with four of them. He had suggested the polite thing but was, in fact, relieved she didn't take him up on his offer.
"This is our house. These are our things. We'll get along. Well, don't just stand there, Farley, make yourself useful! You too, Elfred."
Elfred got soaked. It gave Roberta a vindictive lift to see him gazing down at his wet wool suit, worrying about it shrinking two sizes. Farley, still in his brown-colored oilskins, fared much better, so she made sure he helped the draymen carry the heaviest pieces, including the upright piano that she hoped would leave him with a hernia the size of a turnip.
Whisper, would they?
Damned foul species. Let them haul like beasts of burden: That much men could do.
Z=
But in Roberta Jewett's book, they were good for little else.
Elfred quite disliked being put upon to do such physical labor and decided he needed to get to his office the moment he could conveniently scramble off.
Farley went, too.
Roberta sent the girls upstairs with instructions to unpack some cartons of clothing and bedding. She went into the living room and perused the collection of crates and trunks stacked in one comer like a Chinese jigsaw, wondering where she might find kitchen equipment in all those boxes. It was nearly midday and the girls would be getting hungry. She should go find a grocery store and put in some supplies, light a fire to take off the chill, attempt to unearth her teakettle and the washbasin and some buckets, rags and towels. Suddenly it seemed too overwhelming to face. Besides, the air coming in the open front door - though damp - brought the smell of the ocean and of the earth greening and lilacs budding, and the sound of gulls and distant bellbuoys, which she'd always loved. So she located the legs of the marble-and-claw-foot piano stool sticking out of the mountain of crates, removed a bunch of cartons from in front of the piano, opened the key cover, sat down and played 'Art Is Calling for Me' from Naughty Marietta. She lit into it with robust energy, and ten bars in heard the girls begin to sing upstairs.
"Mama is a queen ... and Papa is a king ... so I am a prin cess an d I kn o w it.
= z:
Suddenly Roberta Jewett felt incredibly happy. She had her girls, and a place to keep them,
and a job waiting. There was no husband to take what was hers or to make a fool of her anymore. Beyond the front porch the view of the harbor waited for her to enjoy anytime she wanted to lean against the doorjamb and bask. She had made a new start, and she and her girls were going to be very, very happy from now on.
With a nimble arpeggio she finished the song, spun around on the piano stool ...
And found herself face-to-face with Gabriel Farley.
He was relaxed against the doorjamb with his hands tucked under his armpits as if he'd been there awhile.
Her face soured. "I thought you were gone." "I was. I came back."
"Well, you might have knocked." She spun back to the piano, slammed the key cover and spiked to her feet.
"I did, but you didn't hear me above the racket. "
"Racket?" Over her shoulder she quirked an eyebrow at him. "Why, thank you, Mr. Farley. How gracious of you."
Farley had been standing in the doorway for a full minute, watching and listening and wondering what kind of woman kept her front door open in the rain while she sat at the piano and ignored a mountain of moving crates that needed unpacking, and the fact that she was stuck with a wreck of a house that needed mucking out and scrubbing down before it was
fit for human habitation.
"Actually, I rather enjoyed it. Your girls sing very well. "
From upstairs Rebecca called, "Mother, who's here?"
"It's Mr. Farley!" she called back. "What does he want?"
"I don't know." Then to him, "What do you want, Mr. Farley?"
He boosted off the door frame and came in. "Thought you could use a little help with the heavier boxes, maybe take a look at your stovepipes, make sure they don't have any squirrels' nests in 'em."
"No,
"This is our house. These are our things. We'll get along. Well, don't just stand there, Farley, make yourself useful! You too, Elfred."
Elfred got soaked. It gave Roberta a vindictive lift to see him gazing down at his wet wool suit, worrying about it shrinking two sizes. Farley, still in his brown-colored oilskins, fared much better, so she made sure he helped the draymen carry the heaviest pieces, including the upright piano that she hoped would leave him with a hernia the size of a turnip.
Whisper, would they?
Damned foul species. Let them haul like beasts of burden: That much men could do.
Z=
But in Roberta Jewett's book, they were good for little else.
Elfred quite disliked being put upon to do such physical labor and decided he needed to get to his office the moment he could conveniently scramble off.
Farley went, too.
Roberta sent the girls upstairs with instructions to unpack some cartons of clothing and bedding. She went into the living room and perused the collection of crates and trunks stacked in one comer like a Chinese jigsaw, wondering where she might find kitchen equipment in all those boxes. It was nearly midday and the girls would be getting hungry. She should go find a grocery store and put in some supplies, light a fire to take off the chill, attempt to unearth her teakettle and the washbasin and some buckets, rags and towels. Suddenly it seemed too overwhelming to face. Besides, the air coming in the open front door - though damp - brought the smell of the ocean and of the earth greening and lilacs budding, and the sound of gulls and distant bellbuoys, which she'd always loved. So she located the legs of the marble-and-claw-foot piano stool sticking out of the mountain of crates, removed a bunch of cartons from in front of the piano, opened the key cover, sat down and played 'Art Is Calling for Me' from Naughty Marietta. She lit into it with robust energy, and ten bars in heard the girls begin to sing upstairs.
"Mama is a queen ... and Papa is a king ... so I am a prin cess an d I kn o w it.
= z:
Suddenly Roberta Jewett felt incredibly happy. She had her girls, and a place to keep them,
and a job waiting. There was no husband to take what was hers or to make a fool of her anymore. Beyond the front porch the view of the harbor waited for her to enjoy anytime she wanted to lean against the doorjamb and bask. She had made a new start, and she and her girls were going to be very, very happy from now on.
With a nimble arpeggio she finished the song, spun around on the piano stool ...
And found herself face-to-face with Gabriel Farley.
He was relaxed against the doorjamb with his hands tucked under his armpits as if he'd been there awhile.
Her face soured. "I thought you were gone." "I was. I came back."
"Well, you might have knocked." She spun back to the piano, slammed the key cover and spiked to her feet.
"I did, but you didn't hear me above the racket. "
"Racket?" Over her shoulder she quirked an eyebrow at him. "Why, thank you, Mr. Farley. How gracious of you."
Farley had been standing in the doorway for a full minute, watching and listening and wondering what kind of woman kept her front door open in the rain while she sat at the piano and ignored a mountain of moving crates that needed unpacking, and the fact that she was stuck with a wreck of a house that needed mucking out and scrubbing down before it was
fit for human habitation.
"Actually, I rather enjoyed it. Your girls sing very well. "
From upstairs Rebecca called, "Mother, who's here?"
"It's Mr. Farley!" she called back. "What does he want?"
"I don't know." Then to him, "What do you want, Mr. Farley?"
He boosted off the door frame and came in. "Thought you could use a little help with the heavier boxes, maybe take a look at your stovepipes, make sure they don't have any squirrels' nests in 'em."
"No,
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