“Oh. Yeah. A couple. Two or three maybe.” She picked up the curling iron and twirled it around a strand of Margaret’s hair.
“Will you read them to me?” Margaret asked, looking up sideways. Her aunt squinted as if trying to remember something.
Thomas’s pencil had fallen, unnoticed. He couldn’t believe it. Not one letter from his mother, but Aunt Lena had gotten two or three. He didn’t understand. Couldn’t figure it out. Did she love her sister more than her own kids?
Margaret asked again. Would Aunt Lena read her the letters?
“No, I can’t, dolly, I … I threw them out. Wasn’t much in ’em. Nothing you’d care anything about.” Aunt Lena undid the curled strand and rolled up another. “Lady talk, you know.”
“Did she tell when she’s coming home?”
“Uh … no, hon, she didn’t. Not that I remember anyhow.”
“How come she left? Did she say?”
“There was all kindsa reasons. I think … well, gee. I don’t know, she wasn’t happy … and sometimes … well, things just weren’t going too good here and she figured maybe she’d have a better chance some other place. That’s what happens. You know what I mean?”
Her face pinched and fearful, Margaret shook her head no. Thomas glared up at his aunt for dragging this out, for not having sense enough to change the subject and spare his little sister this pain.
“Well, having kids wasn’t really what she … what I mean is, she—”
“Margaret, you know why,” he interrupted. “Daddy told us. To save enough—”
“No!” Margaret cried out. “Because of me. Because I’m mean and bad, that’s what you said!”
“You said that?” Aunt Lena staggered over to him. “You vicious thing, you!” She grabbed his shoulder and yanked him up from the chair. “How could you say that? Don’t you know how bad things like that hurt?” Her hot liquory breath spewed out as she shook him. She was crying, still berating him, but with a dull cast to her eyes, as if already forgetting why. “You have no right to do that. No right! Do you hear me?” she panted, slapping the side of his head. “Do you hear me? I don’t deserve this! It’s not fair! It’s just not fair!”
Hard as he struggled, he couldn’t pull free. From her rage had emerged the strength of a man.
“Aunt Lena! Aunt Lena!” Margaret screamed as she burst from the chair. At first Thomas thought his aunt was backing away because Margaret had pushed herself between them. But it was her head. The curling iron was burning her scalp.
All this did was cause Aunt Lena to bawl even more. She watched helplessly while Thomas untangled the hot metal from Margaret’s singed hair. He had smelled this same smell before, at a farm where some of the cows had taken sick. After his father put them down, a tractor dragged the carcasses far from the rest of the herd and pushed them into a pit, where they were doused with gasoline. Just as it had with those cows, the sharp smell of Margaret’s burned hair would be with him for days, deep inside as if he had breathed the damaged hair, and pain, into himself.
Two hard weeks had passed. Their father was shaved and smelling of Bay Rum when he picked them up on a Sunday. He took them for a ride a few miles out of town, then back. He didn’t dare go too far without a spare because two of his tires were real bad, patched so many times he’d lost count. There hadn’t been any deep snow yet, but he’d put the chains on just to get normal traction, the treads were so worn. He had brought them each a piece of hard candy and a couple of old books Gladys had found in her attic and sent along for Thomas. And for Margaret a sock doll with brown yarn hair Gladys had bought at the Grange Ladies Fair. Margaret took one look at the drably pitiful thing and laid it on the seat. Thomas hoped she didn’t say anything. No doubt she was remembering the blue-eyed doll from Mrs. Farley that her father had so callously bundled and returned.
He looked better than the last time they’d seen him. He and Aunt Lena had never gotten along anyway, but her connivance in her sister’s leaving him was more than he could overlook. He hadn’t been to her house since the day he’d brought his children there in desperation. He almost seemed happier. Probably was, Thomas thought, without two kids to worry about feeding and dressing every day. He had been staying with some cousin of his and the cousin’s wife. They had a spare room he could have until somebody or other’s mother moved back in after her trip somewhere.
Thomas had stopped listening. First his mother; and now his father had found another life apart from them. Like two birds they had flown off in different directions, leaving him and Margaret to fend for themselves. He was angry, resentful that his father still had a whole other family they’d never even heard of to be happy with, while he and Margaret were stuck with Aunt Lena. Uncle Max was back and Aunt Lena was trying not to drink as much. Uncle Max had yelled at Thomas this morning for spreading too much jelly on his toast. Ever since his return he’d been irritable as a wounded bull. Try and stay out of his way, Aunt Lena had confided. Apparently his older lady friend had sent him packing. He was just a lot more interested in her bank accounts than in her. Or at least that’s what someone had told Lena.
Thomas was attempting to list all the bad things that had happened since they’d been with Aunt Lena. He felt panicky. They were nearing the house and nothing he’d said seemed to matter to his father. “And last week she even burned Margaret’s hair!”
“And it’s still sore.” Margaret touched the back of her head.
“How’d she do that?” The noisy truck turned the corner.
“With the curling iron!” Thomas shouted over the racket. “She had too much to drink, then she started hitting me and she forgot all about the curling iron in Margaret’s hair.”
The truck pulled up to the curb. Sighing, his father shook his head. “Just be patient, please? I’ve almost got enough for a place. It’s just that everything’s so slow right now. But it’s gotta get better. Sure can’t get much worse anyway.”
They both stared at him. It felt as if he had turned into someone else. The same way their mother had.
Nothing had panned out anywhere around here, so starting tomorrow he was heading farther north. Try new places. Farms he’d never been to before. Somewhere, there was work out there. He just had to find it, that was all.
But how could he go that far on such bad tires? Thomas asked. Maybe his father was lying to them. Lately it seemed most grown-ups did.
“Cuz I don’t have any other choice, do I?” he said so bitterly that Thomas looked down and Margaret rubbed her chin on her shoulder. “I just want us back together, that’s all.”
“All of us?” Margaret grinned as if at some secret he couldn’t yet share.
“You go inside now. I’ll be by in a couple days. Soon’s I get back. Go ahead. Go on now,” he said with a stiff smile.
The chain rasped back and forth on the front porch floor. Thomas was pushing Margaret on the lopsided swing when the car passed by again, this time slowing near the curb. It kept going. Margaret asked who it was. He wasn’t sure. Maybe Mrs. Farley. Maybe she had some more things for them, Margaret said. She told Thomas to let her get off. He pushed harder. With one of the front chains broken, the trick was to hang on to the swing back to keep from falling off. They’d been sent out to play while Uncle Max read the newspaper. Aunt Lena didn’t want him “riled.” There was a hiss as the cold rain turned to sleet on the front steps. Margaret begged him to stop; she had to go to the bathroom. He kept pushing. She screamed. He grabbed the dangling chain and jerked the swing to a sudden stop. She fell, landing on her knees. She ran to the door, but it was locked. Crouched and wiggling, she rang the bell.
How long would it be before she remembered it didn’t work. If she had to go so badly why didn’t she just bang on the door? And how could he enjoy her misery this much and still hate his aunt and uncle for not letting her in. Was he just as mean as everyone else? Poor little kid. It wasn’t her fault for taking the kitten, or even his for telling his mother he hated her the morning
she left. No, it was James’s fault. James for dying. James for having been born. Poor sick little baby James, he thought, hitting the door frame with both fists as Margaret groaned. The pee made vapor as it streamed down her legs, turning her baggy sock cuffs bright yellow.
Uncle Max opened the door, then swore when he saw the puddle at Margaret’s feet. “You’re not coming in like that. Lena!” he bellowed, turning from the doorway. “Lena!”
Aunt Lena came quickly. Her eyes darted in frantic confusion between Max and the children on the other side of the threshold. Margaret cowered in shame against the warped shakes. Thomas had never seen her look like this before. She wasn’t the same. She was different now. She was turning into what other people thought, what they expected. Like Carol Pfeiffer, sly but scared. Made dumb by her desperation.
“Why’d you do that?” Aunt Lena demanded when she returned with one of her dye-stained towels. “Don’t I have enough problems? It’s not fair. I don’t need this too,” she whined and patted dry Margaret’s shivering legs. “If I’da wanted—”
“It’s not her fault!” Thomas exploded. “She couldn’t help it. She was trying to get in, but the door was locked!”
“Yeah!” Margaret chimed in. “And he wouldn’t let me off. I said I had to go, but he kept pushing, so finally I jumped off, but then it was too late!”
If Aunt Lena was going to reply she had already forgotten her rebuke. Her head trembled, her eyes heavy with self-pity. Down on the street a car door slammed and high heels clicked up the walk.
“Lena!” Mrs. Farley cried, covetous eyes on Margaret as she hurried on to the porch.
“Phyllis? Oh. Phyllis. Phyllis!” Aunt Lena wielded the name like a broom against her troubles.
“Margaret! And Thomas. How nice to see you both. How’ve you been? Are you still with the Bibeaus? What’re you doing here, visiting your nice Auntie Lena? I was just going by and I thought”—now she looked at Lena—“my heavens, now when’s the last time Lena Jalley did my hair? Too long, right? From the looks of it you’re probably thinking.” She patted the side of her head. Try as she might she couldn’t hold her gaze on Aunt Lena. She kept smiling down at Margaret, who grinned back at her.
“You could use a cut maybe.” Aunt Lena sidestepped around her in blurry appraisal. “Definitely a set.”
“When could you take me?”
“I’ll have to check,” Aunt Lena said with some vestige of professional dignity. She hurried into the house. The only hair she’d done all week had been Margaret’s and the old lady’s next door. According to Max, who’d been berating Aunt Lena this morning when she asked him for money to buy milk, the half-blind old woman could barely walk and had no choice but her “boozy neighbor” for a hairdresser.
In Aunt Lena’s brief absence Mrs. Farley had managed to find out everything from Margaret. Thomas couldn’t even feel angry. If anything Mrs. Farley seemed a great relief. It was almost a pleasure talking to such a kind, normal person again. The quick conversation had roused Mrs. Farley too. Her cheeks burned with giddy excitement when Aunt Lena returned to say she had a nine o’clock appointment open tomorrow.
“Oh! That’s wonderful! I’ll be there! And I won’t be late, I promise!”
Mrs. Farley’s hair appointment sent Aunt Lena into bursts of frenzied busyness in her little shop. She combed hair out of the musty brush, washed towels and capes, then with snow falling outside had to hang them inside on chair backs, banisters, and radiators. She swept pelts of dust and cut gray hair from the floor and had Thomas throw it into the backyard for birds to use in their nests. The storm had intensified. It would be months before birds would be building nests, but in such frivolous ways his aunt reminded him of his mother. Even Uncle Max was helping. The prospect of Lena’s support had become a great energizer. He hadn’t complained about the children once all day. He lay on his back, head under the big sink trying to stop the pipe not just from leaking, but from squirting water out onto the floor.
At the end of the day Aunt Lena sat in the big black hair-dressing chair watching him. Thomas knew she was waiting for Uncle Max to leave her alone in there so she could have a swig, just a quick one, the way she’d been trying to do since he’d been back, just enough to keep her going. Aunt Leenie’s tonic, she’d confided once. Her medicine.
The next morning they could hear Uncle Max trying to wake her up. He kept calling her name. Over and over, he reminded her that Phyllis Farley was coming. Her appointment was in an hour. This was her chance. To get her business back again. If she did a good job, Phyllis Farley would tell all her friends, and they’d come too.
“Leave me alone,” she moaned each time he went into her room.
Downstairs, Margaret and Thomas had already eaten breakfast—toast and an apple they’d split. Aunt Lena’s kitchen never had much in it. She and her sister had not been trained in the domestic arts, she liked to boast. Their mother had wanted them to be professional ladies and make their own way in the world. But, poor Irene, with three children and a husband to feed she’d had no choice but to cook, uninspired as the meals might be.
“Yeah, go ahead then!” Uncle Max roared overhead. “You do that! You just rot in that bed. But not me! This time I’m gone for good!” A door slammed. Uncle Max stalked into the kitchen straightening his tie knot. Margaret backed into the pantry. He told the children he was sorry, but he couldn’t keep doing this. From now on she was on her own. Grabbing one of the damp towels he put his foot up on a chair and buffed one shoe then the other. They should do themselves a favor and get the hell out while the getting was good. She was useless. “Just plain useless!” he shouted, threw the towel onto the floor, then was gone.
Margaret scurried out from the pantry. She hung the towel back on the chair to dry. She paused and thought a moment. “Didn’t Mommy say he was the useless one?”
Just then Aunt Lena appeared in the kitchen, her wrinkled dress unbuttoned and spattered with dye. Her bright red lipstick was smeared, her hair still uncombed. Where was Mrs. Farley? Had she been waiting long? Aunt Lena sank into the chair and leaned over the table, head in her arms.
“Do you need some medicine?” Margaret asked, not even waiting for an answer. She hurried back with the square brown bottle.
Aunt Lena unscrewed the cap then turned her back a little while she took a long drink. “There,” she said quietly with her eyes closed then sat holding the bottle.
“Want me to put it back?” Margaret asked.
Aunt Lena shook her head no. Thomas watched in disgust. Uncle Max was right. They had to get out of here. He’d walk to Gladys’s and find out where his father was staying.
Margaret touched her aunt’s shoulder. “Mrs. Farley’s coming. Don’t you want to fix her hair?”
Aunt Lena nodded. She let Margaret take the bottle and then followed her into the beauty shop.
Mrs. Farley arrived five minutes early. Thomas and Margaret let her in. Just as Margaret had predicted, she had presents for them. A picture puzzle of the Statue of Liberty for Thomas and a white fur muff and matching hat for Margaret. Fluffy pom-poms hung from each tie string. Margaret insisted on wearing the hat the whole time. Mrs. Farley couldn’t get over how beautiful she looked with “fur framing that sweet face.” Thomas sat on the beauty shop floor working on the base of the Statue of Liberty. He was trying to be polite for his aunt’s sake. Actually, he hated puzzles.
Seeing Aunt Lena’s shaky hands, Mrs. Farley changed her mind about the cut. “Just a set,” she said. “Fred always likes it a little bit long,” she tried to explain. “And Jesse-boy too.”
Aunt Lena combed the thick, pink setting lotion through Mrs. Farley’s hair. She began to twist the wet ends into tight pin curls all over Mrs. Farley’s head. She worked with the rhythm of an old skill. Mrs. Farley leaned slightly forward to tell Thomas he was doing a wonderful job. Jesse-boy loved puzzles. In fact he could do that one in just a few minutes, with his eyes closed almost; he could tell by the shapes. Jesse-boy’s
teacher couldn’t get over how smart he was. And how creative. He could draw just about anything. Mr. Wentworth said he might even be a famous artist someday.
“Lena!” Mrs. Farley seized Aunt Lena’s wrist. She leaned back and looked up at her. “If the children ever get too much I’d love to give you a hand.”
“A hand?” Aunt Lena blinked, reverie broken.
“Well, like now when you’re … when you’re not feeling quite yourself … I can take them. They can stay with me. With us.” She smiled at Margaret, who now wore the muff around one ankle. “In fact, I can even take them now. Give you a little rest. Some time to yourself. It must be hard when you’re not used to all the commotion children bring.” Mrs. Farley was out of the chair and tying a silk scarf over her bobby-pinned hair. “I’ll take good care of them, you know I will.” She opened her purse and handed Aunt Lena a twenty-dollar bill.
Aunt Lena held it, confused. “I don’t have enough change, Phyllis. I’m sorry.”
“No, that’s for you.” Mrs. Farley patted her arm. “You need some rest, Lena. So why don’t I take them with me, then maybe when you’re feeling better I’ll bring them back.”
“No, I can’t.”
“Why? Why not?”
“Well. Well, first I have to ask Henry. He’ll be mad. I mean, if he comes and they’re not here.”
“But Lena, you’re the one in charge. You’re the one taking care of them. The only one now.”
Aunt Lena didn’t seem to understand. Mrs. Farley asked Thomas and Margaret if they would please go into the other room. She needed to speak with their aunt for a moment. Privately. Waiting in the kitchen, they tried to hear, but couldn’t.
When the women came out Aunt Lena looked even more dazed. Dollar bills stuck out of her pocket. Mrs. Farley was abustle with gay energy. Here they were, coats and hats; can’t risk getting sick. Good food and warm things. Mrs. Farley pinched Margaret’s chin. The slightest cold and Jesse-boy’d catch it. Their clothes, Lena called, heading up the stairs. Mrs. Farley opened her mouth as if to say not to bother, then changed her mind.
The Lost Mother Page 9