At Home on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [114]
He considered that for a moment. “Thanks, but I guess I’ll keep my room for now. Especially since that girl will be going off to college this fall. It don’t seem right to leave you all in the house by yourselves.”
And before they could even recover from that, the screen door opened one more time, and the most astonishing thing of all happened. Ida Mae came out onto the porch, and she had a glass of sherry in her hand.
“Young man,” she commanded, “run inside and fetch me that rocking chair from the front hall. I’ve got a mind to set awhile.”
Immediately, Cici, Bridget, and Lindsay scurried to their feet, offering Ida Mae their chairs, but she waited calmly until Noah returned with Bridget’s mother’s antique sewing rocker, which usually sat in a place of honor by the walnut drop leaf table in the foyer. They all stared as Ida Mae sank into it, took a sip of her sherry, and smacked her lips.
“Sit yourselves down,” she commanded. “I’ve got something to tell you.”
Slowly, the women sank into their chairs, the alarm on their faces clear. Even Lori took her post on the steps with her back against the railing, and everyone looked at Ida Mae.
Noah started to go back inside, but the older woman said sharply, “You too, young fella. This concerns you.”
“Me?”
She gave him a decisive nod, and, looking uneasy, he took a place on the opposite side of the steps.
“Ida Mae, is everything all right?”
“You’re not going to quit are you?”
“Has there been bad news?”
Ida Mae rocked, and sipped. And in a moment she said, “I’ve got a story to tell. It’s about you, young fella, and where you came from. It’s about your folks.”
Noah looked uncomfortable. “I don’t need to hear nothing from you about my folks. My pa was a no-account drunk who burned hisself up and that’s all there is to it.” He looked as though he might get up again, but she stopped him with a look.
“Maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t. I don’t know about your pa and don’t give a rat’s big fat behind. What I’ve got to tell you is about your mama, and her folks, and a story that goes all the way back to the Old Country.”
Everyone stared at her.
“What do you know about my mama?” Noah said, a little curiously, a lot cautiously.
Ida Mae rocked, and sipped. A contented, reminiscent look spread over her face. “Your great-grandma and me, we stayed together, right here in this house. That was during the war, and I was just a slip of a thing. We all worked at the mill down the road, and prayed for our boys to come home. They used to call me Penny back then, on account of my hair, as bright as a copper penny, just like that girl-child there. And the mill, it closed down in fifty-three. But I remember your great-grandma. She was like a sister to me. And your great-grandpa, why, he was a hero in the war. He saved twelve men on that transport before it went down, and they gave him some kind of medal, I don’t remember what it’s called, after he was dead.”
“My great-grandpa?” Noah said, astonished. “Mine?”
She nodded firmly. “That’s a fact. Wasn’t I standing right there at the top of the stairs when the telegram came? And I’ll tell you something else. Your granny, you probably don’t remember her, but she was a painter, too, just like you. Matter of fact . . .” Ida Mae sipped the sherry, smacked her lips again, and slid a sly look around to the three women. “She’s the one that painted those pictures in the alcoves in yonder.”
Lori clapped her hands in delight, but Bridget gave Ida Mae a frown of gentle reprimand. “Ida Mae, you said you didn’t know anything about those paintings.”
“I told you I didn’t know everything,” Ida Mae corrected smugly, “and I don’t. And what I do know, I got