Married in Haste

Touching the paper to his brow in salute, Ben steered his nieces out of the building and toward his car. He settled both girls into the back, buckling Mollie into her booster seat. Afterward, he made a cursory check of Erin’s buckle. The first day he’d driven the girls, Erin had thrown a fit because he’d yanked on her belt. Now Ben played it cool. She’d insisted she was eight and not a baby who needed help buckling herself in. But Ben had seen some nasty injuries to kids who weren’t properly fastened in their seats. So he continued to discreetly check her buckle.

Placing Abby’s new address on the dash, Ben realized he’d wrongly assumed Elliot’s home would be adjacent to his church. This address was a mile or two beyond that. Beach property, unless he was way off base.

As the house numbers counted upward, he knew he was right. When at last he reached the address, he stopped and stared. The place was a rambling two-story structure built on a knoll. The backyard probably sloped to the beach. Ben imagined the view of Alki Point would be spectacular from an upper deck he could see, it extended all the way around the house. Gray shake siding, typical of homes built in the 1900s, was warped and weather-faded, but to Ben, it added to the overall charm.

“Why are we stopping here, Unca Ben?” Mollie kicked restlessly at the back of his seat.

“This is where Mrs. Miller said Abby’s staying. Did you know she’s caring for the Drummond boys? I think you girls know the twins.”

“Noah and Michael pull my braids,” Erin announced. “Why is Ms. Drummond staying with them at this old house? I like where she lived before. She had an awards party for her students there. It’s nicer.”

Ben was at a loss. How should he answer Erin? According to a newsletter the school had sent home to parents and guardians after the quake, Mr. Conrad had spoken to all classes about the personal losses many of their classmates had suffered. Ben himself had attended quite a few funerals. Too many. Wanting to spare the girls needless anguish, he’d gone alone to pay his respects. Now Ben wondered if he shouldn’t have at least discussed Abby’s situation with the girls.

“Erin, will you unbuckle Mollie?”

“They’ve got bicycles,” Mollie said loudly. She pointed to a cluster of bikes and trikes in a detached garage whose door opened onto the street near where her uncle had parked. “Maybe the twins will let us ride, huh, Erin?”

Erin scowled. “They’re boys’ bikes, Mollie. We’re wearing dresses.”

“So?” Mollie skipped ahead toward concrete steps leading up to the house. “I’m wearing tights. So what if somebody sees my slip? It’s the new one Mommy bought me before school started. That’d be okay, wouldn’t it, Unca Ben?”

Ben glanced quickly around the area and determined that the sidewalk was fairly flat in spite of the hilly terrain. The neighborhood looked peacefully rural. “Sure, Mollie girl. You’ll have to ask Abby first, of course.”

Erin gripped her sister’s shoulder, making the younger child flinch. “Mommy always said we had to change out of our school clothes before we play outside.” The girl faced Ben. “We have books to read until we go home. Here, Mollie, this is your library book.” Erin shoved a thin volume into her sister’s hands.

Since the girls had returned to school after spring break, anything Ben allowed Mollie to do, Erin contradicted. Her every sentence of late began with Mommy says or Mommy did. Ben had no idea how to counter that. He’d hoped that, over time, Erin would grow to accept his authority. He hadn’t wanted to lay down the law, but plainly he couldn’t let her bossiness continue. It wasn’t fair to Mollie. Furthermore, there was no need for Erin to burden herself with parenting chores. Yet this wasn’t the time or place for a family showdown. “Stellaluna.” Ben read the name on Mollie’s book. “I haven’t read this story, Mollie. Did your teacher help you select it?”

Nodding, Mollie shook off Erin’s hand and skipped alongside her Uncle. “It’s about bats. A mama and baby bat. Will you read it to me, Unca Ben?”

“Later, princess. After dinner.” He smiled down at her as he reached over her head to ring the old-fashioned door bell. The bell not only didn’t ring, it fell off in Ben’s hand.

Erin sounded horrified. “You broke Miss Abby’s door bell.”

Not knowing what to do, and because he heard laughter and thumping inside, Ben set the pieces of the bell on the porch rail and knocked loudly.

A sandy-haired boy of six or seven yanked open the door and squinted at them from brilliant blue eyes.

“I’m a friend of Abigail Drummond’s. Is she home?” Ben asked.

“Did you come to help with the toilet?” The boy’s voice seemed too deep for his age. “Water’s running all over upstairs. Aunt Abby’s mad at Mike ’cause he didn’t tell her sooner that he flushed a dead fish, and the strainer, too.”

The boy threw the door wide and beckoned them in. Ben herded the girls into a tiled entry. From there he had a clear view into a large living room. It boasted a sweeping staircase and vaulted ceilings. Colored fish tanks took up one whole wall, which would explain the dead fish in the toilet. A birdcage, home to a squawking cockatiel, hung in a bay window. The disorder of it all shocked Ben.

A little boy with bandaged legs occupied a huge recliner. Coloring books, crayons, toys and Tupperware containers were spread everywhere around him. Though pale, the kid seemed oblivious to the din. A TV blaring. A radio or CD playing. A raucous bird. And kids. Everywhere, kids.

Twins older than the boy who’d let Ben in, plus another—a mirror image of the first one—huddled midway up the stairs. All were high-fiving each other, and in general making too much racket to realize they had visitors.

All at once, a foot-high replica of an off-road truck, complete with oversize balloon tires, bounced and rumbled down the long expanse of stairs. At the bottom, the wheels spun a few times, then the truck careened across slick maple floors. Its bumper whacked Ben hard on his shins, and brought the truck to a halt. Not, however, before Ben glimpsed a rat—no, a gerbil, he decided—with a bottle cap tied to its head. Belted into the front seat of the motorized truck, the animal had obviously withstood the bumpy ride down all those steps and when one of the boys got him out, the gerbil seemed none the worse for wear.

Ben might have taken the cheering boys on the landing to task for their foolish stunt had he not been blindsided by a barking, slobbering brown and white dog that jumped on him and stared him straight in the eye. Were Ben any less nimble, he’d probably have been knocked off his feet, and would’ve been in danger of being licked half to death. As it was, he dodged and mostly managed to evade the wet, pink tongue.

Erin and Mollie screamed. Both girls dropped their books and took refuge in a corner of the massive entry as far as possible from the boisterous dog.

Above the racket, Abby’s voice floated down the same stairs that had so recently served as the Indy 500 for the truck with its gerbil driver. “Boys, will you hold the noise down to a dull roar? Somebody see what’s wrong with Ruffian. Please, guys, cut me some slack. If I don’t get this water valve shut off, you five will be building an ark.”

The boys on the stairs at least had the grace to nudge one another and clam up sheepishly for a minute. Then one of the two older kids spotted Ben. “Aunt Abby!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “Reed let some strange guy in off the street. Do you want me and Mike to call the cops?”

Ben heard Abby yelp, followed by two loud bumps, followed by what might have been a muffled curse. By then he’d corralled the rambunctious boxer, a half-grown pup, Ben saw, seconds before a disheveled-looking Abby hove into view. She leaned over the bannister, brandishing a very large wrench. Her red hair, always hard to tame, stood in wild disarray. Her blue jeans were rolled up to her knees and showed signs of sogginess, as did the long tails of a too large man’s shirt. Dirt streaked her face, hands and arms. Even with all that she managed to look appealing to Ben.

“Ben? Noah scared me! I thought Ruffian had cornered a burglar or at the least a vagrant. I’m glad to see you, but I’m afraid I can’t talk at the moment. I’m kinda busy.” She waggled the wrench.

“So I see. The girls and I stopped by to see how you’re doing.”

Bending lower, Abby zeroed in on the pale faces of the frightened girls. “Erin, Mollie, hi! Boys, you know the McBride girls. Honestly, guys, where are your manners? Put Ruffian in the laundry room until he settles down. Invite Erin and Mollie in. Find a game everyone can play. Make it an easy one for Sam, okay?” She gazed helplessly at Ben. “If you care to supervise, Ben, I just need a minute to deal with a situation. There’s fruit punch in the fridge. Michael will show you where to get clean glasses. Or there’s coffee in the thermos by the stove if you’d rather.” She pulled back, then ducked down again to peer at Ben through the white balusters. “Better yet, I could use a man with a strong arm and a clear mind up here.”

Recovering from his shock at seeing such chaos around a woman he always found to be orderly in all things, Ben dredged up a rakish grin. “Let me settle the girls, Abby, and I’ll be right up.”

“Uncle Ben, I don’t want to stay here.” Erin sidled up to her uncle. “This house is dirty, and that dog slobbered all over me.”

“Erin McBride,” he said sternly. “Start by apologizing to Abby and the boys. While you figure out what you need to say, I’ll lend Abby a hand. Later, if you girls behave, I’ll get you some juice.”

Mollie’s face fell. “I didn’t say the house was dirty. Why can’t I have juice?”

One of the boys—Michael, Ben thought—relieved his death grip on the boxer’s collar. “I’m big enough to pour juice,” the boy declared. “Go ahead and help my aunt. I’ll take care of stuff down here.” He puffed out his thin chest.

Abby, who’d heard the exchange, called over the railing, “Wash your hands first, Mike. And while you’re at it, refill Sam’s glass. Sam? You doing okay, my man?”

A meek voice responded from the confines of the big chair. “I have to go potty. When’s the toilet gonna be fixed?”

“Oh, sweetie. The hall bathroom works. Darn, give me a minute to take off my shoes so I don’t track water downstairs. Then I’ll take you.”

“That chore I can handle like a pro,” Ben informed her. “If it’s okay with Sam, that is. Hey, guy, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Dr. Ben Galloway. My father, Dr. Kirk Galloway, fixed your legs.”

Sam’s eyes grew round and he shoved thick auburn curls off a pale forehead with a freckled hand. “’Kay. You look nicer. Dr. Kirk never smiles.”

Ben lifted the boy, doing his utmost to support the right leg which was casted all the way to the boy’s hip. Sam wore a short cast on his left. Ben guessed the kid wouldn’t be walking anytime soon. He wondered why Abby didn’t have household help. The ages of the children seemed reason enough to seek assistance. To say nothing of the sheer hours involved in maintaining this household.

No wonder Abby looked as if she’d dropped twenty pounds. Ben guessed dashing up and down stairs a hundred times a day would burn a lot of calories.

“There you go, Sam.” Ben straightened after maneuvering them both into the small half bathroom. He glanced up, feeling a drop of water strike his ear. He identified a water stain on the ceiling, which seemed to grow larger as he studied it.

Jeez, Abby probably didn’t know her problems weren’t limited to the upstairs. The flooded commode must be directly above this one. “Hey there, Sam, let’s not dally. I’d just as soon neither of us had to be treated for ceiling plaster falling on our heads.”

The child’s lips quivered. “I wish Daddy was here. Will that phone in your pocket call everywhere?”

“Pretty much,” Ben murmured, still focusing his attention on the damaged ceiling tiles while he helped Sam tie his robe. “Do you have a friend you’d like to call? If you tell me where I can find his number, I’ll dial for you.”

Donning a serious expression, the boy waited patiently while Ben washed and dried his hands. “I don’t got the number for heaven. Maybe it’s in my daddy’s ’puter. Mommy said Daddy put everybody’s number from church on his ’puter. And Daddy said God’s the most important member of his church. So I think God’s number hasta be there.”