Roz Fox - Married in Haste

Since the girls had returned to school after spring break, anything Ben allowed Mollie to do, Erin contradicted. Her every sentence of late began with Mommy says or Mommy did. Ben had no idea how to counter that. He’d hoped that, over time, Erin would grow to accept his authority. He hadn’t wanted to lay down the law, but plainly he couldn’t let her bossiness continue. It wasn’t fair to Mollie. Furthermore, there was no need for Erin to burden herself with parenting chores. Yet this wasn’t the time or place for a family showdown. “Stellaluna.” Ben read the name on Mollie’s book. “I haven’t read this story, Mollie. Did your teacher help you select it?”

Nodding, Mollie shook off Erin’s hand and skipped alongside her Uncle. “It’s about bats. A mama and baby bat. Will you read it to me, Unca Ben?”

“Later, princess. After dinner.” He smiled down at her as he reached over her head to ring the old-fashioned door bell. The bell not only didn’t ring, it fell off in Ben’s hand.

Erin sounded horrified. “You broke Miss Abby’s door bell.”

Not knowing what to do, and because he heard laughter and thumping inside, Ben set the pieces of the bell on the porch rail and knocked loudly.

A sandy-haired boy of six or seven yanked open the door and squinted at them from brilliant blue eyes.

“I’m a friend of Abigail Drummond’s. Is she home?” Ben asked.

“Did you come to help with the toilet?” The boy’s voice seemed too deep for his age. “Water’s running all over upstairs. Aunt Abby’s mad at Mike ’cause he didn’t tell her sooner that he flushed a dead fish, and the strainer, too.”

The boy threw the door wide and beckoned them in. Ben herded the girls into a tiled entry. From there he had a clear view into a large living room. It boasted a sweeping staircase and vaulted ceilings. Colored fish tanks took up one whole wall, which would explain the dead fish in the toilet. A birdcage, home to a squawking cockatiel, hung in a bay window. The disorder of it all shocked Ben.

A little boy with bandaged legs occupied a huge recliner. Coloring books, crayons, toys and Tupperware containers were spread everywhere around him. Though pale, the kid seemed oblivious to the din. A TV blaring. A radio or CD playing. A raucous bird. And kids. Everywhere, kids.

Twins older than the boy who’d let Ben in, plus another—a mirror image of the first one—huddled midway up the stairs. All were high-fiving each other, and in general making too much racket to realize they had visitors.

All at once, a foot-high replica of an off-road truck, complete with oversize balloon tires, bounced and rumbled down the long expanse of stairs. At the bottom, the wheels spun a few times, then the truck careened across slick maple floors. Its bumper whacked Ben hard on his shins, and brought the truck to a halt. Not, however, before Ben glimpsed a rat—no, a gerbil, he decided—with a bottle cap tied to its head. Belted into the front seat of the motorized truck, the animal had obviously withstood the bumpy ride down all those steps and when one of the boys got him out, the gerbil seemed none the worse for wear.

Ben might have taken the cheering boys on the landing to task for their foolish stunt had he not been blindsided by a barking, slobbering brown and white dog that jumped on him and stared him straight in the eye. Were Ben any less nimble, he’d probably have been knocked off his feet, and would’ve been in danger of being licked half to death. As it was, he dodged and mostly managed to evade the wet, pink tongue.

Erin and Mollie screamed. Both girls dropped their books and took refuge in a corner of the massive entry as far as possible from the boisterous dog.

Above the racket, Abby’s voice floated down the same stairs that had so recently served as the Indy 500 for the truck with its gerbil driver. “Boys, will you hold the noise down to a dull roar? Somebody see what’s wrong with Ruffian. Please, guys, cut me some slack. If I don’t get this water valve shut off, you five will be building an ark.”

The boys on the stairs at least had the grace to nudge one another and clam up sheepishly for a minute. Then one of the two older kids spotted Ben. “Aunt Abby!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “Reed let some strange guy in off the street. Do you want me and Mike to call the cops?”

Ben heard Abby yelp, followed by two loud bumps, followed by what might have been a muffled curse. By then he’d corralled the rambunctious boxer, a half-grown pup, Ben saw, seconds before a disheveled-looking Abby hove into view. She leaned over the bannister, brandishing a very large wrench. Her red hair, always hard to tame, stood in wild disarray. Her blue jeans were rolled up to her knees and showed signs of sogginess, as did the long tails of a too large man’s shirt. Dirt streaked her face, hands and arms. Even with all that she managed to look appealing to Ben.

“Ben? Noah scared me! I thought Ruffian had cornered a burglar or at the least a vagrant. I’m glad to see you, but I’m afraid I can’t talk at the moment. I’m kinda busy.” She waggled the wrench.

“So I see. The girls and I stopped by to see how you’re doing.”

Bending lower, Abby zeroed in on the pale faces of the frightened girls. “Erin, Mollie, hi! Boys, you know the McBride girls. Honestly, guys, where are your manners? Put Ruffian in the laundry room until he settles down. Invite Erin and Mollie in. Find a game everyone can play. Make it an easy one for Sam, okay?” She gazed helplessly at Ben. “If you care to supervise, Ben, I just need a minute to deal with a situation. There’s fruit punch in the fridge. Michael will show you where to get clean glasses. Or there’s coffee in the thermos by the stove if you’d rather.” She pulled back, then ducked down again to peer at Ben through the white balusters. “Better yet, I could use a man with a strong arm and a clear mind up here.”

Recovering from his shock at seeing such chaos around a woman he always found to be orderly in all things, Ben dredged up a rakish grin. “Let me settle the girls, Abby, and I’ll be right up.”

“Uncle Ben, I don’t want to stay here.” Erin sidled up to her uncle. “This house is dirty, and that dog slobbered all over me.”

“Erin McBride,” he said sternly. “Start by apologizing to Abby and the boys. While you figure out what you need to say, I’ll lend Abby a hand. Later, if you girls behave, I’ll get you some juice.”

Mollie’s face fell. “I didn’t say the house was dirty. Why can’t I have juice?”

One of the boys—Michael, Ben thought—relieved his death grip on the boxer’s collar. “I’m big enough to pour juice,” the boy declared. “Go ahead and help my aunt. I’ll take care of stuff down here.” He puffed out his thin chest.

Abby, who’d heard the exchange, called over the railing, “Wash your hands first, Mike. And while you’re at it, refill Sam’s glass. Sam? You doing okay, my man?”

A meek voice responded from the confines of the big chair. “I have to go potty. When’s the toilet gonna be fixed?”

“Oh, sweetie. The hall bathroom works. Darn, give me a minute to take off my shoes so I don’t track water downstairs. Then I’ll take you.”

“That chore I can handle like a pro,” Ben informed her. “If it’s okay with Sam, that is. Hey, guy, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Dr. Ben Galloway. My father, Dr. Kirk Galloway, fixed your legs.”

Sam’s eyes grew round and he shoved thick auburn curls off a pale forehead with a freckled hand. “’Kay. You look nicer. Dr. Kirk never smiles.”

Ben lifted the boy, doing his utmost to support the right leg which was casted all the way to the boy’s hip. Sam wore a short cast on his left. Ben guessed the kid wouldn’t be walking anytime soon. He wondered why Abby didn’t have household help. The ages of the children seemed reason enough to seek assistance. To say nothing of the sheer hours involved in maintaining this household.