back—hopefully.”
“He should be wearing a hat to cover the deed,” said Maggie. “But you know Am. No one tells him what to do.”
“Well, no one tells you what to do, either,” said Zel. “By the way, did you see Cora’s hat in the back pew this morning? All those feathers and wings. It looked as if it would fly up to the belfry at any moment.”
Maggie waved her off with laughter. “I didn’t see Cora’s hat,” she said. “I was having enough trouble staying with the music. Could you tell from where you were?”
“I saw that you were preoccupied,” said Zel, “and not by the notes on the page.”
“I lost focus. If
you
noticed, so did others. Well, maybe they did, maybe they didn’t. I don’t know what was wrong with me.” She looked past her friend and through the window, where a small bird, one she couldn’t identify, was flitting from branch to branch in a leafless tree. It settled and puffed out its throat as if rehearsing for a larger adventure. “What a beauty,” she said. “I don’t see many birds from the rooftop of our apartment. Anyway, most of the birds headed south weeks ago.”
“The almanac says we’re in for a long freeze,” said Zel. “Mrs. Leary made her declaration weeks ago.”
“Your tenant?”
“The same. When she isn’t reading her Bible, she has her nose in almanacs, past and present. She keeps a pencil on the sill in the parlour so she can mark passages in the Bible—and in the current almanac. I confess that I’m curious about what’s worthy of her attention, but so far I’ve resisted looking.”
“I wonder,” said Maggie. She tried to recall the kind of books Mrs. Leary and her husband borrowed from the library over the fire hall, where Maggie worked two afternoons a week. She thought of the titles she had entered in the register on their behalf: Sir Walter Scott novels,
Persuasive Peggy,
books about the Antipodes. Mr. Leary had requested
Tess of the d’Urbervilles
but it had been deemed too controversial for Deseronto’s citizens and had been removed years before. He’drequested, instead, something about circus clowns. She had nothing to give him about clowns, but he’d borrowed one of two copies the library owned of
The Life of P.T. Barnum.
That had satisfied him at the time, though he’d returned the book with stains on its cover. She had wanted to ask, “Tea? Moonshine?” but she’d held her tongue.
“Most days,” Zel went on, “the two of them stay in the parlour with the double doors closed. Except when they’re having meals. In the evening, Mrs. Leary putters in the kitchen, though she doesn’t cook anything fancy. A pity there isn’t more for them to see out the parlour windows—except the road and the old barn that’s falling down. They do like to watch the birds. I keep that room heated in winter just for the two of them. When I’m home, I’m always in the kitchen. Anyway, they love to sit in there during the daytime. Mrs. Leary reads by window light. She brought her rocker with her when she moved in. Her husband plays solitaire, but never on Sundays.”
Does he slap down the cards?
Maggie wanted to ask. Am had installed a shelf up in the tower—two shelves angled between beams. He kept a pack of cards on one of the shelves and sometimes played solitaire for hours at a time. From below she could hear every card as it snapped hard against the wood. Each time she heard
snap slap
she wanted to shout up to him:
Don’t you have work to do somewhere in the building?
She stopped herself. She hadn’t discussed Am’s behaviour with Zel. Except for the haircuts.
Zel went on. “In good weather, Mr. Leary goes for walks. I swear he keeps a bottle of something stashed somewhere, because I sometimes smell liquor when he returns. When he’sout, Mrs. Leary stays in the parlour and talks to herself. If he’s away for a long time, sometimes she’ll ask me to help her wash her hair.”
“Is that part of your
“He should be wearing a hat to cover the deed,” said Maggie. “But you know Am. No one tells him what to do.”
“Well, no one tells you what to do, either,” said Zel. “By the way, did you see Cora’s hat in the back pew this morning? All those feathers and wings. It looked as if it would fly up to the belfry at any moment.”
Maggie waved her off with laughter. “I didn’t see Cora’s hat,” she said. “I was having enough trouble staying with the music. Could you tell from where you were?”
“I saw that you were preoccupied,” said Zel, “and not by the notes on the page.”
“I lost focus. If
you
noticed, so did others. Well, maybe they did, maybe they didn’t. I don’t know what was wrong with me.” She looked past her friend and through the window, where a small bird, one she couldn’t identify, was flitting from branch to branch in a leafless tree. It settled and puffed out its throat as if rehearsing for a larger adventure. “What a beauty,” she said. “I don’t see many birds from the rooftop of our apartment. Anyway, most of the birds headed south weeks ago.”
“The almanac says we’re in for a long freeze,” said Zel. “Mrs. Leary made her declaration weeks ago.”
“Your tenant?”
“The same. When she isn’t reading her Bible, she has her nose in almanacs, past and present. She keeps a pencil on the sill in the parlour so she can mark passages in the Bible—and in the current almanac. I confess that I’m curious about what’s worthy of her attention, but so far I’ve resisted looking.”
“I wonder,” said Maggie. She tried to recall the kind of books Mrs. Leary and her husband borrowed from the library over the fire hall, where Maggie worked two afternoons a week. She thought of the titles she had entered in the register on their behalf: Sir Walter Scott novels,
Persuasive Peggy,
books about the Antipodes. Mr. Leary had requested
Tess of the d’Urbervilles
but it had been deemed too controversial for Deseronto’s citizens and had been removed years before. He’drequested, instead, something about circus clowns. She had nothing to give him about clowns, but he’d borrowed one of two copies the library owned of
The Life of P.T. Barnum.
That had satisfied him at the time, though he’d returned the book with stains on its cover. She had wanted to ask, “Tea? Moonshine?” but she’d held her tongue.
“Most days,” Zel went on, “the two of them stay in the parlour with the double doors closed. Except when they’re having meals. In the evening, Mrs. Leary putters in the kitchen, though she doesn’t cook anything fancy. A pity there isn’t more for them to see out the parlour windows—except the road and the old barn that’s falling down. They do like to watch the birds. I keep that room heated in winter just for the two of them. When I’m home, I’m always in the kitchen. Anyway, they love to sit in there during the daytime. Mrs. Leary reads by window light. She brought her rocker with her when she moved in. Her husband plays solitaire, but never on Sundays.”
Does he slap down the cards?
Maggie wanted to ask. Am had installed a shelf up in the tower—two shelves angled between beams. He kept a pack of cards on one of the shelves and sometimes played solitaire for hours at a time. From below she could hear every card as it snapped hard against the wood. Each time she heard
snap slap
she wanted to shout up to him:
Don’t you have work to do somewhere in the building?
She stopped herself. She hadn’t discussed Am’s behaviour with Zel. Except for the haircuts.
Zel went on. “In good weather, Mr. Leary goes for walks. I swear he keeps a bottle of something stashed somewhere, because I sometimes smell liquor when he returns. When he’sout, Mrs. Leary stays in the parlour and talks to herself. If he’s away for a long time, sometimes she’ll ask me to help her wash her hair.”
“Is that part of your
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