by Laura Golden
“Well, I reckon he’s right about that. There’s lots of folks around here who ain’t what they seem. Did ya know Mr. Reed was married once?”
Crabby old Mr. Reed married? Something about that picture didn’t fit. “He couldn’t have been. Who’d have married him?”
“I don’t know who she was, but she was real pretty. I saw a picture of them together. It was sitting on a table in Mr. Reed’s front room. He left me in there to go get my pay for the week. The man in the picture wasn’t as skinny or wrinkled as Mr. Reed, but it was him—just a younger him.”
“I wonder what happened to her.”
“Well, when he came back he caught me staring at the picture, so I asked him about it. He picked it up and studied it. I’d swear I saw his chin quivering like he was about to cry, but maybe it was just his age. He kept on looking at the picture and told me that lady had been his wife. She died in childbirth not two years after they were married. The baby died less than a day later. Couldn’t breathe right. He said he reckoned he hadn’t talked about it to anybody in years. I asked him why he was all right with talkin’ to me. Just like that, he stopped studyin’ the picture and started studyin’ me. He said he reckoned it was for two reasons: first, he knew I understood what it’s like to lose someone you love, and second, I remind him of the little boy he might’ve had.”
The gears in my brain were turning fast, trying to put everything Ben was telling me together. “Mr. Reed had a son?”
“ ’S what he said.”
We sat for a while just thinking. Mr. Reed having a son once must’ve interested Ben for the thought of it to keep him quiet longer than five minutes. It interested me too. It was strange, and it proved the point I was trying to make about Dr. Heimler: people aren’t always what they seem. Sometimes they seem worse than they are, sometimes better. But the trouble is you never can tell who is who. And that is why, as far as Dr. Heimler went, for Mama’s sake, I’d have rather been safe than sorry.
Ten
A Loyal Heart May Be Landed Under Traitor’s Bridge
I held my breath all week long, waiting on a visit from the doctor. The way Erin flounced around me at school, you’d have thought he’d started on his way over five years ago. Of course, I guess her winning the sixth-grade extra credit on Wednesday gave her another reason to flounce. I let her believe she’d gotten the best of me for the time being. I thought it’d soothe her enough so she’d leave me alone for good.
When Saturday finally rolled around, with its cloudless sky and soothing warmth, Dr. Heimler still hadn’t shown. I breathed a deep sigh of relief. I figured he’d been so busy he’d forgotten about Mama. I figured wrong.
I’d just finished hanging the last of the clean clothes out on the line when I spotted that all-too-familiar blue Buick coming up the drive. I grabbed the laundry basket and took off to the back porch to stand with Mama. I prayed he hadn’t seen me take off across the yard. The roar of the car’s engine grew louder as it approached the front of the house. Then came a shrill squeak from the brakes and the engine went silent.
For a moment, I could only hear the rhythmic rocking of Mama’s chair and the rapid drumming of my own heart. In the quiet, both seemed louder than a marching band. One sound I could do nothing about, but the other I could. I gripped the back of Mama’s rocker to stop its movement.
I pictured the doctor’s long body leaving his Buick. The slam of a car door echoed through the air. Heavy footsteps tromped onto the front porch, sending vibrations through the house, right to the bottom of my feet. I held my breath, tightening my grip on Mama’s rocker.
The world around me felt too still, too silent, as though the smallest of sounds would give me away. Of all the times for the birds to shut their beaks, why did it have to be now?
Five soft knocks floated through the air. They sounded far away and muffled, but they were close enough to make the baby hairs on my neck prick up.
I waited, afraid to move, listening for the sound of departing footsteps. Instead came five more muffled knocks. Mama must’ve heard too. She pulled against the grip I had on her chair.
“Mrs. Hawkins? Are you in there? It’s Dr. Heimler.”
Please, God, please. Just make him go away. Make him think we’re not here. Still no footsteps.
Five more knocks, harder this time, pounded through the air. My fingers tingled, fighting to steady the chair.
Please. Make him go away. Make him leave. I released one hand long enough to grip my locket. I closed my eyes. Please, please, please.
Then, I heard them—the scuffle and stomp of departing footsteps, the roar of the car’s engine, and the crunch of dirt and gravel beneath the tires. I let go of Mama and she started to rock—back and forth, back and forth, same as always.
I tiptoed through the house and peeped out the front window. Dr. Heimler’s car was just turning out of our drive, a haze of dust boiling behind it.
I had no doubts. He’d be back, but it wouldn’t be today. I had to get out of the house and into town. Fast. I wasn’t supposed to be home, and though it sounded crazy, I’d have liked nothing better than to run right smack into the doctor. He’d see me in town and think I’d really been there the whole time. And if he asked about Mama, I’d tell him she was napping. Easy as pie.
I got myself ready and moved Mama inside. She resisted me at first, but she had to go in. Since Erin had threatened to have Mrs. Sawyer send Dr. Heimler, I hadn’t left her outside alone. When I was in school, she was inside. When I was in town, she was inside. The only times Mama was able to enjoy her porch were those days I was home and able to keep an eye on the driveway. I was thankful she always stayed wherever I left her.
I made her comfortable in her chair, fixed her a glass of tea sweetened with a little sorghum syrup, double-checked she had hold of her book, then hurried into town. I was due to pick up some mending work from Mrs. Martin anyway. With all her boarders and housework, she didn’t have the time for it. But I had studying time that’d changed over to working time, along with the lower grades to prove it.
I glanced up at Mr. Reed’s when I passed. I hadn’t talked to Ben in close to a week. I was beginning to think he’d rather be at Mr. Reed’s than with me. Mr. Reed must’ve felt the same about Ben. The few times I’d been into town over the past week, I’d looked up and seen Ben hard at work hauling some of the larger pieces of junk out of Mr. Reed’s yard. Working right alongside him was Mr. Reed himself. Even Ziggy was out of his pen, trailing Ben back and forth across the yard, his whole back end wagging. I didn’t see any sign of life now, so I headed on to Mrs. Martin’s.
I only squeezed in one and a half knocks before the door jerked open. Mrs. Martin shoved the bag of clothes into my hands so fast she pushed me backward. “Here you go, dear,” she said, each word spoken faster than the last. “Need it back in a week. Let your mama know.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll te—”
I didn’t even get “tell her” out before the door slammed shut again. I shrugged and started back home with my work. After Daddy lost his job, Mama did anything and everything she could to help bring in money—kept a garden with extra vegetables to trade, mended clothes, did laundry for elderly women. She’d taught me how to do those things too, so I could help her move through the work faster. More work getting done meant more money. I still kept up the garden and did some mending, but the laundry had had to go. It took me forever to do our own. Still, I’d learned from Mama pretty well. While I wasn’t as skilled as her, I was good enough to keep Mrs. Martin believing Mama was the mender, not me.
I was just turning back onto Main Street when I spotted Ben coming out of Hinkle’s. The sun beamed down like it was shining just on him. I threw up my hand and started to call out, but I changed my mind real fast when I saw who was coming out behind him: Erin. And she wasn’t coming out at the same time by accident. She was coming out with him.
Her head whirled around in my direction. I ducked behind a parked car and watched them throu
gh the glass. She turned away and said something to Ben, then tilted her head back and laughed. I couldn’t help but wonder if she was laughing at me.
The next few minutes felt like an eternity. Each second ticked painfully past as I watched my best friend, my only friend, laugh with the very person whose goal in life was to knock me down. Maybe that was it. Maybe the whole scene being played out in front of me was Erin pushing herself on Ben, trying to take away the last person on earth who cared about me. But Ben. Ben was letting her do it.
A spark of anger ignited within me and slowly, slowly, began to burn. I wanted to march right over to them and give Erin a piece of my mind, and then walk away from Ben, leaving him standing there feeling the same disappointed hurt I was feeling. But I didn’t.
I watched Ben talk to Erin as though he didn’t mind that she was the one person trying to destroy everything I cared about. A throbbing ache began to overpower the small flame of anger. The ache ran through my body, turning my feet to bricks—bricks too heavy for my legs. Bricks mortared to the ground.
They passed Powell’s and rounded the corner, walking side by side. Even though they’d gone, I continued to watch the world through the glass. I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to. I grasped my locket and prayed that Ben was just being Ben—a peacemaker too nice to be mean, even to a girl like Erin. He’d always seen the good in people, even those with the darkest of hearts. Ben wouldn’t betray me. Would he? What if he’d talked to her before? Many times before? Times I knew nothing about? I shuddered at the thought of it.
Ben had never once lied to me. My feet grew lighter, and I turned toward home. The small flame of anger flickered deep inside me, encased in a mountain of hurt. But the mountain had a crack in it, and through that crack emerged a sliver of hope. Ben would tell me the truth about him and Erin and, as sure as I was breathing, I was going to ask him to tell it.
Visions of Erin and Ben walking down the street flashed through my mind all evening—during supper, during my nightly reading to Mama, and after I’d readied Mama for bed. The visions still hadn’t left me by the time I pulled my journal from my dresser drawer.
May 14, 1932
If I could ask God any question right now, it’d be: Why did You have to let Erin Sawyer come to Bittersweet? If I could ask God a second question, it’d be: Why did she have to hate me so much? I didn’t even know she hated me that much till I scored the highest grades in class at the end of last term. She’d been here since August, and the only other time I’d seen her look so mad was when Myra “Rumor” Robinson spread the adopted secret.
“You’re not gonna be the best for long, Hawkins, now that I’m here.” Her voice had pounded me like a hammer on a nail. Determined. Forceful. But that was her voice. Her eyes told a different story. They were welling up with tears. “I’m better than you, and I’m gonna prove it.”
“Well, don’t go thinking I’m about to start losing to you, because I’m not.”
And I wasn’t. If she wanted to beat me, she’d just have to try harder.
“You’d better if you know what’s good for you. Don’t forget”—she leaned over into my space—“what happens to people when they mess with me. Myra was scared of dogs, and you’re scared of something too. I’ll find out what it is. I always find out.”
“I’m not scared of you. Why do you care so much about winning anyway?”
Erin looked at me like I was three bricks shy of a load just for asking. “Why do you?”
The question pricked. I knew why I cared. I had to be the best because it was the only way I could be sure I was good enough in Daddy’s eyes. I looked into Erin’s unrelenting glare. I figured maybe she felt that way too. But we couldn’t both be the best at everything.
Erin might’ve been mad about my grades, but Daddy was the proudest I’d seen him. He ran all around town telling anybody who’d listen that his Lizzie Girl was the smartest kid in sixth grade. It was the most I’d seen him smile since he’d lost his job.
When you get top honors in your grade, they put your name in the “School News” section of the Bittersweet Times, and Daddy carried that paper around with him all through Christmas. I knew I’d redeemed myself from my fourth-place finish in the spelling bee last March.
Mama was happy too. To celebrate, she baked my favorite dessert—yellow cake with chocolate icing. After I helped her clean the kitchen, we sat down in the parlor to mend a pair of pants and a few shirts. Daddy never sat with us when we did our work. I guess he thought he was the reason we were having to do it. He always went out to the barn or the back porch. It was easy to talk to Mama without Daddy around, and before I knew it, I was telling her all about Erin and her angry threat.
“I’m going to have a talk with Mrs. Sawyer Sunday after service,” she said without looking up from her sewing.
I let mine fall to the floor. “No, Mama, please! Don’t. You’ll make Erin madder at me than she already is.”
“Nonsense. I’m not trying to get her in trouble, but her mother needs to know she’s behaving this way. I don’t know Mrs. Sawyer very well, as they haven’t been here long, but she seems a reasonable woman. I’m sure she’d rather know than not. I certainly would.”
I picked up my sewing and restarted. There was no sense in trying to convince Mama otherwise. She made up her mind, and that was that. It was times like those that I figured I didn’t get all my stubbornness from Daddy. Some of it came from Mama.
Sunday morning came, church service went, and there we were—Mama, Mrs. Sawyer, Erin, and me—all standing in a small circle facing one another. Daddy and Mr. Sawyer were walking the Hinkles to their car.
“I’d like to talk to you about something, if you don’t mind, Mrs. Sawyer,” Mama began.
My gut wrenched up into a ball. There was no getting out of it now. Erin sneered at me. Part of me, a little part, felt sorry for her. But the other part of me, the bigger part, wanted to yank her braids.
Mrs. Sawyer nodded. “Go right ahead.”
“Well,” Mama went on, “it’s about Erin. She seems to be quite unhappy about Lizzie’s grades at school, and I felt we should get things worked out.”
Mrs. Sawyer huffed and put her arm around Erin’s shoulders. “I’m afraid the problem, my dear Mrs. Hawkins, doesn’t lie with my Erin. It lies square on the shoulders of that prideful girl of yours.”
Erin smirked at me. She’d known where this was headed before it began. She’d already painted me as the school prisspot to Mrs. Sawyer. My sorry feeling was shrinking by the second. I could almost feel my palms wrapped around her braids.
Mama stood there blinking. I knew Mama. She wasn’t expecting this reply. She’d expected a civil apology and for Erin to get a good talking-to at home. That wasn’t gonna happen.
“And furthermore,” Mrs. Sawyer went on, “I would make sure I’d gotten the entire story from my own daughter before I went off and meddled with the raising of anyone else’s. For example, were you aware, Mrs. Hawkins, that your daughter is the biggest show-off this side of the Mississippi? How in heaven’s name do you expect Erin to not want to knock her off her pedestal?”
“I do not go around showing off,” I insisted.
Mama grabbed my arm. “Lizzie, hush.”
Erin began to whine. “She does so. You should see the way she acts, like she’s special or something. Always laughing at everybody because they can’t beat her.” She lifted her glasses and wiped her eyes. Then she looked at me. One corner of her mouth was turned up a tad, just enough to let me know she was going to have her way and there was nothing I could do about it. I saw that look. I saw it and I couldn’t take it. I dove at her, and the next thing I knew, my hands were squeezed around two thin brown braids. Erin screamed. The few remaining churchgoers, Pastor White included, wheeled around to see what all the commotion was about.
“Elizabeth Hawkins!” Mama jerked me back. “What on earth are you doing?”
“Well, I never!” Mrs. Sawyer grabbed Erin and pushed her be
hind her back like she was protecting her from the devil himself. “Mrs. Hawkins, if I were you, I’d get my daughter under control before it’s too late. Such behavior should not be tolerated.” She spun around and the two of them marched off to their car.
That was it. The battle between Erin and me was official. She’d dared me into it when she lied about me, right to my face. I’d full-on accepted the dare when I had nerve enough to reach out and yank her hair in the churchyard. She was determined to best me. And I was determined not to let her.
Now Erin has decided she wants to best me in another way, besides grades. She wants to steal my best friend. Well, I have something to tell Erin Sawyer, and they can print it in the paper under “School News”: One day I’ll have my best friend and my family back, and I’ll have top grades, to boot. She can count on it.
Eleven
Pride Goeth Before Destruction and a Haughty Spirit Before a Fall
Asking Ben for the truth turned out to be harder than I thought. I wondered if Erin had convinced him not to be friends with me anymore. Three times I went to visit him, and his ma told me either he was gone to Mr. Reed’s or he was off running errands. But he wasn’t. Mrs. Butler ain’t the world’s best liar, and I caught Ben peeping at me through the curtains once. After that, I stopped trying. If he was determined to be friends with Erin instead of me, that was his own stupidity.
Ben or no Ben, I was happy as a pig in mud to see the last day of school roll around. Since my D two weeks earlier, I’d managed to keep my grades up pretty well. I’d made a B on a history test, but all my other grades were As. What I wanted more than anything on my last day of school was to beat Erin Sawyer for top grades.
The morning dragged by as slowly as molasses in January. Miss Jones made us dust erasers, empty and wash our inkwells, sort books, and sweep the floor. At midmorning she finally instructed, “All right, children. Please take your seats and we will announce the term’s top students. Afterward, we will dismiss and head outside for Field Day. The school year will officially end at noon.”