Schifflebein's Folly

CHAPTER 3: THE ENFORCER

At precisely 5:28 p.m. that evening, the sensible shoes of Hepzibah Stoner were marching up the walk toward Lloyd's front door when the door suddenly opened and a dustpanful of leaves, stems, and roots flew out onto the lawn. Hepzibah halted. Through the open door she heard a man scolding someone.

"House plant, Montalban! Can you say 'house plant'? Not salad bar. House plant. For pity's sake."

The door slammed shut.

Hepzibah took a tentative step toward the door. It swung open again. The dustpan hurled another load of debris onto the lawn.

The man's voice said, "One more stunt like that, mister, and I'm pre-heating the oven for Rabbit Pot Pie! Got that?"

The door slammed.

Hepzibah's feet advanced once more.

Inside the house, Lloyd swept pea-like black pellets into his dustpan while talking over his shoulder to his unseen adversary. "And in case you forgot, Poopsie, your paper's in the other corner!"

He opened the door to toss out the contents of the dustpan, not noticing that Hepzibah now stood firmly centered in the doorway.

"Try to behave," Lloyd was saying to someone in the house. "She'll be here any minute." Still looking back over his shoulder, he emptied the dustpan directly onto Hepzibah's shoes.

"She's here now, Mister Sicklefine," Hepzibah declared.

Lloyd's eyes swung to meet hers. "Oh goodness," he said.

He looked down at her shoes. Black pellets rested in the creases and crevices of her shoe tops. "Oh goodness," he said.

Lloyd dropped to his knees, sweeping at her shoes in a rapid dog-paddling motion, like some crazed supplicant. "Oh goodness, I'm so sorry. I didn't see you. I'm so terribly sorry," he said.

Hepzibah began to smile despite herself. "Don't apologize, Mister Sticklebee, please. I must tell you that having a man of your age and your ... dimensions groveling at my feet has always been my second-favorite fantasy."

Lloyd brushed the last rabbit raisin aside and stood, dustpan in hand.

"Schifflebein," he said. "Lloyd Schifflebein. Just call me Lloyd. You must be Mrs. Stoner. Please come in." He nearly shook her hand before he recalled what he had just been doing and yanked his hand back.

"Actually, it's Ms., not Mrs.," Hepzibah said, crossing the threshold.

"Yes, ma'am. Let me just wash up a bit. Please, make yourself comfortable." Lloyd dashed from the room.

Hepzibah looked around for the person Lloyd had been talking to, but she saw nobody. She heard water running in the kitchen. She lowered herself onto what appeared to be a slipcovered sofa, but her jaws jolted and her eyes widened when her posterior made a sudden stop on a hard, prickly surface instead of the expected cushion.

She placed her briefcase on the floor and casually lifted the slipcover. The "sofa" beneath was apparently a bale of hay. She shifted from cheek to cheek, gave up on finding comfort, and stood instead.

From the kitchen, Lloyd called to her, "What's your first?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You said a man of my age and dimensions groveling at your feet is your second-favorite fantasy. What's your first-favorite?

"A man of my age and your dimensions," she answered without hesitation.

With an investigator's instincts, Hepzibah moved to Lloyd's bookshelves and studied the titles. She read them aloud, "The Strong-willed Child, The Weak-willed Child, The Apathetic Child. Hmm. Dare to Discipline. Parenting Without Violence. Your Child's Early Years. Living With Teenagers. The Little Engine That Could. Hmfph."