food.
Spike’s ecstasy upon my return home nearly made me collapse at the front door and burst into tears, exactly as I’d done after Billy’s funeral. Boy, there was truly something wrong with me. Not only had I begun to reject food, but I cried at the drop of a hat. When I glanced up from greeting Spike, I saw my father gazing at me with a worried frown on his face. I gave him my best approximation of a smile.
“Hey, Pa. Everything’s fine. Well, everything’s not fine, but I think Missus Pinkerton has managed to gather the courage to leave her daughter in the clink for once.”
The briefest of hesitations preceded Pa’s, “How’d you make her do that? I didn’t think she’d ever stand up to that kid of hers.”
To Spike’s dismay, I stood and brushed off my dress, noticing that flour still clung to it, which might have been the main reason for Spike’s disappointment. He loved food the way I used to.
“I didn’t do it. Harold, Sam and Rolly did. They all told her the truth. Stacy will never learn to behave if Missus Pinkerton keeps bailing her out when she gets herself into trouble.”
“Good for Rolly!” Pa’s voice was a little heartier than the occasion called for. “And Sam and Harold, of course.”
I recognized an attempt to perk me up when I heard one. Good old Pa. He was the dearest man. “Of course.”
“Sam’s coming to dinner tonight, by the way,” Pa said, peering at me from the corner of his eye as if he expected me to object.
I didn’t. “That’s nice.” Glancing down at my dress, I said, “I’d better get this thing off. It got all floury when I went to the Pinkertons’ kitchen to fetch some tea for Missus Pinkerton.”
Pa squinted at my dress. “How’d that happen? You don’t generally get close enough to flour to get dirty.”
I almost chuckled. “You’re right about that. But . . .” Oh, dear. I didn’t want to tell Aunt Vi’s tale for her. But what the heck; I didn’t think she’d mind, and I was pretty sure Pa’d wouldn’t let on that I’d ratted her out. “When I got to the kitchen, Vi was punching dough as if it were Stacy Kincaid’s face. When I asked her what was wrong, she . . . well, she kind of broke down.”
“Vi broke down?” asked Pa with incredulity.
“Yeah. She said she didn’t know why people like her Paul and my Billy had to die when vicious idiots like Stacy Kincaid still lived. I got a little flour on my dress when I hugged her.”
Pa shook his head sadly. “I understand why she feels that way. And you, too. Your mother and I have wondered the same thing more than once.”
I heaved a huge sigh. “I guess we’ll never know the answer to that one.”
And I departed to my room, which used to be Billy’s and mine as I’ve mentioned several times before, to change clothes. Luckily for me, Spike followed me. I don’t know if he was after more flour or more hugs, but I was glad for his company.
Sam arrived for dinner at six that evening, bearing with him a bouquet of flowers. I blinked at him as he stood in the door waiting for me to move so he could enter the house. He’d never brought flowers before that I could remember.
“Wow,” I said stupidly. “Flowers.”
He let out an exasperated grunt and thrust the bouquet at me. “I figured you could use them after having to deal with the Pinkerton woman this morning.”
Flabbergasted, I managed to mutter, “It wasn’t all that bad.”
“I don’t believe it. She was hysterical when I got there, and she was hysterical when I left. And she hasn’t sent anyone down to the P.D. to bail her blasted daughter out, either. I figured, since she didn’t seem to be listening to her son or me, it was you who convinced her to let Stacy stew in her own juices for once.” Then he said irritably, “Can I come in, or do you want us to stand at the front door all evening?”
Good old Sam. Every time I thought he might actually possess a softer side, he set me straight with a
Spike’s ecstasy upon my return home nearly made me collapse at the front door and burst into tears, exactly as I’d done after Billy’s funeral. Boy, there was truly something wrong with me. Not only had I begun to reject food, but I cried at the drop of a hat. When I glanced up from greeting Spike, I saw my father gazing at me with a worried frown on his face. I gave him my best approximation of a smile.
“Hey, Pa. Everything’s fine. Well, everything’s not fine, but I think Missus Pinkerton has managed to gather the courage to leave her daughter in the clink for once.”
The briefest of hesitations preceded Pa’s, “How’d you make her do that? I didn’t think she’d ever stand up to that kid of hers.”
To Spike’s dismay, I stood and brushed off my dress, noticing that flour still clung to it, which might have been the main reason for Spike’s disappointment. He loved food the way I used to.
“I didn’t do it. Harold, Sam and Rolly did. They all told her the truth. Stacy will never learn to behave if Missus Pinkerton keeps bailing her out when she gets herself into trouble.”
“Good for Rolly!” Pa’s voice was a little heartier than the occasion called for. “And Sam and Harold, of course.”
I recognized an attempt to perk me up when I heard one. Good old Pa. He was the dearest man. “Of course.”
“Sam’s coming to dinner tonight, by the way,” Pa said, peering at me from the corner of his eye as if he expected me to object.
I didn’t. “That’s nice.” Glancing down at my dress, I said, “I’d better get this thing off. It got all floury when I went to the Pinkertons’ kitchen to fetch some tea for Missus Pinkerton.”
Pa squinted at my dress. “How’d that happen? You don’t generally get close enough to flour to get dirty.”
I almost chuckled. “You’re right about that. But . . .” Oh, dear. I didn’t want to tell Aunt Vi’s tale for her. But what the heck; I didn’t think she’d mind, and I was pretty sure Pa’d wouldn’t let on that I’d ratted her out. “When I got to the kitchen, Vi was punching dough as if it were Stacy Kincaid’s face. When I asked her what was wrong, she . . . well, she kind of broke down.”
“Vi broke down?” asked Pa with incredulity.
“Yeah. She said she didn’t know why people like her Paul and my Billy had to die when vicious idiots like Stacy Kincaid still lived. I got a little flour on my dress when I hugged her.”
Pa shook his head sadly. “I understand why she feels that way. And you, too. Your mother and I have wondered the same thing more than once.”
I heaved a huge sigh. “I guess we’ll never know the answer to that one.”
And I departed to my room, which used to be Billy’s and mine as I’ve mentioned several times before, to change clothes. Luckily for me, Spike followed me. I don’t know if he was after more flour or more hugs, but I was glad for his company.
Sam arrived for dinner at six that evening, bearing with him a bouquet of flowers. I blinked at him as he stood in the door waiting for me to move so he could enter the house. He’d never brought flowers before that I could remember.
“Wow,” I said stupidly. “Flowers.”
He let out an exasperated grunt and thrust the bouquet at me. “I figured you could use them after having to deal with the Pinkerton woman this morning.”
Flabbergasted, I managed to mutter, “It wasn’t all that bad.”
“I don’t believe it. She was hysterical when I got there, and she was hysterical when I left. And she hasn’t sent anyone down to the P.D. to bail her blasted daughter out, either. I figured, since she didn’t seem to be listening to her son or me, it was you who convinced her to let Stacy stew in her own juices for once.” Then he said irritably, “Can I come in, or do you want us to stand at the front door all evening?”
Good old Sam. Every time I thought he might actually possess a softer side, he set me straight with a
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