Mirth by Kathleen George

Author:Kathleen George
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Regal House Publishing
Published: 2022-06-15T00:00:00+00:00

19

“Door to door,” Jack Emory instructed him. “Personal contact.”

It meant Harrison had to leave the weeding to a hired boy, but at least the garden had yielded some beautiful produce and Maggie was still harvesting.

It suited him, talking to people.

One day he tapped on the door of a frame house that had a fence needing a coat of paint. A woman wearing a loose dress and a sweater came to the door, carrying a broom. “What is it?” she said irritably—and called back toward the kitchen to say, “Stay out of there. You hear? Let me see you on the stairs. Don’t go near the kitchen.” To Harrison, she said, “My kid broke a glass. I have to sweep it up. What is it?”

“The vote is coming up in a month. I’m running for office.” He handed her two brochures and a card with his photo. “I can’t— Look, let me get the broken glass for you.”

“No. Why would you?”

“I do it with my kids all the time.”

She let him in, and he went straight to the kitchen with her broom and began cleaning up, not only the glass, but the spilled milk. Twin boys stood at the door watching him soberly.

“Oh, don’t, that’s my good dishtowel— Never mind.” She took the kids to the stairs and gave them each a lollypop.

“Who’s that man?” Harrison heard.

“Just some politician.”

Just was a word he hated. A speech formed in his mind, a speech he planned to use. He rinsed the good dishtowel out in the sink, watching the water run white. “Can you talk for a minute?”

“A minute, yes.”

“You told your kids I was ‘just some politician.’ That’s the last thing I want to be. I’m a family man, I’m a writer, I’m a photographer, and I happen to be running for Assembly because I think I can do some good. I hate to say squeaky wheel on top of everything else, but I might have to be that.”

She stared at him.

“Do you vote?”

“Usually. Not always for Assembly though.”

“I’m hoping you will.”

“Do you…want a cup of coffee?”

“A wee one. I have lots of houses to go to.”

“What happens when you go to the other houses?”

“People generally stop what they’re doing and give me a listen.”

She poured him a half-cup. “And you have kids?”

“Three. Two girls, one boy.”

“It’s a lot of work, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of writer are you?”

“Novels.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Call me an apprentice, but very serious.”

“Do you write about other times? Kings?”

He laughed to think of what he would write if he had that sort of imagination. “Afraid not. Just regular people. Like people living up here, mostly.” He forced himself to finish the coffee. “I should go. Do vote—I hope for me.”

She nodded. “Mirth. I’ll remember that name. Doesn’t it mean—?”

“Laughter, sort of, yes. Kind of high spirits.”

He bid her goodbye. He felt so bad for women stuck at home. He tried to canvass in the evenings, too, so he could meet the men. What he thought he saw was consistent

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