Chapter 8

The children were excited when they found out Rachel was going to be there for dinner that night. The air of excitement transferred to the women. Meg and Sally, of course, were glad their new friend would be coming. For the others, there was the anticipation of having someone new in the house, and they were interested to make their own judgment of this woman who had been the topic of so much talk in town.

Now, two weeks after school had started again, Rachel's face had healed to the point where she merely looked jaundiced. The dark black and purple bruises had faded to a sickly yellow, and her lips had healed to the point where she could speak plainly and they caused her no pain. She wasn't quite as self conscious about her appearance, and was happy that she was going to break up the tedium of her normal existence by eating supper at Milleson House.

Plus, she'd get to see Bobby again. She hadn't started tutoring him in the afternoons again, yet. She was still very tired after half a day of dealing with children. While she got to see him in school every day, she missed getting to concentrate on just looking at him.

As she hurried through the crusty snow she reflected on that thought. At school she acted completely normal toward him, and had been since school had started back up. He did the same things in the classroom he had always done, helping the children, or reading. Her attitude toward her hero, as she had called him, was no different on the outside than it had ever been.

But on the inside Rachel's attitude toward Bobby had undergone a vast change. Thankfully, a lot of what had happened to her during the attempted rape was not available to her conscious memory. She remembered the incident, but there were large gaps in that memory. Much of it had been suppressed. She remembered knowing that she was going to be raped. That had made her angry, because she had always treated her virginity as a precious gift that she would one day offer to a man of her own choosing. She hadn't met a man yet who deserved it, in her opinion.

It wasn't fair to say that she hadn't had sexual urges. She had felt them many times as she danced with some young man, or flirted at a party. She had experimented between her legs, and knew what that thrill felt like. At school, though, she was busy enough that she didn't let her mind dwell on those infrequent sexual urges; even more infrequent since she had moved to Nebraska.

But at night, when she lay in the bed where her cherished virginity had almost been ripped from her by that savage man, and she thought about how Bobby had looked that day in school, or remembered his eyes looking into hers, she felt things that she wasn't prepared to feel. Her mind remembered how she had been naked in front of him, and that he hadn't tried to hurt her, like the other man ... how he had held her ... how the horror had been held at bay, as if it had some special power to keep her safe.

He had kept her safe. He had saved her. She had never been in love before. She didn't know what 'being in love' felt like. But she had never felt for a male like she felt for Bobby ... in the night. She tried not to think about it, because it was frightening. No, that wasn't the right word.

It was exciting.

It made her want to be naked in front of him again.

She didn't understand that urge ... thought it was insane for her to feel sexual toward someone who was so closely involved in the horror of that incident. She had examined that for hours, lying there, trying not to slide her hand between her legs to press against that place that felt so good to press.

Over the long nights, though, she had come to realize that what her attacker had been doing wasn't really about sex. It was about dominating her ... taking from her ... terrorizing her. And Bobby wasn't like that. He didn't take. He gave. As miserable as his life had been, he somehow came down on the giving side of things and offered himself whenever he saw a need.

And, she had decided, she had a need. She wanted Bobby to meet that need. The problem was that she couldn't put details to the need, and she had no idea how to go about finding those details. All she knew was that Bobby needed to be involved in the process.

That was why she was ambivalent about going to supper, too. Excited ... and ambivalent at the same time. She shook her head and laughed out loud. How could a young man affect her like this?

Then the door was in front of her, and her hand was knocking. June Bug opened it, smiling widely, pulling at her sleeve, welcoming her into the warmth of the house. A feeling of ecstasy welled up in her. She was loved and wanted here. At least by this precious girl.

That feeling was confirmed as she took off her coat, exposing the best dress she owned, and had worn because being invited to supper seemed like such an honor. The children gathered around her, their voices mingling into a cacophony of sound that, rather than grating on her ears, caressed them. She wiped at her eyes, ashamed that a mere greeting could make her feel so powerfully wanted.

Mrs. Milleson pushed through the throng.

"Here now! Children! Give the poor woman a chance to breathe," she said, clearing a place around Rachel. Rachel felt the woman's eyes on her like she was under a magnifying glass, being scrutinized. But the woman had a smile on her face.

"Welcome" she said. "Come in. Stand by the stove and warm yourself." She pointed the way. "You must be a wonderful teacher for these terrible children to be so excited."

"They're not terrible" said Rachel before she could stop herself. She blushed. "I mean they're really wonderful Mrs. Milleson. You're doing a wonderful job raising them."

"Lands sakes, girl, call me Mavis," said Mavis. "No need to be formal around here." She continued looking at the young woman. "I suppose they are good children, at that."

The smells were wonderful, and the atmosphere was wonderful, and by the time Rachel was seated at the table she wished it would go on forever. She recognized meager fare when she saw it, but the happiness on the faces of the children was so real that the plain meal seemed right somehow. She watched as the women did what mothers everywhere do with children at meal time and felt a sudden urge to have a roomful of children of her own. Her eyes darted to where Bobby sat, down the table a ways. He was helping Emily spoon corn onto her plate. She blushed at the thought that went through her mind, and took a bite of roast quickly. She wasn't used to thinking such things, particularly not in public.

Mavis had seated her at the head of the table, and had placed children on both sides of her, in an unspoken invitation to join in the matronly duties around the table. She did so, feeling that she was lucky to be able to do something so simple as helping a child eat.

When all had been served, and the chatter had muted, first to a simple, heartfelt grace, and then due to full mouths, Mavis established some adult conversation.

"Well, your color seems to be much improved," she said.

Rachel was usually uncomfortable when someone talked about her face. Somehow, in this setting, it didn't bother her.

"Yes, the doctor says I was very lucky, and that when everything heals completely there will be almost no sign of what happened," she said. She still had to chew gently though. Her jaw hadn't been broken, but whatever held one's jaws together had been strained.

"That's good," said Mavis. "Beauty such as yours should not be spoiled."

Rachel blushed again, unaccountably pleased that this woman thought she was beautiful. She had always taken her beauty for granted. Not any more.

"Thank you," she mumbled. Her eyes went again to Bobby as she wondered if he thought she was beautiful too. Always before she'd have assumed all men found her beautiful. Not any more. "He said there will be some small scars."

Mavis looked closely at the woman's face. Again she felt like she was under a magnifying glass. She nodded. "Yes, I can see them now. I don't think they'll detract too much. Lines on a face give it character."

Mavis looked surprised that she'd said that and then laughed to cover her own blush. "Of course I'd say that. Old women want to believe lines make for character."

Rachel was surprised. Mavis Milleson might be in her mid thirties, but she was certainly no old woman. "How would you know?" she asked, meaning it to be a compliment. "Have old women told you so?"

There were titters from several of the other women, Meg among them, but smiles went with them.

Mavis sat back in her chair. She felt old sometimes. That feeling had come from a lot of things. She had married well when she was nineteen, to a merchant who provided her with a big house and announced that he wanted her to fill it with his offspring. What he did to advance that plan had thrilled her to her very core. But before he could put a baby in her womb he had developed a cough that became worse and worse and then, tearing her new and wonderful life apart, had taken him from her. She was left with a big, empty house, and the thought of trying to fill it with another man had been unthinkable. Turning that empty place into a boarding house had been a thing of necessity, and running it had taken all her time and energy to the point that she had settled into that role - the role of a widow woman who ran a boarding house - and didn't think about that wonderful thing her late husband had done with her in their bedroom. Slowly, her boarders became her 'children', and she cared for them instead of for her own offspring. Then the depression came, and the war, and suddenly real children filled her house. That was both good and bad. Good because her old yearning to have a houseful of children was realized. Bad because she fell in love with them all, and some of them got taken away from her.

They weren't taken like her husband had been taken, but the pain felt almost the same. And she was still too busy to think about that other thing that was still missing from her life. Because of that, and the unending work she so willingly submerged herself in, she didn't feel young any more.

Rachel's blatant compliment made Mavis feel better than if a man had whistled at her.

"You're welcome at supper any time you want to come back." Mavis grinned.

Rachel was invited to stay after supper, to listen to the radio. She watched as Bobby sat nearby, working on a carving. She saw others on a shelf on the wall and went to examine them. One was of a dog standing, one front leg lifted, his back straight, his tail stiff and nose straining forward. It was gorgeous. Another was of a bitch, lying on her side, with puppies gorging at her teats. That carving made it appear as if the dog and her puppies were rising from the depths of the wood, appearing as they drifted upwards. It had an unfinished look, and at the same time made the viewer realize the relationship between the unfinished original tree underneath, and the living, breathing creatures the tree had yielded up. A third piece was a medallion of intricately carved interwoven lines that formed a Gordian Knot. It was small enough to be placed on a jewelry box or some such thing and would make a plain box precious because of its intricacy.

She realized Mavis was standing beside her and looked over.

"They're so beautiful," she said, her voice almost a whisper. "They grip my heart," she said. Without realizing she was saying it she added "Just like Bobby."

Mavis arched an eyebrow. "Not you too."

Rachel realized what she'd said and blushed. "Not me too ... what?"

"That boy's got three of us wrapped around his finger like a teenaged girl at her first dance." She didn't realize that her use of the word "us" made it impossible to tell if she was one of the three she mentioned or not. Rachel, hearing that, felt comradeship with the older woman.

She turned to Mavis. "Yes, me too. It's terrible! All I can think about is what he did for me. What I wish..." She stopped. "He's just a boy," she said helplessly.

"I'm not so sure of that," said Mavis, thinking her own thoughts. "I've got a feeling he's much more of a man than he looks."

"Why would you say that?" asked Rachel, curious about anything that involved Bobby.

"When he first came here we thought he was simple minded. We gave him baths ... like we do the other children."

Rachel stared at Mavis. The idea of Bobby, being bathed ... his skin bare and slick with soap ... Her nipples tightened and tingled. "You've seen him ... naked?" she asked.

Mavis looked at Rachel's wide eyes and chuckled. "We all have. By the time we figured out he wasn't anywhere near stupid, it had sort of become a habit, I guess. I should do something about it. Something's going to happen. I can feel it in my bones. If it hasn't already," she said, staring at Bobby.

"You can't mean that any of these women have..." Rachel couldn't finish. Somehow the thought of any woman lying with Bobby made her want to scream. Well, any other woman. "You haven't ... have you?" she said automatically. Then Rachel flushed bright red. "Oh Mavis, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I have no business prying into your affairs."

Mavis turned her shrewd glance on the young teacher. "No, only three of them have bathed him. And I don't think any of them have done anything completely insane. That's not to say I haven't thought about it myself. He just has this ... something. I can't put my finger on it. I should put my foot down, but I can't." She turned to her guest. "And now you're smitten with him too. Lands sakes. I need to get that boy out of here and into a proper place for a boy his age before something happens for sure."

Rachel felt panic at the idea of Bobby going away. "Mavis, I'd just die if he went away," she said. Then she promptly slapped her hand over her mouth, horrified that she'd said it aloud.

Mavis laughed though. "Don't feel that way. I know how you feel. I can't believe some of the things I've thought about here lately myself!"

Rachel felt better, and her jealousy fled as if it had never been. She had someone to confide in who understood, at least a little, of what she was feeling.

"Do you think we're terrible?" she asked.

Mavis actually thought about that a little bit before answering. "Rachel, I don't rightly know if we're terrible or not, but I do know this. He's a good boy, and he deserves whatever happiness he can find. And I think that goes for the rest of us too. Life's been pretty hard for the last few years. One part of me thinks it's like robbing the cradle. But another part of me thinks that's one big baby over there." She grinned to ease the seriousness of her voice.

"Well" said Rachel, keeping her face as calm as she could. "If you ever need any help at bath time, you let me know."

Both women burst into gales of laughter, and Bobby looked over at them from his carving. Their laughter caused a natural smile on his face and that just made the women laugh harder.

Then Meg cornered Rachel and took her off to read to the children who weren't listening to the radio program. Mavis walked over to where Bobby was carving and admired the horse he was working on. The large, ungainly chunk of wood he'd started with was becoming a rearing stallion before her very eyes, as, sliver by sliver, he removed the wood that wasn't part of the horse. She remembered the large medallion he had carved for the cabinet maker. The second one, which had been much nicer than his first attempt at a geometric design. It was still sitting in her room, where she'd put it for safe keeping until she could take it back to the man. She should have taken it days ago, but somehow kept forgetting. She liked staring at it when she was getting ready for bed. She decided to take it to the cabinet maker the next day.

"You're collecting quite a harem young man," she said casually to Bobby. He looked up and smiled that beautiful loins-wrenching smile. "You just be careful," she said. "You're biting off more than you could ever chew. If any of those women fall in love with you it could cause an uproar."

Bobby was astonished at her words. He knew that what he was doing with some of the women was fun - for all of them - but the concept of a woman falling in love with him, especially older women like that, was like thinking he could suddenly fly. He snorted and raised an eyebrow at his guardian.

"You laugh now," said Mavis, reaching out to stroke his hair. "I think next time you take a bath it had better be me who tends you."

His smile disarmed her completely. He looked almost eager and it made her feel like a school girl who's been asked to a dance for the first time. She had a fleeting sensation of caution that shot through her. "Then again, maybe that's not such a good idea," she said.

His look of obvious unhappiness made butterflies dance in her stomach and suddenly she didn't feel nearly so old and wrinkled.

The next day Rachel asked Bobby to walk her home after school. Her visit to Milleson House had been an eye opener for her in several ways. First she was astounded by the love that the five women poured out onto their helpless charges. She had known them all as students, but seeing them at home made her realize they were children who, though they had no parents or kin, were loved none the less. Her own upbringing had been short of that kind of love, though there was a little. Her amazingly frank talk with Mavis had somehow set her free to think about things without feeling like she was perverted, or strange. And, seeing Bobby carve ... seeing him do things that men did for a living ... made her look at him more as a man. Her conscious mind knew he was a boy, but when the radio had given the war news, and talk had turned to Prudence's husband, away at war, Donna had offhandedly said "At least we don't have to worry about Bobby. He can't talk, so they won't take him and send him off to die." She had turned to look at the boy, and realized that in a very short time indeed he would be the same age as men who were fighting for freedom. He would be a man. The thought of him dying pierced her so painfully that she'd had to sit down for a few minutes.

That night she thought about how close she had come to death. She thought about all those children, in that big house, and how wonderful it would be if they were all her own. She dreamed impossible dreams of Bobby as her husband ... of Bobby helping her to fill a house like that.

She didn't actually plan anything. It was all just cotton in her head. But at school she asked him to walk her home. And when they got there she offered to feed him, little as she had, and poor cook that she was. She watched him eat the cold ham she cut for him ... watched him lick his fingers and wolf down half a loaf of bread with butter. She gave him one of her hoarded apples, and watched as the juice ran down from the corners of his mouth as he crushed the sweet pulp between his teeth.

And words began coming out of her mouth, unbidden, horrifying to the "good girl" in her, but unstoppable.

"You saved me," she said.

He waved his hand, as if he had only split some wood for her, and smiled.

"You saw me naked."

The smile disappeared from his face, and he became serious.

"No man has seen me like that. Not before that day," she said. Her hands gripped her skirt and twisted it, an unconscious nervous outlet.

"You saw me naked and all you did was hold me, and comfort me," she said.

He shrugged. He didn't know what else to do.

"I never thanked you," she said.

Bobby pulled paper from his pocket. He always carried that now, along with a stub of pencil. "Yes you have. Many times," he wrote.

"I didn't thank you like I should have," she said. "You are my hero Bobby. And the heros in all the books get the fair maiden's love in return. They get other things too, Bobby."

Bobby wrote "Those are just fairy tales."

"I want you to kiss me Bobby," she said, her face serious. "Like in the fairy tales. I know I'm still ugly, but would you kiss me? Please?"

Bobby wrote "Not ugly. Beautiful." in the corner of the paper. The pencil slipped in his greasy fingers, and smudged the paper.

"Let me wash your hands," she said. He stood up and she realized he was taller than she was. She'd never noticed that before. She took him to the sink. She had the gray rough soap he had always seen before he came to Milleson House and he reached for it. But she snatched the soap first.

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