My perfect military bearin was so admirable I just knew that ole lady would be impressed. Doctors weren't so special. Dancers either. But a five-star general--that was impressive! Nobody had a name longer than mine. General Bartholomew Scott Winslow Sheffield. Even Jory Janus Marquet Sheffield was not so long, not so good soundin. Just wait until the enemy knew who was in charge of the war.
Should have been that creepy ole butler w
ho opened the door, but it was the ole lady herself. I'd seen her a few times in her yard. She held the door open a slot and stingily allowed a long wedge of sunlight to shine on her floor. "Bart . . . ?" she whispered, her voice surprised and happy. Was she really so glad to see me? Gee, and she didn't even know me yet.
"Bart, how wonderful! I was hoping you'd come."
"Step aside, Madame!" I commanded. "My men got you surrounded." Made my voice deep and gruff to scare the living lights out of her. "No use resistin. Better to give up and raise yer white flag. The odds are all against you."
"Oh, Bart," she said with silly giggles. "It's so sweet of you to accept my invitation. Sit down and talk to me. Tell me about yourself, your life. Tell me if you're happy; if your brother is happy, if you like where you live, and love your parents. I want to know everything!"
Forcefully I kicked the door to behind me, as all good generals did. BANG! To see her blue eyes smilin while her lips were covered by that dratted black veil was very weird. My tough military composure vanished. Why'd she have to wear that scary veil? "Lady," I said weakly, feeling young and timid again, "you did call over the wall yesterday. You said you wanted me to come over when I was lonely. I sneaked over . . ."
"Sneaked?" she asked in an odd voice. "Do you have to slip away from your parents? Do they punish you often?"
"Naw," I said. "Wouldn't do them no good. Couldn't hurt me with spankins; couldn't starve me for I don't like food anyway." I hung my head and whispered, "Momma and Daddy tole me not to pester rich ole ladies who live in big spooky houses next door."
"Oh!" she said with a sigh. "Do you have a great many big spooky houses next door with rich old ladies inside?"
"Heck no, ma'am," I drawled, then sauntered over to a wall in a pretty parlor where I could look out and see who was comin, who was goin. I slouched against the wall and took the makins for a good smoke from my pocket and rolled my own as she sat down in a rocker to watch. She kept watchin me blow smoke rings in her air, faintly smilin as they wreathed around her head. Stupid veil puffed in and out as she breathed. Wonder if she slept with that thing over her head and face.
"Bart, often I hear you and your brother talking in your yard. I use a stepladder sometimes to look over the wall--I hope you don't mind." Wouldn't answer. Blew smoke rings right in her face. "Please talk, Bart . . . sit down and relax, feel comfortable, feel at home. I want my house to feel like your home, open to you and Jory. My own life is so lonely, all I have is myself and John Amos, my butler. To have a real family living next door is so comforting. You can say anything you want to me, anything at all."
Wasn't nothin to say--but here was an adult who wanted to listen. What could we talk about? "People shouldn't spy on me and my brother."
"I wasn't spying," she said in a hurry, "just taking care of my roses that climb the wall and need pruning-- and I can't help if I overhear, can I?"
Spy. That's what she was. Ground out the butt of my cigarette with my dusty boot heel. Sun was gettin in my eyes again, makin me tilt the brim of my hat. Ole Devil sun was makin me thirsty. "Ma'am, ya'll done asked me over and here ah is . . . so get t' the point."
"Bart, if you take a chair, we'll have
refreshments soon. See that bell-pull? My maid will bring in ice cream and cake. It is a long time until lunch, so your appetite shouldn't be spoiled."
Might as well stay a bit longer. Fell into a soft chair and fixed my eyes on her feet, which could barely be seen. Was she wearing high heels?--fancy sandals?-- painted toenails? Then in the door came a pretty Mexican maid with a tray full of goodies. Wow-wow! The maid smiled at me, nodded to the lady, then disappeared. I politely accepted what she gave me--not enough of anything--and set to. Didn't like food that was good for me; it tasted so bad. I stood up to go as soon as I polished off my treats.
"Thank you, ma'am, for takin kindly to an ole cowpoke who just ain't used to yer kind of hospitality. I've got to be amblin on now. . . ."
"All right, if you have to go," she said sadly, and I felt sorry for her livin with servants only, no kids like me. "Come back tomorrow if you want, and bring Jory with you. I'll have whatever you want . . ."
"Don't want to bring Jory!"
"Why not?"
"You're my secret! He gets to do everything. I never get to do nothin! Nobody ever likes me."
"I like you."
Gee, she made me feel good. I peeked at her face, but couldn't see anythin but her blue eyes. "Why do you like me?" I asked with so much wonder-- nobody else did.
"I don't just like you, Bart Winslow," she said queerly, "I love you."
"Why?" I didn't believe her. Ladies fell at first sight for Jory, never for me.
"Once I had two sons, now I don't," she said with her eyes cast down and her voice sad and tight. "Then I wanted to have another son by my second husband, and I couldn't." She looked up and met my eyes. "So I want you to take the place of the third son I couldn't have. I'm very rich, Bart. I can give you anything you want."
"My heart's desire--my real heart's desire?"
"Yes, anything that can be bought with money, I can give you."