Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood

by Rebecca Wells

  Sidda’s breath caught in her throat.

  “I have some letters you gave me a long time ago,” Teensy said, “when you were a girl. You asked me to give them to your maman.” She paused and took a deep breath. “But I never did.”

  Teensy handed Sidda the manila envelope. “There are also some letters of your mama’s that I—that we’ve saved over the years.”

  “We thought about mailing them to you,” Necie said. “But it didn’t feel right. I don’t know if you still pray to the saints, but I prayed to Saint Francis of Patrizi—”

  “Saint Frank Patrizi,” Caro interrupted. “Not Frankie of Assisi.”

  “—He’s the Patron Saint of Reconciliation,” Necie continued. “Anyway, it seemed better if we were with you when you read the letters.”

  Sidda looked at the envelope, then at the three women. “Thank you. I’ll look forward to reading them.”

  “Why don’t you go ahead and read them now, Pal?” Caro said, standing. “Stretch out and read while we do the dishes.”

  “Oh, no”—Sidda said—“I can’t let yall do that. I’ll clean up after yall leave. After all, yall provided the meal.”

  “We insist,” Necie said. “A good guest always helps clear.”

  “But aren’t yall tired?” Sidda asked.

  “Not a bit,” Necie said. “Matter of fact, I’m wide awake.”

  “Me too,” Teensy said. “You know it’s two hours earlier here than at home.”

  “I just get started at this time of day,” Caro said. “Take as long as you want. We aren’t going anywhere.”

  While the Ya-Yas cleaned up, Sidda lay down on the sofa, the old feather pillow propped under her head. The letters were divided into two different stacks. The first was a series of unposted envelopes in a child’s hand. It took her a moment to realize it was her own penmanship. She stared at the loopy letters on the first envelope. It was addressed to “Mrs. Shep Walker,” but there was no address. The name seemed to hang misplaced, off-center, floating in space with no coordinates to anchor it. As she stared at the blank white space where the address should have been, Sidda’s stomach tightened. Without being aware of it, she drew her knees close in to her body, so that she became smaller.

  The first letter read:

  April 2, 1963

  Dear Mama,

  Nobody will give me your address. Teensy said I can give my letters to her and she will get them to you so I hope she does. Mama, I am so sorry we were bad and got you upset. Buggy said we are too much for you. She said we can only write you cheery letters. Please get well soon.

  I am sorry we were bad and got you upset.

  I am taking good care of the others.

  Sunday night we stayed at Buggy’s. Then Necie came and got me and Lulu. Little Shep and Baylor went to Caro’s. Daddy is gone. I don’t know where he went. I wish I could stay at Teensy and Chick’s so I could swim in their pool.

  When I asked Necie where you are she said you are out of town getting well. Are you in the hospital, Mama? Are you visiting friends? I watched The Little Rascals and Superman on TV, and me and Lulu played Barbies with Malissa and Annie. We slept in Necie’s attic guest room. I am sorry. I will write you again soon. Please write me and come home soon.

  Love,

  Sidda

  Sidda closed her eyes. Sunday evening, winter. Third or fourth grade. Her father’s cowboy belt in her mother’s hand. The landing of the silver belt tip against her skin. Her wild attempts to protect the other children. The leather against her thighs, across her back. The hot craziness; Vivi’s talk of hell, of burning; Sidda’s shame at urinating on herself; her voice hoarse from crying out. Above it all, the belief that she could have stopped it all from happening.

  These images were not new to Sidda. Her body knew them well. Nothing—not distance, not career, not Connor, not her therapist’s suggestion that Vivi had suffered a breakdown—nothing had ever fully relieved her of the belief that she had been the cause of that Sunday’s punishment.

  Lost in the images, Sidda flinched as Necie leaned down and gently draped a light cotton blanket over her. She opened her eyes to see the look of concern in Necie’s eyes. Without speaking, she went back to reading.

  April 12, 1963

  Good Friday

  Dear Mama,

  Willetta came to see me today and guess what. She brought us Lucky the hamster who was at home all alone without us. He was lonely she said. Willetta was feeding him every day but he wanted us!!! So now we have him here at Teensy’s where we all are now!! He is on his wheel going crazy. You should see him. He misses you.

  I am waiting for a letter from you. Teensy said she thought I might get one soon. Teensy took me to see Hayley Mills at the Paramount. The others didn’t get to go, just me and Teensy.

  I prayed for you at the Stations of the Cross. This Lent is too long. I don’t believe it’s only forty days. Only one more day till Easter and I can eat candy again. I kept my Lent sacrifice to give up M&Ms. Please be home by Sunday. OK?

  Teensy bought me and Lulu Easter dresses. Uncle Chick is real funny. We are having an Easter-egg hunt and you are invited. Shirley their maid and us are dyeing eighty-four thousand eggs. I called Willetta on the phone yesterday and she says everything is fine at Pecan Grove. I don’t see why we can’t stay at home with Daddy. Everything is not fine because you aren’t here.

  We will see you on Sunday. OK?

  Love,

  Sidda

  Easter Sunday

  April 14, 1963

  Dear Mama,

  We got dressed up and went to 10:30 Mass and then came back to Teensy’s. Necie and Caro and everybody came over and we had a brunch. Willetta and Chaney and Ruby and Pearl drove all the way over here to bring us an Easter cake. Willetta had on a big yellow hat with flowers on it. Daddy came too and picked me up in the air.

  When I kept asking about you, he made me be quiet and play with the other kids. Uncle Chick dressed up like the Easter Bunny. We looked for eggs in the tall grass and on the lawn and by the sides of the flower gardens and in the pots around the swimming pool. Baylor found the golden egg and he got a big stuffed bunny and we all got prizes too.

  The grown-ups had drinks by the pool, and when Daddy got ready to leave, Lulu bit him on the leg. Then it got all crazy. Daddy said, “Goddamn it to hell.” And Daddy started crying, Mama.

  Then Daddy stayed and we had pork sandwiches with Teensy and Chick and watched Ed Sullivan. Then Daddy left. I don’t know where he went.

  THEY WON’T TELL ME WHEN YOU ARE COMING HOME. I got mad. I sat in Caro’s lap and told her made-up stories about the people on Ed Sullivan. I don’t want to talk about the people on Ed Sullivan. I hate Ed Sullivan. I hate everybody.

  Siddalee Walker

  May 23, 1963

  Dear Mama,

  We are all staying with Necie now. Please come and get us. Necie’s house is too loud. There are eleven kids here now, and I don’t have any room to myself. I can’t do my homework.

  You need to come home now, OK? Lulu is chewing on her hair again and I can’t make her stop. The other children miss you too bad. Little Shep got in a fistfight. He gave Jeff LeMoyne a bloody nose and the nuns punished him and made Caro come pick him up from school. Lulu won’t wear her uniform to school anymore, even Necie can’t make her. Baylor is acting like a baby again, Mama. He is talking baby talk and spitting and everything. So you see you have to come on back now, OK? We miss you. I am being so good you wouldn’t recognize me, Mama! Come on back, you won’t believe how sweet we are. I am sorry we made you mad and made you get sick. Are you having fun without us, because we aren’t having fun without you. You will see when you return how we have changed. NO kidding! Ask Daddy or the Ya-Yas. Please, Mama.

  Love from your oldest daughter,

  Siddalee Walker

  P.S. We got our report cards before Easter vacation. I made straight A’s! (Except in conduct.) I did better than anybody!

  June 6, 1963
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  Dear Mama,

  You didn’t write me. I thought you were going to. I don’t think it’s very nice to leave and not write me. I am not writing you one more letter. School is out and you aren’t home. I hate you.

  Sidda

  June 7, 1963

  Dear Mama,

  I’m sorry for my last letter. I’m sorry for everything. Everybody here misses you and wants you home. You would not recognize me, Mama. I am so good. Please come home. OK? Necie is going to take us to Spring Creek but I don’t want to go without you. Pretend like I never wrote that other letter, OK?

  I love you.

  Your loving daughter,

  Siddalee

  Sidda folded the last letter back into its envelope. She felt hot and dizzy, flooded with anger toward the Ya-Yas for exposing her to such graphic reminders of the past.

  But I asked for it.

  She sat up and peeked her head over the top of the sofa. She could see the three Ya-Yas seated at the table, perhaps the first time she’d ever seen them together without nonstop conversation. Necie was working on a needlepoint, and Teensy was playing solitaire. Caro had found a jigsaw puzzle, which she was avidly working on.

  They are sitting sentry, Sidda thought.

  Teensy looked up. “How you doing, chère?”

  Sidda nodded.

  “Holler if you need anything,” Teensy said.

  “Want another pecan tart?” Necie asked.

  “No, thank you,” Sidda said. “I don’t dare.”

  Looking up from her jigsaw puzzle, Caro said, “I find if I take my glasses off and kind of blur my focus these puzzle pieces come together more easily.”

  Sidda felt comforted by their presence. She hadn’t realized until now just how alone she had felt. She reached for the second batch of letters.

  There were three envelopes, one to each Ya-Ya, addressed in Vivi’s hand. The envelopes were Vivi’s personalized Crane stationery, and still had a soft plush feel after thirty years. But, as Sidda opened the first envelope, she saw that the letter itself was not written on her mother’s stationery, but rather typed out on a piece of typing paper. Although the typing paper was yellowed slightly at the edges and the folds, the typing still looked strong, black, and immediate against the paper. The palms of Sidda’s hands itched as she began to read.

  July 11, 1963

  2:30 A.M., my 9th day home

  Teensy Baby—

  The only soul I could stomach at the Hospital That Nobody Calls a Hospital said it would be good for me to write about my feelings—since I seem to have trouble talking for the first time in my life. Thus my old Olivetti, which Shep went and got for me from Mother’s attic. At least you’ll be spared my hand, which isn’t too steady.

  Teensy, I cannot bear to tuck my children in these days. I cannot bear to hold them or hug them or watch them brush their teeth. I do not dare let myself get too close to them. Except when they are sleeping.

  I wait until everything is quiet and then I tiptoe into their rooms. First into the boys’ room with its little-man smell of spiciness and their leather baseball mitts hanging on the bedposts. I lean over Little Shep’s bed. My fierce little trooper. He sleeps hard, that kid does. Plays hard, sleeps hard, does everything full-tilt. And then I watch my baby, Baylor. Oh, Teensy, he still sleeps curled into a little ball.

  And then I go in my girls’ room. The minute you step in there, you know it is a little girls’ room with their smell of powder and Crayolas and some scent like vanilla. There is Lulu, who kicks all the covers off her bed every night of her life. She lies there, her little darling chubby body, asleep on her stomach, wearing that lovely nightgown you bought her with the yellow roses. She loves that gown. Willetta can hardly get her out of it long enough to wash it.

  And then there is my oldest. On the nights she doesn’t wake gasping from her nightmares, Sidda sleeps with all the covers pulled tight under her chin, a second pillow clenched in her arms, her right arm flung over her head. That beautiful white gown you gave her. How did you find something so perfect? It makes her look like a little girl-poet. Underneath that gown is a scar on her shoulder blade that I put there. Oh, God, she took it the worst. She is still taking care of the others, a little bitty mama. The nurse at the hospital told me to write even if I am crying; she said to keep on writing. Necie told me how you picked Sidda up and took her to the movies with you once a week, just the two of you. And how you had to convince her that it was okay for her to just sit there in the dark and watch Hayley Mills and sip her Coke and run to the lobby to use the phone to check on the other kids. Oh, I want to thank you the most for Sidda’s nightgown because it reminds me that she is a little girl.

  I have to be so careful, Teensy.

  Merci bien, merci beaucoup, mille mercis, tata.

  Vivi

  Sidda put down the letter and pressed her palm against her chest to calm her breathing.

  I want to thank you the most for Sidda’s nightgown because it reminds me that she is a little girl.

  Sidda wanted to hide. She stood up and feigned a stretch. “I’m getting a little uncomfortable on the sofa. I think I’ll go in the bedroom.”

  “You vant to be alone?” Teensy asked, in a Garbo voice.

  “Yes,” Sidda said, “I do.”

  “Well, then, we’ll just follow you into the bedroom,” Caro said.

  “That’s right,” Necie said. “We’ll just bring ourselves right in there with you.”

  Hueylene looked up from where she lay, and gave her tail a loud thump on the floor. Sidda felt surrounded; her usual retreat into isolation when faced with pain was being thwarted.

  “You’ve been out here long enough on the edge of nowhere,” Teensy said. “We just arrived. Do you want word to get back home that you were a poor hostess?”

  Try good manners.

  “Absolutely not,” Sidda said. “May I go to the bathroom unaccompanied?”

  “No, you may not,” Teensy said, grinning. Dropping her cards on the table, she went to Sidda’s side, and stuck there like glue as Sidda tried to walk in the direction of the bathroom. When Sidda stopped to stare at her, Teensy pulled Sidda to her in a tight embrace.

  “There is nowhere you can hide from the Ya-Ya Sisterhood,” Caro called out.

  Laughing in spite of herself, Sidda kissed Teensy on the cheek.

  When she came back from the bathroom, the ladies did not look up. Sidda tucked herself under the cotton throw, and picked up the letters. Before she began to read, she took a moment to absorb the room she was in, the sights and sounds around her. The playing cards lightly slapping the wooden table, the breathing of the women, the sound of Hueylene’s gentle snoring, a loon crying somewhere along the lake path. Sidda let these sounds enter her before she returned to that dark Lent season that extended long past Easter.

  The next letter read:

  July 14, 1963

  Caro Dahlin—

  My dearest friend—I am—maybe for the first time in our lives together—at a loss for words to thank you for all you have done for me and my gang. Taking care of my boys for almost three solid months. (Months that for me were not so solid.) Having Shep over for dinner, when he could be found. You are one of the few people he feels comfortable enough to talk to. When I got home, he said, “That Caro is no bullshit.” That is praise of the highest order from a man who used up his stock of compliments sometime around 1947.

  Buddy, it is all such a cloud. I remember you standing next to me somewhere in a hallway in the hospital that nobody calls a hospital. I remember you holding my hand. Shep told me you were the one who came first, after I did what I did, after I did what I will never forgive myself for. After I dropped my basket and could not pick it up.

  Willetta brought my girls in yesterday evening to kiss me goodnight, and after they left, I said a prayer that they would be lucky enough to have a friend like you. Some women pray for their girls to marry good husbands. I pray that Siddalee and Lulu will find girlfriends h
alf as loyal and true as the Ya-Yas.

  I think of you, Caro, when I climb in my bed. When I wrap my arms around my shoulders and rock myself to sleep like you did that first night I was home. Shep might seem gruff sometimes, but since I have been back, he has surprised me. The way he asked you to spend that first night with me. I think he suspects that he will never be as essential to me as you and the Ya-Yas. We have to keep these men in the dark, you know, or the whole world would fall to pieces. Just ask me, I am an expert on falling to pieces. And you are an expert in helping put the pieces back together.

  I love you, Caro. I love you, my Duchess Soaring Hawk.

  Your Vivi

  The final letter, as Sidda suspected, was written to Necie. It read:

  July 23, 1963

  Dear Dear Necie,

  I do not know how you do it, Countess Singing Cloud. We kid you about your pink and blue thoughts, we laugh about your ditziness, and yet you are the one of all of us who manages to stay organized and do it with style.

  I cannot talk about what happened. My life was a basket and I dropped it.

  You were the one who kept my world running while I was gone. How did you do it? The ten thousand basketball games and altar-boy practices and Girl Scout and Brownie meetings and dentist appointments and God knows what else. Baby doll, you must have lived in your station wagon between taxiing your kids and mine.

  Welcoming my girls into your already huge household. Tucking them into that darling attic room with the big windows and the canopied beds. Feeding them, keeping Lulu’s hands away from her hair munching, listening to Sidda practice her endless piano. Handling my mother in her attempts to “calm” my kids. Your novenas, your countless rosaries.

  And Shep. He cooked me a steak the other night after the kids were asleep. Poured me a drink—a short one—and told me what all you did for him. He is ashamed of how he acted after taking me to the hospital nobody will call a hospital. For the drinking. He told me how you drove out to the duck camp when nobody could find him. How you sobered him up and got him back to town. Kept him sober for the Easter-egg hunt.

  Darling Girl, you have an admirer for life in my husband. Please be patient with him because I’m sure he will only show his thanks in the most bumbling ways. But maybe that’s all any of us have, bumbling ways of giving thanks.