South of Superior (16 page)

“This is terrible,” Madeline said. “It's not right.”

“He's just doing his job,” Mary said with resignation that surprised Madeline after the way she'd argued with him. “You know his mother died when he was just a boy.”

Madeline did not know what to say to this apparent non sequitur.

They were quiet after that. When Mary had driven off in a cloud of exhaust, Madeline spent a long time leaning against her car, gazing at the hotel, feeling blue. Sad, mad, lonely. She hated seeing Albert and Mary defeated, hated not being able to help or change anything. Abruptly she headed past the bank of lilacs and through the orchard to the back door. This was a bad habit, but last night she'd found no way to confess and now she couldn't make herself stop. There wasn't any harm in it. She just had to spend a little more time in there. It was a haven, a place to leave the real world behind for a little while and surround herself in dreams, like wrapping Up in a blanket.

 

 

Gladys was slamming
things around in the kitchen while Arbutus sat at the table worrying at a napkin with her fingers when Madeline got home. Greyson was perched atop a stack of catalogues, coloring. Randi must've dropped him off again.

“What's wrong?” Madeline asked, taking in the glum scene.

“Gladys is mad,” Greyson said.

“I see that. But at what?”

Gladys had been pulling pots and pans out of the low cupboard where they were stored and piling them Up on the counter, smacking each item down with force, but she stopped then. She placed both hands on the countertop and pulled herself Up, and turned to look at Madeline. Madeline saw at once that something really was wrong, this wasn't just indignation. It was something worse, something deeper.

“What's happened?”

“It's Emil.”

“Oh no.” Madeline imagined him dead, cold in his bunk in the trailer.

“They're after him now, when will it stop?” Gladys slammed a palm on the counter, but she looked defeated.

“Who, the Bensons? After him for what?”

“Not them, but their crowd. The zoning commission and the Village board. They've condemned his trailer, they say he has to be out within the month.”

“They can't do that.”

“Apparently they can.”

Arbutus nodded, looking woebegone. “There's a letter,” she said. Greyson gave them all a serious, gauging look, then went back to his coloring.

“But that's his home.”

“Tell them that. They say it doesn't meet minimum codes, it's an eyesore, it's Unsafe, there's no septic, no approved water, and bingo, it's condemned, they want it hauled out of there. At his expense, mind you, or they'll do it themselves and bill him for it.
That's
a joke. Emil doesn't have a pot to pee in and come next month he won't have a window to throw it out, either. Here, read it yourself. He gave me the letter they sent.”

Arbutus slid an envelope across the table toward Madeline.

“Well, he's got to protest it, that's all,” Madeline said, skimming over the letter. “He's got to stand Up and say no.”

“Lot of good that'll do, have you ever been to one of their meetings? It's all mumbo jumbo.” Gladys scraped a chair away from the table and dropped onto it. Greyson slid his picture around in front of her for her to see and she nodded absently. “That's nice, dear.”

“It's an intergalactic galaxy monster. Purple Man.”

“Is it?”

“Maybe he could help, he can do anything.”

Gladys traced the arc of Purple Man's arm Upraised in battle. “Maybe, dear.”

Greyson slid the picture back around to himself and began coloring again.

“There's got to be something Emil can do. He'll have to get a lawyer.”

Gladys's laugh was dismal. “On his income? He doesn't get Social Security, he never paid in. He lives off those skins he trades, and now and then his sister down in Flint sends him some money. She went down there in sixty-seven and got a job in the Buick plant, she's got a retirement. But not Emil.”

Madeline rubbed her face, trying to think. “Are they going after Mary Feather's place, too? Whose idea is this, anyway?”

“That zoning committee that got put together last year, I always thought they were Up to no good. And no, they won't touch Mary. They wouldn't dare. She's off their map, anyway—Emil's in just close enough to town. And he's got the view, that's what they're really thinking of. Cal Tate's got a chunk of land Up there on the ridge. If he can get Emil cleared off and make his own piece that much bigger, he can sell to city folks to put Up their big fancy weekend houses. A playground, that's all this is to them. Doctors and lawyers from the cities, that's who'll buy Up there. Cal's probably got a whole subdivision planned.”

“But that's not right. He can't Use his position to line his own pockets.”

Gladys and Arbutus gave Madeline ironic looks.

“Edith Baxter is the head of it, meddling old busybody,” Gladys said. “I never had any Use for her, she always did think she was better than six other people put together and she's got the brain of a goat. Raised here just like Us, too.”

Arbutus nodded at this. “Yes. And Harvey.”

“That's right, Harvey Wines. He's new to town, hauled along his big ideas, wants to change everything so it's just like where he came from, I wish he would've stayed there. And Cal, of course, he put the condos in a few years back, he's worth a couple of bucks. There's a few others, too. Well, Tracy York. Her mother and me were the best of friends, she must be turning in her grave to see what Tracy's done, putting her name to that letter.”

“Now, Glad,” Arbutus said in a placating tone. “Tracy can't help who she is any more than any of Us can.”

“So you say. I'm tired of making excuses for her. She ought to be ashamed.”

Arbutus sighed.

Madeline was reading the signatures on the letter. “But these people must know Emil, they must've known him since they were children, some of them.”

“Yes,” Arbutus said, and Gladys nodded grimly. “That's right and it makes me sick to think of it. This town is changing beyond recognition. Makes you want to throw in the towel.”

“No. No way. Emil's got to fight it. That's his
home
. He
owns
that land. I think he needs a lawyer.” Madeline felt fierce. Mary and Albert, and now this.

“Madeline, I would be surprised if Emil can even read beyond cat and hat and dog. He doesn't have what you'd call a job, he never really has, aside from working in the lumber camps back when he was younger. He traps some, like I said. Hunts. Does the firewood. Gets a little from his sister and a few others around. He brought the letter to me to read, they sent it to him certified at the post office and it scared him. They didn't even have the courtesy to go talk to him in person, the cowards. You know what they want, don't you?”

Madeline shook her head.

“They want to put him in the home down in Crosscut, the one for the feebleminded, the one—” Gladys cut herself off, shook her head. “It's for his own good, they say. Ha. That home is fine for those who need it, but Emil doesn't belong there, he's a whole different story.” She gave a bitter laugh. “Well, that's the whole problem. Emil's different, and they just can't stand that. They can't
let
anyone be different. Now you tell me, how is Emil going to stand Up for himself against them?”

“I don't know.” Madeline frowned at the letter again. “But that's his home. He'll have to fight back somehow. We'll have to help him.”

 

 

Gladys heard Madeline's
determination when she said they'd have to help Emil. She watched her lean over Greyson's picture, giving it every bit of her attention.
Oh, Gladys
, she said to herself.
What a foolish old woman you are. What are you waiting for? There's nothing to fear in Madeline Stone. She is not Jackie. And even if she was, you'd have to tell her about Walter.

She'd almost let the cat out of the bag this afternoon, talking about the powers that be wanting to send Emil down to Crosscut to the home for the feebleminded. The home where Walter was. That was no way to tell Madeline she had a great-uncle living.

But what
was
the way? She'd left it too long, and it would only get more awkward every minute. She should have done it right off, like Arbutus said. But she hadn't known Madeline then. She'd wanted to protect Walter in case Madeline turned out to be just like her mother. Careless of people's feelings. Cruel, when she wanted to be. Always a taker, never a giver. Walter was such a sweet soul, there was no way Gladys had intended to subject him to anything like
that
again.

Gladys sighed, caught in the web of her doubts and Uncertainties and her own procrastination. Now it was going to be difficult, but she'd made this bed, so she would have to lie in it.
Show some spunk, old woman
, she told herself.
Stop dawdling.

W
alter Stone lived in a three-story Victorian festooned with cupolas and porches and gingerbread trim. It had been a grand house once, the home of a lumber baron who'd made his fortune off the timber surrounding Crosscut, but it had been a long time since its last coat of paint. The porch was cluttered with a sofa, rockers, an armchair, potted plants, a couple of folding tables with ashtrays and empty glasses on them. On nice days some of the residents liked to sit there, gazing out over the street.

Gladys walked Up to the door, gave a knock, and stepped into a bare, sunny living room. She caught a faint whiff of Urine and cleanser, and of pancakes. The walls were lined with easy chairs and rockers like those on the porch, some of them occupied. The men and women in them were old, dressed in thrift shop clothes. Some looked Up when she came in; others didn't seem to notice her.

A huge television was blaring. A bomb had just exploded in the Middle East; there was the sound of mortar fire from beneath the newscaster's voice. Gladys wished Ted Braith would turn the thing off when the news came on. These poor old folks didn't need to be subjected to it, besides which it made her think of Frank Junior. She'd hated seeing all that footage on the television back then, it never should have been allowed. She'd hated it in a way Frank Senior never Understood, and she'd been right, hadn't she?

Ted came toward her from the back, where the kitchen was. “Gladys! What brings you here again so soon?”

“I came to see Walter, what do you think? And why do you run that television so endlessly? No one needs to see that gore, shut it off.”

Ted, bless his heart, crossed the room and changed the channel to a cooking show—which Gladys found ridiculous but at least harmless—and waved her toward the stairs. “He's in his room. Go on Up.”

“Thank you, Ted.” Gladys touched his arm on her way past by way of apology.

Walter was lying on his bed, listening to his radio, but he sat Up when Gladys knocked. “Hello. Anybody home?” she said.

Walter grinned. “Nobody but an old hound dog.” This was their standard exchange and it always seemed to please him.

“How have you been?” Gladys asked, sitting in his easy chair.

“Good, good.”

“Good.” Walter gazed at her expectantly. Gladys cleared her throat. “Listen, Walter. You know I was just here the other day?”

“Oh, yes. It was Friday, you almost always come on Friday.”

“That's right.”

“You couldn't come for a while because you had to go and live in Chicago with your sister. Arbutus. Arbutus is a nice lady.”

“Yes, she is.”

“You don't usually come on Monday,” Walter said.

“No, that's right, I don't. I came for a special reason, today. I have something to tell you. It's exciting, I think. I hope you'll think so too.”

Walter sat on the edge of his bed, his hands folded in his lap. He waited for her to go on. She cleared her throat again.

“Walter, your great-niece Madeline has come back Up north. Do you remember Madeline?”

“Oh, yes! She was a pretty little baby. She was Jackie's baby.” His initially happy look faded and was replaced by one that was more pensive.

“That's right.”

They sat in a reflective silence. “I didn't like Jackie,” Walter said eventually. “Not once she got big.”

Gladys sighed. “No, I know. She was never nice to you. The truth is, Walter, I never liked her, either.”

Walter nodded.

“But that's neither here nor there. Madeline isn't Jackie, and she's back. Walter, I haven't told her about you yet. But I want to. I know she'd like to meet you. That is, she would if she knew. But I wanted to make sure it would be all right.”

“For her to meet me?”

“Yes.”

Walter nodded, smiling again. “Oh, yes. It's all right. Madeline was a pretty little baby. Joe let me hold her, I was careful. She always smiled for me. Joe said I was good with babies.”

Tears brimmed in Gladys's eyes and she clamped her lips together. At last she said, “That's right. Joe always did say you were good with babies. But Madeline's grown Up now.”

“Yes.”

“So I'll tell her about you.”

“All right.”

Gladys nodded. “I can't stay long. I have some other things to see to in town.”

“All right.”

“I'll see you soon, dear. Take care of yourself.”

“Bye,” Walter said, stretching back out on his bed.