to make sure you’re put up in a very nice inn.”
“Hunh.” Meg paused. “Okay, we’ll stay tuned. But
this Heffelbump woman better call soon. October’s not
that far away.”
It was two months away, Judith thought, but didn’t
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Mary Daheim
argue. She was beginning to feel grateful that the Izards
wouldn’t be staying at Hillside Manor. Trying to remain
gracious, she rang off. The Kidds and the Izards had
been disposed of; she needn’t worry about Bruno Zepf
and his movie people for two months. The waning summer and the early fall should be relatively uneventful.
It was typical of Judith that, as Cousin Renie would
say, she would bury her head in the sand. On that warm
August evening, she dug deep and tried to blot out
some of life’s less pleasant incidents.
One of them was Skjoval Tolvang. The tall, sinewy
old handyman with his stubborn nature and unshakable
convictions had already made some improvements to
Hillside Manor. He had repaired the sagging front
steps, replaced the ones in back, rebuilt both chimneys,
which had been damaged in an earthquake, inspected
the electrical wiring, and put in what he called a
“super-duper door spring” to keep the kitchen cupboard from swinging open by itself. What was left involved rehanging the door to the first-floor powder
room and checking the toolshed’s plumbing.
Judith came a cropper with the bathroom repair. On
the first day of September, Mr. Tolvang showed up
very early. It was not yet six o’clock when he banged
on the back door. Joe was in the shower and Judith had
just finished getting dressed. The noise was loud
enough to be heard in the third-floor family quarters,
and thus even louder for the sleeping guests on the second floor.
“Damn!” Judith breathed, hurrying down the first
flight of stairs. “Double damn!” she breathed, taking
the back stairs to the main floor as fast as she could
without risking a fall.
SILVER SCREAM
13
“By early,” she said, yanking open the back door, “I
thought you meant seven or eight.”
“Early is early,” the handyman replied. “Isn’t this
early, pygolly?”
“It’s too early for me to have made coffee,” Judith
asserted. “You’ll have to wait a few minutes.”
But Skjoval Tolvang reached into his big toolbox
and removed a tall blue thermos. “I got my medicine to
get me going. I vas up at four.”
Coffee fueled the handyman the way gasoline propels cars. He never ate on the job, putting in long, arduous days with only his seemingly bottomless
thermos to keep him going.
“I’m a little worried,” Judith said, pouring coffee
into both the big urn she used for guests and the family coffeemaker. “Having a bathroom just off the entry
hall may no longer be up to city code.”
“Code!” Skjoval coughed up the word as if he’d
swallowed a bug. “To hell vith the city! Vat do they
know, that bunch of crackpot desk yockeys? They be
lucky to find the bathroom, let alone know vhere to put
it!”
“It was only a thought,” Judith said meekly.
“You vorry too much,” Skjoval declared, putting the
thermos back into his toolbox. “I don’t need no hassles. I quit.”
It wasn’t the first time, nor would it be the last, that
the handyman had quit over some quibble. Skjoval
never lacked for work. He was good and he was cheap.
But he was also temperamental.
Judith knew the drill, though it wasn’t easy to repeat
at six-ten in the morning. She pleaded, groveled, cajoled, and used all of her considerable charm to get
14
Mary Daheim
Skjoval to change his mind. Ultimately, he did, but it
took another ten minutes.
Luckily, the rest of the week and the Labor Day
weekend went smoothly. It was only the following Friday, when Skjoval was finishing in the toolshed, that
another fracas took place.
“That mother of yours,” Skjoval complained, wiping sweat from his brow as he stood on the back porch.
“She is Lucifer’s daughter. I hang the bathroom door
yust fine, but vhy vill she not let me fix the toilet?”
“I don’t know,” Judith replied. Indeed, she had been
afraid that Gertrude and Mr. Tolvang would get into it
before the job was done. Given their natures, it seemed
inevitable. “Did she give you a reason?”
“Hell, no,” the handyman shot back, “except that
she be sitting on the damned thing.”
“Oh.” Judith frowned in the direction of the toolshed. “I’ll talk to her.”
“Don’t bother,” Skjoval snapped. “I quit.”
“Please, Mr. Tolvang,” Judith begged, “let me
ask—”
But the handyman made a sharp dismissive gesture.
“Never you mind. I don’t vant to see that old bat no
more. She give me a bad time all veek. Let her sit on
the damned toilet until her backside falls off.” Skjoval
yanked the painter’s cap from his head and waved it in
a threatening manner. “I go now, you call me if she
ever acts like a human being and not a vitch.” He
stomped off down the drive to his pickup truck, which
was piled with ladders, scaffolding, and all manner of
tools.
Judith gritted her teeth and headed out under the
golden September sun. Surely her mother would coop- SILVER SCREAM
15
erate. The toilet needed plunging; Gertrude threw all
sorts of things into it, including Sweetums. It was either Skjoval Tolvang for the job or a hundred bucks to
Roto-Rooter.
Gertrude wasn’t on the toilet when Judith reached
the toolshed. Instead, she was sitting in her old mohair
armchair, playing solitaire on the cluttered card table.
“Hi, Toots,” Gertrude said in a cheerful voice.
“What’s up, besides that old fart’s dander?”
“Why wouldn’t you let Mr. Tolvang plunge the toilet?” Judith demanded.
“Because I was using it, that’s why.” Gertrude
scooped up the cards and put them in her automatic
shuffler. “When’s lunch?”
“You ate lunch two hours ago,” Judith responded,
then had an inspiration. “Why don’t you come inside
with me? I’m going to make chocolate-chip cookies.”
Gertrude brightened. “You are?”
“Yes. Let me give you a hand.”
Judith was helping her mother to the door when
Skjoval Tolvang burst into the toolshed.
“You got spies,” he declared, banging the door behind him. “Building inspectors, ya sure, you betcha.”
Judith’s dark eyes widened. “Really? Where?”
“In the bushes,” Skjoval replied. “Spying.”
“Here,” Judith said, gesturing at Gertrude, “help my
mother into the house. I’ll go check on whoever’s out
there.”
But Gertrude balked. “I’m not letting this crazy old
coot touch me! He’ll shove me facedown into the barbecue and light it off.”
“Then stay here,” Judith said crossly, and guided her
mother back to the armchair.
16
Mary Daheim
“Hey!” Gertrude shouted. “What about those
cookies?”
But Judith was already out the door. “Where is this