My Brother Louis Measures Worms Read Online Free

on this, but it did fit in with her notion of a man who would desert his pregnant wife. She called Frank with the news, and Frank said he would find out about it right away. He also said that Genevieve must stay right where she was; the smell of paint in Ethel Fitch’s house was still too strong for safety.
    This was very discouraging information for my mother, who by this time felt herself hopelessly caught in an intrigue for which she had no taste in the first place, and little aptitude. But there wasn’t anything she could do about it except wait—for the paint to settle or for Leroy Fraley to be sprung, whichever came first.
    The next day Frank called, sputtering over the telephone, to say that he had found Leroy and that Leroy was in jail for stealing a car—specifically, the car of Ethel Fitch.
    â€œHe says he borrowed it,” Frank said. “She says he stole it. I believe him, because he doesn’t sound smart enough to steal a car, and we all know Ethel’s crazy. Either she lent it to him and forgot she did, or she lent it to him and had him arrested anyway. I don’t know why she would do that, and I don’t much care. I’m going to get him out of jail if I can and get him back here. He wants to come back. He loves Genevieve.”
    Mother, reeling from this series of fresh alarms, seized on the one bright spot. “It’s wonderful that he feels that way,” she said. “I’m sure everything will work out, and he can be with Genevieve when the baby comes.”
    In view of the imperfect communication on all sides, it’s not surprising that nobody knew exactly when the baby was supposed to come. My mother assumed that it was due in four or five months because that was what Frank assumed—on the testimony of Ethel Fitch, who had told him something about Genevieve being “all set by the middle of September.” Genevieve must have known when the baby was due; but since she had never even mentioned a baby to Mother, Mother assumed that she was unhappy about it or ashamed about it, and she didn’t want to hound Genevieve with painful questions.
    Consequently, when Genevieve went into labor, nobody knew what was going on, including Genevieve, who was expecting a monumental stomachache and did not associate low back pain with the onset of birth. She suffered in silence all day, and by the time she finally decided that this must be something more than muscle strain, things were very far along.
    My mother hardly knew what to think. She had heard of miscalculation, but never of miscalculation by five months.
    â€œBut Genevieve,” she said, “isn’t this baby coming much too soon?”
    â€œNot for me,” Genevieve said.
    Then there was the problem of my father. Having hoped to keep him in the dark about the whole thing or, at the very least, to surprise him with the news sometime next year (“You remember Genevieve Fitch? Well, Genevieve has a lovely baby!”) Mother now had to bring him up to date in a hurry.
    â€œWill you bring the car around front while I call Dr. Hildebrand?” she called downstairs. “We’re going to have to take Genevieve to the hospital.”
    â€œWhat for?” he shouted up. “What’s the matter?” And then, still believing Genevieve to be the victim of allergy: “I’ll bet it was those oysters we had for supper, wasn’t it?”
    â€œYou don’t understand,” Mother said. “Genevieve isn’t sick. She’s having a baby . . . this very minute.”
    My father, however shaken and mystified by this announcement, apparently recognized the urgency of the situation. For one thing, he could hear Genevieve moaning from upstairs that she dare not try to move. “Never mind the car,” he said to my mother. “I’ll call an ambulance. You see what you can do for her. I’d better call Hildebrand too.” A few minutes later he rushed