South of Superior - Ellen Airgood [49]
Arbutus nodded at this. “Yes. And Harvey.”
“That’s right, Harvey Wines. He’s new to town, hauled along his big ideas, wants to change everything so it’s just like where he came from, I wish he would’ve stayed there. And Cal, of course, he put the condos in a few years back, he’s worth a couple of bucks. There’s a few others, too. Well, Tracy York. Her mother and me were the best of friends, she must be turning in her grave to see what Tracy’s done, putting her name to that letter.”
“Now, Glad,” Arbutus said in a placating tone. “Tracy can’t help who she is any more than any of Us can.”
“So you say. I’m tired of making excuses for her. She ought to be ashamed.”
Arbutus sighed.
Madeline was reading the signatures on the letter. “But these people must know Emil, they must’ve known him since they were children, some of them.”
“Yes,” Arbutus said, and Gladys nodded grimly. “That’s right and it makes me sick to think of it. This town is changing beyond recognition. Makes you want to throw in the towel.”
“No. No way. Emil’s got to fight it. That’s his home. He owns that land. I think he needs a lawyer.” Madeline felt fierce. Mary and Albert, and now this.
“Madeline, I would be surprised if Emil can even read beyond cat and hat and dog. He doesn’t have what you’d call a job, he never really has, aside from working in the lumber camps back when he was younger. He traps some, like I said. Hunts. Does the firewood. Gets a little from his sister and a few others around. He brought the letter to me to read, they sent it to him certified at the post office and it scared him. They didn’t even have the courtesy to go talk to him in person, the cowards. You know what they want, don’t you?”
Madeline shook her head.
“They want to put him in the home down in Crosscut, the one for the feebleminded, the one—” Gladys cut herself off, shook her head. “It’s for his own good, they say. Ha. That home is fine for those who need it, but Emil doesn’t belong there, he’s a whole different story.” She gave a bitter laugh. “Well, that’s the whole problem. Emil’s different, and they just can’t stand that. They can’t let anyone be different. Now you tell me, how is Emil going to stand Up for himself against them?”
“I don’t know.” Madeline frowned at the letter again. “But that’s his home. He’ll have to fight back somehow. We’ll have to help him.”
Gladys heard Madeline’s determination when she said they’d have to help Emil. She watched her lean over Greyson’s picture, giving it every bit of her attention. Oh, Gladys, she said to herself. What a foolish old woman you are. What are you waiting for? There’s nothing to fear in Madeline Stone. She is not Jackie. And even if she was, you’d have to tell her about Walter.
She’d almost let the cat out of the bag this afternoon, talking about the powers that be wanting to send Emil down to Crosscut to the home for the feebleminded. The home where Walter was. That was no way to tell Madeline she had a great-uncle living.
But what was the way? She’d left it too long, and it would only get more awkward every minute. She should have done it right off, like Arbutus said. But she hadn’t known Madeline then. She’d wanted to protect Walter in case Madeline turned out to be just like her mother. Careless of people’s feelings. Cruel, when she wanted to be. Always a taker, never a giver. Walter was such a sweet soul, there was no way Gladys had intended to subject him to anything like that again.
Gladys sighed, caught in the web of her doubts and Uncertainties and her own procrastination. Now it was going to be difficult, but she’d made this bed, so she would have to lie in it. Show some spunk, old woman, she told herself. Stop dawdling.
12
Walter Stone lived in a three-story Victorian festooned with cupolas and porches and gingerbread trim. It had been a grand house once, the home of a lumber