Picturing Alyssa

by Alison Lohans

  “No,” said Eva. “It’s Alyssa. That strange cousin who visited earlier.”

  “We’re going outside.” Alyssa said quietly. “It’s too hot to sleep in here.” With Eva holding doors open, she managed to carry him without much jostling. As she set Charles on the blanket near Deborah and Frances, he relaxed back into sleep.

  Deborah touched her arm. “Thanks for thy help, Alyssa. Frances,” she continued sternly, “thee sees thy little brother is sleeping. Thee must be quiet now. If thee can stay quiet, we’ll sing to Susannah.”

  Mom would enjoy Deborah’s tactics. Then, suddenly, Alyssa remembered the other picture — the one with Bertha. Sadness settled through her as she looked at Deborah, still sitting patiently with Frances in her lap. Deborah must miss her sister terribly.

  The sky grew noticeably darker. Sitting there with the Clayton children, Alyssa realized she felt safe — completely safe — for the first time in quite a while. Flossie’s relaxed breathing had such a peaceful sound that she was tempted to lie down on the blanket herself.

  “Mama’s outside,” Eva whispered, and headed toward the porch. Herbert, still chasing fireflies, nearly collided with her.

  “My poor Eva,” Deborah said thoughtfully. “She worries so.…”

  “I’m being quiet,” Frances said in a sweet little voice.

  “Thee’s being very good,” Deborah said. “We’ll sing when Eva gets back.”

  “What’s she worried about?” Alyssa brushed a crawly thing off her arm.

  Deborah sighed. “We had another sister.”

  “Bertha,” Alyssa said.

  “Thee knows?”

  “She’s in another picture. And the family book.”

  “She caught the polio two years ago. Poor Bertha …” Deborah’s voice wavered. “Eva had it too and hasn’t been the same since. I believe she wonders why she recovered when Bertha didn’t. I thought of Bertha when I put words to thy tune.”

  “Bertha died,” Frances said solemnly. “I don’t ’member.”

  It seemed so unfair! Especially now that everybody had polio shots. How would it feel to have a sister you loved get so sick that she was paralyzed and died? “That’s so sad,” Alyssa mumbled.

  Deborah drew in a breath. “We don’t understand why things happen. All we can do is to keep on trying to be loving and to do what’s right.” It sounded like something that might be said in meeting for worship.

  Eva returned, and Frances said, “We can sing!”

  More stars shone. An owl hooted. A faint clucking came from the chicken coop and then was quiet.

  Still holding Frances, Deborah started singing. Alyssa stretched out on the blanket and rested her head on her arms. The songs were the same ones Grandma Hadley used to sing to her at bedtime when she was little! “The Ash Grove,” then “Tell Me Why,” and “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.” Why had they stopped singing at home?

  “Susannah’s asleep now,” Frances said sleepily. Her head drooped against Deborah’s shoulder.

  “Then we’ll just do one more,” Deborah whispered. “Alyssa needs to hear the new words for her song.”

  “No more ‘la-la somethings.’” Frances yawned.

  Eva had been very quiet. “Let’s sing to Mama,” she whispered.

  There was a moment of stillness. Although it was quite dark by now, Alyssa knew Deborah was looking at her. “I hope thee doesn’t mind what I’ve done to thy song,” she said.

  “That song was from a movie. I don’t know all the words, anyhow.”

  They walked softly to the porch, where Martha’s shadowy form greeted them. Together, Deborah and Eva began to sing:

  If thee feels sad and all alone

  If thy heart feels made of stone

  Even as the tears begin

  Find courage in the light within

  Alyssa’s skin prickled. The tune had changed from the Stardancer song to something else. She knew this song! Mom used to sing it to her when she was little. Especially if she was upset. Sometimes Grandma Hadley had sung it too, when they were all together. Alyssa tried to sing now, but her voice choked. When had Mom quit singing it? Why? Her family needed this song. She needed it.

  If some cast stones and break thy heart

  If others shirk, just do thy part

  Even as the tears begin

  Find courage in the light within.

  A verse started that she didn’t know. Alyssa wiped her eyes.

  When darkness comes from all around

  When loved ones leave without a sound

  Seek in silence for the Divine

  And love and light shall thee entwine.

  The ending was familiar. Alyssa cleared her throat and sang with the others:

  Remember His gift, and let thy life shine;

  Remember His gift, and let thy life shine.

  They sat there quietly. Frances was breathing with faint, little whistles. Out in a field somewhere there was a low murmur from an animal, and then a short cat argument in the barn. It didn’t sound like Marigold.

  A hand settled on Alyssa’s shoulder. “Welcome, Alyssa,” Martha said. “It’s nice to hear thee sing. Did Debbie teach thee her new song?”

  “I learned it from my mom,” she said. “And from my grandma, too.”

  The night itself seemed to shiver.

  “Oh, my,” Martha said at last. “Did thee hear that, Debbie?”

  “I don’t know what to say,” Deborah whispered.

  “What a lovely thing to find out,” Martha said. “Goodnight, my sweethearts.” She opened her arms to Eva and then Deborah, for a goodnight hug and kiss. “And thee, Alyssa?” she asked. In the dim light, Alyssa could see that Martha Clayton was smiling.

  Alyssa burrowed into her great-great-grandmother’s arms.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Let’s go on the other blanket,” Deborah whispered after the others had settled. “There is so much I want to ask thee about!”

  Alyssa still felt suspended in time. For the Stardancer song to come here, where the words and tune changed into a song she’d known all her life.… And she’d brought it! She stood up carefully, avoiding the sleeping Charles, Frances, and Eva. Far away, a dog barked. Flossie answered.

  Deborah fluffed two pillows. “I so enjoy sleeping outside,” she continued. “Just seeing all of those stars, so far away, seems like a miracle.”

  Alyssa wasn’t ready to talk, not yet. She gazed up at the night sky, thinking about Bertha, who’d looked so much like her own kindergarten picture. Was she Bertha, somehow, but ended up with Mom and Dad instead? But that couldn’t be. Bertha had died of polio. Besides, there were all those baby pictures, and pictures of her with Ethan. Alyssa traced the smooth shape of her fingernails. Her fingers were long and slender like Dad’s, not short like Mom’s. Her eyes were blue like Dad’s, not grey like Mom’s. There was no way she could be Bertha Clayton.

  But she could wish she were. Maybe the picture would go under the crib and get lost with all the dust bunnies and plastic bags and tissues. Dad and Ethan never went into the baby’s room, so why would they bother looking under the crib? An excited buzz raced through her.

  Light streaked across the sky and then was gone. “A shooting star!” Alyssa whispered. “I haven’t seen one since I was little.”

  “Quick,” Deborah said. “Make a wish!”

  Please, let everything be all right. Alyssa held her breath, wishing. An owl called from a tree near the barn. The windmill creaked faintly.

  “Isn’t that amazing,” Deborah said. “To think we just saw a piece of burning rock falling through the atmosphere!” She hesitated. “That’s what our teacher said at Friends school. Does it sound right?”

  “Rock, or metal — probably iron and nickel.” It felt so good to be confident about something for a change! “Lots of the meteors we see are about the size of a grain of sand.”

  “Really?” Deborah gasped. “And yet they make such light!”

  “Yeah.” Alyssa pu
lled a sheet over herself and lay back. As the sky darkened, the stars shone with a brilliance she never saw at home. There was the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper. A white gauzy glow must be the Milky Way. The summer night hovered around her, making her feel slow and wonderfully lazy. Then a familiar furry body stepped on her shoulder. “Marigold!”

  Purring, Marigold settled on her chest. Alyssa stroked him, feeling his soft, rounded head, his delicate ears, his whiskers tickling her face. Maybe everything really was going to be all right.

  “Tell me about thy family and about thy life,” Deborah said. “I so want to know!”

  So Alyssa told her.

  Alyssa woke up with a hard surface beneath her and a stiff neck. The eastern sky glowed pink. Birds chirped and mourning doves called. She could hear cows mooing. A rooster crowed.

  A rumpled sheet and abandoned pillow lay on the blanket beside her. Did Deborah have a lot of morning chores?

  Alyssa made her way to the outhouse and met Deborah on the way back. They’d fallen asleep talking. Had she told Deborah too much? About Charlotte, and how Mom was so depressed. About the assignment and Mrs. Fraser. And about Brooklynne.…

  Deborah’s grey eyes were clear and direct. “How’s thee today?” She was carrying two empty buckets.

  “Fine,” she murmured. “Thanks for listening, last night.” It seemed as if a heavy weight had disappeared. Wilfred went past, heading for the barn. She gestured at the house, the barn, and the chicken coop. “Can

  I help?”

  Deborah smiled. “It’s First Day. We don’t do a lot before meeting. Eva will see to breakfast. Herbert and Flossie have gone for the cows. Wilfred will be feeding them now. Thee could sit with me while I milk Daisy and Bess — has thee ever milked? I could show thee how.”

  “I could try.” Would Marigold come in the barn? He must be starving. “Have you seen Marigold?”

  Deborah shook her head. “There was quite a squabble in the barn before thee woke. This would be a real change for thy friend.”

  “No kidding.” Walking beside Deborah, Alyssa glanced at the faded dress she was wearing. “I’m sorry I couldn’t bring your dress. I found another one for you too. I’ll bring it next time.”

  Deborah’s eyes lit up. “Another dress? What’s it like?”

  “Um …” She couldn’t call it an “old lady” dress. “There’s flowers …”

  Deborah studied Alyssa’s jeans. “Thee can’t wear those to meeting. Maybe thee can borrow something of Mama’s.”

  The barn was a dark, cavernous space steeped with the warm smells of hay and animals. If it weren’t for a lantern hanging from a hook on a beam, she’d have trouble seeing at all. She heard George’s and Wilfred’s voices, and then Herbert’s as hay cascaded from the loft.

  In a stall, two cows were held in place by a frame. As they quietly chewed their food, Deborah pulled out two wooden stools and showed Alyssa how to wash the udders. Large feet shifted and tails swished. Alyssa drew back. “Don’t worry,” Deborah said. “Daisy wouldn’t hurt thee. Try to feel stillness inside.”

  Alyssa jumped as a skinny calico cat brushed against her ankle.

  “Good morning, mother cat. Thee’ll get something soon enough. I need to show my —” Deborah burst into giggles “— great-granddaughter about milking.”

  Alyssa laughed, watching as Deborah’s hands sent streams of milk into the pail. “Now thee try it,” Deborah said. “Thee squeezes at the top, and then down.”

  Gingerly she took a teat in each hand. It was hard to see, with the cow’s black-and-white side in front of her. She squeezed but nothing happened. “What if I hurt the cow?”

  “Thee won’t. Try again.”

  At Alyssa’s second attempt, the cow made a low sound and stepped sideways. “Steady,” Deborah said, patting the huge shoulder. “Keep trying,” she encouraged. “I still envy Daddy, the way he gets milk to flow.”

  Alyssa thought of the gallon jugs of milk at home. Who’d have thought it could take so much work to get milk out of a cow? A third try brought a dribble. Then something landed in her lap. Claws penetrated her jeans. “Ow!” she yelped. One of Marigold’s ears was bleeding. He dug in harder, and hissed at the cow. Something slapped her cheek and the side of her head — moist and smelly, with the consistency of a tangled mop. “Ewww,” she said, wiping her face as the cow’s tail retreated.

  “I’ll finish,” Deborah said. “Daisy doesn’t know thy cat.”

  Alyssa stood up, tucking Marigold against her. She stroked him, avoiding his injured ear, but Marigold wouldn’t purr. When the cow in the next stall let out a loud bellow, he jumped down and raced out of sight.

  The scrawny calico cat reappeared. Alyssa laughed when Deborah aimed a squirt of milk at its face. “They like it,” Deborah explained as the cat licked it off. “I thought perhaps thy Marigold might notice and be lured back.”

  But that didn’t happen.

  After a breakfast of cornflakes and milk with bread and jam, Alyssa went upstairs to the girls’ bedroom to try on one of Martha’s dresses. The dress gave her a bizarre feeling of being enclosed in a tent — but Martha’s shoes fit.

  Deborah and Eva seemed doubtful. “I’m not sure how we’ll explain thee,” Deborah said. “Maybe I can fix thy hair so thee won’t draw quite as much attention.”

  “My hair?” Then, looking at Deborah’s hair clips and Eva’s bangs, with the rest cut about chin length, she knew. “Should we put it up?”

  Frances ran into the room. “Susannah is nowhere!”

  “Hush, Frances,” Deborah said. “We’re getting Alyssa ready for meeting.”

  Frances tugged at Martha’s dress. “This is Mama’s! Thee can’t wear Mama’s dress!”

  Eva pulled her away. “Mama says it’s fine. Let’s watch Debbie fix Alyssa’s hair.”

  Frances’s face brightened instantly. “Fix my hair!”

  Did that little girl always have to be the centre of attention? Frances’s piercing voice was enough to give anybody a headache! How could Martha stand it?

  The upstairs bedroom was sweltering; flies buzzed haphazardly. Sweat trickled on Alyssa’s scalp. She lifted her hair. “Do you have scissors?” she said. “I’ll cut my hair. It’s too hot like this.”

  Deborah and Eva stared at her. “Thee’d cut it?” Deborah said. “How will thee get it straight?”

  “Could thee do it for me?” She said “thee” deliberately so that if people talked to her at meeting, she might sound like she belonged.

  “Certainly.” Deborah’s eyes sparkled.

  At the first raspy sound of scissors chewing through her hair, Alyssa felt a flash of panic. But it was too late. Brown hair lay scattered on a spread-out newspaper — the Des Moines Register, she read sideways. Right away her neck felt cooler, and her head lighter.

  At last Deborah stepped back to survey her work. “Oh my,” she gasped.

  Eva sniffled and ran from the room. “What’s wrong?” Alyssa asked, looking in the mirror.

  It was as if someone else were looking back at her, through her eyes. Even before Deborah said it, she knew. “Thee looks ever so much like Bertha! I’d better go see to Eva.”

  Alyssa tilted her head one way, then the other. It was eerie, seeing such a different version of herself. Would people even recognize her at school? A quiet snicking sound and a flash of light caught her attention.

  Frances was sitting by the window. The scissors blades caught the sunlight again as the little girl held a lock of hair away from her face, and snipped. Brown hair was already scattered on the floor around her.

  “Frances!” she said. “You —” But Frances wasn’t listening. “Frances, thee don’t do that! What will your mama say?”

  Frances looked up at her. From this position, Alyssa realized how small she was. Hacked bangs hung jaggedly on her forehead, and chopped-off hair stuck up above her left ear. “Thee said thee was going to cut thy hair.”

  What would Deborah do? What would Martha
do? Alyssa took a deep breath and led Frances to the mirror. “See what thee did? Do thee like it?” As she spoke, she realized she’d said it wrong.

  Frances’s little jaw tightened. “Yes,” she said. “It’s pretty.”

  Downstairs, a door opened. George spoke to someone: “So good of thee to come. I don’t want Martha to be alone.”

  “Edith Smith is here. It’s time to go.” Herbert charged up the stairs and burst out laughing. “Frances! What has thee done now?” As he looked at Alyssa, he took a sudden step backwards. “Oh, it’s thee, Alyssa.” He paused for breath. “Thee looks like my sister Bertha.”

  “I’m sorry,” Alyssa mumbled. That was how it went for others too — first the reaction to Frances’s hair, and then a stunned exclamation.

  She climbed into the surrey, a carriage with a roof and two seats. It was a tight fit between Herbert and Deborah, who was holding Charles. Wilfred and Eva sat in front; an unusually quiet Frances sat in her father’s lap. When Alyssa looked at the old-fashioned car parked near the driveway, Deborah noticed. “Gasoline is expensive,” she said. “Daddy only uses the car to go to town.” The horses pulled, and the surrey creaked forward. Wilfred was driving.

  As they turned from the rutted farm lane onto a wider road, excitement soared through Alyssa. This was the first time she’d been off the farm. What would everything be like?

  Fields reached in all directions, split by the dusty road. Trees grew in the lowest areas and farm buildings appeared at intervals. Some of the crops were young corn, while others looked like grain. Cattle and horses grazed. By the roadside, fragrant wild roses bloomed among masses of other white, purple, and yellow wildflowers. Meadowlarks sang. The grinding wheels, the horses’ trotting hooves, and the squeaking sounds of the surrey made a relaxing accompaniment. Although the day was hot, the breeze felt fresh on Alyssa’s face. When she looked backwards, everything was masked by a cloud of dust.