Clock Winder - Anne Tyler [7]
“It sounds,” Elizabeth said unexpectedly, “as if he’s in somebody’s clutches.”
For a moment Mrs. Emerson, who had already opened her mouth to begin a new sentence, had trouble following her. She looked up, startled, at Elizabeth’s earnest, scowling face. Then she laughed. “Oh, my,” she said, and reached for her handkerchief. “Oh, my, well …”
Elizabeth straightened up from the railing she had been leaning against. “Anyway,” she said, “I’ll just take this last load of furniture down.”
“Oh, will this be the last?” Mrs. Emerson said. She had suddenly stopped laughing.
“There’s only these two.”
“Wait, don’t hurry. Wouldn’t you like to rest a minute? Have some milk and cookies? You said you hadn’t made an appointment. You could finish up any time.”
“I just did have breakfast,” Elizabeth said.
“Please. Just a glass of milk?”
“Well, all right.”
Mrs. Emerson led her into the house, through the ticking hallway toward the kitchen at the rear. “My, it’s so dark in here,” she said, although she was used to the darkness herself. As she passed various pieces of furniture—the grandfather clock, a ladderback chair, the chintz-covered armchair in the kitchen, all of them scuffed and worn down around the edges from a lifetime with children—she reached out to give them little pats, as if protecting them from a stranger’s eyes. But Elizabeth didn’t even glance at them. She seemed totally unobservant. She pulled an enameled stepstool toward the table and sat down on it, doubling her knees so as to set her feet on the top step. “I just don’t want to hit the O’Donnells at lunch,” she said.
“No, no, you have plenty of time,” said Mrs. Emerson.
She poured out a tall glass of milk. Elizabeth said, “Aren’t you having any?”
“Oh. I suppose so.”
Ordinarily she never touched milk. She only kept it for cooking. When she settled herself at the table and took the first sip she had the sudden sense of being back in her mother’s house, where she used to have milk and cookies to ease all minor tragedies. The taste of milk after tears, washing away the gluey feeling in the back of her throat, was the same then as now; she stared dreamily at a kitchen cabinet, keeping the taste in her memory a long time before taking another sip. Then she set the glass down and said, “I hope you don’t think I’m one of those people that gives notice all the time.”
“Notice?”
“Firing people.”
“Why should I think that?” Elizabeth said.
“Well, all this talk about Richard. And then Emmeline. But those two have been with me half a lifetime; it’s only lately that all this unpleasantness came up. They took advantage, knowing the state I was in. Oh, I don’t blame them entirely, I know I haven’t been myself. But how could they expect me to be? Ordinarily I’m a marvelous employer, people can’t do enough for me. You can tell by their name that family will have too many children.”
“Um—”
“The O’Donnells. Babies and toddlers and little ones in diapers, I’m just sure of it. I believe I know them. Don’t I?”
“I thought—”
“They’ll run you off your feet over there.”
Elizabeth finished her milk and set her empty glass down. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. “I think you must be offering me a job,” she said.
“A job,” said Mrs. Emerson. She sat straighter and placed her palms together. “That is something to consider.”
“Are you asking if I’d like to work for you?”
“Well, would you?” Mrs. Emerson said.
“Sure. I’d make a better handyman than babysitter, any day.”
“Handyman!” said Mrs. Emerson. “No, I meant housework. Taking over for Emmeline.”
“Why not handyman? It’s what you need most.