Ten
"At the very least, try to remember that you're a girl."
This was Grandma's last instruction to me before Uncle Roger delivered me over to Marcy's place the next morning. It came at the end of a short speech about minding my Ps and Qs and not disgracing the family name (though I don't know how I could do much harm to the Acklebee name since my last name is Stewart) and not giving Mrs. Knowles any trouble.
I just kept saying, "Yes, ma'am," until she was finished. For once her crabbiness wasn't bothering me a bit. I was escaping, even if it was only for a few hours.
Marcy was waiting on her porch when we drove up the lane to her house. As soon as I saw her, I was thankful that Grandma had made me put on a skirt. Marcy was wearing a red and white polka-dot dress with matching red shoes.
I told Uncle Roger thank you very much, and scooted out of the car.
"We're going to have perogies and iced cakes for lunch," Marcy declared, bouncing down the steps with a doll under one arm. "And mother says you can sleep over some night and we can stay up to listen to the radio until nine-thirty!"
My father lets me stay up past ten sometimes, but Marcy seemed so impressed with her announcement that I thought it would be rude to spoil it for her. Besides, I couldn't imagine Grandma letting me stay for a whole night.
"So, what do you want to play first? We could play mother and father and baby—only you'll have to be the father. Last Christmas I was supposed to be a shepherd in the school play, only mother told Miss Walashyn that I couldn't because my features are too delicate and dainty for a male part. We have a lot more girls in class than boys, so some girls had to take boy parts, you see. But I ended up as an angel and mother said I looked and acted the part."
Marcy looped an arm with mine and held up her doll with her free hand. "This is Molly. Her dress is real velvet."
I touched Molly's dress, which was smooth and soft.
"You want to hold her?" Marcy offered. "Just for a minute, though, because she's new. I got her for my birthday in April when I turned ten."
I took Molly and held her for a few seconds. By then Marcy was already looking kind of nervous, so I passed the doll back. I really didn't mind because I've never much liked hard plastic dolls, and that was even truer since Mr. Cobb had tried to get Grandma to buy me one. I have a Raggedy Ann and she might not be pretty likeMolly, but she's soft and cuddly and she suits me.
Marcy and I played house for a while but it wasn't that much fun being the husband.
"Maybe we can be sisters, and the baby can be our niece," I suggested after a few moments.
"No, this is better," Marcy insisted. Then she frowned. "You keep forgetting to make your voice deep—like a man's."
"Sorry," I said, but the look on Marcy's face made me realize that I'd apologized in my regular girl voice. "I mean, sorry," I repeated gruffly.
But Marcy was still frowning. "I'm waiting for you to pull out my chair so I can sit down," she said. "You aren't a very good husband."
"Well, I don't really know the husband rules," I pointed out.
"Your voice!" Marcy folded her arms in front of her and shook her head. "Never mind. We'll pretend you have a sore throat and you can't talk."
I did my best to keep up with her orders, but after a little while even she grew bored with the one-sided conversation.
"My gracious," she said, shaking her head, "I surely hope when I grow up and have a real husband, he listens better than you do."
And I hope your husband likes having a bossy wife, I thought, but I didn't say anything out loud.
Marcy decided it was time to do something else, so we drew some pictures and colored them.
"I know! We'll both draw the same thing, and then my mother can judge whose picture is better when we're finished," Marcy said. "Let's draw rainbows. Daddy says I'm really good at drawing rainbows."
"Well, I'm good at drawing flowers," I said, "so that's what I'm going to draw." I picked up a red crayon and formed the bowl of a tulip.
"No. It has to be the same thing," Marcy insisted, but I kept right on drawing my flowers. After a moment she let out a big noisy breath and said, "Fine. We'll both draw two pictures—one of rainbows and one of flowers."
"Okay," I agreed. Then there was peace and quiet for a while as we worked on our drawings. When they were finished, we got Marcy's mom to judge.
Mrs. Knowles decided that Marcy's rainbow was better than mine, but my flowers were the best. She gave us each a cookie as our prize.
We had two games of Chinese checkers after we'd eaten our prizes and then we took turns on the tire swing until it was time for lunch. The perogies were delicious and the tiny cakes were iced with different colors—pink, blue, and yellow. Mrs. Knowles gave us one of each color. I ate the pink and yellow cakes but asked if I could save the blue one for my Uncle Roger. Mrs. Knowles wrapped it for me in waxed paper and told me I was a nice girl.
After lunch we threw a stick for Marcy's dog Ruffy to fetch.
"Ruffy is a very smart dog!" Marcy told me. "I never even had to train him to fetch—he just knew what to do all on his own."
That didn't seem like a very big deal to me but I didn't say so. Instead, I said, "He's okay, I guess. Not like the dog that I rescued my pet from."
"What kind of pet?" Marcy wanted to know.
"A magpie," I told her. "Uncle Roger had to bandage his wing and I'm in charge of taking care of him until he can fly again. We called him Sammy and he's awfully talkative."
Marcy tried not to look impressed, but I could tell she wished she had a more interesting pet than dumb old stick-fetching Ruffy.
"Sammy just seems to know what I'm saying when I talk to him," I went on. "If I ask him does he want bugs or worms, he points his beak at one of the jars to let me know. And when he's a bit better he's going to ride around on my shoulder everywhere I go."
Marcy interrupted then, which was probably a good thing. I guess I'd spent enough time exaggerating Sammy's talents.
"Hey," she said. "Come and see my room! It's the most perfect princess room you ever saw."
Princesses must like pink a lot, because that was the color of everything in that room. Walls and floor, bedspread and curtains—all different shades of pink. And ruffles! There were ruffles everywhere I looked—on the curtains, atop the dresser, around her bed and pillows, and even around the outside of her picture frames.
"Isn't it beautiful?" Marcy said.
"It sure is pink," I said. "And frilly."
"I know," Marcy giggled. "I'm so lucky! I get to sleep here every night."
After the tour of Marcy's room we went outside, found some sticks, and drew squares for hopscotch. We played that for a while. Then we picked some wildflowers for Mrs. Knowles and took a walk down the road and back. Just before it was time for Uncle Roger to pick me up again, Mrs. Knowles brought us cold lemonade and told me I was welcome to come back anytime, and she hoped I was enjoying my visit with my relations.
"How long will you be here?" she asked.
I explained about Daddy's job and the Marvelous pots and pans and told her it probably wouldn't be much longer.
"Well, it sounds like it could be until the end of the summer," she said with a big, bright smile. "That would be lovely. Marcy hasn't had a playmate nearby in years."
She might have thought it sounded like a good thing, but I sure didn't! The idea of being stuck at Grandma's place for the whole rest of the summer was almost more than I could bear. Of course, I didn't say any of that to her. After all, Grandma might not be the nicest grandmother in the world, but she's still kin and all.
Marcy was talking about the things we could do together if I was around all summer, but I wasn't listening. I was imagining Daddy driving up to Grandma's house, jumping out and picking me up like he used to when I was small—twirling me around in the air and laughing—telling me he'd come to take me home.
Maybe if I thought it hard enough, it would happen sooner. Maybe even today. Why, D
addy could be at Grandma's right now, waiting for me to come back!
A sudden feeling of panic swept over me, and I didn't want to be at Marcy's house anymore. I wished Uncle Roger would hurry up and come for me.
It was another long fifteen minutes before his truck turned in the drive and rumbled to a stop. I thanked Marcy and Mrs. Knowles for having me and for the lovely lunch and said I'd had a wonderful time. Mostly it was true, even if Marcy was kind of bossy and braggy. It had been fun to have someone to play with instead of going around as quiet as a mouse doing chores.
But now I had the strangest feeling in me, and all I wanted to do was get back to Grandma's house, in case Daddy was there.
"Have a good day, Ellie?" Uncle Roger asked as I climbed up onto the front seat. I nodded and smiled and hoped he couldn't tell a real smile from a pretend one like Daddy can.
"Much obliged to you," Uncle Roger called to Mrs. Knowles, who was standing on the step with Marcy. She said it had been a pleasure to have me, and then she held her hand up and told him to wait.
After disappearing into the house for a minute, she came back with the blue cake I'd saved for him. I'd been in such a hurry to leave I'd forgotten all about it.
He thanked her again and we drove off toward Grandma's. As soon as we were on our way, I felt a lot calmer.
"Now, about this cake," Uncle Roger said. "Do you recommend it, Ellie?"
"I sure do," I told him.
"You don't suppose it will spoil my supper, do you? I don't want to get a scolding."
"Don't worry," I said, indignant at the thought of Grandma scolding a full-grown man like Uncle Roger. "It won't fill you up. I had two of them and that was after I'd already eaten three whole perogies."
Uncle Roger smiled and nodded at me, then popped the cake into his mouth. That was when I saw his shoulders shaking so I knew he'd only been joking. Still, I wouldn't put it past Grandma.
I tried not to hope too hard as we got close to Grandma's, so when we turned off the road and there was no sign of Daddy's car, I told myself it didn't matter. It had been silly to think he would be back so soon anyway.
As Uncle Roger's truck came to a stop, he reached over and put his hand on my shoulder.
"That was real nice of you," he said, "saving me some cake. Thank you, Ellie."
That made me feel good.
So I can't explain why, suddenly, all I wanted to do was cry.
Eleven
After being away for a day, it was even harder to settle back into the routine at Grandma's house. The worst part of it was that I couldn't seem to do one single thing right. I folded the clothes wrong and Grandma sighed and folded almost everything over. I swept too hard and stirred up dust when I was cleaning the floor. I missed food when I washed dishes and took hold of the silverware wrong when I was drying.
You'd have thought there'd have been at least one thing I could do right, but if there was, I never heard about it. Sometimes I wasn't even sure what the problem was, but I always knew there was one by the sound of Grandma's heavy sigh.
Sammy was a big help at those times. Some days I'd go out there and talk and talk to him. You'd swear by the way he tilted his head and looked at me, that he knew just what I was saying. At times it was like he was rescuing me instead of the other way around.
Now and then, Uncle Roger would mention that Marcy would be coming to visit soon. I think he meant to cheer me up but it didn't always work that way. I couldn't help but remember the claims I'd made about Sammy. Marcy was sure to want to see him do the tricks I'd bragged about. She was also sure to think Grandma's house was shabby and gloomy next to hers. And goodness only knew what she might think of Grandma herself.
At first it seemed so far off, but then, before I knew it, Marcy was going to be coming the very next day. I didn't even mind that Grandma gave me extra chores that morning. The less Marcy had to find fault with, the better. After lunch Grandma called out to me to come and help her make pies. I felt my heart sink right into my shoes at those words. I'd never had any part of making a pie before. My feet slowed down but I still got to the kitchen faster than I wanted to.
"Yes, ma'am?" I said. I wished Daddy could see how well I was doing, remembering my manners.
"Wash your hands and go to the table," Grandma said. As soon as I'd done this, she plunked a large bowl down in front of me. Peeking over the rim I saw that it was almost half full of flour. To that, Grandma added a large blob of something pale and shiny. A little puff of flour rose up around it as the blob landed.
"Here," she said, passing me a pair of butter knives. "Blend in the lard."
I looked at the knives and then at the contents of the bowl. Obviously, there was something I didn't know about mixing lard into flour. I picked up the knives, wondering why I couldn't just use a spoon.
Grandma was at the sink, washing rhubarb and trimming the ends off the stalks. Her back was to me. I opened my mouth to ask her what I was supposed to do, but no words came out.
Instead, I reached into the bowl and began to stir the lard with one of the knives. All this did was push the lump up against one side of the bowl. That forced a small burst of flour up, out, and onto the table.
My stomach started to hurt.
At this rate, the flour would soon be all over the table. Clearly, stirring wasn't going to work. Maybe I was supposed to chop the lard up. I stabbed into it and started to cut pieces off. They fell on top of each other. When I tried to stir them around (slowly and gently this time) they stuck together. I could see that the lard wasn't getting any more mixed in with the flour than it had been when I started.
I looked down at the table. The second knife sat there, clean and untouched. I wondered again why Grandma had given me two knives. Maybe I needed to use them both at the same time. After thinking about it for a moment, I stuck the clean knife down into the lard. It must be that I was supposed to hold it in place while I chopped off pieces. As I did this, I stirred the smaller chunks unto the flour. All that did was coat them with flour, but at least they weren't sticking together this time.
This kept me busy for a few minutes, so I hardly noticed Grandma turning to look across the room at me.
"What are you doing?" she demanded. Her words were sharp and they came at me unexpectedly, which nearly made me knock the bowl over.
My heart pounded at the very thought of what would happen if I'd sent flour flying all over the kitchen. I gulped and swallowed, trying to make myself answer. At last I squeaked out a reply.
"Mixing the lard and flour like you said, Grandma."
Grandma shook her head. She sighed loudly and dried her hands on her apron. I cringed as she crossed the floor and peered down into the bowl.
"This isn't right," she said. Her words were quick and sharp. "Who taught you how to make pastry?"
"No one," I said.
"What? At your age?" She sounded indignant. Then she saw my face and the message that was on it found its way to her. I saw it happen. I saw her realize that there had been no one to show me things like making pastry.
I saw her remember that I have no mother.
Grandma's face changed. It seemed to fall a little. Then she pressed her mouth together so tight that her lips nearly disappeared. She took a long, slow breath in through her nose and cleared her throat.
"So, I will show you, then."
All of a sudden the table blurred in front of me. I told myself I wasn't going to cry, but I knew it was already too late. A tear slid down my cheek and hit the wooden surface with a gentle plop.
Grandma stiffened as she leaned over me. I thought for sure she was going to yell at me for crying like a baby, but she said nothing at all. Instead, she put her hands over mine and showed me how to slice through the lard with both knives at once. Her hands moved mine slowly at first and then got faster as the blades slid toward and past each other again and again.
I swallowed hard and took a deep breath. That helped me stop crying, but the tears that were already built
up were still there. I hoped Grandma hadn't noticed that I'd been crying. I thought I could probably wipe the tears away before she saw them.
All the while, Grandma's hands held mine while we slashed away at the lard. I realized with a start that her arms were around me. Not really, but sort of, because of the way she was standing behind me and showing me what to do.
It was a strange feeling. I closed my eyes and pretended, just for a minute, that she was hugging me, like any normal grandmother would do.
I pretended that she loved me.
Twelve
I felt like I'd been sitting by the lone window in the parlor for hours, waiting for Marcy to arrive. There wasn't much to see watching the road, either—just a trail of dust billowing up behind a passing car now and then. But finally, one of the cars stopped at the end of the driveway and turned in.
It was Mrs. Knowles all right, and I could see Marcy bouncing up and down beside her.
I slid off the chair and made a beeline for the front door, flinging it open just as Mrs. Knowles and Marcy reached it.
"Hello, Ellie," Mrs. Knowles said. She smiled quickly, the way people do if they're in a hurry. "Is your grandmother here?"
"Yes, ma'am," I said. I turned to go fetch Grandma, but she was already clomping along the hall.
"Mrs. Acklebee," Mrs. Knowles said with another hasty smile. "I'm terribly sorry to have to bother you, but I need to ask a favor."
Grandma's face didn't change but she nodded, like she was giving Marcy's mother permission to go ahead and talk.
"My sister, Dottie—I guess you know she's expecting her first child. Well, her time has come and the midwife has no one there to help. Now, I know you're only expecting Marcy to stay until the middle of the afternoon, but I was wondering—"
"Go," Grandma said at once. "The child can stay here as long as you need her to."
"Oh, thank you so much!" Mrs. Knowles said. She leaned down to Marcy and murmured a few instructions about being a good girl and minding what she was told. Then she hugged her daughter, kissed her cheek, and told Grandma she'd be back as soon as she could.
Tumbleweed Skies Page 4