This I Know

by Eldonna Edwards

  “You ready, Mama?”

  She spritzes a bit of her favorite White Shoulders on her wrists and neck. I hand her my lace-tipped hankie and she sprays a tiny bit of perfume into it. She hands it back to me, smiling.

  “Just about,” she says.

  I wait for her to tell me how pretty I look, but she’s smudging pink lipstick with a tissue, which takes all her concentration, so I go wait on the front porch for my chaperone. When Mrs. McBurney arrives at our house I can’t help but smile. She’s wearing a veiled hat with a black dress. I pin a pink corsage to her collar, holding my breath so as not to smell her.

  “Thank you, Joy,” she says. People always get our names mixed up even though we’re really different. “I’m Grace,” I say. “Shall we go?”

  Despite looking like she’s dressed for a funeral, Mrs. McBurney’s face beams as we walk across the street together. I don’t think she even notices when I scoot my chair a bit farther away from her at the banquet table. We’re sitting across from Donna Sue Brady from my Sunday school class. I’m still mad at her for that time she ratted on me last year, but at least I have someone besides adults to talk to.

  Donna Sue leans forward and taps me on the hand. “Did you hear about that blind girl?”

  “No. What happened?”

  “Nobody’s seen her for a few weeks.”

  “Really?”

  Donna Sue nods. “I heard her grandma sent her off to some special school for the blind.”

  Donna Sue’s mama smacks her daughter in the back of the head. “That’s enough!”

  I’m dying to hear more, but Mrs. Brady starts in about how gossip is a sin and we shouldn’t be spreading rumors about the Anderson girl. I head to the banquet table before I say something I might regret.

  The food is mostly casseroles. I fill my plate with mashed potatoes and cake and start shoveling it into my mouth while several church ladies read mother-themed poems and stories. Hope says her verses without missing a single word and gets lots of applause. After dinner they give away the table decorations to the person who has an X under her chair, as if anyone would actually want an ugly piece of Styrofoam with a glittery MOM and fake flowers sticking out of it. But when Hope gets the X at our table she cradles her prize as if it were made of real gold. She shows it to Mama, who drops it, spilling glitter all over the white paper tablecloth. Hope looks like she’s about to cry until another lady trades hers for the one she got.

  It’s finally time to announce “Mother of the Year.” Last year when they chose Mama I just about fell out of my chair. She’d stood on the podium bawling until Mrs. Franks went up and helped her back to her seat. I guess they felt obligated to choose her since she’s the pastor’s wife, but last year was definitely not an award-winning kind of year for Mama. Even before Marilyn was born, she was already starting to slip away from us.

  I drop my forkful of chocolate cake when Mrs. Franks announces this year’s winner.

  “Violet McBurney,” she says into the microphone.

  I look over at my temporary mother-for-a-night to watch her reaction. She just sits there gazing sweetly at Mrs. Franks, who is wearing a satisfied smile.

  “You won!” I say, reaching over to jiggle Mrs. McBurney’s wrinkly arm.

  She startles out of her glazed-over stare and looks at me. “Me? No, you must have heard wrong, honey.”

  “Violet?” Mrs. Franks repeats her name. “Come on up, dear.”

  I watch as my “mother” slowly removes the napkin from her lap and sets it on the table. She rises from her chair and hobbles up to the platform. One of her legs is shorter than the other so when she walks it looks as though she’s climbing over something with each step. By the time she reaches Mrs. Franks everybody in the place is clapping. I’m clapping so hard my hands burn. I feel proud, even if I’m just her pretend daughter for tonight. I look toward Mama, who has fallen asleep in her chair. Not even a room full of clapping wakes her. Hope’s pretending not to notice, but I catch her kicking at Mama’s leg with the toe of her red shoe.

  Mrs. McBurney accepts the wooden plaque from Mrs. Franks and holds it close to her body. She chews on the side of her mouth like she always does when she’s nervous. She stands in front of the crowd with her slip hanging below her old dress and holes in both her stockings, too bewildered to speak. After all the women settle down she tilts her chin toward the microphone and squeaks out a crackly, “Thank you.”

  When Mrs. McBurney sits back at our table, tears run down her cheek and I realize mine are wet, too. I scoot my chair next to hers and put my head on her shoulder. She takes my hand and strokes the top of it with her callused thumb. Beneath the layer of cigar smoke and perspiration a cross between homemade biscuits and Ponds moisturizing cream breaks through the surface of her wrinkled skin.

  When we get home from the banquet I sneak out the back door and climb the steps to the loft two at a time. I’ve decided I can’t wait until morning to talk about the banquet and to tell Lyle I know he was telling the truth the other night.

  “Lyle? Are you back there?”

  No answer. I look everywhere, even under the pews, but the place is entirely empty of all his things. No paper plates, no jacket, no blanket. Not even the fork he leaves on the pew for me to wash. The only thing left of Lyle is the shape of his body in the pile of straw.

  16

  On the last day of school Lola steps off the sidewalk and climbs the stairs of the bus. I feel like the best part of my life is about to disappear. What if she ends up not liking me anymore like most everyone else in school? What if she makes a new best friend over the summer and I’m all alone again? Now that Lyle has disappeared it feels like I’ll be completely alone. They are the only two people around here who I can be myself with and not feel like a weirdo.

  Lola pulls the latches and slides the bus window down so we can talk. “Don’t look so sad, Grace. It’s not like we can’t still chat on the phone.” The bus doors close and the wheels start to roll. I chase after it, waving wildly. “Call me!” Lola grins, throwing me the peace sign. Just as the bus reaches the far end of the lot I catch sight of her two white butt cheeks pressed against the window of the emergency doors at the back of the bus. I love her so much.

  I walk back inside the school and stand with my hands on my hips watching Chastity slowly empty the cubby outside her third grade classroom. She checks both sides of apiece of paper, then carefully folds it into a neat square before tucking it into a pocket folder. Knowing Chas, she’ll organize everything to take home, right down to the last eraser.

  “Hurry up, slowpoke,” I say. “School will be starting again by the time you finish.”

  “I have to clean everything out. Miss Burmeister said so.”

  “Fine. You can walk home by yourself.”

  When I start to turn away she dumps everything into a paper bag and runs up the empty hallway.

  “Wait up!” She catches up to me at the front doors. “Did you pass sixth grade?”

  “Of course, dodo bird. Only dummies don’t pass.”

  “So did you pass?”

  “Shut up, Chas.”

  “I’m telling Daddy you said shut up.”

  “Yeah, well, how about I tell him you were on the monkey bars in your dress again with boys staring up at your underpants?”

  “Was not.”

  “Were too.”

  I push through the double glass doors and Chastity runs out ahead of me. A wave of dread passes through me before I recognize what it is. The tiny red hairs on my arm stand straight up and my feet refuse to move. My sister calls to me from the sidewalk.

  “Why are you just standing there? I thought you were in a hurry.” When she turns around to look for me she busts out laughing. “Your hair!” she says. “You look like you stuck your finger in a light socket.”

  “Look up,” I say, pointing.

  Above us a sticky wind plays roughly with the American flag as it smacks against our yellowed sky. The air feels thick w
ith raindrops hanging just out of reach, waiting for permission to let go. Up and down the street, people start spilling out of their houses, gazing toward heaven. They step softly, as if the ground might give way beneath their feet.

  “C’mon, Chas. There’s a storm coming.”

  Joy rolls up on her new Schwinn 3-speed. “You guys better hurry or you’re going to get sucked up by a tornado,” she says, grinning.

  “Tornados don’t really suck people up,” I say.

  “How do you know? Oh yeah. You know everything.” She straddles the powder-blue bar and pats the seat behind her for Chastity to hitch a ride. “The rest of us listen to the weatherman.”

  Chastity tosses her bag into the front wicker basket and climbs up, holding on to Joy’s waist with her chubby arms.

  “Say hello to the Wizard of Oz for me!” Joy says.

  “Look out for that house falling on you!” I shout as they speed away. But the wind carries my words the wrong way, slapping me in the face with a picture of Joy’s brown shoes sticking out from under our front porch. I shake the image from my mind. As much as she bugs me, I love my sister. The thought of losing another person is just too much much.

  The train whistle blows in the distance as it chugs through town. Leaves swirl around my feet, then catch a ride into the air before chasing down the street. I run all the way home. When I reach the house, Joy’s bike is on its side with the wheels still spinning. Mama stands in the front yard, a flowered housedress dancing around her bare legs. Her crinkled forehead relaxes a bit when she sees me, then folds again as she peers up the road.

  “Hope’s not home yet,” we say at the same time.

  Mama glances at her watch. “The bus should be here by now.”

  The bus driver has started dropping Hope off in front of our house. She says it’s on her way home anyway, and this way she can make sure Hope doesn’t leave anything behind.

  “Let’s go inside, Mama. You can watch from the porch.” I tug at her arm, but she refuses to move.

  “Go on, Grace. I’ll be right in.”

  As soon as the screen door slams behind me the sky opens up. Within seconds Mama is soaked to the bone. I run back out and grab her hand, pulling her into the house just as the town siren starts to howl. Somebody has sighted a funnel cloud.

  “I’ve got Marilyn,” Joy hollers on her way to the basement.

  I pull two blankets out of the linen closet and hand them to Chastity. “Here. Take these downstairs. I’ll be right back.” Climbing two steps at a time, I run to our room and pull Monopoly and Scrabble from under our bed. I stop to watch the rain gushing from the eaves past our window. As I head down the basement stairs I utter a silent prayer. Please, God, let Lyle be okay.

  We take our place in the northeast corner of the basement, just like always. My heart thundering inside my chest seems almost as loud as the storm outside.

  “I get to be banker,” Joy says, setting up the board. Chastity and I don’t even try to argue with her. Joy always gets to be banker. She dumps the playing pieces into the lid of the box and grabs her favorite. “I’m the car.”

  “I’ll be the dog,” I say. I like the dog. Daddy won’t let us have one. The only reason he allowed Pippy is because Mama fell in love with the kitten I found in the barn when we moved here.

  Chastity picks up each of the silver-colored pieces one by one, studying them. She tucks her feet under her blue dress and chews on her lower lip.

  Joy sighs. “For crying out loud, Chas, just pick one or I’ll pick it for you.”

  “I’ll be the iron,” Chastity finally says.

  Joy and I both giggle. Only Chastity would pick the iron.

  I glance toward the stairs. “What do you think is taking Mama so long?”

  “She’s still waiting for Hope. Stop worrying and roll the dice to see who goes first.”

  I roll snake eyes, which means I’m last. While my sisters take their first turns I run up the stairs to see what’s keeping Mama. I find her at the front picture window, shivering. A brilliant jagged line lights up the darkened sky outside, immediately followed by a crack! that makes us both jump.

  “Mama?”

  She doesn’t move. I close my eyes and make a picture of Hope in my mind. I see her huddled on the floor with her hands clasped over her head, praying to beat the band. “Mama, she’s still at her school.”

  Mama turns to look at me. “She’s okay?” she whispers.

  I nod.

  We both look toward the phone just before it rings. It’s one of the other mamas telling us that Hope’s school is keeping the kids until the threat of tornado is over. Mama’s hand trembles as she sets the receiver back on the cradle. I know she’s thinking about that ice-cream truck and how she almost lost Hope once before.

  In the window behind Mama, I glimpse Daddy holding a newspaper over his head as he bolts from the church parking lot toward our house. It’s strange to see Daddy run. I’ve never even seen him walk fast before. Just as he reaches our yard a gust of wind wrestles the newspaper from his hands and carries it up the street. He crashes through the front door staring at us like a wild-eyed dog.

  “Why aren’t you all in the basement? There’s a tornado over Lake Michigan headed this way!” He says it through gasps, his chest heaving. Mama moves back to the window, twisting the hem of her wet dress with her fingers.

  “She’s worried about Hope,” I say. “The school’s keeping the kids until the storm passes.”

  He walks up behind Mama. “She’s safer there, Izzy.” He tugs at her arm, but she resists.

  I touch her other arm. “She’s gonna be okay, Mama.”

  She relaxes just a bit and lets Daddy lead her toward the basement stairs.

  “Grace, get going,” he says, nudging me with his hand against the middle of my back.

  In the basement, Mama keeps her ear glued to the weather reports on a transistor radio while the storm howls outside. Daddy holds her hand, squeezing every now and then to let her know he’s still there. A curtain of rain pelts the glass until the window wells fill with muddy water. My sisters and I pass the time trying to scare each other and sneaking past Boardwalk.

  “I heard it sounds like a train roaring overhead,” Joy says, as she steals a fifty from Free Parking. She adjusts Marilyn, who has fallen asleep, to her other arm.

  A huge crack of thunder booms above us, rattling the windows. Chastity scampers over to Mama and Daddy and I follow. The lights flicker on and off twice before the room goes completely dark. Above us our whole house shakes, the wind leaning it one way and then the house fighting its way back to center. Mama starts humming “A Shelter in the Time of Storm,” which is meant to comfort us but for some reason makes me even more scared. Chastity climbs onto Daddy’s knee and I lean against Mama’s shoulder. Even when the next bolt of lightning hits a tree in the yard, Joy stays silent in the corner holding Marilyn. The light throws itself over the shape of my sister, her blanket like a superhero cape around her narrow shoulders.

  Half an hour passes before the wind finally quiets down and the rain becomes light finger taps on the windows. A voice from Mama’s radio announces that the twister touched down on a farm about two miles west of Cherry Hill and then disappeared. When the weatherman gives the all clear, Daddy says we can go upstairs.

  We stand outside in the aftermath of the tornado that has missed us by three hills. Roof shingles dot the yard between broken branches that carpet the wet ground. It looks like there’s enough of them to make up a whole tree. A telephone pole rests across the cab of our neighbor’s truck. I glance toward the barn. If only Lyle were in there, safe and sound. When Daddy follows my gaze I look away.

  “Thank God it jumped those hills,” Daddy says, shaking his head at the mess.

  He sends me to fetch the trash barrel and we all start picking up the smaller branches. “Might as well not waste any time pouting,” he says.

  Mama’s gone back to staring up the road. About the time the barrel
is heaped full, Hope’s bus pulls up in front of the house. She trips on a branch and lands with both palms out, but scrambles right back up. Mama runs over and hugs her like you do someone you haven’t seen for years. The bus pulls away and a TV van from WCHR takes its place in front of our house. A man I recognize from the six o’clock news jumps out. He and Daddy talk in hushed voices before the man waves for his cameraman to join them. The next thing I know Daddy’s standing on the sidewalk with a bright light shining in his face.

  “Reverend Carter,” the man says, “were you afraid?”

  Daddy looks straight into the camera. “No, sir. If God had seen fit to take me and my family to be with Him, then so be it. As it was, He spared us. That just means the Lord has more work for me to do here.” Before the interviewer can ask the next question, Daddy pulls the microphone toward his face. “And for those of you listening, you may want to show up in church on Sunday and show your gratitude for His mercy.”

  The man in the trench coat wrenches the mike from Daddy’s grip. “Thank you, Reverend,” he says, and makes a “cut” sign under his chin.

  When nobody is watching I sneak up to the loft. Still no Lyle. I sit on the front pew and close my eyes. I try to picture where he might be, but my mind is like a blank chalkboard. The Knowing isn’t like a ghost that can go through closed doors. If someone doesn’t want me to see them, I can’t. But I can feel him. I feel his loneliness and his sadness as if they are my own. Maybe they are mine. Maybe the reason we get along so well is because we know exactly how the other feels.

  His fork sticks out from under a pile of straw. I pick it up and wipe it off on my shirt. Some part of Lyle is still on the fork because I can feel him here, even though he’s not. I put the back of the prongs against my cheek and close my eyes. I see a boat a tiny ways off from an unfamiliar shore. Pine trees line the bank with a little cabin set back into the woods. A barefoot woman walks out the front door and down to the shore. She has a handsome face, like an Indian princess. She waves excitedly to the man on the boat. He stands, shades his eyes with his hand, and smiles in a way that takes up all the light from the surface of the water.