Promises to Keep - Ann Tatlock [16]
“Indeed,” Tillie said, but by the time she spoke, Leonard was already gone. “He always was a coward, that one,” she added. “Poor Leonard. It’s pitiful.”
“You think everything’s pitiful, Tillie.”
“No I don’t,” she said. “Not everything. Some things are downright beautiful.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
“Well, like – ”
“Yoo-hoo, Tillie!”
Now what? I thought.
“Yoo-hoo, yourself, Esther. Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what, Tillie. I’ve been out in Sausalito with Jenny for a week, taking care of my newborn twin granddaughters.”
“Twin granddaughters, huh?”
“That’s right. I’m a grandmother now, twice over!”
With that, the person the voice was attached to showed up on the porch. I recognized her as the next-door neighbor who had brought us a macaroni hot dish shortly after we moved in. She was short and plump with ruddy cheeks and a stiff graying haystack of hair at the top of her head.
“Good for you, Esther. Have these girls got any names?”
“Oh my, yes. Both of them named for me.”
“Both of them?”
A nod of the head. “Iris Esther and Lily Esther.”
“Well, of all things,” Tillie said with a wave of her hand. “Sounds like Jenny’s planted a garden instead of giving birth. Though I’m sure they’re beautiful babies.”
“Oh, they are. And I’m not just saying that because I’m their grandmother. Now, who’s that on your lap? Isn’t that Mrs. Anthony’s little girl?”
“It sure is. She’s Valerie and that one over there, she’s Rosalind. You probably met them already, knowing you and your casseroles.”
“Oh yes, in fact I have met them. I made my blue-ribbon recipe for them soon as they moved in – you know, the one that got me first place at the county fair – ”
“Oh yes, that’s a good one, Esther.”
“And I brought it over to Mrs. Anthony warm from the oven. Fine woman, Mrs. Anthony. I’m glad a nice family moved into your house.”
“Me too, Esther. Roz, can you say hello to Mrs. Kinshaw?”
“Hello.”
The woman nodded at me, then said to Tillie, “You back visiting? Or baby-sitting?”
“No, I’m back living here.”
“You are?”
“Don’t look so shocked, Esther. It’s my house, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but – ”
“Ross and I built this place with our own hands.”
“Of course I know that, but – ”
“And I intend to die here.”
“But – ”
“Tillie,” I interrupted.
“Yes, Roz?”
“I think you ought to take out an ad in the newspaper, tell the whole town at once. It would save you from having to repeat yourself.”
“Now, there’s a thought. I believe I’ll look into that.”
Esther Kinshaw stood there with her hands on her hips. “You mean you’re back for good?”
“That’s right.” Tillie nodded.
“And the Anthonys . . . they’re all living here too?”
“Well sure. Why not? This house was built for a whole family.”
“And Johnny let you move out of that nursing home?”
“Pshaw!” Tillie waved a hand. “He had no say. He can’t keep an old woman from dying in her own home.”
I moaned and said, “I’ll call the newspaper for you, Tillie.”
“Never mind that, Roz,” Tillie said, “I’ll do it myself. I’ve known the editor since the day he was born. Yup, little Winston Newberry, now the editor of the Mills River Tribune. Imagine. I used to change his diapers when his mother dropped him off at the church nursery. I’ll never forget it – he had a birthmark on his backside the shape of the Eiffel Tower.”
I pulled the blanket over my head, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut.
“You know,” Mrs. Kinshaw said thoughtfully, “I heard it faded in later years.”
“What’s that, Esther?”
“The birthmark. Winston Newberry’s birthmark. I heard it practically disappeared.”
“Who told you that?”
Silence a moment, then, “I don’t remember.”
“Shame,” Tillie said. “I thought it something of a mark of distinction. I used to show it off to all the workers in the nursery. It seemed like a sign he was destined for great things.”
“Well, he did end up the editor