A Mother's Promise

by K. D. Alden

  “It looks filthy,” said Mrs. Parsons. “And she’s eleven years old. Far too old for a teddy bear.”

  “Please, Mrs. P, can she keep it? This all’s a lotta changes for her.”

  Mrs. Parsons sighed. “Fine. But I’ll tell you right now that Mrs. Jenkins won’t like it. That bear is doubtless infested with fleas.” She stepped back from them, as if one might leap up her skirt.

  Ruth Ann squeezed Bonnie’s shoulder and they took another two steps toward the parlor door.

  “Don’t you have something to say to Mr. Block, Bonnie?” Mrs. Parsons cast a slightly moony look toward him and fingered her lace collar.

  Bonnie shrank against Ruth Ann and just stared at the woman, then at Esquire.

  “Something along the lines of thank you? Come on, girl, what’s wrong with you?”

  Bonnie nodded, twisting Calico Bear’s paw.

  “Well, then say it. Say the words.”

  The little girl opened, then closed her mouth. She cast a glance of mute appeal at Ruth Ann.

  Esquire—darn it, Mr. Block!—set down his coffee cup and raised his pale eyebrows, waiting along with Mrs. Parsons and her lace for Bonnie to respond.

  The moment stretched on and on.

  Two tears escaped from Bonnie’s pink-rimmed eyes and rolled down her face, pooling at the corners of her Cupid’s bow mouth.

  “Bonnie, sweetheart?” Ruth Ann ventured.

  Mr. Block picked up his coffee cup again and drained it. “I don’t know that she speaks,” he said, and then replaced it in its saucer. He picked up the biscuit and took a bite, while the strawberry nose continued to squat, lonely, on the plate. “She hasn’t said one word since I collected her from her foster parents.”

  Mrs. Parsons clucked. “What impertinence.”

  “I’ll say thank you,” Ruth Ann interjected quickly. “For both of us. You’ve made me so very happy, Mr. Block. I never thought I’d see our little Bonnie again. Thank you. You are such a good man.” She let go of Bonnie’s hand and rushed forward to take his.

  Startled, he tried to pull it away, but she hung on and brought it to her mouth. She kissed it, just as he had kissed hers the other day.

  He turned scarlet and blew biscuit crumbs out of his mouth.

  “Ruth Ann,” snapped Mrs. Parsons, “what impudence! What are you thinking?!”

  What had she done wrong? She’d just wanted to show her gratitude. “I—”

  “Leave. Out the back. Go on, and take your rag-mannered sister with you. I never!” Mrs. Parsons turned to Mr. Block. “You have my most sincere apologies, sir. These girls—they’re not brought up correctly. More coffee?”

  “No need, Mrs. Parklin. And it’s very kind of you, but no thank you…”

  “Bonnie,” said Ruth Ann as they walked down the path behind the main building, skirting the lawn. “Bonnie, I can’t believe you’re here!”

  Her sister just nodded. Not a hair escaped her tight braids, as they slid one inch down, then one inch back up with the motion of her head.

  “Are you happy that Mr. Block found you? Brought you to us?”

  The little girl looked down at her shoes. They were nice ones, with few scuffs and no holes. Her dress was pale blue and clean, as were her nails. Her small hands were free of blisters or scars. Whoever the Wallaces were, they seemed to have cared for her well. Maybe they’d even loved her; treated her as their own child.

  Maybe Bonnie wasn’t at all happy to have left them. Perhaps she was a blessing to Ruth Ann, but Ruth Ann and Sheila and the Colony were all a nightmare to her.

  That was a horrid thought. A painful one.

  “I’m over the moon to see you,” Ruth Ann said, doing her best to disregard these doubts. “And Sheila—Momma—she will be, too. Do you remember Momma?”

  Bonnie stopped in her tracks and cast a sidelong glance at Ruth Ann. She fiddled with Calico Bear and swallowed, hard.

  “Do you remember, sweetie? I know you weren’t even quite two…”

  No reaction.

  “She used to make oatmeal for us, with butter and milk and honey. At the old black potbellied stove. You ate it with your fingers, even though we tried to get you to use a spoon. And one time I gave it to you way too hot…you howled and threw it on our brother Wally’s back. Momma got real mad at me, on account of your little tiny hand was all red and we had to scrape the gunk off Wally’s shirt and rewash it.”

  No reaction.

  Where was Wally? Did he still have that spark of mischief? Did he still look trapped in his pants by those sober suspenders? Ruth Ann hadn’t allowed herself to miss him in a long time.

  “Another time,” she said to Bonnie, “you tried to feed Calico Bear your oatmeal. Didn’t work so well…”

  There! A curve of those Cupid’s bow lips, a dimple appearing in Bonnie’s cheek.

  “You remember that?”

  A nod. The braids raised and lowered an inch. The part in Bonnie’s hair was so neat it might have been made with a ruler. It bisected her sweet head in two, as her life had been bisected. Before and after. But what now?

  “Momma…she used to smell like apples. On the good days, anyways.” Before Daddy had died and she started smelling of sweat and gin and other, unmentionable things. Of something crazed and desperate and the musk of strange men.

  Bonnie nodded. She remembered! Ruth Ann’s heart leaped and swung forward in her chest, like a man on a trapeze. Eager to please an audience.

  Her words came faster, tumbling out. “We had the apple tree out front, and the two cows out back: Patches and Nellie. Wally had to milk ’em every morning before school. He was so gentle with them. They loved him.”

  She didn’t bring up the last time she’d seen Wally, lying bloodied in the dirt beside the house. She didn’t bring up some of the words he’d shouted at Momma…Whore!…or the words she’d screeched back…She didn’t want to remember them, or the way the big, smelly, mustached man who’d been in Momma’s bedroom spat on Wally after he’d come out the house and beat the tarnation out of him. She didn’t care to think of Wally groaning in the dirt, cussin’ at her to keep away from him and not let Bonnie near him like that.

  Mostly, she didn’t want to think about how they’d never seen him again. Had Mustache killed ’im? Had Wally killed Mustache and gone off to jail for it? Or had their brother just upped and left ’em all high and dry? Run off somewheres?

  She didn’t know. Neither did Sheila—leastways, she didn’t even allow anybody to say his name aloud. Who knew what secrets Momma kept inside that hard, malicious head o’ hers, under that stringy, gray-blond mop of hair.

  Should she even take Bonnie near Sheila? Ruth Ann didn’t want her baby sister traumatized even more than she clearly was. She wanted to know everything about her, but it sure was hard to figure how to start, what with the poor thing not speaking a word.

  “Bonnie,” she ventured. “Did you used to talk?”

  Hesitation. Then a nod.

  “How long’s it been, then, since you did?”

  A shrug.

  “Did you talk at the Wallaces’ house, sweetie?”

  A shake of the braids.

  “Were they mean to you?”

  Another shake.

  Ruth Ann reached out to touch one of the silky, pale braids. Bonnie shrank back.

  “I won’t hurt you, honey. Ever.” She paused. “Did somebody else hurt you?”

  Hesitation.

  Oh, dear God. Had someone beaten Bonnie, or worse?

  A slow shake of her sister’s head had Ruth Ann almost sobbing in relief. “Okay. I’m very glad about that. Maybe one day you’ll tell me why you stopped speaking. Maybe.”

  Hesitation, and then the briefest of nods.

  If only Ruth Ann could just hug her, wrap her in warmth and safety and never let her go. If only Ruth Ann could make whatever had gone wrong all better. But this silence of Bonnie’s was about more than a skinned knee.

  They walked along in silence for a few momen
ts more, and then Ruth Ann spied a familiar coppery head around the bend of the path.

  “Clarence!” she called, running toward him with Bonnie in tow. “Clarence, look here! That nice Mr. Block found my sister! Can you believe it? He went and found her and brought her here to me!”

  Clarence stilled, with his good hand gripping the handle of a rake. He shoved his stump into his pocket and waited for them, smiling down at Bonnie. The sun shone through the trees, lighting up his hair, a beacon of good nature. “Hi, sweetheart,” he said. “And what might your name be?”

  Bonnie eyed him curiously for a moment before she gave him an answering smile.

  “Her name is Bonnie,” Ruth Ann told him. “I ain’t seen her since she’s under two years old. I can’t believe Mr. Block tracked her down! And here she is, after all this time. It’s a miracle. Mr. Block is like an angel, I’m tellin’ you.”

  Clarence lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “Sure. Maybe his halo’s in the shop for repairs.”

  “Clarence!”

  He shrugged, shut his mouth and made no further comment about the possible divinity of Esquire. “So, Bonnie, what do you think about all this? Is it pretty swell to see your big sister Ruth Ann again?”

  The little girl clutched Calico Bear to her chest and nodded.

  “Who’s your friend, there?”

  Bonnie held out her bear without hesitation.

  Clarence had to lean the rake handle against his shoulder, but he accepted the toy for inspection. “He’s right handsome, even though he’s missin’ an eye. Does he have a name?”

  She compressed her perfect little doll’s lips.

  “Is it Pirate?”

  Bonnie shook her head, the corner of her mouth tugging up.

  “Is it Cyclops?”

  The little girl’s brow knit. Another head shake.

  “Cyclops were mythical critters with one eye. A teacher told me about ’em. Okay, then, is his name Button, and is he smiling on account of he’s dressed so funny? His bear suit is all kind of colors.”

  Ruth Ann laughed. “His name is Calico Bear.”

  “Right, why didn’t I think of that? Calico Bear is a right perfect name for this little guy.”

  Bonnie nodded. Then, to Ruth Ann’s discomfort, her little sister stepped forward and tugged Clarence’s stump right out of his pocket. And he let her.

  She inspected it carefully, running her fingers over the small, smooth end where his hand should have been. All the while, Clarence stood stock still, bemused.

  At last, Bonnie nodded, smiled and took her bear back from him. She touched the paw of the bear to his stump, then guided it back to its pocket.

  As Ruth Ann stood with her heart in her throat, Clarence somehow found his voice.

  “Well, I’m right glad to meet Calico Bear, too. And you, Miss Bonnie. It’s a pleasure.”

  Nineteen

  The rows upon rows of wooden bunk beds loomed like a man-made forest in the dormitory. Ruth Ann felt like a wicked witch leading little Bonnie into the room, where her sister clearly saw monsters under and behind every structure and ghosts under every white sheet. This was evident in her reluctant gait, in the way she startled at every sound, tucked her chin and clutched Calico Bear, as if expecting a blow.

  Ruth Ann herself was used to it, but she tried to see the place through Bonnie’s eyes: vast, cold, institutional. No rugs, no pictures on the walls, only clothing and towels hanging from pegs. No books except a large Bible on its stand. A girl named Carlotta was taxed with reading it aloud to them by lantern light on Sunday evenings. Ruth Ann actually liked it, though she was often frustrated by the big, old-fashioned biblical words. But the sighs and snores of many girls punctuated each verse Carlotta read.

  Ruth Ann’s very first action, upon their arrival, was to set down Bonnie’s crate at the foot of her bed, climb up to the bunk above hers and show her sister how to hide Calico Bear inside her pillowcase and under the pillow.

  Mrs. Parsons was correct: Mother Jenkins would not take kindly to the “flea-ridden” teddy, even though it smelled to Ruth Ann of lye soap and a little bleach. Perhaps Mrs. Wallace had washed and disinfected it for Bonnie.

  “This is where we sleep,” she told her. “I’ll be in the bed right below this one, okay? So if you need anything, you know where to find me.”

  Bonnie clung to the railing of the bunk as if it were a ship and they were about to sail away from here. Ruth Ann wished they could. Her sister had the slight build of their mother, but the wide blue eyes of their father, along with his dimples. What if they could sail this bed right up to Heaven and find him? When folks went away up there, did they ever come back to check on their loved ones? Did they ever help out? Or did God keep ’em busy, doin’ angel work for other people? Had Daddy sent Mr. Block to bring Bonnie?

  Ruth Ann took comfort in that thought.

  Then it was time to face reality—meaning Sheila, in the Distressed unit.

  “Would you like to go see Momma?” she asked Bonnie, stroking the silk of her braids, grateful she was allowed to this time.

  Her sister nodded.

  “All right, we’ll do that. I have to tell you, though, that Momma is…” Momma is what? Deranged? Full of poison? A chain-smoking hag full of hatred and spite?

  How did she explain any of that to an eleven-year-old girl who’d just been ripped out of whatever home she’d previously known? How could she prepare Bonnie for the…Anti-Momma?

  Bonnie gazed at her expectantly.

  “Momma isn’t well. Not healthy or strong. And sometimes she says stuff…yells stuff…that she don’t mean. That’s all. I just want you to know that before we go see her.”

  Bonnie brought the tip of one braid to her mouth, clamped it between her teeth and sucked on it.

  Gently, Ruth Ann pulled the little girl’s hand away and tugged the pigtail out of her mouth. “You don’t have to be afraid.” Liar. Liar, liar, pants on fire. Liar, liar, on a tightwire.

  She’d call for Ruby, make sure she was in the room when Bonnie met Sheila. If their mother turned into a she-devil, Ruby would sedate her. And Ruth Ann would just step into Sheila’s shoes. She’d be the momma.

  It brought her a sense of peace, that idea. If she couldn’t be a real ma to Annabel, at least she had another chance, now, to be one to Bonnie. She would belong to someone, and someone would belong to her.

  But first they needed to get this meeting over with—as unpleasant as it might be.

  Ruth Ann led Bonnie outside, then around the box hedge in the shape of a cross and down the pathway that led to the Distressed unit. The building’s faded pink bricks seemed exhausted from holding each other up, and its four self-conscious columns, there to evoke grace and justice, looked ironic, not Ionic.

  The great black door swallowed them like a mouth, and they followed a tongue of carpet into the hallway. No attendant appeared to guide or harass them; Ruth Ann caught a glimpse of three figures outside on a small terrace, smoking.

  So they climbed the stairs and Ruth Ann, her pulse loud in her own ears, led Bonnie to room 213—lair of the gorgon, den of the demented.

  Ruby heard their footsteps and came out of an adjoining room. She waved to Ruth Ann, then came over.

  “Ruby, this is my little sister, Bonnie! Come back to us after all these years.”

  “Well, hello there.” Ruby beamed at her.

  Bonnie looked up at her with wide, frightened eyes. She took a step backward, toward Ruth Ann.

  “What’s a matter, child? Ain’t you never seen a colored woman before?” Ruby laughed, only a little bitterly. “We don’ bite. I promise you. We’s good people.”

  “Ruby’s the very best,” Ruth Ann agreed. But the atmosphere remained a little awkward.

  “Well, you go on in, then, and see your momma. She’s heard through the grapevine that little Bonnie’s here, an’ she’s been waitin’ for the both of you.” Ruby turned on her heel and walked away, disappearing back into the room she’d come out
of.

  It was a pleasant surprise to find that Sheila was bathed and in a fresh nightgown and robe. Her hair and nails were clean. She looked bright-eyed, almost normal. She looked up when the two girls entered the room, and her jaw slackened, her thin lips parting in something like wonder as she gazed at Bonnie’s face.

  “Come here, child,” she said, in tones full of butter and jam. She stretched out her hands. “Let me look at you, my dear. Oh! My baby Bonnie, my sweet girl, you’re…you’re so beautiful!”

  Ruth Ann gaped.

  Sheila utterly ignored her.

  As Bonnie advanced toward the serpent-woman, Ruth Ann wanted to call her back. Jerk her away, tell her that this creature was not their mother. That she was a demon who’d shucked her scales and retracted her fangs and claws, wrapped herself in the skin of some other poor woman. She was poised to bite off Bonnie’s head and suck out her guts.

  “Do you remember your momma, doll baby?” Sheila asked in honeyed tones. “You remember me, don’t you?” And she began to sing, of all things.

  Hush little baby, don’t you cry;

  Mama’s gonna sing you a lullaby

  And if that song, it don’t get heard,

  Papa’s gonna get you a mockin’bird…

  Sheila had always taken liberties with the verses; made up her own to suit herself.

  An ache began just below Ruth Ann’s diaphragm, slowly filling her with longing.

  And if that silly bird fly away,

  Mama’s gonna call it a brand-new day.

  Down to the market you’ll go in a pram,

  And Mama’s gonna get you a can o’ Spam…

  Under Ruth Ann’s fascinated, horrified, stunned gaze, Bonnie laughed.

  And then Sheila did, too.

  And Bonnie ran to her, pigtails flying.

  Ran right into the mother-monster’s arms, as if she belonged there. As if she’d been waiting years for this very moment. As if she loved her.

  Sheila wrapped her evil, skinny arms around Bonnie and squeezed her tightly. “Oh, my darlin’. Oh, how I have dreamed of this moment! I was so afraid I’d never see you again.” Her voice shook.