What's for Dinner? by James Schuyler (to read list .txt) 📕

I know I look forward to it. We can take some nice drives too. And have a dinner at the Steak Pit.”

“A likely story,” Mrs Judson said, “with all the things they say about me behind my back. Somebody went through my drawers again. I wish I knew what they were looking for. I have nothing to hide.”

The nurse seated in the corner spoke up. “I was looking for the nail scissors. You were the last to have them, and when I asked you for them, you said first that you’d returned them, which you hadn’t, and then that you had mislaid them.”

“I wanted to keep them a little longer. So I could do my nails in the sun room where the light is better. Good heavens, I can be trusted with a little pair of nail scissors. What do you think I was going to do—try to cut Mr Mulwin’s throat?”

“Good grief,” Mr Mulwin said, “leave me out of it. You’ve no call to have a grudge against me.”

“I was just using you as an example: yours was the first name that came to mind.”

“In leaving you alone with the scissors,” Dr Kearney said, “the nurse was evincing trust in you.”

“Thank you, doctor,” the nurse said. Earlier that afternoon, the head nurse had given her holy hell.

“I did give them back,” Mrs Judson said. “Don’t I deserve any credit for that? I could have thrown them out and pretended I didn’t know a thing about it.”

“Of course,” Dr Kearney said, “but you can also see, I’m sure, how your previous prevarication creates a certain distrust.”

“I’m as trustworthy as any one in this room,” Mrs Judson said. “More than most, if you really went into it.”

“I hate to tattle,” Mrs Brice said, “but this afternoon I came unexpectedly into our room and Mrs Judson was just closing a drawer of my dresser. It was the drawer where I keep my stockings and underclothing.”

“That was where I hid the scissors,” Mrs Judson said, “so I could use them later. I didn’t take any of your old things.”

“Wild,” Bertha said.

“I didn’t accuse you of taking anything,” Mrs Brice said firmly. “But I’d prefer you didn’t go into my drawers. It’s about the only privacy I have. Any of us have.”

“Yeah,” Mr Mulwin said, “don’t come mousing around my room and rummaging in the drawers. If you don’t mind.”

“Why?” Lottie asked in a bantering tone. “Have you something to hide?”

“Step out into the corridor,” Mr Mulwin said, “and I’ll show you what I’ve got to hide.”

“That will be enough of that,” Mrs Mulwin said.

“You see?” Mrs Judson said to her husband. “Now they’re talking filthy.”

“Ethel,” Sam Judson said, “I hate to say this, but for the past week you haven’t been yourself. I wish you could figure out what’s getting at you and tell us. Or tell Dr Kearney in your private consultation. No one changes so rapidly without a reason.”

“I think that’s true, Mrs Judson,” Mrs Brice said. “Something is making you behave out of character.”

“Suppressed rage,” Bertha said, “and plenty of it.”

“Oh you,” Mrs Judson hissed. She was trembling. An awkward silence fell on the group. Mrs Judson got up and marched from the room, banging the door. The nurse followed her. They shortly returned and Mrs Judson resumed her seat. She laced her fingers in her lap and stared down at them stolidly.

Mr Brice cleared his throat. “I want to say,” he said, “how pleased I am with the progress Fanny—Mrs Brice—has made. I think she’s earned a weekend visit home herself. Or at least an evening out and dinner in a restaurant with me, her husband.”

“How do the others feel about it?” Dr Kearney queried.

“I’ve got nothing against it,” Mr Mulwin said.

Mrs Mulwin spoke up. “Mrs Brice seems utterly changed from when I first met her. All for the better, I mean. She takes a real part in these sessions and is more confident and out-going.”

“How do you feel about it, Fanny?” Lottie asked. “You’re the one who knows best.”

“I don’t know,” Mrs Brice said. “I want to be all well and home again, and yet when I think about it, it makes me nervous. A little nervous, a little apprehensive.”

“Fear of change,” said the oracular Bertha.

“I don’t know what associations seeing my home might stir up,” Mrs Brice said. “Maybe the gains I’ve made are only on top, like cat’s ice. I might break through and plunge back into my old withdrawn depression. On the other hand, I must confess that I envied Lottie when I heard she was going to have her weekend.”

“One way to find out,” Dr Kearney said, “would be to take the bull by the horns and risk a visit to what I’m sure is your very pleasant home.”

“Yes,” Mrs Brice said, “it is pleasant.”

“We look forward to a visit home from our daughter,” Bertha’s mother said.

“Yes,” her husband agreed.

“A whiff of freedom makes the whole world kin,” Mrs Brice said.

“I’m not ready yet,” Bertha said firmly. “I’ll let you know when I am.”

“Big of you,” Mrs Judson said.

“Why Ethel,” Sam Judson said.

“Mrs Judson,” Lottie said, “I wish you would tell me one thing that I have done to offend you. Or anyone else here, for that matter.”

“How could you offend me?” Mrs Judson said. “I’m above that.”

“And yet you behave toward me as though I had. I’m not trying to provoke you—I think you’ll feel better if you get some of what’s bothering you off your chest.”

“I’ll thank you to leave my chest out of it.”

“Very well,” Lottie said, “I’ve tried.”

“You were going along great guns,” Mrs Brice said. “Don’t you remember the day you and Miss Pride and I worked over the moccasins together? You hadn’t much confidence, and now you’re into belt knotting, which is much more difficult.”

“Stupid belt,” Mrs Judson said. “Idiot moccasins. Horrible hospital: there’s nothing wrong with me: I want to go home.”

“Who doesn’t?” Mr Mulwin said. “I went through a period when I couldn’t see any reason