by Ruth White
“I’ll declare, I’ll declare,” Aunt June says, and wipes her face on her apron.
“Nothing wrong with your eyesight!” Uncle Otis repeats the punch line, and everybody laughs some more.
“Good one, good one,” Poppy says. “That August always could tell a good joke, couldn’t he?”
“Yeah, he’s the funniest person I know,” Aunt June says.
Poppy reaches over and pats my shoulder. “A chip off the old block!” he declares.
Aunt June’s dinner of fried chicken, biscuits, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, and fresh garden salad is the best meal in the world. Then we have cherry pie right out of the oven, and we eat till our bellies are bulging.
After dinner, we pull chairs out on the front porch and enjoy the day, which is clear and bright. You can hear the birds singing even above the traffic noise.
“Birdy, birdy in the sky,” Avery chants. “Why’d you do that in my eye? Listen, birdy, I’m not mad. I’m just glad that cows can’t fly.”
We laugh some more. I sit right beside Poppy, and every once in a while he touches my hair or pinches my cheek. Lots of people driving around the curve slow down and honk their horns or wave at us, or holler something friendly out their car windows. It looks like everybody knows the Bill family.
The neighbors on either side of the road are on their porches too, and when there’s no traffic to drown out their voices, they call things to us. Uncle Otis is usually the one to answer them. Some people drop by and talk to us for a few minutes. Aunt June says they just want to get a look at me. I see Mitzi sitting on a glider between her mom and dad on their porch. Mr. and Mrs. Richards are busy with one customer after another pulling up in front of their store, so we don’t see much of them.
After a while a man in a red Ford pickup squeezes his vehicle into the yard alongside Poppy’s car. He gets out with a woman and a little girl. It’s Uncle Otis’s brother, Dewey, his wife, Shirley, and their four-year-old, Madge.
They greet everybody, then tell me hello, heard about you, and that sort of stuff. They are real friendly. There’s no more room for chairs, so Aunt June makes Emory and Avery give up their seats for Dewey and Shirley. The boys perch on the edge of the porch with Madge. She is a feisty, pretty thing, and takes a big liking to me. Dewey has a bushy beard like Uncle Otis’s, and they tease each other about which one of them is the ugliest.
As evening falls, all of us go into the house to eat leftover chicken for supper. Then Dewey and Shirley say they have to get Madge home and in bed. When they leave, the rest of us watch television. Poppy sits beside me on one of the couches, and we laugh together over every little thing. When the station signs off, Poppy says he is going to sleep in August’s old room on the opposite end of the house from the sunporch, and he hugs me good night.
In the yellow room I am surprised to see new shades hanging on all the windows! Now I won’t feel so public when I undress.
In my bed I whisper to the darkness, “I must remember to tell Mitzi they can still laugh.”
10
Come on and get up, Garnet.”
It’s Aunt June standing in the doorway of the sunporch. I look at her with sleepy eyes.
“What got into you?” I ask. “It’s early.”
“We’re going shopping,” she says.
I rub my eyes. Shopping? I’ve never been shopping in my life. I don’t even know how you do it.
“Your uncle and your poppy both gave me money,” Aunt June tells me, “and they told me to take you out and buy you some pretty things.”
I am speechless. Aunt June smiles at me.
“Just the two of us girls,” she says. “You can buy anything you want until we run out of money!”
I am still speechless.
“So get moving.”
She closes my door, then pops her head back in again. “Anything within reason,” she adds.
“Huh?”
“You can buy anything you want—within reason.”
And she leaves the room. I just lie there trying to comprehend. Am I still asleep and dreaming? Money for me from my uncle and my poppy? So, when Uncle Otis said I should get something fancier, he wasn’t telling me to go out and pay for it myself. No, he was thinking about footing the bill for me! Then I jump up and dress so fast, I could have my clothes on backwards and my shoes on the wrong feet, but who cares.
When I go to the kitchen, I ask Aunt June, “Where’s Poppy?”
“Oh, he went to watch Otis and Dewey make their starting boxes,” she said. “They took his car. So we get the Plymouth. Your poppy will drive back home shortly to mind the boys. Now, let’s eat and get out of here before Avery wakes up.”
Aunt June has fixed a pot of coffee, and I’m surprised when she offers me some. I let her pour me a cup, and I put a lot of milk in it to cut the bitterness. We drink our coffee together, and I feel grown-up. We each have a piece of buttered toast with jelly, then sneak out the front door like we’re up to no good.
“Where are we going?” I ask as we head around the curve.
“To Black River. First stop is the Style Corner,” she tells me. “They have the latest things for girls. Would you like a poodle skirt?”
“You mean one of those black skirts with the pink poodle on it?”
“That’s the one.”
“Yeah!”
All the girls at school wear poodle skirts.
“Why did Uncle Otis give you money for me?” I ask Aunt June. “I thought he didn’t even like me.”
“Of course he likes you!” Aunt June sputters, like I said something ridiculous. “He acts like a big, bad grizzly sometimes, but he’s just a teddy bear. It was his idea to buy new things for you. He said, ‘Take that girl and buy her a new dress. Nobody living under my roof has to wear hand-me-downs.’”
That makes me squirm. I hate people feeling sorry for me.
“Don’t you like having shades on the sunporch?” Aunt June asks me.
“Oh, yeah! I do!”
“You can thank your uncle Otis for that too. He did it while we were at church yesterday morning.”
Black River is a bustling town wedged between some big rocky hills. In fact, there are cliffs jutting right down into the street. For a Monday morning in summer it’s pretty busy. As we drive along, I see all kinds of stores jumbled together. You could buy anything you wanted here, or go to the movies or go roller skating. There’s a bus depot too, a courthouse, and a bank, a post office, and I don’t know what all. We pull up to the curb and park in front of the Style Corner. In the window there’s a display of red, white, and blue shorts and shirts. Inside, they have air-conditioning, and the clerks all know Aunt June.
I guess they know my daddy too, because they go, “Ooo … ahh … No foolin’? August’s little girl?”
“Ain’t she cute?”
Then I get lost in a whirlwind of pretty dresses.
Around one-thirty we take a break at Leon’s Burgers. It’s a hole-in-the-wall kind of place where they serve nothing but burgers, hot dogs, and pop in a cup over crushed ice. We sit in one of the booths against the window and order cheeseburgers and cherry cokes. Aunt June is in a good mood and starts telling me about growing up in the big green house with my dad.
“We could be as mean as snakes,” she is saying, when suddenly my life takes on new meaning and Aunt June fades away.
For there he is, the cutest boy this side of heaven, walking through the door. Near my age, he is wearing a green-and-white-checked shirt, dungarees, and tennis shoes. His skin is tanned, like he spends a lot of time out-of-doors. His eyes are blue. His blond hair is cut in a flattop.
He walks to the counter and perches on one of the stools. He gives his order to the girl behind the counter, then swivels around on the stool, and catches me eyeing him. Rats! I focus on Aunt June, pretending to listen. The waitress brings our burgers. After a few minutes I sneak a peek at him, and rats again! He is sneaking a peek at me!
“I don’t t
hink you’ve heard a word I said,” Aunt June says.
I’m startled, but she is smiling.
“It’s okay,” she says. “He really is cute.”
“Who?” I say.
She does not respond but goes on smiling.
We eat our lunch, and I try not to look at the boy on the stool again, but it’s not easy. Occasionally I just let my eyes dart around the room. And there he is eating a hot dog like an ordinary person. Aunt June and I finish our burgers and get up to leave. As I follow her out the door, I can feel that he is watching me.
After that, we go to two more stores to shop, and at the end of the day I have a poodle skirt with a blouse to match, three dresses, three pairs of shorts and tops, two pairs of pajamas, some underwear, a pair of sandals and a pair of dress shoes with an inch-high heel, a genuine plastic pocketbook with a poodle on it to match the one on my skirt, and an ankle chain.
On the drive back, Aunt June does not say much. At home, she tells me she is tired and needs to rest before supper, then goes to her room and closes the door.
In the yellow room I spread all my goodies on the bed and dream over them. I see myself going places in these new clothes. One of these years, way, way in the future, like 1980 maybe, when I’m going to seed and feeling blue, I will remember this day … and smile.
Aunt June stays in her room, and at suppertime the rest of us sit around the kitchen table, eating pork chops and potatoes that Poppy cooked. He’s a good cook—for a man. Says he learned it in the army.
I want to thank Poppy and Uncle Otis for the shopping money, but I don’t know how to do it nonchalantly—you know, like it’s not an earth-shaking event, though to me it truly is. So it would really be dumb if I were too emotional to get the words out. Or if my voice broke. Yeah, I’ll do it some other time.
“Is Mama sick again?” Avery wants to know.
“Yeah, she’s feelin’ a bit puny,” Poppy says.
“Just a headache,” Uncle Otis says.
“I think I wore her out,” I say. “Shopping is hard work.”
I’m trying to be witty, but I guess it rubs Emory the wrong way.
“It’s not funny!” he snaps. “Did y’all have to spend the whole dern day tramping around Black River? It was too much for her!”
I’m not only stunned but puzzled at this outburst. Too much for her? It’s what I heard Uncle Otis say about me. What are they talking about? It’s not like Aunt June’s eighty-five. Then I think about how tired she was when we came home, and the memory of that late-night conversation I overheard comes back to me. Is something wrong with Aunt June? Is she going away for her health? I’ve heard of people going to a better climate when they’re sick, but that couldn’t be it. Our climate is perfect.
Uncle Otis lays a hand on Emory’s shoulder. “She had a good time, son.”
Emory lays his fork aside and stares at his plate. I think he is trying not to cry.
The next morning Uncle Otis goes to work as usual, but Poppy stays home with us. Aunt June does not get up, and Poppy says she still is not feeling well. He cooks a late breakfast, or maybe it’s an early lunch. I try to help.
In the afternoon I work in the garden again with Avery and Emory. We are hoeing our rows and sweating in the sunshine when Emory suddenly says, “Our old dawg, Roosevelt, is buried right over there.” And he points to a spot beside the fence where there is a pile of rocks.
I am surprised Emory is actually making conversation with me, so I encourage him.
“Oh, y’all had a dog?”
But Avery interjects, “He’s not there anymore.”
We both look at Avery.
“What do you mean he’s not there?” Emory asks him. “Of course he’s there.”
“No, Mama said God took Roosevelt home to be with him.”
Emory and I lean on our hoes and look at Avery. His dreamy blue eyes are fixed on a point above the mountains.
“And ever since Mama told me that,” Avery goes on in a sad little voice, “I have wondered about something.”
“And what’s that, Avery?” I say.
“What’s God gonna do with a dead dog?”
That’s when Emory and I actually laugh together like we’ve been friends for years. It’s a miracle.
On Thursday I get another letter from Mom.
Dear Garnet,
I have a job now selling stuff on the beach. It’s not much, but I will find something better by and by. Even so, I will soon have enough money to send for you. You will love the ocean. Please write and tell me what’s going on with you. Now, don’t you be mad at me, you hear me? Everything will work out. Please write. I love you.
Mom
I toss the letter in the drawer beside my bed with the postcard, and there’s the picture of her—the one she packed along with my stationery—smiling up at me. I pick it up and study it for a moment, then lay it facedown and close the drawer.
11
On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross.
I have to admit I enjoy church music. This hymn is sad and sweet and fills my head with images of a hillside covered with wildflowers long ago and far away.
Aunt June has felt much better these last few days, and now it’s Sunday again, and we are at the Rugged Cross Chapel at Apple Knob, on the other side of Black River. This church is built into the side of a hill. It’s larger than Joy Creek. It has other rooms, and it has bathrooms. The people have better clothes than the Joy Creek folks, and I’m glad I have a new dress to wear. It’s pink-and-white-pokey-dotted, with a wide pink sash, and it’s the prettiest dress I ever saw, much less had for my very own. I am also wearing the new shoes with the baby heels, and my ankle chain sparkles against my skin. I can’t quit looking at it.
There’s a shortage of hymnals here, so not everybody gets one, including me and Aunt June. But that’s okay, because there’s a man who looks exactly like Elmer Fudd standing up there in front of us, calling out the words to the hymn. He calls out a line and we sing it. Then he calls out another line and we sing that. It’s also a good system for the people who can’t read, and I suspect some of these old people can’t.
In that far off sweet forever,
just beyond the shining river,
when they ring the golden bells for you and me.
This one has a happy sound. And it makes me see children dancing on a riverbank, laughing, their voices like bells in the clear air. When that song ends, Elmer Fudd sits down, and the minister stands up.
“And now we will ask our young people to go through the door to my right here,” he says, and points to a door beside the pulpit. “Our youth minister is inside ready to deliver a nice little lesson for you.”
Oh, goody, goody, a kiddy sermon.
I roll my eyes at Aunt June, but she gestures that I should go with the other kids. I feel sulky and out of sorts as I follow them. There are maybe thirty of us. On the other side of the door I find myself in a smaller version of the regular sanctuary. I take a seat near a window at the end of a pew. Three giggling girls crowd in beside me.
“Where is he?” one of the girls whispers.
“He’s up there beside Douglas,” another girl says.
A tall, thin boy around fifteen stands up in front of us and begins to read from the Bible. “And when you pray, you must not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, that they may be seen by men. Truly, I say to you, they have their reward. But when you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you. Matthew 6:5–6.”
As he sits down, I notice a door that surely leads to the outside, and I’m ready to bolt. But that thought comes to a screeching halt when I see who is walking to the podium. It’s that cute boy I spotted at Leon’s Burgers on Monday! Today his shirt and pants are white, and if not for the flattop I would think he is Jesus himself.
“What’s the meaning of these verses o
f scripture?” he asks in a shaky voice.
The girls beside me start giggling again. So this is the person who makes them go mental.
“Jesus tells us that we should go into a private place and shut the door when we pray,” he goes on. “That’s what my morning message is about.”
This is the youth minister? He can’t be a day over fifteen. He has a Yankee accent, and he’s obviously not cut out for this. He has stage fright.
“Why does Jesus say this?” the boy asks, then answers his own question. “Because he doesn’t want us to be distracted when we’re talking to him. He wants us to go inside ourselves and search for answers without trying to impress somebody or worrying about who’s looking at us, or what we’re wearing … and stuff like that.”
At this point I think his train of thought derails. His face turns red, and he buries it in his notes. When he looks up again, his eyes meet mine, then dart away, and come back again. I feel a rush of heat come to my face.
“Excuse m-me,” he says with a stammer. “I didn’t n-notice before, but we have a guest, and we should meet her before we go on.”
The girls beside me have stopped their silliness and all three do a slow turn toward me. They stare at me like I have green skin. I study my ankle chain.
“What’s your name?” he asks me.
“I’m April Garnet Rose,” I say.
He tries to smile, but he’s too nervous. “Welcome, April. Would you like to stand up and tell us something about yourself?”
Well, no, I would not. But I do.
“I’m from Elkhorn City, Kentucky, and I’m staying with my aunt June Bill for a while,” I say, and sit back down.
Now everybody is staring at me. This is worse than the first day of school.
“Welcome to our church, April. I am Silver Shepherd.”
I kid you not. That’s what he says—Silver Shepherd.