Tom Finchley said quietly, “We’ll help, that goes for Dabrowski too. By the way, she called him ‘Anton’ First she called him ‘Ski’ like the rest of us. Then she learned his first name and called him by it.”
“Then I will call him ‘Anton.’ Will you all call me ‘Eunice’? Or at least ‘Joan Eunice’? To help me? Oh, call me ‘Miss Smith’ when others are around; I know you won’t feel easy otherwise. You probably called her ‘Mrs. Branca’ if other people were—”
“We did.”
“So call me ‘Miss Smith’ when it would be natural for you to call her ‘Mrs. Branca.’ But when you called her ‘Eunice,’ call me ‘Joan Eunice’ and—dear and trusted friends! —any time you feel that I have earned it, please call me ‘Eunice.’ It will be the highest compliment you can pay me, so don’t use it lightly. Leave off the ‘Joan’ and call me ‘Eunice.’ Will you?”
Fmchley looked at her, unsmiling. “Yes. . . Eunice.”
“Tom, I haven’t earned it yet.”
Finchley did not answer. Fred said, “Let me get this straight. ‘Joan Eunice’ is for everyday . . . but ‘Eunice’ means we think you’ve done and said just what Mrs. Branca would have.”
“That’s right, that’s what I said.”
“Then I know what Tom meant. Uh, this has been a touchy day—worse for you, I’d say, but not easy for any of us. Shorty—Hugo, I mean—said she was an angel. Or meant it, anyhow. I can’t argue; Shorty is a preacher and knows more about angels and suchlike than I do. But if she was—is, I mean—still, she had a lot of salt and pepper in her, too. You remember an hour back when you snapped at Shorty and yelled for Tom?”
She sighed. “Yes, I remember. I lost my temper. I’ve got a long way to go. I know it.”
“Rut that’s just what I’m saying…Eunice. She had a lot of spunk. It we had tried to make her eat by herself, she would have kicked the gong. Right, Shorty?—I mean ‘Hugo.’
“Amen! Eunice.”
Finchley said, “Fred read my mind close enough Eunice. But I was thinking of other things, too. I never thought of her as an angel, particularly. She just treated us like people.”
“Tom—”
“Yeah, Shorty? Hugo.”
“My name’s Shorty to you—and to you, Fred. Don’t put on any fancies. Hugo was Mama’s name for me. And hers. Yours, Eunice. But I near forgot what I had to say. Tom, that’s all anybody wants. To be treated ‘like people.’ She done it that way—Eunice. And now you do, too. ‘Like people.’ Mr. Smith didn’t quite manage it. But he was old and sick, and we made allowances.”
“Oh, dear! I feel like crying again. Hugo—when I was Mr. Smith, I never meant to be anything but people. Truly I didn’t.”
“Sick people can’t help being cranky. My Daddy got so mean before he passed on, I run away from home. Worst mistake I ever made. But I don’t fault him for it. We do what we do, then we live with it. Eunice—the first Eunice—is an angel now, my heart tells me and my head knows. But she had her little human ways; same as everybody. The dear Lord don’t fault us for that.”
“Hugo? If it had been me and not her, would I have made it? To Heaven?” (Om Mam Padme Hum! Watch it, Boss! He’ll drag you over to that creek and wash your sins away.) (If he wants to, I’ll let him. Shut up!)
“I don’t rightly know,” the preacher said softly. “I never knew Mr. Smith that well. But the Lord do move in mysterious ways. Looks like He give you a second chance. He always knows what He’s doing.” (Oh, all right, twin. Try not to get water up our nose.)
“Thank you, Hugo. I think He did, too—and I’m trying to justify it.” She sighed. “But it’s not easy. I try to do what Eunice would do. At least justify the second chance she gave me. I think I know what she Would do now. But I’m not certain.” (I’d knock off all this talk, that’s what I’d do.) (Pipe down and give me a chance.) She looked around. “I don’t know how well you knew her and I keep learning things about her. I think you ‘three—you four; I include Anton—must have been her closest friends, at least in my household. Certainly you knew her better than I had thought. Tom?”