The Stubborn Season. Lauren B. Davis
behind the heavy dark blue curtain.
Nosy old bitch. His hands were trembling slightly. Why did people have to stick their nose in? That was exactly the sort of talk that must be nipped in the bud. A medical man, such as himself, almost a physician really, must be seen to have a healthy and well-adjusted family. The community expected it.
Douglas heard a dignified and indignant snort from Mrs. Watkins and then the tinkle of the bell over the door. He reached behind the Annual Pharmacists Reference volumes and dabbled his fingers about until they settled on the smooth glass of the whisky bottle. As he unscrewed the lid, the peat and heather scent made him feel better immediately. He raised the bottle to his lips. Just a little toot. And another.
Margaret would snap out of it, as she always did, and there would follow a period of gaiety and good humour. Douglas treated himself to a wee nip more. She was not terribly ill. Everything at home would be just fine.
He pulled the day’s newspaper off the shelf where he kept it for quiet moments such as these, first pouring himself a last drop into a small tin cup he kept handy.
The paper had been full of economic encouragement ever since July, when the Conservatives had won the federal election. R.B. Bennett was, in Douglas’s opinion, an arrogant blowhard whose predictions concerning the imminent end of the Depression were nothing more than election rhetoric. He sighed, chuckled to think how some people couldn’t see their own hands at the ends of their sleeves, and turned to the comics, eager to see what Moon Mullins was up to today.
Ebbie plunked herself down on the stoop and munched on an oatmeal cookie, not caring about the crumbs that dropped on her overalls. She had hoped that after her mother’s talk with him, Mr. MacNeil would let Irene come over and play, and she was mightily disappointed in her mother’s failure. Ebbie was not the most popular girl in school, or out of it for that matter. Summer vacation was half over, and without Irene, Ebbie was left out. It had been bad enough when school was still in session and Irene had to go home every day right after school, but at least they'd had classes together and recess. Irene had taught Ebbie how to skip double dutch. Without Irene she would have stayed under the elm tree, picking the scabs on her knee and chewing the ends of her hair. The kids never asked her to join in on anything. Only Irene asked her. Irene didn’t care what the other kids thought of Ebbie. Her mother had told her to leave it be, that there were some things you just couldn’t change and that if people didn’t want help you couldn’t force it on them. Maybe not, but for heaven’s sake, loyalty should be rewarded.
Ebbie finished her cookie, stood up and dusted off the seat of her pants. She marched along with strides as long as her legs would allow. Her hands were in fists and her arms bent, flailing at the air like a pint-sized prize fighter. She had made her mind up. She would march right up to the house and ring the bell.
Ebbie turned on to the pathway at 51 Homewood Avenue without slowing her step and mounted the stairs. She rang the bell and waited, her hands shoved deep inside her pockets, fraying the inside seams.
The door opened slightly and Irene herself peered around the door jamb. Her hazel eyes looked bigger than Ebbie remembered. The dress she wore was as neat and tidy as if she was on her way to school.
“Irene! Hi!”
Irene put her index finger up to her lips. She came out onto the doorstep and pulled the door shut very gently. She balanced on the step, as though not sure she should come out. Her mouth was squinched as small as could be.
“Ebbie, I’m so glad to see you,” she whispered.
Ebbie took her friend’s hand. It was small and still, hardly a live thing at all. “Are you okay? How come you’re all dressed up? Are you going somewhere?”
“We have to be quiet,” Irene said, still whispering. She nodded toward the window. “My mother’s lying down.”
“Well, then, why don’t you come out?”
“I can’t. I just can’t.”
“She won’t mind if she’s asleep.”
“No, not really asleep, I don’t think. But she’s lying down. She told me not to go out of the house. She might need something.” Irene’s eyes darted left and right, up and down the street.
“She won’t mind. I’m sure she won’t.”
Irene bit her lower lip and her eyes began to fill up with tears.
“I can’t, Ebbie. I just can’t come out.”
“Well, all right, then. Why don’t I come in and we can play Parcheesi or checkers or something?”
Irene brushed away her tears with the back of her hand.
“We’d make noise. She’d hear us. She doesn’t want anybody in the house.”
“I’ll be quiet as a mouse. Come on.”
“Irene! Who are you talking to?” Margaret’s voice was a sharp bark. Irene jumped, and her hands curled up against her breastbone. She reached out with one hand and opened the door a crack.
“Nobody, Mummy. Just Ebbie. She stopped by. Just for a minute.”
“Hi, Mrs. MacNeil!” Ebbie called out with a big grin on her face, even though she couldn’t see Irene’s mother. She craned her neck, trying to see around Irene’s shoulder and into the dim house. She felt a thrill like when she sat up late and listened to radio plays about spooky houses. “I just came to get Irene and go play for a while. We won’t be long.”
“Ebbie! No!” Irene shook her head wildly.
“Irene can’t go out,” came back the flat answer.
“Oh, please, just for an hour? Please?” Ebbie wheedled as Irene tried to clamp a hand over her mouth.
Mrs. MacNeil swung open the door and looked straight at Irene, as though Ebbie wasn’t even there. Irene instantly stepped back and stared down at her shoes, but Ebbie smiled up at Margaret like nothing in the world was wrong. Mrs. MacNeil wore no makeup, and her dark hair was dull and uncombed. Ebbie’s mother would never come to the door this way. Maybe Mrs. MacNeil really was sick. Her skin looked grey, and there were dark circles under her eyes.
“How are you, Mrs. MacNeil?”
“Irene can’t come out and play. I need her at home. Isn’t that right, Irene?”
“Yes, Mummy.”
“Well, how about if Irene and I just go into the back garden for a while? She’ll still be home then, in case you need her. And we won’t disturb you at all. I can be quiet as a mouse. We’ll just talk and be quiet and you won’t even know I’m here at all.”
Mrs. MacNeil entwined her fingers and held them together tightly, so that the knuckles became white and red.
“Is that what you want, Irene?”
Ebbie poked Irene in the small of the back and then took her hand, held it where Mrs. MacNeil couldn’t see. Irene squeezed.
“It might be nice. Just for a little while.”
“I see,” said her mother.
The girls waited.
“Yes, I see now,” said Mrs. MacNeil. Irene dropped Ebbie’s hand. “It’s very clear. Fine. If that’s what you want.”
“It’s okay, Mummy. Ebbie doesn’t have to stay.”
“No. If that’s the way you want it, I insist. Ebbie will stay today.” She raised her eyebrow. “One hour. No more.”
“Thanks, Mrs. MacNeil. We’ll be so quiet you won’t know we’re there.”
“Oh, I’ll know.” She stepped back and slammed the door.
Irene’s lips twitched.