the muffins freeze well, so there’s no harm in making as many as they can manage.
“They’re dry,” Mother says, tapping the top of each muffin. “Told you those bananas weren’t ripe enough.” Her silver hair is pulled back as it always is for baking and she wears a loose gray duster. “I’ll have a new batch in the oven in no time.”
“Don’t throw them out,” Grace says. “We’ll need as many as we can bake.”
But even as Grace says it, Mother dumps the silver tray and a dozen muffins tumble into the trash can sitting near the back door.
“Put yourself to use,” Mother says, poking her fork at the overflowing garbage and then at the screen door. “Go on and take that out before it draws bugs.”
Grace gathers the trash can and pushes open the door. At her last appointment, Dr. Hirsh said her joints would start to loosen soon to make room for the baby. He warned her to take care she didn’t stumble into a nasty fall. The baby is growing heavier every day. She is especially heavy late in the afternoon and into the evening, so with her free hand Grace holds the metal railing and carefully makes her way down the three concrete stairs, testing each with her toe before stepping down with her full weight.
Any moment, news will come that Elizabeth has been found. Life will resume. Mother will return to her own house east of Woodward. James will fix the leak in the hot-water faucet upstairs, tighten the banister, trim the back bushes, so things will be just right before the baby arrives. Grace will wash all the diapers, blankets, and clothes the neighbor ladies have passed on. She will fold them, each one carefully, all the while talking to her baby girl, telling her about her new room; her strong, handsome daddy; the patch of green grass in the backyard where she will hopefully play next spring in the shade of the maple tree. Though James is rooting for a boy, because every husband does, Grace knows she is carrying a little girl, has known it from the first flutter, and once James sees the tiny face, he will love his baby girl as he loves his wife.
Outside, all up and down Alder, the houses, though empty because everyone has joined the search, are lighted up in hopes Elizabeth will find her way home. Rounding the back of the house, Grace listens for the deep voices she sometimes hears late at night. As she nears the garage, the light from the kitchen throwing a dim glow into the alley, she sees their glass. There’s more every day. Tomorrow, Grace will pick it all up and not tell James. She jerks her head left, thinking that was the sound of gravel being crushed by a heavy foot, and then right, thinking something or someone has rattled a doorknob.
Bracing the trash can against one hip, Grace backs toward the garage. The porch lights throw odd shadows, some long and thin that stretch across the ground, others round and broad that crouch at the alley’s edge. Only when she notices the Williamsons’ house does she exhale and realize she had been holding her breath. A light shines in Mrs. Williamson’s kitchen window and in an upstairs bedroom, where Mr. Williamson listens to his ball games. Not everyone has gone to the church. Some of the older folks have stayed behind. Those are probably the sounds of Mrs. Williamson fussing about in her cabinets or washing the supper dishes. On such a lovely evening, she would have left her windows open and noise does have a peculiar way of traveling among the tightly knit houses. But there is that sound again—tiny bits of gravel crushed under a heavy foot.
• • •
At the church, the ladies have had all day to realize that Julia folds a sloppy linen and dishes out servings that are too large. By day’s end, they are weary of cleaning up after her and so put her in charge of the coffee. The search will soon end for the night, and when the men return, they’ll want something hot and fresh. The job is really quite important, the ladies say. You are
“They’re dry,” Mother says, tapping the top of each muffin. “Told you those bananas weren’t ripe enough.” Her silver hair is pulled back as it always is for baking and she wears a loose gray duster. “I’ll have a new batch in the oven in no time.”
“Don’t throw them out,” Grace says. “We’ll need as many as we can bake.”
But even as Grace says it, Mother dumps the silver tray and a dozen muffins tumble into the trash can sitting near the back door.
“Put yourself to use,” Mother says, poking her fork at the overflowing garbage and then at the screen door. “Go on and take that out before it draws bugs.”
Grace gathers the trash can and pushes open the door. At her last appointment, Dr. Hirsh said her joints would start to loosen soon to make room for the baby. He warned her to take care she didn’t stumble into a nasty fall. The baby is growing heavier every day. She is especially heavy late in the afternoon and into the evening, so with her free hand Grace holds the metal railing and carefully makes her way down the three concrete stairs, testing each with her toe before stepping down with her full weight.
Any moment, news will come that Elizabeth has been found. Life will resume. Mother will return to her own house east of Woodward. James will fix the leak in the hot-water faucet upstairs, tighten the banister, trim the back bushes, so things will be just right before the baby arrives. Grace will wash all the diapers, blankets, and clothes the neighbor ladies have passed on. She will fold them, each one carefully, all the while talking to her baby girl, telling her about her new room; her strong, handsome daddy; the patch of green grass in the backyard where she will hopefully play next spring in the shade of the maple tree. Though James is rooting for a boy, because every husband does, Grace knows she is carrying a little girl, has known it from the first flutter, and once James sees the tiny face, he will love his baby girl as he loves his wife.
Outside, all up and down Alder, the houses, though empty because everyone has joined the search, are lighted up in hopes Elizabeth will find her way home. Rounding the back of the house, Grace listens for the deep voices she sometimes hears late at night. As she nears the garage, the light from the kitchen throwing a dim glow into the alley, she sees their glass. There’s more every day. Tomorrow, Grace will pick it all up and not tell James. She jerks her head left, thinking that was the sound of gravel being crushed by a heavy foot, and then right, thinking something or someone has rattled a doorknob.
Bracing the trash can against one hip, Grace backs toward the garage. The porch lights throw odd shadows, some long and thin that stretch across the ground, others round and broad that crouch at the alley’s edge. Only when she notices the Williamsons’ house does she exhale and realize she had been holding her breath. A light shines in Mrs. Williamson’s kitchen window and in an upstairs bedroom, where Mr. Williamson listens to his ball games. Not everyone has gone to the church. Some of the older folks have stayed behind. Those are probably the sounds of Mrs. Williamson fussing about in her cabinets or washing the supper dishes. On such a lovely evening, she would have left her windows open and noise does have a peculiar way of traveling among the tightly knit houses. But there is that sound again—tiny bits of gravel crushed under a heavy foot.
• • •
At the church, the ladies have had all day to realize that Julia folds a sloppy linen and dishes out servings that are too large. By day’s end, they are weary of cleaning up after her and so put her in charge of the coffee. The search will soon end for the night, and when the men return, they’ll want something hot and fresh. The job is really quite important, the ladies say. You are
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