What's for Dinner? James Schuyler (best inspirational books TXT) 📖

“Then it’s not too late to stop,” Mr Mulwin said, getting to his feet. “Frankly, I didn’t realize how irksome posing would be. Not that there’s anything else I’d rather be doing.” He turned to Mr Carson. “Gin rummy?”

“Boy,” Bertha said, “you’re sure a big help.”

“Oh, come now,” Mr Mulwin said, “there’s Mrs Brice and Mrs Judson, both sitting there as still as you could wish.”

“Dr Kearney,” Miss Pride said, “would, I think, encourage Mr Carson to try his hand at something in craft therapy. It’s always good to participate, and there’s the afternoon for cards.”

“Orders from headquarters,” Mr Carson said. “Looks like the gin rummy will have to wait.”

“I’m going to scrape you right off the canvas, Mr Mulwin,” Lottie said, “and try my hand at a still life. In fact, flowers.” She left the room, and soon returned carrying a pot of shrubby yellow chrysanthemums. The pot was wrapped in silver foil and Lottie said, “This will have to come off. I haven’t a clue as to how to render silver, short of using silver paint, and that’s not how they do it.”

“With blue, gray and white,” Miss Pride said, “I think you could manage.”

“No thanks,” Lottie said. “I’ll content myself with the plain red pot.”

“As you wish,” Miss Pride said in an uppity tone. “After all, it is your painting.”

“Precisely,” Lottie said, busily scraping away the last traces of Mr Mulwin.

“Mrs Brice,” Bertha said, “is it OK if I do you?”

“Surely,” Mrs Brice said. “It’s all right if I move a little now and then, isn’t it? I don’t mean run around the room, just not get cramped.”

“All you have to do,” Bertha said, “is keep knotting and not run out on me like Mr Mulwin. I’m only aiming at a general impression.”

“You can’t have it all your own way, Bertha,” Mr Mulwin said.

“So I’ve noticed,” Bertha said. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m trying to concentrate.”

“Why don’t you sit next to me, Mr Carson?” Mrs Judson said. “I’m slower than Mrs Brice, so it will be easy for you to see how the knot is tied.”

“I’ll set you up,” Miss Pride said, “and get you started. Here’s a frame, and here are some cords from which to choose the colors you prefer. I . . .”

“I think today,” Mr Carson said with unusual firmness, “I’ll just watch. Then I’ll know whether this is something I want to get into. I wouldn’t care to get started and then lose interest.”

Mrs Judson was soon demonstrating which string went over which and enjoined him, “And always pull the knot really tight, or it comes out looking funny. The first belt I made hung all crooked, because I didn’t do that.”

“I love the red, white and blue one you made,” Lottie said to Mrs Brice. “It’s what they call really snappy.”

“Do you really like it?” Mrs Brice said. “Then I’ll make you a present of it.”

“Would you? How kind, how like you. I have a white linen it would be just the thing with.”

“If there are free belts going around,” Bertha said, “I could use some.”

“Could you?” Mrs Brice said. “Well, I’ll display my handiwork to you and you can pick one out for a memento. A few I’m reserving for myself, and this black and brown I’m making now is for Mr Brice. It will make a nice sports effect with his summer slacks.”

“I wish I was dead,” Mr Carson said.

“No you don’t,” Mrs Judson said.

“You’ll get over that,” Mrs Brice said, “when you’ve been here awhile.”

“You see?” Bertha said. “Nobody around here ever believes anything you say. If the man says he wishes he was dead, he ought to know what he’s talking about. Not that I believe him myself. Otherwise he would have killed himself, not just made a mess of it.”

“I don’t see how knotting messy belts is going to get me over the way I feel. I wish I could get over the idea that there might be an afterlife—I wouldn’t care to go from bad to worse.”

“You’re going to die sometime,” Bertha said cheerfully, “then you’ll find out. Dollars gets you doughnuts there isn’t any. Afterlife, I mean. But I don’t know: I have a mystical streak and believe in taking it as it comes. Om. Why don’t you try Zen meditation? Since you don’t want to do anything else.”

A nurse came in and summoned Mrs Brice away. After a while she returned with two pink spots in her cheeks. “Guess who’s going to be released,” she said.

“Oh Fanny,” Lottie said. “I’d give you a hug only I’m all over paint. That’s the most marvelous news.”

“Congratulations,” Mr Carson said. “I wondered what you were doing here anyway. You seem quite rational and capable to me.”

“I wasn’t when I came here,” Mrs Brice said. “In my own way I felt about as low as you do. Oh dear, I feel all a-twitter. Do you think I’ll really be able to cope? And not slide back?”

“I’m certain of it,” Lottie said. “You’ve regained your natural equilibrium. It was temporarily shaken, but now you’ve got it back. We must promise to keep in touch.”

“I’ll be coming back for our evening sessions for a while,” Mrs Brice said. “And to see Dr Kearney. An easing-off process.”

Mr Mulwin, Mrs Judson and Miss Pride joined in the general congratulations.

“It hardly seems worth while going on with this belt,” Mrs Brice said. “Still, if I knot away today and tomorrow morning—I’m not leaving until tomorrow afternoon—I might get it finished.” She seated herself and went on with her deft handiwork.

“It’s a challenge,” Bertha said, “to see how much of a likeness I can get before you leave. Onto the ramparts, men.”

“What do you mean by that?” Mr Carson said.

“I’m telling myself to get a move on,” Bertha said.

“I think I’ll go lie on my bed,” Mr Carson said.

“Oh,” Miss Pride said, “that isn’t encouraged during the daytime. Not without special permission, that is.”

“Oh, go ahead and try it,” Bertha said. “You