Chapter 37 Geraldine
Geraldine
Geraldine leaned her head out the window of the Buick, feeling the wind trying to work its way underneath the kerchief knotted under her chin. Strands of loose hair slipped their bonds and tickled the sides of her face as they wended their way onto Castle Island Road.
Her heart felt a bit lighter with every yard they rolled along, Calvin’s hands wrapped neatly around the steering wheel, deftly piloting the car.
Although the price was exorbitant for time spent at the Maine Chance, Geraldine could not fault the service.
When she had inquired of Iris about taking a drive, Calvin and the Buick had been summoned without question.
She knew from conversations with Cynthia that many members of the staff lived on the premises, and she supposed that part of the stellar service had to do with their proximity.
Still, it did make one feel like a somebody to have such a small request filled so easily.
Marjorie had offered to accompany her, but she craved a bit of quiet. Calvin could easily be drawn into conversation but seemed equally comfortable passing time in silence. She often found that when she got to a sticky spot in her work, a long drive was enough to sort things out.
Calvin piloted them onto the Augusta Road and pointed the vehicle out towards Rome. The Maine Chance Farm property was so vast it fell on both sides of the Mount Vernon–Rome line. Heading east, then north from the property afforded beautiful views of Long Pond.
She leaned back against the headrest and admired the blues and greens of the unfolding landscape.
A water bird swooped low and had just skimmed the surface of the lake when she spotted movement at the edge of the road.
Geraldine peered out the window and noticed an elderly woman meandering along the shoulder, not wearing any shoes.
Unless her eyes deceived her, it was Orla Hubbard.
“Calvin, pull over, please. Let’s offer Mrs. Hubbard a ride.”
He nodded and slowed the large car to a stop a few yards away from Orla.
Calvin hopped out and approached the woman, speaking with her for a moment before he tucked his arm through hers and led her to the vehicle.
He opened the back door and helped her inside.
Then he rounded back to the driver’s-side door and slid behind the wheel once more.
He glanced over his shoulder at Geraldine.
She turned to Orla. “Where are you off to this afternoon, Mrs. Hubbard?” she asked.
Orla met her gaze, but her pale-blue eyes showed no sign she recognized Geraldine or that she knew the answer to the question.
“I’m not sure,” she said.
“Let’s drive Mrs. Hubbard home,” Geraldine said.
She made small talk about the homes they passed and the beauty of the landscape as they made the five-minute drive to Orla’s wooden-frame house with a small entry porch.
It was a modest home surrounded by close neighbors.
Geraldine was relieved to note that Orla appeared to recognize it as she pressed open the rear door and stepped out of the vehicle just as soon as they pulled to a stop.
She bolted up the front steps of the porch and into the building with more speed than Geraldine would have expected. Despite the difference in their ages, it was easy to see that she was closely related to Iris. She was slim and spry and matter of fact, even when she appeared somewhat befuddled.
“I don’t think she ought to be left on her own,” Geraldine said.
“Should I go fetch Iris?” he asked.
“Iris is far too busy with her work to take off in the middle of the day. Since all I have booked for the afternoon is a facial and a long nap, I could stay until someone she knows better can take over.”
“I know that her neighbor Frances is one of Orla’s friends. Shall I see if I can track her down and ask if she or someone else is available?”
“Please do. I’ll wait here with her for you to return with my replacement,” she said as she reached for her oversize handbag.
Calvin waited to drive off until she walked up the porch steps and pulled open the screen door.
She could hear the sound of humming from the depths of the building.
She followed the sound and arrived in a bright and sunny kitchen papered with yellow roses and sprigs of ivy.
A teakettle stood on the large enamel woodstove, and a cake dome filled with what looked like homemade doughnuts sat in the center of a Formica-top table.
She cleared her throat gently, so as not to startle the other woman.
Orla glanced over her shoulder with an expression of surprise.
“Don’t I know you?” she asked.
“I’m a friend of your daughter’s. I was feeling a bit lonesome, so she suggested that I might pay you a call. I hope that’s all right,” Geraldine said.
Orla wiped her hands on the tea towel hanging from the knob of a cupboard to the right of the sink and nodded. She bustled over to the drainboard on the side of the sink and lifted out two thick mugs, like the ones found in a diner.
“I’m always happy to meet friends of my daughter. What did you say your name was?” she asked.
“You can call me Geraldine.”
“What if you have a seat right there at the kitchen table while I fix some coffee to go with a doughnut. You look like you could use a little meat on your bones,” she said, squinting at her.
“So many women these days want to go about looking like twigs. You will never catch a husband that way; that’s what I tell my Iris.
Men like a little bit of comfort, if you know what I mean.
” Orla went so far as to wink as she placed china plates and cloth napkins on the table.
Geraldine pulled out a vinyl-covered chair and sat down.
She placed her bag at the far end of the table and surreptitiously observed her hostess.
Orla seemed to not have any idea that they had known each other for years.
That said, now that she was in familiar surroundings, she had lost her air of befuddlement.
She looked like nothing so much as a pleasant, homey hostess bent on kindly welcoming a stranger into her home.
The percolator on the stove began to bubble, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the room. Orla pulled it off the stove before it scorched and poured them each a cup. She lifted the glass dome and gestured for her guest to help herself to a doughnut before she did the same.
“Let’s take these to the living room. I always think food tastes best when eaten sitting in a comfortable chair,” Orla said.
Geraldine nodded and followed her hostess into the living room.
Orla pointed towards the sofa as she settled herself in an upholstered rocking chair.
A large basket filled with yarn sat on the floor beside it.
Orla plucked a partially completed blanket made of a dizzying array of colors from its depths and placed it in her lap.
She reached for a crochet hook and began darting it back and forth, barely glancing down at the work as she did so.
Whatever else she may have forgotten, Orla still seemed to be an accomplished needlewoman.
Geraldine lowered herself onto the sofa, feeling her knees creak as she did.
It was funny how aging affected people differently.
She and Orla were both in their seventies.
Her own mind was as sharp as ever—at least, she believed it to be.
Still, she would have bet on Orla to win if they were to participate in a foot race.
She reached for the doughnut. After all the deprivations in the Maine Chance dining room, it slid down with ease.
Geraldine had not realized how ravenous she was until she took her first bite.
The homey texture and flecks of spicy nutmeg reminded her sharply of eagerly awaiting doughnuts just like these to be fished out of a cast-iron skillet by her family’s cook when she was a girl.
They sat in silence as Orla added row upon row to her vibrant blanket, rocking in the chair.
Geraldine swallowed the last bite of doughnut, then slid her sketchbook and tin of pencils out of her bag.
She wanted to capture Orla’s hands, her knobby knuckles flexing as her flashing hook moved back and forth.
She made several sketches before the rocking slowed and Orla’s hands stilled.
Geraldine glanced up at her face and noticed her eyes had closed.
The worry in her face disappeared with sleep and revealed how much her daughter resembled her.
Geraldine sketched her portrait from her place on the sofa, and then again and again from various spots throughout the room.
Time passed quickly, and before long the sun was slanting through the window at a different angle when she heard the crunch of gravel under vehicle tires.
The sound of the car door closing startled Orla awake.
Geraldine snapped the sketchbook shut, as confusion filled Orla’s eyes once more, sorry to lose the chance to continue capturing her so deeply at rest.
“Who are you?” Orla asked.
Before Geraldine could reply, a woman she recognized as Frances, the neighbor, bustled into the room.
“I’m sorry it took Calvin so long to find me. I thought she would be fine to leave long enough to have my hair washed and set,” she said to Geraldine before turning to Orla. “I hope that you’ve got an appetite. I plan to make a batch of corn chowder for supper.”
Orla rocked forward and tucked the blanket back into the basket by her feet. “That sounds lovely, Frances.” She turned to Geraldine. “Do you know my daughter, Iris?”