Just Claire

by Jean Ann Williams

  Belinda got another towel and wiped with quick strokes at the mess on ClaireLee’s chest. “It doesn’t matter ya got your dress yucky.” She lowered her voice, “You’re still glamour girl.”

  “I don’t feel fancy.” ClaireLee headed to the sink and splashed water on her face.

  At the sound of the bell the two friends headed to class. Shame-faced, ClaireLee caught a whiff of her soiled clothes, and she fought the urge to burst into tears. No. I won’t cry. Concentrating, she forced her boots to thud in the hall, and a tough skin moved over her flesh and bones.

  As she entered the classroom, every eye seemed glued on her. At her desk now, Wendy draped her wool sweater over ClaireLee’s shoulders and gave her the library book she’d dropped on the playground. Her lips parted to say thank you, but Wendy had already left.

  ClaireLee admired her. She wanted the same strength and self-confidence as the Boston city girl. She was working on this trait. Will Wendy invite me into her club? Not now, I’m a stinky wreck.

  * * *

  * * *

  After school, ClaireLee peeked into Mama’s bedroom. She gasped at Feather’s angelic face with lashes curled over his closed eyelids.

  Then—the toilet flushed.

  Squatting at the baby’s basinet, ClaireLee ducked down her head. How can I avoid Mama? ClaireLee needed to get to her clothes box under her bed for a change of clothes. Mama will ask about the dress and where it came from. She wanted to put off this event forever.

  Barefooted, Mama’s feet padded from the bathroom to the kitchen, where Lolly was fixing herself a snack. ClaireLee tiptoed from Mama’s room. She pulled from the girls’ box a brightly-colored pair of pants and shirt, and decided she would first gauge Mama’s mood. If she wasn’t grumpy, ClaireLee would explain about Nana’s gifts.

  If she were grumpy—well, there would be no talking to Mama.

  ClaireLee’s hand touched the bathroom doorknob. Behind her, Mama said, “Where’d you get this dress?”

  Her foot froze mid-step—then she lowered it to the floor.

  “Answer me, darling daughter.”

  No. Oh, dear Lord, please. ClaireLee faced a mother who was no longer kind. “A friend gave it to me, Mama.” The blush to her cheeks frightened her. Will Mama guess I’m not telling the truth?

  “But, Sissy Pie,” Lolly said, “Nana gave you a whole box of dresses.”

  ClaireLee’s hand slipped from the round knob, falling to her side.

  “Is this true, ClaireLee?” Mama’s mouth puckered like a French knot on a doily. “Did you just lie to me?”

  Stomach hurting, ClaireLee said, “I sent a letter to Nana, and she wrote me back and gave me this dress.”

  “Ah, oh.” Lolly covered her mouth. “I forgot.”

  “Now, we know the truth.” Mama pointed an accusing finger at ClaireLee. “Did Miss Clumsy fall into a mud puddle?”

  She gulped and held her breath, unsure of where Mama’s tone of voice would lead.

  Crooking her finger at ClaireLee, Mama said, “Let’s see all the dresses.”

  Inching the box from under the bed, ClaireLee gave herself time to think, but no solution came to her. I’m sunk.

  Lowering herself on the bed, Mama reached inside the box. She unfolded a brown corduroy dress. “So, Miss Priss”—Mama’s voice oozed with sarcasm—“your nana sent you store clothes.”

  Muscles twitching, ClaireLee’s eyes darted from Mama to the door. She licked her lips, waiting. I’m scared of her, and I’ll run.

  Mama snarled. “Where are my pretty dresses? Where’s my letter?” She put fists on her hips. “Since the day you were born, I was no longer Mother’s baby.”

  ClaireLee was overtaken with fear, and she trembled before Mama. I’ve got to get out of here.

  “When I was your age,” Mama said, “I had nothing this beautiful. I only had two old dresses and a faded button-less jean jacket.”

  ClaireLee was sure if she spoke, she’d irritate Mama even more. Now, Mama held up the plum velvet. “My rich cousins gave me their worn hand-me-downs.”

  ClaireLee hugged a pale-blue dress with a flower pattern, wishing she was anywhere but there.

  “A group of smart-alecks at my school snickered behind their hands at me.” Mama’s mouth twisted in scorn. “They taunted me with their song. ‘You poor, poor, poor white trash.’” She jerked the pale blue from ClaireLee. “Pretty, pretty. You have enough clothes for two little girls.”

  “Little girls?” ClaireLee gripped her knees. “I’m no longer a baby.”

  “You are selfish.” Mama tossed the dresses into the box and kicked the box with the side of her foot. “Who, with a right mind, needs all these? What’s wrong with the clothes I made you?”

  “I didn’t ask Nana for them.” ClaireLee raised her chin. “How could I be selfish?”

  Mama dug in the box again and waved around another dress. “Some needy girl would like this beauty.” She dropped the garment on her lap and gave ClaireLee a lopsided smirk. “I gotta admit. Mother’s got taste.”

  ClaireLee reached for it, but Mama’s eyes—stone-cold slits—challenged her. Even though she had never seen this side of Mama, ClaireLee understood with clarity the warning. She trembled. “Mama, please.”

  “Where’s your good-girl attitude, ClaireLee?” She wagged her head like a spoiled child. “Don’t you see? A true gift requires sacrifice.”

  Heart pounding beneath her ribs, ClaireLee grabbed the dress sleeve.

  Just as fast, Mama reached.

  Their eyes locked.

  Two different hands clawed the material.

  Uselessly, ClaireLee glanced about, wanting someone to help stop Mama’s craziness. Lolly sat at the kitchen table, sucking on two fingers, and her lashes fluttered over closed eyes.

  ClaireLee pulled the dress taut between them. “Stop. They’re my gifts.” Mama yanked, but ClaireLee clenched her fist, until. . .rrrrrip. She sucked in a shuddering breath.

  In a mocking tone, Mama said, “What makes you think you can have these? Oh, I see, because they’re from your nana?”

  Glaring at Mama would only make everything worse, so ClaireLee kept a straight face. Mama’s lip curled, and ClaireLee let go. She scooped up the remaining dresses. “You can’t just take them from me.”

  “Who do you think you’re talking to?” Mama screamed.

  With knees quivering, ClaireLee stood. “I don’t know anymore.”

  Mama’s face sagged. “What do you mean by saying this, honey?”

  Clutching her dresses tighter, ClaireLee said, “Mama, don’t you see how you’re acting?” She escaped into the bathroom and shoved her backside against the door. Sliding to the floor, she pounded knuckles on her thighs. “I hate this.”

  Footsteps passed the bathroom, and Mama’s bedroom door slammed. Lolly and Feather bawled as though their world ended.

  Cradling her knees on the cold linoleum, ClaireLee knew hers was shattered. I’ve lost my mother.

  When it seemed safe to leave the bathroom, she grabbed her Bible from under her pillow. She walked past Lolly, who sat on the bed and sniffed on leftover tears. ClaireLee’s first thought was to glare at her little sister for telling Mama about their secret. None of this is Lolly’s fault. Out the door and on the river’s path, her boots pounded the pine-needled trail.

  On the river at the steep bank, she held her Bible in one hand and slammed rocks into the rapids with the other. The Rushing River roared in her ears, while rock after rock plunged into the deep pit. Rocks, which had been on the ground for hundreds of years, now lay cold on a watery bottom. ClaireLee controlled their fate. It satisfied her to control something. Anything.

  Her hand shook beneath her Bible. I need help. ClaireLee’s eyes searched across the river at the opposite side. “I’ll swim and run away.” Then, she remembered what Belinda said about her dad drowning in the Rushing. It’s too fierce for swimming.

  “Why can’t Mama be like Ma Ingalls?” Questions like this
didn’t have answers. With her mind as dull as mud, she edged closer to the white water. It called to her, and so did a feathered creature. A Steller’s jay scolded from a branch somewhere behind her. Was this her jay?

  Edging closer, the river’s spray soaked every inch of her. A sudden flap of wings erupted overhead, and a voice from the trail called, “Sissy Pie? I’m sorry.”

  ClaireLee spun round on her boot heels.

  “I need you, Sissy Pie.”

  Trees grew more vivid, as did the ferns and rocks. She hugged the Holy Bible, shivering. The more she tried to control the shakes, the bigger they grew.

  “Sissy Pie?” The voice chirped. “I want youuu.” Stumbling from the thicket-hidden path, Lolly reached her arms for ClaireLee. She knelt in response to Lolly’s need for her. Lolly hurled herself into her big sister and said, “Hugs and kisses.”

  Yes. Hugs and kisses. She hung on to her baby sister’s, and a sound floated upward, filling the air with song.

  Lolly took a step back and scrunched her nose. “You’re wet.” She patted her coat pocket. “I got your music.” Then, she pulled out ClaireLee’s radio.

  The song’s words gripped ClaireLee around the neck. Her eyes settled over the water—at the clouds which were white cotton balls framed within blue sky. The singer’s soprano voice sang, “While to God. . .”

  Lolly’s brows disappeared under too-long bangs, and ClaireLee realized she could no longer wait for Mama to trim Lolly’s hair. I’ll have to do this, too.

  Lolly’s icy fingers touched ClaireLee’s cheek. “Mama is bad, huh, Sissy Pie?” ClaireLee’s tears trickled at this honest observation. Her little sister said, “What’s wrong, honey baby?”

  Lolly’s dress pocket sang, “Savior, Savior, hear my humble cry.”

  “What will happen to us?” ClaireLee got off her knee and sat on the leaf-impacted ground. “To you and the boys?”

  “Boys are at the pond. I’m fine. Mama’s not.” She pouted. “She cries bigger than you.” Lolly threw herself into ClaireLee’s arms. “It’s horibibble.”

  Swiping her nose on a sleeve, ClaireLee sat there holding her sister for a long while. When she rose to her feet, she took in a shuddering breath, tucked her Bible under an arm and perched Lolly on a hip. She trudged toward the cabin with her burden, wanting Wendy’s life, even Belinda’s. At least her grandma smothers her with attention.

  Not this—her own life.

  22

  OH, THE THINGS WE MAY DO

  * * *

  In class, Mrs. Reed discussed plans for the upcoming month. Parent-teacher conferences were scheduled to begin soon. After this, open house night, which would include the Best Report of the Year competition. ClaireLee’s ears perked up at the mention of a contest. The contest involved each class in the school, with students choosing a topic in history. Not just about any place in the world either, but of Gallagher Springs, California.

  The library buzzed with students. Each grade picked information from books and pamphlets brought in by Mrs. Reed from the city of Redden’s large library and museum.

  Giddy with excitement, ClaireLee enjoyed anything historical. Especially about what helped America grow into a nation, and she chose her topic on log river drivers. When she saw a picture of a logger balancing on a log in the river, she was hooked. The short hikes to the river behind the cabin meant more to her now. She stared at the water and imagined the men on logs in the swift white rapids of the Rushing. Log jams as high as a two-story house. What challenged her, though, was the competition. Is it possible I could become a winner?

  * * *

  * * *

  On the first day of two-day parent-teacher conferences, Mrs. Reed met with a few moms. After lunch, Kaye’s dad came in for his appointment. ClaireLee studied the man who had a stinkin’ attitude for his daughter. His soft voice and gentle movements were a surprise. She expected an unkind man in the father of Smart Mouth Kaye Tyner.

  When his time came to an end, Mr. Tyner met Kaye at her desk. He kissed her squarely on the head. Kaye closed her eyes and hugged her daddy around the neck.

  In awe, ClaireLee puzzled over Kaye’s act of affection. When the recess bell interrupted her sorting through her thoughts, ClaireLee stayed in her seat. She hunched over the pamplet and copied information to her notebook about log river driving.

  Right then, Belinda and Valerie walked over to ClaireLee. “Are you coming?”

  She shook her head. “I want to finish this first.”

  “We’ll meet you outside,” Belinda said, and they left. ClaireLee bent closer to her lined notebook, and her pencil flew across the page with information.

  Amazed at how mules were used to move the logs in the early years of the logging industry, ClaireLee tapped the pencil on her chin. Because mules were this important, someone would be assigned to make sure they were not overworked. The mules had a roof over their heads at night, ate well, and were groomed with a brush.

  Mrs. Reed called to her. “Claire?”

  “Yeah, uh, yes ma’am?”

  “Did you know your parents’ time to meet with me came before Mr. Tyner’s?”

  “Uh, no.” She fidgeted in her seat, staring at her teacher. “Daddy had to help my mother today.” Again.

  “Oh?” Mrs. Reed stood at ClaireLee’s desk. “Is everything okay?”

  Nothing had been right in ClaireLee’s family since Feather’s birth. How could she explain this to Mrs. Reed? Should she? ClaireLee settled on telling the newest and safest problem. “The baby caught the cruddy cough, so Mama needs Daddy’s help.”

  Mrs. Reed motioned for her to follow. “You should have a conference, Claire, like the rest of the students.” ClaireLee blinked at the notion, while Mrs. Reed pointed to a chair next to her desk.

  Adjusting her glasses, Mrs. Reed opened the grade book. “You’re struggling in arithmetic with a C-.” They worked on a few equations until ClaireLee understood it better, but honestly, she grew bored with numbers.

  The stiffness in ClaireLee’s shoulders dissolved as Mrs. Reed’s earnest expression showed she cared. “You’ve done well in English.” Mrs. Reed’s finger found a letter and tapped. “You can see you have an A. In history you have a B. Big Red gave you an A in physical education, and in music Mrs. Blackwell gave you an A.”

  Mrs. Reed stared at her, and ClaireLee nodded to show she understood.

  “You’re a hardworking student, and see here.” She pointed to notes each teacher wrote. “We commented on how serious you are about learning. Your parents should be proud.”

  Did she have to mention proud and parents in the same sentence? ClaireLee’s eyes blurred. Mama doesn’t care about anything, let alone me and my grades.

  In an emotional upheaval, ClaireLee no longer liked this special meeting. She should be able to have her parents come like any other student. In a flush of anger, she blurted tattling words. “Mama has been mean to me.” Clamping hands over her mouth, she was unable to smother her cries.

  A groan escaped from Mrs. Reed. “Oh dear.” She wrapped her arm around ClaireLee. “How, Claire?”

  Her breath quickened in a stream of hiccupping sobs. Mrs. Reed cupped ClaireLee’s head and brought her into a tighter embrace. After the tears dried, ClaireLee told Mrs. Reed what had happened with her new dresses. “And then”—she hung her head—“I was angry and told Mama I didn’t know her anymore.”

  “Those were harsh words.” Mrs. Reed sighed. “Of course you were upset, Claire.”

  With her head still bowed, she said, “I’ve never back-talked to Mama before.”

  “I believe you, Claire.” She patted ClaireLee’s arm.

  ClaireLee relaxed into Mrs. Reed’s shoulder. “After our fight, I ran to the river. By the time I came home, Mama was singing a song to Feather. She even winked at me like she used to.” She shivered from a chill, which scratched along her spine. “Mama acted like she didn’t remember our fight.”

  Her desk drawer already open, Mrs. Reed reached i
nside. She presented a thin book to ClaireLee. “Here.” She placed it in ClaireLee’s outstretched fingers. “I keep a few of these for students who show an interest in writing. As a teenager, I found a diary helped me to sort my feelings.”

  “Thank you.” ClaireLee touched the cloth cover. “This is a deep brown, like fall leaves.”

  “It has a key for your privacy.” Her teacher flipped it to the backside.

  ClaireLee touched the taped key. “My first diary.”

  Mrs. Reed moved her hands over her own pleated skirt. “I think your mother needs time to heal because she may be suffering from the baby blues.”

  Latching on to those words, ClaireLee pondered them. Does this have anything to do with Feather being born with purple skin? “What are baby blues?”

  “When women give birth, this can happen.” Mrs. Reed’s eyes misted. “I know I felt overly sad after my son was born. In time, those emotions left, and I felt like myself once again.”

  Hope niggled its way into ClaireLee’s heart, but just as fast she doubted. “I wonder if Mama still loves us.”

  “Right now,” Mrs. Reed said, “she’s trying to get through moment by moment. Believe me, ClaireLee, your mother still loves you.”

  Daring to believe, ClaireLee squeezed her eyes.

  Mrs. Reed pulled her close, once again, and her mouth moved on ClaireLee’s hair. “I know it’s hard to imagine, but from this experience you’ll grow into a strong woman.”

  ClaireLee would have laughed if it weren’t so serious. She couldn’t picture herself as a grown-up, but she could imagine herself under a tree, writing in her new diary about how complicated life had become.

  * * *

  * * *

  Later in the afternoon, ClaireLee waved good-bye as Belinda flattened her face against the school bus window. This made ClaireLee chuckle. After Big Red drove off with the students, Wendy, Valerie, and Kaye met her on the steps. Valerie’s glowing expression said it all. Something huge was about to happen.