Picturing Alyssa

by Alison Lohans

  The silence changed; Mom was pulling away, back into the hurt shell. Alyssa took a deep breath. “I think I understand,” she said. “It was so sad …”

  “That doesn’t make it all right.” There was a clicking sound as Mom’s hand tapped the table top. She was wearing her wedding ring again! The ceiling light glinted off the gold band.

  Alyssa began singing Deborah’s song; it seemed the right thing to do. In a moment Mom was trying to sing too, but her voice choked. Alyssa stood up and put her arm around Mom’s shoulder. Mom clasped her hand.

  “I didn’t know you knew that song,” Mom said faintly, afterwards.

  Alyssa swallowed. “I learned it from Deb — from Great-Grandmother Newlin. She made it up, when she was my age.” It didn’t seem important to talk about the Stardancer song. Mom probably didn’t even know she’d gone to the movie.

  “Did we really…?”

  “That’s where I was, those other times.” Alyssa’s heart beat faster. At last, she could talk about it! “You used to play with Susannah?” she asked.

  Mom smiled; it was a secret, remembering smile. “Your Grandma Hadley gave her to me. She was old and floppy — and she didn’t have braids. Her hair was jaggedy, as if a child had cut it.”

  Frances! Alyssa started to laugh. “Frances must’ve done that,” she said.

  “Great-Aunt Frances? Did you see her?”

  Alyssa told Mom about screechy Frances, and how, with Herbert’s help, Susannah kept getting lost. Then something occurred to her. “Do you still have Susannah?” she asked. “Can I see her?”

  Mom looked away. “No,” she said. “I don’t have Susannah anymore.” There was something she wasn’t saying.

  The silence stretched out. Alyssa picked up a picture of Mom and Dad when they were just married. “How come?”

  “Well, she was old and raggedy.” Mom sounded so embarrassed that Alyssa didn’t look at her. “Her hair looked really ugly. She had holes in her arms and legs, and the rag stuffing kept coming out. My mother tried fixing her but it didn’t look good.”

  “So what happened?”

  “I was fourteen.” Mom’s voice grew stronger. “My parents wouldn’t let me see a movie because they said it was too violent. I was sure everybody else at school had already gone. I had a tantrum, I guess. I grabbed that old doll by the arm and whacked her against the door frame. Eventually she went flying, and all I had left in my hand was her arm.”

  “You wrecked her?”

  Mom gave a rueful smile. “I’ve felt terrible about it ever since. Susannah is buried in the backyard in Indiana, where we used to live.”

  “Oh.” Alyssa slumped in her chair. The towel slid off her head.

  “Lyssa —?” Mom’s mouth twitched. “What happened?”

  Alyssa ran her hands through her wet hair. “It looked too ugly.”

  “Oh boy …” And Mom actually had the nerve to laugh! After a startled instant, Alyssa helplessly joined in.

  “Let’s get our hair cut,” Mom said. “I’ve got the exact opposite problem.”

  “I could cut yours. It’d be cheaper.” Alyssa sputtered with laughter.

  Mom stood up. “No thanks.” As she swished Alyssa’s wet hair, she smelled wonderfully clean.

  “Have you seen Marigold?” Mom asked. She stood at the kitchen counter tearing up lettuce for the salad. She looked younger with her nice haircut. “Somebody fed him — Ethan, probably — but he hasn’t touched his food.”

  A painful lump blocked Alyssa’s throat. She’d already seen the cat bowl, filled with yellowish pellets. “He’s in Iowa,” she said, dropping the carrot she’d been peeling. “He was in my lap.”

  Mom’s arms came around her, pulling her close. “It’ll certainly be a change for him,” she said after a while.

  “But that was 1931. He’s dead now!”

  “I guess so.” Mom sounded sad; her hand kept stroking Alyssa’s short hair. “Come to think of it, there’s something I think you’d like to see.”

  Listlessly, Alyssa followed her back to the dining-room table. The pictures were still spread out. Mom rummaged through them. “I don’t remember seeing this one before. It’s a little unusual.”

  The picture in Mom’s hand had a cat-claw hole in the upper corner. Alyssa leaned forward to look.

  The Claytons were posed in front of their house. Martha was holding a baby! Alyssa sagged with relief. A black-and-white Deborah smiled at her. She was wearing the dress from the thrift shop. “Deborah’s wearing the dress I bought! Is that what’s unusual?”

  “No.” Mom turned the picture over to read the names on the back. “Look at Great-Aunt Eva.”

  Alyssa took the photo from Mom. Like before, Eva was sitting on the bench, next to a grumpy-looking Frances. In Eva’s lap was Marigold!

  Hungrily, Alyssa looked at the picture: at Marigold, at a smiling Eva, at a mischievous Herbert. At little Charles, at Wilfred, at George and Martha. The baby’s face was scrunched, as if she were about to fuss. Always, her eyes returned to Deborah. “I’m so glad to have this picture of thee,” she whispered.

  “Are you trying to wear that thing out?”

  Alyssa jumped at Ethan’s voice. “Look!” she said. “There’s Marigold!”

  Ethan leaned closer. “Nah, it’s just a cat.”

  Alyssa indicated the full cat dish. “You’ve been feeding him, right? Did you let him outside?”

  When Ethan vehemently denied it, Alyssa lifted the bottom of the new shirt Mom had bought her. “See the scratches? Marigold did that. In Iowa.”

  Ethan turned away. “I’m going to miss that guy,” he said. His voice sounded huskier than usual. “In case you’re interested, there’s a whole bunch of text messages from Rachel.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Nothing seemed quite real as Alyssa walked to school the next morning. Rachel was talking to her again! First her friend had been sick. Then she’d been busy with the music festival, and she’d had some hard performances. When Rachel found the website, she hadn’t known what to say. Then her mom pulled her out of school for a few days and started talking about transferring her to Custer Heights Middle School because she didn’t want Rachel to be around Brooklynne anymore. Lori didn’t think much of Mrs. Fraser either, but Rachel wasn’t supposed to talk about that.

  Alyssa yawned. She’d been up late working on her genealogy project; finally she’d had an exciting idea. With one more day to go, everything should be ready. If Mrs. Fraser wasn’t happy, there wasn’t much she could do.

  The pink shoes seemed to float over the sidewalk. She studied them critically as one foot, then the other, stepped forward. The new purple laces bounced. A bright blue peace symbol flashed on each foot. When Mom offered to buy her another pair, a strange feeling had welled up inside. Ethan had bought her these shoes. It seemed important that she wear them.

  Lawns were green everywhere she looked, and the sun was warm on her bare arms. Trees were leafing out. Tulips and other bright flowers bloomed around people’s houses. Birdsong and traffic sounds drifted through the spring air. Her very ordinary neighbourhood seemed … strange. Somehow she kept expecting to see cornfields, and wildflowers along the roadside.

  Regret tugged at her. She’d never be able to go back to Deborah’s time. At least, it wouldn’t be right to try. The baby, Alice Emma, was safely born. Deborah — Great-Grandmother Newlin — was very old now, but she was still alive. So were Herbert, Frances, Charles, and Alice.

  Alyssa dug in her backpack for the letter. When it appeared in the mailbox yesterday, addressed to her in Great-Grandmother Newlin’s spidery handwriting, she’d needed to sit down to open it. Inside, there’d been a letter to Mom, and another sealed envelope. The envelope read:

  To my dearest Alyssa,

  You may think this an unusual request, but I would ask that you keep this envelope sealed until a time when your hair is short, and you have had a most remarkable experience. That time must be quite near, so if you don’
t understand just now, I hope you can be patient.

  When Alyssa opened the envelope, she found another letter — and the picture of herself holding Marigold! It looked old now, with the edges battered and worn. There was a sticky note on the back, with the same elderly script: “Thee will likely enjoy having this back. It has been a treasure during these many years.”

  The second letter, in rounded, girlish handwriting, was dated July 10, 1931. Walking to school, Alyssa read it again:

  Dear Alyssa,

  I feel very strange, writing thee a letter I cannot send, yet I feel that I must. Thee cannot begin to imagine how wonderful it was to have thee here! Imagine — meeting my own great-granddaughter, and here I am, not quite twelve years old! I thank thee for the pretty dress! (The bag is made of the oddest material.)

  Though I tried hard not to show it, when Mama was sick I felt overwhelmed by so much work. There were many times when I simply wished to curl up and sleep, or to shout at everyone, or perhaps even run away! Thy being here gave me something more to think about, and someone to talk to. It helped me be more patient and, I hope, more loving. I feel dreadful, having held such thoughts in my heart!

  Baby Alice is with us now, and she is a strong little girl. Mama was overwhelmed by thy gift. The clothes would have been for thy dear sister Charlotte, I am thinking. We don’t know the names for some of these items, and it is rather queer when we try to explain about them! Thy family will be glad to know that they are of great help.

  Mama was so sick. We feared that she might grow worse, and that perhaps both Mama and the baby might be lost. Before thee came, Frances had a habit of running upstairs at every opportunity. Mama’s condition involved terrible headaches. Though Mama would never admit it, I know our noisy Frances sometimes puts her at her wits’ end. Thank thee for helping keep Frances busy. And poor, dear Susannah! Now Frances has cut her braids off! She looks horridly wild and uncared for. Mama put such loving work into our doll, and I haven’t the heart to bring Susannah to her.

  Thee will be glad to know that Eva loves thy Marigold dearly. Since thee was here, she smiles more often. Sometimes we hear her laugh and sing. I can tell thee this next thing because thee certainly cannot tell Mama. Sometimes Eva dresses her new puss in clothes for the baby! He squirms and protests, but seems to understand that my sister is a loving soul who needs special care.

  I have written down the words for our song so that we will always have them.

  Herbert thanks thee for the shirts. He cannot understand, though, why a boy would wear a pink shirt, and others with flowers?

  I hear baby Alice squalling. Mama still needs her rest, so I must stop for now.

  I can hardly wait for the time when I will see thee again! Thee never did tell me whom I will marry! I suppose I shall have to find that out for myself.

  Hoping that thee may always walk in the Light, and with love,

  Thy Deborah

  Alyssa nearly tripped on a crack in the sidewalk as she reread Deborah’s words. Really, it was a miracle!

  Mocking laughter came from across the street. “Look at the geek — studying on the way to school.”

  Brooklynne! Mackenzie was there too. Alyssa’s insides froze. Whatever happened, she couldn’t let them see the letter. She folded it quickly and zipped it in her backpack. Because she knew she must, she walked across the street and faced the other girls.

  Brooklynne’s hazel eyes looked at her with derision. Her upper lip curled into a sneer. “What do you want, loser?”

  Words wouldn’t come, but Alyssa knew she couldn’t back down. Trembling, she stared straight at Brooklynne’s hard eyes.

  “Well, say something. We’re not going to be late because of a dumb loser.” Brooklynne made as if to brush past, but slammed hard against her at the last minute.

  Alyssa gasped at the impact. With it, words came. “So now you’re getting physical,” she said, catching up to stand directly in Brooklynne’s way. “What have you got against me? It’s not like I do anything to you.”

  Brooklynne’s gaze fell on the pink shoes. “Hey, cool shoes.” Her voice was ripe with sarcasm. “Where’d you get them?”

  Alyssa drew in a deep breath. “In a store.” Her fists clenched at her sides. In the distance, the warning bell sounded at school.

  The other girls didn’t seem to notice. “Look at her new hairstyle,” Mackenzie said.

  “Who cut it?” Brooklynne jeered. “Your grandma?”

  “Actually, it was my great-grandmother.” Alyssa sucked in another breath. Unless she did something, they’d keep right on sniping at her. There was only one way she could think of to take control. “You know, that website was really evil. My brother wanted to tell the newspaper. And the TV station. I don’t think the mayor would be quite as popular if everybody knew what his kid does.” The shaking was deep inside now and wouldn’t quit.

  Brooklynne’s face reddened. “So why didn’t you tell, huh?”

  “There are better ways.” What ways, she had no idea, but Brooklynne couldn’t read her mind.

  Brooklynne shrieked with laughter. Sunlight glinted off her braces. “Like what? Praying?” In a blinding instant, something stomped hard on her foot. Fingernails clawed her cheek.

  “Brooklynne!” Mackenzie yelped.

  “I feel sorry for you,” Alyssa forced herself to say through the pain. There was a stunned silence, then the sound of running footsteps.

  Alyssa took her time going the rest of the way to school. For a while she could feel blood trickling down her cheek.

  In the office, as she waited for Mr. Bergman to finish talking to a parent, she flipped through the phone book. With shaking hands, she dialed the mayor’s office at City Hall. “Wes Bayne,” said a strong, confident voice at last. “How can I help you?”

  “This is Alyssa Dixon.” She felt freezing cold. “Your daughter Brooklynne assaulted me on the way to school today. She also put up a hate website about me a couple of weeks ago. We have copies of everything.”

  There was a blank silence at the other end of the line. Alyssa realized that the school office was silent too.

  “Excuse me,” Mr. Bergman said to somebody else. “We’ve got an emergency here. I’ll phone you later, Mrs. Nordstrom.”

  “Are you at school now?” said the voice in the receiver. “I’ll be there right away.”

  Alyssa leaned heavily against the counter. “Could you call my mom?” she asked, and burst into tears.

  At morning recess the next day, Alyssa stood in front of the mirror in the girls’ bathroom. “I look ugly.” The scratches on her cheek were still painful, and the one closest to her eye was puffy. She tugged at the waist of Deborah’s dress. The floor tiles were cool beneath her bare feet. “Rache, what if Mrs. Fraser doesn’t like my presentation?”

  “She will,” Rachel said. “You’re wearing authentic clothes. You’re doing so much — Mrs. Fraser can’t possibly give you a bad grade. My report was so boring she looked like she was falling asleep.”

  Apprehension knotted Alyssa’s middle. It wasn’t just Mrs. Fraser. For some reason Mr. Bergman had decided to listen to the presentations too. “Mrs. Fraser didn’t look sleepy,” she said. “She was just listening.” Her voice echoed off the green-and-grey walls.

  A younger girl came into the restroom and gave Alyssa a curious look.

  Alyssa turned away. She held a cold wet paper towel against her smarting cheek, then put her school clothes into her backpack. The bell rang.

  The classroom was silent when she and Rachel went in. The power point projector was set up. The painting from Alyssa’s living room sat in the chalkboard tray beside Rachel’s clarinet. Avoiding Mrs. Fraser’s eyes, Alyssa walked to the front of the room.

  “My name is Deborah Clayton,” she said. “I’m Alyssa Dixon’s great-grandmother and live on a farm near Chatham, Iowa, in 1931. You might think a bully scratched my face, but we had a vicious rooster. He got the best of me yesterday, so my brothers Wilfred and Herb
ert butchered him. We ate him for supper.”

  Cautiously, she made eye contact. Everyone was listening. Brooklynne was conspicuously absent. And, there in the back, were Mom and Dad!

  Taking a deep breath, Alyssa continued: “Most people have ordinary lives. But that doesn’t mean they’re not important.” Clicking the remote, she said, “This is my mother, Martha Clayton. She worked hard all her life and raised eight children. One of them died of polio.” She told about how George, and then later Wilfred and Charles, farmed the land and donated what little profits they earned to feed hungry families in Appalachia and other places. “One way to help protect freedom is to make sure everybody has enough to eat,” Alyssa said. She showed pictures of Herbert as a boy, and later as a man, on crutches with part of one leg missing. “This is my brother Herbert Clayton. In the Second World War he worked for the Quaker ambulance service in France. He never shot at anybody or hurt anyone, but he got part of his leg blown off. He almost died while helping people.”

  She went on to talk about Frances, a lively lady who’d helped keep people from taking advantage of those who were mentally ill. She showed a picture of Eva and picked up the painting that had hung in their living room for as long as she could remember. “My sister Eva was very shy,” she said. “She loved animals. She was artistic, and painted this picture.” Looking down at it, at the animal tracks in the snow — and a cat that looked amazingly like Marigold sitting on top of a fence post — Alyssa pushed back another wave of wonderment. She went on to talk about Alice, and how she’d become a nurse. “I became a teacher,” she finally said. “I taught in small country schools and really enjoyed working with the children. I wrote a song, too.” She clicked the remote one last time, and the words to Deborah’s song came on the screen.