“Jacob,” she said and turned to him with a soft smile.

Olive’s hair was tied back loosely with a scarf and dirt streaked her nose and cheeks. Her white blouse as well was marked with dirt and her hands fumbled in her skirt. She continued smiling at Jacob and he grinned back at her. Sweat glistened on her forehead in the noon sun and he shuffled his feet.

“You two look like you’ve been wrestling a pig,” Jacob said.

Olive’s hands flew to her face and hair. “Oh, my. What a sight I must be. Theda and I were turning some ground over for a garden.”

Jacob looked over her shoulder as Luke and Peg ran off with Mary and John. “I’d have never guessed.”

“The ground’s much harder than I’d thought it would be.”

Jacob walked to the spot Olive had marked off with twine and sticks. He picked up the shovel and quickly black earth gave contrast to the prairie grass.

“Why didn’t you tell me you wanted a garden? I would have turned it for you.”

“I just decided. Is it too late?” Olive asked.

“For some things, yeah, but peas and beans and beets will do alright.”

Jacob worked methodically as Olive watched and he spoke to her without turning. “I’ll be here at five tomorrow to take you to the dance, Olive.”

She smiled at his broad back as he continued working. “We’ll be ready.”

* * *

Olive hurried a cream-colored scoop neck blouse on her Singer, Saturday morning. She had sewn tiny tucks down the front of the shirt and fitted it with pleats in the back. Olive had taken apart an out of style, burgundy taffeta dress from her trunk and made a full skirt to match. She taught Mary the basics of the sewing machine with a scrap of the material and now had a matching tie for her hair. Olive removed the dark red buttons from the bodice of the scrap dress and sewed them to her new blouse as Mary stitched on the machine. When the house was straightened and John and Mary dressed, Olive tried on her new outfit.

She stood and twirled in front of the mahogany framed oval mirror in her room and listened to the crinkle of the fabric as she moved. When the door opened she said, “Come in Theda. What do you think?”

“Are you wearing your hair down and loose like that? The tie will never hold all the curls,” Theda said as she came to stand beside Olive in the front of the mirror.

“Yes,” Olive replied and preened in the mirror. “I think it softens my features and you don’t notice my glasses so much.”

Theda stood stiffly beside Olive, turned sideways and pulled her hand tightly down the front of her dress. “I’ve always felt I looked my best in black, don’t you?”

Olive looked at the reflection of herself and Theda in the mirror. Her friend’s stiff posture and tightly pulled lips certainly did complement the austere look of her outfit. Theda’s hair, black but for a few gray wisps, was pulled back into a small bun. Theda had beautiful skin, Olive knew, but not an inch other than her face and hands was revealed. Olive’s head tilted at the picture she beheld in the mirror and could not believe the differences she saw. Granted, Olive had looked the same as her friend three months ago, but now, she could pass for Theda’s daughter.  My friend looks old, Olive thought and well . . . pulled tighter than a noose.

Olive heard the rumble of a wagon and Mary’s shouts and hurried out of her room, straightening her hair and new dress, one last time. She stood in the doorway as Peg climbed out of the wagon in the pink flowered dress Olive had sewn. Luke wore his denim pants and Olive noticed they were getting a bit short in the leg. Jacob climbed down carrying Mark and Olive hurried down the steps to take the child.

* * *

Jacob watched Olive come to him and noticed the new outfit she wore. His heart raced when he saw her. Her waist was cinched in tight and as he looked down at her as she talked softly to Mark, his eyes found the edge of her blouse and the cleavage peeking above it. He wanted to tell her she looked like a young girl, all fussed up and pretty. But Olive was no young girl and she knew it.

“You look beautiful Olive,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said and smiled broadly up at him. “I have something for you in the house, Jacob. Come in.”