A House by the Side of the Road by Jan Gleiter Read Free Book Online

that. What do you do?”
    â€œI are a editor,” said Meg. “Well, more of a writer. Freelance. Educational material. Mostly reading and language-arts stuff … vocabulary worksheets, spelling masters, whatever. You?”
    â€œSubstitute teach when we’re at the point of boiling Nikes for supper. My husband’s a contractor. Sometimes things are busy—right now, they’re busy—and sometimes they’re not. When they’re not, I slap a steely look on my face and turn into the dreaded Mrs. Ruschman, every kid’s worst nightmare. Then I stomp around and pull rank.” She grinned wickedly. “I love pulling rank.”
    She fished a pair of half-glasses out of the purse next to her and put them on, lowering her chin enough to look sternly over the top.
    â€œYou’d scare me, ” said Meg. “I’m feeling a little trembly already.”
    When Christine had driven away, after extracting a promise to come to supper, Meg separated the daffodils into three jars. It made her happy just to look at them, to lean over and breathe in their scent, and distributing them on the countertops took the edge off the loneliness of the house.
    *   *   *
    She ate that night with the Ruschmans—a chicken casserole and peaches. The peaches had to be home-canned; they had flavor. After greeting her with wild enthusiasm, Warren G. Harding lay silently under the table.
    â€œIf you feed the dog from the table, I will put on my glasses and give you the look,” said Christine. “There is only one bad or disgusting habit he does not have. He does not yet ”—she looked pointedly at her children—“beg at the table.”
    Christine’s husband, who had been introduced as Dan, was big and broad-shouldered and had hazel eyes like his daughter. The children, Jane and the solemn but friendly Teddy, were making an obvious effort to remember their manners.
    Meg found herself witness to what was, evidently, an ongoing debate.
    â€œIf nobody says they’ll coach by the end of the week, we won’t have a team,” said Jane, pushing minced pieces of celery from the casserole to one side of her plate. “You know, Dad, I can’t improve if I can’t play.”
    Dan set his iced tea down with a thunk. “I can’t do it, Janie. I could make it to most of the games, but a coach has to run practices. Lots of practices. I can’t. I would if I could. I can’t, and I’m getting really tired of talking about it.”
    Christine rolled her eyes at Meg. “Baseball,” she said.
    â€œYou play baseball, Jane?” asked Meg.
    â€œI used to,” the child replied. “But a team can’t get in the league without a coach, and our coach from last year moved, and my parents have other things to do.”
    Christine sighed. “I don’t know enough! Your dad knows enough, but he doesn’t have time. I might, I might have time, but I don’t know enough.”
    â€œI do,” said Meg.
    Everyone looked at her.
    â€œYou play baseball?” asked Teddy.
    â€œDon’t look so surprised,” said Meg. “I’m short but what they call sturdy. Come on, Christine, it’ll be fun. We’ll do it together. You do what you can do, and I’ll do the rest.”
    â€œWe’re talking about thirteen kids,” said Christine warningly. “Three or four are decent players; a couple are good; the rest are klutzes. The practice season starts in a few days, and the games at the beginning of May. Are you even sure you’re staying?”
    â€œWith a creek three hundred yards from the house and a climbing rose on the porch?” She scooped up a peach slice and tipped it into her mouth. “And a neighbor who cans peaches? Are you kidding? And I love baseball. And I can stand a small percentage of the children I meet. And we’ll kick butt. ”
    Jane looked at her