Page 92 of Homebound
“Pft! They will manage. I am raising men not wimps. Speaking of money, I am expecting your new room share to be paid next week.”
“Next week? We agreed on the next month!”
Herise shook her head. “I can’t wait that long.”
Gemma bit her tongue knowing the futility of starting an argument about money with Herise.
Uncle Drexel’s arm was on the mend but his personality had undergone a huge turnabout and deteriorated into that of a chronic complainer. He didn’t just vent his emotional frustrations; he relished in finding fault in everything, from cold weather to Aunt Herise’s house dress. He saw setbacks where there was progress. Minute daily struggles had become insurmountable problems. Things he used to enjoy were stupid and no longer mattered.
Vocal and unrestrained, he spewed doom and gloom and end of days predictions for hours, scolding Gemma, berating kids, and arguing with Aunt Herise for no discernible reason. Caring for him, and even being in his presence, had become a trial for the family.
And then came Leena’s dinnertime declaration. “I am getting married!”
Forks frozen in mid-air and startled faces around the table would have been comical, except Leena was dead serious.
“Who?” Aunt Herise managed the whistling word from her constricted throat.
“Our neighbor, Mr. Raclou.”
Uncle Drexel’s fork clattered to his plate. “He’s fifty if he’s a day, Leena! And you’re fourteen.”
“Mature men can better appreciate the glow of youth,” Leena said primly, her unusually wise tone suggesting she’d picked up this tripe from the would-be groom. “Mr. Raclou grows a lot of vegetables in his garden and sells them for profit. He can provide for me. And I will live close to you. A win-win for all.”
Gemma’s overactive imagination immediately supplied a picture of plump young Leena and weathered unkempt Mr. Raclou as husband and wife. In the summertime, they would be wheeling manure for his garden, together, in the cart currently on loan to Drexel, and her aunt and uncle would be looking out of their window and smiling obligingly down on the newlyweds.
Aunt Herise recovered her power of speech. “You’ve lost what little wits you had.” She leaned across the table and slapped Leena soundly on the cheek. “If you must wiggle your fat butt at a man, pick a young one with potential. What’s the old goat good for? He’ll be dead before you turn thirty! Stay away from Raclou!”
Leena burst into loud sobs. “But we love each other!”
“Love! Did you hear her, Drexel? That old lecher! He’s dirt poor, that’s what he is. He drinks moonshine. What a catch. A husband! Drexel, you’ve got to put a stop on it.”
Uncle Drexel looked alarmed. “Put a stop to it how? I’ve got no arm, remember?”
The last Gemma checked, he still had it but lately he liked to act as if he’d lost it completely.
Herise put her hands to her hips. “Go tell him to stay away from Leena. Give him back his ridiculous buggy.”
“But I need it! How else would I go to the hospital?” Not in control of the situation, Uncle Drexel let his eyes roam wildly around the room searching for a solution. But Herise stood firm.
“Somehow else! Go. Tell him.”
“Now?” Disbelief and distress mixed in Drexel’s wide-eyed expression.
Leena wailed louder.
“Yes, now. As Leena’s father and the head of the family, put a stop to this nonsense this very minute.” Aunt Herise made ushering motions with her hands and pointed at the door.
“But I… the dinner… and Mr. Raclou has been such a good neighbor! He gives us turnips from his garden. Maybe he can have Gemma?”
Gemma blinked. “What?”
It wasn’t like Drexel to crack a joke so he must’ve meant it.
“She’s still young. Raclou may like her.” Drexel looked beseechingly at his wife. “What other prospects does she have?”
Aunt Herise glanced at Gemma speculatively.
Gemma rose from her chair.
