Dandelion Summer

by Mary Ellen Bramwell

  She hesitated before continuing. “Letters baffle me, Madelyn. Some letters are fine, but others are confusing. There were times when the only thing that worked was actually tracing over my friends’ work, so I didn’t write the letters wrong. They thought it was funny—like I was trying to mimic their handwriting. They never knew just how desperate I was.” Her face wore the anguish of such memories. “I know it doesn’t excuse the cheating, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “I had no idea. That must have been horrible,” Madelyn said. Mom nodded, wiping at her moist eyes as she did so. Madelyn hated to ask, but if she wanted to know, she figured there wouldn’t be another time. “How did you handle tests? You must have cheated on those too.” She tried to modulate her voice, softening it, attempting to remove any sound of condemnation.

  “That’s a fair question. Not as much as you might think. Thankfully I was usually in those slow classes. I wouldn’t have survived otherwise. But, to answer your question, I could usually convince the teachers to give me oral tests. I told them I had troubles with my eyes. When I could verbally give my answers, I could pass my tests. It was that simple. And even though I had trouble writing, I perfected Pop’s signature. That got me out of a lot of things.” She laughed at the memory. “You know, I’m probably better at his signature than my own.”

  “Wow. I’m sorry, Mom.” They drove silently for a few minutes. “I thought I’d be upset that you cheated your way through school, but I guess it was kind of scary, wasn’t it?”

  She nodded her head. “I was always afraid I’d be found out. When I had choices, I took gym classes or sewing. I made a point to help other students that were struggling with their projects. It seemed fair, like payback of some kind. You know, I couldn’t believe it when I graduated from high school and no one knew I couldn’t read.”

  “What about Dad? Didn’t you meet him in high school? I mean, he’s got to know, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes, he knows, but he didn’t know then. We met in the lunch line one day. We never had any classes together, but he would always find me and come sit next to me during lunch. I told him the night of graduation. He was heading off to college, and I figured if he didn’t want to see me again, it would be an easy way out for him.” She smiled at the memory. “He was shocked, and I thought he was going to walk out on our date, but he didn’t. That’s the moment I knew I wanted to marry him. If he could still love me, even though I wasn’t perfect, then I knew I could always depend on him.”

  “I didn’t know that. It’s kind of sweet. But didn’t he try to help you learn?”

  “He offered to, but I was certain I couldn’t read. After he asked about it several times, I told him never to bring it up again—it just made me feel stupid. He promised he wouldn’t. It’s a promise he’s kept,” she said as they pulled into the parking lot. It was hard to fathom, and yet, at the same time, what Mom had told Madelyn made sense.

  . . .

  When Madelyn greeted Uncle Tommy and his friends, the silent Annie was clearly in a good mood. She couldn’t wait to show Madelyn the new bracelet she had on. She pulled Madelyn over to Eliza so she could see that Eliza had one too. They were simple macramé bracelets—Eliza’s had red beads woven in with the knots, and Annie’s had purple. When Annie smiled and patted her chest, Madelyn said, “You made them didn’t you, Annie?” She just beamed.

  “She made mine with red beads, ‘cause that’s my favorite color,” Eliza said. She was holding her wrist with the bracelet right in front of her eyes so she could see it.

  They invited Annie and Eliza to join them for a picnic lunch outside. Uncle Tommy walked between them, escorting them like a gentleman to the patio table.

  Madelyn leaned over to Mom. “Those three may not be able to do things most people can, but they always seem happy. It’s easy to love them, isn’t it?” Mom nodded.

  Later, when Madelyn was helping Tommy slowly gather up the picnic remnants and throw them away, she looked around to see that Mom was busy helping Annie and Eliza back inside. “Uncle Tommy, do you remember my mom—Sissy—from when you were growing up?”

  His face lit up. “You bet, Madly. She’s why I walk and why I talk.”

  Madelyn stopped. “What do you mean?”

  “She helped me get strong enough and smart enough. Then she taught me how. It was my favorite bedtime story Mom and Pop Pop tell me.”

  “Really? Do you remember the story? Could you tell it to me?”

  “Sure. But we have to sit down because it’s for when we’re resting.”

  When they were seated on a picnic bench, Uncle Tommy began. In a sing-song voice, he told the story. “Once there was a little girl, bright and beautiful and perfect. And there was a little boy, bright and beautiful too. One day, their mommy learned that the little boy might never be able to walk or to talk or to do things most people can. The mommy was sad and scared, but the little girl said, ‘I can help you, Mommy.’ The mommy showed the little girl how to exercise the little boy’s muscles. He didn’t like it when Mommy did it with him, but the little girl made it fun, and he would do anything Sissy asked. She helped him become stronger and stronger, and she talked and talked to him too. So, the little boy decided he could make sounds too. And he started to talk to Sissy. And he started to talk to Mommy and Pop Pop. One day, he even walked to Mommy and Pop Pop, all because Sissy taught him how. And they all lived happily ever after. The end.”

  Madelyn stared at him. “Is that true?” she whispered. “Did Sissy teach you to talk and to walk?”

  “Yep. True as true. That’s what Mom and Pop Pop always said—true as true. The doctors said I couldn’t, but Mommy and Sissy said I could.” Then he leaned close to her and whispered, “I don’t think Sissy liked the bedtime story because she’d get embarrassed. But I asked her. She said it was true as true too.”

  When Mom came looking for them a short time later, Uncle Tommy and Madelyn were leaning against each other in a big, gentle, sideways hug. His face lit up when he saw her. Once again, she was a woman transforming before Madelyn’s eyes.

  . . .

  Madelyn wanted to ask about it on the way home, but she was afraid Mom would try to downplay her involvement or contribution. She didn’t want her to do that, for her to diminish what Madelyn had just learned to be “true as true,” and instinctively knew to be such.

  Instead, Madelyn brought up something else that had been on her mind. “May I ask you something?” Mom hesitated before answering. She had already laid herself bare, but she finally nodded. “Why now? Why did you agree to let me help you?”

  Mom sighed before responding. “Believe it or not, it was your grandfather.” Madelyn sat up straighter, immediately attentive. “When I first came to you in the yard, it was out of embarrassment, because of what you knew about me. But the sudden thought of how many people would have to know that I couldn’t read … it was too much.” She was shaking her head.

  “What does this have to do with Grandpa?” Madelyn interrupted.

  “Well, I received a letter from Pop last month. I don’t suppose it’s about much of anything. I’ve been so used to not being able to read that I just threw it in a drawer and didn’t give it another thought. But I happened across it last night. You know, I’d like to be able to read that letter.” Mom’s voice was husky and choked with emotion. But Madelyn’s face had grown red, the weight of the envelope she’d taken to carrying around in her back pocket calling to her.

  “I … I don’t know what to say. That sounds good, Mom.”

  Mom chuckled slightly and glanced in Madelyn’s direction, unaware of her distress. “Even still, I was awake all night building up my courage. However, this morning, when I talked to you, I did it for the right reasons. I’m doing it for me
… and maybe a little for your dad and Pop too.”

  “It’s also for Jilly,” Madelyn added quietly. “I don’t want you to feel bad, but she knows you can’t read. She actually figured it out a long time ago. She just kept it to herself—I think because it doesn’t bother her. But she’ll be proud of you, all the same.”

  “I guess I’m not surprised. Jilly is seven going on twenty sometimes.”

  “I know. She’s so smart. Look how long it took me to figure things out.”

  “Well, I’ve gotten pretty good at hiding it, but you’re more clever than you give yourself credit for. Do you think Daniel knows?”

  “According to Jilly, no. Personally, I think Daniel’s too busy channeling all his brain power into other pursuits to notice.” They both laughed, remembering the waffles he’d made that morning. He’d taken Mom’s waffle batter, mixed in jelly beans and then laid a slice of bologna on the top before closing the waffle iron. Mom made him eat three bites of his concoction before he was allowed to throw it away and eat a regular waffle.

  When they got home, it dawned on Madelyn that she and Mom had never had such a serious discussion in their lives. Maybe Dad being gone wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

  Friday

  It was hard to tell who was more nervous, Madelyn or Mom, when they went to meet with Mrs. Cutler the next morning. Mom didn’t say much but spent extra time fixing her hair and straightening her skirt. If it weren’t for Jillian scooting them out the door, they would have been late.

  As for Madelyn, she hadn’t been able to eat breakfast. The butterflies in her stomach felt more like a whole load of spinning laundry.

  Mrs. Cutler called them into her classroom at 10:00 on the dot. She had raised her eyebrows when she saw them waiting in the hallway. Madelyn wondered if she expected them to be late and silently thanked Jillian.

  “So, let’s see what you can do,” she said to Mom, indicating a chair by her desk. She ignored Madelyn who found an out-of-the-way corner with a chair to settle in. Occasional sounds came from their direction but little else.

  After about a half an hour, Mrs. Cutler stood up and surprised Madelyn by marching over to where she sat. “Your mother can’t read. And in cases like this, it’s very difficult to teach someone to read once they’ve reached adulthood.” She said it matter-of-factly, with no emotion of any kind.

  “What?”

  “When we can work with non-readers when they’re young, well then it might be different. But there are clearly obstacles to overcome. The effort it would take at this point, on my end and on hers, is just too great. So, I suggest you just take her home and let her continue as she’s done. With illiterate adults, I’ve found they’ve usually created a number of coping mechanisms. I’m sure she’ll do just fine.”

  Madelyn could see past Mrs. Cutler to where Mom had come up behind her. The hurt etched in the lines of her face threatened to haunt Madelyn the rest of her life.

  “Mrs. Cutler, why are you speaking to me about my mother as if she weren’t here?” Her blood was beginning to boil, and she knew if she said another word there would be no stopping her. But one look at her mom and her course was set.

  “You stand there in judgment of a woman you know nothing about. You even have the gall to imply she can’t learn. Well, let me tell you something. She is an intelligent, amazing woman and certainly more caring and warm than the likes of you! How dare you speak about her to me as if she were nothing more than a household pet.

  “Do you know what she’s done? When she was just a small child, she taught her brother, who has cerebral palsy, how to walk and how to talk. The experts, people like you, said it couldn’t be done, that he couldn’t learn. But she worked with him every day until he could. She never gave up on him, and I’m never giving up on her.”

  Mrs. Cutler’s eyes were open wide. It’s doubtful anyone had ever spoken to her that way before, but Madelyn figured maybe it was about time. “You’ve been extremely rude and insensitive to my mom. I’m trying to help her, and all you can do is shoot her down. I’m sorry we ever came to you.” Her anger was quickly threatening to turn to tears. In an effort to stave them off, she mustered her best mom-voice and said, “Before we leave, I would like you to turn around and speak to my mother, and it better be nothing short of a heartfelt apology.”

  Her mouth was agape, but Madelyn gave her a glare that closed it. She slowly turned to see an equally surprised woman directly behind her. “I didn’t mean anything by that, I just –”

  “Try again,” Madelyn said, interrupting.

  Without turning in her direction, Mrs. Cutler said, “I’m truly sorry. I wish you the best.” She hadn’t retracted her words, so Madelyn raised her eyebrows at Mom, silently asking her opinion. Mom nodded. They would declare it good enough. Then, as if they had practiced the move, they simultaneously turned toward the door and marched out without so much as a backward glance.

  As they exited the school in silence, it dawned on Madelyn what she’d said, and to an adult authority figure to boot. “You know, Mom, if you can arrange it, I think it would be best if I don’t have Mrs. Cutler as an English teacher at any point during high school,” she said. They looked at each other and started giggling, the tension breaking and falling like bits of glass around them.

  In between giggles, Mom said, “I’m guessing she would be in agreement.”

  The tears came to Madelyn’s eyes now—a result of her giggles mixed with the stress of what she’d witnessed and participated in. She wiped them away, glad Mrs. Cutler wasn’t there to see them. “I’m sorry, Mom. I love you.”

  “You don’t have anything to apologize for. And I love you too, Madelyn.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” She smiled and climbed into the car to head home. She didn’t know what her next step was going to be, but she was certain they’d figure out something. Lost in her determined thoughts, Madelyn didn’t notice Mom’s silence or the single tear running down her cheek.

  Mom pulled into the garage then turned off the car without making any move toward opening her door. After a minute she turned to Madelyn. “I appreciate what you did back there. Those were kind words. But she’s right, you know. I really can’t.” And before Madelyn could reply, she slipped out of the car and into the house.

  It was a long time before Madelyn moved from her seat. If it weren’t for Daniel, she probably would have stayed there all day. He came into the garage poking around for something. When he noticed Madelyn, he knocked on the car door until she cranked down the window.

  “Whatcha doin’?”

  “Thinking.”

  “About Mom?”

  “Um, yeah. How did you know?”

  “Jilly told me. She figured I needed to know what was happening. How’d she get so smart anyway? She supposed to be my little sister, but she always seems to know more than I do.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

  “So, what’s up?”

  She debated how much to tell him, stalling while she opened the door and got out of the car. “The teacher thinks Mom can’t learn to read.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “No, and what’s worse, Mom believes her.”

  “Where does she live? We ought to toilet paper her house or something.”

  That at least made Madelyn smile just a little. “I don’t think that would help. Besides, I already gave her a piece of my mind.”

  “You did? Good for you, Madelyn. I didn’t know you could do that. I mean, stand up for Mom and all.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, we all know you’d do anything for Dad, but Mom’s another story.” Madelyn was taken aback and st
arted unconsciously balling her fists. “Hey, don’t punch me. It’s a compliment.”

  It was a back-handed compliment if she’d ever heard one, but she decided to let it go. “Okay, but what do I do about Mom?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Get a second opinion.” He was right, of course. Only this time Madelyn needed to stack the deck in her favor.

  . . .

  Mrs. Burnham opened the door quickly after her heavy knocking. “What’s wrong?”

  “Am I that obvious?”

  “Well, I don’t remember such angry knocking from a friend, and your look could burn holes right through me.”

  Madelyn laughed, thinking of the “Burnham’s burners” nickname they had given to Mrs. Burnham’s looks, and now the shoe was on the other foot. But her expression was puzzled, so she stifled the remainder of her laughter. It wasn’t until that moment that Madelyn realized Mrs. Burnham had called her a friend. She was touched but also ashamed of her earlier opinion of this lonely woman.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve been rude,” Madelyn said. Mrs. Burnham nodded her head and stepped back to invite her in. Madelyn knew the apology had come across as apologizing for laughing without explanation. Honestly, she wasn’t sure how to appropriately apologize for the rest. How could she say she was sorry for having unkind thoughts without admitting what those unkind thoughts were? Surely that would hurt more than it would help.