still kept a bed, and sleep. She was not in any mood to talk to strangers.
But this was her mother’s house. She would follow the rules. A quick greeting, then inside.
The worker came into focus now. Millie first noticed his denim work shirt splotchy with sweat. He had a leather tool belt around his waist and wore blue jeans.
As he descended the ladder she noticed that his tanned arms, glistening with perspiration, were strong. This was a man who did not shy away from hard work.
When he turned from the ladder Millie was greeted by a friendly pair of eyes with a set of hard wrinkles at each corner. His hair was dark with a hint of gray at the temples. He looked about her age.
His face was not that of a construction worker, but of an academic. Strange, but he looked like a young Thomas Riley, her colleague on the Court. And everyone said when Tom Riley was a young lawyer in Wyoming, he was the spittin’ image of Gary Cooper – solid, rugged, quintessentially American.
“Howdy,” he said, taking out a red bandanna and wiping his hands. He extended it. “I’m Jack Holden.”
Millie caught sight of her mother grinning off to the side. She shook his hand. “Millie Hollander.”
“Welcome home.”
She forced a smile and a nod, but felt the slightest bit put off by the sentiment. Who was he to welcome her to her own childhood residence?
“That’s Pastor Jack,” Ethel said.
Oh no, Mother, Millie thought, you didn’t. You didn’t set me up to meet this man, did you?
“So nice to meet you,” Millie said without enthusiasm. Then she noticed what looked like a string of faded, colored beads around his neck. It reminded her of the hippies in the sixties.
“Heard a lot about you,” Holden said. “Personally I’d like to say it’s a privilege to meet you. I visited the Supreme Court once.”
“How nice.”
“Didn’t hear an argument, though. Wondered what I’d do if I ever had to make one.”
Millie wanted to get inside the house.
“Will you stay for dinner?” Ethel said.
No! Millie’s mind screamed. She was about to say something about being tired when Holden spoke.
“Now, Ethel, your daughter’s come a long way, and I’m sure she’s tired. Probably doesn’t feel much like socializing.”
“Maybe after church on Sunday,” Edith said.
“I’d love to,” Holden said.
A firecracker of pain went off at the base of Millie’s neck. “Mr. Holden,” she snapped. “I am here just to get some rest. Excuse me.” She turned and walked into her childhood home.
Royal brought in her two suitcases, with Ethel close behind.
“Millie,” Ethel said, in a way that made Millie feel like she was ten years old.
“Not now, Mom, please.”
“He’s my pastor.”
“I know, it’s just – ”
“You could try to be pleasant.”
“Mother, I’m sorry. I just want to go lie down.”
“Then you do that,” Ethel said. “Just remember, a tree doesn’t fall too far from the fruit.”
Millie had no idea what that meant. But she was no longer in any mood for talk. Her head was starting to pound like a gavel on a judge’s bench.
3
She dreamed of dark clouds.
In the dream, Millie sat in her judicial robes, in her chair on the Court. The courtroom was empty. And the walls had been taken away.
Black storm clouds rolled in, like an advancing army. She tried to get out of her chair but found she could not move. It was going to start raining soon. She had to find shelter.
The rain came. Lightning flashed. Peals of thunder exploded around her. She could not get away. There was no shelter. And then she saw something on the horizon. Help. Someone coming to help her.
But as the figure got closer she realized he was in black, and sticking out of his robed sleeves were long, slithery fingers, like snakes…
She woke up breathing hard, her ribs protesting. Muted sunlight filtered in through the window, indicating late afternoon. She lay there several minutes until her breathing was back to normal, then carefully got out of bed.
Ethel was preparing a meal in the kitchen. When Millie entered Ethel barely looked up from the peas she was liberating into a Tupperware bowl.
“Have a little sleep?” Ethel asked.
“A little,” Millie said. She was not going to mention the dream. “Can I help you with those?”
“Grab yourself a handful, why don’t you?”
From the big bowl of rich, green pea pods Millie scooped up a healthy portion and set them in front of her. When she was a girl she’d always liked cooking with her mother. The love of cooking was the one thing they shared in common.
“How are you feeling?” Ethel asked.
“A lot of sore spots still. When I first get up it hurts most.”
“I mean inside.”
Millie pushed out three raw peas into the Tupperware bowl. “Inside?”
“That’s what I said. I want to know what’s going on in that head of yours.”
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“You goin’ back inside your turtle shell, huh?”
Millie looked away. “I haven’t heard that in a long time.”
“You been in fancy Washington, D.C., is why,” Ethel said. “You remember the first time?”
Millie did, very much so. But her mother had on her storytelling look, and Millie let her go.
“You were nine years old.” Ethel said. “You came in from school with red eyes, like you’d been crying, and you ran in past me. I was cleaning or something. But I went right after you. And when I got to you, you wouldn’t tell me what happened. You remember that?”
Millie nodded.
“I kept asking and asking,” Ethel said, “but that old stubborn streak in you was a mile wide, even then. And you said you were going into your turtle shell. You took to your room with a book, like usual, and wouldn’t talk about it.”
A stab hit Millie between the ribs. She well remembered that day. Three fourth grade girls had approached her at recess.
