"My ears are as good as they ever were," she thought, "but nowadays, no one takes the time to enunciate."
At the sound of her son-in-law Bill's voice, she strained to hear what he and her daughter Lydia were discussing.
"....gets to the place where the bills keep piling up...." The sentence faded, and she pressed her ear closer.
"Is he talking expenses again?" she wondered. "Surely I'm not all that costly. I eat like a bird. Lydia herself has said so. And I do contribute my social security, after all."
Certainly, she would have preferred to be financially independent, but Lydia's father had lived his life as though he would be able to work and earn forever. They never put much aside, but took wonderful trips and lavished gifts on the grandchildren, and on Lydia, too, for that matter.
"How hard," she thought, "to be a ward of one's own daughter and son-in-law." Still, in all fairness, Bill never openly showed resentment. "But I know," she thought. "Oh, yes, I know." She sighed and felt the familiar knot in her chest, and tried even harder to hear what they were saying.
When she saw the knob turn, it was too late to get her face out of the way of the door as it was pushed open. Lydia grabbed Gertrude before the chair tilted backward. "Mother! I'm so sorry!" she said. "Are you hurt?"
Gertrude rubbed her eye. "Didn't I ever teach you to knock?" she said. "Of course, I realize it is your house...." She was getting the catch in her throat down to perfection.
"But, Mother," Lydia said, "what in the world were you doing sitting right up against the door?"
"It's stuffy in here," Gertrude said. "I was trying to catch a bit of air through the crack. Such a tiny room does tend to get terribly close. And you know the difficulty I've had getting my breath lately."
It was Lydia's turn to sigh. She walked briskly to the window and flung it open. "There!" she said. "Is that better?"
Gertrude, seeing Lydia's lips tightly drawn, thought better of mentioning the possibility of a draft. There was a time, though, when Lydia cared about her mother's health. Gertrude's chest rose and fell. It was difficult, she supposed, not to be influenced by one's husband--even when it came to one's own dear mother. "They would both be happier with me out of the way," she thought.
She felt ridiculous sitting in the chair now, almost in the middle of the room as it was, and she got up and went to look out of the window. It was a warm evening. Fall used to be her favorite time of year. Now, as she grew old, it made her sad; she liked spring best. But autumn was lovely this year. A slight breeze stirred the curtains.
Lydia, gently put her hand on Gertrude's shoulder. "Mother," she said, "come on. This is silly! Come into the living room with me and Bill. We were just ready to have some coffee."
Gertrude moved just enough to cause Lydia to drop her hand. "No thank you, Lydia," she said. "Don't bother about me." She took a deep breath and expelled it.
Lydia walked away, and Gertrude, turning at the sound of the door's click, saw that she had left the room. "Well really!" she thought. "She knows how much I would have enjoyed that coffee!"
She sat on the edge of her bed and leafed idly through a magazine. Living here wasn't working out well at all. Of any two people in all this world, certainly she and Lydia should have gotten along. They had always been close. Actually, they weren't not getting along. Yet it seemed that the more she tried to be considerate of them, the less they considered her. Now, one would think that Bill--when he had offered at dinner to take her to Niagara Falls with them the coming weekend, and when she had said no, that they should go off by themselves and not worry about her--one would think he would have insisted. He hadn't. Lydia, of all people, should have known that she would have loved to see The Falls, yet Lydia had said nothing, and the matter had been dropped.
The tears that filled her eyes and overflowed onto her cheeks were a great comfort.
Watching the drops splatter and mark the pages of the magazine, she thought of St. Stephen stoned in the square and of Joan of Arc at the stake.
Her back, without support, began to ache. She rose and squared her shoulders. One must do what one must. She would leave. Tonight. Without their knowledge, for she mustn't let them stop her. They might not try.
Later, when they realized she had made the break, she would write and ask them to send her her belongings. For the moment, she took only her sweater and her purse. It would not be easy, she knew, at her age, to climb out that window, especially in her delicate health. Why did Lydia refuse to notice how delicate she had become of late? But she would manage somehow. Fortunately, her bedroom, having originally been Bill's study, was on the first floor, and had a window which reached to within a foot of the baseboard. The drop to the ground was not more than a foot at the most. She would have to be very careful not to trample the shrubbery. Bill might be furious. But then, she wasn't coming back, was she? So she had no need to concern herself with Bill's disposition. Still she was careful.
Finally, with a great sense of freedom, she found herself on the street. She thought of Patrick Henry.
The leaves of the trees, in the yet balmy breeze, made a pleasant sound and reminded her of waves breaking on the Miami shore. Theodore had taken her there once, just a few years before he passed on. "Dear Theodore!" she said aloud. She wished he was still with her. What would he think of Lydia's treatment of her? She smothered a sigh and walked up the broad sidewalk. She wasn't, after all, a complete nobody. They had been places. Still, she had never seen The Falls. It would have been grand to see The Falls. Would they be conscience-stricken when they discovered her gone? She certainly hoped so.
She had no idea where she would spend the night, nor where she would go when the night was over. She hadn't dwelt too much on it, hoping that somehow a plan would open up to her. The main thing was to get away.
She passed Mr. and Mrs. Betz, and they exchanged nods. It would be interesting tomorrow to hear what would buzz through the neighborhood about her departure. But then, she wouldn't be around to hear. What would Lydia and Bill tell everyone? A pity, really, that she would never know.
There was firmness and determination in her step, but when she had reached the end of the street and turned onto the wider road which led to town, her pace was already dragging. She arrived at the square in the center of town and stopped to rest a moment on one of the benches. She sat, and, feeling the throbbing in her legs, smiled at how easily one is made happy at her age--even just to sit and rest. If Lydia had but realized how easily she could be made content--just a little consideration--a little catering. Was that too much to ask of a daughter, after all she had done for her? Too late to think about that now; the dye was cast.
She looked around her. The evening was darkening into night, and already the street lights were on. Along the opposite sidewalk, in front of the shops, people walked, the older ones mostly in twos, and groups of young people together, chatting, giggling, laughing aloud. It was a happy hubbub, and it filled her with almost unbearable sadness.
"It's really quite a nice town," she said aloud. "I shall be sorry to leave."
The sign over Wilcox's Five & Dime was out. She would have to mention it to him. But there she was, forgetting that she wouldn't be here to mention it. Herb Wilcox would simply have to find out for himself. She had spent many a pleasant half-hour or so in there. Would he miss her at all? Probably not. Would any of them? "The
blagards!"
A young voice at her side said, "What's a blagard?" It came from a small boy. In the dim light, she squinted and judged him to be no more than five.
"And who might you be, young man?" she asked. "I don't believe I've ever seen you before, have I?"
"I'm Tommy. What's yours?"
She had to smile. "My name you mean? It's Gertrude. And what, pray tell, are you doing out at this late hour?"
"You talk funny," he said, and sat down beside her. "I'm running away from home. What are you doing?"
She noticed that he carried a paper bag, and guessed it held the treasures he couldn't bear to leave behind. She thought of her own meager travelling gear--a sweater, a purse, some loose change, and the clothes on her back. Really! She hadn't even remembered to take along her blood pressure pills.
"Do you always," she asked, "answer a question and offer the same in return?"
He leaned against the back of the bench, and lifting his leg to seat level, examined the scuffed and dusty toe of his shoe. "They don't want me," he said. "I'm always in the way."
She remembered a time when Lydia was little. She put her arm around him, and at first he held himself stiff, but she must have passed the test, or perhaps he was just weary enough that any shoulder would have done as well. He put his head against her and yawned.
She let him stay awhile. "They'll be worried about you, you know," she said finally.
"Why?"
"I would be, if you were my little boy."
"I know," he said. "That's why I went. But it's all right. I knew all along I'd go back."
"You did? Why?"
He hunched his shoulders and held his hands palm-upward. "Because, where would I go?"
She thought that over. "Well then, Tommy, weren't we.....I mean, weren't you foolish to leave if you didn't actually intend to run away?" He leaned back against her and did not answer, and they were quiet for a long time.
"You're right, of course," she said at last. Turning to him and lifting him under the arms, she set him before her on the ground. She took his hands in hers, and let him help her from the bench. She really was awfully tired.
"Come along," she said. "I'll take you home. You show me where. We've made them sorry enough for one night."
It was, she reasoned, perfectly forgivable in a five-year-old. How fine was the line between childhood and old-age?
Hand-in-hand, they crossed the street and passed the Five & Dime. "See that up there?" she said, pointing to the unlit sign. The boy nodded. "I must remember to tell Mr. Wilcox about it tomorrow."