Cliques, Hicks, and Ugly Sticks

by KD McCrite

  If you were here, you’d see how the big wooded mountains that surround our farm make you feel all comfortable and snugged in, like nature is hugging you and giving you shelter. The oaks, hickories, and pines grow thickly and throw cooling shade to make the hillsides look like green velvet. The sight makes me feel good all over.

  Our house, an old, white, two-story farmhouse that has been in our family forever, has always been a sweet sight to my eyes, even with the St. Jameses living in it with us. I was happy to see that house. The big front porch beckoned me to come and sit in the swing and forget all about the day at school, but I wanted to go inside and see how Mama was feeling.

  When I walked inside the house, there was no one in the kitchen, so I shot a glance into the dining room.

  There sat my schoolbooks, stacked right on the corner of the table where I had left them that morning. The sight of them made my stomach clench, especially since I’d been sent to Mrs. Patsy Farber’s office for leaving them all at home, and she said she was gonna call my folks.

  Myra Sue was already chattering away with Isabel in her room, but I went to check on Mama. She was fast asleep when I peeked in on her. She slept quietly, as a lady sleeps, not snoring like a hibernating grizzly bear the way Isabel does.

  From where I stood staring at her in the doorway, Mama looked young and fragile, not like Mama at all. I was aggravated at myself for being aggravated at her and that baby. I knew how babies were made, and I knew how they grew and how they were born, but I just never thought my mama and daddy would present the world with another offspring. I reckon Myra Sue and me weren’t enough.

  That was a disappointment that I couldn’t quite come to terms with. Disappointment in myself, I mean. Maybe if I had been more careful to think before I spoke and had not been as sassy when I did speak, and if Myra Sue had been less prissy and uppity, our parents would not have thought they needed another child to make up for our rottenness.

  Maybe Myra Sue felt the same way I did, but it sure as the world seemed to me that she cared more about ole Isabel than she did her very own mother. Which just goes to prove my point. If I had not been so sad and so weary in body, mind, and soul, the whole idea would have made me downright mad.

  I silently closed the door to the bedroom where Mama slept. In my own room, I changed out of my new jean shorts and blue-and-yellow T-shirt, and I put on a soft, scruffy pair of jeans that had been Myra’s a couple of years ago and pulled on Mama’s cast-off green T-shirt.

  I knew I should go downstairs, get my schoolbooks, and do my homework. I knew Big Trouble awaited me if I did not. But I have to say, my bed looked purely inviting. I just crawled right up on it, scrooched down between the covers, and went to sleep in about five seconds.

  The most awful racket you ever heard woke me up.

  I had no idea where I was, what time it was, or what day it was. The color of late evening lay outside my window, which surprised me because it felt like I’d just lain down a few minutes earlier.

  Then I knew what had awakened me. Voices. Voices in the hall outside my room and voices coming from the room next door. The room where Mama was. They were loud and scared-sounding.

  My daddy was yelling, “Lily! Lily!” like my mama had fallen into a frozen river.

  The sound of his voice terrified me worse than anything had ever scared me in my entire life. My heart stopped, and I couldn’t think.

  I tried to get out of the bed, but those covers seemed to have a mind of their own. They wrapped around my arms and legs and twisted around my torso like they were gonna eat me alive, and the more I growled and hissed and kicked and fought, the more tangled up I got.

  “Hey!” I yelled to those voices. “What’s going on?”

  I finally freed myself from those crazy bedclothes and bounded to the door. I opened it up just as Daddy came out of the other bedroom, carrying Mama in his arms like she was a rag doll. Grandma tagged right behind him. I ran toward them, screaming bloody murder.

  Someone scooped me up while I kept hollering, “Is she dying? Is my mama dead?”

  I struggled in those arms, and a voice said right in my ear, “It’s okay, April. It’s okay.”

  Ian St. James cradled me like I was a little kid. His voice was quiet and soothing, but I did not want to be quieted or soothed. I wanted to know what was going on with my mama and why she looked lifeless.

  “Daddy!” I screamed. “Where are you going with Mama? What’s wrong with her? ”

  We followed him downstairs. Grandma was on his heels, and Ian carried me, though I wriggled the whole time. Isabel stood, propped on her crutches, at the foot of the steps, wide-eyed. Myra Sue stood real close to her. They wore the exact same expressions of fear and worry.

  Grandma opened the front door for Daddy. She looked like someone had drained all the blood out of her body.

  I reached out, tried to grab Daddy, but Ian held me back. Farmwork had made him strong and wiry.

  “Daddy!

  ”

  He turned around.

  “Honey, I’m taking her to the hospital. You need—”

  “I am going with you! Put me down. Put me down right now, Ian St. James! ”

  Ian’s arms just got harder than rocks.

  “April!” Daddy said. “Sweetheart, don’t make this more difficult than it already is.” He glanced at Ian. “Hang on to her.”

  He turned to Grandma. “Mom, will you please explain to the girls what’s happening? I’ll call you when I know something.”

  Then he was out the door, gone into the black night with Mama in his arms. Grandma shut the door behind him.

  Holding back all the snuffling and sobbing as best I could, I tried to reason with those three adults.

  “I need to be with my mother,” I told them. “She needs her daughter. Let me go now.”

  “Take her into the front room, Ian,” Grandma said. “Isabel, honey, you need to get off your feet before you fall over. C’mon, hon, I’ll help you.” She guided Isabel to the soft old rocking chair, and ole Myra Sue trailed them like a lost dog.

  Myra Sue settled on the floor right at Isabel’s feet. Ian put me on the sofa, then sat on the edge of it. I heard the car speed out of our driveway and knew Daddy had taken my mama away.

  Grandma sat in the brown leather recliner. She did not put the footrest up or recline the back of it. In fact, she sort of sat on the edge of it like she didn’t plan to sit there very long.

  “Okay, girls, let me tell you right quick what happened, then I’ll give you a bite to eat. After I got supper fixed, I took a tray up to your mama, ’cause I knew she was feeling extra tired. I figgered it was a good idea to let her stay in the bed. When I got upstairs, though, I couldn’t get her to wake up, so I started hollering for your daddy. Your daddy finally got her to wake up, but she passed right out again. He’s taking her to the emergency room, and they’ll find out what’s wrong with her.”

  Myra Sue and I looked at each other, and I could see she was as scared as I was.

  “Mike isn’t taking her to that horrible hospital in Blue Reed, is he?” Isabel said.

  Grandma nodded. “It’s the closest one.”

  Knowing that, I felt sicker than ever. I hardly saw how going to Blue Reed General Hospital would help my mother, and in fact, it might cause more harm than good.

  But Grandma made me feel better when she said, “If it looks like it’s anything serious, Mike will insist they transport her to the Springdale hospital by ambulance.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” Isabel said, heaving a deep sigh. “I hate to think of Lily in that odious place.”

  “Me, too,” said Myra Sue, and I heartily agreed with her.

  Right then, I did not like that baby and what it was doin’ to my mama. Not one little bit.

  Grandma cleared her throat, glancing at Myra Sue and back at me. “Girls, I need to explain something to you,” she said.

  Myra Sue and I exchanged looks. This sounded way serious, and I’d had
about all I could stand of serious.

  “You see, it’s this way. Your mama has lost a couple of babies before.”

  I sat straight up, and Myra Sue kinda jumped a little.

  “Huh? What?” I asked. “What do you mean, Grandma?”

  “I don’t remember any such thing,” Myra Sue said, looking as mystified as I felt.

  “No, you wouldn’t remember, either one of you. You were little, and Lily thought it was best you never knew. She did not tell you girls about this baby early on because she didn’t want to build up your hopes only to let you down if she lost it.” She smiled, sad-like. “Babies are mighty sweet, and we get attached to ’em right quick. She didn’t want you girls to be hurt and disappointed. That’s why she waited to tell you this time.”

  “Is she losing this baby?” Myra Sue asked. “Is that why she’s so sick?”

  “Honey, I don’t know. I hope not. Let’s pray not. Let’s ask God to spare this baby so’s we can get to know it and love it and welcome it when it gets here.”

  “Do you think praying will do any good?” Myra Sue asked.

  “I believe in prayer, Myra. You know that.”

  The St. Jameses, who are about as religious as a rotten old tree stump, did not say anything, for which I was grateful. Someday, maybe, they would believe in God and the good things He does. Maybe they would realize that there are things in our lives beyond our control, things that, if we trust and believe, will get better. I mean, they have had what some might call miracles happen to them since they moved to Rough Creek Road, such as showing up broke and alone and being taken in and cared for by strangers, and then having more folks who they don’t even know agree to help them get their very own house fixed up. If that’s not God working miracles for them, then I don’t know what is. But they haven’t realized it as such. In the meantime, I hoped they would kindly keep their mouths shut about not believing. It makes me sad for them.

  “I will say prayers for my mama,” I declared, “but I should have been allowed to go with my daddy.”

  ELEVEN

  The Longest Night of My Whole Entire Life, and Then Some

  At some point that night, I dozed off, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up, curled up on the sofa next to my sister. It was still dark outside, and I was wrapped in a tattered old quilt that I’d had since I was a baby. Myra Sue had her favorite pink blanket around her. We sat up but stayed right there, side by side. No one in that room, not me, not Myra Sue or Ian or Isabel, said a single, solitary word.

  “What time is it, Ian?” I asked, yawning.

  He glanced at his watch. “It’s two.”

  I had never been up that late in my whole entire life, and I can’t say that I liked it. Number one: It was pitch-black outside. Number two: The sound of the house that late is weird. And number three: My mama was in the hospital, and no one knew what was going on.

  Grandma stayed busy in the kitchen, and I smelled food cooking. At one point she brought us a big pan of popcorn and mugs of hot chocolate. I couldn’t stand the sight or smell, but I didn’t tell her that. Ole Isabel sat in Grandma’s rocker, cuddling her cup close to her chest. She shivered like she was ice fishing but refused the blue-and-white-striped afghan Grandma kept offering her.

  Ian paced back and forth in front of the big picture window. No one bothered to draw the curtains, and the night stared in at us with empty, black eyes. It was creepy.

  “Isabel, honey,” Grandma said, “you shouldn’t be up. Ian, make her go back to bed. She’ll catch her death of cold.”

  I waited for Myra Sue to fly to her hero’s side, but she just sat there and stared at her cold hot chocolate.

  “I’m fine, Grace,” Isabel said to Grandma. “If I went to bed, I’d just toss and turn with worry.” She sipped her cocoa.

  “Why hasn’t my daddy called?” I asked anyone who cared to reply.

  “He’ll call when he knows something,” Ian said. “Trust your dad to keep his word.”

  “Does anyone want a bowl of soup?” Grandma asked. “I have some nice potato soup I made earlier for Lily’s upset stomach.”

  No one wanted anything, so Grandma went back to puttering around in the kitchen.

  With Grandma out of the room and Ian nodding off, it seemed lonelier than ever. I leaned against my sister and rested my head against her shoulder. Any other time, she probably would have smacked me a good one upside the head and screamed for me and my cooties to get away. But she just sat there, staring at nothing.

  “April Grace,” Isabel said softly, “aren’t you tired?”

  I sat up long enough to reply politely, “No, thank you, ma’am. I’m fine.”

  “Little girls need their rest,” she added.

  “I slept for a little while.” I sighed. “Besides, I’m in junior high now, so I’m officially grown-up.”

  Isabel laughed a little at that. “Well, you’re growing up fast, I’ll say. And, Myra, darling, you look exhausted.”

  Myra Sue finally lifted her gaze and looked at Isabel.

  “I am awfully tired, but I refuse to sleep. Not until we know about Mama.”

  Isabel nodded. “I understand. But, truly, I think she’ll be all right.”

  “How do you know, Isabel St. James?” I asked loudly. “How do you know that our mama isn’t laying right there in that hospital, dead or dying, while those doctors and nurses run up and down the hall like a bunch of dizzy, headless chickens?”

  Would you believe that Isabel grabbed her crutches, heaved herself up out of that rocking chair, and hobbled right across the room without so much as a groan? She sat on the sofa next to me and pulled me into the circle of her right arm. She cuddled me against her and stroked my hair.

  Careful not to bump her broken left leg, I hung on to ole Isabel for all I was worth and didn’t even mind that I could feel nearly every bone and vertebra in her body.

  She spoke over my head. “Myra, darling, come over here on my other side.”

  My sister didn’t leap or fly or bound, but she did get up, adjust her blanket, step around the coffee table, and settle into the circle of Isabel’s other arm. The three of us stayed that way for a long time.

  TWELVE

  When the Good Lord Has a Happy Grin

  At four in the morning, my daddy called. His voice was hoarse and tired-sounding when he told me, “Your mama’s got a condition called preeclampsia, which means she has high blood pressure because she’s pregnant. The doctor here has given her some medication, and she’ll be just fine. And the baby, too.”

  “Is it serious, Daddy?”

  “It’s serious, but we’ll just have to make sure Mama takes care of herself when she comes home. Okay?”

  “Yes, sir. Are you coming home now?”

  “Yes. We’re leaving the hospital in just a minute.”

  “Mama, too?”

  “Mama, too.”

  Inside myself, all my muscles and bones and blood and guts turned to mush. My knees went all soft, and I crumpled right to the floor from relief and exhaustion. Good ole Ian picked me up and carried me to my bed.

  To tell you the honest truth, I don’t remember another thing until I woke up with the sunlight pouring through the window. The house felt quiet.

  Next to me, ole Myra Sue was breathing slow and deep and even.

  Then everything from the night before rushed into my head. I shoved off the covers and sat straight up.

  “Mama!” I yelled, and leaped off the bed. I ran to the room next door.

  I went in without knocking, even though it was against the rules. Mama was lying there, sound asleep, just like I’d seen her yesterday when I got home from school. It was almost like she hadn’t moved that whole entire time. I was so glad to see her that I had to force myself not to run to her bed and throw myself right on top of her.

  “Is she awake?” my sister whispered, right behind me.

  “No.”

  We stood there staring at her until Grandma came upstairs and c
alled softly from the head of the stairway.

  “Girls,” she said, “come down and get some breakfast. You can see your mama after you eat.”

  We hesitated, then pulled ourselves away from the door to follow Grandma down to the kitchen.

  Isabel, in her thin black robe, was sitting at the kitchen table, looking kinda worse for wear, pale and skinny, fading bruises still visible.

  We sat down, and Grandma put bowls of oatmeal in front of us. Not my favorite breakfast, FYI. But I have discovered if you put enough butter and brown sugar on almost anything, it tastes better. Myra Sue curled her nose.

  “I do not like oatmeal, Grandma,” she said.

  “Eat it, dear,” Isabel said. “It’s good for you, and your grandmother went to the trouble of preparing it.”

  My eyeballs about popped out, given that Isabel thinks lettuce and celery are the main ingredients for most meals. Without uttering another word, ole Myra Sue picked up her spoon and dug in. I picked up my spoon and reached for the bowl of brown sugar.

  I was stirring the whole mess real good, to melt the sugar and butter, when I glanced at the yellow clock on the wall by the back door.

  “Good grief!” I yelled before I could stop myself. “Is that the real time?”

  In our concern over Mama, we had not even looked at the clock in our bedroom. Myra Sue’s spoon clattered as it slipped from her fingers into the bowl.

  “We’ve missed the bus!” she squawked. “We’ve missed half of our morning classes!”

  She started to get up, but Grandma stopped her.

  “You girls have the day off.”

  “Huh?” I gawked at her. “We have never in our whole entire lives got the day off from school unless it’s a holiday. And this ain’t no holiday, Grandma.” I heard those words and changed them quickly even though Mama wasn’t there to correct my grammar. “Er, I mean, today isn’t a holiday.”

  “No, it isn’t. But it’s been a rough coupla days for all of us, and I want you girls to get some rest. Especially after staying up all night like you did. Now, eat your breakfast. When your mama wakes up, you can go spend time with her.” She hoisted the coffeepot. “More coffee, Isabel, honey?”