more than I deserved to hear. He told me the truth.”
As sympathetically as I could, because I felt guilty, I said, “I’m afraid he did, but he didn’t have to be so mean about it.” Bad Daisy. “But I think he had a good idea. I’m sure your husband will help you come up with a plan for dealing with Stacy. It can’t be easy for him to have her upsetting you all the time. He loves you, after all.”
And then, as stupid as it sounds, I almost started crying myself.
However, my words seemed to buck Mrs. Pinkerton up slightly. She squared her shoulders. “Yes. Yes, Algie does love me. And I love him. And he shouldn’t have to suffer from Stacy’s behavior.”
“That’s the spirit,” I said bracingly.
And then I got out of there as fast as I could. Because I still felt rotten about having upset Mrs. Pinkerton so badly, I made a detour to the kitchen to have a chat with Aunt Vi and see if there wasn’t some tea and maybe some cookies there that might make the lady of the house feel better.
When I pushed the swinging door open Vi had her hands in a bowl of dough, punching it down with a vigor that signified to me she was taking her frustrations out on it. She turned when the door opened and frowned at me.
Pressing a hand to my heart, I said, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to upset her so badly.”
Vi’s expression changed to one of bewilderment. “What are you going on about, Daisy? Upset whom?”
I sank down into a kitchen chair. “Oh, dear. Missus Pinkerton called me because Stacy—”
“That horrible, awful brat!” cried Vi. “I thought maybe she’d changed her wicked ways for good, but now she’s gone and got herself arrested again, and poor Missus Pinkerton is beside herself! To think that good boys like your Billy and my Paul—” But her voice caught on a tear and she couldn’t go on.
“Oh, Vi.” I leapt from my chair, rushed over to her and threw my arms around her, flour be darned. It had never occurred to me that she might resent Stacy’s behavior for the same reason I did: Stacy was alive, and Vi’s son and my husband were dead. Irrational, I suppose, but who ever said human beings were rational?
Vi pulled herself together after about thirty seconds of that. “Oh, dear. I don’t want to get flour all over your pretty dress, Daisy.”
“Don’t worry about my dress, Vi. I don’t care about the dress. I feel the same way about Stacy that you do.”
Vi wiped her eyes on her apron, smearing flour across her face. Poor thing. She worked so hard. Not only did she cook for the Pinkertons and the wretched Stacy, but she also cooked at our house. That was fortunate for us, because neither Ma nor I were very good cooks. Oh, very well; the truth is that I am probably the worst cook in the entire world.
Then I confessed to my aunt, “I’m afraid Rolly told Missus Pinkerton some stuff she didn’t want to hear today when he visited from the netherworld.”
“Pshaw,” said my aunt, who knew as well as I did that Rolly was a figment of my imagination. She didn’t mind that, since he earned the family a good deal of money. “Well, I guess it’s time somebody told her the truth about that child of hers.”
With a heavy sigh, I said, “I hope I wasn’t too hard on her. But Stacy shouldn’t be allowed to get away with all the stuff she gets away with. And if Missus Pinkerton keeps paying her bail and stuff like that, she’ll never learn.”
“Missus P is a gentlewoman, Daisy. I don’t think they see these things as clearly as us commoners.”
With a grin, I said, “Good way to put it. Anyhow, she was pretty upset, and I thought maybe some tea and cookies might cheer her up some. I’ll be happy to take a tray in to her.”
“Never you mind about that,” said Vi, eyeing me critically. “You’re the one who needs the cookies. I swear, Daisy Majesty, you’re fading away.”
I was? I glanced down at my now-floury dress in astonishment. “I am?”
“Well, I don’t
As sympathetically as I could, because I felt guilty, I said, “I’m afraid he did, but he didn’t have to be so mean about it.” Bad Daisy. “But I think he had a good idea. I’m sure your husband will help you come up with a plan for dealing with Stacy. It can’t be easy for him to have her upsetting you all the time. He loves you, after all.”
And then, as stupid as it sounds, I almost started crying myself.
However, my words seemed to buck Mrs. Pinkerton up slightly. She squared her shoulders. “Yes. Yes, Algie does love me. And I love him. And he shouldn’t have to suffer from Stacy’s behavior.”
“That’s the spirit,” I said bracingly.
And then I got out of there as fast as I could. Because I still felt rotten about having upset Mrs. Pinkerton so badly, I made a detour to the kitchen to have a chat with Aunt Vi and see if there wasn’t some tea and maybe some cookies there that might make the lady of the house feel better.
When I pushed the swinging door open Vi had her hands in a bowl of dough, punching it down with a vigor that signified to me she was taking her frustrations out on it. She turned when the door opened and frowned at me.
Pressing a hand to my heart, I said, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to upset her so badly.”
Vi’s expression changed to one of bewilderment. “What are you going on about, Daisy? Upset whom?”
I sank down into a kitchen chair. “Oh, dear. Missus Pinkerton called me because Stacy—”
“That horrible, awful brat!” cried Vi. “I thought maybe she’d changed her wicked ways for good, but now she’s gone and got herself arrested again, and poor Missus Pinkerton is beside herself! To think that good boys like your Billy and my Paul—” But her voice caught on a tear and she couldn’t go on.
“Oh, Vi.” I leapt from my chair, rushed over to her and threw my arms around her, flour be darned. It had never occurred to me that she might resent Stacy’s behavior for the same reason I did: Stacy was alive, and Vi’s son and my husband were dead. Irrational, I suppose, but who ever said human beings were rational?
Vi pulled herself together after about thirty seconds of that. “Oh, dear. I don’t want to get flour all over your pretty dress, Daisy.”
“Don’t worry about my dress, Vi. I don’t care about the dress. I feel the same way about Stacy that you do.”
Vi wiped her eyes on her apron, smearing flour across her face. Poor thing. She worked so hard. Not only did she cook for the Pinkertons and the wretched Stacy, but she also cooked at our house. That was fortunate for us, because neither Ma nor I were very good cooks. Oh, very well; the truth is that I am probably the worst cook in the entire world.
Then I confessed to my aunt, “I’m afraid Rolly told Missus Pinkerton some stuff she didn’t want to hear today when he visited from the netherworld.”
“Pshaw,” said my aunt, who knew as well as I did that Rolly was a figment of my imagination. She didn’t mind that, since he earned the family a good deal of money. “Well, I guess it’s time somebody told her the truth about that child of hers.”
With a heavy sigh, I said, “I hope I wasn’t too hard on her. But Stacy shouldn’t be allowed to get away with all the stuff she gets away with. And if Missus Pinkerton keeps paying her bail and stuff like that, she’ll never learn.”
“Missus P is a gentlewoman, Daisy. I don’t think they see these things as clearly as us commoners.”
With a grin, I said, “Good way to put it. Anyhow, she was pretty upset, and I thought maybe some tea and cookies might cheer her up some. I’ll be happy to take a tray in to her.”
“Never you mind about that,” said Vi, eyeing me critically. “You’re the one who needs the cookies. I swear, Daisy Majesty, you’re fading away.”
I was? I glanced down at my now-floury dress in astonishment. “I am?”
“Well, I don’t
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