Трейси Шевалье - At the Edge of the Orchard

Nancy and Billie Lapham slept in a small room at the top of the hotel where you would expect the maid to live rather than the proprietor. But that was how businessmen made their money-by renting out the good rooms and ignoring their own comfort until they could afford to think about it. Nancy lay in a bed that took up most of the space yet was hardly big enough for both of them. Though the window was open, the room smelled of milk someone had left to sour in the glass, of the chamber pot that was not emptied often enough, of a body confined. Robert wished he could carry her downstairs and put her in one of the rocking chairs on the hotel porch, but he suspected Haynes wouldn’t want her there, advertising illness to the visitors.

He stood in the doorway, hat in hand, while Billie Lapham woke his wife. Nancy whimpered, but when Billie whispered Robert’s name to her, she struggled to sit up. Her pointed face was white apart from two bright dots of red on her cheeks, as if she had been leaning on her hands. And she smiled. “Robert,” she croaked, “I’m so glad you’ve come.”

“Yes, ma’am, I am too.” Whenever Robert was with her he became formal.

“Don’t you ‘ma’am’ me. I’m your friend, not a minister’s wife. Come and sit with me.” Nancy patted the edge of the bed.

Robert glanced at Billie Lapham, who nodded. “I brought you a pitcher of fresh water, Nance,” her husband said. “Straight from the well, nice and cold. I drew it myself.” Throwing the sour milk out of the window, he rinsed the glass and filled it with water. “You want anything else?”

“No, thank you, honey. I’ll just visit awhile here with Robert. We got things to discuss.”

Billie Lapham chuckled. “You sure do.” His laughter puzzled Robert, as did Nancy’s widening smile. They seemed to be sharing a joke at his expense.

When Billie Lapham had clattered down the stairs, Nancy’s smile dimmed a little, and Robert frowned. He was often surprised at himself for caring so much about her. “How are you keeping, Nancy?” he asked, making sure to use her name.

Nancy raised her free hand and gestured to her bed-bound body, then let it drop. “Well, it’s obvious, ain’t it? I just get worse ’n’ worse. Did Billie tell you we’re moving to Murphys?”

Robert nodded.

“I’m doin’ it to humor him, really. Bein’ in bed there or here won’t make no difference to me. Might make him feel better, though-rest easier about me. And he won’t have to deal with Haynes any more. That man: I wish a sugarpine cone would fall right on his head.” Seeing Robert smile, Nancy became more elaborate in her revenge. “A big one, a foot long like they come, nice and green and heavy. And with the sap on it that’s so sticky you can’t get it off you, and the dirt gets in it and you can’t get that off either, so you go round lookin’ unwashed. That’s what I would like to have happen to that man.”

“Want me to shoot some cones off a tree when he’s passing under it?”

“You do that.” Nancy closed her eyes and leaned back into the pillows. “I’ll miss the big trees. That I do regret.”

Robert waited. After a few minutes he thought she must be asleep, the glass of water tipping in her hand. He took it gently from her and set it on the small table by her bed, where there was a Bible, a candle and a stack of handkerchiefs freshly laundered. One of them was crumpled; Robert could see specks of blood on it.

Then he froze. Behind the handkerchiefs was a small brown glass pot with a label that read: “Jonah Parks’ Respiratory Balm-for efficacious breathing.” Next to the words was a crude sketch of a woman holding a bouquet of flowers that Robert himself might well have drawn fifteen years ago, for the pot looked that old.

He reached over and picked it up, and Nancy opened her eyes. “Nancy, where’d you get this?”

“Oh, a visitor gave it to me last week, said it would help me to breathe easier. And it has! Why, have you ever used it?”

“No.”

Nancy looked at him more closely. “What is it?” When he didn’t answer, she sighed. “Robert Goodenough, you never tell me anything!”

“It’s nothing, really-just that I once worked for Mr. Parks.”

“Did you? That’s funny! Where was this?”

“Indiana.” Robert did not add that the balm was simply a mixture of beeswax, camphor and sassafras root cooked in a pot over a campfire-as was the snake oil, brain salt, cure for baldness, and all the other medicines Jonah Parks made up. Nancy wanted to believe it helped her breathe, and for that reason, maybe it did. He sat now looking at this piece of his past, and marveled that it had found its way to Nancy’s bedside table. Indiana was a long way from California, and Ohio ever further. And yet, what a small world this was.

Nancy’s eyes had drooped again and Robert thought he would slip out and let her sleep. When he got up, though, she grabbed his arm with more strength than he’d expected. “Where do you think you’re goin’?” she demanded, her eyes still shut.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“You think I’m gonna sleep when we got a woman to talk about? I was just restin’ my eyes, is all.” She opened her eyes and Robert sat back down.

“You know,” Nancy said, “when I first met you a few years ago, I couldn’t believe you weren’t married, or at least have a gal. ‘Somebody oughta snap him up,’ I told Billie. You’re a handsome fella-don’t duck your head, you are! You got the brightest brown eyes, would make any gal happy just to have you look at her. You keep clean, you don’t drink or gamble, and you listen to people. If you’d had any money to invest, Billie would’ve asked you to partner him running Cally Grove. We knew you’d look after these trees.”

Robert had never heard of this idea, and wondered how he would have responded if they had asked.

“Anyway, it’s too late now-we’re stuck with Haynes, and Billie and I are gettin’ out of here.” Nancy closed her eyes again. Talking clearly tired her, and Robert would have to wait and let her catch up with herself. He didn’t mind: he was in no rush to hear about Molly.

Nancy opened her eyes again. “So wasn’t I blown over to find out you did have a woman. Why didn’t you tell us, Robert? All this time I been worryin’ over you when I didn’t have to!”

“Well…” Robert couldn’t think how to describe his relationship with Molly in a way that would satisfy Nancy. “I didn’t think you minded one way or another.”

“Course I mind! I like to know you’re happy. ’Cause you don’t always seem happy, you know, except out in the trees. With people-with Billie and me, even-you don’t say much. Like I never knew till just now that you were in Indiana once. I always hoped you’d feel you could tell me things, if you wanted.”

“I-I know.” Robert felt his chest tightening, as it had whenever Molly asked him too many questions. “I just don’t think about the past much.”

Nancy could have asked why that was, but she seemed to know that she had pushed far enough. Instead she said, “So all those times you say you’re off collecting trees you’re actually with her?”

“No,” Robert protested. “Mostly I am collecting trees. It’s just now and again I visit her.”

“Sure.” Nancy was smiling again. Clearly she didn’t believe him.

“When did you see her?”

“Yesterday. We had a little visit. She sat right where you are now.”

Robert blushed and rubbed his head. It was hard to imagine Molly here with her curves and her laugh and her desperation. The room was too small. He was embarrassed too: Molly was not the kind of woman Nancy would expect him to be with. He was embarrassed, and he was ashamed that he was embarrassed, for it was disrespectful of Molly. He wished he could leave this hot, stale room, but he couldn’t walk away from Nancy.