"Then bake one. I’d do it, but I don’t know how."
"Why?"
Instead of answering, he threw back the covers and sprang up. Standing beside the bed with his elbows lifted, he executed a mighty, twisting stretch. She watched with unconcealed interest-the flexing muscles, the taut skin, the moles, the long legs dusted with black hair. Legs planted wide, he shivered and bent acutely to the left, the right, then snapped over to pick up his clothes and begin dressing. It was engrossing, watching a man donning his clothes. Men did it so much less fussily than women.
"You gonna answer me?" she insisted.
Facing away from her, he smiled. "For your birthday party."
"My birthday party!" She sat up. "Hey, come back here!"
But he was gone, buttoning his shirt, grinning.
It was a toss-up who had to work harder to conceal his impatience that day-Will, who’d had the plan in his head for weeks, Eleanor, whose eyes shone all the while she baked her own cake but who refused to ask when this party was supposed to happen, or Donald Wade, who asked at least a dozen times that morning, "How long now, Will?"
Will had planned to wait until after supper, but the cake was ready at noon, and by late afternoon Donald Wade’s patience had been stretched to the limit. When Will went to the house for a cup of coffee, Donald Wade tapped his knee and whispered for the hundredth time, "Now, Will… pleeeease?"
Will relented. "All right, kemo sabe. You and Thomas go get the stuff."
The stuff turned out to be two objects crudely wrapped in wrinkled white butcher’s paper, drawn together with twine. The boys each carried one, brought them proudly and deposited them beside Eleanor’s coffee cup.
"Presents?" She crossed her hands on her chest. "For me?"
Donald Wade nodded hard enough to loosen the wax in his ears.
"Me ’n’ Will and Thomas made ’em."
"You made them!"
"One of ’em," Will corrected, pulling Thomas onto his lap while Donald Wade pressed against his mother’s chair.
"This one." Donald Wade pushed the weightier package into her hands. "Open it first." His eyes fixed on her hands while she fumbled with the twine, pretending difficulty in getting it untied. "This dang ole thing is givin’ me fits!" she exclaimed. "Lord, Donald Wade, help me." Donald Wade reached eagerly and helped her yank the bow and push the paper down, revealing a ball of suet, meshed by twine and rolled in wheat.
"It’s for your birds!" he announced excitedly.
"For my birds. Oh, myyy…" Eyes shining, she held it aloft by a loop of twine. "Won’t they love it?"
"You can hang it up and everything!"
"I see that."
"Will, he got the stuff and we put the fat through the grinder and I helped him turn the crank and me ’n’ Thomas stuck the seeds on. See?"
"I see. Why, I s’pect it’s the prettiest suet ball I ever seen. Oh, thank you so much, darlin’…" She gave Donald Wade a tight hug, then leaned over to hold the baby’s chin and smack him soundly on the lips. "You too, Thomas. I didn’t know you were so clever."
"Open the other one," Donald Wade demanded, stuffing it into her hands.
"Two presents-my goodness gracious."
"This one’s from Will."
"From Will…" Her delighted eyes met her husband’s while her fingers sought the ties on the scroll-shaped package. Though his insides were jumping with impatience, Will forced himself to sit easy in the kitchen chair, an arm propped on the table edge with a finger hooked in a coffee cup.
Opening the gift, Eleanor gazed at him. With an ankle braced on a knee his leg formed a triangle. Thomas was draped through it. It suddenly occurred to Eleanor that she wouldn’t trade Will for ten Hopalong Cassidys. "He’s somethin’, isn’t he? Always givin’ me presents."
"Hurry, Mama!"
"Oh… o’ course." She turned her attention to opening the gift. Inside was a three-piece doily set-an oval and two crescents-of fine linen, all hemstitched and border stamped, ready for crochet hook and embroidery needle.
Eleanor’s heart swelled and words failed her. "Oh, Will…" She hid her trembling lips behind the fine, crisp linen. Her eyes stung.
"The sign called it a Madeira dresser set. I knew you liked to crochet."
"Oh, Will…" Gazing at him, her eyes shimmered. "You do the nicest things." She stretched a hand across the table, palm-up.
Placing his hand in hers, Will felt his pulse leap.
"Thank you, dear."
He had never thought of himself as dear. The word sent a shaft of elation from his heart clear down to the seat of his chair. Their fingers tightened and for a moment they forgot about gifts and cakes and pregnancies and pasts and the two little boys who looked on impatiently.
"We got to have the cake now, Mama," Donald Wade interrupted, and the moment of closeness receded. But everything was intensified after that, tingly, electric. As Eleanor moved about the kitchen, whipping cream, slicing chocolate cake, serving it, she felt Will’s eyes moving with her, following, questing. And she found herself hesitant to look at him.
Back at the table, she handed him his plate and he took it without touching so much as her fingertip. She sensed his distance as a cautious thing, an almost unwillingness to believe. And she understood, for in her craziest moments she’d never have believed anything as crazy as this could happen. Her heart thundered at merely being in the same room with him. And a sharp pain had settled between her shoulder blades. And she found it hard to draw a full breath.
"I’ll take Baby Thomas." She tried to sound casual.
"He can stay on my lap. You enjoy your cake."
They ate, afraid to look at each other, afraid they had somehow misread, afraid they wouldn’t know what to do when the plates were empty.
Before they were, Donald Wade looked out the window and pointed with his fork. "Who’s that?"
Will looked and leaped to his feet. "Lord a-mighty!"
Eleanor dropped her fork and said, "What’s she doing here?"
Before Will could conjure a guess, Gladys Beasley mounted the porch steps and knocked on the door.
Will opened it for her. "Miss Beasley, what a surprise."
"Good afternoon, Mr. Parker."
"Come in."
He had the feeling she would have, whether invited or not. He poked his head outside. "Did you walk clear out here from town?"
"I don’t own an automobile. I didn’t see any other way."
Surprised, Will ushered her inside and turned to perform introductions. But Gladys took the matter out of his hands.
"Hello, Eleanor. My, haven’t you grown up."
"Hello, Miss Beasley." Eleanor stood behind a chair, nervously fingered her apron edge as if preparing to curtsy.
"And these are your sons, I suppose."
"Yes, ma’am. Donald Wade and Baby Thomas."
"And another one on the way. My, aren’t you a lucky child."
"Yes’m," Eleanor answered dutifully, her eyes flashing to Will’s. What does she want?
He hadn’t an inkling and could only shrug. But he understood Eleanor’s panic. How long had it been since she’d engaged in polite conversation with anyone from town? In all likelihood Miss Beasley was the first outsider Eleanor had ever allowed in this house.
"I understand congratulations are in order, too, on your marriage to Mr. Parker."
Again Eleanor’s eyes flashed to Will, then she colored and dropped her gaze to the chair, running a thumbnail along its backrest.
Miss Beasley glanced at the table. "It appears I’ve interrupted your meal. I’m-"
"No, no," Will interjected. "We were just having cake."
Donald Wade, who never spoke to strangers, inexplicably chose to speak to this one. "It’s Mama’s birthday. Will and me and Baby Thomas was givin’ her a party."
"Won’t you sit down and have some?" Eleanor invited.
Will could scarcely believe his ears, but the next moment Miss Beasley settled her hard-packed bulk in one of the chairs and was served a piece of chocolate cake and whipped cream. Though Will hadn’t actually missed having outsiders around, he found their absence unhealthy. If there was ever the perfect person to draw Eleanor out of her reclusiveness, it was Miss Beasley. Not exactly the gayest person, but fair-minded to a fault, and not at all the sort to dredge up painful past history.