Every Day After

by Laura Golden

  The sheriff opened his door and stepped out. He towered above me. The top of my head barely reached his belly button. He yanked at his uniform britches, trying to get them around his potbelly. “Howdy-do, Miss Lizzie. Is your mother handy? I need to see her about some papers I’ve got here.” He fanned the two papers in his right hand.

  I didn’t have a choice. I lied. To the sheriff. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I could go to jail for that. “Well, sir, she had a pretty bad headache this morning, so she took some aspirin and lay down. I can take the papers to her for you.”

  Sheriff Dawson chewed on his bottom lip. “I appreciate that, but this is an official paper and I need your mama to sign for it. Maybe I should just come back later.”

  Now, I couldn’t have the sheriff coming back later. What excuse would I use then? If I said Mama still had a headache, then Dr. Heimler would be called back over. I had to get the sheriff to leave the paper now. “Oh, I’ll sign for it, Sheriff,” I said real quick. “I’m sure she won’t mind. I’ll take it straight to her. Promise.” I added, so he’d think I was helping him out, “Besides, I’m sure you’ve got much more important things to worry about than this.”

  Sheriff Dawson swiped his forehead with his handkerchief. “Well …”

  “You just hand it to me and you can be on your way.”

  He handed me the papers and a pen, but by the look on his face, I was afraid he was fixin’ to snatch them right back. “You can’t tell anybody but your mama I let you do this, Miss Lizzie. You tell her I didn’t want to disturb her.”

  I slapped Mama’s signature onto one paper and handed it back to the sheriff. “Yes, sir. I’ll tell her.”

  He eased back into his car, careful of his head and belly, and said, “All righty, then. Y’all have a good one.”

  “Yes, sir. You too.” I smiled the biggest smile I could manage and waved him off.

  Once he was out of sight, I ran inside and read the official letter. Each word I read was a knife stabbing into my gut. By the time I finished reading, my stomach ached and it felt hotter than blue blazes inside the house. Sweat beaded on my forehead. I looked out the window at Mama. She was rocking back and forth, her eyes still closed. It wouldn’t do any good to tell her what the letter said. It might even make her worse. I had to handle it by myself. And there’d be no time to wait around on Daddy either, whether or not he showed up on my birthday. I didn’t have even that much time. I had to get started on a plan this very second.

  I read over the words again:

  Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins:

  We are sorry to inform you that you are behind on your mortgage payments. Please bring your mortgage up to date within thirty days of delivery of this letter by remitting payment in the amount of $22.50 to Bittersweet Savings and Loan.

  If you fail to make this payment within thirty days, Bittersweet Savings and Loan will pursue legal action to foreclose on the mortgage, which will result in the sale of the property.

  All back payments shall be added to your current mortgage payment of $22.50, bringing your new mortgage payment to a total of $33.75 for a total of six consecutive months (or 180 days). During this probationary period, no payment to Bittersweet Savings and Loan should be missed. If a missed payment occurs, Bittersweet Savings and Loan reserves the right to begin foreclosure proceedings.

  We are happy to help you resolve this matter. Please contact Mr. Edward V. Cooper for personal assistance.

  Sincerely,

  Daniel B. Roberts

  President, Bittersweet Savings and Loan

  So that was the whole of it. I had underestimated exactly how far behind Mama and Daddy had gotten on the mortgage. Reading that letter forced me to face those horrible feelings I’d felt toward Daddy the morning he left. Feelings I didn’t want to face. Sharp disappointment and deep hurt. He’d known this was gonna happen before he left. And he’d still up and gone anyway. I tried to breathe out the feelings, but they stuck inside me like glue.

  Still, maybe he was coming home soon. Maybe like I hoped. On my birthday. Surely he was making all kinds of money wherever he’d gone to. I bet he knew all along just how much time he had to make that money and hightail it home. But I couldn’t count on it. I’d already wasted a whole month waiting on Daddy to show, and I couldn’t waste another. I was the one holding the bank notice. I was the one who had to try to fix it.

  Thirteen

  Hard Work Means Prosperity; Only a Fool Idles Away His Time

  My idea of how to fix it was something that I’d once sworn up and down I’d never do. I didn’t know if Daddy would approve or not, but he wasn’t here. I had no choice. I was going to fight any way I could, with or without Daddy. Mama needed me to. If Daddy was gonna have something to say about it, he should’ve been around to say it.

  I hurried out to the back porch and moved Mama back inside. She struggled against me, but I couldn’t help it—I had to leave, so she had to come in. As soon as she was situated, I raced down the drive and turned toward town. Toward Hinkle’s.

  My knees and ankles ached from my feet pounding against the ground, but I kept going, running farther and faster than I ever had.

  Mr. Hinkle looked up at the sound of the bell. “Well, hello, Miss Lizzie. What can I do for you today?”

  The big butterfly in my belly came back and began fluttering around inside me, identical to the way it had the day I got my D. The outcome hadn’t been good then; maybe today wouldn’t be any better. I started to turn around and leave, but the thought of Mama stopped me.

  “Mr. Hinkle,” I said before I could chicken out.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  Every muscle in my body twitched with determination to keep the question I needed to ask inside me. But I had to be stronger than that. I took a deep breath and dug way down deep, deeper than I ever thought I could, and fought against myself. I forced my mouth open, letting the words escape. “I need a job. Any job. For any pay you can spare.”

  There. I’d done it. And I was still breathing. Lightning hadn’t struck me dead or anything. Maybe Daddy had been wrong. Asking for help wasn’t that bad.

  Mr. Hinkle froze, his eyes blinking faster than usual. He cleared his throat. “Well now, Miss Lizzie, I’d love to have you here, but it’s like this: there’s a depression going on, and we haven’t got much money to spare. I just don’t—”

  “Please think about it, Mr. Hinkle.” The begging was coming easier.

  Mrs. Hinkle came bustling out of the back room. Mr. Hinkle stiffened at the sight of her.

  “What in heaven’s name are you two prattling on about? I swear I have to do everything around here. Look at you, just standing around going on about nothing all day. Injustice. That’s what it is.” She grabbed a few cans and stormed off into the back again.

  Lord knows, I was crazy for asking to work on the same street as her, much less in the same store.

  “Does everything around here?” Mr. Hinkle mumbled to himself. He looked at me, an amused grin spreading across his face. “Tell you what, I’ll consider it. But you’ve got to give me a day or two to think it over.”

  Mr. Hinkle had gone crazier than a bess-bug if he thought I was leaving his store without an answer. I’d worked up the guts to ask for help, and that was a mortal sin in Daddy’s eyes. I wasn’t gonna spend the next few days wondering if my guts had been wasted.

  “Please, Mr. Hinkle. I can’t wait that long. Why don’t I look around for a few minutes while you decide?” I strolled over to the candy case.

  Mrs. Hinkle came back out and took a few more cans. “Elizabeth Hawkins,” she screeched, “if you don’t back away from that glass, you’re going to be the one cleaning it.”

  I eased back and glanced over at Mr. Hinkle. He was slumped over the counter, his fingers plugged in his ears. I thought I could hear him mumble something, but I wasn’t sure. Mrs. Hinkle disappeared into the back room again, and Mr. Hinkle summoned me over.

  “All right. I’ve reached a decision. I’
m certain you’d be one of the finest workers I’d ever hired, truly worth every penny, but …”

  I felt the urge to jump over the counter and wring the answer out of him. “Yes?” I whispered.

  “There’s one thing that bothers me about this deal.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You see, I’d have to take a lot of grief from Mrs. Hinkle if I hired you, and I’m not altogether certain my old heart could hold up to it. But I’m still willing to chance it if you’ll accept some terms.”

  I nodded, maybe a little too fast.

  He smiled, deepening the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. “You’ve got to work every afternoon from twelve till four, except on Sundays. I’ll pay you ten cents an hour.” He eyed me. “What’s your reply?”

  I tried to pretend I was thinking on the matter, but I’d never been good at disguising excitement. Working at the store would give me a regular income. “I accept.”

  “All right. One more thing. We still don’t have a deal unless … You listening?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Unless you take one of those blasted Goo Goo Clusters you’re constantly drooling over. I’m likely to start getting questions about why the glass is always wet.”

  I bolted around the counter and threw my arms around him. He pushed me back, attempting to be serious. “Do we have a deal?” He put out his hand.

  “Yes, sir,” I said, shaking it. “We have a deal.”

  “Good. I’ll expect to see you at twelve o’clock tomorrow, and don’t be late. If there’s one thing the missus and I agree on, it’s that we don’t tolerate tardiness.”

  I nodded and walked out of Hinkle’s happy I’d asked for a job. I never thought getting one would make me feel so good. After all, I was leaving with a regular income and a gooey Goo Goo Cluster melting slowly away in my mouth.

  I’d just finished my last bite when I saw Ben coming off Oak Street onto Main. I called out to him. He waved but didn’t come over. I could see why. On a leash right beside him, behaving pretty as you please, was Ziggy, and right behind them, rounding the corner, was Mr. Reed. I looked twice to be sure I wasn’t seeing things. I closed my eyes and counted out the date. May 24. The time? What time was it? Just before lunch. I opened my eyes. It wasn’t the first or the fifteenth. It wasn’t between one o’clock and three o’clock. Yet here was Mr. Reed. In town. I watched Ben, Ziggy, and Mr. Reed walk down the street toward Henderson’s Hardware. Together. For Mr. Reed to go and break his longtime habits like that, he must’ve really liked Ben. A lot.

  That night I spent an extra-long time with Mama, reading aloud the entire “Rhyming Proverbs” section in her book. The amount of time I’d spent with her over the past two weeks had shrunk to the size of a cotton boll, and making her sit inside every time I left made me feel extra bad.

  During the nightly hundred brush strokes I gave Mama’s hair, I thought about my new job. It wouldn’t be enough to last us. That much I knew. But it was a step—no matter how small—toward saving the house.

  I reached the hundredth stroke and kept going, waiting on one of Mama’s wise sayings to pop out of her head, into the brush, up my arm, and into my brain. Then I’d know what to do. Maybe if she couldn’t tell me with her mouth, she could tell me with her mind.

  Two hundred strokes.

  Nothing.

  I put the brush on Mama’s nightstand, braided her hair, and helped her into bed. Maybe she was too tired to think.

  In my room, even before I put on my nightgown, I pulled my journal from the drawer.

  May 24, 1932

  Asking Mr. Hinkle for a job today made me think of Daddy losing his last year. It was just before the Fourth of July. No time is a good time to lose a job, I know, but the man who laid Daddy off right before a national holiday should’ve been horsewhipped.

  Daddy came home three hours early that Friday, and when Mama asked if he was feeling sick, he just said, “It was me today.”

  Mama gasped and covered her mouth. Even I had understood what Daddy meant. For months, the steel mill where he worked had been cutting back on wages and workers. Daddy said all the men working there had gotten real quiet at their work since the depression came on. Daddy said each day all the men just crossed their fingers and prayed that it wouldn’t be them next. They figured if they stayed quiet enough, the bosses wouldn’t remember they were there. And they couldn’t get rid of somebody they didn’t remember. Well, either Daddy got too loud or somebody remembered him.

  During supper that night, my stomach was balled up in a knot and it wouldn’t let my food go down. Mama kept saying things like “We’ll make it work” and “We’ll get by.” Daddy didn’t say anything. He went to bed early.

  The next night, I begged and begged for Mama and Daddy to come and watch the fireworks with me. Neither of them did.

  I met Ben at our usual place, right in front of Powell’s. His ma wasn’t there either.

  Bittersweet looked beautiful with all the storefronts dressed in ribbons of red, white, and blue for the occasion. A huge banner stretched out over Main Street. It read, same as every other year: Welcome to Bittersweet’s Annual Fourth of July Celebration—The Sweetest Celebration Around. But Ben and I both knew that this particular party was more bitter than sweet.

  Before long, the eight members of the high school band were tuning up their instruments in preparation for “The Star Spangled Banner,” to be played during the short fireworks show. At the mayor’s signal, the first firework burst into the air. The band blasted forth their tune. And, for the first time in our lives, Ben and I sat watching the fireworks explode into the night sky without our parents beside us.

  All the locals had gathered for the event and were lining Main Street up one side and down the other, packed together like sardines. With each explosion, the crowd clapped and cheered. But not Ben and me. When somebody you love is sad, that sadness rubs off on you somehow. It made all the celebrating seem cruel. Without Mama and Daddy, loneliness filled me, even with all those people around. Even with Ben right there beside me.

  Over the next few weeks, nearly every time I saw Daddy he had a newspaper in his hands, searching for a job. There were none. Daddy changed. Some of the fight went out of him. Mama changed too. It was the first time I could remember that she didn’t have a proverb ready and waiting to make sense of everything. Maybe the problems were too big for words.

  Maybe they still are.

  I thought about Ben asking for a job at Mr. Reed’s and me asking for a job at Hinkle’s. I thought about Mama and me going around collecting sewing and laundry from anybody who would give it after Daddy lost his job. I didn’t understand. If me and Ben and Mama could find a job here, no matter how small, why couldn’t Daddy? Why couldn’t he have stayed?

  Fourteen

  The Sting of a Reproach Is the Truth of It

  After work on Saturday, I got my very first pay from Mr. Hinkle. One dollar and sixty cents. It wasn’t gonna pay the mortgage overnight, but I was happier than a lark to be earning something. Sewing, fishing, and vegetables were all well and good, but one thing was for certain—they didn’t add up to enough to pay the mortgage.

  When I got home, I took a canning jar from the pantry and started a savings jar all my own. The sound of the change clinking against the glass was better than music. I put the jar under my bed and went out to ask Mama what she wanted for supper.

  I asked her every day, thinking she’d answer me at least once. She hadn’t yet, and as I stood there watching her staring and rocking, rocking and staring, I stopped myself. She hadn’t said a word in weeks, and I couldn’t bear to ask another question only to hear silence in reply.

  I let Mama be and went to rummage through the kitchen. I had two choices: dumplings or pancakes. I was near dumplinged out, so I decided on pancakes. Strange, yes, but easy.

  I’d just cracked the eggs when there was a tap-tap-tap on the front door. My heart near jumped right out of my throat. I’d have known that kn
ock anywhere. The sound of it widened the crack of hope in my mountain of hurt.

  “Come in!” I called. “I’m in the kitchen.”

  Ben tromped in, raking his fingers through his hair. It had lightened considerably from working outdoors over the past month, going from straw to cotton. His eyebrows had all but disappeared. He was also filthy. Any of Mr. Reed’s dirt that hadn’t set up house on Ben’s overalls was either smudged across his face or packed beneath his nails.

  As dirty as he was, I wanted to fling my arms around him and tell him how much I’d missed him. But I couldn’t. The memory of him coming out of Hinkle’s that day with her was burned into my mind. And why was he finally showing up now, after he’d been avoiding me like the plague for the past two weeks? I wanted the truth, once and for all.

  Ben spoke before I had the chance to demand it. “What’cha doin’?” he asked. He peered over at the pancake batter.

  “Making supper for Mama.”

  “How is she?” He shuffled over to the window and looked out. “Dr. Heimler ever come check on her?”

  “He did, several times, but I pretended I wasn’t home. He hasn’t been by this week. Maybe he forgot about us.”

  Ben shook his head. “Man alive, you’re stubborn. You should’ve let him look at her.”

  “I’m stubborn! What about you? You’re the one who refuses to believe Erin Sawyer is bad news. I saw you with her, Ben, so don’t go trying to get around it. Have you been talking to her?”

  “Well, so what if I have? I didn’t think you’d take the time to notice.” The corner of his mouth retreated inside his cheek. He heaved a breath. “I’ve been talkin’ to Erin for a while, even before your daddy left.”

  “What are you saying, Ben? That you’re picking her over me?” I poured a small pancake into the skillet. It sat there like a blob. Skillet needed to be hotter.