Judea plunged the pitcher into the dishwater, and then the tureen, not even seeming to notice the fact that Gladys had already almost polished them both, they were so completely empty.
"I'm not surprised," said Miz Judea. "Wouldn't you be?"
Miz Evelyn spoke confidentially to Don. "She's on a diet."
At once Miz Judea rounded on her. "He doesn't need to know personal things like that about her, Miss Evvie. You are talky tonight, aren't you?"
That seemed unfair to Don—it was Miz Judea, after all, who had told him that Gladys was bedridden. Don didn't like it when the two of them crabbed at each other. Especially the names they called each other—names his mother had taught him never to use even with his friends, let alone with women. So Don changed the subject to the one that he knew they couldn't resist.
"You ladies have been talking around something all night and never quite hitting it on the nose. Now we're about done with the dishes and I'm heading back over to the Bellamy house. My house."
His plan to stop their argument worked, except that it focused Miz Judea's scorn on him. She rolled her eyes. "My house, did you hear him?"
"Well, it ain't ourn."
"Ours."
"Oh, you're the one to correct my grammar."
"I'm the only hope you got of not sounding like a hillbilly whore."
"What about the house?" Don said, again trying to stifle the argument.
Suddenly the two of them grew quiet. Miz Judea put the dripping tureen in the dish drain. "You just let that dry by itself," said Miz Judea.
"I can dry it," said Don.
"You're tired and I don't want that tureen in your hands when you hear what Gladys said."
Apparently they had no idea Don wouldn't be hanging on every word that came from the mysterious Gladys.
"It's those locks you put on the doors," said Miz Evelyn. "They're strengthening the house." She said it as if this were an appalling idea.
"That's the idea," said Don. "I've got all my stuff in there."
"But you just can't," said Miz Evelyn. "The house was finally beginning to fade, don't you see? Any time now, the termites was going to get in and... oh, Miss Judy, he's just not listening."
"Yes I am."
Miz Judea laid a hand on his arm. "What Miss Evvie is trying to tell you is that it's out of the question for you to renovate that house."
"I'm sorry, ladies, but it's too late. That house isn't a historic site and I've got all my money tied up in it."
"You said during dinner you haven't closed yet," said Miz Judea. "You can still get out of it."
"But I don't want to get out of it. It's a beautiful old house, strong and in better condition than it looks."
"That's what we're telling you," said Miz Judea.
"Just let the house die a natural death," said Miz Evelyn.
They were definitely crazy.
"He thinks we're crazy," said Miz Judea.
"No I don't," said Don.
"And now you're lying." She was smiling when she said it. "But we're not crazy, and you've got to stop repairing that house. It's very dangerous for you to go on."
Don had no idea how to take this. If they weren't two little old ladies in a decaying neighborhood of Greensboro, North Carolina, this could very well be a shakedown. "Are you threatening me?"
"No! Not us!" cried Miz Evelyn.
"You'll just take our word for it," said Miz Judea with the finality of a gradeschool teacher.
"Ladies, I'm grateful for the meal you fed me, and I hope we'll get along as neighbors while I renovate the house, but I got to tell you, every penny I have in the world is sunk into that place. I'm going to fix it up and sell it."
Their eyes grew wide and they looked at each other in horror.
"Sell it!"
"Oh, Miss Judy, he's not even going to live in it himself, he's going to find some unsuspecting family and..."
"It's wrong of you to do that, Mr. Lark!" said Miz Judea.
This was too much craziness for him. And what made him most uncomfortable was that he felt downright ashamed of being so rude as to disbelieve their heartfelt warning. They had been generous to him, and he wasn't complying with the simple favor they asked in return. And what was his real reason? He hadn't signed anything yet. He could walk away. And the only reason he wouldn't was because it would make Cindy Claybourne think he was a flake.
Wait a minute! The only reason? It was none of their business, that was the biggest reason, and it was the perfect house for him because all it needed was him and his skill and vision and labor to make it a beautiful place to live, to give it some meaning again. Just because a trio of nutcases lived next door was no reason to feel bad about getting such a good deal and maybe even starting a relationship with a nice woman after all these years. A good dinner didn't entitle them to that.
Don folded the damp dish towel. "Ladies, I'm sorry, but I got a lot of work to do tomorrow and I better get to bed."
He took a couple of steps toward the door, but at once Miz Evelyn laid a hand on his arm and slipped in between him and the door. And when she spoke, her voice was strange. "You don't have to leave so soon, do you, Mr. Lark?" She played with the fabric of his sleeve.
She was flirting with him! She was somewhere between eighty and eight hundred years old, and she was playing the coquette. He didn't know whether to laugh or flee.
"Let him go, Miss Evvie, you're making a fool of yourself."
She let go of his sleeve at once. But she didn't stop trying to keep him. Her face brightened and she turned to Miz Judea.
"I know! Why couldn't we let him have this house to sell?"
"Will you just think for a minute, Miss Evvie? He doesn't sell houses, he fixes them up, which this house doesn't need. And even if it did, what about Gladys?"
"Ladies, I don't want your house. I've got my house over there."
"You think it's your house," said Miz Evelyn. She was still arguing, but she was also moving out of his way so he could leave.
"I'm going to make it my house by my own sweat," said Don. "And when I fix up that eyesore it's going to increase the value of the whole neighborhood. I have no idea why that bothers you, and I'm sorry it does, but...."
The sink was drained and Miz Judea's hands were dry. She came over to him, shaking her head, and began to push him gently out the door. It took some quick action on Don's part to get it open before she pushed him through it.
"No need to apologize," she said. "You do what you got to do. Just remember—that house gives you any trouble, you come ask us."
Don found himself on the back porch of the carriagehouse, the screen door shutting in his face. The two old ladies crowded each other in the doorway, each trying to speak one last word to him, make one last plea.
"We used to live there, you know," said Miz Evelyn. "Back in 1928 till Gladys fetched us out in '35. We're very, very old. We know what we're talking about."
"Just ask us whatever you want, whenever you want," said Miz Judea. "Now go on over there and sleep as well as you can!"
That was the last word. Miz Judea closed the door and left him on the porch with the moths and mosquitoes. Only then did he realize that he was still holding the dishtowel. He thought of knocking on the door but couldn't stand the idea of having them think he had had second thoughts. So he draped the dishtowel over the porch railing and walked around the house. He didn't swing himself over the picket fence—he knew better than to try even minor athletic feats in the dark, not when he was this tired. Instead he walked out to the curb and studied the dark Bellamy house. The nearest streetlight was partly blocked by leaves that shifted in the breeze and the moon was flitting in and out behind the clouds, so the house kept changing as he watched. Changing, but it remained unchanged. The lines were clean, the structure sound. If the work he did today somehow made the house stronger, he was glad of it. That was as mystical as he was going to get.