Songs in Ordinary Time (109 page)

“When you introduce me,” Marie hissed, “you’re supposed to say my name.”

“I forgot.”

“And don’t be complaining about your room.”

“I wasn’t complaining,” Alice whispered.

“You said it was too small.”

“Mom, please.”

“Well, you don’t want to be like your aunt Helen, do you, always negative, always complaining.”

“Mom! Please. Not now, not with all these people around.”

“It’s important to get off on the right foot with people.”

“Mom, stop it! You’re a nervous wreck. Your mouth is twitching.” Alice touched her own mouth. “Please, Mom!”

“I want to go!” she hissed. “I have to!” There was no air in here. Everyone had someone to talk to. She had nothing in common with these people, who were probably all college graduates themselves.

“No, not yet. You can’t. Come on over here,” Alice said, leading her to a small wooden chair in the far corner of the room. “I’ll get you some water.”

Alice was on her way back with the water when her roommate, Laura Morgan, arrived with her parents, Marilyn and George. They were late because one of their cows had had a difficult delivery. Laura, who wanted to be veterinarian, had assisted in the early-morning birth.

“At one point I think George had both arms in up to his elbows,” the mother said, and George nodded; miserably, Marie could tell, knowing just how out of place he felt. Clearly, this was the last place George wanted to be, perched on the edge of a fancy loveseat, his shiny dark suit pants hiked up over short white socks. Laura brought her father a plate of cookies, which he was devouring. “Poor thing hasn’t eaten since last night,” she said, patting his head. Full-busted and short, with muscular arms and and legs, Laura was built like her mother, who had just come back from the truck with three blackberry pies, one for Miss Grady and two for “the girls on First,” as Marilyn now called the ten girls on Alice’s wing. Marilyn had a faint mustache and she wore a handknit yellow sweater over her thin cotton house-dress that snapped up the front. She wore wide black flats, no stockings, and she had a laugh like a roaring bonfire. Astonished that so many of these Vermont girls had never spent a day on a farm, Marilyn was making plans to drive down to campus in three weeks and fill the truck with anyone who wanted to come for the weekend. “By that time,” Marilyn promised, with her arm around Alice, who still held Marie’s glass of water, “the girls on First’ll be just dying for some home cooking.”

“Me too! Me too!” Miss Grady called, waving her hand as the girls and their parents laughed. George was pouring tea from his saucer back into 534 / MARY MCGARRY MORRIS

his china cup. Marie watched Alice’s widening smile, and she realized that she was smiling, too.

Now that she was on her way home, she could think straight. Alone, she was starting to feel calm again. She envied Alice this new life, this opportunity to be anything and anyone she wanted to be. If she gave them nothing else, she could give them this. Their future was all that mattered. It was all she wanted. There would be no more misplaced hope. Never again would she wait for a man to save her. Omar was gone, leaving her with all that soap and a bank payment she would have to scrimp and scrape to cover from month to month for a long time to come. The worst of it was everyone knowing how weak and foolish and vulnerable she had been. Pathetic, really. So desperate for love that she had ignored the obvious signs. But then she hadn’t been the only one, had she? Harvey Klubock and so many others had also fallen for his promises.

A few more miles and she’d be home. It was five-thirty. Right now Alice was probably eating her first meal in the cafeteria. Tonight there’d be a dance. Maybe she’d meet a nice boy, someone who would love her forever.

She would have loved Sam forever, but now all she dared feel was pity. As long as she lived, she would never trust or have faith in him.

The sun was behind the trees. It would be an early winter. Each night came cooler than the night before, with the leaves on the trees already starting to turn. Now there were mostly yellows. Soon the hills and moun-tainsides would be aflame with red and gold. There would be the long nights, the long darkness, the first snow, all the dead earth. And when her children left she would be alone.

She drove along Main Street. It was a good feeling to be almost home.

The closer she got, the stronger she felt. The air seemed clearer. She would tell Mr. Briscoe she could do Astrid’s work as well as her own for whatever Astrid’s salary had been. Maybe Sam was finally ready. Renie might be right. This was the first time he had ever hospitalized himself. Maybe now with the kids older he would feel less pressured by life. Maybe if he only worked part-time, there would be less stress. If Mr. Briscoe
did
pay her more, and if Sam could work part-time, and of course there would be the Fermoyle house and the three tenements when Bridget died, then maybe…What was she doing? No. She would not doom herself to such tenuous hope. She would do what she had always done. She would rely on the one person she could trust, herself.

She turned the corner, driving a little faster than usual. She couldn’t wait to get home to her boys. Maybe they’d all go to a movie tonight. When was the last time they’d done that? She couldn’t remember. This is how it would go, she thought with a burst of expectation and joy. She would move from moment to moment. She would make her way gradually. Because she was strong, they would succeed. It was all she wanted. By the force of her will she would keep them safe.

She peered over the wheel, bewildered by the activity at the end of the SONGS IN ORDINARY TIME / 535

street. There were wheelbarrows in the road in front of her house. There was a woman kneeling on the corner of her lawn, a man pushing a roller out of her driveway. There were people everywhere. They were her neighbors. There were two ladders leaning against the front of her house, three on the driveway side. Harvey Klubock was on one of them, Norm on another, Bill Costello, Jim Wilbur, Cyrus Branch. They were all painting her house.

Dick Fossi’s married son knelt on her roof as he nailed shingles around the chimney. Her front lawn had been dug up, smoothed, and seeded. Straight lines of lime were disappearing as the sprinkler waved back and forth, settling dust and soaking the dirt. Jessie Klubock came around the back of the house with a trayful of paper cups.

They have no right
, she thought.
Who said they could do this
? Benjy and Louis were dragging boards out of the garage. Nelson Hammond was on top of the garage, pushing a roll of tar paper over a new section of roof. She couldn’t turn around and leave. She had no choice but to pull into the driveway. She sat in the car, trapped, stunned, as they turned, looked down, came from around corners, stood up to see her.

They have no right
. Trembling, she opened the door.

“Mom!”

“Marie!”

“Surprise!”

“Surprise, Marie!”

Grinning, they came toward her, bearing hammers, saws, shovels, brushes, these strangers she had lived among for ten years and did not know, did not like, or want to know, or want to like, much less be now beholden to, as much the object of their pity as she had been of their scorn all these years, ten years of looking the other way, pretending not to see or care or hear.

Hypocrites. All of them. Sanctimonious hypocrites
.

“What do you think?”

“Hope you like it so far.”

“What do you mean, so far? We’re almost all done!”

Laughter! How dare they? Who did they think they were? What gave them the right to intrude in her life like this? She walked slowly. She would not pass out. Her ears were ringing, and she was dizzy, but she would not grant them this final satisfaction.

“We wanted to do this,” Jessie said, hurrying alongside her to the back door. “We all got together. We just wanted to lend a hand.”

But they had no right. Who gave them the right to turn her life into an occasion of public charity?

“Please go home,” she said. “Just go home and leave me alone.”

“Mom!” Norm said, touching her arm, his soiled face so close to hers she could smell his earthy sweat. “Everyone’s been so nice. They just want to help, Mom, that’s all.”

“Thank you,” she said in a small voice that could be heard now only because the yard, the valley, the universe had grown perfectly, dreadfully still. “But I don’t need anyone’s help. And I don’t want anyone’s help. So 536 / MARY MCGARRY MORRIS

please just go.” She stepped into the kitchen and closed the door, then stood there with her hands over her face.

“No!” Norm said outside. “She doesn’t mean it. I know she doesn’t. She’s just not used to this. She doesn’t know what to do.”

The door opened, and Jessie Klubock came inside. “Marie,” she said, touching her shoulder, then petting, stroking her as if she were some dumb creature. “It’s okay, Marie. We just wanted to do this. We just wanted to do something.”

But she had nothing to give back. Nothing.

“That’s okay, honey,” Jessie said, as if she could read her thoughts. “You just have a good hard cry now. I know just how you feel,” she said, then tiptoed outside, closing the door softly behind her.

The kitchen wall rumbled as a ladder was being climbed. There was hammering on the far side of the house, the eastern side, where the woods began and ran for miles to the mountain that always brought the earliest light. The smell of fresh paint pervaded the house. Outside, the murmurous voices rose and fell.

Alone
, she kept thinking,
alone, alone, alone, alone
; then suddenly she burst into teary laughter and could not stop.

• Cover Page
  
• Praise for Songs in Ordinary Time
  
• Title Page
  
• Copyright Page
  
• Dedication Page
  
• Halftitle Page
  
• Begin Reading