Read Online When Henry Came Home by Josephine Bhaer - Free Book Online Page A

mumbled sleepily, "what are you doing?" He jerked slightly at the sound of her voice. Sitting up on one elbow, she saw that he was struggling with his pants, and sank back to the bed. "Hen..." she said softly, hurt. She waited until he glanced at her, looking like a shame-faced child, and patted the bed. "Lay back down."
                  Slowly, he lifted his body from the chair to the edge of the bed and sat there, looking at the ground. After a moment, she sat up and touched his bare shoulder gently, feeling his skin cool under her fingers and somehow sensitive. She put her other hand on his other shoulder and leaned forward against his back. "Please, Hen," she whispered in his ear, "Please don't hurt yourself. I'm here—to help you."
                  He fingered the seam around the top of his pants, his fingers trembling. "I—didn't—at home--"
                  She stroked his hair. "I know you done it for yourself at home, but there ain't no reason to hurt now, there just ain't. I'm here. We help each other out."
                  For a moment, his breath held, and then he sort of shuddered, letting it out. He cleared his throat. "A man—oughta be able to put on his—his own pants."
                  "Sure, he oughta. Things ain't always like they oughta be, either, but if you're thinkin' that way then you've already proved yourself, ain't you?" She was a little angry, but not much.
                  He shook his head, slightly. "I shouldn'ta—shouldn'ta--"
                  Mary didn't fill up the silence with words. She waited, holding him tight around his shoulders. He closed his eyes. "Now, I know you," she whispered tenderly, "so I know what you meant ain't against me. But if you're thinkin' you done me wrong by marryin' me, you're dead wrong. I knew with my eyes wide open how it was gonna be. Your Ma--" she stopped, drifting off.
                  Henry looked at her over his shoulder, eyes mournful. "My Ma—what?" he asked, knowing already.
                  She hugged him close, kissing the top of his head. "She—warned me. Told me… what you couldn’t do." Feeling him tense, she put one hand on his chest and ran her fingers through his hair again. "Don't be angry, Hen," she pleaded, soft. "She only meant the best for you, and I didn't care anyhow."
                  "But I--"
                  "Shhh. I figger the best things only come from hard work, and I don't know why folks expect love to be any differn't than the rest." She shifted around on her knees and stepped off the bed, facing him. He looked down at his hands, still fingering the seam of his pants. Slowly, Mary put one hand out, and rested it on top of his. He stilled, and when she pulled back the fabric slipped from his fingers. For a moment she held the pair of pants to her body, then knelt at his feet. She looked up at him. "Is this all right, Hen?" she whispered.
                  He closed his eyes and nodded, barely, turning his face away.
                  Carefully, she slipped them on. "Put your hands on my shoulders," she said, at length, and for a moment they struggled together, silently. At last he stood and she put her arms around him, holding him steady. "It'll get easier," she whispered in his ear, fierce. "I promise, Hen. I promise."

Chapter Four
     
                  Henry leaned back in the barber's chair.
                  "How d'you like your place?" The barber bent forward and slicked wet fingers through Henry's hair, getting it ready for a trim. He smelled strongly of shaving cream and shoe polish.
                  "Fine," said Henry. "Just fine."
                  "Hank let me in there, few months back, b'fore you rented it out—mite small, ain't it?"
                  "No." The comment was short, but not unpleasant. The barber began to