Jubilee's Journey (Wyattsville #2)(86)

“Daddy made me promise never to be a coal miner,” he said, “and that’s why me and Jubilee came looking for Aunt Anita.”

“Well, I guess that will be an easy enough promise to keep,” Olivia said with a laugh, “because there’s no coal mine in Wyattsville.” After that she asked about Aunt Anita—had he ever met her, had his mother ever spoken of her, did he know what she was like, were there more letters?

All of her questions came back with a simple no. The answers, however ugly they might be, had gone to the grave with Ruth. Two sisters knew the truth of what had happened. One of them was dead and the other unlikely to tell.

Olivia moved on and spoke about going shopping for clothes. “You’re going to need everyday clothes, something to wear to church and for school...” By the time the dishes were put away, she’d decided he also needed a bicycle. Tomorrow they would go shopping. Looking for a new apartment would have to wait a few more days.





Once Paul had joined the others watching television, Olivia closed the kitchen door and picked up the telephone. She dialed the number and waited. After five rings, Anita answered.

“Who’s this?” she asked, no hello, no greeting.

“Good evening,” Olivia said in the nicest imaginable voice. “This is Olivia Doyle. I spoke with you last week about the possibility of having Jubilee live with us.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Anita answered. “I’m still thinking it over. I ain’t made up my mind yet.”

“I understand,” Olivia said, “but there’s something more I thought you should know. Jubilee’s brother is now with her, so he’ll also need a home.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line.

Olivia waited for an answer, but none came. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Yeah, I heard,” Anita finally answered. “Are you saying if I take one of those kids, I’ve got to take them both?”

“That would seem to be the best answer. After all, separating children who have gone through such trauma in their life would not be advantageous.”

“Not advantageous to who?”

“Why, to the children, of course.”

“What about me? You saw the size of the apartment I’ve got.”

Olivia knew that Anita was a woman standing on the sharp point of a needle—one wrong word and she could topple over, and if that happened there was no telling what she would do.

“Yes, I have seen your apartment,” she answered. “I can certainly see what you mean.”

“I’m not saying I don’t want the kids,” Anita clarified. “What I’m saying is that I need some time to think this thing over.”

“Fair enough,” Olivia replied. “I can keep the children with me until you’ve decided.” She started to say that it was far better than shipping them off to some foster home but cut the words short before they escaped into the air. A statement such as that might awaken the familial ties in Anita’s heart and cause her to feel compelled to protect her sister’s children.

Olivia breathed a sigh of relief and hung up the telephone.

Unfortunately she still didn’t know whether she’d be moving.





Clara



Every once in a while you hear a person say how it’s better to give than receive, and I can tell you it’s the honest-to-God truth. When Olivia Doyle came here, she was a shattered woman. Someone who’d wasted away to nothing more than a stretch of skin filled with the bones of what used to be. If ever a person needed a friend, it was Olivia.

I gave her that friendship. She didn’t take it willingly, but I forced it on her. When she said she was too busy to come to a party, I refused to take no for an answer. When she claimed she was too sorrowful to come to a club meeting, I said Poppycock and dragged her out the door. Taking care of Olivia gave me way more joy than she could ever know. It made me feel almost as happy as I was when my sweet Henry was still alive.

Giving Olivia my friendship didn’t cost me anything, but she’s willing to give up a life she loves to take care of those kids. I’m thinking I can’t let her do it.

There’s always another way to skin a cat, but the problem is Olivia’s not a woman to ask for help. Whatever needs to be done to keep her from making this mistake is gonna have to move ahead without her.

I’m gonna talk to Seth Porter. Ten to one he’s got some thoughts on how to get the building bylaws changed.

No kids, no dogs—that’s not living; that’s just a bunch of old folks waiting to die. It’s time we put some life back into this old building.





No Children Allowed



On Monday Olivia began to scan the Wyattsville Daily looking for an apartment. There were four listings close by, but all four specified, “No kids, no pets.” Those words were in bold face type. She moved on to the listing for houses. There was a three-bedroom ranch and two four-bedroom colonials, all of which were beyond her price range.

“Oh, dear,” Olivia said and ran her finger down the column of listings again. This time she spotted a tiny ad, just two lines, no bold face type. “For rent” it read. “4 bedrooms, 1 bath, large yard, doghouse.”

She dialed the number listed and waited. After five rings a voice answered. “If you’re calling about the apartment,” a woman said, “Mister Coney isn’t here. Call back later.”