She turns the wheel.
“How do you know that?”
“I happened to drive by on my way home from the store last night.”
Mother admires Frances Cocker very much. I saw it in her manner on the warm autumn day they met at church, and how she told the story of riding next to Mrs. Cocker in our pickup truck more than once when her friends stopped by. Frances is a charming woman with an impressive sense of style, who makes everyone around her feel comfortable.
Mother expected the status of the Cocker family to show in their attitudes, and was delighted she was wrong.
For today’s visit, much care was put into selecting the correct handbag and matching hat. Those pearls are purely for special occasions.
I am also guilty of looking my absolute best in the hopes that Jerald’s mother finds me appealing. I care so very much for her son, and it would mean the world to me if she thought us a good match.
Mother parks the pickup behind the car he and I soaked at our picnic, her hand fluttering to the ignition as I stare at the memory.
An embarrassed smile tugs up her cheeks. “Don’t know why I’m so nervous!” She takes a deep breath, and we open our doors at the same time, hopping onto solid ground.
Mother slides her fresh rhubarb pie from where it rested on a towel to prevent slippage. Looking in the mirror, she touches her curls, and gives the door a swing of her hip.
Side-by-side we walk up the beautifully landscaped path, in awe of their home. I lift an iron knocker of a lion’s face to give three gentle raps, alerting our arrival.
Unsolicited arrival.
We should’ve called.
Where are our manners?
Perhaps we better turn around.
If nobody saw us, it’s not too late.
The door swings open, Jerald’s mother surprised but seemingly relieved to see us, despite her frown. “Mrs. Kearns, and lovely May! Do come in! Is that a pie? Aren’t you kind. Between you and I, I could eat three right now. Come in! Come in!”
We walk into an enormous foyer under a chandelier as big as our washroom. “I hope you don’t mind. I baked you rhubarb when I heard the news.”
The two mothers stare at each other.
Mrs. Cocker quite explodes with gratitude. “So you’ve heard! My baby ran off and joined the war! I must declare that I have never been more shocked by anything in all my years! Archie, be a dear and take their coats, thank you. I have a fire burning in the drawing room. You must join me for a sherry as well as a slice of that glorious rhubarb pie. Archie, will you please take that wonderful gift to Margot and tell her to make the slices large? Thank you, thank you! Come, come! This way!”
The Butler helps us out of our coats, then glides away to do her bidding. Mrs. Cocker has left without realizing we don’t know where we’re going.
However, she turned right.
That’s a start.
Mother and I exchange a look, moving a bit slower due to awe at every little — and very big — thing that meets our eyes. I’ve never seen vases the size of a chair.
The hallway walls are made of wood dark and rich as a chocolate bar, beautiful rugs leading our way. And that chandelier wasn’t the only one, just the smallest.
Through the third, left door we find Mrs. Cocker walking toward us with a marble fireplace ablaze behind clicking heels. “Oh, there you are! Did I leave you behind? Not thinking quite right today!”
“I understand,” Mother smiles.
Mrs. Cocker stammers, “Yes well,” as if she’s lost her way, too.
To help, Mother offers, “What lovely velvet chairs.”
“Oh yes! Chairs! Let us sit down. That will do nicely. I feel I’m spinning in circles!”
A circular, dark-wood coffee table holds a large green vase of white flowers I don’t know the name of. There are two high-backed, velvet chairs that remind me of a palace, plus one elegant sofa with carved trim and a sloping back highest at its center.
Mother and I take the sofa, while Mrs. Cocker sits in a regal chair with amber light flickering on her worries. “When I heard the news I thought it one of his pranks! When Raymond assured me it was real, I was not convinced. He got the Secretary of Defense on the phone, and only then did I believe it. And oh, did I give that man a piece of my mind! Allowing a boy to drop out of high school and enlist in a war six years running! He’s my baby! And I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. Do you know what he told me, Francis? That Hank is eighteen and therefore a man with the right to make his own decisions!”
Mother gasps, “He didn’t!”
“Yes he did! He said exactly that!” She fingers a glimmering brooch, staring at the fire. “What am I to do?”
I’ve not spoken a word yet, but I feel I might have comfort to offer, so I breathe in courage. “Mrs. Cocker, I told Gertie that perhaps Hank was afraid she might talk him out of it. She found comfort in that.”
“Forgive me for saying so, but I don’t!”
She bolts up and crosses to the hearth, snatching a poker to jab logs with it. Sparks fly and alight the skirt of her dress. Mother and I leap up, swatting the smolder away together, all of us shrieking to varying degrees.
“Ahem…your pie, ma’am.”
We freeze, look to the door, and discover the butler standing at the ready with a gorgeous tray filled exactly as ordered, only better.
He doesn’t know what to make of our tableau, and Mrs. Cocker does not enlighten him.
“Perfect timing, Archie. Place it on the coffee table, thank you!” She turns to us. “I could use a spot of sherry! You?”
While telling us tales from Hank’s childhood for over an hour, Mrs. Cocker has nursed a single sherry, to our amazement. The side of her lovely face is lit
