This bird. Its velvet wings spanned two hands as he stretched them, getting his bearings back. The fella captured Tommy’s heart in an instant, its obvious strength tempered by momentary fragility. Tommy stroked its wings, weighing his employment options, considering possible money streams. Voices from the kitchen garden rose and fell over the hedgerow.
The property that stretched behind Miss Violet’s big house and the Arthurs’ small one was divided into four quarters. One hedge ran down the center, dividing the big house, its social garden, and grazing lands from the small house, kitchen garden, and fruit-bearing bushes near the shed. Another set of hedges cut across, blocking sightlines between the shed area in the back of the property from everything else.
The voices sounded again, a male baritone, weaving through Mama’s unusually airy tones. Curiosity pricked him. Even with the heat, he slipped into his coat so he could hide the bird in his pocket. He assumed Mama must have been in the kitchen garden designing and resuscitating the dormant land as she’d planned earlier.
He crossed through the hedge. Mama moved along on her knees, digging. Yale poked a stick at the ground, imitating. No sight of a man anywhere. The elevator situation must have still been playing with his mind.
Tommy drew a deep breath. Time to explain that he’d lost his job.
He stepped on a stick, making a loud cracking sound. Mama looked over her shoulder, the hat brim shading her eyes, cheeks pink from sun and exertion. She’d cleared away a rectangular section of weeds and turned some of the soil along the boxwood. She wiped her brow with her forearm and stood. “Tommy! Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”
He drew closer. Yale lifted her arms. Tommy scooped her up with one arm, angling her leg away from the bird he’d tucked into his pocket. Yale nestled her face into his collar, and he kissed the top of her head and searched for confident, reassuring words.
“What is it?” Mama stood and leaned on her spade.
She knew something was wrong. She always did. Tommy forced his smile to remain.
Mama brushed dirt off her skirt. “Tommy?”
“Lost my job.”
Her face fell and she straightened.
He drew up to convey strength. “Mr. McHenry’s gone. New manager wanted me on the service elevator instead of bellboy.”
She wrinkled her brow at him and shrugged.
He didn’t want to confess his attacks, the way he felt, but knew he had to. “It was the rickety one in the back of the house.” His lips quivered, and he set Yale on the ground, where she began stabbing at the earth with the stick again. “I tried, Mama, I swear. But as soon as the elevator started up, a few wires split, like the end of a hair, and it was bucking and squealing and . . .” Tommy swallowed hard.
Mama removed his hat, smoothed back his hair and pulled him close, tight. “It’s all right.”
He hadn’t intended to be so soft, but the emotions expanded and grew.
“You’re afraid of . . . elevators fall sometimes, but not at a hotel like that.”
He shook his head. He couldn’t tell her how he’d been treated when he was out on his own, that he hadn’t been strong enough to defend himself at times and that he carried the result with him to this very day. Confiding that would set her back some distance. He didn’t want her to feel more guilt for having boarded them out.
She took his hand. “Can you convince the new manager to give your bellboy job back?”
He pulled away. “Some bigshot wants someone else to have it.” Now he was wondering if he took another fella’s job when McHenry gave it to him the year before.
“I know how that all works.” She pushed errant hairs back under her hat as anger flicked across her face, then she snapped her gaze back on him. “No use stoking the ire about it. It’ll be all right. We’re together, you can pick up more odd jobs with the reverend, and more for Miss Violet. And when school starts in the fall, you’ll need extra time for studies anyway. You had your hands full with both last year.”
Tommy nodded. She was right. Change the subject. “Garden’s coming along.”
Mama spread her arms and spun around. “Remember the Pearsons’ gardens when they lived here?” She inhaled deeply. “They were perfect, fragrant, architectural. But our gardens . . .” She looked into the sky before meeting his gaze again. “They’ll be beautiful but hardworking, important in a different way. And you’ll find enough work, Tommy.”
“Yes,” he said. He loved seeing her like this, her eyes lit from within. She was alive again, as though she’d been dormant, like the shriveled garden, resuscitated along with the grounds. This relieved Tommy, told him he could focus on working as much as possible, that she was going to be all right without him having to watch over her.
She dusted her palms together. “Do the chamber pots, cows, stoves, and hens for us and Miss Violet in the morning, then pick up extra work from there.” She sighed. “We need to pool our energy . . .” she put her fingers together as though holding a ball, “. . .keep it close, keep each other close, and build our nest egg for our sweet little cottage.”
“Yes,” he said. He would keep his eye out for a solid job. It was one thing to do odd jobs if his only ambition was his next meal, but for a man like Tommy, well, this wouldn’t do.
Mama straightened her hat. “Every extra penny I can put away for your and Katherine’s tuition will make a difference when you graduate and make your way in college.”
College? The crow shifted and made a cooing sound that only he seemed to notice.
Mama kept mentioning college as though they were still the Arthurs who lived on Grand Avenue with piles of money for things like schooling. Now? He wasn’t so sure sitting in a classroom was the best use of his time, but he didn’t want to argue that right then.
He squatted next to Yale and pulled the injured crow from his pocket. “Take a looky. Sweet fella needs a home. You and I can share him. He’ll live with you and me and—”
Mama’s shadow closed over them. “Its mother’s probably frantic. Wondering . . .” Her words faded. “Desperate . . .” She shook her head and waved her hand through the air. “Put it back. Mother’s frantic, surely.” Her voice was hollow.
Tommy thought of his mother’s pain when they were separated, when James died. Her pain had seemed slow and deep, spreading like molasses dripping from a plate, swallowing her, not frantic, panicked, wild.
“It’s a him,” Tommy said. “Fell right from the sky.” Tommy squinted at Mama. He cocked his head and petted the silky wings. “Figure he’s at least a year old. But crows stick together, so something happened. Someone left someone.”
“Nature works things out,” Mama said, rubbing one arm, folding into herself.
“I’ll care for him. I’m his someone now.”
Mama pulled a face. “Back. In case his mother’s looking.”
“Sometimes it’s too late for looking.” Anger laced his words, jolting both of them.
She shook her head just enough that Tommy knew he’d hurt her.
“I didn’t—”
“I’m sorry—”
They spoke at the same time, interrupting each other.
He studied his bird to avoid Mama’s eyes but then finally met her gaze. “I’m so sorry for sounding mean,” Tommy said.
She sighed and sat, Yale in between them. “You’re upset about the job. I understand.”
“I shouldn’t have said that.”
She took his chin in her hand. “Keep the bird. But outside.”
“Cat’ll get it.”
“We don’t have a cat.”
“Any cat. You know what I mean.”
Yale crawled into Mama’s lap. “You’re grown up in many ways, Tommy. Fifteen years old. I’m so proud of how you’ve helped your sisters and me. But with things like this, I see you’re still a boy. I know you feel like I abandoned you, but half of Des Moines has been boarded out at some point in life. It’s what parents do to keep everyone alive. You know deep down that’s not what I wanted. I wanted you with me the whole time.”
Tommy looked at her. “It’s just a bird, Mama. I wasn’t talking about us.” Her fragility was evident in her face, the light happiness he’d seen a few minutes ago extinguished, reminding him of when he’d found her in an attic, emaciated, nursing Yale, sobbing.
“And I know you didn’t want to do that. I really know.”
It was that very day that he left Yankton and headed back to Des Moines to search for his father. Right then he’d realized Mama wasn’t capable of taking care of anyone but Yale, that he’d take care of himself and eventually all of them. Until he’d seen her broken that way, he couldn’t have guessed how bad off she was.
He didn’t want to be angry at Mama. He understood her pain, he shared it, unable to shake it. He carried it in his skin, hardening his heart, sometimes turning his words angry and mean, leading him to more guilt and sorrow that he was not a better person. And, it led to the whiskey when he wasn’t careful.
Her eyes drooped, pulled down with the pain he knew coursed through her.
“I’ll keep the bird until he can be on his own, in the tent or shed, never the house—sorry, Yale. And I’m sorry for upsetting you, Mama.”
She shifted and put her arm around Tommy’s shoulders, pulling him close, Yale between them. “I love you, Tommy. We’re going to be all right. I promise.”
He nodded and started to stand, but Mama took his face in her hands.
Yale stood and put her little hands over Mama’s, holding Tommy’s cheeks. Yale tilted her head like Mama, studying Tommy, breaking the tension, making them fall together, laughing.
The three of them dug weeds along the border. Working together felt good. Despite the valley they’d just rolled into, he was optimistic overall. “Yale’s growing up, Mama.”
“Sure is.”
“This feels good, us working together. Losing my job stings bad, but . . . this . . . I see now what you mean about having a small home, property we can live off of, but without servants and any of that stuff I wanted so bad. I see now what you wanted for us.”
“I’m glad, Tommy. We have each other.”
“That’s most important.” Tommy would not let his family splinter again. His father may or may not return, but he was confident he could take care of them all either way.
They finished weeding nearly to the back porch when the boxwood branches that divided the Arthur side of the property from Miss Violet’s began to quiver and spread. A man poked his face through the greenery then pushed one shoulder through, then his whole body came.
Tall, dark, and lanky. He held up two garden hoes.
“Thought you got lost, Mr. Hayes,” Mama said.
The man moseyed toward them, laid the hoes down, and reached toward Mama. She took his hand, and he pulled her to standing. She brushed dirt off her bottom as the man offered to shake Tommy’s hand. “Reed Hayes.”
Tommy got to his feet without assistance and studied the man his mother obviously knew. Tommy finally accepted the handshake. A firm grip, Mr. Hayes’s hand was smooth against Tommy’s calluses.
“You must be Tommy. Your mother and I’ve been making garden plans and arrangements and I must say I feel like I know you. I hear you’re a talented scholar.”
Tommy pulled a face and petted the bird, an unsettled feeling sweeping over him. “Thank you.” Something about the man, his friendliness, his having information about Tommy, complimentary as it was, put him off. Silly that it did. He told himself to ignore the sensation.
Mama gestured toward the man. “Mr. Hayes is a doctoral student at Drake and will exchange his skill with a tiller for Katherine’s baking and some data from our work together. A fine barter, wouldn’t you say, Tommy?”
“Skill?” Mr. Hayes chuckled. “My efforts lean toward energetic and willing rather than skilled.”
Mama giggled.
Tommy stared at one then the other, suddenly feeling distant from Mama rather than close and content as he just had.
She covered her mouth and did it again. Giggled. Like a little girl. She removed her hand from her mouth and turned her face up to Mr. Hayes, her hat falling off, the ribbons catching around her neck. She shaded her eyes from the sun and grinned in a way Tommy couldn’t recall seeing her do. Not ever. Not for anyone.
Reed Hayes, doctoral student, pulled Mama’s hat back onto her head, the two of them beaming like clowns. The man looked as though Jeanie Arthur created the very air he breathed, simultaneously sucking away every bit of Tommy’s.
Tommy felt protective of Mama, untrusting of anyone other than family. She couldn’t change her divorced status, but she didn’t have to flirt with strangers, especially a man like this, with a college association, with public standing. Tommy didn’t want her to ever suffer public humiliation again. When the financial scandal had broken, he’d felt every bit of her loss and shame. He didn’t want her out in the world in a way that could be criticized and further disgraced. Mama and Mr. Hayes continued to yammer on. Tommy drew deep breaths, growing upset. What was wrong with him? They were simply discussing garden plans, how Mr. Hayes could use the data, and trading labor for Katherine’s baked goods. That was it.
He had to get out of there. “I’ve got to get this bird back to the shed,” Tommy said. “He took a tumble.”
Mr. Hayes turned his attention on Tommy, bent closer and petted the crow’s head. “Fella looks strong. Adventurous soul, isn’t he?”
Mr. Hayes’s expression indicated genuine interest, dulling Tommy’s irritation. He was being silly. This man was simply friendly. “I’ve got to gather some hay for a pillow and get Frank into the shade.”
“Pillow?” Mama said. “It’s a bird, not something to name Frank of all—Frank?” Shock flooded her face.
Tommy didn’t know when he’d named the bird Frank. It was out of his mouth without thinking, but now he appreciated it as a reminder to Mama that her husband was alive even if not there, even not her husband anymore. “It’s a him, Mama, not an it, and I named him Frank because . . . well, crows are smart. They love people and are loyal. People with wings. That’s what they are. Sometimes lost from its people, but . . .”
Explaining was useless. Heck, even he’d been calling Frank an it, earlier. He stalked toward the back hedgerow.
“Tommy,” Mama said in her lightest, cheerful voice. “Have some supper with us before Mr. Hayes and I finalize the garden plans.” Her voice carried over the vine-clogged hedges.
“No thanks, Mama. Not hungry.” Tommy lifted his hand but didn’t turn back. He sat on the porch to the shed. Mr. Hayes’s presence produced dread in Tommy, a syrupy darkness, something that would stick rather than pass, like his attacks.
He considered Mr. Hayes again and why his presence upset Tommy so. If the man hadn’t evoked that girlish reaction in Mama, Tommy would have only been grateful for the tilling trade. Having someone hired to do that work would free him up to make the money the family needed for the cottage and more. He told himself to remove the oxygen that gave his darkness life to appreciate this helpful man.
Tommy could live with his mother’s giggling and smiling while Mr. Hayes tilled. The arrangement was short-lived and that was a good thing.
Tommy petted Frank’s feathers, and they looked into each other’s eyes. “Water,” Tommy said. “Let’s get you water.”
“Water,” Frank squawked.
Tommy startled and juggled Frank.
He held him up to eye level, awed. “You can talk.”
“I can talk,” the crow said.
“Whoa.” Tommy couldn’t believe it. Like magic, Frank seemed more human than he could have ever thought. Frank wiggled in Tommy’s hands, struggling to stand. He set him down, and the bird stretched his black legs, lifting one foot and then the other, stretching his wings and flapping them gently.
“Trying your feet and wings back on, are you?” Tommy teased. “Stay here,” he said, getting up and gesturing for Frank the crow to stay as though he were a dog.
But as Tommy picked up the water pail and walked away, glancing over his shoulder . . . Gone.
He stopped and turned fully back. Nothing. Frank was gone. Had he imagined it all?
A black blur circled him and then fluttered near his ear before landing on his shoulder.
He looked at the bird, who regarded him right back. “Holy Moses,” Tommy whispered.
“I can talk,” Frank said.
“Oh, you can.”
Tommy walked gingerly to be sure he didn’t knock Frank off his shoulder, but when Frank’s feet gripped tight, Tommy lengthened his stride.
Back at the shed, he served Frank a bowl of water, which the bird drank from and then bathed in.
“Good thinking, Frank. Who needs separate bath and drinking water?”
“Bath.”
Tommy chuckled, thinking he’d move faster on fixing up the shed so he could create a safe spot for Frank when needed.
Mr. Hayes’s laugh rang out over the garden. God. What kind of fella did backbreaking work for a divorced woman saddled with children? A bad man, untrustworthy, a con man? No. That was not the kind of man that worried Tommy. It was the exact opposite.
Tommy felt Mr. Hayes’s arrival like a clock winding down, making the need to work faster than he’d originally planned to get that cottage clear.
“Money, money, money,” Tommy said.
“Gold,” Frank said.
Tommy drew back, awed again. Gold. He thought of Bayard and Hank and the prayers they were selling, the stuff they were lifting from homes on the side. The gold nugget. Tommy needed to do a lot of chores and extra work to make up for the loss of his bellboy job.
He could sell prayers with the boys and do some on the side for himself when they got bored and wandered off. Nothing illicit about that.
There, that lifted his mood. That was all Tommy needed.