Morning Glory

'This one’s from Will.'

'From Will…' Her delighted eyes met her husband’s while her fingers sought the ties on the scroll-shaped package. Though his insides were jumping with impatience, Will forced himself to sit easy in the kitchen chair, an arm propped on the table edge with a finger hooked in a coffee cup.

Opening the gift, Eleanor gazed at him. With an ankle braced on a knee his leg formed a triangle. Thomas was draped through it. It suddenly occurred to Eleanor that she wouldn’t trade Will for ten Hopalong Cassidys. 'He’s somethin’, isn’t he? Always givin’ me presents.'

'Hurry, Mama!'

'Oh… o’ course.' She turned her attention to opening the gift. Inside was a three-piece doily set-an oval and two crescents-of fine linen, all hemstitched and border stamped, ready for crochet hook and embroidery needle.

Eleanor’s heart swelled and words failed her. 'Oh, Will…' She hid her trembling lips behind the fine, crisp linen. Her eyes stung.

'The sign called it a Madeira dresser set. I knew you liked to crochet.'

'Oh, Will…' Gazing at him, her eyes shimmered. 'You do the nicest things.' She stretched a hand across the table, palm-up.

Placing his hand in hers, Will felt his pulse leap.

'Thank you, dear.'

He had never thought of himself as dear. The word sent a shaft of elation from his heart clear down to the seat of his chair. Their fingers tightened and for a moment they forgot about gifts and cakes and pregnancies and pasts and the two little boys who looked on impatiently.

'We got to have the cake now, Mama,' Donald Wade interrupted, and the moment of closeness receded. But everything was intensified after that, tingly, electric. As Eleanor moved about the kitchen, whipping cream, slicing chocolate cake, serving it, she felt Will’s eyes moving with her, following, questing. And she found herself hesitant to look at him.

Back at the table, she handed him his plate and he took it without touching so much as her fingertip. She sensed his distance as a cautious thing, an almost unwillingness to believe. And she understood, for in her craziest moments she’d never have believed anything as crazy as this could happen. Her heart thundered at merely being in the same room with him. And a sharp pain had settled between her shoulder blades. And she found it hard to draw a full breath.

'I’ll take Baby Thomas.' She tried to sound casual.

'He can stay on my lap. You enjoy your cake.'

They ate, afraid to look at each other, afraid they had somehow misread, afraid they wouldn’t know what to do when the plates were empty.

Before they were, Donald Wade looked out the window and pointed with his fork. 'Who’s that?'

Will looked and leaped to his feet. 'Lord a-mighty!'

Eleanor dropped her fork and said, 'What’s she doing here?'

Before Will could conjure a guess, Gladys Beasley mounted the porch steps and knocked on the door.

Will opened it for her. 'Miss Beasley, what a surprise.'

'Good afternoon, Mr. Parker.'

'Come in.'

He had the feeling she would have, whether invited or not. He poked his head outside. 'Did you walk clear out here from town?'

'I don’t own an automobile. I didn’t see any other way.'

Surprised, Will ushered her inside and turned to perform introductions. But Gladys took the matter out of his hands.

'Hello, Eleanor. My, haven’t you grown up.'

'Hello, Miss Beasley.' Eleanor stood behind a chair, nervously fingered her apron edge as if preparing to curtsy.

'And these are your sons, I suppose.'

'Yes, ma’am. Donald Wade and Baby Thomas.'

'And another one on the way. My, aren’t you a lucky child.'

'Yes’m,' Eleanor answered dutifully, her eyes flashing to Will’s. What does she want?

He hadn’t an inkling and could only shrug. But he understood Eleanor’s panic. How long had it been since she’d engaged in polite conversation with anyone from town? In all likelihood Miss Beasley was the first outsider Eleanor had ever allowed in this house.

'I understand congratulations are in order, too, on your marriage to Mr. Parker.'

Again Eleanor’s eyes flashed to Will, then she colored and dropped her gaze to the chair, running a thumbnail along its backrest.

Miss Beasley glanced at the table. 'It appears I’ve interrupted your meal. I’m-'

'No, no,' Will interjected. 'We were just having cake.'

Donald Wade, who never spoke to strangers, inexplicably chose to speak to this one. 'It’s Mama’s birthday. Will and me and Baby Thomas was givin’ her a party.'

'Won’t you sit down and have some?' Eleanor invited.

Will could scarcely believe his ears, but the next moment Miss Beasley settled her hard-packed bulk in one of the chairs and was served a piece of chocolate cake and whipped cream. Though Will hadn’t actually missed having outsiders around, he found their absence unhealthy. If there was ever the perfect person to draw Eleanor out of her reclusiveness, it was Miss Beasley. Not exactly the gayest person, but fair-minded to a fault, and not at all the sort to dredge up painful past history.

Miss Beasley accepted a cup of coffee, laced it heavily with cream and sugar, sampled the cake and pursed her hairy lips. 'Mmmm… quite delectable,' she proclaimed. 'Quite as delectable as the honey you sent, Eleanor. I must say I’m not accustomed to receiving gifts from my library patrons. Thank you.'

Donald Wade piped up. 'Wanna see the ones we give Mama today?'

Miss Beasley deferentially set down her fork and focused full attention on the child. 'By all means.'

Donald Wade scrambled around the table, found the suet ball and brought it to the librarian couched in his hand. 'This here’s for her birds. Me’n Will and Baby Thomas made it all ourselfs.'

'You made it… mmm.' She examined it minutely. 'Now aren’t you clever. And a homemade gift is certainly one from the heart-the best kind, just like the honey your mother and Mr. Parker gave me. You’re a lucky child.' She patted him on the head in the way of an adult unused to palavering socially with children. 'They’re teaching you the things that matter most.'

'And this here…' Donald Wade, excited at having someone new on whom to shower his enthusiasm, reached next for the doilies. 'These’re from Will. He bought ’em with the honey money and Mama she can embroidry on ’em.'

Again Miss Beasley gave the items due attention. 'Ah, your mother is lucky, too, isn’t she?'

It suddenly struck Donald Wade that the broad-beamed woman was a stranger, yet she seemed to know his mother. He looked up at Miss Beasley with wide, unblinking eyes. 'How do you know ’er?'

'She used to come into my library when she was a girl not much bigger than you. Occasionally I was her teacher, you might say.'

Donald Wade blinked. 'Oh.' Then he inquired, 'What’s a lie-bree?'

'A library? Why, one of the most wonderful places in the world. Filled with books of all kinds. Picture books, storybooks, books for everyone. You must come and visit it sometime, too. Ask Mr. Parker to bring you. I’ll show you a book about a boy who looks quite a bit like you, actually, named Timothy Totter’s Tatters.Mmmm…' Leaning back, she tapped an index finger on her lips and examined Donald Wade as if a decision hung in the balance. 'Yes, I should say Timothy Totter is just the book for a boy… what? Five years old?'

Donald Wade made his hair bounce, nodding.

'Do you have a dog, Donald Wade?'

Mystified, he wagged his head slowly.