Almost Paradise

by Corabel Shofner

  “That’s right,” Eleanor said. “Did you honestly think that I owned the ranch house and all the land around it?”

  Not only did I think that Eleanor owned all that, but I practically believed I owned it too. A place that important to me couldn’t be owned by someone else. My world was crumbling around me, yet again.

  Eleanor told me that we were going to Mr. Gaylord Lewis’s house at Lake Travis. Turns out he had been a professional football player. The connection between a nun and a professional athlete of any kind escaped me. Even so, he’d used his football money to make all kinds of businesses, but the biggest thing he did was support the church.

  She couldn’t get me to respond to her story. I was swamped in misery. More than losing my home, if Eleanor didn’t own Paradise Ranch, then she wouldn’t have money for bail. And all that money I’d earned washing trucks wasn’t worth anything.

  “I don’t care,” I said and pouted. If I could have crawled out of the moving van, I would have done it in a hot second.

  “Ruby Clyde,” Aunt Eleanor said sharply. “Pull yourself together. We are going to ask Gaylord Lewis for bail money for your mother. And if you can’t be grateful for that, then all I can say is fake it.”

  I could fake it. I didn’t like it one little bit, but I could fake with the best of them.

  “And since you are taking this so badly, I ought to tell you one more thing. I am giving Mr. Gaylord Lewis notice that I will be leaving the ranch.”

  “Leaving the ranch?” I yowled from the bottom of my feet. “Why can’t we stay?”

  “I will be devoting all of my time and energy to helping you and my sister, thus I can’t fulfill my duties as a nun.”

  “Eleanor, no,” I cried. Leaving the ranch and nundom. I thought she loved being a nun. Besides, she couldn’t just quit being a nun, could she? Weren’t there rules?

  “You can’t un-nun!” I shouted. “Didn’t you marry God or something like that?”

  “Ruby, Ruby, Ruby,” she said. “Calm down. I can and will quit anytime I wish. I’m Episcopalian, remember. We have our own ways of doing things.”

  Yeah, sure, I thought, like chopping off heads whenever you want and robbing me of my home at Paradise Ranch. If you ask me, doing things your own way is a slippery slope to disaster. But we didn’t own Paradise Ranch. Catholic or not. Nun or not.

  By the time Sister Joan stopped the truck in the shadow of a giant castle on Lake Travis, I was feeling like an orphan.

  * * *

  Sister Joan stayed in the van while we got out and walked to the largest door I had ever seen. What was the point of a door that tall? Did he expect giraffes to visit?

  After Aunt Eleanor rapped the huge bronze knocker, an honest-to-God butler let us in and I thought, Oliver Twist, move over. The butler showed us into what was called “Mr. Lewis’s Office.” It was as big as a gymnasium, with a fireplace and windows that looked out on a sparkling lake. Colorful rugs covered the floor and animal heads hung on the walls, all kinds of things with horns. A full-sized stuffed bear stood on its hind legs beside the fireplace. Its mouth snarled open, teeth and all. Black furry arms stretched out in both directions, paws with claws. Mother wouldn’t have liked seeing that stuffed bear standing by the fireplace, but I was impressed.

  Mr. Gaylord Lewis stood up from his giant desk, and he was the size of that bear he had stuffed.

  “Gaylord,” Eleanor extended her hand to shake, but he swallowed her up in a hug.

  “Allow me to introduce my niece, Ruby Clyde Henderson.” She made a hand gesture in my direction that reminded me so much of my mother, I almost barked.

  He led us to the chairs near the fireplace, too close to the bear for my taste. I moved to the sofa and sat down. It was so deep that when I sat all the way back against the cushions my legs stuck straight out, boots pointing at the fireplace.

  “Sister Eleanor tells me that you have the gift of healing,” he said.

  I hung my head. “A lot of good it’s done me.”

  “You don’t know that,” he said. “I believe in the gifts of the spirit. Some people speak in tongues. I was blessed with athletic ability. You, dear child, have the gift of healing. You have it whether you understand it or not. Have you ever thought of being a doctor?”

  “Yes, sir,” I answered. “But I’d rather be a nurse.” I hadn’t met a lot of doctors in my life; I wasn’t sure what they did. But nurses, they put their hands on people and nursed.

  Aunt Eleanor brought the conversation back to her mission. She handed a stack of papers to Mr. Gaylord Lewis. “Here’s the bond information you requested. And God bless you for agreeing to do this.”

  He put on some skinny glasses that rode down low on his nose and read the papers. Nodding, and signing with a big silver pen. “That should be everything you need.”

  That was it? I wondered how he had the power to do that, but I did not have any such power. What did he have to give? I would have given my life, wasn’t that good enough?

  Eleanor came and sat close to me on the sofa. “And as we discussed, I’ll be leaving the order. This child needs me now, Gaylord. You know what we are facing.”

  “I understand.” His eyes glistened. “But please, stay at the ranch. As long as you want.”

  Yes! I yelled inside my head. Stay at the ranch! Stay.

  But she declined firmly. “I need a few months to finish my business, but then we will make room for another nun.”

  She took my hand and laced her fingers in mine. She gave it a firm jiggle and said, “It is not the number of people we serve, Gaylord. One is enough. This is my one.”

  I couldn’t stay mad at her, not after she said that.

  Mr. Gaylord Lewis said goodbye. He pulled me in for a smothering hug. My face smushed against his belly, that’s how tall he was. Over my head he spoke to Aunt Eleanor. “Keep me apprised of the situation.”

  “Indeed,” Eleanor said. “It will take a few days, but I will let you know as soon as we have a date for the bail hearing.”

  As we drove away, I thought about the $257 I had saved from the Catfish and had earned from washing trucks. Did it still count as me being easy and helping and making Eleanor happy?

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  When they let Mother out of jail we threw a bail bond party at Joe Brewer’s apartment. Mr. Gaylord Lewis had gone into court and told the judge that he would watch out for my mother until trial. And since Mr. Lewis was so big and important with football and money and God, the judge couldn’t say no.

  At the party, when Mr. Gaylord Lewis strode over to sit beside me, I sprang off Joe Brewer’s spindly couch. Strode is the only word for the way that man walked. I would have been glad to have him sit beside me, but I was afraid, with all his weight, that the couch would flip up like a seesaw and hurl me across the room.

  Aunt Eleanor was in the kitchen stirring a big pot of spaghetti sauce and meatballs made with one of Mr. Gaylord Lewis’s own cows, born right there on his ranch. Everybody seemed to like that fact, but I was concerned that he might be eating one of his pets. I had those concerns about eating pork, what with Bunny and all. Seems to me that meat is best bought in stores, without thinking too much about how it got there.

  Speaking of pork, Sister Joan came down from the hills after the bond hearing and she brought Bunny. She knew all about sneaking my pig into Joe Brewer’s building, which didn’t allow pets. She held Bunny up under her habit and marched right in. I wondered about that; Bunny had put on a few pounds but Sister Joan has strong arm muscles. “People don’t stop and frisk nuns,” she said. I didn’t know what frisk was, but everybody else laughed, so I laughed along too.

  We had everybody together for our party. Mr. Gaylord Lewis, who made it all possible. Mother and Bunny. Sister Aunt Eleanor Rose, Joe Brewer, Frank, Sister Joan, and me. Everybody but the Catfish, and I don’t think it is heartless to say that his presence would have ruined the party. He’d had a fast trial and gone straight to jail, did not pass go, did not
collect $200. What with him having the gun in his hand and shooting up the place, wasn’t much his attorney could do for him. Good riddance, troublemaker. I could go the rest of my life without seeing his silly face.

  “You want to hold my pig?” I asked Mr. Gaylord Lewis. I didn’t want him to think me rude for jumping off the couch just as he was coming to sit beside me. He took Bunny in his big lap and scratched. “Good pig,” he said. “Look at those eyes. He’s going to grow into a fine big pig. You might win a blue ribbon at the state fair with this one.”

  I hadn’t thought of Bunny being a prize-winning pig. That might be fun if he wanted to do it later. What struck me, though, was him telling me that Bunny was going to be one of those huge hogs at the fair. He was already on his way. Now he’d never fit in that stupid toy Cadillac back in Hot Springs. I wondered if that circus family had gotten another tiny pig to torture.

  Mother was in the shower at Joe Brewer’s and she’d been in there a long time. I didn’t blame her. Aunt Eleanor told me, after the fact, that people in jail take cold showers in groups. I’d just as soon stay dirty.

  Frank and Sister Joan laughed together in nearby chairs. Frank was telling Red Eye Truck Stop stories. Sister Joan is one of those people whose feet fly out forward when they laugh. Joe Brewer stood out on his terrace with the doors open, looking over the city lights.

  The building still made me dizzy. I wasn’t about to walk out on a terrace of a swaying building.

  Mother stepped back into the room with us, her beautiful hair wet and freshly combed. She had on the dress she’d been wearing when they arrested her, the one with the pink flowers. The sandals too. The same shoe that got knocked off at the IQ Zoo so long ago. I realized that she didn’t have any other clothes.

  Over pet cow spaghetti, I asked if Mother could get the rest of her stuff out of the Catfish’s car. Joe Brewer said no, the car and everything in it was “being held as evidence.”

  “My stuff isn’t evidence. I want it back.”

  “The state usually keeps it all,” Joe Brewer said.

  “Why? What do they need with our stuff?” I wanted my Wordly Wizard workbooks, at least.

  “Why is not something you ask the bureaucrats,” Mr. Gaylord Lewis said. I’d learned that Mr. Gaylord Lewis was a benefactor and that was a good thing, but I didn’t know the word bureaucrats. Didn’t sound good, the way he said it.

  Sister Joan marched out of the kitchen with a bakery cake. She placed it on the table in front of Mother, the guest of honor, I suppose. For just a split second I thought that she might light a candle and have us sing Happy Birthday, but that’s not the kind of party it was. On top of the cake, the baker had written in blue icing, PRAISE THE LORD.

  Amen, everybody said, and I was glad to praise the Lord, but it seemed that we should be praising Mr. Gaylord Lewis. He was the one with power and money, and he came down out of the hills to free my mother. I guess you could say that the Lord sent us Mr. Gaylord Lewis, and I was glad of it.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  We spent the night at Joe Brewer’s apartment so we could go shopping in Austin before driving back up to Paradise. Mother needed new clothes.

  Bunny stayed in the van, sprawled across the backseat, while we went in the store. That pig could sleep anywhere.

  I’d never spent time in a ladies’ dress shop, and from the look of it, neither had Joe Brewer. The two of us sat upright on a stiff little bench while Eleanor Rose helped my mother in the dressing room. Joe Brewer straightened his tie a couple of times, even though it looked just fine. A lady customer walked out in a slip and asked the sales clerk to get her a dress in another size. Joe Brewer liked to burst, throwing his eyes away so he wouldn’t be a party to seeing her walking around in her slip. But she was covered up just fine. I always wonder why you can’t walk around in slips or pajamas but you can sit out at the pool in string bikinis. Makes no sense to me.

  “Voilà!” Eleanor Rose stepped from the dressing rooms into the area with mirrors, where we had been viewing the dresses and giving the thumbs-up or thumbs-down. Clearly, Eleanor liked the next dress. She spread her arms like she was introducing royalty.

  Around the corner glided my mother. Cinderella. I could practically see the bluebirds flying around her head with buttons and ribbons. The dress was lovely, not to my liking, very girly, but lovely on her. And she glowed all over, like that dress had gone deep in her soul and lit a candle.

  Joe Brewer gave a thumbs-up, then lifted his other thumb too. Double thumbs-up. I did too, and Mother liked getting four thumbs up.

  Then the sales lady said, “This model comes in a mother-daughter option.”

  What the heck was a mother-daughter option? Well, believe it or not, some people make matching dresses for mothers and daughters to wear. The blood dropped out of my face. They’d tried to get me in a dress back in the department store but I had flat refused. Me and dresses are wrong, flat wrong.

  End of story.

  But Mother. There she stood as pretty as I had ever seen her, wanting with all her heart for us to wear matching dresses. They said I needed one dress for special occasions. They said I needed to look good in court, otherwise the judge would think I wasn’t being cared for.

  “You need to look like a young lady,” said Joe Brewer.

  “Come on, baby.” Mother reached one lovely hand out to me and I caved.

  I let them take me back to the dressing room and put me in that girly dress, identical to the one that Mother wore, only it was much lovelier on Mother, with her long hair and her graceful arms. I let them pull that thing over my head, button up the back and fluff the skirt.

  The sales lady said that the dress wouldn’t need any alterations.

  I said, “Wordly Wizard.” Alteration was one of my vocabulary words. Nobody was listening to me.

  They walked me back out to the viewing area and proudly showed me to Joe Brewer. I don’t know what his face showed because I kept my eyes trained on the carpet. I’d been through worse, I thought.

  Then the sales lady hurried over and slapped a silly bow on top of my head. It clipped to what used to be my bangs, but were growing out crooked. Eleanor Rose smoothed my hair out of my face and said that she’d trim it up later.

  Slowly I raised my eyes and looked at myself in the mirror. The mirrors, I should say, there were a bunch of mirrors that were so situated they reflected me over and over. I saw hundreds of Ruby Clydes going out into forever, looking absolutely ridiculous.

  I turned around to my audience. Mother, Eleanor, Joe Brewer, and the sales clerk. “Fine,” I said. “But the boots stay.”

  * * *

  On the way back home to Paradise in the blue van, Mother sat up front, watching the rolling hills mound and rise as Eleanor drove toward Cypress Mill. Bunny sat up in my lap and looked out the window too. If he’d been a dog he would have barked at the Longhorns along the fences.

  Suddenly Mother said, “I don’t deserve your kindness.”

  “Don’t be silly, Barbara.”

  Then lickety-split, Mother opened the glove compartment, snatched out a pair of scissors, pulled her hair into a ponytail, and cut it all off. Just like that.

  Aunt Eleanor and I both yelped.

  “I want to be like my sister,” Mother said. I thought, cruelly, that it would take a lot more than cutting off her hair to be like Aunt Eleanor. But that wasn’t fair.

  “Barbara!” Eleanor shouted as she pulled off the road and slammed the blue van into park. She swiveled and burned holes in Mother with those eyes of hers. She knew how to use them.

  “What?” Mother said. “You don’t like it?”

  “Barbara, get a hold of yourself. You can’t count on me to take care of you and Ruby Clyde forever. I am very, very sick.”

  Cancers could kill you, I knew that, and I had been with her in the hospital, but I kept putting her illness out of my mind. The thought of losing her was unbearable. Besides, I’d made a deal with God. He’d kept her alive for me
.

  “You can’t die,” Mother said. “It’s not right.”

  “And you shouldn’t be on trial for armed robbery, Barbara. But you are. You’ll be home with us after the trial. So it falls to me to teach you how to take care of Ruby Clyde. I’m going to have to train you.”

  Mother wasn’t insulted. She just sighed and said, “Whatever you say.”

  “I’ll hold you to that,” Eleanor warned.

  TWENTY-NINE

  We drove up to Paradise in late afternoon, just as the sun was dancing around the hilltops behind the house. “This is where you have been living all these years?” Mother asked.

  Paradise Ranch warmed my heart every time I came through the peach trees and saw the gray stone house, a cool shady place to rest from the Texas sun. Even after learning that Aunt Eleanor didn’t own the ranch, I still loved it and wanted to call it home. I looked at it through Mother’s eyes, remembered the day Frank had driven me out to the place, and wished that we never had to leave. But wishing comes to no good in the end.

  Mother and Eleanor carried their bags up to the porch and into the house.

  Bunny and I scrambled out of the blue van. I stretched like a starfish while Bunny put out his front hooves and stretched long, like a dog. The city is okay, we thought, but this is where we belong.

  When I walked into the kitchen to get pig chow for Bunny, Eleanor was setting out food. Mother sat at the table, still in a bit of a daze, her newly chopped hair all lopsided. She really had been through so much, what with getting arrested and staying in jail so long until we could get her out, and suddenly being out, buying new clothes and landing in Paradise. Who could blame her for being in a daze?

  Eleanor, that’s who.

  “Get up, Barbara. You need to wash and chop these vegetables.”

  Mother looked down at her hands as if they might do it by themselves. I didn’t remember a single time Mother made anything in the kitchen. My mean grandmother cooked for us and when she died I took it up. I could make grilled cheese and I could fry an egg just fine. Canned soup worked for vegetables and I even learned to make salad with iceberg lettuce and bottled ranch dressing. Who’d a ever thought I’d end up living on a ranch, and by the way I couldn’t see that ranch dressing—white and lumpy—had anything at all to do with a real ranch.