The fountain was busy every summer Saturday afternoon, but it approached bedlam on that day. Mrs. Bowen could barely keep the sundae dishes and the soda glasses and the Coke glasses washed faster than Sonny could fill them.
Louis Ortiz came in suddenly and created an instant electric silence. Spoons of ice cream stopped halfway to mouths, sweet liquids ceased flowing in paper straws. Twenty-two pairs of eyes followed him to the cigar case. Mr. Bowen hurried from behind the prescription counter. Louis bought two packages of Fatima cigarettes and left, smiling and tipping his hat to the ladies. Noise returned with a rush. Women looked at each other and grinned. Little girls sniggered behind their hands.
Finney and Jack came in sedately, being exceptionally careful to create no parental ire that might block tonight’s visit to the Wonder Show. They looked back over their shoulders at Louis and stopped under the ceiling fan for a quick cool air bath. Then they leaned on the counter and looked at Sonny with shiny faces.
Sonny grinned at them, feeling good, thinking of last night, thinking of Evelyn, humming while he put extra nuts and extra fudge on sundaes and extra large scoops of ice cream on cones.
“A triple-dip, please, Sonny. One strawberry, one chocolate, and one tutti-frutti,” Finney said politely.
“The same for me,” Jack said.
“Comin’ right up.” Sonny pulled the cones and scooped the ice cream with a flourish, giving the dipper extra little clicks.
“Are you going to the Wonder Show again tonight, Sonny?” Finney asked, wanting to talk to someone new about it. Fie had completely exhausted Jack’s recollections and imagination.
“I don’t imagine,” Sonny answered, piling chocolate on strawberry.
“Me and Jack are. We wouldn’t miss it for anything. It was the most phantasmagorical event in the history of the world.”
Jack smiled in agreement. Mr. Bowen, finding himself in a lull, came over to help with the counter.
Sonny chuckled. “You may be right about that.” He presented them with the towering cones. Jack handed him fifteen cents.
Mr. Bowen sighed happily. “He managed to talk Mrs. Bowen and me into going tonight.”
“Wait’ll you see…” Finney began with a rush.
Mr. Bowen laughed and threw up his hands. “Please! You gave me a blow-by-blow account last night. I feel like I’ve already seen it.”
“It gives me the creeps just to think about it.” Mrs. Bowen shivered.
“Finney’s been so engrossed with the freak show,” Mr. Bowen confided to Sonny with a grin, “he didn’t even notice the new Amazing Stories came in yesterday.”
“What?” Finney shrieked.
“Only got three copies and they’re already sold out?” he said with mock sadness.
“What?” Finney shrieked again, his eyes bulging.
“Don’t bust a gusset.” Mrs. Bowen smiled, taking pity on her son. “I saved you one.”
Finney and Jack looked at each other, exhaling heavily. “You shouldn’t do that, Pop,” Finney said seriously. “It’s enough to make a person drop dead.”
“You boys run along and keep out of mischief.” Mr. Bowen chuckled.
They left, running their tongues in circles on balls of tutti-frutti ice cream perched on top of chocolate perched on strawberry. The Bowens and Sonny looked at each other and smiled.
It was a good day.
14.
“My party is going to be a disaster!” Rose Willet shrilled petulantly. “Francine is acting like a zombie. Half the girls I invited are going to that stupid freak show.”
She sat grimly on her bed, giving black looks at anything that moved. The only thing moving at the moment was her mother. She pulled an armload of bedclothes from the cedar chest.
“They can come over after the show, dear,” Mrs. Willet said as she moved toward the door, taking the bedclothes outside to air on the line.
“They’ll come straggling in all night. What fun will that be? Nobody’ll be here to help me; Sister and Lilah, both going off. Even you won’t be here to help me. What do you want to go to that stupid freak show for?”
“Yes, dear.” Mrs. Willet sighed and went out. She closed the door of the bedroom and leaned against it, exhaling wearily. “I don’t know which will be worse, a woman with snakes on her head or a house full of giggling girls,” she muttered to herself and went on downstairs, trying to see over the heap of linens in her arms.
Rose grunted and hit the flowered comforter with both fists. Her mother had washed and marcelled her hair that morning and it shone like gold leaf. Her new frock of chiffon mull was the color of daffodils. And her bottom lip protruded like a shovel.
She suddenly stood up and flounced from the room. She was halfway down the stairs when the wave of heat hit her.
Kelsey Armstrong.
She stopped and clutched the bannister. Her knees felt wobbly, but she resisted the impulse to sit on the steps. Why did he keep popping into her mind like a hot poker? She had tried all morning to bury the memory. Sometimes she could go half an hour, sometimes nearly an hour, with the memory completely suppressed and then, suddenly, as if someone had opened a furnace door, it was there, red and hot and burning.
My God!
My God!
My God!
What if her father were to find out. She was enveloped in gelid air. Why had she been so stupid? Why had she gone back to the tent show after Harold brought her home?
She continued on down the stairs, still hanging onto the bannister, forcing the memory away. She knocked on the door of the judge’s study. She heard a grumble that sounded like an invitation to enter. She willed Kelsey Armstrong from her thoughts and went in. Her father looked up from his book and smiled tolerantly. Tolerance was the closest thing to affection that he could manage.
“Daddy,” Rose said in a little-girl voice, “everyone’s leaving me alone tonight. How can I cope with my party without anyone to help me? You and Mama are going to the tent show, and Sister is going with Wash, and Lilah is spending the night with Mavis Peevey. How can I manage all alone? Can’t you make Lilah or Sister stay here and help me?”
The judge’s smile had gradually shrunk smaller and smaller until it disappeared completely. “You should have thought of that when you planned the party so suddenly this morning. You knew everyone had already made plans. Your mother did her utmost to convince you to postpone it until next Saturday.”
Kelsey Armstrong.
Was the heat showing in her face? She had to have the party tonight. Kelsey Armstrong wanted her to meet him again tonight. She had invented the party out of thin air. Now she had to have it tonight.
“But you always make Sister help me,” she whined.
“Grace Elizabeth and Wash Peacock are to be married this fall. If they want to see each other on Saturday night, I will not interfere. There is no more to be said.”
Rose turned and walked out like a wilted buttercup. “Yes, sir,” she muttered as she closed the door. She knew if the first wheedle didn’t work, a second was not only useless but dangerous.
Judge Willet looked at the closed door and sighed. How could a man be saddled with three such useless daughters? Grace Elizabeth was plain and bookish, and he was damned if he would have an old maid in the family. Lilah was delicate. Not physically; physically she had the constitution of a tractor, but emotionally. She was high-strung and suffered from frequent and opportunely timed headaches and fainting spells. Rose was high-spirited and subject to fits of temper and petulance. Why couldn’t he have had sons?
Rose wandered into the kitchen, her mind a muddle. If her father ever found out about last night, well, the consequences were beyond the limits of her imagination. Why had she lost control of herself?