Secret Brother

I smiled. He was being more like the grandfather I knew, loved, and trusted.

“But don’t misunderstand me, Clara Sue,” he said, waving his salad fork at me. “I’m still your grandfather, in charge and responsible for your welfare. We follow rules here. No more of this gallivanting about without letting me know where you’re going, who you’re going with, and how long you intend to be away.”

“Okay, Grandpa,” I said. “It won’t happen again. I promise.”

He grunted and ate for a moment. “His father cheats at golf, you know,” he said, as if that was worse than murder. “I hope he’s made o

f better stuff,” he added, and then went into a speech about how he could understand a man’s true character by playing golf with him.

As I listened to him elaborate on the true natures of different business associates and lessons he had learned in his life, I felt we were back to the days before Willie’s death, even before Grandma Arnold had passed away. He could go on and on, and we’d always pretend we were glued to his every word, until Grandma finally would say, “Come up for air, William Arnold, before you wear out our ears.”

He came up for air tonight when his favorite baked ham was brought out on a platter. Everything was delicious. My Faith’s grandmother was right about the power of a good dinner when it came to restoring troubled souls.

Just before our dishes were being cleared away, Dorian brought down hers and the boy’s, pleased that he had eaten well.

“He’s putting weight back on quickly,” she told us. Usually, she directed herself solely to my grandfather when she talked about my Count Piro, but tonight she was including me. She reminded us that Dr. Patrick would be coming in the morning, and I reminded them both that I’d be at school.

“We might think about getting him a tutor,” Dorian suggested. “I brought it up with him tonight.”

I thought it was interesting how quickly Dorian Camden had become part of everything in our home. She acted and spoke as if she was more like a family member than hired help, but Grandpa was obviously pleased about it.

“Yes, that would be smart now,” he said. “Did he say anything about school? What grade he was in, anything?”

I perked up to hear her answer.

“Nothing that makes sense, except maybe . . .”

“Go on,” Grandpa told her.

“It sounds like he was homeschooled.” She looked at me. “Someone was often reading to him. That was about all I could gather.”

“Interesting,” Grandpa said. He turned to me. “You read him some of that children’s story?”

“I saw he was reading one of Willie’s favorite fables, ‘How the Beggar Boy Turned into Count Piro.’ ”

“Whatever. Could you tell if he could read well?”

“He could read. I don’t know how well. Probably not as well as Willie could for his age,” I said. “My brother loved to read and be read to,” I told Dorian. She smiled.

We were all quiet for a moment. The miniature grandfather clock in the living room tapped out the hour. Was it my imagination, or was the house raising its head which had been bowed in sorrow and mourning? Would deep shadows retreat? Could this ever ­really be a home again?

“I’ll look into a tutor tomorrow,” Grandpa told Dorian. “I’ll speak with the grade-school principal. His wife is a bookkeeper for Arnold Trucking.” Grandpa always referred to his business as Arnold Trucking instead of “my business.” It was as if he worked for some invisible owner besides himself.

“Great. The faster we get him doing regular things kids his age do, the faster he’ll recuperate.”

“Will he ever walk again?” I asked, wondering just how much he could recuperate.

She looked to Grandpa Arnold to respond.

“They don’t sound very hopeful about it,” he said.

“He’s getting stronger. We’ll see,” Dorian said. Maybe it was her job, but she seemed to like being more optimistic than most people. “I’ll just take this into the kitchen and go back up. Have to give him a bath tonight.”

Then My Faith surprised us with a peach pie. She made her pies from scratch, as Grandma Arnold would say.

“This is like a Thanksgiving dinner tonight,” I said.

“Oh, she’ll outdo this for Thanksgiving,” Grandpa assured me.