Wife for Hire

  Maggie smiled and looked Harry straight in the eye. “Aunt Kitty was a madam.”

  Silence.

  “Anyone want a cheeseball?” Elsie said, entering the room. “What’s everyone so quiet about? You look like you just swallowed your tongue. What’s the matter, don’t you like cheeseballs? I made them myself. Got the recipe from one of them gourmet magazines.”

  Hank sent Maggie a tightlipped smile. “Could I see you in the kitchen for a minute, Muffin.”

  “I thought I was Cupcake.”

  He jerked his thumb in the general direction of the kitchen and made a vague sound in the back of his throat. When they were behind closed doors, he smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand.

  “Why me? What did I do to deserve this? All those women in New Jersey and I have to get one that’s writing a porno story!”

  Maggie stuffed her hands onto her hips and glared at him. “It’s not a porno story.”

  “Honey, you’re writing a book about a flesh peddler!”

  “I’m writing a book about a woman who played a role in an immigrant community. She raised a child, bought one of the first refrigerators, turned her carriage house into a garage, and lived to see the Beatles on television.”

  “Are you telling me there’s no sex in this book?”

  “Of course there’s going to be sex in it, but it’s going to be of a historical nature. It’s going to be high-quality sex.”

  “That’s it. That’s the ball game. That’s the whole ball of wax. I’ll never get the loan. The bank won’t care how good the harvest is. I knew you were trouble from the minute I laid eyes on you.”

  “Oh yeah, well if I was so much trouble, why did you hire me?”

  “It was you or nothing. You were the only one to apply.”

  They were standing toe-to-toe, nose-to-nose, hands on hips, shouting at each other.

  “Fine. I’ll un-apply. How do you like that? You can go find yourself a new wife.”

  “The hell I will. You made a deal and you’re going to keep it.”

  He grabbed her by the shoulders and hauled her hard against him and kissed her.

  Elsie barged through the swinging kitchen door. “What the devil’s going on in here? You can hear the two of you shouting all the way to the living room.”

  She pulled up short and shook her head. “First you’re yelling at each other like it’s the end of the world, and now you’re steaming up the kitchen. This arrangement isn’t going to get weird, is it? I’m an old lady. I’ve got standards.”

  She went to the stove and lifted the lid on the cast-iron kettle. “This pot roast is going to be on the table in fifteen minutes, so you better hurry up and eat your fill of cheeseballs. And if you ask me, it wouldn’t hurt to give those people in there something to drink. They look like they’ve been left in the starch too long.”

  Elsie was true to her word. In fifteen minutes the pot roast was on the table, along with homemade buttermilk biscuits, mashed potatoes, cooked carrots, homemade applesauce, and steamed broccoli. She set a bowl of gravy on the table and took her apron off.

  “There’s a TV show coming on that I’ve got to watch,” she said. “There’s more potatoes in the kitchen and there’s apple pie for dessert.”

  “Thanks, Elsie,” Maggie said, “I can handle it from here.”

  Elsie looked the table over one last time, obviously reluctant to leave her food in Maggie’s hands. “There’s vanilla ice cream to go with the pie, and don’t forget the coffee. It’s all made.”

  “You sure you don’t want to eat with us. There’s room…”

  “Nope. Thanks anyway. I’m not much for socializing. I got things to do. Just make sure everybody gets enough to eat, and watch the piece of pie you give to Harry. He’s starting to spread.”

  There was a knock at the door and Elsie went to answer it. “It’s Linda Sue Newcombe,” she called from the foyer. “She says she got stood up for a date last night, and wants to know why.”

  Hank looked surprised. “I don’t remember making a date.”

  Linda Sue stomped into the dining room. She was short and blond and steaming mad.

  “You promised to take me to the dance at the grange. We made that date two months ago.” She smiled a polite hello to Hank’s parents. “Excuse me,” she said to them, “but I bought a new dress for that dance.”

  Hank hated dances and doubted he’d agreed to go to this one. Linda Sue had a tendency to ramble, and he had a tendency to tune her out. He suspected he’d missed an important part of a conversation with her. It was a good thing he was married, he thought. His social life had become too complicated.

  Linda Sue pouted a little and looked at Hank under lowered eyelashes. “Maybe you can make it up to me.”

  “I don’t think so,” Hank told her. “I got married last week.”

  Linda Sue’s eyes snapped wide open. “Married?”

  He gestured with a half-eaten biscuit. “This is my wife, Maggie….”

  Linda Sue had her hands on her hips. “You were going to marry me!”

  Hank pressed his lips together. “I never said I was going to marry you. You said I was going to marry you.”

  “Would you like to join us for dinner?” Maggie asked. “We have lots of food.”

  Linda Sue looked at the pot roast. “It smells good. What are you having for dessert?”

  “Apple pie and vanilla ice cream.”

  “Sure, I’ll stay.” She took a side chair and dragged it over to the table. “When Hank’s granny lived here, I used to stay for dinner all the time. Hank’s granny always had an extra potato in the pot for company.”

  Maggie set a place for Linda Sue. “Do you live near here?”

  “I used to live just over the rise, down the road. My parents still live there.” She helped herself to some pot roast.

  Maggie waited for Linda Sue to continue, or someone else to make conversation, but Linda Sue’s attention had been caught by the mashed potatoes and Hank’s parents were staring out the window. Finally Maggie couldn’t wait any longer. “Where do you live now?” she asked.

  “I live in the Glenview apartments now. They’re outside of town, just off the interstate to Burlington.”

  The doorbell rang again and Maggie excused herself to answer it.

  “I’m Holly Brown,” the woman said when Maggie opened the door. “Is Hank here?”

  “He’s in the dining room.”

  Holly Brown walked into the dining room, gave a slanty-eyed look to Linda Sue Newcombe and a large, wet kiss to Hank. She smiled at his parents and said hello.

  “I heard you’d gotten back in town,” Holly said to Hank. “Just thought I’d stop by to welcome you home.”

  “Save it,” Linda Sue said. “He’s married.”

  Holly gave a disbelieving snort. “Hank? Married?”

  Maggie dragged out another set of dishes and silverware, making a place for Holly. “I’m Maggie,” she said. “We were married last week. You’ll stay for supper, won’t you?”

  “Sure you have enough?”

  “Plenty,” Maggie said. She knew it was ridiculous, but darned if she didn’t feel like a real wife. She was feeling possessive, and jealous, and cranky. She glared at Hank.

  “Is there anyone else we should be expecting? Maybe I should cook up more potatoes.”

  Holly Brown slung her purse over the back of her chair and sat down. “This marriage is awful sudden.”

  Hank sliced his pot roast. “Maggie and I met last summer when I was at Rutgers.”

  Holly and Linda Sue exchanged glances. They looked skeptical.

  “Still seems sudden to me,” Holly repeated. “The entire female population of Skogen’s been after Hank for years,” she told Maggie. “He’s as slippery as they come. Nothing personal, but it seems a little odd that he’d go to New Jersey and come back married.”

  “It was one of those things,” Maggie said. “Love at first sight.”

  Holly poked arou
nd at the pot roast, looking for the end piece. “Honey, it’s always love at first sight with Hank. It’s never caused him to get married before.”

  Linda Sue poured more gravy over her potatoes.

  “This house sure holds memories,” Holly said. “When I was a little girl, my daddy worked for the coop and he’d come collect the milk from all the local dairy farms. Sometimes, in the summer, he’d let me ride with him. Hank’s granny always invited me in for cookies and lemonade. If Hank was here I’d stay and play Monopoly with him on the front porch. Then when he got older—” She stopped in midsentence, cleared her throat, and concentrated on slicing her meat.

  Linda Sue, Hank’s mother, and Hank’s father also cleared their throats and became totally absorbed in the process of eating.

  Maggie looked sideways at Hank.

  “Vern’s dog ate my Monoploly set,” Hank explained.

  Linda Sue tilted her head toward Hank. “Does Bubba know you’re married?”

  “Not yet.” Hank reached for another biscuit. “I haven’t seen him since we got back.”

  “Bubba’s not going to like this,” Linda Sue said. “You should have told him.”

  “Who’s Bubba?” Maggie asked.

  Everyone but Hank looked shocked.

  His mother was the first to find her voice. “Bubba has always been Hank’s best friend. I’m surprised Hank didn’t tell you about him.”

  There was the squeal of brakes on the driveway, and Horatio began barking.

  “I guess it’s my turn,” Hank said. A moment later he returned with two middle-aged women.

  Maggie grabbed the table for support. “Mom! Aunt Marvina!”

  Maggie’s mother gave Maggie a kiss. “We were in the neighborhood, so we thought we’d stop by and see how things were going.”

  In the neighborhood? It was a six-hour drive. Calm yourself, Maggie thought. This couldn’t be as bad as it seemed. “Things are just fine. Aren’t they fine, Hank?”

  “Yup. They’re fine.”

  “Mom, Aunt Marvina, I’d like you to meet Hank’s mother and father, and this is Linda Sue, and this is Holly.” Maggie set out two more plates and Hank brought chairs from the kitchen. “We were just explaining to Linda Sue and Holly how Hank and I met last summer while he was at Rutgers.”

  Holly stabbed a wedge of pot roast. “I think it seems awful sudden.”

  Mabel Toone and Aunt Marvina exchanged looks. “Just what we said,” Mabel told Holly. “There wasn’t even time to get the PNA Hall.” She shook her finger at her daughter, but the scold was tempered by obvious affection. “You’re such a problem child.”

  “When she was a baby, she would never eat her green beans,” Aunt Marvina said. “She always had a mind of her own. It’s from her Grandfather Toone. The only Irishman in Riverside, and I tell you he was a rascal.”

  Hank sat back in his seat and watched Maggie squirm. This wasn’t doing his cause any good, but he was enjoying it anyway. And he had a thirst to know more.

  “Maggie didn’t tell me she was a problem child,” Hank said. “In fact, Maggie hasn’t told me much about her childhood at all.”

  Mabel rolled her eyes. “She was the terror of Riverside. Ever since she was a little girl, the boys loved her red hair. They just flocked to our doorstep, and Maggie wouldn’t have anything to do with them.” She shook her head. “She wasn’t one to pussyfoot around. If they didn’t take no for an answer, she’d punch them in the nose, or hit them over the head with her lunch box. When she got older, it was just as bad.”

  “We thought she’d never get married,” Aunt Marvina said.

  “And then, remember that time when she was nine,” Mabel said, “and she wrote that awful word on the front door of Campbell School?”

  Aunt Marvina clapped her hand to her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. “That was terrible.” She looked at Hank, her eyes crinkled at the memory. “We were surprised she even knew a word like that, but then Maggie was always surprising us.”

  “I wrote that word on a dare,” Maggie said. “And I went back later to wash it off.”

  Mabel buttered a biscuit. “It wouldn’t wash off,” she told Hank. “They had to paint the door. And we had to pay for the paint.”

  Maggie’s aunt was right. Maggie was full of surprises, Hank thought. It was easy to imagine her as the neighborhood tomboy. And she didn’t seem to be so different now. She probably still punched men in the nose. Something he should keep in mind.

  “So what else did Maggie do?”

  Maggie glared a warning to Hank and her mother. “I’m sure everyone is finding this very boring.”

  “Not me,” Linda Sue said.

  Holly Brown sipped her water. “I want to know more.”

  “This is good pot roast,” Mabel said. “And no lumps in the mashed potatoes. You see,” she said to Aunt Marvina, “all she needed was to get married. Now she can even cook.”

  “Wrong,” Maggie said. “I still can’t cook. We have a house keeper. She made the meal.”

  “A house keeper.” Mabel was clearly impressed. “That’s very nice, but what will you do all day if you don’t have to cook and clean?”

  “I told you. I’m writing a book about Aunt Kitty.”

  Mabel sucked in some air. “A book about Aunt Kitty. That’s craziness. Aunt Kitty was a…you know what. Why do you have to write a book that’s filled with S-E-X? How will I ever be able to show my face at Wednesday night bingo?”

  Linda Sue’s eyebrows shot up under her bangs. “You’re writing a dirty book?”

  “My Great-aunt Kitty was a madam,” Maggie explained to Linda Sue and Holly. “She left me her diary, and I’m using it as the basis for a book.”

  “Wow, hot stuff,” Holly said. “This should put Skogen on the map.”

  Harry Mallone had turned a deep shade of vermilion. He had his hand wrapped around his fork and his knuckles were white. “Over my dead body,” he said.

  Helen Mallone patted her husband’s hand. “Watch your blood pressure, Harry.”

  Maggie thought her mother-in-law didn’t look especially concerned about Aunt Kitty’s diary. Helen Mallone was amazingly calm. In fact, there was an unnerving peacefulness about her.

  Helen caught Maggie staring. “I’ve survived Hank’s adolesence,” Helen explained. “The rest of my life will be child’s play. And now he’s your responsibility, dear.” She sank back into her seat with a look of enviable serenity.

  Hank grinned. “I wasn’t that bad.”

  Linda Sue fanned herself with her napkin. “Honey, you were the scourge of Skogen.”

  Maggie’s heart did a little tap dance. The scourge of Skogen? What sort of man was she living with? Sexy, she decided. Too sexy. She thought about the kiss in the upstairs hall and promised herself it wouldn’t happen again. He was one of those men who collected women like other men collect stamps or coins. Two of his women were sitting at the table. Probably if she looked out the front window she’d see a hundred more camped out on the lawn.

  She felt herself flush hot and looked over at Hank. He was watching her, and he was smiling. The scourge of Skogen knew when a woman was attracted to him, she thought. That was undoubtedly one of the things that made him such a scourge.

  She took a deep breath, relaxed her shoulders, and sent Hank a warning smile. “All that’s in the past,” she said. “Hank’s a married man. His scourging days are over. Isn’t that right, dumpling?”

  “That’s right, sweetcakes,” Hank said. “I do my scourging at home now.”

  Maggie felt the smile tighten on her face. This was going to be a long six months if she was going to have to ward off his scourging every day. She’d never put up with much from the male population of Riverside, but then she’d never been swept off her feet by any of them. No one had ever made the earth move when they kissed her. No one until Hank. It was going to be tough to resist the advances of a man who had the potential to fulfill every fantasy she’d ever had.

  Hel
en Mallone turned to Maggie’s mother. “Sounds like a marriage made in heaven.”

  “Yeah,” Linda Sue said, “sounds like they deserve each other.”

  Maggie didn’t think that sounded especially flattering.

  “Goodness,” Mabel said to Maggie, “you look just like your Grandfather Toone when your eyes get all beady and glittery like that.”

  “It’s true,” Aunt Marvina said. “Your Grandfather Toone had a short fuse. If some poor soul was dumb enough to insult your Grandfather Toone, your Grandfather Toone would haul off and rearrange the man’s face. He had some temper, didn’t he, Mabel?”

  Linda Sue’s eyes got wide. “Holy cow,” she said to Maggie, “you aren’t a face rearranger like your grandfather, are you?”

  “Don’t worry about Maggie,” Hank said to Linda Sue. “We decided now that she’s a married woman she’d go easy on the violent stuff. She’s even agreed to stop mud wrestling.”

  Holly’s mouth fell open. “Do you really mud wrestle?”

  “She was the best,” Hank answered. “She was the Central Jersey Mud Wrestling Queen.”

  Maggie shot out of her seat. “Hank Mallone, I’d like to see you in the kitchen, please.”

  “She’s got that look again,” Linda Sue said. “I bet she’s going to hit him.”

  Maggie swished through the kitchen door and closed it behind her. “Mud wrestling? Mud wrestling? Don’t you think this dinner has gotten far enough out of hand?”

  “I thought you’d be pleased. I told them you were the best.”

  She had him by the shirtfront. “This is serious!” she yelled. “Your parents think I’m a reformed mud wrestler!”

  “Calm yourself,” Hank said. “I’ve decided to make my parents think I’ve reformed you. Then they’ll really think I’m stable.” He massaged her shoulders. “You have to learn how to relax. Look at you…you’re entirely too tense.”

  He was right, she realized. She was tense. And probably she’d overreacted. Certainly her mother and Aunt Marvina would set everyone straight. No one would seriously believe she was a mud wrestler. It was absurd.

  “You’re right,” she said. “Silly me. Probably the dinner’s going better than I think. Just because your father can’t relax his grip on his fork is no reason to think things aren’t going well.”