“It’s dirty,” she whimpered.
“I’ll carry you, then,” Willie Bea said, and swung her little sister up in her arms.
“Big baby!” a gruff voice said behind them. It was Little Wing, passing them by and sprinting to the old farmhouse that sat back a ways across the road. Over home.
“You better run,” Willie Bea said.
“Blah-blah, dribble-mouth!” Little yelled. She turned and made an ugly face at them.
Willie Bea pretended unconcern. She knew this was no way for cousins to be acting. She concentrated on carrying her sister. Once they’d crossed the Dayton road, she set Bay Sister’s feet gently in the sweet clover of Grand and Gramp Wing’s big old bluegrass lawn.
2
Every homestead, every first house ever built for a people, a family, should look like Grand and Gramp Wing’s farmhouse. That was Willie Bea’s opinion. The house made her feel peaceful each time she walked up the wide stone steps. It wasn’t an enormous house. In fact, it had the same number of rooms as her own house. But it was the way it seemed protected by Grand and Gramp’s lawn that made it like a dream and, for her, the mark of country and family.
The lawn fanned out and down from the fieldstone porch clear to the Dayton road. It flowed around the house to the side, spreading out all along to a two-acre field where Grand had her garden. Almost every year about August, when the corn was good and high, Willie Bea would think to borrow her dad’s box Brownie camera and take a picture of Grand standing in front of her corn. “Corn be high as heaven,” Grand would say, “and me, I’m on my way.” Then she would laugh heartily at herself, posing with her pitchfork in one hand and her hoe in the other. Soon after that, they’d have sweet corn every day.
“What’s the pitchfork for, Grand?” Willie Bea always asked when she took the picture of Grand. And Grand would say, “Hoe is for the row. Pitchfork for what might be hidin’ deep in the dark of my tight corn rows.”
“What could be hidin’, Grand?” Willie Bea had thought to ask one time. And Grand had said, “The boogie man!” And that had nearly scared Willie Bea to death, and thrilled her at the same time. She did love scary thoughts.
When the picture was developed, there would be Grand looking tiny beneath her corn. That was the way it looked to Willie Bea, just as if Grand Wing had been standing beneath the high tassels. But most of the picture would be that lawn, spreading out in front of Grand and the corn. And Willie Bea wouldn’t have dreamed she had taken so much of the grass. She hadn’t meant to.
Oh, the grass! Willie Bea thought now. Her feet felt the coolness under the heat at the top. The grass was springy, was darkly fresh this late fall. There was still some shade around. And even where there was no shade, coolness seemed to flow under the ground and make the grass that rich green, that loving green of Grand and Gramp Wing’s lawn.
In front of the fieldstone porch was a maple tree. Gramp had made a swing for her there.
Big old rope! Willie Bea thought. She had been with Gramp when he gathered the new rope in his great hands and swung it up over the branch. Pulled it down to make the knot, and slid the knot up the rope to tighten it around the branch. He had a plank notched at each end. And he fixed the plank over the rope at the bottom to make a comfortable seat.
“Now,” he’d said. “I made this swing for you, Willie Bea. Now you swing in it good.”
And ever after, the swing was hers, although Big and Little and Hewitt, whenever he came to visit, claimed that Gramp had meant it for all of them. Said he’d only said it was hers because she was a little dummy you had to favor to keep her from crying. Willie Bea had punched each one of them for that lie, too.
It will always be my swing, she thought. Although now it was Bay Brother and Bay Sister who used the swing. Willie Bea also had an older brother and sister. They were Rebecca Esther Mills Knight and Jason Mills. But they were so much older, and married, that it was like they were somehow outside of Willie Bea’s life. They had had a swing once, so they had told Willie Bea, on the same tree where hers was now. Perhaps they would come over to Grand’s some time today. They usually did on one or two Sundays a month after church and with their families. So did Big and Little’s older brother.
I’da seen them earlier if I’da gone to church this Sunday, Willie Bea thought. She leaned out over the railing of the porch to see around the corner of the house. There was the driveway: Full of motor cars!
There’s Gramp’s car and Uncle Donald’s. And Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Lu’s. Aunt Lu drives it more than Uncle Jimmy.
They all called Uncle Jimmy “Uncle Speed” when he was behind the wheel of his motor car. That was how slow he went, like he was hardly moving. Of course, they didn’t expect him to drive his hauling truck fast. Full of hogs on the way to Chillicothe and the hog market. Driving with her dad and Gramp, with Big along to help handle so many animals belonging to all three farms. They would take those southern Ohio hills slow and easy. Willie Bea wished sometimes that she was overgrown like Big so she could ride to the market in Chillicothe.
Ohhh! She glimpsed another car. It was almost pulled up behind the house, but she recognized the small part of it she could see. Red, and with the top down. It was Aunt Leah’s car.
How’d she get up so early!
Aunt Leah lived over in Springberg. Had a beautiful dark brick house, with brown-and-yellow striped awnings all around. There was a cement birdbath on one side of Aunt Leah’s house. Willie Bea couldn’t get over that when she went to visit—a bitty bath for birds! And a great blue ball of a round mirror on a pedestal on the other side. Oh, Aunt Leah Wing was rich, Big said. And she was certainly beautiful. But Mama sniffed the air when people made a to-do over her younger sister. When the children were captivated by her fancy ways.
Because Aunt Leah’s been married three times and not forty years old, Willie Bea thought, opening the screen door. And didn’t stay unmarried long. That’s why Mama sniffs, too.
Inside the house, there was an open staircase of oak to the second floor. The flooring was oak in every room. There was a pantry full of canned food Grand had put up. There were Heatrola stoves, one in the front room and one in the dining room. And a huge black cookstove in the kitchen. All winter long Gramp’s house was warm, smelled of Grand’s homemade potato-and-fish soup, homemade corn muffins, bread, doughnuts boiled in a great vat of lard. Willie Bea often lived here for weeks at a time in December and January, when she felt the cold most. But the cold never seemed to bother Bay Brother and Bay Sister in their own house across the road from over home.
“Hey,” Willie Bea called out to no one in particular. She had to wait a minute for her eyes to adjust to the cool darkness of the house. Blinds halfway down over the screened windows. White lace curtains hanging limp. Bay Sister skipped straight through the house.
“Mama?” Willie Bea called. “Mama?”
Willie Bea could smell the odors of cooking on the still air. The fine smells made her mouth water.
“Willie Bea? In here, baby,” came Marva Mills’ voice. Then came surprised laughter, greetings from all the women as Bay Sister reached the kitchen.
Willie Bea could see now. Her eyes had adjusted. She was in a hurry, but she couldn’t get by without saying hello to her uncles and Gramp sitting in the front room.
“Hey!” said Gramp. He sat comfortably in the big easy chair by the window next to the radio. The radio had “The Church of the Air,” Bishop Schrembs of Cleveland.
“Willie Bea.” Gramps had on a gray suit. His big farmer hands and wrists seemed too large for the tight cuffs of his white dress shirt.
Oh, it was something, Willie Bea thought, Sunday time and company and Halloween begging time, all in one day and night!
She smiled. “Hey, Gramp,” she said, going over to him. She gave her face for him to kiss. And delivered a good hug. Straightening up again, “Hi you, Uncle Donald?” Willie Bea said.
“Willie Bea,” Uncle Donald said, shaking the ice in his highball gl
ass. “Hey, you growin’ too fast for me. Seems every time I come down, you done changed again.” He had grown fatter in the face.
“Shoot, huh-unh,” Willie Bea said, laughing. “Just my feet, maybe.”
“Look to me you about as tall as Marva.”
She leaned down, gave him a kiss. Uncle Donald smelled like cigars, although she didn’t see one in his ashtray.
“Gone be real tall like Jason’s people,” said Gramp.
“Hey, Uncle Jimmy,” Willie Bea had to say. For he was there in the rocking chair by the hallway to the dining room. She smiled as sweetly as she knew how, but she had never favored Uncle Jimmy.
Uncle Jimmy eyed her, nodded. There was no strong affection between them. She knew she could run inside Uncle Jimmy’s house any time of the day to take a cold drink of water. She could sit in the kitchen watching Aunt Lu. Just resting, she would sit still until Aunt Lu offered her a cookie or an apple. It was like that in all houses of relatives. Any of the kids went in and out freely. Were watched over. Made to feel at home by aunts and uncles. But still, Uncle Jimmy’s manner toward her and her little brother and sister was not as “close” as it could be.
Smiling, she edged politely through the front room. The men went back to their newspapers. Uncle Donald looked to have on a new suit, she noticed. Uncle Jimmy had on his usual blue worsted Sunday suit.
“Wouldn’t you expect Jimmy always to wear blue?” her mama had said. “Lu can’t do a thing with him. Nobody never could,” she finished.
Too bad we didn’t get to church, Willie Bea thought, loitering in the dining room. She touched the china on the long table. Felt the white lace tablecloth.
We didn’t go ’cause Uncle Donald and Aunt Mattie Belle wouldn’t feel up to it after their long drive to over home, Willie Bea thought. So her mama had said. Shoot. She had so wanted them all to go to church, even when most of the time she didn’t much like going to church. She had gotten sassy with her mama about it. And her mama went to scold her for being smart. “Don’t you abuse my word, Willie Bea,” she had said, shaking her finger at Willie Bea. Her mama’s face looked cross. “Don’t you ever talk back to me!” And that was why Willie Bea had hidden herself under the wood rear porch in the first place. Angry at her mama. Hurt as she could be. She couldn’t stand being scolded. Couldn’t bear the shame she felt inside herself.
But all of us comin’ into church like a whole reunion! she thought now. Wouldn’t that be the best ole somethin’? And me and all my cousins on the front pew. Look how people see us and how well we dress, even in what Papa say is the worst times! I’m a Mills like my Papa. But Mama says I hold the style, I got the nerve and the stubborn streak of a Wing. Shoot. Mama.
Willie Bea had to hurry now and not let her mama know why.
“Willie Bea, baby,” her mama said as Willie Bea came into the kitchen.
“Hey, Mama!” Willie Bea said. Her mother had her hands in the sink, snapping beans. There was a small pump mounted on the side of the basin. The water came running from the mouth of it whenever her mother pumped the handle. Then the cold well water gushed into a large colander. Already it was half full of beans, and the gushing water rinsed them.
Marva’s anger at her daughter had evaporated. Willie Bea was so glad; she even forgot her hurry. Her mama was smiling over her shoulder at her. Willie Bea stood straighter.
Marva Mills had on her dotted Swiss dress, the one with the sailor collar of yellow to match the yellow french cuffs. The dress itself was brown with yellow polka dots. She was slim and had her hair marcelled in a perfect cascade of waves to her shoulders. She looked you straight in the eye and she never marred her bow mouth and her cheeks with anything more than a touch of rouge.
Next to her mother at the sink stood Grand Wing.
“Hey, hey, baby, Willie Bea!” she said. Grand’s voice was high and thin, like the tinkling bells in the snow at Christmas. Grand turned halfway around. She had been slicing peeled potatoes into a bowl of cold water. She wore a dark Sunday dress.
“Hey, Grand! Au gratin potatoes!” Willie Bea said.
“Yey!” said Grand. “You know it. No Sunday, fall, without my au gratin.”
“Yes, ma’am!” said Willie Bea. Grand was small and neat; had on her black lace-up shoes that came up high, almost to her ankles.
“Commere, baby girl!” said Grand, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
Willie Bea was in her grandmother’s arms. Letting herself be petted, pampered, her hair smoothed around her face. The ruffles of her bodice were pulled up through the fingers that were long, dark and tough, testing the amount of starch in the pinafore. Those sure hands knew their business of soothing and raising grandchildren.
Next Mattie Wing came forward. She had been rolling dough out with the rolling pin on the counter beneath the cabinets. She kept her floured hands away from Willie Bea’s pretty dress.
“Uh-huh,” she said. “You gettin’ just too beautiful, chile. Marva, where she get her looks?”
“Me, who else?” said her mama. “Sweet, mercy me!” And the women laughed.
“Aunt Mattie, hey!” said Willie Bea, and was at once smothered against her aunt’s bosom.
She remembered, suddenly, that she had to get out of the kitchen, out of the house. But she couldn’t find a way to hurry Aunt Mattie Belle. Then she forgot again all about hurrying when her aunt commenced to whisper in her ear.
“Willie Bea, what kind is your favorite pie?”
“Huh?”
“What it is! Your favorite pie?”
“Pumpkin. Lemon meringue. Apple … I don’t know!” whispered Willie Bea.
“Well, then, I’ll make all three—how’s that? Just for you!”
“Really, Aunt Mattie?”
“True, really,” whispered Aunt Mattie Belle. “But you must pick me some more apples if I has to need some. Down in the cellar, bushels of good apples.”
“Oooh, I sure will!” Willie Bea said, not bothering to whisper now.
Aunt Mattie released her. Willie Bea turned and probably would have reminded herself to leave the house by the back door if some movement hadn’t caught her eye. By the table, across from the counter where Aunt Mattie Belle was carefully making her crusts for delicious pies. It was the breakfast table, round, walnut, made by Gramp long ago from his own mighty walnut tree. The table was shoved as far back in the corner as it would go. Soon it would hold cooling pies, baked corn, string beans, au gratin potatoes and sweet potatoes, all ready to serve in their proper courses. Later it would be cleared for the cousins to eat there.
Now the walnut table held a huge, shiny red pocket-book. The pocketbook was open. It had a silky black lining. A black lace hankie spilled from a zippered compartment. All around the bag on the table were pins for the hair, ribbons, a compact, lipstick and rouge. Combs. Everything about the red pocketbook was new and rich-looking.
Suddenly, someone flicked on the Tiffany lamp that hung over the table. And there was the one and only, the fine-as-wine Aunt Leah. Posed like a lady in the movie pictures, in a spotlight. She had Bay Sister on her lap. But it was Leah who was the only star. Her hair, marcelled and page-boyed to perfection.
“Look at me!” said Bay Sister to Willie Bea. “And I got Aunt Leah, too.”
Each of them tried to get Aunt Leah for herself whenever she came. Even the boys tried to stand in front of her and be polite, to see what kind of surprise she had brought, and for whom.
It was Willie Bea’s turn for disappointment. Bay Sister had got to Aunt Leah first and had what Willie Bea might have got for herself. If only she had gone around to the back door instead of coming through the front room!
There was Bay Sister, Miss Rhetta Mills, with her hair piled on top of her head. She had pink bow ribbons on each side of the pile. Long, dangling earrings that sparkled in rainbows in the lamplight hung from her tiny ears. Around her neck was a velvet ribbon with a diamond clasp right in the middle. On her fingers were huge, sparkly rings.
> “Oh, give me one?” said Willie Bea. She couldn’t keep herself from begging. “Oh, please gimme me one of them rings?” But Bay Sister closed her hands tight and hid them under the table, shaking her head. She had on bright red lipstick. It made her mouth look beautiful, Willie Bea thought. And she had scarlet rouge on her cheeks.
“Now don’t Bay Sis look like Clara Bow?” asked Aunt Leah.
“She look like she will be scrubbin’ for a month,” Willie Bea’s mama said. She glanced over her shoulder, saw her child all made up and went back to work.
No point in asking Leah to do any cooking, the glance seemed to say. But it was a fact that Leah supplied the extra money so they all could have a fine Sunday dinner with all the trimmings and even come out ahead after. It was true, Leah was most generous. Any time any of the children needed a new dress or a new coat, she was willing to take care of it. She was a very decent spendthrift. But, oh, what they all had to put up with! Leah was a fortune teller, and that wasn’t all.
Leah, exciting the children half to death. She sometimes plucked Bay Sister or Willie Bea right out of the yard and took them off to Springberg. Just snatched the babies and kept them for a day or two. Marva never knew what she did with them for two whole days. Leah had no children of her own. And back the kids would come after a day or two, with new dresses from the Penney’s and lots of big ideas. Marva never knew with what-all Leah had filled the children’s heads. With wanting what-all.
“You look so pretty, Aunt Leah,” Willie Bea thought to say. She could not get her voice above a whisper. She was so disappointed. And knew for certain, no doubt about the route, that she had lost out to her baby sister.
Aunt Leah was looking gorgeous. She had on a full red dress, cut low in a scalloped neck. It had side pockets and a shiny belt, like the skin of a snake. She had on silk stockings—Willie Bea could tell the smooth chiffon. And red pumps that shone in tiny diamond shapes, just like the snake belt.
“Willie Bea, you are growin’, goodness. How old are you now?” asked Aunt Leah.
Willie Bea and the Time the Martians Landed Page 2