When Henry Came Home (53 page)

             
He pointed upward toward the gaping holes. "See those?" he asked her.

             
"Yes, Daddy."

             
"I'll show you when we get home how Mr. McIre can fix them."

             
McIre hooted happily. "Lady Luck!" he declared for the second time.

             
"No," Daisy told him patiently, "my Daddy."

             
McIre laughed heartily. "Yes, darlin’," he agreed, turning. "Come on, we'll talk it over inside."

             
Daisy lingered for a moment. "Daddy?" she said, upward. McIre stopped and turned back so Henry could see her. "C'n I stay outside and play?"

             
"Sure, pumpkin. Just stay close to the house."

             
She flashed a grin and ran off.

             
"You got quite a child," commented McIre.

             
"Yes," murmured Henry, watching her go, "I know."

             
McIre lumbered around the back of the house and into the kitchen, where Mrs. McIre had pulled an upholstered chair with armrests up to the table. "Th-thank you," said Henry as McIre set him down, going faintly white. "Got a—a piece a' paper?" It was brought, along with a pencil, and Henry began diagramming lightly on the yellowed tablet, explaining where McIre's problem lay. Halfway through, Mrs. McIre pushed back from her chair, sighing mostly out of boredom.

             
"This's business best left to men," she declared. "I ain't got the slightest idea what you two are goin' on about."

             
McIre, on the other hand, saw immediately what Henry was getting at, and grew excited with the discussion, which carried on for some time. It was perhaps an hour later when Mrs. McIre happened through the room again, and stopped in her tracks.

             
"For heaven's sake, Randolph," she scolded, "you've talked the man into exhaustion. Look at him!"

             
McIre looked suddenly abashed. "I—'pologize," he said. "Guess I got carried off—"

             
Henry shook his head, though it did feel a little light. "No worry," he said. "I enjoy—" his voice cut off with a cough, and he looked up at the concerned woman. "Can I bother for some water, ma'am?"

             
She fluttered to the other side of the room immediately. "Of course, of course," she said, turning back a moment later and setting a glass down on the table with a clunk.

             
He reached for it, but his hand, normally steady and sure, trembled suddenly and tipped the glass over. He withdrew his hand, rather startled, and stared at the fallen glass, half puzzled. "I—I'm sor—"

             
"For heaven's sake," muttered Mrs. McIre again, cutting him short. She whipped off her apron and used it to wipe up the spill. "The poor man. Get him to bed, Randolph. I won't have you taking him out rattle-trapping off over the hills like that."

             
Obediently, Mr. McIre picked him up and carried him to the bedroom, and Henry made no objection except for an attempt at thanks. He was weary, and now that the McIres would certainly accept no more help, he wanted only to sleep. McIre set him on the bed and covered him with a light blanket. After closing the drapes, he tiptoed from the room, leaving Henry alone in the cool dimness. He found his eyes heavy and offered no resistance when they shut, although his mind remained awake and active. Beyond the door, he could hear faint voices, and identified the high, sweet tones of his daughter. A moment later, the door edged open and he heard the whisper of her clothes; a small noise, but one he knew well.

             
She crept to his side with the noisy tiptoe of a child and mounted the bed with hardly a bump. He could not help but smile a little as she lay down next to him. Soon she was very still, her breaths even and measured so that he knew she was asleep, taking her afternoon nap. When he was certain she would not wake, he forced his eyes to open and looked at her. She was so small, he thought, and yet so sure, already so solid and strong in the world. He reached out a hand and ran his fingers lightly through her hair. She stirred then, and he withdrew to his own thoughts, and later into sleep as well.

             
At dusk he woke and found himself alone. It wasn't long, however, before Mrs. McIre entered, bearing dinner. She set the tray down and helped him sit up by propping pillows at his back. "Don't worry, hon," she said. "You c'n spend over the night here. I had Randolph send one of the men back over your way, to tell that maid lady of yours." She finished with the pillows and set the tray on his lap.

             
"Thank you, ma'am," he said softly, "for your kindness."

             
She waved a hand. "Nonsense. From what Randolph tells, you done us a passel more'n this's worth." Without warning, Daisy bounded in. Mrs. McIre turned and caught her, tickling her until she squealed and wriggled free, hopping up onto the bed. The older woman grinned and backed towards the door. "That there is the purtiest little girl in the wide world," she told him, before vanishing.

             
"I a'ready ate," Daisy informed him.

             
"Did you, now."

             
She put a hand up flat to her eyes. "Yup. I'm full to here."

              In the morning, Henry was put back into the buckboard and they started home with the thanks and payment of the McIres. Mr. McIre had work to go about, so one of the men was sent along to drive the horses. When they arrived in the yard, the hired man—named Billings, Daisy had gotten out during the ride—came around the back and picked up Henry, a little embarrassed. "Where should I—sir--" he stuttered.

             
"Just—the bedroom."

             
"In here, Mr. Billings!" called Daisy, bounding ahead.

             
Billings followed, and set him down on top of the quilt on the bed. Henry put out a hand, and they shook, briefly. "Thank you," he said.

             
"M-my pleasure, sir." He paused. "You helped my daddy in a rough spot, bout nine years ago. It's an honor."

             
Henry found himself unable to recall. "Did I...?" He blinked. "Well—send him my well wishes."

             
"I will, sir. Thank you." He bowed out of the room.

             
In his absence, Henry closed his eyes, sighing out a long breath. Daisy crawled up on the bed from the other side. "Daddy?" she asker, her face peering down over his. "Are you tired?"

             
"Not on the inside, but on the outside, yes, pumpkin." He coughed, painfully.

             
"Do you want me to read to you?"

             
"That would be lovely, pumpkin. And have Ms. Beaumont bring us a little tea."

             
She hopped back off the bed. "All right," she said, and went from the room to go pick a book off the shelf and to find the maid. In a moment she was back, climbing back on the bed to settle herself. "The Velveteen Rabbit," she announced.

              Henry woke, feeling the world around him very clearly; the bed, beneath him, was sheeted and fresh, and the lamp on the dresser in the corner showed its curves distinctly in the morning light. He blinked a little and sat up, then immediately lay down again. "God give me strength," he whispered, not quite believing it. He had been in bed four days, and was conscious that today was Daisy's birthday.

             
Thinking of it, he closed his eyes and sighed. Eight years, now—it hardly seemed real. After a moment, he reached out and grasped the pillow on the other side of the bed, bringing it close to his face. He breathed in deeply—and her scent was still there, like flowers. Still. "And I still miss you," he said, quiet in the empty room. "Every day."

             
Daisy came in then and drew aside the curtains. She turned and grinned, seeing him awake. "Morning, Daddy," she said, approaching the side of his bed.

             
He smiled and reached up to touch the side of her jaw, as if to cradle her head in his hand. "Happy birthday, monkey," he said. "You'd better fetch Joey if you want to get to town before noon."

             
She stared at him a moment, puzzled, then grinned widely. "You'll come, Daddy?"

             
"Of course. Now go get him up." He pinched her side, tickling, and she writhed away, giggling.

             
"Joey!" she sang out, running out of the room, "Joey, wake uh-up!" Even though, of course, Joey had slept in the barn. She ran out on the porch, barefoot, and down across the yard. "Joey!"

             
He emerged from the barn, tall and awkward now, rubbing the side of his face with a long-fingered hand. "What?" he mumbled, bits of hay falling out of his mussed hair.

             
She tugged on his arm, and then, judging him ready, swung on it, jerking him to the side. Automatically, Joey heaved her up onto his shoulders and she clung to his hair for a hold. "Daddy's taking me to town," she said, "and you gotta come!"

             
"Oh," he said, uncertain, and yawned. "Well—happy birthday." He was still a little sleepy.

             
She yanked playfully at his hair. "Thank you, Joey." She beat her bare feet against his chest. "All right, go!"

             
Obediently, he loped over to the porch, lifting her back down before he went up the stairs so she wouldn't hit the overhang. Instead, she held his hand, pulling him behind her. In the hall they passed Ms. Beaumont.

             
"Can we have some fruit for on the way?" Daisy asked, unwilling to wait for breakfast.

             
"I'll wrap some up, Miss."

             
"Thank you!" She knocked on the door to her father's room. "Daddy, are you ready?"

             
"Yes, pumpkin, come in."

             
She pushed open the door and ran in, landing next to him where he sat on the edge of the bed, dressed and cane in hand. "Oo, Daddy!" she squealed. "You look handsome."

             
"Thank you—maybe you oughta do the same." He smiled gently.

             
Puzzled, she looked down and discovered herself still in her nightgown. "Oh!" she cried, and ran out of the room.

             
Henry chuckled softly. "The day that girl runs out of energy is the day I become a lumberjack," he commented. "Good morning, Joey."

             
Joey approached, dusting himself a little for the sake of manners. "Morning, sir. You want me to—"

             
"Yes—thank you, son." He gestured slightly, and Joey bent so that he could put an arm around his neck as he picked him up. "Ms. Beaumont--" he said, in the hall. Joey stopped and she came out of the kitchen, a burlap sack in hand. "A blanket, or a pillow maybe, please."

             
"Yes, sir, I'll be right out."

             
When things were all settled and Joey was hitching up the horses, Daisy emerged in little black leather ladies' boots, laced halfway up her foreleg to the shin, and a pink dress with white lace. Before Joey could help, she stuck a stockinged knee up and hiked herself into the back of the buckboard. She stood, presenting herself to Henry. "How do I look, Daddy?" she asked, turning in a circle.

             
He put out a hand and she came to his side. "Lovely—beautiful." He smiled faintly and brushed the dust off the front of her dress.

              When they arrived in town, Joey pulled up outside the tailor's shop and climbed into the back of the wagon. "Sir—?" he asked. Henry nodded slightly and Joey picked him up.

             
"Just—over there, on the walk."

             
Joey mounted the steps and paused at the top. "You sure?" he asked, doubtful.

             
"Yes." He was grateful for the boy's concern. Joey set him on his feet, careful, and held onto him until he had his balance and his cane under him. With his free hand, he gripped one of the posts that held up the overhang. "Go on and do what you like—I expect we'll be done in about an hour."

             
"All—all right, sir." Joey ducked his head. "'Bye." He walked off, stopping to take the horses after him for water.

             
Henry looked down at his daughter. She smiled up at the attention. "Well," he said, finding that he was suddenly quite warm, "where—where shall we go?"

             
Daisy pointed to the tailor shop. "In there!"