Miss Elva by Stephens Gerard Malone Page B

Add to the mix the danger of so many idle men lollygagging around town,especially after what had happened to Oak, and there was no way Jane could slip out alone any more to be with Dom.
    But she could pretend she was with him, and Elva knew it.
    Can’t they see, him acting out when that Gatsby speaks ’cause Jane likes it, watching her over the top of that book, her sittin’ there all queenie-like, and I know she’s pretending he’
s
Dom.
    Jane’s glances lingering too long, sitting too close. As Elva knew and feared, it brought Gil pleasure when it wasn’t meant to. When she realized it too, Jane flashed him that haughty look of indignation, turning away angrily as much to chastise herself for being unfaithful to Dom as to distance Gil. But the pained expression was on a face like Dom’s, and if being angry with Dom was impossible for Jane, Elva wondered, how come no one sees?
    Elva was wrong. Someone else did see, felt what Elva felt and worried that Gil was falling in love with Jane.
    Moths bumped against the screens in the warm evening air. The kitchen calendar had a new month and a new advertisement: Ipswich Baking Powder. Elva refused to look at it any more. She was boycotting it. The name reminded her of what was trouble waiting to happen and she’d rather forget. Amos continued speculating without anyone paying too much attention.
    “There’s something not right about that friend of Barthélemy’s,” he said, Oak being more noticeable now that he was up and around. “He doesn’t speak much.”
    Jane was at the stove, stirring some milk Rilla asked her to watch. Her back was to them like she was trying to blend in with the cupboards.
    “And what’s the matter with you these days, girl?” he asked Elva, who was helping Rilla clear the table. “You’re too damned quiet as well. Gives me the creeps, you sitting around all day. What are you always drawing, anyway?”
    Elva tried to carry too much with her weak arm and the dishes clattered back onto the table, knocking the salt shaker onto Amos’s lap.
    He jumped up and pushed her away from the table, then threw salt over his shoulder.
    “For Christ’s sake, can’t you do anything without making a mess? As if I didn’t have enough fucking bad luck with the lot of you.”
    “Those boys pay their board.” Rilla skilfully gathered up the plates and deflected Amos’s anger away from Elva.
    “Yeah? How, is what I’d like to know. Where’s Barthélemy getting the money?” Amos said, his eyes blazing on Elva as he sat back down.
    “All I know is that they’re out early and not back till late,” Rilla said, the tablecloth straightened. “Must have work somewhere.”
    “In this town? Who’d hire Gil Barthélemy?” Holding his stomach, he added, “Fuck me, woman, if you aren’t becoming the worst cook in Demerett Bridge.”
    A dollar a week, Gil offered next evening after he and Oak had returned.
    His hand was on Elva’s shoulder during the asking. She was cataloguing in her mind all the physical occurrences between them. This time his hand was heavy and warm with an oh so gentle squeeze.
Does it feel the same as Dom’s? Would Gil touch Jane like his brother? What would it be like if Gil touched me that way?
And Elva turned her blush away.
    It was a princely sum to look after a dog. She took the job as offered not for the money but because Major had taken readily to her. The only warm-blooded thing to ever kiss her. (No, that wasn’t entirely true. That mousy Harry Winters had been dared by his older brother. There was a penny in the doing, but he cried after and said he’d got warts. Rilla? Well she had to, so that didn’t count.) So Major was the only warmblooded thing to ever
want
to kiss her, and he didn’t care if Elva wasn’t straight limbed or creamy skinned. Making sure he was fed and watered was something she’d have freely done. Even so, the money heightened Elva’s curiosity. Where
was
it coming from?
    Solving the mystery