A Mother's Promise

by K. D. Alden

  “Miss Riley!” he exclaimed.

  “Don’t you Miss Riley me.” She folded her arms and raised her chin. “Were you even gonna tell me you was—were—here with my baby? With Annabel?”

  He stared at her, his cigar smoke curling into the air and then evaporating like a poor excuse. “Well, now, I, ah—”

  “So you weren’t gonna tell me.”

  “It was merely a doctor’s appointment for the child,” he said weakly.

  “It was a chance for me to see her.”

  “I should think that only causes you pain, Miss Riley.”

  “It does. But I want to see her anyways.”

  He sucked on the cigar and then blew out more smoke. “I don’t understand…”

  “You’re not a mother.”

  “No, and there’s little chance I’ll ever be one,” he joked, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

  She just stared at him. “You’re my lawyer, right?”

  “Yes…?”

  “Then I’d like you to ask Doc and Mrs. Dade in there if Sheila and Bonnie an’ me can spend an hour with my daughter. We’re family.”

  “Miss Riley, that’s highly irregular—”

  “I don’t care.”

  “I’m not quite sure I can prevail upon—”

  “Pre-vail? What does that mean? Can you just talk plain English to me, Mr. Block?”

  “My apologies, Miss Riley. I’m not sure I can talk Dr. Price into allowing this.”

  “Please try, Mr. Block? Please? Just an hour. My momma’s never even seen her granddaughter. Never met her.”

  Esquire hesitated, then nodded. He ground the tip of his cigar against the drainpipe at the corner of Doc’s office. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Thank you.”

  “In the meantime, I should tell you that we have a court date. We will be arguing your case in front of a judge here in Amherst County, and you will need to go there with me to answer some questions. All right?”

  “What kind of questions?”

  “I’ll come again next week, Ruth Ann, to discuss them with you and prepare you.”

  She should be nicer to Mr. Block if she wanted him to stay her lawyer. “All right.”

  It brought an ache to Ruth Ann’s heart to see Sheila cooing to little Annabel, holding her in her arms, rocking her. Bonnie stood behind the chair, bending to marvel over the baby’s tiny fingers and gasping in delight when Annabel closed her fist around one of Bonnie’s and held on.

  Mr. Block had prevailed. Gotten his way—which was really Ruth Ann’s way.

  He and Doc had some words about it, though. Loud ones. Doc had thundered things like “irregular” and “unhealthy attachment” and “impudence.” Esquire had bellowed back stuff like “immaculate legal precedent” and “judicial proceedings” and “three generations” and “keep her pliable.”

  She had little idea what most of the words meant, but she was grateful that her lawyer was fighting on her behalf. It was about time someone did.

  Bonnie had Sheila to fight for her. Annabel had her, Ruth Ann. But Ruth Ann had nobody, except for Block. He wasn’t family, but he would have to do.

  Sheila began to sing her strange, made-up-on-the-fly lullaby verses.

  Hush little baby, don’t you cry

  Grannie’s gonna make you a nice big pie

  An’ if that pie don’t feed you good,

  Grannie’s gonna ask the neighborhood

  For milk ’n’ honey and a chocolate cake

  They’ll bring ’em all for your own sweet sake…

  Ruth Ann bit her lip to suppress a smile. “Grannie” had used that same mouth to spew filth at Mother Jenkins only weeks ago, but Annabel had no idea. She blew a spit bubble in appreciation of her grandmother’s musical talents.

  “You’re an auntie,” Ruth Ann said to Bonnie. “How does that feel?”

  “Kinda old,” Bonnie said.

  Whereupon Sheila reached up and tugged one of her braids. “Oh, yeah, quite the wizened crone, you is, darlin’.”

  Bonnie laughed, the baby gurgled with delight, and the three of them basked in the sunshine of three generations of love.

  What Ruth Ann wouldn’t have given for a camera in that instant. Or an artist. She wished she could capture the scene somehow, and hold it tight against her heart. It was that rare, that pure, that magical.

  But she was on the outside—always on the outside. Why? Why couldn’t she ever belong? Why couldn’t she ever be accepted or cherished? She seemed doomed to look at her own family through a pane of glass, her hands and forehead pressed against its cold surface. They were there, visible but unreachable.

  Sheila must have sensed her thoughts. She cast a glance over at Ruth Ann. Her lips flattened, but softened again as she turned back to the baby.

  Well, nobody could look at Annabel and not melt. It wasn’t possible.

  She squirmed and cooed and gurgled in her grandmother’s lap, wriggling her feet in their little booties, shaking her tiny fists and joyously happy to be alive. Ruth Ann didn’t want her ever to lose that joy…

  She swallowed hard and brushed her sleeve against her nose.

  Sheila turned her way again. “Oh, quit lookin’ all hungry,” she snapped, but without heat. “Like you could eat the moon and fart out a cloud. Git on over here, girl.”

  Always a poet, was Sheila.

  Ruth Ann gaped at her.

  “You heard me. Annabel is your baby.”

  Ruth Ann’s eyes burned. She is, and yet she ain’t…

  Sheila cocked her head. She swung her feet, in their terrycloth slippers, down to the floor. She patted the place where they’d rested. “C’mon over here, Ruthie, and siddown with us on the otterman.”

  Blinded by the sudden tears in her eyes, Ruth Ann did as she was told.

  Twenty-Five

  Glory returned to work after her recuperation in the infirmary hospital. She was still pale and listless, and Ruth Ann’s heart ached for her. She went to see Carlotta, the new temporary house mother, with the seed of a plan.

  Carlotta was a mild-mannered, pragmatic, plump girl with mouse-colored hair who talked to the Lord more than she talked to anybody else and seemed to like it that way. Yes, she agreed, nine-year-old Izzie was a handful and needed an older sister or mother figure to take her under her wing. And yes, Glory would fit the bill right nicely. She needed a larger purpose to pull her out of the blues.

  And yes, they could all do their rotation in the laundry together with young Bonnie, so that the girls got trained properly by their older mentors. Then they could do their rotation in the gardens and back to the kitchens for canning.

  Ruth Ann could have kissed Carlotta. Instead, she thanked her profusely and promised that they’d all work hard and teach the younger girls to value the power of contributing to their community. Then she ran to find Glory and Izzie and Bonnie.

  Glory shook her head in wonder at the news. Her blond hair seemed faded; the shadows under her eyes reached all the way to her cheekbones. “How’d you pull this off, Ruth Ann?”

  “I asked.” She shrugged. “And we done received,” she said with an impish grin.

  Izzie was less enthusiastic. “But I don’ wanna ‘tribute to my community.’ I want to play dolls.”

  Glory bit her lip in an effort not to smile. “I understand, cutie. But we all have to earn our keep. You can put your doll in your pocket, though, and she can learn how to wash the clothes, too. How’s that?”

  “She can’t see through a pocket, silly,” Izzie said.

  Now it was Ruth Ann’s turn to bite her lip.

  “Well, I s’pose she can sit on top the wall, then, and watch us from there. How would that be?”

  “She’ll get cold!” There was no pleasin’ Izzie.

  “Then we’ll make her a coat after dinner. How would you like to do that?”

  “Can I help?” asked Bonnie.

  “Of course you can!” Glory said, at the same time Izzie knit her brow and
said, “No.”

  The best-laid plans…Ruth Ann put her hands on her hips. “Why not? Why cain’t Bonnie help make the coat, too?”

  “’Cause she ain’t invited.”

  Bonnie’s face fell. “But I wanna learn to sew.”

  “Glory is my friend, not yours,” Izzie announced.

  Glory laughed. “You are both my friends.”

  “No. I found you first! An’ anyways, Bonnie’s got a ma. I don’t.”

  Ruth Ann sighed. “Friends are to be shared, Izzie, like food and laughter and wisdom, darlin’. Not that we have a whole lot o’ that here at the Colony for the Feebleminded, but even a fool’s canny at times. Anyways. You girls are gonna have to learn to work together and get along.”

  “I don’ want to work. An’ I don’ want to get ’long with nobody,” Izzie said mulishly.

  “Well, you gotta work, or you get no supper. As for gettin’ along with other people, I cain’t make you, but I’d surely advise it.”

  “Why?”

  Ruth Ann bit her lip again to stop it from quivering. “On account of if you don’t, they’re likely to pull your hair, spit on you and maybe even steal your doll. Do you want any of that to happen?”

  “No.”

  “All righty, then. Get along with others. Be nice to them, an’ they’ll likely be nice to you.”

  Izzie turned to Glory. “Is that right?”

  “Yes, cutie, it is.”

  “Huh.” She thought about it for a bit, then turned to Ruth Ann. “What’s canny mean?”

  “It means clever. Now, canny we all be friends and get to work?” Ruth Ann winked at the little girl, and Glory laughed.

  “I s’pose so,” Izzie said gloomily.

  “Can I bring Calico Bear to sit on the wall with her doll?” Bonnie asked.

  “Sure thing. They can supervise us all.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “They’ll look on and make sure we wash the clothes right.”

  “Who’s Calico Bear?” Izzie wanted to know.

  “My stuffed animal,” Bonnie said. “What’s your doll’s name?”

  “Louisa. It was Susie, but then I changed it to my ma’s name…”

  Glory raised her face to the sunshine and inhaled the fresh, crisp air as Ruth Ann piled the wood to get the fire started under the huge cast-iron pot. She stacked the logs carefully to create an air pocket in the middle, since the flames needed oxygen to do their job, just like people did.

  Glory brushed her hands against her lower belly and leaned against the wall with her eyes closed. Her hair stirred softly in the breeze and played along her cheeks. Her eyes fluttered open as a ladybug, of all things, landed on her nose. She put up a hand to brush it off.

  “Don’t!” said Ruth Ann. “She’s good luck.”

  Glory gazed down cross-eyed at the tiny red spotted creature. “Good luck don’t fly into a place like this. And it’s got nothin’ to do with me.”

  “She’s good luck,” Ruth Ann insisted. “You’ll see.”

  “She’s got nine spots!” Bonnie said.

  Izzie frowned. “I only see seven.”

  The two girls counted again while Ruth Ann lit the fire and fanned it to a cheery blaze.

  “Okay, nine,” Izzie conceded. “I wonder if Mr. Phelps sent her?”

  Ruth Ann straightened. “Who?”

  “Mr. Phelps, the old man in the infirmary. Before he went to Heaven, he promised me he’d find my ma. And he said he’d send her down to see me.”

  “I’ll bet you’re right!” Glory smiled, still cross-eyed, at the ladybug. It raised and dipped its wings, as if to agree.

  Izzie rushed forward to peer at Glory’s nose some more. “Hi, Ma!” Her childish, but very real, bad attitude and anger slipped away in the face of this possibility. “You look so pretty! What’s it like to fly?”

  Glory and Ruth Ann exchanged a glance. Was this sacrilege? Should they correct her? Or was this God’s simple way of comforting a child who’d endured bitter loss?

  “What’s it like to be good luck?” Izzie pressed on. “Why do you have to be good luck for other people? I miss you…I miss you so much, Ma.”

  The ladybug fluttered its wings.

  Bonnie stared at Izzie, moving closer to Ruth Ann, who slipped an arm around her.

  Then doubt seemed to creep into Izzie’s mind. “Wait. This is silly. Nurse said my ma’s an angel now. Not a ladybug.” She turned to Ruth Ann and then kicked the wall. “What’s the truth? Was Nurse lying?”

  Ruth Ann remembered kicking that same wall, to make her toe hurt so that she could feel something. “Nobody’s lying, sweetie. Who’s to say exactly what an angel looks like? Why can’t an angel have ladybug wings instead of big feathery ones?”

  Izzie peered at her, her gaze uncertain.

  “None of us has ever seen an angel,” Glory chimed in. “So maybe they can put on a ladybug dress every now and then. Who knows?”

  Ruth Ann smiled and nodded. She wished she could give the child all the answers she didn’t have herself. But surely, lacking those, it wasn’t wrong to give her hope? To give her the possibility that her ma did love her still from beyond, and had come to visit her upon Glory’s nose? How could that be so wrong?

  Izzie turned back to the ladybug on Glory’s face. “Nine spots,” she said, with a sidelong glance at Bonnie. “You were right. Nine spots for nine years old.”

  Bonnie smiled.

  “Maybe Ma wants me to be your friend,” Izzie speculated dubiously.

  The ladybug fluttered its wings energetically.

  “She does,” Bonnie said, pointing.

  Izzie nodded. “Well, okay then.”

  Glory and Ruth Ann exchanged another glance over the girls’ heads.

  Both God and children work in mysterious ways, an’ that’s the truth.

  Whistling came from beyond the laundry’s walls, announcing the arrival of Clarence. He rounded the wall, and Ruth Ann felt her face getting hot immediately. She snuggled Bonnie closer to her.

  “Mornin’, girls,” he called. “You pretendin’ to be statues?”

  “No,” said Izzie. “We’re talkin’ to my ma, who is now a ladybug on Glory’s nose.”

  A pause ensued while Clarence worked this out. “Is that right?” he asked, keeping a straight face.

  “Yes, it is. She came to say hello and see if I’m all right.”

  “Can I meet her?”

  Izzie nodded. “I s’pose so. Ma, this here’s Clarence.”

  He joined them in the laundry. “How do you do?”

  The ladybug lifted a wing, and Clarence doffed his cap in reply.

  “She likes you,” said Izzie.

  Clarence grinned. “Well, what’s not to like?”

  Ruth Ann no longer wanted to knock his freckles into next year. Was there no creature—insect, animal, child or adult—that he wasn’t kind toward? How could she smack a fellow like him, even if he’d taken a liberty with her?

  The ladybug confirmed her opinion by fluttering off Glory’s nose and landing on the bill of Clarence’s cap.

  “Look!” Izzie pointed. “She wants me to be friends with Clarence, too.”

  Clarence’s grin got broader. “Well, of course she does. Your ma doesn’t want you to be alone. She wants us all to take care of one another, don’t you think?”

  Izzie’s hazel eyes lit up, and she nodded. “We’re gonna make my doll a coat so she won’t be cold sittin’ on the laundry wall. Want to help?”

  Clarence tugged on his earlobe as he considered this. “Well, I don’t rightly know how to sew,” he said, “but I think I can hunt you girls down some fabric for this coat.”

  “Calico Bear might get cold, too,” ventured Bonnie. “Could we make him a coat, too?”

  Ruth Ann nodded. “Sure we can. Can you find enough cloth for two?”

  “I bet I can.” Clarence put his good hand on Bonnie’s shoulder. “You girls give me until tomorrow, aw right? I’ll start lookin�
�� ’round about for it.”

  Ruth Ann didn’t know whether to meet his eyes or look away.

  He made the decision for her. “Hiya, Ruthie. I hear you and Bonnie and Sheila got to see little Annabel for a spell.” His rainwater gray eyes held compassion and concern.

  Somehow, he got it. He got how wonderful it had been and also how very difficult it had been to hand her back to Mrs. Dade. She didn’t know how he understood, but he did.

  Ruth Ann nodded.

  Before he could say anything else, Bonnie broke in. “I’m an auntie!”

  “Yes, indeed, you are,” Clarence said gravely. “That is quite an achievement. Congratulations.”

  Bonnie beamed. “Thank you.”

  “I want to be an aunt,” Izzie exclaimed. “How can I be an aunt?”

  Glory chuckled. “Well, do you have an older sister?”

  “I think so.”

  “You’re not sure?”

  Izzie shook her head.

  Ruth Ann stepped in. “What’s your surname, Izzie? And is Izzie short for Isabel?”

  “Yes. It’s Isabel Emmons.”

  “How do you spell that?”

  Izzie blinked. “Dunno.”

  “Well, we’ll figure it. Clarence, here, is going to do a bit of…research…for Glory. So he may be able to help find out if you’re an aunt, too.”

  She shot him a glance. “Aren’t you workin’ on that, Clarence?”

  He nodded. “It just takes a bit o’ timin’ and fiddlin’, if you take my meaning. Plus leavin’ that, uh, compass we talked ’bout behind.” He winked at her.

  Compass?

  Oh, right. The moral compass that he needed to lose. Well, nobody thought the de-botched and de-generous had those, now did they?

  “Come to think of it, I may need your help, Ruthie,” Clarence said, alarming her. He leaned down close, and she ducked away.

  “Ruthie,” he said patiently, “I ain’t gonna bite you.”

  He meant “kiss,” and she knew it, and he knew she knew it.

  “I need to tell you somethin’ private. So gimme your ear.”

  Reluctantly, she allowed him to get close enough to whisper, while Glory distracted the two girls. Ruth Ann could smell the sweet hay on him, and the sunshine, and a scent that made him uniquely Clarence.