What's for Dinner? by James Schuyler (diy ebook reader txt) 📗

Biddy, dearly as I love her. It doesn’t do to become too dependent on another person’s company: we won’t always have her with us. Everyone is fine. The twins, and Bryan. Bryan thought he was coming down with a heavy cold the other evening, but I doped him up with some antihistamines and in the morning the symptoms were all gone. Miraculous, what these modern pills can do.”

“Yes,” Mag said, “when they work. I ran into Mona Tromper uptown and she had a streaming cold. I told her she ought to take herself right off to bed, but with that mob of children, not to speak of their zoo, she can’t afford to be sick.”

“That’s what Biddy attributes her good health to,” Maureen said. “She says when she was bringing up the children she didn’t have time to be sick, and simply lost the habit. But she’s getting on, she’s not so strong as she was. I have to keep an eye on her, to see she doesn’t over-do. You know how she loves to bake.”

“Scrumptious,” Mag said. “Biddy’s children. It’s funny, trying to think of Bryan as a little boy. I suppose the twins somewhat resemble him as he was: a regular boy’s boy.”

There was a pause, then Maureen said, “Mag, there’s a question I want to ask you, though it’s really none of my business.”

“Oh dear, that sounds dreadfully like the sort of question that is better left unasked.”

“Is there anything going on between you and Norris Taylor.”

“Gossip and scandal: good heavens, is this what it means to be a widow. Maureen Delahantey, I don’t know, and I don’t want to know, where you’ve picked this story up, or if it’s your own imagining, but I’m not going to discuss anyth??iing so vile with you. The widow and the grass-widower: oh what small minds people have.”

“I know, dear, people will talk, and often with very little or no cause. But you haven’t exactly answered my question.”

Mag picked up her tea cup, but her hand shook so she had to set it down untasted. “Oh, I’m that cross, I can’t even pick up a cup of tea. You’ve brought me to a pretty pass. I certainly am not going to answer your slanderous question.”

“I want you to know I came here in the spirit of friendship,” Maureen said. “Not to hurt you or upset you. Though if there’s any truth to it, then I suppose you should be upset—there’s Lottie Taylor and her marriage to consider.”

“I’m not going to answer your question because it’s just like that old chestnut, ‘When did you stop beating your wife?’ If I say no, you obviously will think I’m lying. You’ve gotten an idea planted in your mind, and I refuse to stoop to try to pluck it out. How low. Gossiped about! How would you like it if I suddenly popped out with, do you think something is going on between Bryan and Mona Tromper? How would you feel then?”

“Frankly,” Maureen said, “I’d laugh in your face. I know Bryan Delehantey like the palm of my hand. Better, for the matter of that.”

“You plainly don’t know me better than any palm of your hand,” Mag said. She made an effort, picked up her cup and drank from it. Then she set it down with a sharp clatter. “Nor, so far as I can see, do you know Norris Taylor. I don’t know whether to call you a nosey-parker or a scandal-monger or both or what. That’s what I have to say to you.”

“To be frank with you,” Maureen said, “I’m sorely tempted to put the same question to Norris Taylor himself.”

“Thereby effectively destroying my friendship with both the Taylors, Lottie and Norris. You realize that, don’t you? That’s what will happen when this story you’re spreading gets back to Lottie Taylor. Maureen, I simply wouldn’t have dreamt this of you.”

“My dear Mag, let me make it perfectly clear that I am not spreading any story. On the other hand, I’m not stone blind. I’ve seen you with Norris, and you have eyes for him.”

“ ‘Eyes for him.’ You talk like a high school girl. I suppose you think because Bartram’s gone, and I’m a widow, I have ‘eyes’ for anything in britches. Better keep your own eye on Bryan when I’m around—not that I expect to be seeing much of the Delahantey tribe in the near future.”

“We are not a tribe,” Maureen said. “And if you want to let this come between us, that’s up to you. I merely came here to ask a question and give you a friendly warning and some advice—if it’s necessary.”

“Be honest with me, Maureen: who planted this foolish idea in your head? I would have expected you, as a friend, to stick up for me. Not come running to me with this wounding tale.”

“No one plants ideas in my head. I’ve seen you with Norris, simpering over the card table. And Norris simpered right back, or whatever it is a man does. Even if it’s no more than an idle flirtation, I thought you should know how it looks to others, and put a stop to it. For your own good reputation, and for Lottie’s sake.”

“Oh, bilge water. Lottie Taylor can take perfectly good care of herself. But why am I sitting here, listening to this? In my own home. You have some crust, Maureen Delahantey.”

“If I’m not welcome here, then I’ll leave. I’m sorry you don’t know the act of a friend when you see one, Mag. My own feelings toward you haven’t changed a whit: I’m simply an out-spoken, straightforward person, there’s the long and short of it.”

“I’m not prepared to say,” Mag said, “what my feelings are toward you. I’m too cross. Thank you very much for ruining my day.” And on this note they parted.

Later in the day, or rather, quite late in the evening, over two steaming glasses of Irish coffee, Mag said to Norris, “Guess who I saw today.”

“Maureen Delahantey.”

Mag