SEVENTEEN

THERE WAS NO one in Ledford’s Dry Goods when Margaret Phelps and Lottie entered the store, and Lottie felt relieved. On the walk from the Phelps home to the store, she had sensed the eyes of the townspeople on her, judging her, and she guessed that their judgment was one of hostility or pity. Walking beside Margaret Phelps, she must have appeared like a beggar, she believed. Old dress. Hatless. Shoes that were worn to throwaway. Yet, if her appearance bothered Margaret, it was not obvious. Margaret acted indifferent to the curious stares. She talked gaily, like an excited guide conducting a tour of Jericho.

In the store, Margaret moved immediately to the ladies’ wear department, calling for Arthur Ledford.

“We’re here, Arthur.”

Arthur Ledford appeared from the back of the store. He was dressed in a gray suit, neatly pressed. The gray of his suit matched the streaked dark gray of his hair. Margaret smiled broadly as he approached.

“Well, you’re sure handsome today,” she said. “That’s a good color.”

Arthur’s face tinted rose. He nodded a bow with his head. “Margaret,” he said formally.

“I know you’ve heard about the young woman who was good enough to help Ben out when he got sick on the train,” Margaret said. “I want you to meet Lottie Lanier. Lottie, this is Sally’s father, Arthur Ledford.”

“Hello,” Lottie said.

Arthur turned to her. She saw him blink once, and there was a pause, a single, missing stroke of time that she had seen many times from many men.

“Mrs. Lanier,” Arthur said. “Welcome to Jericho. Sally told me about you, of course. She’s very grateful for your concern about Ben.” He paused again, his eyes locked on her face. “And so am I. He’s a fine young man, very valuable to this store.”

Margaret laughed easily. “I’ll tell him you said that.”

The rose blush in Arthur’s face turned red.

“All right, Arthur, we’re here to buy,” Margaret announced in a voice that was a command. “And we don’t want to be too long about it. Sally’s sweet to watch over Ben and Lottie’s little boy, but I don’t want her to feel like we’ve left her for good. We’ll need some outfits for Lottie, and for her son.” She smiled. “Little Ben. Isn’t that ironic, Arthur? Lottie’s son is also named Ben, so we have two Bens. Little Ben and Big Ben.”

“Yes,” Arthur said awkwardly. “Sally told me. She said he was a fine young boy.”

“He’s an angel,” Margaret enthused. “An angel. Now, let’s get busy.”

They shopped for an hour, twenty minutes past closing time for Ledford’s, and in that hour, Lottie was provided with more clothes than she had ever owned. Dresses, skirts, blouses, undergarments, sleeping gowns, hats, shoes, stockings, a purse. And three outfits for Little Ben, including shoes and a small derby hat.

Lottie had tried to stop the buying, had protested each item, but her words were ignored. It was as though Margaret Phelps had decided to refurbish her home and Lottie and Little Ben were the new furnishings. Money did not matter, only the glee of finally spending it, and she did not care if Arthur Ledford’s looks of surprise, his guarded words of caution, warned that she was being foolish. She was ecstatic, and money was a cheap price for that long-dead feeling.

“Now, Arthur, I saw that new Model T motorcar of yours outside. Could you drive us home?” Margaret asked pleasantly. “If not, I’m afraid we’ll have to make a couple of trips. And you can speak to Ben while you’re there.”

“Of course I will,” Arthur said in a defeated voice.

THERE WAS A look of confusion on Sally’s face as she watched the unloading of her father’s car, a confusion she attempted to cover with a forced smile and with compliments for Margaret’s selections of the gifts to Lottie. She knew each item purchased, knew where they were found in the store, knew them by size and color and price, and she gushed again and again, “That’s perfect, just perfect. I can’t wait to see you wearing everything.” Still, her eyes betrayed her. Her eyes said, “So much, so much. Why so much?”

Having Lottie model was a grand idea, Margaret decided. She selected an ensemble and begged Lottie to put it on. “And these shoes,” she said, lifting a pair of shoes from the display that had been spread about in the living room. “And this hat.” She glanced at Little Ben, who sat watching with puzzled interest, not understanding what had happened. “And Little Ben, too. We have to see Little Ben all dressed up in his new knickerbockers.” She took an outfit from a chair and handed it to Lottie.

“He’ll be so handsome in that,” Sally cooed. “Like a little man.”

“It’s a sin for a boy to be that beautiful,” Margaret said softly. She bent to him. “Did you have a good time with Sally?”

Little Ben blinked a timid yes.

“Oh, he’s been wonderful,” Sally said quickly. “We were drawing some animals. He’s such a little gentleman. So quiet.”

Margaret lifted Little Ben from the chair. “Come on,” she said. “We’re going to show everyone what a really handsome man looks like.” She glanced at Lottie. “I’ll take him upstairs for you.”

Lottie smiled weakly and followed. She could not remember being so uncomfortable, yet she knew she could not object. She and Little Ben were on exhibit, but it was not for meanness; it was for joy. And she also knew that deep within her, a small girl squealed with delight.

At the stairs, Margaret called over her shoulder, “Sally, bring your father up to speak to Ben.”

“If he’s sleeping, I’ll come—” Arthur began.

“Arthur, quit being so stiff-necked in my home,” Margaret said lightly.

The rose-red blush flowed again over Arthur Ledford’s face.

BEN HEARD THE tapping at the door and from behind the tapping, Sally’s voice, small and hesitant: “Ben? Ben?”

He pulled the bedcovers up over his chest, though they were heavy and hot and the pajamas that he wore were damp and sticky. He called, “Come in.” His voice was still hoarse and weak.

The door opened and Sally stepped inside. She checked Ben quickly with a look, saw that he was presentable, then said, “You’ve got a visitor.”

Ben raised his head on the pillow to look at her. His body jerked involuntarily when he saw Arthur Ledford standing in the doorway.

“Mr.—Ledford,” Ben whispered.

Sally caught her father’s arm and pulled him to the bed.

“How are you, Ben?” Arthur asked gravely.

“A little better,” Ben said, attempting to pull up in the bed. He could feel the band of perspiration thicken on his neck.

“Stay just where you are,” scolded Sally. “Daddy just drove your mother and Lottie home in his car from shopping at the store, and he wanted to say hello to you. You don’t have to get up.”

“Sally’s right,” Arthur said. “You need to keep still, preserve your energy. You still look under the weather to me.”

“Yes sir,” Ben murmured. “I guess I am.” He licked his lips. “How are things at the store?”

Arthur nodded authoritatively. “Good enough. Good enough.” He paused, let a furrow fold over his brow. “We’re a little behind with stocking some reorders, but we’ll manage.”

“Wish I could be there to help,” Ben said.

“Don’t even start thinking that way,” Sally told him. “You’ll take the time to get well, no matter how long it is, and that’s all there is to it.” She turned to her father. “Isn’t that right?” It was not a question; it was a directive.

“Yes, of course,” Arthur said.

“If we need to, we can hire somebody else temporarily,” Sally added.

Her father cut his eyes to her. The look was a warning. “We’ll be fine until Ben gets back,” he said.

Sally ignored her father. She said, “I was thinking that maybe Lottie would like to work a few days, while she’s here, waiting for Little Ben to get better. I mean, she wouldn’t have to sell or anything like that. Just restock, and I could show her how to do that.”

Arthur shifted his weight, set his jaw in argument. “We don’t need anyone,” he said stubbornly.

“Why, of course we do, Daddy,” Sally protested. “What you mean is, we could get by without somebody helping, but that doesn’t mean we don’t need them, and I just thought it’d give Lottie something to do, other than just having to sit around here all day. Mrs. Phelps is right here with Ben, and I know she’d love to watch over Little Ben. Besides—and I don’t mean this in a belittling way—but I imagine that Lottie could use the money.”

Arthur began to gnaw on his lower lip. He touched the knot of his tie and coughed lightly, a useless signal to his daughter to stop her suggestions. He did not want Lottie Lanier working in his store. Lottie Lanier’s eyes bothered him.

“What do you think, Ben?” Sally asked.

“I—don’t know,” Ben answered feebly.

“Well, I do,” Sally said. She turned to her father. “Let’s ask her. Please. She’s so nice, and I think it’d be fun working with another woman. Besides, you know that every lady in town would drop in, just to see her. Everybody’s talking about how she took the time to help Ben.”

Arthur felt trapped. He knew his daughter did not want Lottie Lanier in the same house with Ben, not day-long at least. And he also knew that his daughter was right: Lottie’s presence in Jericho was news. More than news. It was gossip. He was in a corner, with no escape. Again, his daughter was manipulating him with the kind of bright charm that he was helpless against.

From the bedroom door, Margaret Phelps called in a happy voice, “All right, everybody, close your eyes.”

Sally looked at Ben, smiled pleasantly. They closed their eyes.

“Arthur, you, too,” commanded Margaret.

Arthur bowed his head, closed his eyes. He could hear the rustling of movement.

“All right,” Margaret chirped. “Open them.”

Lottie stood inside the room, near the doorway, with Little Ben beside her. They were dressed as Margaret had instructed.

“Oh—” Sally said in a whisper of awe. She glanced quickly at Ben, saw his amazed stare, and then looked back at Lottie. She had never seen anyone as beautiful. The skirt Lottie wore was maroon. The white, ruffled shirtwaist billowed over her arms, rode gracefully across her breasts. The high, stiff collar circled her neck sensuously, and her hair, wheat-blond, pulled up in a bun, was shining under a broad, feathered hat that matched the maroon of the dress. A pale touch of rouge and lipstick colored her face. Her eyes were as startling as rare gems.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Margaret cried to Lottie. “They’re speechless. And look at my Little Ben. Isn’t he handsome? So handsome.” She knelt to embrace Little Ben. “So much more handsome than any man I know.”

Arthur could feel heat in his face. He moved his eyes from Lottie to Little Ben. “Very nice,” he mumbled. He looked back at Lottie. “Both of you.” Then: “You did a fine job, Margaret. A fine job.”

IT WAS LATE night, quite as late night becomes, and the silence rested gently on Ben. He had been awake for hours, alert to the sounds of the house beyond his closed door—voices muted, his mother’s laughter, the movement of footsteps, a surprising summer wind that pushed the limp tip of an elm against the boarding of the house—and now there was nothing but the singing of cicadas from beyond the opened window, and even that seemed distant.

He had been home for less than a day by the clock, yet it seemed longer. The fever had subsided and then refired, and he had slept, confusing minutes for hours. He remembered faces bending to him. His mother. The doctor. Sally. And he remembered their voices, asking questions, and his confused answers. They had talked of Lottie and of Little Ben, telling him that it was Lottie who had cared for him on the train, and he had dreamed that Lottie was also there, in the room, not speaking. And in his dream, she had leaned to him and brushed her lips against his forehead, and then she had vanished into the sleep that bridged his dreams.

In late afternoon, he had awakened, his mind clear, and Sally was there with her father, and they had talked of his mother shopping with Lottie and of the work needing to be done at the store and of offering Lottie work while he and Little Ben recuperated. And then his mother was at the door, and Lottie and Little Ben, dressed in new clothes. Lottie. So beautiful, the image of her caught him by surprise, burned into him.

The arrangement had been made in a spilling of words. Lottie would work at Ledford’s, helping restock, and his mother would care for Little Ben. Ben could not remember seeing his mother as happy. “Listen, Ben, listen,” she had cooed. “Listen to Little Ben. He calls me Gra-Ma.”

Lottie had not spoken to him. She had stayed near the door, her face blushed with discomfort and embarrassment, poorly covered with flickering smiles. Still, she had looked at him once, a holding look, and Ben knew that she was telling him she would never reveal the truth of knowing him.

He pushed the covers from his body and opened the shirt of his pajamas to feel the night air drift over his chest. He wondered what time it was. Well past midnight, he guessed. But he had slept for long hours and now he was awake. His body still ached, his breathing was still shallow, and he knew that whatever sickness had invaded him would linger. The doctor had predicted a week of bed rest, maybe longer. “We won’t push it,” the doctor had advised. “I’m not even sure what we’re dealing with, but it’s not going away overnight.”

No one had asked him about Boston, but they would, he believed. When he recovered, they would ask simply to make conversation. And he would tell them it was a good trip, that he had tried to see Milo, but had failed. He did not know about the games, but there would be time to read of the results, and he would talk of the games with sufficient authority not to be doubted. It would be enough said.

He knew that Sally had doubts about Lottie staying in the house, even with the news that Lottie’s husband had recently died. He had seen the look of astonishment on Sally’s face when his mother presented Lottie and Little Ben in their new outfits. It was not jealousy. It was awe and fear. He was certain that Arthur Ledford had also seen it. The offer of work at the store had come immediately. “It’s going to be wonderful, having another woman at the store,” Sally had gushed. She had urged Lottie into a full turn to show off the dress, and she had added, “Every lady in Jericho will want that outfit once they see you in it. I’m sure we’ll have to order a dozen more by closing time tomorrow.”

Before leaving for her home, Sally had visited privately with Ben for a few minutes, and she had teased, “I don’t have competition, do I?” And Ben had frowned quizzically. The frown said he did not understand, though he did. “Lottie,” Sally had whispered. “Why did you say that?” Ben had asked. “She’s so pretty,” Sally had said. Ben had replied, “I only see one pretty girl here.” What he said had pleased her. She had touched her fingers to her lips and then eased them across Ben’s lips.

He closed his eyes, thinking that he would sleep and dream of Sally, and it would not be hard to do so. He had always been able to fix his mind on something, or someone, and then dream of it, or of them. He thought consciously of Sally, imagined her close to him, and, slowly, against the purple coating of his closed-eye seeing—deep as dawn—her face materialized and floated in the center of his seeing, gracefully revolving. The face smiled, then turned up, like a child enthralled with the sky, and the smile became a soundless squeal and light glittered in her eyes. And then the squeal and the smile faded and her face rolled to gaze at him. Clouds washed through her hair, pulled a veil of shadows across her forehead, and she turned once more, dipping her chin in the pose of the cameo.

A hand touched his face and his eyes flashed open.

Lottie.

She stood beside his bed, dressed in a long silk nightgown the color of pearls. She did not speak. She took his hand and kneeled at the side of his bed and placed her face in his opened palm. After a moment, she stood and looked down on him, and she whispered, “Ben, I won’t talk to nobody about you coming to see Foster. I just wanted you to know.” Then she turned and moved silently out of the room, her nightgown shimmering in the dark like an apparition.