Eva Rutland - Almost A Wife

“Me?” he had asked. “I’m not even a relative.”

The lawyer reminded him that Kathy had no relatives.

“But she’s never said anything to me. Surely there must be someone else.”

“No,” Canson assured him. “Only you.”

Tray stared at him. The trust, the financial part, he could handle, supplementing funds if necessary. He would see that the children were never in want.

“But the children themselves,” he said in some consternation. “I can’t possibly take them. I’m a bachelor. No wife, no home even. I’m living in a hotel.”

Mr. Canson could see his point. “Well, as guardian, your only responsibility is to see that they are given proper care.” He cleared his throat. “Perhaps there’s a relative who would be willing to—”

“No.” Tray thought of his father, in his bachelor apartment. An aunt…on a cruise somewhere, he thought. This was crazy. A person couldn’t will her children to someone, could she?

“I can see that this places you in a rather awkward position,” the attorney said. “But I think we can arrange something. There is an agency available here for help in this kind of situation. I’ll get in touch and arrange for a temporary placement.”

“That might be the thing to do.” What had Kathy been thinking? “She never mentioned anything about this to me,” he said.

“Perhaps in the letter,” Canson suggested, gesturing at the documents he had handed Tray.

“Oh.” Tray had been so stunned, he hadn’t even glanced at the papers. He opened the letter.

After reading it, no way could he place the children, even temporarily, with some agency.

He looked at them. Both asleep. The seat belt light was off. He went to the bathroom, washed his hands and dashed cold water over his face. He returned to his seat and took out the letter.

Dear Tray,

I hope you never read this letter. And maybe you won’t. I’m only twenty-five and perfectly healthy. But Pete was only twenty-six when he left us all alone, and I’m scared. What would happen to Peter and Sunny if I weren’t here?

If anything does happen to me, and I’m praying with all my heart it doesn’t, then…this is why you have this letter.

Why you? Because you’re the only person in all this world that I trust. And because yours was the only happy home I knew. Only a small part, it is true, but you cannot possibly know how much I cherished every minute spent at your house. All the laughter under that big oak tree or in the pool, even helping your mother make sandwiches or clean the kitchen. Do you remember how we made homemade ice cream in that old freezer, and everybody wanted the dasher? And always your mother smiling her warm smile. I used to pretend that it was my home, and I wouldn’t be returning to the orphanage where I was one among many forgotten kids.

To be honest, the Home was the best place I ever lived. All the foster homes were horrible, and I don’t even want to think about the Youth Authority. You didn’t know I did time there, did you? Kids can get turned around. I don’t want that to happen to my children.

Promise me, Tray, that it won’t. I know you’re not married yet, and might not want to keep them yourself. If not, please find someone…someone who really wants them and will love them, and give them the kind of home you had. Please, for God’s sake, don’t let them get caught in the system like I was. Please, Tray. Do this for me.

Again, I hope you never read this letter. But, just in case…Thank you for sharing your home with me, and thank you for finding that kind of home for Sunny and Peter. I love you,

Kathy

ON HER knees, Lisa mopped her way out of the second upstairs bathroom. She stood in the hall, rubbed an aching shoulder and looked back at the gleaming tiles covering the long counter, the clear mirror above, the spotless floor beneath. Stain-free. Sweet smelling. Perfect. Bleach along with that fragrant tile cleaner worked miracles.

And havoc on me, she thought, glancing at her red hands and broken nails. Rubber gloves slowed her down, and time was a precious commodity. Her chopped off hair was also a time-saver. Just wash and blow!

Money saver, too. No weekly trips to the beauty shop. Chic and smooth not required in this business, she thought as she picked up her pail.

Still, skimping on beauty treatments hardly made a dent in the monthly bills. I’m cleaning houses like crazy and getting further and further in debt. Harder work, less pay.

Talk about hard labor! Talk about time! On her first job, it had taken the whole day for her to do one house. But the real kicker had come when the lady of the house said she would not need her again.

She was still trying to recover from the shock when Joline showed up that evening with more referrals. No downsizing in the housecleaning industry. But qualifications were stiff, she thought, rubbing her aching muscles.

“I don’t know if I’d better take those on,” she said, burning with shame. “Mrs. Smith fired me,”

“She can’t fire you,” Joline said.

“Call it what you like. She made it clear that my services were no longer required.”

“By her! That don’t mean they ain’t required by somebody else. Look, I got three places here. They want somebody bad.”

Lisa wasn’t listening. She was reliving the frustrating day. “I wouldn’t want me back, either. I couldn’t get the stains out of the bathtub and the windows still looked grimy.”

“You gotta use bleach on stains. And—” Joline stopped, stared at Lisa. “Windows? You ain’t ’sposed to do no windows.”

“She said just the downstairs one, and—”

“She don’t say! You say. What you gonna do and what you ain’t.

“But if she’s hiring me…”

“She ain’t. You applying for the job.”

“Oh. That’s…different?”

Joline shook her head. “I can see you don’t know nothing ’bout running no business.”

“Well…” Not the time to mention her business degree.

“But don’t worry. I’m gonna tell you how. You been real good to me, Lisa. You always gave me clothes for my daughter, and you paid me extra that time my boy got sick. Now you in a bind, and I’m gonna help you out.”

Lisa was touched. “You’ve been good to me, too. I really appreciate the referrals, but maybe I’m in over my head in this area.” If cleaning houses was a business, she was clearly unprepared. Picking up her clothes before the cleaning lady came wasn’t much experience.

“Shucks! Nothing to it. All you have to do is get straight what you gonna do ’fore you start.”

“You mean make a contract?” Lisa chuckled. When the mind-makes a contract the body can’t fill… “You still have to do the job. I know that much.”

“Oh, you can do it. You listen to me, and you listen good. No, you better write it down. Get a paper and pencil while I pour us some more coffee.”

Writing is more in my line, Lisa thought as she picked up a pen. But she could hardly keep up as Joline rattled off a mind boggling list of do’s and don’ts. “Don’t do nothing by the hour. Charge by the job, and do check size of the house and how the folks live in it ’fore you set the price. Some folks live like pigs. Do list equipment and supplies needed. Don’t supply none of these yourself. That way you ain’t loaded down and you ain’t bringing nothing in with you and you ain’t taking nothing out. Some folks are funny ’bout what you taking out.”

This is a business, and an extremely complicated one, Lisa thought as Joline listed supplies needed for special problems as well as a definite agenda. “Always do one floor at a time. That way you don’t get plumb wore out, traipsing up and down all them stairs a million times. Hey, you ain’t wore out yet, are you? We just talking about it.”