by Laura Golden
I wanted to tell Mr. Hinkle that this wasn’t an accident. That Erin had caused me to do it. But it was useless. In front of all the adults in town, she was as sweet as pie. It was people her own age who got to see her as sour as unripe persimmons.
The rest of the afternoon dragged by at a snail’s pace. I tried to stay extra quiet and extra careful. Mrs. Hinkle was already madder than a wet hen, and I didn’t want to make it worse.
When it was finally time for me to escape Mrs. Hinkle’s watchful eyes, I was sorry to see another pair of eyes watching for me. Once again, Erin was standing just outside the door.
“Well, if it isn’t Little Orphan Annie.”
“What do you want now?” I asked as I moved around her. “You should have to pay for those jars of jam.”
“You should learn to be more careful. Besides, you don’t need to worry about paying for those jars. You won’t be around long enough to even see your next payday.”
I faced her. My throat tightened. “Lucky for me, I’ll be seeing lots of paydays, because I’m not going anywhere.”
She laughed. “Sure you are. Don’t you want to know where?”
I pushed past her. “Go home, Erin. You’re wasting my time.”
She grabbed my shirt and yanked me back. “You’re a flat-out liar, and you know it!”
“I’m sick of this, Erin. You can’t hurt me, so quit acting like you can. If you could, you’d have done it before now. So go home.” I started walking as calmly as I could, but inside my chest my heart was flipping and flopping around like a fish out of water. Something was different. Erin had gotten her proof. I knew it.
“Don’t walk away from me,” she called. “I had to stay with Mother after church yesterday. She’s helping to get a charity drive together for the town needy. Mr. Cooper from the bank was there, and he nominated three families he hadn’t received mortgage payments from in a couple months. Yours was one of them. Said he’d just sent a letter out to your mama last week.”
That loudmouthed banker. Didn’t he know it wasn’t professional to go around announcing his customers’ business to the entire church congregation? I wasn’t God or anything, but I didn’t think he’d exactly go to heaven for that.
“And that’s not all,” Erin continued. “He said if any of you missed another payment he’d have to take your houses away, same as he had to do to Ben.” Erin’s voice softened when she said the part about Ben—softened enough to make me believe that somewhere in that hard shell of a girl was a person with some feelings.
I didn’t ponder it for long. Rage rushed through me. How could Mr. Cooper do that when he sat in church every Sunday singing hymns and saying his prayers? Taking people’s houses away definitely was not a Christian thing to do.
“And you’re happy we might lose our house?” I snapped.
“I am when it concerns you getting what you deserve. Before we came here I was dumb enough to believe any lie that sounded half true.” Her jaw tightened. “I was too weak to stand up for myself. I vowed I’d never be that way again. And I meant it. I’m gonna be something someday. I’m gonna be better than all of them. Better than you. Everybody who ever lied to me or pushed me around will be sorry.”
Erin’s face displayed a stubborn determination I hadn’t witnessed on anyone except Daddy. For once the expression didn’t inspire me, it frightened me.
“You’re a spoiled, selfish brat, Erin Sawyer. Now leave me alone before I make you wish you hadn’t been born.”
“Oh, no, I’m not done yet. Since I knew you were working, I went by your house to check on your mama. She didn’t answer the door, but I’m sure you know where I found her. On the back porch. I went up to talk to her.…” Erin leaned in close to me, pretending she didn’t want anyone else to hear. “But I don’t have to tell you the rest, because we both know you’re smart enough to figure it out on your own.”
Thoughts and emotions pulsed through me. They crashed into each other, forming new feelings I’d never known—panic, terror, and a dark fear that my life was about to change forever. How could I have been so stupid, letting Mama stay outside? She didn’t know what was good for me anymore. How could she possibly know what was good for herself? I was being punished—punished for my stupidity.
Erin grinned. “Don’t look so worried. I know from Ben that it’s your birthday, and I’ll be over this afternoon with your present, a gift straight from the church charity drive. I hope your mother feels up to visitors.”
She pranced off down the street. Let her prance the whole way home, I thought. She doesn’t know who she’s messing with.
I had no doubt she would be back, but the question was, who would be with her? Her snoopy mother, snitchin’ Mr. Cooper, Sheriff Dawson? Maybe all of them. And they’d all be alert, ogling Mama’s condition, looking for any reason I’d be better off at Brightside Orphanage.
Erin had gotten her proof, and now I needed mine. Proof that I could take care of me and Mama. Erin Sawyer had gone flat-out nuts if she thought for one second that I was gonna let her convince people I was better off at some orphanage, bright side or not.
Sixteen
By Land or Water, the Wind Is Ever in My Face
I stood in the doorway watching Mama. As far as anyone in town was concerned, the thing that made Mama crazy was that she never went to church anymore. Forget that she never went anywhere anymore. Same thing happened to Mrs. Butler. She stopped going to church, and suddenly she was insane. Of course, no one ever said that to her face, but I overheard many a whisper in the church pews on Sunday mornings after Mr. Butler died.
I once asked Mrs. Butler why she didn’t go anymore. “I don’t see much point in praising God for taking away my family’s only chance at survival,” she’d said.
When I’d told Mama what she said, Mama’s eyes had gotten real big. “I don’t want you listening to that kind of talk. You understand me? Louise isn’t in her right mind just now.”
I told Mama I understood, but I didn’t think there was anything crazy about what Mrs. Butler had said. She was hurt, that was all.
Mama went over to have a “talk” with Mrs. Butler the very next day. Ben heard it all from his room—Mama telling Mrs. Butler she ought not say such things; Mrs. Butler saying that Mama didn’t know what it felt like to lose her husband. Mrs. Butler refused to take back what she’d said, and Mama refused to accept that. When Mama came home, I could tell she’d been crying. She wouldn’t talk about it, and she and Mrs. Butler stopped being close after that. It’s strange how so-called Christian folk, like Mama, end up deserting the ones who need them most. But I reckon a lot of folks are funny like that. They get so worried about being right, they end up doing wrong.
Ben told me he’d once caught his ma crying in her room. She’d tried to hide it, but when Ben asked her what was wrong she’d said she was alone and no one in the world cared. I pictured all the people in church on Sundays, whispering about Mama now instead of Mrs. Butler. I watched Mama, and I wondered if she and Mrs. Butler could be friends again, even though Mama had been so unkind.
I walked over to the rocker and squatted down. “Mama?” I whispered. I gently touched her arm. My skin appeared darker against her paleness.
The breeze had blown long strands of hair into her face. I tucked them behind her ear. “Mama?” I said, louder this time.
The rumm-rumm, rumm-rumm of the rocker against the wood continued. My throat burned as I fought back the pool of tears that jumbled and blurred Mama. Look at her, Daddy! Look what you’ve done! Why did you leave? You could’ve stayed. You should’ve. All the thoughts I’d struggled to fight back every day after Daddy left came flooding out. Pain throbbed from my clenched fists, my knuckles white and ridged beneath my skin. I wiped the stream of tears from my cheeks.
“Don’t worry, Mama,” I whispered. “Everything’ll be all right.”
I hurried inside to straighten the house. Everything had to be perfect. People who claim something is wrong will look for any
reason, no matter how small, to say they’re right. That was exactly what I expected from my visitors.
I didn’t have long to ready things. A knock at the door signaled that my time was up.
“Who is it?” I called, dreading the reply.
“Church charity. May we come in?” The voice was sickeningly sweet, dripping with honeyed venom. Mrs. Sawyer.
“Just a second.” I took a deep breath that did little to calm my nerves, then opened the door. “Please, come in.”
I welcomed the visitors one by one: Mrs. Sawyer, Erin, and finally Mr. Cooper. I tried to do it just as Mama had done many times before. She called it “receiving guests.”
Three pairs of eyes began darting around in all directions, sizing up their surroundings. These weren’t guests; they were a bunch of meddling ninnies.
“Please, have a seat,” I instructed, motioning toward the parlor.
“Thank you,” said Mrs. Sawyer. She perched her round body on the edge of Mama’s wingback chair, steadying herself in the find-out-what-I-can-and-get-out position. “We felt,” she went on, “we should check on you, Elizabeth. Mr. Cooper said you all had been having a hard time since your daddy disappeared. Any word from him?”
One thing was clear. She wasn’t wasting any time with getting into her prying questions. Erin smirked at me from her mother’s side, and Mr. Cooper nodded as though I should be grateful for his interference.
“No, ma’am,” I said. “Not yet.”
“Not yet! Young lady, it’s been two months!”
Mr. Cooper leaned closer to me. “Don’t worry. We’re here to help.”
Mrs. Sawyer shifted. “Yes, well, the type of help you need hasn’t quite been decided, but we brought you some canned items from the church food drive to hold you over: Mrs. Martin’s prizewinning pear preserves, some sugar courtesy of Hinkle’s General Store, and two quarts of my special bread-and-butter pickles.” She patted her pickles, then passed me the basket.
“Thank you.” I stood, hoping they’d take a hint and get the heck out. But Erin wasn’t gonna let me off that easy.
“Don’t you think we ought to speak to Mrs. Hawkins before we go?” Erin asked. She nudged her mother, and I knew that Mrs. Sawyer had already gotten an earful from Erin about her visit with Mama earlier.
“She’s fine,” I said quickly. “She’s on the porch resting. She isn’t feeling well and doesn’t like visitors seeing her looking so poorly. You understand.”
“It’s no wonder she isn’t feeling well,” said Mrs. Sawyer. “I can’t imagine how I’d feel if my husband had left me. We might do her some good. Visits can help cure what ails you like nothing else. Besides, it’d be rude of us not to see her.”
Mr. Cooper couldn’t resist throwing his unwanted opinion into the discussion. “Absolutely.”
“No, I really think it’d be best if—”
“Nonsense, Elizabeth,” said Mrs. Sawyer, bumping me out of her way. “Now behave yourself. This is no way to treat charitable neighbors who come to call.”
Mrs. Sawyer reached for the doorknob and turned it. Hurried prayers for Mama to be miraculously healed, for Mrs. Sawyer to pass out cold, for the world to end raced through my mind. The room started to spin around me, paralyzing me where I stood. I watched as three vultures made their way out to prey on Mama.
“Hello, Rose. How are you today?” Mrs. Sawyer’s shrill voice shattered the heavy air.
I rushed out to stand beside Mama. Mr. Cooper bent over into her line of sight.
“We hope we’re not intruding,” he said, “but it is so good to see you.”
Mama stared through Mr. Cooper, her eyes fixed on the invisible scene at the pond. Mrs. Sawyer glanced out at the pond, then back at Mama.
God, she’s all I have left. Don’t take her away from me.
“Are you all right, Mrs. Hawkins?” Mr. Cooper asked. He gently tapped Mama’s hand, trying to make eye contact. “Can you hear us?”
Mama didn’t acknowledge Mr. Cooper’s question or his touch. Her rocking persisted in the silence. Rumm-rumm, rumm-rumm, rumm-rumm. Mrs. Sawyer was, as usual, the first to open her mouth.
“Elizabeth Hawkins! Your mother needs a doctor.”
Mr. Cooper wasn’t gonna miss his second opportunity to put in his opinion. “I agree entirely.”
Erin stood beside her mother, scrutinizing my every move. She knew I was panicking, and after she watched me suffer through the next few minutes of discussion concerning Mama’s condition, she decided to up the stakes.
“Poor, poor, Lizzie,” she said, running to my side and wrapping her arms around me. “How can you stand to live here with your father gone and your mother ill like this? How do you make it all on your own?”
Mr. Cooper and her mother were now staring at me—Mr. Cooper with pity and concern, Mrs. Sawyer with sharp disapproval. Erin had successfully planted a seed of doubt in their minds, a doubt that I had any business living in my own home under such circumstances.
Quivers rattled my stomach. I fought to keep them from erupting through my voice. “Mama doesn’t have a condition. She misses Daddy. I told you she didn’t feel like visitors.”
Mr. Cooper put his hand on my shoulder. “People do miss loved ones when they leave, but sometimes it consumes them to the point they no longer function. That seems to be the case with your mother.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Sawyer, “and when that happens, it’s best to seek medical assistance. Your mother looks perfectly well on the outside, but she’s not well at all on the inside.”
“I know!” said Erin. “Why don’t we bring Dr. Heimler over to examine Mrs. Hawkins?”
“No one can afford extra doctor bills right now,” I argued. I glared at Mr. Cooper. “I’m sure you know bills are already hard enough to pay without them.”
Erin smiled and placed an insincere hand on my shoulder. I wanted to slap it right back off. “That’s true,” Erin said. “I can’t see how you pay any bills without your mama or daddy working, but money won’t be a problem because Dr. Heimler will examine your mother for free. Haven’t you seen the sign posted on his front door?”
I shook my head, praying it was a trick and there wasn’t any sign on Dr. Heimler’s door. I didn’t know if there truly was, since I avoided Dr. Heimler’s house like it would disease me.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Sawyer. “It reads: Offering Reduced Charges or Free Services to Those with a Need. Inquire Within. I’ve already spoken to him once about your mother. Has he never come to see about her?”
I decided it was best to ignore the part about her calling Dr. Heimler on Mama. “Please,” I said. “I don’t think she needs him.”
“Look at your mama! We simply won’t take no for an answer.”
Erin looked at me, her eyes dark and cold. “You’re not afraid of what the doctor might say, are you, Lizzie? I mean, it’s only the worst crazies that get sent off, and even if that happens, you’ll get to go live somewhere else for a while. It’ll take a lot of worries off you.”
I grabbed the front of Erin’s dress and yanked her close. “Listen here, you pigheaded brat, my mama’s not crazy. And I’m not going anywhere. Just you try and make me!”
“Elizabeth Hawkins! Take your hands off my daughter this instant.” Mrs. Sawyer glared at me with a look that could’ve melted ice. “Hasn’t your mother taught you any manners? We come here offering help and this is the thanks we get. I’m going for the doctor and the sheriff immediately. I can only imagine what living in this situation must be doing to a girl your age. Your mother isn’t so high and mighty now, is she?”
“You don’t know anything about Mama!” I shouted. “I’m not in a situation, and I never asked for your help. I don’t need it, and neither does Mama. Now get out!”
“You’d best ready yourself,” Mrs. Sawyer said, pointing her finger in my face, “because your life is about to change whether you want it to or not. Mr. Cooper, you stay here with them. We’ll be back shortly.”
Erin shoved past me. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. The meaning in her push was apparent—salt in the open wound she’d inflicted upon me.
Mr. Cooper moved aside to let the “ladies” pass. I couldn’t read his face. He walked over to me and patted my head like I was a two-year-old. “I’m sorry, Lizzie,” he whispered, “but something must be done. For both your sakes.”
Seventeen
He Who Makes a Mouse of Himself Will Be Eaten by the Cats
It was over. A sick, uncontrollable feeling of absolute failure swept over me. Dr. Heimler, the sheriff, Brightside Orphanage, all of it careening closer with each passing second.
I closed my eyes, imagining my arms wrapped around Daddy. Comfort didn’t come. It’d been too long since I’d seen his face, heard his voice. He wasn’t there, and there was no use trying to pretend he was.
But even in defeat, my stubborn nature refused to die. I knew I had to keep fighting, and keep fighting I would. For Mama.
Mr. Cooper cleared his throat and attempted to make small talk with Mama by asking her about the book she was holding. He didn’t succeed. I almost felt sorry for him. He nervously tapped his right foot and fiddled with his collar. I’d gotten used to Mama’s silence. But I could see that it made Mr. Cooper uneasy.
I tried to be brave. I mustered up all the gumption I could, trusting myself to think of something to get us out of this mess. I spoke steadily. “I’m about to fix some supper. Care for anything?”
I feared Mr. Cooper would fling his arms around me for breaking the silence. “Why, yes, Lizzie!” he said loudly. “That’s very kind of you.”
“Won’t be nothing much, but I reckon something’s better than nothing.”
“Not a soul around here’s going to deny that.”
I brought a chair out for Mr. Cooper to sit on, then headed into the kitchen. I’d decided to make biscuits. Each time I made them, the smell of the flour and buttermilk reminded me of the first time I’d tried. I was eight and Mama was sick with a cold. Daddy loved biscuits with supper, so I was determined to make them for him. I mixed all the ingredients together and stirred. And stirred. And stirred. They seemed a tad too wet and sticky so I added more flour. After a few more stirs, and some kneading, I cut them out and put them in to bake. It felt like years passed before they were ready, but when they were, I placed them in Mama’s prettiest basket lined with a blue-and-white-checkered cloth.