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CHAPTER 5

What's In A Name

      WHEN LUCY woke, it was almost noon, and the house was full of voices.

      Why was she still asleep in broad daylight, she wondered, and still in her clothes. And who had come calling. Then she remembered — Normalade had had her baby.

      And Shark had found them at dawn and taken them to the doctor. She remembered the excitement when they had come home again, and how kind Mrs. Sanchez had been — no, she could not call Gene's aunt Mrs. Sanchez. Now she could only think of her as Rosana. Then Lucy's thoughts returned again to the warm weight of the baby in her arms, and her lips curved softly upward. He was so lovely.

      A voice sounded clearly in the next room, and Lucy recognized it was Peaches Wagonwright, Normalade's mama. She must have come to admire the baby.

      Lucy sat up and smoothed her hair. Then she got up, a trifle stiffly, and opened the glass doors that connected the screened-in-porch with the living room. Instantly she was assailed by the scent of Honeysuckle Rose.

      "How nice to see you, Miss Peaches."

      Miss Peaches always reminded Lucy of a lady from another century. She should have been a Gibson Girl, or something like that, with her billowy hair, which was always shedding hairpins, and her pillowy body with its exxagerated curves. She was sitting in Uncle Bob's chair with the baby asleep in her lap. She smiled. "Nice to see you, Lucy dear."

      Normalade was stretched out on the couch, looking rather white and wan, but proud of herself. Normalade's sister, Swan, was lounging in Mama's rocker. Lucy was surprised to see Swan; she and Normalade didn't get along too well any more. Moreover, Swan lived up in Albuquerque.

      "Hello, Swan." Lucy said. And then, "Normalade, how you feeling?"

      Swan only gave a nod of her pretty, dark head, but Normalade said eagerly, "Mama, you got to be extra nice to Lucy from now on. She helped bring your grandchild into the world, and I would have died if she hadn't been there to care for me."

      Peaches threw Normalade a doubtful look, but she said graciously, "Then we're beholden to you, Lucy dear, because this is certainly the sweetest baby I ever saw in my whole life."

      "Well, Normalade," Swan murmured, "I don't know that your life was in really grave danger. Women have babies every day, and they hardly ever die of it."

      "Easy for you to say," Normalade answered indignantly, "Since I was the one having this baby and not you!"

      "Now girls, don't quarrel." Peaches absently. Then, to Lucy, "Won't you join us, dear? We were just talking about what we're going to name this wonderful little boy."

      What were they going to call him? Didn't Bobby have a vote? "I thought probably they'd call him Robert Vance," Lucy said.

      A frown crossed Peaches' placid face. "Use the same old name again? Oh, no, this baby needs to be called something out of the ordinary. What a person names her child can influence his whole life and future."

      Swan stretched herself out in the chair, sleek as a little cat. "Not everybody shares your theory about names, Mama."

      "Well, they ought to." Peaches nodded to emphasize her point, and the big mass of gold-colored hair that was piled on top of her head quivered with emotion, spreading a scent of hair-spray and dislodging a stray hairpin. "You see, Lucy dear, what a person is is deeply influenced by their name. If the name doesn't fit them, it makes for an irritation, like a shoe that hurts your foot. Except that you can't take off your name if it pinches you.

      "On the other hand," Peaches continued settling herself still more confidently in her chair, "When you come up with the right name at the very beginning, then their personality develops like a beautiful flower, coming into bloom."

      "I guess that makes sense," Lucy said doubtfully.

      "Of course. Take my own name — Melba Peaches Wagonwright. Think how clearly it reflects both my looks and my personality. Because I don't think it's vanity for me to mention that I've always had what's termed a luscious style of beauty."

      "And a peaches-and-cream complexion, too, Mama," Normalade added loyally.

      Lucy had to smile at that, because it really was surprising how well Miss Peaches' name did suit her. She was indeed, Lucy thought, rather like a big luscious peach dessert, with billows of whipped cream all around it.

      "What's more," Peaches continued, "I personally have a rare gift for figuring out the exact right names for children. My Normalade's name, for instance, came to me the moment I first saw her, just as soon as she was first born."

      "Because her hair was the color of marmalade?" Lucy suggested.

      "Well yes — but it was more than that. The name tells how sweet she is, how transparent and glowing."

      Normalade looked self-conscious, and Peaches glanced at her in a satisfied way. But then, peering more closely, she added, "Although just now, my girl looks too pale. You should do a little something to your face, sweetheart."

      "Try some blusher," Swan said, under her breath.

      Peaches turned back to Lucy. "So anyway, that's why we can't use an old cast-off name, merely because it's been a while in the family. This baby's name must be perfectly suited to him." She nodded vigorously, loosening another hairpin. "But I'll find the right one, just as I did for Normalade. And for Swan, too — a name that foretold both her beauty and her queenly nature."

      "Nobody but you, Mama, has ever thought I had a queenly nature." Swan got up and walked over to the window and looked out, muttering to herself, "I've got to get home."

      Lucy's eyes followed her. She remembered now that Swan, in spite of all her prettiness had always been the calm and sensible one in that family. And yet, Lucy thought, there was a kind of sadness about her now. Standing there at the window, she looked as if she were watching for someone who never came.

      Lucy got up. "Don't go, Swan. Won't you let me get you a cold drink? Or maybe a cup of coffee?"

      "Go? Nobody's going anywhere," Peaches said indignantly. "You have to sit back down and hear my name for this child."

      "Oh, of course, please tell us." Lucy said, sitting back down again.

      Without turning, Swan said, "Yes do, mama, but with no more preamble."

      For an instant Peaches' blue eyes glanced sharply at Swan, then her attention returned to the baby. She cradled a hand around his little head and turned her body slightly, so the clear light shone on him and illuminated his sleeping face.

      "All right. Now just by looking, I can tell that this child is going to be a great man someday — and he's also going to have a really sweet nature. So therefore . . . his name must be —" She took a deep breath, "Hero. That's it: Hero Vance."

      "Oh, Mama." Normalade cried out, "That's just perfect. You're exactly right. He's my little Hero!"

      Peaches looked pleased. "My dear little girl, may he bring you only joy, and may he be everything you hope for." She got up and laid the baby in Normalade's arms and kissed her.

      Still at the window, Swan turned to look at Normalade with the baby in her arms, and for a minute Lucy thought Swan was going to cry. But then her chin went up, her expression changed, and she said in an impatient voice, "Lucy, were you going to make some coffee? I'd like to be home before dark."

      "Of course."

      Lucy got up and went to the kitchen, where she found Uncle Bob sitting at the table with Bertie Watkins, Clive Watkin's grandpa. They were eating ginger snaps out of the bag and having a grand old time together.

      Bertie didn't get along with everybody, but he and Uncle Bob were old cronies. Just now, they had newspapers spread all over the table and on the floor. On top of these were half a dozen pencils and several sheets of notebook paper, Mama's old world atlas, and a dog-eared World Almanac, that was years out of date. The bag of cookies was right on top.

      Bob had a cup of coffee, and Bertie was clutching a mug of something as black as coffee, but Lucy knew it was really tea. Bertie's cup and a cannister of tea were always within reach in Lucy's cupboard, because Bertie came often and liked to make his own tea. He and Clive had lived alone so long that Bertie never sat back to be waited on.

      The two old men looked up from their papers. Bertie said, "Hi, Toots."

      "Hi, Bertie. Why are you two out here in the kitchen when there's company in the living room?" Lucy asked, running the water, turning on the stove, and starting a fresh pot of coffee.

      "We're hiding." Bertie's grin was terrible to see. His two front teeth were broken off, and the rest were stained dark brown from tea.

      Lucy got the step-stool so she could reach Mama's good china cups from the high cupboard. "What are you hiding from?"

      "From that big pink woman," Bertie said wickedly. "Peaches Wagonwright talks so fancy, she scares th' bejesus outta me!"

      Lucy laughed and began putting cups and saucers on a tray. Bob watched her for a minute, then he traded looks with Bertie. "Sister, quit fussing with that stuff and come here a minute."

      Lucy glanced at the pot on the stove. It had not yet started to perk, so she sat down at the end of the table, hoping he would not delay her too long.

      "You know last night we were talking about those condors in the article I showed you?"

      Lucy nodded. "You were thinking of writing that environmental group to see if they'd like to put some of them on your land. But you know, Uncle Bob, I'm not sure how you'd reach them."

      Uncle Bob held up his hand. "never mind that. Bertie and I have a better idea now."

      Bertie nodded. "A real doozie."

      "Right. It came to me while we were talking about all the swell National Parks the government buys land for. Only we don't have anything worth spit here in our state, right?"

      "Well there's White Sands, Uncle Bob." Lucy didn't argue with her uncle unless she had to, but that seemed too obvious to miss.

      "Well, that's no kind of park. They need something representative of our area. They need a park that's all desert. And have I got a desert to sell them. I got almost six and a half thousand acres of it in my parcel of land —"

      Six and a half thousand? Where in the world had he come up with that number? But this time, Lucy refrained from arguing.

      "And you know, I've always said that just one good idea could turn that acreage into a fortune," he continued, growing more excited, "and Sister — now I got it."

      The coffee was beginning to perk. Trying to look attentive, Lucy got up and spread a linen napkin over a dinner plate and began transferring cookies from the cookie jar to the plate. "So how are you going to go about it, Uncle Bob?"

      He was looking more and more triumphant. "We're going to write the president and tell him to buy us out."

      The two old men were both nodding and grinning. Bertie, interrupting, eager to furnish the punch line, said eagerly, "And when he does, we're going to make a bundle. See if we don't!"

      "Right." Bob said. "On my land and a bunch of land that Bertie's going to buy."

      Bertie slapped the table, making the cups jump. "Hot dogs! I can't hardly wait."

      Bob nodded "And when all those Eastern tourists come out here to see what a desert looks like, this area will get lots of business, and that'll be good for Cowboy Bob's."

      "And for Clive's and my towing business, too," Bertie put in. "Especially right at first, before they get good roads in."

      Lucy had to smile, looking at them, even though she was silently thinking, 'What a couple of old maniacs.' Aloud, she said, "You really think all that will happen?"

      "You bet, Toots. Think you can learn to make Yankee chili?"

      "I don't know," Lucy shook her head and picked up the tray.

      Bertie gave a snort. "Trouble with you, Toots, is that you got no imagination."

      "You'll see," Uncle Bob said. "Before long we'll be rich."

      Lucy said, "Well, I wouldn't mind that. But in the meantime, why don't you two come visit with Miss Peaches and Swan? Bobby and Tagg will be up and about soon, and they'll protect you from the ladies. Come on."

      "Don't you say anything about this to them," Bertie said anxiously, "We don't want this to get out yet."

      "Not a word." Lucy promised, and Uncle Bob and Bertie followed her into the living room, full of their secret and docile as lambs.

     


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