Mexico
A Mrs. Henry Story
Luke Henry passed away in January 1976. The years of smoking Camels had finally caught up with him. In the early 70s he was diagnosed with emphysema and by 1973 he was tethered by a tube to an oxygen tank. Though he couldn’t smoke after that, he missed the smell of burning tobacco and drawing it in. And the feel of a pack in his shirt pocket and a single Camel between his fingers.
Luke grew thin to the point of gauntness and spent most of his time in the corner of the sofa where he’d been sitting when his brother Shirl called about their brother Farley’s death almost twenty years earlier. He sat there reading a large print Bible or the morning Citizen-Journal, or practicing his newly acquired art of needlepoint. And just thinking. And thinking.
On the nicest of days, he rested in a whicker glider on the porch under its blue painted ceiling. He sat so still that the birds and squirrels got used to his presence. He took peanuts out with him and held them still between his thumb and index finger. A cardinal, his favorite bird, would come and peck the peanut out of his fingers and crack it open on the porch floor. That brought Luke joy.
Luke continued to fade. Something that constantly amazed him. He didn’t feel any older. He did feel betrayed by his body. Eventually, its betrayal was complete. One snow-covered cold morning, Lillian went check on him. Luke was sitting in his usual place on the sofa, the newspaper flat on his lap, and not breathing. He was buried three days later up in Oak Grove Cemetery, next to his brothers Farley and Shirl who were already resting there under their blankets of snow.
As Christmas approached that year, Esther phoned Luke, Junior. They had both moved from Columbus after they married. “It’s not right for Mother to be alone on the first Christmas after Daddy,” Esther told him.
“You’re right,” Luke, Junior agreed. “Let’s take the kids, go home and surprise her. It will be the first time we’ve been together on Christmas in ten years.”
They made plans to meet outside of town and drive to the family home. They’d bring dinner and presents and celebrate Christmas in the white house on Richardson Avenue where they’d had their childhood holidays. As they came through the front door of their old home, Mrs. Henry’s eyes lit up with joy and appreciation. Luke, Junior noticed that the scent of smoked Camels still hung heavy in the room.
Both her children noticed something different about their mother but couldn’t quite figure out what. That afternoon, when Esther and Mrs. Henry were washing dishes, Esther looked up from the sink and said, “I know. I know. You’ve done something with your hair.”
Mrs. Henry nodded, color flooding her cheeks. “I changed to a younger style and put a rinse on,” she said shyly.
Luke, Junior’s wife Rita looked up from sweeping the kitchen floor and asked, “Where are your glasses?”
“You may as well know,” said Mrs. Henry, “I now wear contact lenses. And that’s not all. I visited the cosmetics department at Lazarus and had a consultation. I now am the proud owner of a shelf full of make-up. Even this pantsuit is new. I guess I have become a vain old woman.”
Esther and Rita smiled and hugged Mrs. Henry.
Just then there came a knock on the door. Luke, Junior hollered in from his father’s seat on the living room sofa, “I’ll get it.” He made his way to the wood and glass front door and opened it. There stood three kids, who jumped back in surprise. “Who’r you?” the oldest one demanded.
“What do you mean, ‘who am I?’” Luke, Junior answered gruffly. “I’m Luke Henry.”
“Can’t be. Mr. Henry’s dead.”
“In Heaven,” said the little girl.
“Well, you’re right there,” Luke, Junior replied a little gentler. “I mean, I’m Luke Henry, Junior. Mr. Henry’s son.”
“Oh,” said the oldest boy. The youngest boy still standing slight behind the older boy. “I guess that’s okay then.”
“Glad you approve,” said Luke, Junior with a bit of a smile. “Why are you here?” He noticed that their clothes looked more than a bit worn.
“We come to see Mrs. Henry,” the oldest proclaimed.
“We got a present for her,” said the girl.
The littlest boy stepped out from around the older boy and held out a small package wrapped in the color Sunday comic pages.
Just then Mrs. Henry appeared behind her son and smiled. Her face lit up and nudging Luke, Junior aside said, “Come in, children, come in.” Then she yelled upstairs to her grandchildren, “Come down. There are some people I want you to meet.”
The grandchildren trooped down, though they would have rather stayed upstairs watching television and playing board games.
“I want you to meet some friends of mine,” said Mrs. Henry happily. “This is Tommy, Maria, and Lamont. They live here on Richardson Avenue and come to a little Bible class I hold here every Tuesday after school.” She introduced her grandchildren to the avenue kids before ushering them all into the kitchen for cookies and milk. Soon the kids, all about the same ages, were talking to each other. Tommy and Mark, her oldest grandson, talked about the next day’s NFL playoff games, while the younger kids played “Skunk” around the kitchen table, trying to get points and avoid having their dice throw come up with a picture of a skunk. Mrs. Henry pulled up a chair and contentedly watched them, smiling.
After a while the avenue kids said they needed to be going home. “Oh, but first we have a present for you,” said Tommy. Lamont pulled out the comic paper wrapped gift and handed it to Mrs. Henry.
“Well, good heavens,” she exclaimed. “A present for me? How thoughtful. Let’s go into the living room. I have something there for each of you, too.”
In the living room she knelt close to the tree and pulled out a nicely wrapped package for each of three avenue kids. They tore into the wrapping paper. A new pair of blue jeans for Tommy, a dress for Maria, and a warm flannel shirt, for Lamont. They held up their gifts to show everybody, with expressions of thanks. Mrs. Henry looked at her grandchildren and said, “You’ll get your presents when we open our gifts in a little while.”
Lamont stood up and came over to the easy chair where Mrs. Henry sat. “This is for you,” he said, holding out their present. “It ain’t much,” said Tommy quietly. Marie added, “But all us kids in the Bible group chipped in.”
“You mean there’s more than just you three?” asked Luke, Junior.
“Sure is,” replied Tommy. “Sometimes there’s ten or twelve of us here.”
Mrs. Henry nodded in agreement.
Luke, Junior sighed.
Mrs. Henry carefully unwrapped the comic paper. “Oh, look,” she exclaimed, “some of my favorites are on here! ‘Blondie,’ ‘Gasoline Alley,’ ‘Snuffy Smith,’ and ‘Peanuts.’ How nice of you to share them with me.” Then she held up a small, black Bible covered in imitation leather. “A new Bible,” she said. “It’s just what I needed.”
“Mom, don’t you have…” started Luke, Junior before Rita, seated next to him on the sofa, elbowed him in the ribs and shot him a look.
“We got it down at Wagner’s Five and Dime on Sullivant Avenue,” said Lamont. “Y’know, right next to the Ritz Movie House.”
“It is just perfect,” smiled Mrs. Henry. “Perfect.”
“Well, we gotta go now,” said Tommy and the kids may their way to the front door and then out into the cold December late afternoon. At the bottom of the steps, they turned and waved. Mrs. Henry threw them kisses. Only Tommy looked a bit embarrassed.
Closing the door, she crossed the room and returned to her chair, picking up the small Bible and smiling at it.
“I didn’t know you were teaching a Bible class here,” said Esther.
“Me, neither,” said Luke, Junior. “I’m not sure I approve. Here you are elderly, living alone, and these ragamuffins coming in here. They might be stealing you blind.”
“Luke, Junior,” she huffed. “I’m ashamed of you. To think such a thing. And so what? Even if they were, perhaps they need it. And I don’t. Didn’t Jesus himself tell us to show love to the least of these? That’s what I’m doing. A warm room, fresh baked cookies, cold milk or hot cocoa, and a little Bible never hurt anyone. It may even help them.” She paused. “I know it helps me,” she said softly.
“Well, I don’t know. I mean, I guess I don’t know you like I thought I did,” he replied. “I just heard about the contact lenses and make-up.”
Mrs. Henry looked at her son and said, “Actually, there’s a lot you don’t know about your mother.”
“Such as,” asked Esther.
Mrs. Henry looked at her children and their spouses and said, “For instance, I have always thought of myself as an independent woman. Yes,” she continued, “I loved your father and depended on him, but I mean in comparison to my mother. I am a woman of the twentieth century, unlike your grandmother who fit the model image of a late-nineteenth century wife.”
She paused for breath. “For example, did you know I was an excellent student?”
“Yes, Mom,” said Luke, Junior, “you certainly told me enough times when report cards came out.”
“Well, did you know that I defied your grandfather who wanted me to marry soon after graduating from high school? Instead, I went to Columbus Bible College for one year. The next summer I was off on a mission trip to Belize with some of my classmates.”
“Mother Henry,” really exclaimed Rita. “I had no idea.”
“After I got back, I still wasn’t ready to get married. For one, none of the boys – and they seemed like boys to me – at church held the slightest interest for me. So I took a job as a salesclerk at the F. & R. Lazarus store downtown. I rode a streetcar, even at night, by myself. No chaperone. Father wasn’t happy.”
She went on to tell them how it was on the streetcar that she’d met Mr. Henry who found himself enchanted by her handsome looks and quick-silver wit. He followed her home, introduced himself to her parents and asked permission to court her. Mrs. Henry’s father refused but Mr. Henry was determined. He made sure he rode the streetcar often so that he could talk to the young salesclerk. She defied her father once again and started seeing the slightly older railroad man. He kept riding the streetcar and even accompanied her to the Bible study she taught in a tenement in the Bottoms. And won her heart.
“He was a man, not a boy,” said Mrs. Henry. “I was ready for marriage then. Now it’s time for presents. Call the children down, won’t you?”
After the presents had been unwrapped and exclaimed over, the grandchildren took one of the board games they’d received and headed for the kitchen table to try it out. Mrs. Henry stood up and started to gather the torn wrapping paper and bows.
“Sit down, Mom, and relax,” Esther said. “Rita and I’ll take care of this mess.” For once Mrs. Henry didn’t protest.
Luke, Junior got up and stretched. “I need a smoke. I’ll be right back.” He went outside on the porch and lit a Camel. Esther’s husband Ralph joined him. The women could see the red tips of the cigarettes in the gathering gloom as the day faded.
When the men came back in, Luke Junior grumped, “The old neighborhood sure has changed. Lots of the houses need paint. Or new roofs. Cars are parked solid down both sides of the street. There’s even a car parked right in front of your house.”
“Do you mean that silver Chevrolet Chevette?” asked Mrs. Henry.
“I guess that’s what it is,” answered Luke, Junior. “Do you know who’s it is?”
“That I do,” replied Mrs. Henry. “It is mine. I took lessons from the Triple-A. I passed my driver’s test on the first try. A perfect 100,” she boasted, pulling her flimsy paper license from her purse sitting on end table. “Lillian Shields Henry” read the line immediately under State of Ohio.
“That’s wonderful, Mother,” Esther said.
“We’re so proud of you,” added Rita.
Luke, Junior didn’t say anything. Nor did Ralph.
Later, after the grandchildren vanished upstairs to watch television in Mrs. Henry’s bedroom, the adults sat around reliving the day and days past. Luke, Junior looked out the front windows to the street.
“It’s supposed to snow tonight,” he said in a voice that brought Mr. Henry to mind. “Want me to put the car in the garage for you?”
“Yes, thank you, son,” Mrs. Henry replied. “That would be nice. The keys are in my purse. The automatic garage door opener is clipped to the sun visor.” She wondered what he would think of the boxes marked “boy’s clothing” or “girl’s clothing” resting on the back seat and the AAA TripTik to Matamoras, Mexico in the console above the shifter.
Then she smiled and thought of the places she would go.