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Authors: J. California Cooper
Tags: Fiction
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and make delivery hisself.
For the first time, Mr. Forest had specified when they must be returned. He didn’t want to be at the shop all day, so the date and the afternoon were specified. He remembered Lily’s face, vaguely, as unattractive, but he remembered her. There was something he could not put his finger on, exactly. He only knew he wanted to be there when, and if, she came.
Maddy’s leg, back, and feet really did ache, hurt, and discomfort him. Lily was acting like she didn’t want to go, but he would have had to ask her to go anyway.
Lily Bea took a book to read on the bus. She had started smiling in pleasure even a block away from Maddy; she loved the freedom, but she loved the ride across town just as much. The chance to see the better side of the city, the beautiful clothes, the grand homes that the bus passed. Her own dreams, fragilely thin as they were, fluttered, lifted. “Oh, not for me; never for me. But just to know all this beauty, this kind of life, is out here . . . for somebody.”
A shadow flickered across Lily’s face. “It is almost painful to have to travel back to that dim, dark, little, dingy, stingy, strange shop where my life waits for me.” She threw those thoughts from her mind so they would not ruin her day. “I have enough of that when I am there!” She opened the book of
World’s Art Treasures
she had brought.
Mr. Forest was standing at his wide windows, his arms crossed behind him and a frown on his face as he looked up the street toward the bus stop. He did not have to wait there long. He recognized her by the box she carried. He nodded in her direction, and wondered why he had been thinking of this woman. “She is not attractive, after all. My friend was right.”
Lily smiled, in more pleasure, at the man, and the shop, where she had enjoyed herself briefly. He saw that smile, and was transported again. He felt her presence again. He took the box from her, and setting it on the counter, turned back to her, saying, “And, so, you are back. How are you?”
Lily Bea stood there smiling. She even giggled a little, embarrassed or self-conscious, thinking, “He doesn’t want an answer.”
At her smile, her eyes, her little laughter, he was becoming entranced again. “You must wait to be paid.” He reached for her book. “What is that book you have?” She gave the book to him, with the same smile.
“Ahhhhh, art! You are interested in art?”
Lily Bea nodded, and began to speak about the book. She pointed to her bookmark. “I’m reading about Colombian art, but I think I love all art. I’m going to get a book on cathedrals, the ancient cathedrals and temples. I like to study old and strange architecture and art. But they had some special pieces in this book, so I took it out.”
Her voice, passed from her lips like misty, cultured pearls, went through his ears, encircling his brain, gently, marvelously. The sound quieted his nerves. They spoke, over the book, at length. Her voice hypnotized him. “She is beautiful,” he thought.
Weldon Forest wanted to give her something. (His heart was a generous one.) As he listened to her, he looked at her manner, her clothes. He thought, “Surely, a little Negro lady would like a lot of things. And this lady likes books, as well.”
He felt her powers, her gifts, though he did not understand his feelings. But, the next time he had things for the Clean Cleaners, he took them down his own self.
You may know there is a quality, a gift, some people have. It emanates from their heart and spirit. It imbues their body with an aura that issues from their mind, through their skin . . . to other people who have receptive hearts and minds: those who have beauty in their souls. Lily Bea’s mind was more innocent than some children. It was such a glowing gift. Ephemeral beauty . . . unseen, but felt, in certain people. By the right eyes, hands, and hearts. It must be God Who gives this gift. It is given to few, yet . . . Mystical.
For the first time, Mr. Forest had specified when they must be returned. He didn’t want to be at the shop all day, so the date and the afternoon were specified. He remembered Lily’s face, vaguely, as unattractive, but he remembered her. There was something he could not put his finger on, exactly. He only knew he wanted to be there when, and if, she came.
Maddy’s leg, back, and feet really did ache, hurt, and discomfort him. Lily was acting like she didn’t want to go, but he would have had to ask her to go anyway.
Lily Bea took a book to read on the bus. She had started smiling in pleasure even a block away from Maddy; she loved the freedom, but she loved the ride across town just as much. The chance to see the better side of the city, the beautiful clothes, the grand homes that the bus passed. Her own dreams, fragilely thin as they were, fluttered, lifted. “Oh, not for me; never for me. But just to know all this beauty, this kind of life, is out here . . . for somebody.”
A shadow flickered across Lily’s face. “It is almost painful to have to travel back to that dim, dark, little, dingy, stingy, strange shop where my life waits for me.” She threw those thoughts from her mind so they would not ruin her day. “I have enough of that when I am there!” She opened the book of
World’s Art Treasures
she had brought.
Mr. Forest was standing at his wide windows, his arms crossed behind him and a frown on his face as he looked up the street toward the bus stop. He did not have to wait there long. He recognized her by the box she carried. He nodded in her direction, and wondered why he had been thinking of this woman. “She is not attractive, after all. My friend was right.”
Lily smiled, in more pleasure, at the man, and the shop, where she had enjoyed herself briefly. He saw that smile, and was transported again. He felt her presence again. He took the box from her, and setting it on the counter, turned back to her, saying, “And, so, you are back. How are you?”
Lily Bea stood there smiling. She even giggled a little, embarrassed or self-conscious, thinking, “He doesn’t want an answer.”
At her smile, her eyes, her little laughter, he was becoming entranced again. “You must wait to be paid.” He reached for her book. “What is that book you have?” She gave the book to him, with the same smile.
“Ahhhhh, art! You are interested in art?”
Lily Bea nodded, and began to speak about the book. She pointed to her bookmark. “I’m reading about Colombian art, but I think I love all art. I’m going to get a book on cathedrals, the ancient cathedrals and temples. I like to study old and strange architecture and art. But they had some special pieces in this book, so I took it out.”
Her voice, passed from her lips like misty, cultured pearls, went through his ears, encircling his brain, gently, marvelously. The sound quieted his nerves. They spoke, over the book, at length. Her voice hypnotized him. “She is beautiful,” he thought.
Weldon Forest wanted to give her something. (His heart was a generous one.) As he listened to her, he looked at her manner, her clothes. He thought, “Surely, a little Negro lady would like a lot of things. And this lady likes books, as well.”
He felt her powers, her gifts, though he did not understand his feelings. But, the next time he had things for the Clean Cleaners, he took them down his own self.
You may know there is a quality, a gift, some people have. It emanates from their heart and spirit. It imbues their body with an aura that issues from their mind, through their skin . . . to other people who have receptive hearts and minds: those who have beauty in their souls. Lily Bea’s mind was more innocent than some children. It was such a glowing gift. Ephemeral beauty . . . unseen, but felt, in certain people. By the right eyes, hands, and hearts. It must be God Who gives this gift. It is given to few, yet . . . Mystical.
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