Heartsong (Logan 2)

re was an auction or a sale of antiques, and New England has an antique shop or an auction every ten feet," the judge remarked. "I swear--"

He sat in a high-backed, ornate gold chair with a red cushion backing and red seat. He looked uncomfortable because the chair was small, but he didn't complain.

"But I'll say this for her, she never bought something and didn't put it to use. No showcase furnishing for her. We had to use it all. Wait until I show you the dining room. The table is from the early eighteenth century, Baroque style, I think. I can't remember it all. Anyway," he rattled on, "you can see where Kenneth got his first education in art, architecture, and the like. I blamed his mother for that," he said.

"He's a wonderful artist though, isn't he?"

"Yes, I guess he is. People do pay large sums of money for his work. Ah, here's our lemonade," he said as Morton returned with two tumblers on a silver tray. "The glasses are contemporary, but that tray-- what about that tray, Morton?"

"French, 1857," Morton recited.

"There, you see. Morton knows it all. He drove my wife everywhere in those days, didn't you, Morton?"

"Yes sir."

"Morton's been with me, what, forty years now, Morton?"

"Forty-two years and four months, Judge." Judge Childs laughed.

"What a memory. I depend on Morton for all my dates and responsibilities now, don't I, Morton?"

"I do my best, Judge."

"That he does, that he does. Well, drink up. Thank you, Morton."

"Yes sir," Morton said and left.

"Don't know where I'd be without him. When I lost my wife, I was lost myself. I didn't know where my own medicine was kept. So," he said, his eyes shifting to me, "you came to visit, did you? How did you get here, by the way?"

"Taxicab," I said. "I have him waiting."

"Oh, that's terrible. Unheard of. Let me take care of that," he said. He started to get up.

"It's all right, Judge Childs."

"No, no. Morton will drive you home. I don't want any taxicab driver hanging about. It will only be a moment," he insisted and left. I heard him whispering to Morton in the hallway and then I heard Morton go out.

"I have to pay him," I said as soon as the judge appeared again.

"That's taken care of, my dear. I'm honored you've come to visit. The least I can do is take care of the cab driver. Now then--oh, how's Jacob? I should have asked you that first thing," he said returning to his seat.

"He's doing well and might come home very soon. Maybe even tomorrow."

"That's wonderful." He sipped his lemonade. "Yes, I have antiques that would make a museum curator's mouth water," he continued. He seemed driven to talk, nervous. It suddenly occurred to me that Grandma Olivia might have called him and told him the gist of my conversation with her.

"You know I've been visiting my grandmother Belinda," I began.

"Oh?" He said, nodding. "I do think Olivia mentioned that. Yes. How is Belinda doing?"

"Haven't you visited her yourself, Judge Childs?" I asked.

"Me? Oh, not for some time," he said. "Why, did she say I was there?"

"Yes."

He laughed.

"Poor Belinda. Even before she was, well, disturbed, she had a problem with reality," he said. It sounded like a line he and Grandma Olivia had rehearsed.