Jack (Gilead #4)(91)
Della looked them over. “You think I’m pretty.”
“Yes, but the expression of the eyes is wrong. Look at me.” He studied her face. She studied his.
Then Della’s mother came into the room, arm in arm with Aunt Delia. Jack stood. Her mother said, breathily, “Mr. Boughton, I hope you can stay for dinner. It will just be the family. You’ll be very welcome.”
Jack said, “Thank you. That’s very kind. But I really should be going.”
Della said, “Thank you, Mama. He’ll stay.”
And Delia said, “Of course he will stay!”
* * *
Sweet savors. His father said the essence of the thing was that fragrance ascending. Who would suppose some flustered, crotchety old chicken could yield up such perfumes? Grace upon grace. The Old Gent had blessed their dinner in just these terms, sometimes having skipped breakfast to appreciate it properly. Jack felt a pang of longing to be in his father’s house. He was thinking, I could pray your prayers, I could sing your hymns, I could bless your dinner. I shouldn’t be such a stranger here. Or in my father’s house, for that matter. Why do these embarrassments always feel new?
Della said, “It will be all right.” And then she said, “If it isn’t, what will it matter?” True enough. No real problem would be solved at best, or made worse if it all went wrong, and dinner would be a good thing in any case.
He said, softly, “I know a man in St. Louis who might help us out a little.” This was Hutchins. There was a fundamental kindness behind his disapproval that, who knows, might prevail in the circumstances. Which should not have arisen, as he would say, and Jack would not grant. But there must be some ladies in the church who would love to help bring a baby into the world. That desk clerk at the old place might not mind too much if Della stayed there for a while, discreetly, of course, until they found other arrangements. For all his threats he never did call the cops. Maybe Teddy had gone on leaving money at the other place. That fellow might not have seen his way clear to give Teddy the note, and if he had put maybe half of the money aside like he did while Jack was in prison, it would have added up. Jack was not in the habit of mustering hopes, since they invited disappointment, a possibility that aroused anxieties in him that actually seemed to summon disappointment.
Della said, “Jack?” wanting his attention, and he realized that her mother had come to ask them to sit down for dinner. Della showed him where he could wash his hands and his face, and then he came into the dining room. It was set with ten places, six of them empty. Della’s father was not in the room.
“Julia,” her mother said, “go find your brothers.”
Julia was gone and came back and whispered something to her mother. “Yes, they will come to dinner!” her mother whispered loudly. “This minute!”
Jack stood up, about to excuse himself, and the lady of the house said, “You just sit down!” as if she’d forgotten he wasn’t one of hers, a pleasant thought. And then, “Where’s Delia now? Where’s she off to?” and she left the room to answer her own question while the handsome dinner cooled.
Delia came in with two tall boys, teenagers, who glanced at him and shared looks, drew their chairs out noisily and slouched in them, kidding around with each other a little, as if furtively. Then Marcus came into the room with Julia, and stood behind his chair as though he could not make the final concession and sit down in it. His mother said, “We won’t start without your father,” so Marcus left and Julia followed him, then Delia. Their mother said, out loud to herself, “Everything’s going to be stone cold.”
One of the teenagers turned to him and said, “Hi there, Jack.”
The other one said, “How’s it going, Jack?” Then he said, “No, wait a minute. Jack’s dead!”
“Yeah! Didn’t he choke to death on a chicken bone?” They laughed uproariously.
Della said, “Jack the cat. Sorry.”
Their mother shook her head. “What have I done to deserve such children!”
The older boy said, “We’re not minding our manners. Isn’t somebody going to send us to our room?”
“Yeah! Put your foot down, Mama!”
“If you keep on this way, you’re going to be sitting in those chairs till your beards are gray. We have company!”
“Oh, sorry, we didn’t realize he was company. He just kind of showed up, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, like a stray cat.” They laughed and laughed. “Now do we have to go to our room?”
Their mother said, “I am so ashamed of you. I didn’t know you could be so rude.”
“Well, where’s Papa? Where’s Marcus?”
“Yeah?”
“Never you mind. Sit up straight and act your age!”
Jack stood up. “Yes, well, thank you, Mrs. Miles, but I have to go.” He realized he had put his hand to his face, hiding that damn scar. But the bishop walked in, with Delia and Julia and Marcus and another brother whose name he didn’t know. The older man stood at the head of the table and said, “Heavenly Father—” Then everyone stood up. Jack couldn’t very well walk out during grace. Then Della put her arm through his and said, “This man is my husband. If he leaves, I go with him.” No one wanted that, Jack least of all. Go where? Do what? And with a wife to think about! It was brilliant. Her mother was saying, “Please stay!” And the boys were saying, “We’re sorry, Della! We didn’t mean it.” And her father was saying, “We should all calm down and enjoy this fine meal together!” The thing that would have been Jack’s fiercely guarded secret if it were not obvious to everyone, that he was a hungry man with no money in his pockets, was certainly a consideration for all of them, for Jack definitely. After he had filled his plate, with proud restraint to spare himself that appearance of mendicancy he so often had reason to dread, Della filled it again twice. It was all very good. Marcus attempted conversation—“I understand you’re a country boy.” This rankled Jack a little, because it was probably true.