Promises to Keep - Ann Tatlock [38]
“Well, like the time I was pinning up the laundry on the clothesline out back, and the neighbor next door – not Esther Kinshaw but a woman named Doris Haversham who used to live in the house on the other side – well, she had all her windows wide open, and she was playing a piece by Chopin on the piano. It was the most glorious thing. It was almost like being at Carnegie Hall, only better, because the open sky was my auditorium and I was the only one in the audience.
“And then there was the time – it was a winter night, and I was so cold but so exhausted from the babies I couldn’t wake myself up enough to grab an extra blanket. But when Ross came to bed, he put a blanket over me, tucking it up under my chin. And then I was warm in body and soul both, because someone was taking care of me.
“And I remember the summer day when Johnny was little and he picked a fistful of dandelions for me from out in the yard. He was so proud when he gave them to me, I just had to put them in a vase and put them at the center of the dining room table. I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away until they’d wilted beyond all recognition.”
She was smiling as she spoke, and when she finished she went on smiling. I continued to be puzzled. “That’s what you find when you go to this place of lost time?” I asked.
“Yes, lots of moments like those.”
“What’s so great about that stuff ?”
“Oh, my dear!” Tillie said, her blue eyes wide. “Everything! That’s the point. People look for greatness only in the extraordinary and completely overlook the wonder of the ordinary. That’s why those moments are all forgotten, counted as nothing. It’s a terrible loss.”
She gathered up the pages of the newspaper and folded them. Then she sighed. “I don’t expect you to understand, Roz. You’re too young. You haven’t lost enough time yet to care.”
I thought about that for a moment. Then I said, “Maybe I understand a little, Tillie. It’s like when you said I should remember the good things about Daddy and put all those memories in a safe place so I wouldn’t forget them.”
She shut her eyes, nodded, opened her eyes again. She smiled a warm, motherly smile at me. “I do believe you’re on your way, Roz.” She swung her feet over the side of the bed and wiggled them into the flats she wore around the house.
“Tillie?”
“Yes, child?”
“My daddy – do you think I’ll ever see him again?”
She stood, smoothed out the bedcovers, then turned to gaze at me. “Probably. Someday. But we’ll pray that by the time you see him again, he’ll have changed. Until God gets that temper of his under control, I think it’s best you stay away.”
“But – ”
“No telling what a man like that could do, even if he did treat you right sometimes.”
“But, I think . . . Tillie, I think I might have seen . . .” I couldn’t finish.
“What, Roz?”
I wanted to tell her, but something held me back. “I think I might have seen some gingersnaps in the cupboard,” I said lamely. “Can I have some? I’m hungry.”
“Not before supper, you don’t. And no special favors just because you’re sick.”
“Okay, Tillie.” I nodded and watched her as she left the room. When she was gone, I pushed back the covers and walked to the window. I looked out expectantly, half hoping to see Daddy out there on the sidewalk and half wondering whether Tillie was right, that there was no telling what Daddy might do should he find us here in Mills River.
chapter
13
Two days later I stood in the doorway of Wally’s room, dressed for school, my hair in pigtails. Wally, still in pajamas, lay stretched out on his bed, reading a book. He lowered the book an inch and stared at me over the top. “You back from the dead?” he asked.
“Very funny, Wally.”
“Yeah? So what do you want?”
“Mom says to hurry up and get ready for school.”
“Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“Doing what?”
“Reading.”
“You’ve already read that book a hundred times.”
“Yeah. Kerouac had the right idea. A man should be on the road.”
“You planning on taking a trip or something?”
Wally raised an eyebrow. “None of your business.”
Just then Mom hollered up the stairs,