Since I turned fourteen last summer, this is my first time at the grownups table.
With anticipation, I set ten places in the kitchen and five at the card table, all the while imagining the secrets I might hear while in the company of adults. Maybe Mama or one of the others will let a clue slip about the mystery I am intent on solving.
“Stop daydreaming,” Granny tells me, giving a soft nudge with her elbow. “This meal won’t get on the table by itself.”
“Yes, Granny,” I say and lower my eyes to show my remorse. Granny loves repentance as much as Preacher Evans.
“You and your mama are the most daydreaming bunch I’ve ever seen,” Granny says, more to herself than to me.
Mama gives Granny a look that says go easy on her. She is protective, even when I don’t want her to be.
“Lily, you need to change your clothes to get ready,” she says.
“Why do we have to get dressed up for a meal in the kitchen?” I ask.
Mama answers with a look she inherited from Granny.
In the bedroom Mama and I share, I change into a skirt and blouse and shine my saddle shoes with spit and a tissue. With the help of the mirror over the dresser, I run a quick brush through my hair and gather it in a rubber band.
A rap at the window causes me to jump, and my best friend Pearl laughs at me through the glass. Pearl is part Cherokee and part white, which makes her a shade or two darker than me. She motions for me to come outside. When I do, Pearl is all grins and giggles, to the point that it’s irritating.
“What is it?” I ask. “We’re about to have supper.”
“Crow’s home,” she says.
“Crow?” My knees hint at weakness until I pull myself tall again. Crow looks like Elvis Presley, who is new to the radio this year. My Aunt Meg showed me Elvis’ picture in one of her movie magazines. Crow is four years older than me and has been away for a solid year, stationed in Korea with the Army. It took me a long time to find Korea on the map. The war ended three years ago, but they still have troops there to keep the peace.
Pearl is all grins again. “Mama wants to know if you can have supper at our house.”
Pearl’s mama, June Sector, is one of my mama’s best friends. She gets messages from dead people, and I’ve been after her for years to get a message to my daddy that I want him to contact me. But June says it doesn’t always work out the way we hope. I wonder if anything works out the way we want it to.
“What’s wrong with you?” Pearl asks. “Your face just went all white.”
“I’m getting that feeling again, Pearl, like I’m a mermaid living in a tiny pond. I want to swim in bigger seas.”
“What brought this on?” she asks.
“It’s the anniversary, remember?” I say to Pearl. “That’s why I wasn’t at school today.”
Pearl goes from goofy grin to frown in record time.
“How long is your brother staying?” I ask.
“Just through the weekend,” Pearl says. “Then he gets shipped back to Korea.”
“Ask your mama if I can come tomorrow instead,” I say. “Or any night except this one. Mama would never forgive me if I missed the anniversary.”
“Are you going to come back every year, even after we move away?” she whispers.
“If people are still talking to me,” I whisper back. “That’s a secret, remember?”
Pearl slouches. Everybody in Katy’s Ridge knows she can’t keep a secret to save her life. Perhaps I was foolish to confide in her how much I want to leave.
Neither of us has ever traveled any further than Rocky Bluff. In our fantasies, I marry Crow so Pearl can be an aunt to all the kids Crow and I have. Since I am an only child, I want bunches of babies, at least four, maybe seven. But what Pearl doesn’t know is that I also want to travel the world singing, so I’m not sure how that will work if I have babies hanging all over me.
“Tell Crow I said ‘hello,’ okay? Tell him I’ll come visit as soon as I can.”
She agrees and we say our goodbyes. When I go back into the kitchen it’s time to crimp the edges of Granny’s apple pie that’s about to go into the oven now that the chicken is out.
“Where you been?” Granny asks, wiping the sweat from her forehead with a dishtowel. She gives me a look like she’s caught me lingering again.
“Pearl came over,” I say.
With the oven on and all the burners going, the kitchen feels like a summer heat wave. We’re lucky that it’s still warm enough to keep the house open to let the heat disperse. But that will change soon enough.
Mama comes in from outside with a worried look.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Why does everybody keep asking me that?” She sounds irritated.
“Because you’ve got that pale look you get when you’re about to get sick,” Granny says to Mama.
“I feel fine,” she says. “Maybe it’s just my secret sense.”
Granny gives Mama a look that says, don’t start with that nonsense.
Minutes later, I hear my cousins racing up the hill to see who can touch the porch first and go outside to see who wins. If I’m racing, I usually win. Otherwise, it’s a tie between Bolt and Danny. Bolt is Jo and Daniel’s oldest son and Danny is the youngest. They are a year apart but look almost like twins. Bolt’s real name is Joseph, after Granddaddy. He got the nickname when he was four years old and swallowed a small tractor bolt. Luckily, it didn’t cause any damage. Bolt is a few months older than me. He sat at the grownups table for the first time last Easter and has rubbed it in for months.
Aunt Amy and Uncle Nathan’s kids come in third and fourth. Lizzy, ten, is a total brat and Nat, twelve, is the opposite. They’re wearing new outfits that Aunt Amy sewed for them. Aunt Amy owns a seamstress shop in Rocky Bluff where she makes dresses and also does alterations. Out front she also sells threads and fabrics. Uncle Nathan died in World War II. A photograph of him hangs on the living room wall. He is in uniform and has a hand on his hip like he’s hitching up his pants. Another photograph sits on Mama’s bureau of him holding me as a baby.
Uncle Daniel comes into view walking with his usual limp. He was in the same Army troop as Nathan and got injured in the same battle that cost Uncle Nathan his life. Aunt Jo and Aunt Amy walk next to him carrying casserole dishes propped on thick potholders. When she gets to the yard, my cousin Lizzy snarls at me like she’s already bored and it’s my fault. I have to resist pulling one of her pigtails.
“I’m starving,” she says, as though she might swoon on the spot.
“Ask Granny for something,” I say.
Lizzy runs into the house.
“Thanks for getting rid of her,” Nat says.
“Anytime,” I say, and we exchange a grin. Nat and I have spent entire summers making it a sport to avoid Lizzy.
A copy of Robinson Crusoe is tucked under his arm. Mama says Nat prefers books to people, and it’s true that he spends most of his time reading. But I think it’s because he doesn’t have a daddy, either. It does something to a person.
“Aunt Meg called Mama and said that she and Cecil are running late,” Nat says.
With all the Mama’s in the house at the same time, it can get confusing. At more than one family get-together, I’ve yelled ‘Mama?’ and had four women answer back.
Uncle Daniel greets me in the front yard with a hug. After he looks around to make sure nobody is looking, he passes me a roll of cherry Lifesavers like we’re passing secrets to the allies. I know he does this with all the cousins, pretending each of us is his favorite, but I play along.
“Where’s your mama?” he asks.
“In the kitchen with Granny,” I say.
It takes effort for Uncle Daniel to get up the porch steps on account of the shrapnel that’s still in his leg. He never complains, though. The cane he uses has the etchings of an oak tree on the side. He’s the best whittler in Katy’s Ridge.
Mama must hear him coming because she opens the screen do
or for him to enter.
“Good to see you, Wildflower,” he says to Mama.
“Are you ever going to stop calling me that?” she asks, but she smiles at him like she counts on him not to forget.
“Can I get your help inside?” Mama says to me. “Granny wants you to put everything into serving bowls,” she says. “She trusts you with her food more than me.”
When I come into the kitchen, Granny tosses me her spare apron. Without saying a word, she hands me several large bowls. I know what to do. It is no secret that Mama never learned to cook. She swears good cooks skip generations in a family. She can make oatmeal and toast and that’s about it. Granny has taught me everything she knows, even how to make a meringue for her lemon pies. I get busy, trying not to think of how much I’ll miss these gatherings once I become a world-renowned singer.
A baked chicken fits onto her white platter that has a chip on one of the handles. I carry it to the table, surprised by how heavy it is. I place the chicken at the center of the lace tablecloth. Green beans fill the second smaller bowl, and Granny’s cornbread dressing fills the third. I take the bowl of churned butter from the refrigerator and put it next to a plate of plain cornbread. Aunt Jo places her sweet potato pudding on the table, too, and Aunt Amy’s macaroni and cheese.
Upon seeing the spread, my dreams of leaving Katy’s Ridge dim. The kitchen hums with the voices of my family as they gather at their places. When I think of living someplace different, I can’t imagine what it will be like without my family around. At moments like this, it’s as though Katy’s Ridge pulls me back just as I’m about to get away.
Sweat dots Daniel’s brow, as well as Bolt’s. So far, the adult table isn’t that much different from the kids, except the adult table is hotter. But maybe all those family secrets will come to a boil, and the truth will burst open.
My cousin Lizzy weaves in and out of the adults, picking up bits of macaroni and cheese with her fingers. Aunt Amy tells her to stop, but Lizzy never listens. We’d be eating already if we weren’t waiting for Aunt Meg and Uncle Cecil to arrive. As if on cue, the screen door slams announcing their arrival, and they make their way through the house full of apologies. Uncle Cecil’s daughter, Janie, age 10—a whisper of a girl—skulks at their heels.
Aunt Meg used to ride to Rocky Bluff with Uncle Cecil when she worked at the Woolworths, a job she quit after they got married last year. Now she stays home and takes care of Janie who is Uncle Cecil’s child by his first wife. She died ten years ago giving birth to Janie at the small hospital in Rocky Bluff. Janie almost didn’t make it either, on account of she didn’t breathe right away after she was born, so she always looks like she’s gasping for air.
Pearl says Janie’s not the sharpest crayon in the box. Truth is, if she were a crayon—sharp or not—she’d probably be the color beige. Aunt Amy makes Janie colorful clothes so people won’t notice how bland she is, but it’s hard to miss.
Uncle Cecil has the opposite problem. A strawberry birthmark takes up the entire right side of his face. A birthmark I’ve spent a great deal of time trying not to stare at. Shaped like a map of Russia, the birthmark has a mole right where Moscow would be.
Until Aunt Meg and Uncle Cecil got married, she was the oldest old maid in Katy’s Ridge. Now it’s Miss Blackstone who teaches at the school. Mama would be next in line for old maid status, but I’m not sure it counts if you’ve never been married but have a daughter. There may be another name for that.
The back door is open, as well as the window, to help the kitchen cool down. Pumpkin and two of his offspring look in through the screen door, as though plotting a way to overtake the chicken platter while nobody’s looking. Granny calls for everyone to take their seats. My feelings act like a yo-yo going around the world. One second I’m ready to leave, the next I’m ready to stay. It’s no wonder I feel a little nauseous.
Great Aunt Sadie comes in from the back porch and puts a hand on my shoulder and kisses me on the cheek. Her eyes are gray/blue and her white hair is pulled up in a bun on the top of her head. When she smiles it looks like her wrinkles smile, too. Great Aunt Sadie attends all family functions, but she also keeps to herself more and more these days. A fact that worries Mama.
“You set a beautiful table,” she tells me, leaning in so I can hear over everybody talking. “You’re going to join us at the big table, right?”
I tell her I’m looking forward to it.
“It’s a rite of passage in the McAllister family,” she says, squeezing my shoulder like she’s proud of me. “After today, you will never again be exiled to the living room.”
She touches a finger to the tip of my nose like she did when I was younger, and then embraces Mama before sitting at the table. I wonder which spot will be mine until Mama pats the chair next to hers. I sit between her and Great Aunt Sadie, with Uncle Daniel on the other side of Mama, then Aunt Jo, Bolt, Aunt Amy, Uncle Cecil and Aunt Meg. Bolt looks over and gives me a wink, as though to welcome me to the grownup table. I’m not sure what we’ll do when the other kids get old enough to join us because we already sit elbow to elbow. I imagine it may be good that I plan to leave Katy’s Ridge after all.
Lizzy’s obnoxiousness can be heard from the next room, the others complaining that she’s drinking out of their cups. I imagine my other cousin, Janie, blending in with the beige walls, and Danny and Nat talking about cars. I sit straighter with the knowledge that the kids’ table isn’t where I belong anymore. This is my next step to being free.
Mama wears pants and a flowered blouse, the closest she gets to dressing up. She glances at Granddaddy’s watch like she has somewhere to go, and I wonder if she and Miss Blackstone have a Scrabble game planned for later.
When Granny takes off her apron and sits at the table, the room grows quiet enough for pins to drop while angels dance on the heads. But it is Mama who speaks instead of Granny.
“We’re here to remember Daddy today,” Mama says, a slight quiver in her voice. “We need to remember Nathan, too, who we lost in the war. These were two great men who we sorely miss.”
Aunt Amy’s lips tighten with the emotion she rarely shows.
Nobody in our family is real big on feelings, except maybe Great Aunt Sadie. Granny will tell anyone who’ll listen, that feelings should be saved for death beds, so it isn’t surprising when she announces that the food is getting cold.
We’ve come to expect Granny’s interruptions, and everyone laughs.
Uncle Daniel says a quick grace before passing the green beans. My aunts fill plates for the younger kids and take them into the living room before filling their own. Meanwhile, a flurry of serving dishes are passed at the big table and plates are filled. I wait to feel different, yet it’s like everything has changed and nothing at all.
“So what’s it like to sit at the grownups’ table?” Aunt Jo asks, passing me the gravy.
When I look at her, I realize again how beautiful my Aunt Jo is. She’s as pretty as Sandra Dee, who appears in the Hollywood magazines, and is about the same age.
Several people turn to look, expecting me to say something thoughtful. Instead, I shrug, something Mama has asked me to never do again.
Everyone eats. Uncle Daniel and Bolt fill their plates twice, while Mama and Uncle Daniel talk about the mill. At the same time, Granny complains to no one in particular about the price of electricity and that it is President Eisenhower’s fault. Every now and again I hear talking and laughing from the kids’ table and wonder if being a grownup isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
Every now and again, Mama squeezes my hand to let me know she hasn’t forgotten me, but mainly I am left to my own thoughts. Thoughts that even when I’m full of good food, challenge me about where I fit in the world. My last name is McAllister, just like my Mama’s. She didn’t take my daddy’s name, which means they weren’t married. In the third grade, Davy Jenkins called me a bastard. I didn’t even know what it meant back then, but I do now.
My father’
s side of the family is totally unknown. I wonder what it would be like to have supper with them, but it’s like a blank slate in my imagination. My insides feel jumpy. Is this the secret sense Mama keeps talking about? Until now, I thought that skipped generations like cooking talents.
Bolt looks at me. He knows I am quieter than usual. In the past, at the kids’ table, I challenged Lizzy to count her green beans as she ate them, or umpired Nat and Danny’s thumb-wrestling contests, or tried to get Janie to say even a few words. For years, I thought I must be missing the best part of family gatherings by being stuck in the living room. I never dreamed that sitting at the grownups’ table was more than a little boring. No secrets. No confessions. No big deal.
Why do I always crave a bigger life than the one I have? I wonder.
Pearl and I have spent entire afternoons imagining glamorous lives where we live in big cities, far away from tiny Katy’s Ridge. Cities where we go to parties and I sing while she works at a swanky job.
Near the end of the meal, Mama rests her hand on mine. “You’re awfully quiet,” she says. The worry from earlier hasn’t left her. “Something you want to tell me?”
I shrug again, and then try to erase it, but it’s hard to take back a shrug. How do I tell her that every day I wish I was anywhere but here?
“Please answer with words, Lily,” she says.
“She doesn’t have to tell you everything,” Granny says to Mama. For someone who is hard of hearing, she often chimes in like she’s heard every word. “Lily, why don’t you get the apple pie ready,” Granny adds.
Mama gives me a look that says we’ll talk later.
When I fetch the pie, Pumpkin stretches against the back screen door as though to remind me he’s waiting for his special holiday scraps. His old claws get stuck in the screen, and I hope Granny doesn’t see him or he’ll get a swift slap with her broom. Two pies sit on the kitchen counter. I slice enough pieces so that everyone has a slice, and then pass them around. Once everybody has dessert, the room gets quiet again except for the occasional noise of pure satisfaction. It occurs to me that the world could avoid wars if there was enough pie to go around.
Lily's Song Page 3