Betsey Osborne

Thanks Bob. Is this on? Is this all... Well thank you Bob, thanks Earl and thank very much to Books Inc., its great to be here and also I don't know where they are, but my sister-in-law Sandra, my brother Christopher for putting, supplying everything and Jane for supplying the wine and for all of you foe coming. So here we go. I'm gonna start from the beginning. I'll read and then I'll skip ahead, but I'll let you know when I'm gonna do that. And, can everyone hear me? Good? Very Good. One. "Uncus Metscalfe's rally had been stolen. There was a time, not so long ago, when he had ridden his bicycle everywhere in all but the most in climate weather. Now he rode locally for errands and occasionally a mile or so for pleasure. No doubt it would turn up. It had disappeared before and unless the thief were equipped with a wrench to lower the seat, he, or she his daughter Fauna would probably add, wanting the fairer sex to be equally considered, even in matter of thievery, in all likelihood wouldn't be able to reach the pedals. Uncus was six and a half feet tall, tall even for a Metcalfe. He wasn't as put out by the absence of his bicycle as he might have been earlier in the fall. He had promised his wife he would put it away at the first snow, which the chill temperature indicated, could be any moment. He could see it as a seasonal shift. Besides, its the several block walk from his house to his office often put him in a contemplative mood. He turned on to Sparta's Main street and looked across at the triangle of land occupied by the Laconia avenue shopping center. Before urban renewal, there had been a Flying A gas station at the tip with more practicality, Johnson's Office Supply and Wells' Dry Goods anchoring the two corners. The new indoor mall seemed to specialize in whimsy. It was occupied by stores like Der Klackas, filled with coo coo clocks and water bed where house. No one Uncus knew had either a coo coo clock or a water bed. As absurd as those shops were, at least they were still downtown and independent. With its big chain stores, the boxed mall on the outskirts of town had stiffened off much of the commercial vitality. If that continued, Sparta proper would be a ghost town. The sidewalks were virtually empty, no one walked more than half a block anymore, they were tethered cars. Even he and Margaret no longer made due with just one. He had his Jeep, she had her station wagon. He nodded to the pharmacist as he passed Fommer's Drug, which had been there since his childhood, though the soda fountain had been discontinued. Soon no doubt, the store would be shuttered completely, unable to compete with the lower prices and vaster array of choices on the outskirts of town. Quality of service and product seem to be irrelevant. The physical upheaval and near abandonment of the heart of Sparta over the last forty years were in sharp contrast to the occasional hiccup in his own life, which was absorbed with little fuss by the resilient stasis he had achieved. Farther up the street, outside the old jewelry store, Uncus saw a young woman with torn camouflage pants and crew cut, she looked ready for the army. Bleached spikes radiated from her head like the filaments from an exotic flower. She was apparently engaged in conversation with someone he couldn't see, someone standing in the recess of the doorway. He wanted to hurry by, the girl looked upset, agitated, but instead he found himself slowing down. As he approached, she grew quite. With out meaning to, he turned to see to whom she had been talking. "Hello Mr. Metcalfe" the girl in the alcove said. He hadn't anticipated being greeted by name. Though in a town this size and given his families prominence, he was used to it. He nodded. She had on a t-shirt covered only by an apron with some kind of donut stitched on it. Collins' Jewelers was long gone. Was the new shop a bakery? Uncus looked around surreptitiously. The words painted along the bottom of the store window, "hot coffee", "warm bagels", "cool customers", "cold cash", provided a clue. He wondered why he hadn't noticed the place before and was disconcerted he had walked right past his own office building, (unidentified), with out the faintest inclination to turn in and was now faced with a young woman whose name flickered at the edge of his memory. Uncus looked back at the spiky haired girl, but she didn't look remotely familiar. She had an earring in her nose, cool customers indeed. "How are you Mr. Metcalfe? Here for some bagels?" The aproned girl stared at him, not in an unfriendly way, she was smiling, but more as though she had exhausted conversation of the type reserve for people over the age of twenty-five. She turned to the door, "come on in", she said, "its cold out here." Something about the tilt of her head and her composure jogged his memory. She was the granddaughter and great granddaughter of his father's business partners. She was Joe Stevenson's girl. He was surprised that he hadn't seen the likeness immediately. Above his desk hung an oil painting of old Mr. Stevenson, his son, and Uncus' father in the heyday of Laconia Farm Works. She had come to his father's Christmas parties, he tried to will her name into his memory. Anna maybe? No. That didn't sound right. Miss Stevenson was going to have to do. A bell jingled when she pushed open the door. As eager as he was to get to his office, he followed her into the shop, unwilling to reveal that he over shot his building. The Stevenson girl turned around and ducking past Uncus, caught the door before it closed, setting it off again. "Come back in Alex", she said, "I'll just be a minute". Uncus found himself staring again as the army girl stepped in the door. "Oh" the Stevenson girl said, "sorry Mr. Metcalf, this is Alex Miller, she's Betty Dellerfield's stepdaughter." "Hello", Uncus said. He had forgotten that Betty had married. "She'll be a sophomore at Mott next year, like me" the girl nodded, silent. Mott College, that explained her outfit. All girls, women, he could hear his daughter correcting him, college in the next town over from Laconia, where Uncus was a Botany professor at Wright University. The local youngsters weren't quite so outlandish. He offered his hand and he shook it. Her solid grip surprised and impressed him. He liked a little umpf in a handshake. "Pleased to meet you", he said. The room was as humid as the university greenhouses. Uncus' glasses started to fog up. If he took them off, he wouldn't be able to see. Removing them also reeked havoc with his astigmatism. If he left them on it would take longer for the glass to defog. Both options made for a fuzzy world, which he disliked. Sometimes at night after he'd taken his glasses off, he could still feel their weight on his nose. He would run his hands down his face to see if they were still there. When he knew perfectly well they were folded on the night stand next to him. Now he kept them on his nose and squinted, trying to see what was on (unidentified). "What would you like?", the Stevenson girl asked from behind the counter, "a dozen bagels?" Uncus frowned, better than donuts he supposed. Slowly the shop came into focus. "Why not Miss Stevenson", Uncus said. "Hannah." "I beg your pardon?" "Hannah, its Hannah Stevenson, Mr. Metcalfe. That's my name", she smiled briefly. "Mixed?" "That would be fine", he said wondering what on earth he'd do with a dozen bagels. Does Margaret like bagels? "He wasn't sure he did". "Would you like me to choose", she asked, though she was looking over his shoulder as she spoke. HE studied the wire bins. They looked like extra deep in baskets loaded with seeded tufts of bread. "Why don't you", Uncus said. He could feel himself get warm. The Stevenson girl was in her t-shirt behind the counter. She'd also donned a paper cap. He was bundled up for the chill outside. A dozen bagels. Margaret would think he was daft. His grandchildren were expected today. The bagels could be for them. He felt his shoulders ease. "Hannah, were you in my daughter Fauna's class?" "She's older than me. I remember her though. Doesn't she have a kid?" Then I, Uncus thought, older than I. "She and Doug have three children. Or as I like to think of them, three grandchildren. And a forth on the way", but he'd save that information. "Wow, three. My mother was saying that Doug was coming back. We live across the street. Its been weird having that house empty. Hannah wiped her forehead on the sleeve of her t-shirt. "That's right. They're scheduled to arrive from Illinois today. They'll spend a few days with us and then they'll be your responsibility." Hannah looked puzzled, but then smiled, "Oh, because they'll be across the street", she said, "I get it." Uncus recalled the time he'd seen Dolores Fletcher, his son-in-law's mother in that house. She'd had a few too many as usual. "What's that he said?" cocking his ear towards Mr. Stevenson's granddaughter. "Baker's dozen, Mr. Metcalfe. You get one more. Do you want me to choose that too?" "Make it a cinnamon raisin, please." He himself didn't care for fruit in bread, or in chicken, or ham, or in any dish except for dessert or oatmeal, but his grandchildren would like the raisins. That seemed to be the kind of thing they thrived on. That'll be six dollars even Mr. Metcalfe." Uncus tried to contain his surprise. These were big city prices for glorified bread. Still, he supposed it was too late to refuse to buy. This would teach him not to miss the building. He handed the girl a ten and a one. He would get a five dollar bill in change. He preferred to limit the number of ones crowding his wallet. "This is too much Mr. Metcalfe. Its six dollars you gave me. Oh. I get it." Uncus relaxed himself into patience, all the time in the world for her to figure out a simple math problem. "Geez, sorry Mr. Metcalfe. No fives today. Hannah counted out five singles into his hand. As he left the shop, Uncus saw Alex sitting at a table in the corner. She looked glum, at odds with her bright spiky hair which seemed cheery against the gray cold. It was mysterious what governed the temperaments of the young. At so far a move from mortality, her distress seemed luxurious and indulgence." Now I'm going to skip ahead to he, Fauna does return and he gets a call when he gets to his office that his wife is laid up in the hospital, a book table at a fair has fallen on her and so she's in the hospital and we pick him up the next day when he's going to visit her for the second time and he has stopped off at the book fair to bring her some books. "Uncus heard the firehouse sirens signal noon as the automatic glass doors swung open and ushered him into Sparta Memorial. The hallway smelled of hospital food, potent and sickly all at once. When he walked into the room, Fauna was lifting the round cover off of a thin sandwich. Slices of pink cold cuts between white bread. His wife and middle child looked up at the same moment with the same impassive expression. He knew they expected him to his presence seemed to barely register. Fauna continued unloading the tray before greeting him. His wife said hello after taking a bite of her sandwich. In Margaret's case it didn't mean that she wasn't glad he was here, but that she reserved her outward enthusiasm for the unknown commodity. Had Uncus been an orderly or a nurse's aide, someone Margaret had never laid eyes on, he would have been greeted like a valued customer. Fauna had in her high school days, accused her mother of being warmer to shop clerks than to her own children. But Uncus had experienced Margaret's true frostiness at a much closer range. The chill one morning after he'd drunk too much, her swing in mood from teasing to cold when he wouldn't be jollied out of the blackness that sometimes weighed on him. She had a code of behavior and if you stumbled, she retreated in cool disappointment. 'I'm sorry' would be met with 'I should think you would be'. When Fauna complained about and what was evidence here could be seen in comparison as simply reserve. 'We were just discussing what beds and stuff Fauna might take from the attic", Margaret said, 'it seems a lucrative garage sale has striped them of the basics.' Fauna looked a little embarrassed, 'Well, it seems stupid to cart second hand junky stuff back and forth from across the country. I mean, I knew we'd need some of it, but it didn't seem worth it.' Uncus hoped no family furniture had been sold to strangers. He tried to remember what she'd been given. Fauna turned back to her mother, 'Here's what I think we need: a couple of single beds for Tommy and Janie and some small bureaus if you have them. We'll get a new couch with a pull out bed for the television/guest room and I'll have to look into a crib for Nick, although I don't know how long he'll stand for that.' 'What happened to father's crib", Margaret asked. 'Fauna's face wrinkled, 'I don't know why I let you talk me into taking that thing to Illinois. It was rickety and seemed designed to sever kids fingers. We didn't even try to sell it. We left it for the garbage men' 'Oh, Faun, you didn't', Margaret said. Uncus inwardly winced as his fear was confirmed. It had been a fine old crib. At each corner, there had been a hand carved pine cone with worm patched where his father and then Uncus' brothers and sister and then Uncus himself, as well as his own children, had as it were, nursed. He expected to see future generations launch from its confines. The lack of respect he sometimes saw in his progeny was a great disappointment. 'Yep, I'm sorry, but I did', Fauna said, 'the safety regulations, even for your own grandchildren mean nothing to you people?' 'But', Margaret persisted, 'it wasn't your to give away, much less throw away.' Fauna shrugged, 'I thought it was mine. I thought you'd given it to me. It didn't occur to me that you'd want it back. I didn't know you and dad were considering. Do you have some news you'd like to share?', she patted her own extended belly. Uncus checked his irritation. Fauna's sense of humor escaped him. She must see that Margaret was upset, that the crib meant something to her. 'I wish you hadn't', Margaret said. 'But I did', Fauna replied. Margaret turned to Uncus. 'What news of life in the free world' Uncus took his wife's cue and switched gears. He feigned consideration of the question. 'Well, I bring you tidings and books courtesy of Elsie and all the woman down at the annual Muir library book sale. Elsie was kind enough to feed the meter for your car this morning and said she'd be up to visit this afternoon. Margaret rolled her eyes. Fauna stood up quickly, 'I bet', she said, 'Mrs. Brewster called Doug, the Fletcher boy.' Uncus was bewildered. His daughter's outburst rarely failed to take him off guard. They were what reminded him that she was only twenty-two years old, not her defiance over throwing out his old crib, or her impertinence in implying that Margaret was pregnant. 'Elsie had called Doug the Fletcher boy, but that's who he was. And I bet you just nodded as though that were an inappropriate way for her to refer to your son-in-law.' 'He has a name, but the woman can't let go. I dumped her pot head son after going out with him for two days and its like, oh, i don't know', Fauna was looking at him as though she was waiting for a response, but Uncus didn't know what to say. 'Lord reticent taciturn pleads his case, never mind', Fauna said. Lord Reticent Taciturn, Uncus thought, an affectionate nickname given to him by his wife and turned on his ear by his children. 'Oh, and Dad, the doctor, Charlie Bizgrove was here, mom won't be out for a few days. He wants to talk to you.' 'Little Charlie?', Uncus asked. 'There's only one practicing Dr. Bizgrove. His father retired', Fauna said. The nurse at the desk has a question about insurance and I'm late to meet Doug and the kids. She turned to Margaret, 'I'll be back later this afternoon, Mom, while the kids are napping.' On her way out, Fauna stopped and looked at him, 'Sorry about that outburst, but Mrs. Brewster really frys my... she gets on my nerves.' She kissed him on the cheek briefly, 'is there anything I can pick up for you Mom, besides a crib?' 'No, I don't think so.' Damned, Uncus thought. If she was going to ask Fauna for anything. But then she did. 'If the mail comes in time, and oh, the newspaper' Uncus stepped farther into the room with books. With his free hand he lifted the paper that had been resting on top of the books, 'Oh, here's the Gazette.' 'Bless you my angel husband, you didn't make the front page, I'll phone Steve immediately', Margaret gave a snort of laughter. Steve (unidentified) was the editor of the Sparta Gazette and a recent widower who had moved to Sparta with his wife about a dozen years ago. He'd seen the paper through some difficult times, not the least of which was its absorption by a chain. Even so he covered local news with the attention to detail that some people reserve for their annual Christmas letter. No doubt, Margaret would appear in the weekly hospital round up, the stethoscope." Thank you very much.