by Anna Myers
"Bird!" Rendi yelled, but just about that time Angie snapped the cuffs around her wrists.
"Silence, woman!" said the sheriff. "I demand silence." He turned to me. "Don't you have a daddy, child?"
"He left us when I was just a baby, and he didn't want to pay child support, so we don't know where he is. My mother didn't try to find him because she said she could take care of me by herself, and she did until I was kidnapped." I looked down at my feet. Rendi had always taken care of me by herself. I never went without anything I needed and most of what I wanted. I was beginning to feel a little bit bad about what was happening with my mother. The woman who used to be my mother would have been able to laugh about it and enjoy telling the story when itwas all over, but I wasn't so sure about the Rendi Miller who stood there in handcuffs. She was giving me looks that would scare most eighth-graders, but in some ways I am braver than most girls my age.
"Officer," said Rendi, and I could tell she was working at controlling her voice when she really wanted to scream. "I have this child's birth certificate in my van. Her name is Robin Diane Miller. I am her mother, Rendi. No, wait a minute, Renee Dee Miller is my real name, but I go by Rendi."
"So you have an alias, do you?" The sheriff nodded his head.
"No, I am a sculptor who works under the name Rendi. I have a small piece in the van. Just look."
The sheriff was studying my mother's face. "It appears to me that you would have mentioned this name Renee something right off if it was your real name, instead of saying Randy whatever you said. You got any relatives around here that could vouch for you?" He turned to me. "You got a grandmama or granddaddy anywhere, honey?"
My mother's eyes were burning into me, and I told the truth. "My grandparents live in Tulsa."
"That's right officer, my parents. My father's name is Horace Miller and they live on East Eighty-third Street in Tulsa. I can give you their phone number. Just call them."
The sheriff opened his mouth, stuck out his tongue a little, then made a sort of sucking noise. "Judy," he said, "get me a toothpick, please. I got a piece of salad stuck in my teeth from what I ate in here earlier. I can't think with something wedged in my teeth that way."
The woman smiled, and I was pretty sure she wanted to say that the sheriff couldn't think anyway, but she didn't and instead just took a little jar full of toothpicks from beside the cash register and held it out to him.
The sheriff was still holding the gun, but he shoved it out toward the woman. "You guard her, Judy," he said. "I got to get that lettuce. Now, don't take your eye off her, you hear me?"
"She won't escape from me," said the woman, and I thought she was about to laugh.
The three older ladies were getting up from their booth and moving toward the door. "We'll pay you next time, Judy," one of them called.
"Yes," said one of the others. "You seem to be busy apprehending dangerous criminals right now."
Sheriff Walters whirled around toward them. "Hold your horses," he yelled. "Nobody goes anywhere till I say so. I might need statements from you."
"For Pete's sake, Clyde Walters. Can't you see that this girl looks exactly like her mother? Call the grandparents if you have to, but we aren't staying," said one of them. They all three walked out.
"Ought to haul them all in," the sheriff muttered, then turned to Rendi. "Look here, lady," he said, "seems to me if you got married and had this little girl here that you claim is named Sparrow Miller, your parents wouldn't have the name Miller." He gave his head a satisfied nod to emphasize how smart he was to be finding a hole in Rendi's story.
"Robin. Her name is Robin, not Sparrow. After my husband deserted us, I had his parental rights terminated, and I had both of our names changed to Miller, my maiden name. I had her birth certificate amended too. The information is certainly on file. She was born in Tulsa, Oklahoma."
"Got it," the sheriff said, and I thought for a minute he meant he understood what Rendi was saying, but then he pulled out the toothpick with a piece of something green on it. He handed the toothpick to the waitress. "Throw this away for me, Angie," he said, and he took the gun away from the woman named Judy.
"Sheriff," said my mother, "will you please call my parents?"
He sighed again. "You say his name is Horse Miller? Horse, is that his real name or is he some kind of hippie artist that goes around writing a made-up name on things too?"
"My father's name is Horace," said Rendi, "not Horse, and I can assure you that he is neither a hippie nor an artist. He is a bank president, First National Bank of Tulsa."
"Uh-huh," said Sheriff Walters, but there was doubt dripping from his voice. "Well, let's just take a little ride down to the station and see if we can get this all straightened out." He used his gun to motion toward the door. I started to worry that he might shoot Rendi accidentally. Wow! Wouldn't I feel guilty then?
Judy must have been thinking the same thing about the danger because she followed us out. "Clyde," she said when we were on the sidewalk, "I'm afraid for you to try to hold that gun and fasten the prisoner in her seat at the same time. Let's just leave your patrol car here and walk to the station. It would be safer."
"Don't need you putting in telling me how to handle dangerous criminals. I've taken in many a felon in my time."
"Rendi," I said when we were outside, "shouldn't I get the birth certificate? Where is it?"
"See," the sheriff yelled. "There's my proof. Children don't go around calling their mothers by their first names."
"Maybe not in Prairie Dog Town, Oklahoma," I said, "but I've been calling her Rendi all my life."
"Don't get smart with me, bird girl." He shot me a dirty look.
Rendi told me to look in a small box marked "Papers," and she told me to get the key out of her jeans pocket.
The sheriff told Judy to keep a close eye on me. Next he turned to Rendi, "Get hoofing," he said, and he poked the gun up close to her ribs. I didn't want to watch, so I turned toward the van. Judy followed me.
I had the door open when she caught up with me and reached out to put her hand on my arm. "She really is your mother, isn't she?" I nodded. "Why did you write all that business about being kidnapped?"
My face turned red. "I told the truth about being mad," I said.
This time Judy nodded. "I was a teenage girl myself once. It was a long time ago, but I can still remember how it was, got mad at my mama a time or two myself."
I looked at the woman closely for the first time. She was older than my mother, quite a bit older. Her eyes were brown, and so was her lined face, and I thought that Judy must have spent a lot of time in the sun, something my mother was always worrying about me doing. Judy looked kind, though. "Could you come to the police station with us?" I asked, because I was getting worried that Rendi might really get locked up. I was mad at her, but not mad enough not to care too much if she spent time in jail.
"Sure, honey," she said. "Angie can run the place while I'm gone, does it all the time, but don't you worry. Clyde will finally believe you. If I have to, I'll promise to drive over to Ponca City with him on his day off and go to a movie to get him to let your mother go." She gave me a little smile. "We tease Clyde, call him Barney Fife, you know, the dumb deputy on the old Andy Griffith Show. You ever watch that one on Nick at Nite?" I shook my head, and she went on. "Well Barney was a character. Truth is Clyde does remind me of him, and see, Clyde was a deputy for ages, always taking orders until old Sheriff Ward died three months ago. Being the real sheriff and carrying the gun is going to his head. Sheriff never let him carry a gun. On that TV program, Barney got in lots of messes like Clyde arresting your mother. Still, Barney had a good heart, and Clyde does too. He's been sweet on me since we were in high school, outlived two other men I married, just waiting for me to pay attention to him. Sometimes I go out with him."
Judy and Clyde, romance at their age! I was amazed, but I didn't stop moving boxes around so I could read the labels on them. Finally I found two small box
es jammed between the second seat and the van wall. One of them was marked pictures, but the other one said "Papers." I pulled it out and rummaged through it until I came to my birth certificates. It seemed strange, looking at the first one and seeing my name as being Robin Diane Douglas and Rendi's written as Renee Dee Douglas. I knew that had been my last name, but I had never seen it written out that way. I didn't have time to think about it, though, because Sheriff Walters was marching my mother off to jail. I stepped over the boxes, climbed out of the van, and started after the sheriff and his prisoner.
After just a few feet, we turned a corner, and I saw a street I hadn't seen before. There were about six other buildings there, and one of them had a sign that read, "Sheriff's Office."
Inside, Sheriff Walters took the seat behind the desk. "I do my best thinking here in my sheriff chair," he said. I spread my birth certificates on the desk in front of him. Rendi told me to get her driver's license from the purse that hung on her shoulder. I got her billfold, took out the license, and several pictures to show Sheriff Walters. There I was, a curly-haired girl of about three sitting on Rendi's lap. Another picture was of us both when I was about seven, and there was my school picture from this year.
"See, Sheriff Walters, Rendi and I have always been together." He held up the pictures one by one, looking from the Rendi on paper to the Rendi standing in front of him with her hands in cuffs.
"Well," he said. "It does appear you're her mother. I'll need to make a couple of phone calls, one to the grandfather and one to the folks up in Denver. You might be the girl's mother, but not have custody of her or some such. Things like that happen nowadays."
"They do," said Judy, "and you are very smart to be on top of it all." I knew Judy was softening him up in case she had to persuade him to let Rendi go."
"I'll start with your daddy," he said to Rendi. "What'd you say the name of that bank is in Tulsa?" Then he looked at his watch. "It's two-thirty. Reckon, he'd still be there, banker's hours and all?"
Rendi repeated the name of the bank and added, "If my father isn't there, ask to speak to the vice president. His name is Ronald Johnson. He can tell you that I am Horace Miller's daughter and that I have a daughter named Robm."
The sheriff got the number and asked to speak to "Horse Miller," but whoever answered must have understood who he wanted because in just a minute I could tell he was speaking to my grandfather, asking all the questions about his daughter. When he put down the phone, he nodded his head slowly. "Well," he said, "I got to the bottom of this mystery. Mr. Miller says he has a daughter named Renee who folks call Rendi and a granddaughter named Robin. Said you lived in Denver, last he heard. He swore you have full custody and told the same story you did about the little girl's father. Didn't know a thing about you being in Oklahoma, though, but he told me he hoped you were coming to his house. I could tell you don't see each other no great lot. Ought to put you in a cell for not having more to do with your daddy and mama, but I don't know as there's a law against such. Reckon I'll have to let you go." He stood up, took a key from his pocket, went to my mother, and tried to open the handcuffs.
Judy stepped over to him. "Here, Clyde," she said, and she took the key from him. "Let me do this. You've got more important things to do." She had Rendi's hands free in a second and dropped the key on the desk.
"Here," said the sheriff, and he handed me back my yellow pad. "Don't suppose I'll need this for evidence." He shook his finger at me. "You ought to have a good talking to over writing down things that aren't true."
"Let's let this lady take care of her daughter, Clyde," said Judy, and she smiled at us. "I live in a duplex, rent out the other side, furnished. Are you two looking for a place to live around here?"
"Thank you," said Rendi, "but, no, I don't think Prairie Dog Town is right for us. We didn't get off to a very good start here, and probably we do need a place with a few more people."
"I want to go back to Denver," I said quickly. I thought maybe Rendi had already had enough of Oklahoma and had begun to see we belonged in the Mile-High City. "We had good times back in Denver, didn't we, Rendi?"
She nodded her head, but what she said was, "We did, but, Bird, we aren't going back there. You need to give up the idea. We'll find a place we both like." She took my arm and began to lead me to the door
I was angry again. I stopped walking. "If we can't go back home," I said, "we might as well live in Prairie Dog Town as anywhere else."
I expected Rendi to say no. I was only trying to be difficult because I certainly had no desire to live in this place that was little more than a wide spot in the road, but to my surprise, Rendi said. "Okay, Judy, when can we see the duplex?"
That's how we came to live on Shade Tree Lane in Prairie Dog Town, Oklahoma.
Chapter 3
Rendi's brush with the law took place on Friday. We spent the rest of that day unloading our van, buying groceries, and driving by schools. I was surprised because I had thought Prairie Dog Town would have a little white building with a bell outside, like the one-room schools you see on old western movies on TV.
Actually, they turned out to have three separate buildings. The high school, on one side of town, was the newest building of the three, and there was a smaller building there that said, "Office of the Superintendent." I didn't look too carefully at the high school because I would be long gone before I finished my eighth-grade year. I had to believe that. The elementary school looked fairly new too, and it was on the other side of town from the high school.
My school was in the middle, just a block from the duplex we had rented. It was a big building made from a sort of red stone, and it was very, very old. A sign in front said, "Thomas Jefferson Middle School, Home of the Prairie Dogs." I was shocked. I threw my hands in the air. "I can't go there." I turned to Rendi: "You know you've always hated Thomas Jefferson."
She seemed surprised to hear me say such a thing. "Bird, Thomas Jefferson wrote the Declaration of Independence. How could I hate him? I don't like that he had slaves or what he did to one of the girls he believed he owned, but he was a product of his times. He wasn't as bad as the senator from one of the Southern states who fought against segregation even though he had a secret child with a black woman. It won't hurt you to go to Thomas Jefferson Middle School. Maybe you will learn a little history if you aren't busy sending notes to the Six-Pack."
"That building looks like it might have been where Thomas Jefferson went to school," I said.
On Saturday we finished putting our things away by noon. Rendi was totally happy about living in the place. I mean I could see why she liked the big sunroom that went all the way across the two duplexes. Judy told her right off that she could use it all for her studio, and she took her few belongings out of it. From the sunroom you could see a pasture that had a pond and cows. "Oh," said Rendi, "I've missed cows." She put her arms around me and gave me a little squeeze. "Don't they look beautiful against the sunset?"
No way would I say so, but I understood why she liked being able to see the sunset so well. That's something you couldn't do with big buildings and mountains all around you, but cows! "PUH-LEEZE, mother," I said. I had decided to stop calling her Rendi. I was too mad at her to want it to sound like we were friends. "I don't believe anyone could ever say cows are beautiful."
Rendi just laughed. "You might learn a thing or two in Oklahoma," she said.
After we finished unpacking, Rendi decided we should go back over to the town called Ponca City. Judy's place had some dishes and pots and pans, but Rendi wanted to pick up several household items. "You need school clothes too," she said.
She sang the song "Oklahoma" most of the way to Ponca City. I could see that being in her home state meant something to Rendi, and I kind of started feeling soft toward her. When she got to the part that said, "when the wind comes sweeping down the plain," I opened my mouth to join the song, but I caught myself. Remember you're mad at her, I told myself.
Ponca City was certainly
bigger than Prairie Dog Town. I mean any place would almost have to be, but still I couldn't see how they got away with calling themselves a city. I hoped we would visit the Pioneer Woman again, but not wanting to sound interested in anything, I didn't say so. We went to Big-Mart, and Rendi picked up a few things, including a juicer to make our fresh orange and carrot juice.
We had a juicer in Denver, but Rendi said it was old, and she hadn't bothered to pack it. "That seems wasteful to me," I said, and I hoped I reminded her of Grandma. When we were headed toward the checkout, I asked, "Do you want me to buy my school clothes here?"
"Here?" Rendi was shocked because in Denver I was so-o-o particular about where I bought my clothes and would only consider one or two little boutiques and a few trendy stores in the mall, places where the rest of the Six Pack shopped. "As we were driving in, I saw a little shop that looked cute. Don't you want to check it out?"
I shook my head. This was good. Rendi was definitely beginning to see that she had pushed me too far. "No," I said, "this will do fine. What do you want me to wear to school?"
She looked like I had slapped her in the face or something. "Bird," she said softly, "I am not suddenly going to start telling you what to wear. I just didn't want you to bring those lime green or orange pants, reminders of being just like a certain group. I want you to truly think for yourself. That's all."
"Good," I said, "I'll do just that." I moved through the jeans and other things girls might be wearing to school and headed toward a rack of ladies suits. "Size eight ought to fit," I said, and I took a navy blue skirt and jacket from the rack. I handed them to Rendi, then I took the same skirt and jacket in dark green, black, gray, and dark red. I piled the suits onto the top of the other things in our basket. "There," I said, "five outfits. That's all I need for five days of school."