Dreaming In Color Read online

  By twenty-two, Alma had attained her Bachelor of Arts degree, had completed her teacher's training, and had secured a position teaching English at a private girls' school in Stamford. Her parents were proud of her. She was proud of herself. Cora was sweetly congratulatory but primarily jealous, because Alma, who'd never had the least interest in boys, was engaged to Randy Wheeler, whom she'd met through mutual friends during her senior year at Barnard.

  From the instant she set eyes on him, Alma was lost to Randy Wheeler. It wasn't just his looks that pleased her, although that's what drew her initially. What captured her utterly was the combination of his deep, baritone speaking voice and the wonderfully intelligent things he had to say. He was well-bred and effortlessly charming; he was handsome, and attentive, and he, too, fell in love, he claimed, at first sight. They saw each other whenever he could get a few free hours to drive down from Yale.

  In the meantime, there was Alma's career. To her surprise, she not only loved teaching, she also loved the girls. She felt a powerful affinity for the youngsters who came under her supervision. She saw these children as individuals and was interested in every one of them, even the difficult ones. Like her mother, she was clever and imaginative, and she was able to interest her students in learning. She felt no qualms about deviating from the accepted classroom behavior and encouraged the girls to open their minds to new ideas. She kept control, but with a gentle hand. She was able to give the very best of herself without hesitation, without fear, in almost the same way she gave herself to Randy Wheeler. Her reward came in the form of well-written essays, and in the discovery now and again of a girl with special ability. In the end, her job was her salvation.

  Cora, who favored their mother in looks but not in temperament, found college too demanding, and dropped out after her freshman year to go to secretarial school. Subsequently she went to work for an insurance agency in Greenwich, where she met Willard Chaney and fell madly, hopelessly in love. Alma privately doubted it would last, convinced Cora had set her sights on Willard only because she was so envious of her older sister. But Alma was later forced to concede that Cora's affection for the man was genuine. Cora baked special treats for him, knitted him somewhat misshapen sweaters and argyle socks; she tended to him when he came down with a cold and treated him with tender deference. She confided to Alma that she liked the feeling she had when she was with Willard of being small and in need of protection. This confidence turned Alma's stomach, but she merely smiled and allowed Cora to prattle on. Her sister was happy. Alma would never have begrudged her that.

  They married after an engagement lasting two years, in 1946, and in 1948, shortly after Randy Wheeler left Alma's life forever, Cora gave birth to her only child, Eva.

  From the moment of her birth, Alma was devoted to her niece. Eva brought the sisters together again by providing them with a common focus. At that point, having lost all faith in men and having secretly vowed never again to permit herself to be vulnerable to any man the way she had to Randy Wheeler, Alma saw her relationship with Eva as being the closest she was ever likely to come to motherhood. It also provided her with an outlet for all the loving instincts that had been so abruptly stifled with Randy's departure from her life.

  To her credit, Cora never gloated over the collapse of Alma's romance. Alma had expected it; she'd steeled herself to cope. But Cora, upon hearing of the broken engagement, simply said, "I'm so very sorry," and gave her sister a hug that was so caring and consoling that Alma came dangerously close to behaving like a silly female by breaking down and weeping in her younger sister's arms. Fortunately, she managed to contain herself. And Cora had the wits never again to refer to the subject. Instead, she shared her child, insisting that Alma knew far more about children than she ever would. Which, in retrospect, Alma knew was a kindly gesture prompted by a magnanimous spirit. Cora had been a truly generous woman.

  Alma's devotion to her niece had been a very good thing, as fate would have it. In many ways it eased matters considerably when circumstances forced her to take on the role of Eva's mother, a role she'd enjoyed pretending to play on those occasions when Cora entrusted her child into Alma's care for a weekend so that she and Willard might get away for a brief holiday.

  In the darkness, Alma sighed, thinking of poor Cora and remembering the little girl Eva had once been. It eased her, thinking of that trusting child and her strong, capable thirty-year-old self, and she closed her eyes, picturing Eva constructing a fort with old cartons and some towels on the back lawn.

  Bobby thought she'd heard a noise in the parking lot. Slipping from the bed, she tiptoed across the room to peer out between the plastic-lined drapes. Nothing. A dozen cars sitting under the orange overhead lights that illuminated the area. A white cat with black patches on its fur sauntered across the lot toward the Dumpster at the far end. Bobby let the drapes fall closed and looked over to where Penny lay sleeping. No one was ever going to hurt her baby. No one, not ever again.

  Opening her bag, she got out a Marlboro, lit it, and sat down on the leatherette chair by the desk. Tomorrow morning their lives would begin again. She took a puff of the cigarette and inhaled deeply. Only a few more hours and she and Pen would be moving into that fine old house. Oh, she knew they'd never have hired her if it hadn't been for Pen. Everyone loved her girl. Ever since she'd been a baby people had been stopping to fuss over her, saying what a beautiful child she was, what a clever child she was.

  What was that? She dropped the cigarette into the ashtray and moved to the window to look out again through a crack in the curtains. The cat was walking daintily around the rim of the Dumpster. A shadow to the left. Bobby's eyes darted in that direction. Someone was out there. She held her breath, waiting, scanning the lot. Suddenly a figure rose up from between the cars, and her heart gave a massive leap in her chest. Joe. With his shotgun.

  Frantic, she flew across the room, lifted Penny into her arms and carried her into the bathroom, turning the lock as, with a roar, the shotgun went off and the motel room door flew clattering off its hinges. With Penny clutched to her chest, she huddled in the shower stall as Joe began shouting. "Get the hell out here, bitch!"

  They were going to die. The doorknob rattled. Then the door shuddered as he kicked at it. She cradled Penny's head to her breast. Nowhere to go. Another kick at the door. Then the distinctive crack of the gun barrel as he opened it and reloaded. Please God don't let us die this way please God.

  A tremendous crash as the door exploded into the room. Somebody help us, please don't let this happen. Joe stepped over the threshold, grinning, his teeth seeming to glow in the darkness.

  "When're you ever gonna learn?" he asked, grinning, grinning, as his hand wound itself into her hair and he gave a mighty yank that sent her spilling to the floor, half-in half-out of the stall, Penny squirming fearfully beneath her weight.

  Please God please God please …

  Fueled by terror, she groped her way upward through the dense layers of sleep, fighting off the ropy tentacles of exhaustion, and burst awake like a diver, surfacing into the early morning emptiness of the ugly motel room, gasping, her heart drumming painfully against her ribs.

  A quick look to reassure herself Pen was okay, sleeping soundly, Mr. Bear secure in the bend of her arm. Then she lifted her legs over the side of the bed and let her head come forward until it was resting on her knees. She concentrated on controlling her breathing, slowing it down, down, until the panic subsided. After several minutes she reached for her watch on the bedside table and tilted it until she was able to read the time. Almost five. The hair at her forehead and on the back of her neck was wet. Sweat ran down her sides, collecting in the folds of her belly. She returned the watch to the bedside table and stood up, holding the nightgown away from her body. Groggy, she walked over to the desk, opened her purse for a cigarette, then sat down in the chair, the leatherette cool against the backs of her legs.

  Holding the unlit cigarette, she thought about the two women in that hou
se. The younger one hadn't wanted to hire her. She didn't like me, Bobby thought. Yet she'd been kind, offering coffee, taking Pen up to see her books. I'll make them like me, she promised herself, one hand lifting the damp hair off her neck. They'll never be sorry they gave me a chance.

  Alma was already awake when Eva came up with her breakfast tray.

  "You're up early," Eva said with a smile, setting the tray on the bureau while she went to help her aunt to a sitting position. "Bad night," Alma said. "And from the sound of it, another rotten day." "According to the forecast, it's supposed to clear up by midday." Eva set

  the tray across her aunt's lap, took her own cup of coffee from it, and went to sit in the armchair by the window. "How do you feel?"

  "The same as every other day: handicapped, angry, bored witless."

  "I can't help thinking we're making a mistake taking on this woman."

  Alma stirred cream into her coffee, then set the spoon down carefully. "I like the child," she said. "The child is special." "She's very bright, I agree." "She'll keep us on our toes," Alma said, getting a firm grip on the cup before lifting it to her mouth. "We could use a bit of that."

  "I don't know about that. It's not as if I'm short of things to do."

  "You wouldn't be happy unless your dance card was full."

  Eva laughed as Alma picked up a strip of bacon and aimed it at the right side of her mouth, then took a healthy bite. "Do you dream in color or black and white?"

  "What?"

  "You heard me."

  "Color, naturally." Alma gave her a sharp look. "Is this some kind of imbecilic psychological test?" "No, I'm serious. I've been dreaming lately in black and white. I think it must mean something."

  "Maybe it means you're too lazy to fill in the mental colors."

  "Maybe," Eva allowed with a smile. "Whatever it means, it's strange."

  "You're just missing Mellie."

  "No, I honestly don't. We need time apart. It's good for both of us. She's become very much her own woman since she started college last year. We no longer argue the way we used to. When she's home now, we're able to appreciate each other."

  "All right," Alma relented. "I'm missing her." She lifted a triangle of toast and took a bite. "I miss all the children."

  "I know you do," Eva said quietly. "It's why you agreed to give that waif a two-week trial: because of the child."

  "It's probably why you let the woman in in the first place," Alma countered. "All this talk about Mellie being her own woman doesn't fool me. You miss having a child around the house as much as I do."

  "No, I honestly don't," Eva said, holding her cup with both hands and gazing into its depths. "Oh, I admit that first week of her freshman year I had some trouble believing my little girl was gone forever. That was kind of rough. But I don't miss picking up after her, or the arguments, or her sleeping until one in the afternoon. I think what I actually miss is her dependency. And she hasn't been dependent for years."

  "I always thought it a great pity you didn't have more children."

  "We probably would have," Eva said, as she always did when they had this particular conversation.

  "You should've married again."

  "What about you?" Eva asked. "It wasn't as if you didn't have chances."

  "I lost interest in the state of marriage long ago. Being in love takes too much out of a person. The emotional investment's too big."

  "You know I agree, so why do you keep telling me I should have married again?"

  "Because you should have," Alma said implacably. "It worked for you."

  "It would have worked for you too. But you chose not to try."

  "We've wandered very far off the topic. I thought we were discussing the child."

  With a laugh, Eva said, "We were." She got up, saying, "I'm going to go down and get the place ready for them. I'll be back in a while for the tray."

  "Eva?"

  "What?"

  "That's a very frightened young woman. Let's try not to make things difficult for her."

  Surprised, Eva paused in the doorway. "You liked her, didn't you?"

  "I admire her courage," Alma said. "It took genuine grit for her to show up here looking that way."

  "Or genuine stupidity," Eva snapped.

  "I don't think so. I think she's a brave little thing."

  "I can't believe this is you," Eva declared. "You've never had anything but contempt for weak women. You can't stand stupid people, people who are slow to catch the conversational fastballs you throw, people who get themselves into trouble then go back for more."

  "Listen!" Alma said. "Anyone who'd offer to carry me over her shoulder has grit." She gave one of her croaking laughs and waved her toast in the air.

  Eva smiled, and said, "I thought that was pretty good too. I'll be back shortly."

  On impulse, Eva stopped in the sitting room and pulled several of Mellie's old favorites from the bookshelf. She'd put them downstairs for the child to read. As she went down the stairs, she tried to think of polite ways of suggesting to Bobby that she should do something about that ungodly mess of frizzy bleached hair.

  Alma ate slowly, chuckling to herself between mouthfuls of toast and egg, as she recalled the way the child had offered to read to her. Oh, yes, she thought with satisfaction. This was a child with enormous potential. And regardless of what Eva thought, the mother did have grit. If nothing else, it was bound to be an interesting two weeks.

  Four

  Bobby had expected at best a small room she'd share with Penny. But Eva led them downstairs to an entire self-contained apartment, with a living room, a good-sized bedroom with twin beds, a bathroom, and a kitchen. There was even a small color TV set in the living room.

  "It's real nice," Bobby said softly, giving Eva a shy smile. "Really, not real," Eva corrected her. "Leave your bags for the moment and let me show you the rest of the house." "This is my bed!" Penny stated, depositing her backpack and Mr. Bear on the bed nearest the wall.

  "Okay, honey," Bobby agreed. "Come on with me now."

  Eva led Bobby and Penny back to the first floor, where she pointed out the laundry room off the sunny spacious kitchen, and the utility room adjacent. After a quick tour of the second floor, which consisted of four bedrooms and the small sitting room at the front of the house, Eva said, "Let's have some coffee and get the paperwork out of the way. Then I'll drive you over to the school."

  "C'n I visit with Granny?" Penny asked, hanging back at the top of the stairs. Bobby was about to say no, but Eva preempted her, saying, "Knock first. Then go in."

  "Okay." Penny scooted down the hall to knock at Alma's door.

  Bobby wanted to say that she hoped Penny wasn't being a nuisance but decided to keep silent. These women would be quick to let her know if and when Pen was making a pest of herself. In the kitchen, Bobby sat as directed at the round white table while Eva got them both coffee.

  "I'll need your Social Security number," Eva said, putting on her reading glasses and reaching for a file folder before settling opposite Bobby at the table.

  Bobby recited the number and watched Eva make a note of it, deciding this was a woman who didn't waste time on idle chitchat. Bobby had never encountered anyone quite like her, or like her aunt. She'd always thought well-to-do people didn't come right out and say things straight to your face. She'd imagined them to be subtler, to have less direct ways of making themselves understood. Obviously, she'd been wrong. If anything, the two women of this household said straight out exactly what they thought. Like the way the both of them had asked first thing what happened to her. Lor or Aunt Helen would've pretended not to notice, waiting for her to tell them.

  "Eventually, you'll have to reregister your car," Eva was saying, "and transfer the insurance coverage. Do you have health insurance?"

  "No, ma'am."

  Eva looked at her for a moment over the rims of her glasses. "You should have some," she said. "Children do get sick."

  "We couldn't ever afford the
premiums," Bobby said.

  "If things work out and you stay on, we'll have to make arrangements to get you some health coverage. In the past, we've shared the cost with our nurses."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Call me Eva," she said somewhat impatiently.

  "All right."

  "And call Alma by her name. Neither of us cares overly for formalities."

  "All right," Bobby agreed, not entirely certain she knew what the woman meant.

  "You'll have to keep track of your income for taxes. If you stay, I'll introduce you to my accountant and he'll get you set up to pay quarterly estimated taxes as a self-employed individual."

  "Okay." Bobby nodded.

  "Right," Eva said, closing the folder. "Now, Alma's usually awake by seven-thirty, and I take up her breakfast. At eight, you'll be expected to help her out of bed to the bathroom. She prefers to manage the toilet on her own, but she needs help in and out of the tub, and she can't dress without assistance."

  "Okay."

  "Once she's dressed, she likes to come downstairs. At this time of the year she spends the morning in the living room, reading and listening to music. Since I work from roughly nine until two or two-thirty, you'll be responsible for fixing lunch for the two of you. Otherwise, I do all the cooking. After lunch, Alma takes her nap. At four she gets up and comes downstairs again until dinner. Some evenings she'll watch a bit of television. She prepares for bed between ten and eleven. And that's roughly her day. You're free in between times to tend to your own affairs, although we'd prefer you to let us know in advance if you're going to be out of the house." What a bleak recitation, Eva thought. No mention of friends because Alma had cut everyone off in the past year. And, aside from Charlie, Eva hadn't seen many of her own friends since her aunt's stroke. There hadn't been time.