Chapter Twenty-four #2
“Like what, sell luxury scarves?”
“No,” she retorted. “I was thinking that maybe we could make part of the shop into an . . . an art gallery.” She unfolded her arms. “Or . . . have performances. Or poetry readings. Something like that.” These new ideas had emerged on the bus trip home, but now that she said them aloud, she admitted they sounded somewhat idiotic.
Fred laughed out loud. “You’ve gone crazy now! Chicago has ruined you.”
“No, it hasn’t, Fred. At least let me try. What harm can it do?”
“Well, we could lose the whole damn thing, that’s what. We’re about a month or two away from it, anyway. The books are in terrible shape, Mel,” he said forlornly.
“Yes, I know. So, what harm can there be in trying something new?”
Fred stared at her for a few moments, thinking, and then buried his face in his hands. “This is all my fault.”
“Your fault?”
“I keep thinking that if I had been here, maybe he wouldn’t have had so much worry. I could have helped him. Maybe he wouldn’t have had a heart attack. And I wasn’t even here when he died!”
His shoulders shook. Melody couldn’t remember ever seeing her brother cry.
“Fred, it’s not your fault,” she said gently. “It’s no one’s fault. It was just his time. And he did drink whiskey and smoke cigars every night. That might have had something to do with it.” She glanced at the smoldering cigar. “You don’t really want this, do you?”
He looked up blearily and shook his head.
Melody reached for the cigar and snuffed it out.
“I’m sorry I’ve been an ass lately,” he moaned.
“You haven’t been an ass, exactly. Maybe a little self-righteous.”
Fred wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
“It’s okay to go back, Fred. I’ll take the Merc back over, and if it fails, well, then it fails. We’ll both know that we gave it our best shot to stop the ship from sinking. I know you feel bad about Pops, but this is not what he would have wanted. He was so proud of you.”
Fred reached into his pocket for his handkerchief and blew his nose loudly. “I didn’t even thank him. Not really.”
“Mums was right before. If you’re so concerned about us staying afloat, finish your law degree. That’s the best thing you could do for the family.”
“I’m worried about her, you know.” He stuffed his handkerchief back into his pocket. For the first time, she noticed the bags under his eyes. He looked exhausted, too.
“Yes, I found sleeping pills in her room. Did you know about them?”
Fred rubbed his brow. “Yes, she wasn’t sleeping. Having terrible nightmares. Some nights even sleepwalking. Doc Hodges said it was to be expected and that we should give her two tablets at bedtime. I . . . I didn’t know what else to do.”
Melody pressed her lips together. She wanted to reprimand him, tell him that he should have simply spent more time with her, but she had no desire to make him feel worse than he already did. “Well, I don’t think she needs them anymore. I’ve put them in my room for the time being.”
Fred stared absently at the opposite wall.
“So, are we agreed?” she asked tentatively.
Fred slowly turned his gaze to her. “About what? The pills?”
“No. You’re going back to school,” she said slowly, as if speaking to a child. “And I’m staying here to look after Mums and the Merc. Agreed?”
He blinked a few times. “You sure, Mel?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” She held out her hand. He took it and gave it a firm squeeze. “To be honest,” she went on, “I’m looking forward to getting back. I miss it, and everyone.”
“Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I suppose it reminds me of Pops.”
“It reminds me of him, too, which is one of the reasons I don’t like being there. It makes me sad all the time,” Fred said. “Especially with Mrs. Haufbrau around. She’s still fully arrayed in black, you know. She gives me the creeps.”
“She’s okay, I suppose.”
“I know, but why all this excessive mourning?” He was silent for a minute or two. “You don’t think . . .” he began.
“What?”
He stared at her for a few moments, as if deciding whether to proceed. “You don’t think that there . . .” He coughed slightly. “That there might have been something between her and Pops, do you?”
“Pops?” Melody sputtered. “And Mrs. Haufbrau? How can you say such a thing, Freddy?”
Fred shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just an idea.”
“I could never imagine Pops . . .” Her voice trailed off. Though it might explain some of Mrs. Haufbrau’s odd devotion to her father . . .
Fred stood abruptly and went to their father’s desk in the corner. “Look, I found these.” He opened the top drawer, pulled something out, and came back to hand Melody a small pile of photographs.
Melody looked at the top one. She had never seen it before. It was a picture of a very young Leola and Lou posed near a lake. The next one was of Pops holding a fish he had just caught, obviously from the same trip as the first photograph. Melody looked up at Fred questioningly.
“Just keep going.”
The next one was of her and Fred and Bunny as little children. They were in a field somewhere. Melody’s heart tugged a little. “Oh!” she murmured. “Isn’t this sweet?” She held it up.
“Yes, but that’s not the one I wanted you to see. It’s the next one.”
The last one in the pile was of a group of people posing outside the Merc.
Melody recognized her grandfather, Pops, Imogene, Lyle, old Billy, and .
. . she squinted . . . Mrs. Haufbrau? If it was Mrs. Haufbrau, she was a much younger Mrs. Haufbrau.
Melody squinted again. The young woman definitely looked like a version of Mrs. Haufbrau, but what was different was that she was smiling.
A big, wide smile, almost as if she were .
. . laughing. And, she noticed with an odd chill, her father’s arm was around her.
She looked up at Freddy again.
He raised an eyebrow. “See what I mean?”
“But . . .” She studied the photograph again. “Mrs. Haufbrau is probably old enough to be his . . . his mother or something.”
Fred shrugged. “That’s what I thought, too.”
And why does she look so happy? I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smile.”
“Me neither.”
“Did you show this to Mums?”
“Of course I didn’t! Now is not the time. Maybe someday, but—”
“Maybe someday, but what?” Bunny asked, poking her head around the partially closed pocket door. She pushed it all the way open with a loud rattle.
Melody quickly tucked the photos under her skirt. “Nothing.” She wasn’t sure why she was being secretive; there was nothing to hide!
“Are you discussing my education, or simply rehashing your old love affairs?” Bunny asked pertly. “Because I won’t be put off for ‘someday’ for much longer. Can I go and stay with Miss Elliot, or not?”