Village Squire, 1973-09, Page 9A SiogIe Rose
A Short Story by William Keith
Robbie felt like whistling as he walked ho ne in the
sunshine. T it hadn't been that he was missing his two
front teeth he probably would have.
But he still felt like whistling even if he couldn't man-
age a sound. The sun was shining. It was spring. His
pocket was full of marbles he had won at school that day.
And the high mark he got in math today made it certain
that he would get the two wheeler that his father promised.
Why shouldn't he feel like whistling?
It had rained earlier in the day and there were plenty
of puddles for him to try his boots in. As usual he overest-
imated the height of the boots and he went home the rest
of the way with wet feet.
Tt wasn't a long walk home from school. But for a sec-
ond -grader it could take a long time. First there was
the river where he could watch the big fish stroke lazily
into the current and drop pebbles to make them scurry
into the protective shadows of the bridge. Then it was
another block and ti ne to say goodbye to Donny. Two
more houses and it was Jerry's. And he was alone for the
rest of the way, down the hill, turn the corner around the
big house of Mrs. Seymour's with all the pretty flowers.
Robbie liked Mrs. Seymour's place. There were always
flowers in the front yard. In the early Spring it was daf-
fodils and crocuses. In May the lilacs bloomed and the
whole neighbourhood smelled their sweet scent.
Usually he would say hello to Mrs. Seymour on his
way home as she worked in her garden. She was always
friendly and waved back and asked how he enjoyed school.
But today she wasn't in her garden.
He missed the chance to tell her of his happiness. But
everything was too glorious to worry about little things.
Two houses down from Mrs. Seymour's he turned in to
his own house. Janie was playing in her playpen beside
the back step. David, his big brother, was fixing a tire
on his bicycle.
He bounced in the door and flung it shut behind him.
He winced as he heard it slam shut. Mom wouldn't like
that. After pausing to kick off his rubbers he trotted into
the kitchen, threw his reader on the table and went to the
cupboard to make himself a sandwich. His mother was
putting something in the oven. -
"What's that?" he asked.
"Robbie! Wash your hands before you eat that sand-
wich! You'll get germs and get sick again like you were
last month."
"What's that?" he asked again. Sometimes it was so
hard to 'nake mothers listen.
"Chocolate cake."
"Can 1 lick the b,;w1?" There was always a fight am-
ong the children to see who could get to clean the last
of the sweet cake mixture out of the mixing bowl. This
time he was lucky, there was nobody else around.
"Oh, all right." His mother's voice sounded cross, as
if her mind was on something else and she resented being
distracted over such a small thing.
She closed the oven door and took off her apron
"Is this for supper?"
"Robbie! Don't get that chocolate on that good shirt."
Something must be wrong, he thought. She wasn't
usually so jumpy.
"Is this for supper?" He was insistent.
"No, it's not for us. "
'Who is it for then::
"Mrs. Seyrnour."
"What does she need it for?" Robbie liked the old
lady but he didn't like giving up chocolate cake. Besi-
des, he knew she made wonderful chocolate cake. She
had given some to him lots of times when he'd be on his
way home from school or out playing.
"Well it isn't really for Mrs. Seymour. It's for her
family. Mrs. Seymour died today."
Robbie had been licking the spoon with long noisy
gulps but his mother's words made him stop quickly. He
put down the spoon and set the big bowl back on the
counter. The sugary chocolate tasted garlic in his mouth.
"When, mom ny?"
"This morning about eleven o'clock."
"Why?"