guests, not family. Call me Olive, or Miss Olive if you need to. I want to see the house. Merlin told me what a good job you did with it. How nice the floors turned out. Didn’t know all that wood was under there. I made sure the tennis balls are on tight so I didn’t ruin them.”
Olive raised herself up on the walker her grandson placed carefully before her. A tiny woman, her black eyes as bright and curious as one of the squirrels in the pecan tree, she moved across the porch at a fairly good pace. Her lace-collared, flowered dress hiked up in the back as she bent over and showed a bit of her slip. She entered Jane’s house, peeking into the small living room where Jane had laid down a tan and white cotton rug and furnished with two overstuffed chairs and a comfortably battered brown leather sofa. The television hid in an old cypress cabinet. Small local works of art enlivened the walls.
Olive thumped across the hall. “What do you call this room?”
A desk of dark cherry wood held her computer. A rug, faux oriental from Lowe’s, covered the floor. Crowded bookcases covered the walls everywhere except the two window spaces and the small, corner fireplace.
“My library. I guess that’s sort of pretentious.”
“Nope, you got enough books for it. See, I told you she has class, Granny,” Merlin said.
“Those fireplaces work now? We closed them up to keep out the draft,” the old lady said. All four of the original rooms had them built into corners sharing the two brick chimneys on either side of the house.
“Yes, they do. Not that we need them very much in south Louisiana.”
“Folks used to keep low fires burning to cut the humidity even in summer.”
“Interesting, I did not know that. Sometimes on a rainy night I make a fire and run the air conditioner at the same time. I know I’m wasting energy, but…”
“Enjoy life while you can and don’t worry so much,” Olive advised. “Old age comes quick enough.” She thumped off to the next room and, without a moment of hesitation, threw open the door to Jane’s bedroom.
“A brass bed, I knew it,” Merlin commented from behind the two women.
Jane’s eyes went immediately to her nightie and matching sea foam green robe hung over the footboard. Her silly, pink bunny slippers peeked out from under a bed skirt the color of spring foliage like shy, woodland creatures. In a hurry to start her preparations that morning, she hadn’t pulled up the floral-sprigged comforter or fluffed her pillows. Her jewelry and makeup covered the top of a light oak dresser helter-skelter. Slung over a chair upholstered in fabric that matched the comforter her dress from dancing at Mulate’s failed to cover the underwear on its seat.
“Green lace,” Merlin said, his voice deepening with regret as if he’d thrown away a great opportunity.
“We don’t mention a lady’s unmentionables, even if she leaves them out where everyone can see, boy,” Miss Olive corrected.
“Sorry, I had no time to clean this morning. I baked a pecan pie. Would you like some pie? Let’s go to the kitchen.” Jane shut her bedroom door the second Olive Tauzin’s rear cleared the jamb.
“I want to see the other bedroom where Herve and me used to sleep.”
For a cripple, the old lady could move. She flung open that door and registered her disappointment. “Not much in here.”
Jane’s dusty treadmill sat in the middle of the room facing a small, portable TV on a stand. “I haven’t decorated in here yet, but when I can afford the furniture, I’ll make a guest bedroom. The bath turned out nice. Would you like to see the bath?”
At least, she had taken the time to scrub that and put out fresh towels for her visitors in case either of them needed to use the facilities. Right next door, it had been added to the rear of the house just like the kitchen, hence her fear of streaking across the hall to her bedroom when Merlin lurked by her refrigerator the other night.
Not lemons
Olive raised herself up on the walker her grandson placed carefully before her. A tiny woman, her black eyes as bright and curious as one of the squirrels in the pecan tree, she moved across the porch at a fairly good pace. Her lace-collared, flowered dress hiked up in the back as she bent over and showed a bit of her slip. She entered Jane’s house, peeking into the small living room where Jane had laid down a tan and white cotton rug and furnished with two overstuffed chairs and a comfortably battered brown leather sofa. The television hid in an old cypress cabinet. Small local works of art enlivened the walls.
Olive thumped across the hall. “What do you call this room?”
A desk of dark cherry wood held her computer. A rug, faux oriental from Lowe’s, covered the floor. Crowded bookcases covered the walls everywhere except the two window spaces and the small, corner fireplace.
“My library. I guess that’s sort of pretentious.”
“Nope, you got enough books for it. See, I told you she has class, Granny,” Merlin said.
“Those fireplaces work now? We closed them up to keep out the draft,” the old lady said. All four of the original rooms had them built into corners sharing the two brick chimneys on either side of the house.
“Yes, they do. Not that we need them very much in south Louisiana.”
“Folks used to keep low fires burning to cut the humidity even in summer.”
“Interesting, I did not know that. Sometimes on a rainy night I make a fire and run the air conditioner at the same time. I know I’m wasting energy, but…”
“Enjoy life while you can and don’t worry so much,” Olive advised. “Old age comes quick enough.” She thumped off to the next room and, without a moment of hesitation, threw open the door to Jane’s bedroom.
“A brass bed, I knew it,” Merlin commented from behind the two women.
Jane’s eyes went immediately to her nightie and matching sea foam green robe hung over the footboard. Her silly, pink bunny slippers peeked out from under a bed skirt the color of spring foliage like shy, woodland creatures. In a hurry to start her preparations that morning, she hadn’t pulled up the floral-sprigged comforter or fluffed her pillows. Her jewelry and makeup covered the top of a light oak dresser helter-skelter. Slung over a chair upholstered in fabric that matched the comforter her dress from dancing at Mulate’s failed to cover the underwear on its seat.
“Green lace,” Merlin said, his voice deepening with regret as if he’d thrown away a great opportunity.
“We don’t mention a lady’s unmentionables, even if she leaves them out where everyone can see, boy,” Miss Olive corrected.
“Sorry, I had no time to clean this morning. I baked a pecan pie. Would you like some pie? Let’s go to the kitchen.” Jane shut her bedroom door the second Olive Tauzin’s rear cleared the jamb.
“I want to see the other bedroom where Herve and me used to sleep.”
For a cripple, the old lady could move. She flung open that door and registered her disappointment. “Not much in here.”
Jane’s dusty treadmill sat in the middle of the room facing a small, portable TV on a stand. “I haven’t decorated in here yet, but when I can afford the furniture, I’ll make a guest bedroom. The bath turned out nice. Would you like to see the bath?”
At least, she had taken the time to scrub that and put out fresh towels for her visitors in case either of them needed to use the facilities. Right next door, it had been added to the rear of the house just like the kitchen, hence her fear of streaking across the hall to her bedroom when Merlin lurked by her refrigerator the other night.
Not lemons
Similar Books
