“Yes. I do.”
“Tom? What do you think?” (Tom would kiss you at the drop of a hint if you weren’t his employer. I don’t think he ever did give up hoping to catch me alone…so I was as careful not to let that chance come up as I was with Dabrowski. All it took with Tom was to say, ‘Tom, if you’re going to be stuffy about letting me pay for extra service’—it was an after-midnight run, Boss; a rare-blood call—‘at least you can kiss me good-night.’ So he did, quite well. After which Hugo was too polite not to lean way down and give me a fatherly little peck. But what worked for Eunice can’t work for ‘Miss Smith.’) (So watch me switch decks on them, young ’un.)
“It sounds like a good name to me,” the driver-guard agreed.
“Fred? Do I look like ‘Joan’ to you?” She sat up straight and lifted her chest. (You look like you’re going to break that bandeau, if you aren’t careful.) (Pfui, little hussy; it can’t break. I want him to realize that I’m female.) (He realizes it. Winnie ought to be here to take his pulse.)
“I don’t see why anybody should get a vote but you. But, sure, I like it.”
“Good! I still have to sign papers with my former name—but I’m ‘Joan’ in my mind. But, friends, this country must have a thousand ‘Joan Smiths’ in it; I need a middle name. But I want one for a much better reason.” She looked with solemn seriousness at the giant black. “Hugo, you are a man of God. Would it be presumptuous of me to call myself…‘Joan Eunice?’” (Boss, if you make my friend Hugo cry, I’ll—I’ll—I won’t speak to you the rest of the day!) (Oh, quit nagging! Hugo won’t cry. He’s the only one of the three who believes you’re here. He has faith.)
“I think that would be beautiful,” the Reverend Hugo White answered solemnly and sniffed back tears.
“Hugo, Eunice would not want you to be sad about it.” She looked away from him, her own eyes bright with unshed tears. “That settles it. My new name will be—is!—Joan Eunice. I don’t want anyone ever to forget Eunice. Most especially I want you, her friends, to know this. Now that I am a woman, Eunice is my model, the ideal I must live up to, every hour, every minute, of my new life. Will you help me? Will you treat me as Eunice? Yes, yes, I’m your employer; somehow I must be both, and it’s not easy. But the most difficult part for me is to learn to behave and think and feel as Eunice…when I’ve had so many weary years as a cranky, self-centered old man. You are her friends—will you help me?” (Boss, did you ever sell real estate in Florida?) (Damn it, if you can’t help, keep quiet!) (Sorry, Boss. That was applause. As Hugo would say, ‘You done perfect.’)
Tom Finchley said quietly, “We’ll help. That goes for Dabrowski too. By the way, she called him ‘Anton.’ First she called him ‘Ski’ like the rest of us. Then she learned his first name and called him by it.”
“Then I will call him ‘Anton.’ Will you all call me ‘Eunice’? Or at least ‘Joan Eunice’? To help me? Oh, call me ‘Miss Smith’ when others are around; I know you won’t feel easy otherwise. You probably called her ‘Mrs. Branca’ if other people were—”
“We did.”
“So call me ‘Miss Smith’ when it would be natural for you to call her ‘Mrs. Branca.’ But when you called her ‘Eunice,’ call me ‘Joan Eunice’ and—dear and trusted friends!—any time you feel that I have earned it, please call me ‘Eunice.’ It will be the highest compliment you can pay me, so don’t use it lightly. Leave off the ‘Joan’ and call me ‘Eunice.’ Will you?”
Finchley looked at her, unsmiling. “Yes… Eunice.”
“Tom, I haven’t earned it yet.”
Finchley did not answer. Fred said, “Let me get this straight. ‘Joan Eunice’ is for everyday…but ‘Eunice’ means we think you’ve done and said just what Mrs. Branca would have.”
“That’s right, that’s what I said.”
“Then I know what Tom meant. Uh, this has been a touchy day—worse for you, I’d say, but not easy for any of us. Shorty—Hugo, I mean—said she was an angel. Or meant it, anyhow. I can’t argue; Shorty is a preacher and knows more about angels and suchlike than I do. But if she was—is, I mean—still, she had a lot of salt and pepper in her, too. You remember an hour back when you snapped at Shorty and yelled for Tom?”
She sighed. “Yes, I remember. I lost my temper. I’ve got a long way to go. I know it.”
“But that’s just what I’m saying… Eunice. She had a lot of spunk. It we had tried to make her eat by herself, she would have kicked the gong. Right, Shorty?—I mean ‘Hugo.’”
“Amen! Eunice.”
Finchley said, “Fred read my mind close enough… Eunice. But I was thinking of other things, too. I never thought of her as an angel, partic’arly. She just treated us like people.”
“Tom—”
“Yeah, Shorty? Hugo.”
“My name’s Shorty to you—and to you, Fred. Don’t put on any fancies. Hugo was Mama’s name for me. And hers. Yours, Eunice. But I near forgot what I had to say. Tom, that’s all anybody wants. To be treated ‘like people.’ She done it that way—Eunice. And now you do, too. ‘Like people.’ Mr. Smith didn’t quite manage it. But he was old and sick, and we made allowances.”
“Oh, dear! I feel like crying again. Hugo—when I was Mr. Smith, I never meant to be anything but people. Truly I didn’t.”
“Sick people can’t help being cranky. My Daddy got so mean before he passed on, I run away from home. Worst mistake I ever made. But I don’t fault him for it. We do what we do, then we live with it. Eunice—the first Eunice—is an angel now, my heart tells me and my head knows. But she had her little human ways, same as everybody. The dear Lord don’t fault us for that.”
“Hugo? If it had been me and not her, would I have made it? To Heaven?” (Om Mani Padme Hum! Watch it, Boss! He’ll drag you over to that creek and wash your sins away.) (If he wants to, I’ll let him. Shut up!)
“I don’t rightly know,” the preacher said softly. “I never knew Mr. Smith that well. But the Lord do move in mysterious ways. Looks like He give you a second chance. He always knows what He’s doing.” (Oh, all right, twin. Try not to get water up our nose.)
“Thank you, Hugo. I think He did, too—and I’m trying to justify it.” She sighed. “But it’s not easy. I try to do what Eunice would do. At least justify the second chance she gave me. I think I know what she would do now. But I’m not certain.” (I’d knock off all this talk, that’s what I’d do.) (Pipe down and give me a chance.) She looked around. “I don’t know how well you knew her and I keep learning things about her. I think you three—you four; I include Anton—must have been her closest friends, at least in my household. Certainly you knew her better than I had thought. Tom?”
“Yes, Eunice?”
“Did you ever kiss her?”
Her driver looked startled. “Yes… Joan Eunice.”
“Meaning Eunice would never ask such a question, she would just do what her heart told her to. I wanted to, Tom—but I was scared. Not yet used to being a girl.” She jumped up, stood by his chair, took his hands, pulled.
Slowly he got to his feet. She put her arms around his shoulders, put up her face—waited.
He sighed and almost scowled, then took her in his arms and kissed her. (Twin, he can do lots better.) (He will. The poor dear is scared.) Joan let him go without forcing it beyond his willingness, whispered, “Thank you, Tom,” and quickly left his arms.
—went on to Fred, took his hands. Again Fred looked frightened but he got up promptly. (What about Fred, Eunice? Sexy or sisterly?) (Too late, twin!) Fred embraced her with unexpected force, met her mouth so quickly that Joan was caught with her lips open and he at once answered it, savagely.
But briefly. He broke from it and both were trembling. (Eunice! What is this? You didn’t warn me.) (So I goofed. Later, dear. Slow march now and say three Money Hums and be darn sure to be an innocent child with Father Hugo.)
Joan went slowly around the table the long way, stopped by Hugo, waited. He got up from his chair
, looked down at her. She moved closer, put her hands on his chest, looked up, face solemn, lips closed, eyes open.
Gently he put his arms around her. (My God, Eunice, if he really hugged us, he ’ud break us in two!) (He never will, twin; he’s the gentlest man alive.)
Hugo’s lips met hers in soft benediction, unhurried but quickly over. She stayed in his arms a moment. “Hugo? When you pray for her tonight, will you add a prayer for me? I may not deserve it. But I need it.”
“I will, Eunice.” He seated her with gallant grace, then sat down again. (High, low, jack, and game, twin—what are you going to name him?) (‘Eunice,’ of course!) (Even if he’s a boy?) (If he’s a boy, he’ll be named Jacob E.—for ‘Eunice’—Smith.) (‘Johann E Smith’ is better.) (I won the bet, so shut up. I won’t wish ‘Johann’ on a boy. Now what’s this about Fred?) (You won’t believe it.) (By now I believe anything. All right, later.) “Fred, is there any wine in that bottle? Hugo, will you open the second bottle? I need it, I’m shaky.”
“Certainly, Eunice. Hand me the bottle, Fred.”
“I’m going to eat some more, too, and I hope all of you will. Tom, am I still ‘Eunice’? Or am I a hussy who doesn’t understand how a lady behaves?”
“Yes, Eunice. I mean ‘No, Eunice.’ I—Oh, hell!”
She patted his hand. “That’s the nicest compliment I’ve had yet, Tom. You would never have said ‘Oh, hell’ to Miss Smith…but you know that Eunice—and Joan Eunice—is human.” She looked around the table. “Do you know how good it is to be touched? Have you ever watched kittens snuggling? For over a quarter of a century no one kissed me. Except for an occasional handshake I don’t think anyone ever touched me. Until nurses and doctors started handling me. Friends—dear friends—you have taken me back into the human race, with your lips. I am so very grateful to Eunice—to Eunice Branca—that she kissed you before I did, and won your friendship—your love? I think so. For it meant that you let me in—treated me as ‘people’! Uh, tell me this, I must know—even if it makes you, Tom, call me Joan Eunice’ again. Did Eunice kiss Anton, too?” (Boss, I’m not going to tell you anything until we’re alone!) (Didn’t ask you, dear.)
“Won’t anyone tell me? Well, I suppose it’s an unfair question.”
Finchley said suddenly, “Teams shift around. I drive with Fred, and Shorty with Ski, and so forth. Been times when I rode Shotgun for Ski. Eunice, she treated us all alike. But don’t never think anything bad about it—”
“I don’t!”
“—because there wasn’t any such. She was so warm and friendly—and good—that she could kiss a man friend just for, uh—”
“For lovingkindness,” Shorty supplied,
“‘For lovingkindness.’ Kissed us thank-you and good-night as quick with her husband there as any other time. Always did, if we stopped for a late bit o’ supper with them.” (All right, twin. Fred and Anton. Not Tom and Hugo. Happened only once. Oh, Tom would have, but no chance, so I kept it cool. Hugo—nobody gets past Hugo’s guard and I never tried. He has moral character—something you and I don’t know anything about.)
“Thank you for telling me, Tom. I’ll never let Anton guess. But he’ll find me easy to kiss if he wishes to…now that I know that she shared lovingkindness with him. Abrupt change of subject: Tom, is that pretty little stream polluted? It looks so clean.”
“It’s clean. Clean as a creek can be, I mean. I know because I found out about this place through the company lending it to our guild for a picnic. Some of us went swimming after the farm super told us it was okay.”
“Oh, wonderful! Because I want to swim. I last went swimming in natural water—old swimming hole style, I mean—let me see…goodness! More than three-quarters of a century ago.”
“Eunice, I don’t think you should.”
“Why?”
“Because it can be polluted another way. Dropouts. Not all the dropouts are in the A.A.s; any wild countryside attracts them. Like this. I didn’t make a fuss but when you walked down to the bank by yourself, Fred had you flanked one side and me the other.”
“Well, heavens, if you can keep me safe on the bank, you can keep me safe in the water.”
“It ain’t quite the same, truly it ain’t. I was a few seconds late once, I won’t be again. Some dropouts are real nasty weirdos, not just harmless nuts.”
“Tom, why argue? I want to get into that water, feel it all over me. I intend to.”
“I wish you wouldn’t… Joan Eunice.”
She jerked her head around at the last two words. Then she grinned and pouted her lower lip. “Okay, Tom. Darn it, I’ve handed you three a leash you can lead me by any time you see fit. And yet I’m supposed to be boss. It’s comical.”
“It’s like the Secret Service,” Finchley answered soberly. “The President is the top boss of any…but he gives in when his guards tell him not to do something.”
“Oh, I wasn’t complaining; I was wryly amused. But don’t jerk that leash too much, Tom; I don’t think Eunice would stand for it and neither will I.”
“I’m hoping you won’t pull on the leash as much as she did. If she, uh—well, things coulda been different.”
Fred said, “Tom, don’t cry over spilt milk.”
Joan said quickly, “I’m sorry. Boys, I think the picnic is over. Maybe someday we can all have that swim somewhere safe and just as beautiful.” (Eunice, can you swim?) (Red Cross lifesaver—you knew that, it was in my snoopsheet. Never went out for the team, though; cheerleader was more fun.) (I could make a comment.) (Look who’s talking! No-Pants Smith.) (Who taught me?) (You didn’t need teaching; you have the instincts.)
19
A short time later they were again in the car. Finchley said, “Home, Miss Smith?”
“Tom, I can’t hear you.”
“I asked did you want to go home, Miss?”
“I understood that part but this intercom must be out of order. I heard something that sounded like ‘Miss Smith.’”
There was a silence. “Eunice, do you want to go home?”
“Not until dinnertime, Tom; I want all of this lovely day I can have.”
“Okay, Eunice. Do I cruise? Or go somewhere?”
“Uh… I have one more item on my list, and there’s time enough for anything you three may want to pick up, too, so check around.”
“Will do. Where do we take you for what you want, Eunice?”
“I don’t know. I lost touch with such matters years ago. Tom, I want to buy a present for Mr. Salomon, something nice but unnecessary—presents should be unnecessary, a luxury a person might not buy himself. So it probably would be a men’s shop that stocks luxurious unnecessaries. Abercrombie & Fitch used to be that sort—but I’m not certain they are still in business.”
“They are. But let me ask Fred and Shorty.”
Shortly Finchley reported: “There are a dozen places a that would do. But we think The Twenty-First Century Stud has the fastest stock.”
“Roz. Let’s giddyap and get there.”
“That is, if you don’t mind their prices. ‘Twigs and leaves.’”
“I don’t mind; I’ve met thieves before. Tom—all of you. I came out of this operation with more money than I had last year…and it’s a nuisance. I’ve played the money game and I’m bored with it. Any time any of you can think of a good way to help me get rid of some—a good way, I said; I won’t be played for a sucker—you’d be doing me a favor to tell me. Hugo, are there any poor people in your church?”
His answer was slow. “Lots of them, Eunice. But not hurtin’ poor, just Welfare poor. I’d like to think about it…because it don’t do a man no good to plain give him what he ought to root for. So the Book says, in different words.”
“That’s the trouble, Hugo. I’ve given away money many times, and usually did harm when I meant to do good. But the Book also says something about the eye of the needle. All right, think about it. Now let’s go see those thieves. I’ll need a man to help me. Which one
of you dresses the most far-out when you aren’t in uniform?”
She heard Fred laugh. “Eunice, it’s no race. You should see the getups Tom wears. A Christmas tree. A light show.”
Finchley growled, then said, “Don’t listen to him, Eunice.”
“He’s probably jealous, Tom. All right, if there is parking inside or near this shop, you come help me.”
As they passed through the second gate Finchley said, “Crash belts, Eunice?”
“I’m wearing the Swedish—and it’s comfortable now that Hugo has adjusted it. Could we get along with just it and the collision net if we didn’t go so fast? Or does that make me ‘Joan Eunice’ again?”
“Uh—Will you wear the forehead strap?”
“All right. It’s just that I don’t like to be tied down all over. It reminds me—well, it reminds me of the way the doctors kept me strapped down after the operation. Necessary, but I hated it.” She did not mention that a forehead strap was what she disliked the most.
“We heard about that—musta been horrid. But you need the forehead strap. Say I’m doing only a hundred, a slam stop could break your neck. If you don’t wear it.”
“So I wear it.”
“I don’t see the light on the board.”
“Because I haven’t put it on yet. There. Did the light go on?”
“Yes. Thank you… Eunice.”
“Thank you, Tom. For taking care of me. Let’s mush. I wasn’t pulling on the leash, truly I wasn’t.” (Says you. Boss, you’re mendacious, untruthful, and a fibber.) (Where did I learn it, dearie? They’re sweet boys, Eunice—but we’ve got to work out a way to live so that we don’t have to clear everything with forty other people. Good servants are priceless—but you work for them as much as they work for you. Life should be simpler. Honey, how would you like to go to India and be a guru and sit on a mountain top and never have any plans? Just sit and wait for your grateful chelas to gather around?)
(Might be a long wait. Why not sit at the bottom of the mountain and wait for the boys to gather around?) (One-track mind!) (Yes. Yours, you dirty old man.) (Conceded. But I try to act like a lady.) (Not too hard, you don’t). (As hard as you ever did, little trollop. I was called ‘Joan Eunice’ once… and the issue had nothing to do with sex.) (You’d be surprised how much sex had to do with it, Joan.) (Well…from that point of view, yes. But as long as they call me ‘Eunice’ I’ll go on believing that I’ve ‘done just perfect.’ Honestly though, good servants can be smothering. Take Winnie. She’s a darling—but she’s underfoot every minute. Eunice, how the devil can we manage that ‘actively female’ life you want—sorry, we want—with so much chaperonage?)