Morning Glory

not return these.' She produced a mustard-yellow envelope bearing his name and laid it on the desk. 'They’re put out by the county extension office… every five years,mind you, when the bee is the only creature on God’s green earth that hasn’t changed its habits or its habitat since before man walked upright! But when the new pamphlets come in, the old ones get thrown-useful or not!' She blustered on, busying her hands, carefully avoiding Will’s eyes. 'Why, I’ve got a good mind to write to my county commissioner about such outright waste of the taxpayers’ money!'

Will was charmed.

'Thank you, Miss Beasley.'

Still she wouldn’t look at him. 'No need to thank me for something that would’ve gone to waste anyway.'

But he saw beyond her smokescreen to the woman who had difficulty befriending men and his heart warmed more.

'I’ll see you next week.'

She looked up only when his hand gripped the brass knob, but even from a distance he noted the two spots of color in her cheeks.

Smiling to himself, Will loped down the library steps with his stack of books on one hip and the yellow envelope slapping his thigh.

'Myyy, myyy… if it isn’t Mr. Parker.'

Will came up short at the sight of Lula Peak, two steps below, smiling at him with come-hither eyes. She wore her usual Betty Grable foreknot, lipstick the color of a blood clot, and stood with one hip permanently jutted to hold her hand.

'Afternoon, ma’am.' He tried to move around her but she side-stepped adroitly.

'What’s your hurry?' She chewed gum as gracefully as an alligator gnawing raw meat.

'Got cream in the wagon that shouldn’t be sitting in the sun.'

She smoothed the hair up the back of her head, then, raising her chin, skimmed three fingertips down the V of her uniform. 'Lawzy… it’s a hot one all right.' Standing one step below Will, Lula was nearly nose to navel with him. Her eyes roved lazily down his shirt and jeans to the envelope on which Miss Beasley had written his name. 'So it’s Will, is it?' she drawled. Her eyes took their time climbing back up, lingering where they would. 'Will Parker,' she drawled, and touched his belt buckle with the tip of one scarlet nail. 'Nice name… Will.' It took control for him to resist leaping back from her touch, but he stood his ground politely while she tipped her head and waggled her shoulders. 'So, Will Parker, why don’t you stop in at the cafe and I’ll fix you a ni-i-ice glass of iced tea. Taste good on a hot one like this, mmm?'

For one horrified moment he thought she might run that nail straight down his crotch. He jumped before she could. 'Don’t think I’ll have time, ma’am.' This time she let him pass. 'Got things to do.' He felt her eyes following as he climbed the wagon wheel, took the reins and drove around the town square to Purdy’s.

That woman was trouble with a capital T, and he didn’t want any. Not of it or of her. He made sure he avoided glancing across the square while he entered the store.

Purdy bought the cream and the eggs and said, 'Fine, anytime you got fresh, just bring ’em in. I got no trouble getting rid of fresh.'

Lula was gone when Will came out of the store, but her kewpie doll act left him feeling dirty and anxious to get back home.

Eleanor and the boys were waiting under their favorite sourwood tree this time. Will gravitated toward them like a compass needle toward the North Pole. Here was where he belonged, here with this unadorned woman whose simplicity made Lula look brassy, whose wholesomeness made Lula look brazen. He found it hard to believe that in his younger days he’d have chosen a woman like that over one like this.

She stood, brushing off the back of her skirt as he drew up and reined in Madam.

'You’re back.'

'Yup.'

They smiled at each other and a moment of subtle appreciation fluttered between them. She boosted the boys up onto the wagon seat and he transferred them into the back, swinging them high and making them giggle. 'You sit down back there now so you don’t tumble off.' They scrambled to follow orders and Will leaned to extend a helping hand to their mother. He clasped her palm and for the space of two heartbeats neither of them moved. She poised with one foot on a wagon cleat, her green eyes caught in his brown. Abruptly she clambered up and sat down, as if the moment had not happened.

He thought about it during the days that followed, while he continued improving the place, scrubbing walls and ceilings, finishing the plastering and painting walls that appeared to never have seen paint before. He put doors on the bottom kitchen cabinets and built new ones for above. He bartered a used kitchen sink for a piece of linoleum (both at a premium and growing scarcer) with which he covered the new cabinet top. The linoleum was yellow, streaked, like sun leaching through daisy petals: yellow, which seemed to suit Eleanor best and set off her green eyes.

She grew rounder and moved more slowly. Day after day he watched her hauling dishpans and slop buckets out to slew in the yard. She washed diapers for only one now, but soon there’d be two. He dug a cesspool and ran a drainpipe from underneath the sink, eliminating the need for carrying out dishpans.

She was radiant with thanks and rushed to dump a first basin of water down the drain and rejoice when it magically disappeared by itself. She said it didn’t matter that he hadn’t been able to find enough linoleum for the floor, too. The room was brighter and cleaner than it had ever been before.

Hewas disappointed about the linoleum for the floor. He wanted the room perfect for her, but linoleum and bathtubs and so many other commodities were getting harder and harder to come by with factories of all kinds converting to the production of war supplies. In prison Will had read the newspaper daily but now he caught up with world events only when he went to the library. Still, he was aware of the rumblings in Europe and wondered how long America could supply England and France with planes and tanks without getting into the fighting herself. He shuddered at the thought, even as he took his first load of scrap metal to town and got a dollar per hundredweight for Glendon Dinsmore’s 'junk.'

There was talk of America actively joining the war, though America Firsters-among them the Lone Eagle, Charles Lindbergh-spoke out against the U.S. drift toward it. But Roosevelt was beefing up America’s defenses. The draft was already in force, and Will was of age, healthy and single. Eleanor remained blissfully ignorant of the state of the world beyond the end of their driveway.

Then one day Will unearthed a radio in one of the sheds. It took some doing to find a battery for it-batteries, too, were being gobbled up by England to keep walkie-talkies operable. But again he bartered with a spare can of paint, only to find that even when the battery was installed, the radio still refused to work. Miss Beasley found a book that told him how to fix it.

The particular hour he coaxed it back to life, 'Ma Perkins' was on the air on the blue network. The boys were having their afternoon nap and Eleanor was ironing. As the staticky program filled the kitchen, her eyes lit up like the amber tube behind the RCA Victor grille.

'How ’bout that-it works!' Will said, amazed.

'Shh!' She pulled up a chair while Will knelt on the floor and together they listened to the latest adventure of the widow who managed a lumberyard in Rushville Center, U.S.A., where she lived, by the golden rule, with her three kids, John, Evey and Fay. Anybody who loved their kids as much as Ma Perkins was all right with Eleanor, and Will could see Ma had gained a faithful listener.

That evening they all hovered close to the magical box while Will and Eleanor watched the boys’ eyes alight at the sound of 'The Lone Ranger' and Tonto, his faithful Indian friend, whom he called kemo sabe.

After that, Donald Wade never walked; he galloped. He whinnied, shied, made hoof sounds with his tongue and hobbled 'Silver' at the door each time he came in. Will playfully called him kemo sabe one day, and after that Donald Wade tried their patience by calling everybody else kemo sabe a hundred times a day.

The radio brought more than fantasy. It brought reality in the form of Edward R. Murrow and the news. Each evening during supper Will tuned it in. Murrow’s grave voice with its distinctive pause, would fill the kitchen: 'This… is London.' In the background could be heard the scream of German bombers, the wail of air raid sirens and the thunder of antiaircraft fire. But Will thought he was the only one in the kitchen who truly believed they were