“But Daddy,” I said. “Maybe Otis needs to talk about it. And maybe you do too. You can’t talk to somebody who doesn’t want to hear it. But you can talk to each other. It’ll do you a world of good. I know, on account of me being at Warm Springs. It was the best thing you could’ve done for me—sending me down there with other people who been through the same things as me. So Otis and you are going to talk. Okay? He’s willing, aren’t you, Otis?”
Otis lifted his hat and scratched his head. We were in our lane now and Daddy had stopped the truck. I was wishing Otis would open his door so I could get out.
Daddy turned off the engine and sat there staring at the dashboard while Mr. Shoes yapped outside. Finally he said, “Ann Fay, reckon what your momma and me ever done before you come along? I bet you’re surprised we made it for two minutes without you there to fix things.”
The sarcasm in his voice made me real nervous.
I started inching toward Otis, hoping he’d let me out of the truck. But then Daddy reached for the handle to his door and he got out and went around to Otis’s side. I kept an eye on him while I slid under the steering wheel and climbed down on the driver’s side. Daddy reached through the window, took the groceries from Otis, and carried them to the porch. Then he went back to the truck.
Mr. Shoes was yipping and trying to climb my leg, so I sat on the step and held him while Daddy and Otis drove out of there.
“Thank you!” I hollered. I didn’t want Otis to think I didn’t appreciate what he was doing for me. And I sure hoped he didn’t regret it.
What in the world were the two of them going to say to each other? There was no telling. If I hadn’t learned anything else from Whitener’s Store, I had seen that the way men get along is a far sight different from how women do.
Ida and Ellie came out on the porch and Ellie sat down on the step beside me. “Daddy planted ’taters today,” she said.
“Yeah,” said Ida. “And Ellie took him iced tea and baloney sandwiches. And cake.”
So that’s why Daddy had garden dirt on his boots! He must have been trying to act like it was a normal Saturday. Trying to impress my momma. Hoping she’d take him back.
And then again, maybe he was just trying his best to be his true-blue self—the way he was before the war.
36
Mysteria Mansion
April 1946
I was dying to know if my daddy had slept in Wisteria Mansion. So after supper that night, when I thought the twins weren’t watching, I took off in that direction. I just took my wooden cane. If I got tired, I just stopped and rested for a minute and then I went on again.
Evidently the girls were watching because when I was almost out of sight I heard Ellie calling my name. “Wait up,” she called. “Me and Ida want to come with you.”
So I waited. Wouldn’t you know, they ran on past me and started to crawl in ahead of me.
“Ooooo,” said Ida. “It’s scary.” She held back and waited for me to go first.
When we were all inside I said, “It’s not scary. Just mysterious.”
“Yeah,” said Ellie. “Mysterious. Hey—we should call it Mysteria Mansion.”
Mysteria Mansion? I couldn’t believe Ellie had thought that up. “Very clever!” I said. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
We were surrounded by pine trees and every one of them was draped with long vines that had clusters of purple-blue flowers hanging from them. And it smelled so sweet it just made a body want to lay down and breathe it all in.
As pretty as it was, I could see we had some work to do. “Okay,” I said. “It can be your Mysteria Mansion if you want it. But these vines are taking over the place. You’ve got to cut them back. And don’t worry—half the fun of having a mansion is fixing it up!”
The girls wanted to get started right that minute. But it would soon be getting dark. So I said, “You better wait for another day. By the time you get the tools out of the shed, we’ll be fresh out of daylight.”
The girls made plans while I snooped around. I didn’t see anything Daddy had left behind, but I did think the pine needles looked a little stirred up, like someone had been moving around in there. And I couldn’t imagine where else he would’ve gone.
I had a feeling he might even be back before long. Maybe once it was dark he would sneak past our mailbox and park his truck down the road where we wouldn’t see it. That night I tried to keep my ears open for the sound of his truck, but I was tired and couldn’t stay awake.
The next morning Junior came to the house and told Momma that Daddy had asked him to take us to church. Something about that gave me hope for my daddy. If he could swallow his pride and go ask Junior for a favor, then maybe things weren’t as bad as I thought. So we went.
When people asked about Daddy, Momma told them he was sick. Some people might think my momma was lying, but the more I thought about it, the more I knew my daddy really was sick. Just not in the way most people would think.
After church and Sunday dinner my sisters wanted me to go to Mysteria Mansion with them. I did just to make sure they didn’t hurt themselves with the hedge trimmers. I took a tablet along, thinking I would write to my friends at Warm Springs, but for some reason I took a notion to write to Imogene. I hadn’t heard from her for months and months.
Dear Imogene,
How are you? And how are things at your school? Do you have trouble getting around? I heard there is a place in Alabama where you can go and get therapy so maybe you can walk without crutches. But I don’t remember what it’s called. Maybe your doctor knows.
I went to Warm Springs, Georgia for more than two months. I only use canes now and sometimes I don’t even need them. I still have my brace and I despise it! Before I went to Georgia a bully at school started calling me Click, but the brace maker at Warm Springs adjusted my brace so it doesn’t make noise now. I guess that showed him a thing or two!
Is your daddy home from the army? Mine is home, but he is not himself anymore. It makes me wonder how many of our soldiers have problems that we don’t even know about.
I sure wish I could see you. It would do me good. Whenever I have hard times I tell myself it mostly hurts at first. Your words comfort me when I get out of heart.
Your friend,
Ann Fay
I reckon I didn’t exactly tell her the truth on account of I didn’t mention that my daddy wasn’t actually home right then. But it just seemed too complicated to get into with someone who might not even be my friend anymore.
I asked Momma about the baby. “Are you worried about it coming and Daddy not being here?” I asked.
Momma covered her tummy like she thought she could protect her baby from hearing what I’d just said. “Maybe he will be home,” she said. “Maybe it won’t be as long as we fear.”
“But when?” I asked. “I mean, when are you expecting the baby?”
“Probably sometime in late July. Or maybe early August.”
July or August. Blackberry time. Corn-on-the-cob and sticky-summer-nights time. And now a baby. And if we were lucky—Daddy at home again. Not the daddy that drove off in his truck with Otis but the one we sent off to war.
To tell the truth, I knew that was a daddy I’d never see again. Still, July was a month to start leaning toward. Almost four months away. But it seemed so far off. Somehow we were going to have to get by on our own until then.
In a way I hoped Daddy would go stay with Mamaw and Papaw Honeycutt. Because I knew what it was like down there. I figured if there was any place in the world that could make a sad person feel better, it was the state of Georgia.
We didn’t hear a word from Daddy all week. And not from Mamaw and Papaw either. I had half a notion to go to the Hinkle sisters’ house and call them. But on Thursday Peggy Sue told me he was still working for her daddy.
“Where’s he staying?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Daddy told me it wasn’t our business. As far as I can tell, he doesn’t know.”
On Friday evening, right when Momma was putting supper on the table, Daddy’s truck pulled up in the driveway. Momma gave out a huge sigh, rubbed at the small of her back, and straightened up her shoulders. She also pulled off her bib apron and run her fingers through her hair.
Daddy knocked on the front door and waited like a perfect stranger for someone to open it. Momma told us to stay at the table and she went to the door. They kept their voices low so I couldn’t hear what either one of them was saying. From where I sat, I saw that Momma fastened the hook on the screen door. It seemed like she had her mind made up.
But after a minute she opened it and stuck her hand through the door, and when she pulled it back I saw she had some money. Evidently Daddy was turning his pay over to her the same as always.
Was he keeping some for himself? And if not, what was he eating? And where?
Momma came back and put the money inside the Hoosier cupboard in a baking-powder can by the flour bin. Then she sat at the table. Ida and Ellie were standing at the window watching Daddy drive away.
“Didn’t Daddy want to come in and eat?” I asked. I thought feeding him was the least Momma could do if Daddy was giving her his pay.
“He didn’t look hungry,” said Momma. She was trying to sound strong. But I saw how her lip was trembling.
It rained that night. And thundered and lightninged too. I got up and went out on the porch and tried to see down past the garden. Was my daddy getting soaked? He said he’d slept in worse places. That got me to thinking about the war. And wondering if he had slept outside during thunderstorms while he was off fighting. What else had Daddy been through?
I sat on a rocking chair and listened to the rain on the tin roof. Mr. Shoes had followed me out and now jumped up on my lap. He smelled damp and doggy, and for some reason that was comforting. I got to thinking that if Daddy was down in Mysteria Mansion tonight or any other night, Mr. Shoes would probably know it. And he’d be barking and scratching to go out the door.
More than likely Daddy was sleeping in his truck someplace. But that still didn’t explain how he could get a bath or a shave or eat a good meal.
On Saturday morning he showed up again to take me to work. Momma didn’t come out to talk to him, but Ellie did. Daddy sat on the step and pulled her onto his lap and put his face in her hair.
Ida was standing on the edge of the porch and hanging on to a post. Watching. She had changed since that scary time with Daddy. All of a sudden she wasn’t the leader of the twins anymore. It was like she would let Ellie do things first, and then, if it looked safe, she would join in.
Daddy turned and jerked his head a little, inviting her to sit with him too. So she did. He pulled her in close and he was real gentle with her. “I guess you know there’s something sweet hiding in my shirt pocket,” he said. Ida was almost as quick as Ellie to go hunting for it. But Ellie got to it first. She pulled out a pack of LifeSavers and started dividing it up between the two of them.
I didn’t talk to Daddy on the way to work because I couldn’t think what to say. Even though I wanted to know where he was staying, I didn’t feel up to any of his smart remarks.
When I got to the store, Mrs. Whitener was standing on a stool scrubbing shelves. “See why I need you, Ann Fay?” she said. She showed me how dirty her scrubbing rag was. “These shelves hadn’t been wiped down for two years. With you waiting on customers I can get caught up on other things once in a while.”
There was only one light bulb in the middle of the ceiling, so it’s not as if anyone would know if there was dust on those top shelves. But she wiped them down anyhow. She reminded me of my momma in that way. She liked things to be clean.
I noticed her making a pile of canned foods at one end of the counter while she worked. And during a quiet spell when no one was in the store, she explained what it was for. “I want you to take these to your momma,” she said.
“Why?” I asked. Somehow she must’ve heard that my daddy wasn’t living at home.
“People talk. Especially when they come in here.”
“Well,” I said, “Daddy brought his pay to Momma on Friday evening. So maybe you should give that food to him. I’m more worried about him than the rest of us.”
“Oh,” said Mrs. Whitener. She added a couple of cans of black-eyed peas to the pile. “I’m not naming names, but someone said your daddy moved in with Otis Hickey and his mother.”
All I can say is, it’s a good thing Mrs. Whitener was the one standing on that stool and not me. Because I would’ve fallen right off when she said that. All that time I worried about Daddy sleeping in the rain or on the seat of his truck, it never crossed my mind that he would move in with Otis.
A customer came in then. He greeted me and struck up a conversation with Mrs. Whitener. While they were talking, I got to wondering why Mrs. Whitener, whose husband was dead, would be giving extra food to my momma. Didn’t she need it just as bad? Or worse, even since she had more children than Momma did? I decided it just proved what a kind person she was.
I watched for Otis, and when I saw him coming, I asked Mrs. Whitener could I take a break. I got outside before Otis came into the store. Mrs. Whitener brought me a chair and sat it by the door. Then she brought Otis a dill pickle.
He squatted there beside me and munched on the pickle while I told him my daddy had brought his pay to my momma. Otis nodded.
“Mrs. Whitener said my daddy’s living at your house.”
He nodded again.
“That’s real big of you,” I said. “Your momma too.”
Otis didn’t say anything. He just ate his pickle. And when he was done he crumpled the wax paper and put it in his pocket.
“How’s my daddy doing? Is he talking to you? About the war, I mean.”
Otis stood up then. He used the edge of his shoe to scrape a bottle cap out of the dirt. He picked it up and pulled a toothpick out of his pocket and scraped the dirt out of that metal cap. He blew the loose dirt out and then he used the toothpick to clean out every little ripple around the edge. “Your daddy’s a good man,” he said finally.
“Well, I know that. He’s always been a good man. But do you think he’s going crazy?”
Otis laughed. “Some people think I’m crazy,” he said. “So I reckon I’m not the one to judge. But I know one thing—if war won’t make you crazy, nothing will.”
37
Making Progress
May 1946
With Daddy gone, it seemed like we all settled down some. Momma didn’t go around sighing as much as she did before. And she didn’t scrub or organize things around the house as much either.
I started thinking more about Warm Springs, and not just as a place to escape to but about the good things that had happened there. About the way it changed my life and even the way I thought of myself.
Leaving it the way I did seemed like the right thing to do at the time, but it worried me that I had—as Mr. Botts would say—broke one thing while fixing another.
The people at Warm Springs would always be with me, in my mind anyway. I got to where I couldn’t stand the bad feeling that came over me every time I thought of them.
So finally I wrote Mr. Botts a letter.
Dear Mr. Botts,
I hope you are fine. I am writing to apologize for leaving Warm Springs the way I did. I feel terrible about disappointing you like that.
At that time, I couldn’t see any other way to handle my family’s problems. Now I know that letting other people in on my family’s shame is one way to get some help.
Things are better here. They aren’t exactly fixed, but we keep praying and with help from neighbors and friends I have a feeling that it will keep getting better.
Please forgive me for not listening to you. You were always so kind to me and I will always remember singing with you in Georgia Hall and talking to you about my problems. I am so glad you are at Warm Springs because you probably help more people than you can ever imagine.
Someda
y I hope to see you again.
Yours truly,
Ann Fay Honeycutt
I didn’t know how Mr. Botts would take the letter, but it sure relieved my mind. I knew what a busy person he was, so I never imagined he would write me back. But one day when I came home from school Momma handed me an envelope from Warm Springs with my name typed on the front. Inside was a letter typed on special paper with the Warm Springs name at the top.
Georgia Warm Springs Foundation
Office of the Registrar
Warm Springs, Georgia
Dear Ann Fay,
I want to thank you for writing to me. Naturally I was disappointed about your abrupt departure from the Foundation. However, I accept your apology.
It is good to hear that things are improving at your house. I join your family in praying that the improvement continues.
Your father served his country with courage and fortitude during extraordinary times. President Roosevelt had much love and admiration for all of his men and women who served, and he would honor your father, as do I.
I hope your rehabilitation continues as well and that your time at Warm Springs will benefit you for the rest of your life.
Sincerely,
Fred Botts
I can’t tell you how relieved I was to get that letter. And the words about President Roosevelt warmed my heart. I knew they would make Daddy feel good too, but I could never show them to him because then he would know that Mr. Botts knew all his problems. I would just hate to see how mad he would get over that!
Even before I wrote to Mr. Botts, I sent a letter to Suzanne. I needed to know if she got in trouble for helping me. She wrote me back.
Dear Ann Fay,
I hope you are fine. I’m doing okay but I miss you. Olivia finished her therapy and went home. That is the hardest part about being here. I get attached to people and then they leave me.
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