"She needs one."
Eleanor had never heard of an animal being scrubbed with Ivory Snow! But it was the durndest thing-Glendon had never been able to do a thing with that stubborn old cuss, but after her bath, Madam did anything Will wanted her to. She followed him around like a trained puppy. Sometimes Eleanor would catch Will looking into Madam’s eye and whispering to her, as if the two of them shared secrets.
One evening Will surprised everyone by showing up at the back porch with Madam on a hackamore.
"What’s this?" Eleanor stepped to the door, followed by Donald Wade and Baby Thomas.
Will grinned and hoped he wasn’t about to make a fool of himself. "Madam and me… well, we’re goin’ to Atlanta and we’ll take any passengers who want to come along."
"Atlanta!" Eleanor panicked. Atlanta was forty miles away. What did he want in Atlanta? Then she saw the grin on his lips.
"She said she wanted to see a Claudette Colbert movie," Will explained.
Suddenly Eleanor understood. She released a peal of laughter while Will rubbed Madam’s nose. Foolery wasn’t easy for him-it was apparent-so she appreciated it all the more. She stood in the doorway with a hand on Donald Wade’s head, inquiring, "Anybody want a ride on Madam?" Then, to Will, "You sure she’s safe?"
"As a lamb."
From the porch Eleanor watched as Will led the smiling boys around the yard on Madam’s back, that back so broad their legs protruded parallel with the earth. Donald Wade rode behind Thomas with his arms folded around the baby’s stomach. Surprisingly, Baby Thomas wasn’t frightened. He clutched Madam’s mane and gurgled in delight.
In the days following that ride, Donald Wade took to trailing after Will just as Madam did. He pitched a fit if Eleanor said, no, it was time for a nap, or no, Will would be doing something that might be dangerous. Nearly always, though, Will would interject, "Let the boy come. He’s no trouble."
One morning while she was mixing up a spice cake the pair showed up at the back porch with saws, nails and lumber.
"What’re you two up to now?" Eleanor asked, stepping to the screen door, stirring, a bowl against her stomach.
"Will and me are gonna fix the porch floor!" Donald Wade announced proudly. "Ain’t we, Will?"
"Sure are, short stuff." Will glanced up at Eleanor. "I could use a piece of wool rag if you got one."
She fetched the rag, then watched while Will patiently sat on the step and showed Donald Wade how to clean a rusty sawblade with steel wool and oil and a piece of soft wool. The saw, she noticed, was miniature. Where he’d found it she didn’t know, but it became Donald Wade’s. Will had another larger one he’d cleaned and sharpened days ago. When the smaller saw was clean, Will clamped the blade between his knees, took a metal file from his back pocket and showed Donald Wade how a blade is sharpened.
"You ready now?" he asked the boy.
"Yup."
"Then let’s get started."
Donald Wade was nothing but a nuisance, getting in Will’s way most of the time. But Will’s patience with the boy was inexhaustible. He set him up with his own piece of wood on the milking stool, showed him how to anchor it with a knee and get started, then set to work himself, sawing lumber to replace the porch floor. When Donald Wade’s saw refused to comply, Will interrupted his work and curled himself over the boy, gripping his small hand, pumping it until a piece of wood fell free. Eleanor felt her heart expand as Donald Wade giggled and looked up with hero-worship in his eyes. "We done it, Will!"
"Yup. Sure did. Now come over here and hand me a few nails."
The nails, Eleanor noticed, were rusty, and the wood slightly warped. But within hours he had the porch looking sturdy again. They christened it by sitting on the new steps in the sun and eating spice cake topped with Herbert’s whipped cream.
"You know"-Eleanor smiled at Will-"I sure like the sound of the hammer and saw around the place again."
"And I like the smell of spice cake bakin’ while I work."
The following day they painted the entire porch-floor in brick red, and posts in white.
At the "New Porch Party" she served gingerbread and whipped cream. He ate enough for two men and she loved watching him. He put away three pieces, then rubbed his stomach and sighed. "That was mighty good gingerbread, ma’am." He never failed to show appreciation, though never wordily. "Fine dinner, ma’am," or "Much obliged for supper, ma’am." But his thanks made her efforts seem worthwhile and filled her with a sense of accomplishment she’d never known before.
He loved his sweets and couldn’t seem to get enough of them. One day when she hadn’t fixed dessert he looked let-down, but made no remarks. An hour after the noon meal she found a bucket of ripe quince sitting on the porch step.
The pie-she’d forgotten. She smiled at his reminder and glanced across the yard. He was nowhere to be seen as she picked up the bucket and headed inside and began to mix up a piecrust.
For Will Parker those first couple of weeks at Eleanor Dinsmore’s place were unadulterated heaven. The work-why, hell-the work was a privilege, the idea that he could choose what he wanted to do each day. He could cut wood, patch porch floors, clean barns or wash mules. Anything he chose, and nobody said, "Boy, you supposed to be here? Boy, who tol’ you to do that?" Madam was a pleasurable animal, reminded him of the days when he’d done wrangling and had had a horse of his own. He flat liked everything about Madam, from the hairs on her lumpy nose to her long, curved eyelashes. And at night now, he brought her into the barn and made his own bed beside her in one of the box stalls that were cleaned and smelled of sweet grass.
Then came morning, every one better than the last. Morning and Donald Wade trailing along, providing company and doting on every word Will said. The boy was turning out to be a real surprise. Some of the things that kid came up with! One day when he was holding the hammer for Will while Will stretched wire around the chicken pen, he stared at an orange hen and asked pensively, "Hey, Will, how come chickens ain’t got lips?" Another day he and Will were digging through a bunch of junk, searching for hinges in a dark tool shed when a suspicious odor began tainting the air around them. Donald Wade straightened abruptly and said, "Oh-oh! One of us farted, didn’t we?"
But Donald Wade was more than merely amusing. He was curious, bright, and worshiped the shadow Will cast. Will’s little sidekick, following everywhere-"I’ll help, Will!"-getting his head in the way, standing on the screwdriver, dropping the nails in the grass. But Will wouldn’t have changed a minute of it. He found he liked teaching the boy. He learned how by watching Eleanor. Only Will taught different things. Men’s things. The names of the tools, the proper way to hold them, how to put a rivet through leather, how to brace a screen door and make it stronger, how to trim a mule’s hoof.
The work and Donald Wade were only part of what made his days blissful. The food-God, the food. All he had to do was walk up to the house and take it, cut a piece of spice cake from a pan or butter a bun. What he liked best was taking something sweet outside and eating it as he ambled back toward some half-finished project of his choice. Quince pie-damn, but that woman could make quince pie, could make anything, actually. But she had quince pie down to an art.
He was gaining weight. Already the waistband on his own jeans was tight, and it felt good to work in Glendon Dinsmore’s roomy overalls. Odd, how she volunteered anything at all of her husband’s without seeming to resent Will’s using it-toothbrush, razor, clothes, even dropping the hems of the pants to accommodate Will’s longer legs.
But his gratitude was extended for far more than creature comforts. She’d offered him trust, had given him pride again, and enthusiasm at the break of each new day. She’d shared her children who’d brought a new dimension of happiness into his life. She’d brought back his smile.