Kansas Summer

Here In The Real World

My old red pickup comes to a stop in front of a quaint little one-story house. I put in the parking brake and clamber out of the cab. I survey what’s to be my third house this summer. It’s very plain: cream siding, white shutters, and a dazzling array of flowers between the house and the sidewalk. The house reminds me of the Jackson’s house, though not quite as large.

The screen door bounces against the side of the house with a large crash. A plump woman with rosy cheeks in her fifties runs out to meet us. She looks well for her age, though some gray hairs are discernible through her mass of dark brown, almost black hair. An apron is tied around her waist like she had just come from the kitchen.

“Hello you two!” she calls to us before she even crosses the lawn. “It’s so good to see you at last!” Before we can react, she has us wrapped in tight hugs. “You don’t know just how much of a blessing you are! We’ve been praying to God that He would send us children, and here you are!”

I grin and hug her back, just like she was my mom. There is something about this person that feels trusting. Morgan, however, is reluctant to show any affection, or to receive it. She backs quietly away from us, shuffling her hands in front of her, and looking down at the ground.

“Well, come now, come now! Lunch is ready, and I’m sure you must be famished! I’m sorry, I won’t be much help taking your suitcases, but I will show you to your room!” I hoist the large suitcase full of clothes that Leroy had helped recover from the apartment from the bed of the truck and hang it over my shoulder, following—what was her name?

The woman turns around suddenly. “Oh, how silly of me! I forgot to introduce myself! I’m Mrs. Andrews, but you may call me mom if you wish! My husband isn’t around right now; he teaches physics at the college. Oh, let’s get you to your rooms!” Mrs. Andrews disappears into the house, and Morgan and I follow.

“She sure is excitable,” Morgan mumbles.

“She is happy to see us,” I tell her. “And you’ll get used to it in a few days.”

That day’s lunch was quite possibly one of the largest I had had in a long time. I had never seen so many things to eat, especially for lunch; my dad never made anything, and Nancy was just absent. I hadn’t had eaten much food in the past month, so I took the opportunity to indulge myself. There were mashed potatoes, roast beef, warm bread, and peaches on the table, with three places already set like she was expecting us.

Mrs. Andrews leads us away from the dining room and upstairs. There are only three rooms: two bedrooms and a bathroom.

“Our only daughter slept in one of the bedrooms; the other one is for guests, but we rarely have company,” she explains. She shows Morgan to her room, the one on the right. It isn't painted, but pictures of the only daughter litter the wall. Morgan carefully sets down the small handbag she was carrying and inspects one of the portraits. I figure that Morgan hasn't seen a country girl before; the clothing that the girl is wearing in the portrait is much different than the fashion in the city. The dress the girl wore is plain, its color is unrecognizable because the portrait was in black and white. Morgan breathes out softly.

Mrs. Andrews walks up behind Morgan and admires the picture with her. “Oh yes, that's Deborah. Such a darling, isn't she? She's at Nyack now, and having such a good time. It's been three years now since she left. This summer, she's going to the Dominican Republic for a mission trip. I hope she comes back before next fall; you would love to meet her.”

“The dress is really pretty,” Morgan remarks.

“I think it might fit you,” Mrs. Andrews tells her, marching over to the closet and wrestling out a blue and white plaid dress with a white ribbon around the middle. “Do you like it?”