The kitchen, that had been a core of fiery heat all day, was now more
comfortable. Lizzie sat in an easy slouch, elbows on the oilcloth
table cover, enjoying her own supper before attacking the great piles
of dishes. The cleansed air, drifting through the open window, struck
pleasantly on the moist glow of her body. There was a light tread on
the back steps and the squeak of the screen door. The cook felt too
deservedly slack to turn, but removed her mouth from the ear of com
just far enough to speak.
“Back early, ain’t you?”
“Yeah. Brady’s shofer was coming this way in their station wagon. Save
me walking later on.”
“Didn’t expect you so soon, nice night like this.”
“Well, Brady’s bus was coming. Say, that fellow’s got a nerve, all
right.”
Nounou tossed her hat on the shelf; ran her hands through her hair, sat
down wearily in the other chair.
“Kids in bed?”
“Sure, before dinner. I’m glad you’re back. You can give me a hand with
the dishes.”
“Where’s all the folks?”
“On the porch.”
Nounou got up, glanced cautiously through the pantry window, then took
a cigarette from her bag and lit it. Lizzie, a native of Dark Harbour,
reflected sombrely on the ways of metropolitan nursemaids.
“There’s ice cream in the freezer if you want some.”
“No, thanks. Brady’s man blew me in the village. Gee, that boy’s fresh.”
Lizzie was a little annoyed at this repetition. It was a long time
since any one had paid her the compliment of being fresh.
“It’s the weather. Hot days and cool nights always makes trouble.”
A brief silence. The kettle steamed softly on the range, Lizzie gnashed
at her corncob, Nounou blew a gust of smoke and measured the stacks
of dishes with a gloomy eye. Washing up was no part of her job, but
she was somewhat in awe of the older woman; and the cook’s dogged
abstraction as she leaned over her food suggested that she had matter
to impart.
“This place is certainly dead,” Nounou grumbled. “Two miles to walk to
the village, and a movie one night a week. Gosh, what a dump to spend
summer in. Honest, Liz, I’m so tired workin’, if I’d got that insurance
o’ mine paid up I’d quit a spell.”
“Keeps you from thinkin,’ don’t it? If I had your job I wouldn’t kick.
Wear white clothes and lay out in the sun with them kids.”
“You’d ought to get a place in the city. A good cook like you are could
make big money.”
“It ain’t so dead round here as you might think. Say, you know that man
was in the garden ’smorning, the one the children took such a shine to.
Is he an old friend to the family?”
“Who?--the one that asked for a piece of cake? Never saw him before. I
thought he acted kinda crazy.”
“Well, they got him stayin’ in the house. He must be someone they know
pretty well, he calls ’em all to their first names. Say, I wish you’d
seen ’em at supper, honest it was a sketch.”
“Who all is there?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Brook, just usual sort o’ people; and a dame they call
Miss Clyde, dark and a bit serious-lookin’; and this Mr. Martin. Well,
for the lovamike, when I go in to fix the table I see smoke coming
out from behind that screen in the corner, I think something’s afire.
I run over and there’s Mr. Martin setting on the floor smoking on a
cigarette. He looks at me sort of frightened, then he laughs and says
not to tell anybody because he’s learnin’ to make rings. He stands
around talkin’ to me while I’m laying the table, and then Mrs. G. comes
in. He says to her ‘Do I have to go to bed right after dinner?’ The
funny thing is he’s got a cheerful kind of way about him, you don’t
much mind what he does, he does it so natural. Of course she knowed he
was jokin’, she says he can set up as late as he likes. He says it’s
nice to be able to do whatever you want to and he asks me if we’re
going to have anything good for supper. Then he asks if he can ring the
gong. I always like to do that, he says. Mrs. G. and me both busts out
laughing. We laughed and laughed like a couple of fools. I was trying
to remember what we was laughing at. I don’ know, we just screeched.
He smiles too, kinda surprised. There’s something about him puts me
in mind of the way I used to find things comical when I was a kid. I
remember one day I got sent home from school for laughing. It just
struck me funny to see the harbour out there and the sunlight on the
water and people going up and down the street talkin’.”
Nounou tried to imagine what Lizzie looked like as a young girl,
convulsed with mirth.
“They all comes in to eat. By and by, while I’m serving the consommay,
he leans over and whispers to her--he’s settin’ at her right. No one
else can hear, but I got it, I was right in back of ’em. When I’m in
bed, he says, will you come and tuck me in? Well, I wish you could seen
her, as red and rosy; she looks swell to-night anyhow in that silver
layout o’ hers. I never seen any one look prettier; I think that other
dame, Mrs. Brook, was kinda sore at Mrs. G. for wearin’ it.”
Nounou put down her cigarette in amazement.
“You must’ve got them wrong,” she said. “These ain’t that kinda folks,
you’re crazy.”
“You never know what kinda people people is till you live in the house
with ’em. ’Course it don’t mean nothing to me what-all stuff they pull.
But listen what I’m telling you. This Mr. Martin is quiet, he don’t
talk an awful lot, but every once and a while he comes through with
something that knocks ’em cold. Going to bed seems to be on his mind.
Next thing he says, right out loud, ‘It’s nice being in bed, it gives
you a chance to be alone.’
“I couldn’t hear so much, bein’ in an’ out o’ the room; an’ the whole
thing was on my shoulders anyways, because honest to God Mrs. G. was
in some kind of a swound. I declare she didn’t seem to know what-all
was coming off. What with that Mr. Martin talking to me I forgot to put
any bread at the places, and will you believe it she never took notice
on it until Mrs. Brook piped up for some. When I pass Mrs. G. the peas
she takes a ladlefull and holds it over her plate so long I didn’t
know what to do. Oh, of course, they all talk along smart and chirpy,
the way folks does at a dinner party, pretend to kid each other an’
all, but I can see it don’t mean nothing. Mrs. Brook has some line she
thinks a lot of, she springs it on Miss Clyde, I reckon you’re wedded
to your art she says, throwing it at her pretty vicious. It was bad for
Mrs. Brook, I’ll admit, setting between Mr. Martin and Mr. G. Because
Mr. G. don’t make up to her none, he’s talking to the Clyde girl all
the time; and Mr. Martin don’t buzz her none neither. She sings out how
much she does love children and Mr. Martin says But do they love you?
A good piece of the time she has to talk to her husband, across the
table, and you know that makes any woman sore at a party. Once and a
while Mrs. G. comes to life and says something about what a good time
we’ll have to the Picnic; this Martin says Yes, he hankers to see Mr.
Granville climb a tree. Mr. G. wants to know what he’ll be climbing
trees for. ‘Why,’ says Mr. Martin, ‘I heard her say you’d be up a tree
if that check didn’t come in to-day.’ Then Mr. Martin says he likes
the way Mr. G. and Miss Clyde look at each other, as though they had
secrets together. He’s got an attractive way to him, but it seems like
he says whatever comes into his head. What-all way is that to behave?”
Lizzie had looked forward to telling Nounou about the dinner. Now she
felt with a keen disappointment that it was impossible to describe
it adequately. Besides, what she had intended to say would perhaps
sound too silly. Mr. Martin looks like some old lover of Mrs. G’s,
she thought, that’s turned up unexpected. He’s kinda forgotten about
her, put her outa his life. But she’s mad about him, all her heart’s
old passion is revived. Better not say too much about these things to
Nounou anyhow; she might let Brady’s man go too far.
“Come on, kid,” she said, getting up from the table. “Give me a hand
with this stuff. I gotta get this kitchen clean, the madam will be
coming in here afterwhile to cut sandwiches. We get this finished, we
can hit the hay.”
Nounou smiled a little as she took the dish-towel.
“I’ll help you clean up,” she said. “Then I’m going to slip out a while
longer.”