Picturing Alyssa

by Alison Lohans

  “Maybe thy mom’s having the baby,” Alyssa said.

  Eva’s tense shoulders relaxed. “Oh, thee must be right.”

  The hay rustled and Marigold stepped into Alyssa’s lap. Clutching her cat, she buried her face in his dusty fur. A rumbling purr vibrated along his ribs. Marigold would probably have to stay here. This might be the last time she’d ever hold him.

  A small hand reached to stroke Marigold’s head. “I like thy puss,” Eva said. “He’s not half-wild like the other cats.”

  Alyssa swallowed hard. “Will thee take care of him for me?”

  A startled smile flashed across Eva’s face. “Yes!”

  “The others are looking for you,” Alyssa said. “We’re having a picnic. Try not to worry about thy mom. I’m sure Edith Smith is taking good care of her.”

  “Aunt Agnes and Uncle Arthur have invited us to visit this afternoon, before the Fourth of July picnic,” George said as lunch finished. “Aunt Tacy is coming to be with Mama for a while.”

  There was an excited shout from Herbert. Alyssa looked at Deborah; the other girl’s mouth was set in a worried line. Alyssa glanced at her jeans and t-shirt, which were smudged with dust. Were they too messy for visiting?

  There wasn’t time to think about it. After clearing up, Deborah rinsed the dishes in a bucket by the pump and took them inside. Alyssa folded the blanket. Wilfred and Flossie brought the horses from the pasture, and Herbert helped his older brother hitch up the wagon. Alyssa climbed into the big, boxy vehicle. She noticed that Frances was clutching Susannah. Deborah lifted Charles, and then held Eva’s hand as they settled.

  The horses seemed eager to go. This time they went the opposite direction. It was a bouncy ride, jostling over ruts. Dust washed up around them and didn’t go away. Did Iowa still look like this in her time? For an instant an American Painted Lady butterfly alit on the rim of the wagon near Alyssa’s arm. A thrill raced through her. The last time she’d seen one was in class, when they raised butterflies from a science project kit.

  When they arrived at another farm, two dogs raced to meet them, followed by children of various ages. Alyssa felt comfortably ignored amidst the excited greetings. Some of the girl cousins were wearing jeans — they were old-fashioned and baggy, but definitely jeans.

  With so many children milling around, Alyssa couldn’t keep track of names. The boys soon vanished, except for Charles. Eva seemed content to keep an eye on him as she and Frances, along with two cousins, sat down to play in a “house” in a treed area. There were several “rooms” with walls defined by borders of piled-up pine needles. “Time to go to bed now,” Eva told her little brother. Alyssa watched as Charles cooperatively headed for an old back seat from a car. “No!” a cousin cried. “Charles, thee mustn’t go through the wall! The door is here!”

  “Let’s go to the brook,” Deborah said to her cousins Winifred and Reva.

  Alyssa cautiously followed them into a hilly pasture, ducking through a barbed wire fence. Barefooted, they walked across the grass. While it looked easy, Alyssa envied them their toughened feet; little prickly things kept sticking to the soles of her feet. Just in time she avoided a thistle that had fallen sideways. At the top of the first hill, one of the cousins lay down on the grass and rolled. Deborah laughed and did the same. Alyssa was left standing there while the others shrieked and laughed, picking themselves up at the bottom. “Alyssa!” Deborah called. “Thee should try it!”

  Now the slope looked steeper — and what if there were cow pies? Then she thought of Brooklynne, with her straight, shiny hair, her silver braces, and her perfect shirts. Brooklynne would say “Ewwww!” and say mean things about the girls who’d gone down. Rachel would say, “Why not?” and roll. Alyssa lay down. Pushing off, she felt her body gather momentum until she was spinning sideways over grass and wildflowers. At the bottom she lay there, dizzy, watching the sky swirl above her, and breathed in the sweet smells of clover and other flowers. Then she climbed back up the hill to do it again.

  The house was no longer in sight; it was just grassy hills with occasional trees and the mooing of cows beneath an expansive sky. Deborah noticed. “Is the bull in this pasture?” she asked warily.

  Cousin Reva shook her head. “Daddy put him in the north pasture.”

  Relieved, Alyssa looked at the cows from their safe distance. For some reason most of them were facing the same direction.

  They went over another hill and down again, and then they were approaching a small stream. Deborah ran ahead and sat on a flat rock. Alyssa held back a moment, just looking at Deborah Clayton, her Great-Grandmother Newlin as a girl, with the breeze ruffling the brown hair around her face. She sat quietly, leaning back on her hands, and seemed happy.

  The stream — or brook, as Deborah called it — was a mesmerizing place. Alyssa watched minnows flitting beneath the surface. Lying back in the sunny grass, she watched redwing blackbirds flying overhead, listening to their distinctive calls. A wonderfully lazy feeling crept through her.

  When the other girls woke her up, it was time for the Fourth of July picnic. But … it couldn’t be July fourth! No bands were playing, no fireworks were being shot off, and there weren’t even any flags in sight.

  Other families had arrived. Blankets were spread on the grass. After a silent grace, everyone shared in a potluck feast of cold fried chicken, salads, sandwiches, and pies. Children ran around; adults ate and visited and, as the sky darkened and the fireflies came out, the men built a bonfire. Someone broke branches off a mulberry tree for a marshmallow roast. Alyssa held her stick over the coals and then licked her fingers after eating the sweet, slightly-blackened treat.

  People began singing. Again the songs were familiar, ones Grandma Hadley had sung a long time ago. In the midst of it, Alyssa thought about Martha Clayton having the baby. Please, God, she thought as hard as she could, over and over. Let everything be all right!

  Someone asked Deborah to sing her new song. Alyssa sat there, her skin shivering at the familiar tune and words. Afterwards, there was a moment of silence … broken by Frances’s shriek: “Where’s Susannah?”

  Not again! Alyssa sighed and got up to help Deborah search. A telltale cloth form dangled upside-down from the mulberry tree. “I see her!” Alyssa called to Deborah. She pulled herself into the tree and crawled out on a strong branch. The orange firelight flickered in the leaves. Wood smoke drifted over her with a change in the wind. Holding herself steady on the creaking branch, Alyssa crept out further and grasped the doll.

  Suddenly dizzy, she braced herself.

  Alyssa fell.

  Chapter Eighteen

  How could she have been so clumsy? The people below her might get hurt!

  The dizziness intensified. Alyssa blinked, but saw only blackness. She thumped down hard.

  “Alyssa!”

  At the startled exclamation, everything came into focus. The bonfire, the mulberry tree, everyone at the Fourth of July picnic — all of it was gone. Except …

  Beside her on the rug in the baby’s room, a face with twinkly black button eyes and a cute little hand-sewn nose and mouth smiled at her. “Oh, no!” she moaned.

  “Alyssa, what’s wrong?” Mom leaned forward, still holding the picture. “What happened to your hair?”

  Clutching Susannah’s soft form, Alyssa sat up. Brown yarn braids draped across her arm.

  “Where were you this time?” Ethan demanded, before she had a chance to answer Mom. He tossed the magnifying glass from one hand to the other. “You smell like you’ve been in a forest fire.”

  Alyssa stood up. “Oh — the bonfire. We were having the Fourth of July picnic …”

  “What?” Ethan looked confused. “It’s May, not July.”

  “It’s summer there. We went to meeting in the surrey.” She reached for the magnifying glass. “Can I have that? I have to take Susannah back right now.” Otherwise, Frances would really throw a fit.

  “Susannah?” Mom’s face went white. She
reached for the doll; her hands were cold, and trembled. Mom sagged into the rocking chair, stroking Susannah’s hair and tracing the features of her cloth face. Alyssa noticed a smudge of ash on Susannah’s arm, and a sticky spot on her skirt, probably from a burnt marshmallow. Tears rolled down Mom’s cheeks.

  “Mom?” Alyssa gasped.

  “I used to play with this doll,” her mother whispered.

  “Too weird!” Ethan said.

  “I used to play with her.” Mom’s voice was stronger. “By the time I had her, she wasn’t in such good shape.”

  “I have to take her back,” Alyssa said reluctantly. “Otherwise Frances will really scream.” She and George had both agreed it would be best if she didn’t go back — but now if she didn’t, even for a few minutes, Susannah would truly be lost, and then Mom couldn’t possibly be given the doll in the past, when she was a girl.

  The photograph of the Claytons was in the box with the baby clothes. Mom must’ve put it there. When Alyssa picked it up, her heart hammered. The picture seemed cloudy, somehow, the familiar faces less distinct. She glanced at Mom, who was rocking the doll, holding it against her shoulder as if it were a real baby. She turned to Ethan. “Eeth, you’ve got to help! Otherwise everything’ll be messed up.”

  Ethan grimaced. “What do you want me to do? You missed a whole day of school, you know. Last night Zach wanted to go to a movie — but no, I had to stay here and cover for you. Then Mom found out, so I had to try and explain. Don’t you know it’s five in the morning?”

  Alyssa gasped. “So where’s Dad?”

  Ethan shrugged. “Asleep, I guess. He had a bunch of meetings yesterday, and didn’t get home until really late. I think maybe Mom didn’t tell him.”

  For an instant Alyssa didn’t know what to say. Time was running out. She took a deep breath and explained what she wanted Ethan to do.

  She ran to her bedroom and grabbed the plastic bag with the thrift store dress for Deborah. In her wastebasket, she rummaged through the discarded clothes and took out the best ones. How much time had passed in Iowa? How were Martha and the baby doing? Then something else crossed her mind. She removed the photo of herself with Marigold from its place at the corner of the mirror. On the back, she wrote:

  For Deborah Clayton,

  Love from thy great-granddaughter Alyssa Dixon. July 4, 1931, taken in the fall of 2006.

  As she looked at the print one last time, the other Alyssa smiled at her. So did Marigold. She slipped the photo into her jeans pocket and carried everything to Charlotte’s room. Ethan stood impatiently by the crib. Mom, in the rocking chair with Susannah, seemed oblivious.

  Alyssa put the dress and her old clothes in her backpack, then frantically scooped as many of Charlotte’s baby things as she could into the box. She felt a stab of guilt, looking at the jumble, but there wasn’t time to fold.

  “Mom,” she said softly. “We have to go.” She slipped one arm through the strap of her backpack and squeezed into the rocking chair beside Mom, holding the box in her lap. Nodding to Ethan, she tucked her free arm through the crook of her mother’s elbow.

  Ethan’s jaw dropped. “Lyssa! What…?”

  “Please?” she said. She reached for the photograph of the Claytons.

  Her brother’s hand shook as he held the magnifying glass. It was hard to focus on Deborah’s face; even worse, it was beginning to look more like just an old picture. “Deborah!” she pleaded.

  In the picture, Deborah’s eyes seemed to meet hers. Breathing fast, Alyssa thought the words of the song as strongly as she could: If thee feels sad and all alone …

  A prickly tingling wrapped itself around her. There was a shriek. The rocking chair tipped.

  The grass was wet with dew. The summer sky arched high with a celebration of sunrise colours. A rooster crowed. The windmill was creaking and grinding in a slow rotation. Not too far away, cows mooed.

  “Oh my God … oh my God!” Mom’s hysterical voice cut through the peaceful dawn.

  Somewhere, Flossie started barking.

  Alyssa sat up and grabbed her mother’s arm. “Mom. Shhh! Everything’s going to be okay. Calm down. Please!”

  There was another whimper, but then Mom’s jaw tightened. She brushed her stringy hair back from her face.

  Alyssa checked for the things she’d intended to bring. Susannah lay on the grass, her braids scattered at a rakish angle. The backpack was still looped over her arm. The box of Charlotte’s baby clothes was on its side and some of the tiny sleepers had fallen out. Alyssa pulled the photo out of her jeans pocket. Without looking at it, she tucked it inside the thrift store bag.

  They were near the vegetable garden. Judging from the sky, it must be milking time. Would Wilfred and Herbert be out with the cows? Would George come walking by?

  Alyssa looked longingly at the house. In the yard, blankets were spread on the grass.… But she shouldn’t interfere in the past anymore. Besides, there might not be much time before Ethan picked up the picture.

  Mom drew in a sharp breath. “I remember this place!” she whispered. “When I was a really little girl we visited Great-Grandpa and Grandma Clayton!” More tears streamed down her cheeks, but Mom’s mouth was smiling. As Alyssa watched, her mother looked around in wonderment.

  “Lyssa,” Mom said. “Can we walk around, just a little bit?”

  Alyssa bit her lip. “I need to get the stuff to the house.” Working quickly, she crammed the spilled baby clothes into the box. She emptied her backpack, setting the thrift store bag and the clothes on top of the baby things. Where should she put Susannah?

  Hesitating, Alyssa looked around. The garden seemed to beckon. Alyssa set the doll at the base of a healthy bean plant. Susannah’s black button eyes seemed to twinkle as she sat there propped up by the green foliage.

  Alyssa scooped up the box. With her free hand, she grasped her mother’s hand tightly and didn’t let go.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lying in bed, Alyssa thought about everything that had happened. Although her alarm clock said it was 11:30, she didn’t have to worry about school. Mom had phoned to say she and Ethan wouldn’t be in class.

  She turned over, longing for Marigold’s company. Ever since he was a kitten, he’d been a warm, cuddly presence in bed with her. Her throat ached, but she held herself under control — there’d already been more than enough crying, and she was definitely too big to blubber. Eva had promised to take care of Marigold.

  By now the Claytons would’ve found the clothes. She’d left them sitting on the front porch. Someone would’ve picked up Susannah. Did Deborah have the picture of her? I’m ever so glad to have a picture of thee! Alyssa smiled, imagining her voice. What about Martha and the baby?

  The real surprise was the change in Mom. Alyssa thought about how she’d looked, rocking Susannah in the chair, and then how her face shone during the short time they’d been at the Claytons’ farm. It had been only a few minutes; after depositing the box, they’d walked past the barn. Flossie bounded over. And in the midst of a wet-nosed, tail-wagging greeting, the familiar tingling dizziness swooped them home.

  The words of Deborah’s song circled in her head. In an uncanny way, the song seemed to tell the story of everything that had been happening. Alyssa hummed and thought about the lines “Find courage in the light within.” Had she felt the Inner Light? She wasn’t sure, but she’d have to have plenty of courage soon — the next time she saw Brooklynne. Especially now that her only shoes were the pink ones. And when she did her report.

  Let thy life shine … that part of the song made sense; it meant doing her best, and trying to see the good in things. It meant, like George Clayton had said, having faith, and trying to keep love in your heart. It meant acting responsibly.

  How could she act responsibly about Brooklynne?

  No answers came.

  With a burst of energy, Alyssa stripped the dirty sheets off her bed and pushed them down the laundry chute. She studied herself in the b
athroom mirror. The new short style looked like it belonged in another country. It hadn’t mattered at the time, but now … If kids at school already thought she was a little weird, this would confirm it. She grimaced at her reflection, which grimaced back.

  Alyssa tousled her hair. Still it fell into the rather boxy shape. She sighed and reached in the medicine cabinet for the scissors, then snipped cautiously at the sides. There was no noticeable change. She clipped more ruthlessly, and kept going. Now the two sides weren’t even. She stepped back for another despairing look. It wasn’t as terrible as Frances’s haircut, but … She dropped the scissors in the sink and brushed all the loose hair into the wastebasket.

  After a shower she felt clean, but now her hair dribbled in little wet curls. She wound a towel around her head. “Mom?”

  “I’m out here.” Her mother’s voice came from the dining room.

  Alyssa found her sitting at the table. Mom had showered too, and she was actually wearing her own clothes for a change. Coloured photos and old black-and-white ones were spread out in front of her.

  A shy look crossed Mom’s face. “Lyssa,” she said, “did I imagine something totally strange this morning?”

  Alyssa shook her head. “No.” How could they start talking about it? Mom had only seen a little bit of the farm, not the people. She pulled out the chair at Ethan’s place and sat down. “Who are you looking at?”

  “Family.” Mom sighed. “I’ve let all of you down, terribly, these past several months.”

  Alyssa didn’t know what to say, so she rummaged through the pictures. There was one of herself when she was a baby. In another photo, Grandpa and Grandma Hadley were with her and Ethan. It was one of the times they’d all gone camping together, in northern Michigan.