“Pearl got her titties in the taters!” Mama squeals, pointing.
Aunt Pearl peers down at the blob of white fluff on her chest. She looks around at all of us grinning, then lops the potatoes off her apron top and licks her fingers. “Mmm-mmm! Just makes ’em taste sweeter,” she says. This sets everybody off again, including Mama, who laughs the loudest. I want to freeze this moment for as long as possible. It almost seems as if God has given us back our mama for Christmas.
When the table’s all set I find Grandpa in the living room, bent over the hi-fi. He drops Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” album onto the spindle and gently sets the arm on the first groove. Whoever wrote the song obviously doesn’t live in Michigan. We’ve never had to dream about snow in December. Sometimes we’ve had to wear snow boots with our Halloween costumes.
I follow Grandpa to the sofa and sit next to him even before his backside is completely on the cushion. I lift his three-fingered hand and lace my fingers between his. The two fingers between the index and the pinkie are missing except for a couple stubs. It’s the same as one of the hand signals we learned in school this year. His hand says “I love you” in deaf language.
“Tell me again how you lost two fingers, Grandpa.”
He looks at our big and little hands tangled up together and smiles. “Well, I was working at the furniture factory when the guy next to me left his blade running without a shield. He shouted something and when I turned his blade sheared off the last three fingers.”
I cringe every time he tells it and yet I love the story. “Then how come only two are missing?”
“Because the pinkie was still dangling from the knuckle and the doctors were able to sew it back on.”
“You went to the hospital?”
He grins because he knows I’m egging him on. “I did. Had the prettiest nurse in the whole wide world.”
I point to the picture of Grandma and Grandpa atop the upright piano against the far wall in the living room. “And you married her, right?”
“You bet I did.”
I hug him and settle back onto his flannel-shirted chest. I don’t remember my grandma, but Grandpa swears I was her favorite grandchild, though I had to promise never to tell my sisters. It’s been one of the hardest promises I’ve ever had to keep. What good is being best if nobody else knows it?
Grandpa pulls a pipe out of his pocket, packs it with tobacco, and lights it with a match. He waits for me to blow it out, then sucks and puffs until the sweet smell fills my nose. Mama doesn’t like the smell of Grandpa’s pipe, but I do. Two Christmases ago I was sick with an earache and when he blew hot smoke into my ear, the pain went away.
Grandpa whistles along with the music between puffs. He can whistle just about every tune ever written. He sings a few of them, too. He once taught me “I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles,” which Chastity and I sing in the bathtub when one of us farts underwater.
“Pa?” Mama calls from the kitchen. “You smoking in the house?”
Grandpa winks at me and we sneak out onto the back porch so he can finish his pipe.
* * *
I already know which presents are mine. They’ve been under the tree for nearly a week. We always open our gifts on Christmas Eve, when other kids are still writing love letters to St. Nicholas and setting out cookies and milk. We aren’t allowed to believe in pagan idols like Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. Daddy says if you mix the letters around, Santa spells Satan. I know better than to mention that if you mix the letters around in God, it spells dog.
Waiting to open our presents takes forever. When the last dish is wiped and put away we all gather in the living room, where Daddy reads the Christmas story from the Bible. He clears his throat and waits for us to quiet down before he begins.
“In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be enrolled . . .”
I try to listen but after a couple of sentences it just sounds like blah, blah, blah because I’ve heard it a million times. I stare at the fat red, blue, and green lightbulbs, then move my attention to a string of smaller lights shaped like candles draped near the bottom of the tree. Tiny bubbles float up to the tips and disappear. Bubble lights are the most magical thing about Christmas since we’ve never had Santa or the reindeer.
“And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told to them.”
Daddy closes his Bible and nods at Hope to hand out the presents. Being the oldest, she always gets to pass out the gifts even though she takes so long to read the labels we could scream.
Hope studies the pile under the tree. “Should we let Chastity and Grace open the music boxes first?” She slaps her hand over her mouth when she realizes what she’s done.
Joy throws a fallen ornament at her. “Hope!”
Hope starts crying. “I’m sorry,” she blubbers.
I look to see if Chastity’s going to make a fuss, but she’s already tearing into the paper.
“It’s okay,” I say. “We had a pretty good idea anyway.” Chastity and I open our packages at the same time. Besides the music box, I get a jigsaw puzzle, a pot-holder loom, and Silly Putty. I save the boring clothes box for last, halfheartedly tearing the paper and lifting the cover. Inside I’m surprised to find a handmade red-and-white-striped flannel nightgown with lace bodice and ruffled long sleeves. Chastity holds up a green flowered nightie. When I look at Mama she’s grinning at me in a way that makes her tired eyes almost sparkle.
We got White Shoulders perfume for Mama and a vinyl zip-up case for Daddy to keep his Bible in so all the religious tracts won’t fall out. Aunt Pearl gave us the money for their gifts since our allowance isn’t enough. She says we earned it in hugs. I hand Aunt Pearl the package that Hope wrapped in glittery white tissue paper. Chastity and I made a card that reads, Merry Christmas to a Pearl of an Aunt. All us girls chipped in to buy Aunt Pearl a new pair of yellow slippers with red bows on the toes. Aunt Pearl starts bawling when she opens her gift. She sure does love slippers.
Snow falls outside the window as Uncle Bill drives away in Aunt Arlene’s pink Cadillac, leaving fresh tire tracks in the driveway. Everyone is tired out except me and we tuck in early. When Chastity falls asleep I get up and gaze through the frosted bedroom window at the mounds of fluffy snow on the branches in the trees. Colored lights from a neighbor’s house blink on and off, reflecting my face in the glass. When the house is quiet I tiptoe downstairs in the dark and find my way by smell to our tree.
Besides presents, having the scent of the woods in our living room is my favorite thing about Christmas. I plug in the cord and lie on the floor, waiting for the magic liquid inside the bubble lights to warm. Rubbing the soft flannel of my new nightie between my finger and thumb, I look upward through the tinseled branches. My thoughts turn to Lyle and I wonder where he might be sleeping tonight. With money saved from my allowance, I bought him a black comb in a plastic sleeve. I wrapped it in tissue paper and left it on the front pew in the loft. The last time I checked it was still there. It must be awful not to enjoy Christmas with your family.
I imagine Lola’s family and the tree they cut down after snowshoeing to the back of their property together last week, now filled with artful ornaments and the handmade gifts beneath it. Their annual Christmas Eve tradition includes dressing up in costumes to put on a play even though there’s no audience. Tomorrow their home will be filled with music and laughter and Chinese food. I would give anything to be part of it.
In the distance I hear bells jingle in the wind. I know it’s the street-lamp decorations blowing around, but just for a moment I allow myself to imagine there really is a Santa. What if it was him, and not God, who gave us back Mama today? What if the only reason he’s never stopped at our house is because no one here besides me believes in magic?
12
I thought having Marilyn home would keep Mama fastened to normal, but she’s still off. After seeming almost like her old se
lf on Christmas she’s right back to how she was before. As much as Chastity can be a brat, I feel sorry for her this morning when she climbs into Mama’s lap, then slides off like Jell-O. Not one to give up, she takes one of Mama’s arms and puts it around her shoulder, but it hangs there like a wet dishrag.
Chastity pats Mama’s face. “Mama?”
Mama slowly turns toward her. “Hmmm?”
“You wanna play old maid?”
Mama doesn’t answer. She looks past Chastity at me standing in the doorway.
Chastity tries again. “Mama?”
It’s like watching my sister put pennies into a machine with no gumballs left. I can’t take it anymore so I tell Chastity I’ll play old maid with her even though she always cries when she loses.
In her best baby voice, she says, “I don’t wanna play wif you. I wanna play wif Mama.”
When Mama doesn’t take the baby-talk bait, Chastity cradles Mama’s head in her hands and turns it back toward her. A bit of drool runs onto Chastity’s hands. She quickly pulls them away and wipes them on Mama’s robe. Aunt Pearl walks up behind me with Marilyn wrapped in the blue blanket Daddy bought, before he knew it was another girl. She looks from Chastity to me and shakes her head, mumbling under her breath as she moves toward Mama. Marilyn’s eyes are wide open, but she’s quiet as a prayer. That baby nearly never cries. It’s almost as if she knows she’s already more than Mama can handle without her adding to the fuss.
Aunt Pearl sets Marilyn on Mama’s lap, lifting her arm off Chastity and making sure it stays put around the baby. She musses Chastity’s curls, then glances in my direction.
“Shoo, girls. Your mama’s gotta nurse now. She needs quiet.”
I wander into the next room, but Chastity stays put. I hear Aunt Pearl talking softly before it goes quiet except for the sounds of Marilyn suckling from Mama. Chastity walks past me and up the stairs with a nickel clenched in her fingers. I almost want to send her into the closet to talk to Isaac because he has a way of making everything better. But she wouldn’t be able to hear him. Besides, I’m not about to share the one thing I don’t have to.
It’s bad enough that I’ve had to share Aunt Pearl. And now she’s going back home tomorrow. Watching her pack this morning just about killed me. Daddy says Mama’s feeling better and with the help of ladies from the church we can take care of ourselves just fine. Daddy’s wrong. Mama still needs Aunt Pearl. I need her. She makes me feel perfect just the way I am.
After my morning chores I find Aunt Pearl in the kitchen with Marilyn over her shoulder, patting the baby’s back.
“Let it go, SweePea,” she says. “That air ain’t payin’ rent.”
Marilyn burps and Aunt Pearl laughs. She hands the baby off to Joy and points to a chair. “Sit, young lady,” she says to me.
Aunt Pearl brushes my hair into a fat, fuzzy ponytail. She pulls a rubber binder around and snaps it into place. “Don’t worry, Grace. I’ll be back to visit.”
“Can’t I go with you?”
“You have to stay here with your family, shoog. They need you.”
“But I want to live with you!” I jump off the chair and turn to look into Aunt Pearl’s green eyes. “Aunt Pearl, please . . .”
“Shhhh. Shush, child.” She pulls me close, rocking back and forth.
Mama walks into the kitchen with a basket of ironing and dumps it out on the table. Half the clothes spill onto the floor. Aunt Pearl lets go of me and gathers them up. She sprinkles water on Daddy’s Sunday shirts before rolling them up for the ironing basket. Mama starts humming a song I don’t recognize, something about a wayward wind. Hearing her beautiful voice, Aunt Pearl nearly starts to cry herself. I know how she feels. Sometimes I wish I could catch Mama’s voice in a jar and keep it beside my bed at night, let each note light the darkness like a captured firefly.
I leave Mama and Aunt Pearl in the kitchen and set out to look for Lyle. It’s been over a month since I’ve seen him in the loft. I know he still comes around because sometimes the food I leave is gone, but more often than not it’s still sitting there and I have to toss it out. When I reach the top rung of the ladder a cough sounds from the back of the loft. I don’t see him until he sits up. From the looks of his hair sticking straight out you’d think he’d been scuffling across the living room carpet in Aunt Pearl’s slippers. He’s wearing a scarf around his neck and old wool gloves with holes where a couple of the fingers should be.
“Hello, Gracie.”
“I’ve been worried about you, Lyle. Where’ve you been?”
“Oh, around,” he says, getting to his feet. His knees crack when he stands up straight. Well, not too straight. Looks like he might tip over if you gave him a good nudge. I hand him a banana and he says, “Thank you, kindly,” before shoving it in his pocket.
“You have a nice Christmas, young lady?” He asks like it was yesterday instead of a month ago.
“I got some neat stuff and Mama made me a new nightie.”
“If your mama’s sewing is anything like her cooking, you must have gotten a fine nightshirt.” He slips the comb out of his shirt pocket and holds it up. “Had a pretty nice holiday myself.”
I feel my cheeks blush. He spits on the comb and slowly slicks back his white hair, one hand smoothing it over, grinning at me.
“Actually, Aunt Pearl has been doing most of the good cooking. Mama makes the easy stuff like macaroni and cheese.”
“Imagine that. Two mothers. You’re one lucky gal, aren’t ya?”
“That’s the problem. Aunt Pearl is going back to Mississippi. Daddy says Mama is well enough to get on without her, but I don’t think she is. I don’t want Aunt Pearl to leave.”
“Well, now. That is a problem, isn’t it?” He retrieves the banana and peels it halfway. He’s breathing hard through his nose, as though he’s just run up a flight of stairs. I watch him eat the entire thing in silence, except for his loud breathing.
“Sometimes it’s hard not getting what we want. Doesn’t seem fair.”
I nod enthusiastically, glad to hear someone is on my side.
“But your aunt Pearl might need a rest. She’s quite a bit older than your mother, even older than your father, isn’t she?”
I nod again. It’s funny how he says mother and father, so formal-like for a hobo.
“Well, that makes her prit-near sixty. I imagine she’s a bit tuckered out from taking care of you and your sisters plus your mother for the past month or two. You don’t want to wear her out, do you?”
“Of course not. I don’t want to do anything that would be hard on her.”
“Then it’s settled. Your aunt Pearl needs a rest.” He rolls up the banana peel and slips it into his pocket. He pats my leg. “She’ll be back. From what you’ve told me she loves you too much to stay away for long.”
Lyle’s right, but I still don’t want Aunt Pearl to leave. My mouth folds into a pout before I can stop it. He puts his arm around my shoulder.
“She’ll be back, Gracie,” he says again, resting his head on top of mine. Lyle has never touched me before and I have to admit I never thought I’d like being this close to a bum, but it feels just fine.
* * *
By the time I wake up the next morning Aunt Pearl’s all packed except for a pair of pink slippers I found under the sofa. I hold them out to her. “Here. You almost forgot these.”
“Why don’t you keep them, shoog. I expect they’ll fit you. Try ’em on.”
I drop to the floor and pull off my socks, then walk across the room to show how good they fit. “Perfect!” I say, ignoring the backs flopping at my heels.
“You might want to tuck a bit of tissue into the toes,” she says.
We both laugh, which only reminds me how much fun we have together and that makes me sad again.
“Are you sure you have to go, Aunt Pearl?”
“I’m sure.”
She backs herself onto my bed and pats it. I sit next to her and lean into her chubby arm.<
br />
“I want you to call if you ever need help, Grace.” She pulls a piece of paper from her pocket with a phone number and address written on it. “And you better write and tell me how you’re getting along, you hear?”
I nod, my eyes already burning with a cry that’ll probably last for hours. She pulls me into her lap even though I’m way too big. I think I’d about like to die there.
Daddy hollers up the stairs that it’s time to take Aunt Pearl to the bus stop. As we trudge down the stairway it’s all I can do not to start crying again. I’ve been blowing my nose all day, and Daddy says if I don’t stop sulking I have to stay up in my room when she leaves. I watch through the living room window as he throws Aunt Pearl’s last suitcase into the back of our Volkswagen and slams the rolling door. Steam floats out of his mouth on account of how cold it is. Aunt Pearl buttons up her wool coat and grabs her big, black pocketbook off the dining room table. She goes down the line hugging each of us one at a time, starting with Hope, who says, “God bless you, Aunt Pearl.”
Aunt Pearl kisses Mama’s cheek and then the back of Marilyn’s neck as she sleeps over Mama’s shoulder. Joy doesn’t like to be hugged much, but she allows it out of politeness. I catch Aunt Pearl slipping a dollar into her pocket, which will make Joy’s day for sure. She hugs Chastity, who hangs on her neck until it’d like to break off before Joy says to let go.
I made sure to be at the end of the line so I could have her last. All Aunt Pearl has to do is look at me and I burst out crying again. She folds herself around me, her wool coat scratching at my cheek. I breathe in as deep as I can to keep her smell memory with me after she’s gone.
“Don’t worry, SweePea. I’ll be back to visit. You call me if you need anything.”
She stands upright and surveys the lot of us one last time. “Y’all be good to your mama,” she says.
Outside Daddy beeps the horn in one long honk. I feel like howling with it. Then before I can blink she’s out the door. I run to the window and watch our green VW bus drive up the dirty-snow street with its two red-eyed taillights staring back at me.
This I Know Page 11