“Fred, honey, let’s get some cherry cider. It would be good to stretch our legs.” Aunt Avis cast her eyes back toward Mumma. “Do you like cherry cider, Fred, honey?” She reached over and pulled a little curl that was peeking out from under Fred’s hat. I hadn’t yet seen him without the hat. It slipped down onto the tops of his ears in a way that didn’t look just right.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever had it, Avis.” The car was slowing down. “I guess I’m about to find out.” He reached over and patted Aunt Avis’s knee the same way I pat my dog, Jigs, on top of his head.
Our arrival at the farm stand was an event. It felt like an ocean liner floating up to the dock, the way that car swooped into the moon-shaped curve of dirt road with the farm stand in the middle. People looked up.
“Oh, goody,” Mumma said when it finally stopped.
Avis was already opening her door.
We all drank the first bottle of cherry cider standing around the car. Fred eased the cork loose with his thumbs. It poked out the top of the bottle like Fred Astaire’s top hat, Avis said. We had little paper cups from the stand. Fred poured into them carefully, so as not to spill a drop.
“Well, my Lord,” Mumma exclaimed when she took her first sip. “It’s got some kick.”
Avis took her own sip. “Yep.” She took a longer drink. “This is hard cider. It’s turned.”
“Not a turn for the worse, I hope?”
“No, no, not at all.” Avis held up her cup as though to toast and then drank it down.
“I thought that farm-stand man winked at me.” Mumma giggled. “Could you pour me another, Fred? It sure hits the spot.”
“Me, too,” Avis cooed.
“Perhaps we should find something else for the little lady?” Fred was referring to me.
“Perhaps so,” Mumma said.
“Oh, let her have a cup of it, Idella,” Avis coaxed. “It won’t do her any harm. Edward’s not here. Let her have some fun.”
Mumma looked at me with her head cocked to one side, the way a bird looks. “Oh, all right.” She shrugged and smiled. “One cup won’t do her any harm, I guess.”
Fred poured some for me, a little reluctantly, I thought. The cider had fizz. It tickled my nose. Cool and sweet, it smelled earthy in a good way. I felt all grown up.
“Let’s get us another,” Mumma said excitedly, before we’d even finished.
“Let’s get more than another. We can bring some home,” Avis said. “What do you say, Freddie? I’ll buy. Me and Idella will buy.”
“Now, ladies. Is it wise? It tastes delightful, but perhaps we should be a bit cautious. It has turned.”
“We’ll bring some to your aunt,” Avis said. “Would she like that? It might do her good. It’s probably medicinal, don’t you think, Della?”
“Well,” Mumma said, “it’s good for what ails ya.” They both laughed.
Avis was at that curl again. “Come on, Freddie. Don’t be an old stick in the mud.”
“Here we are,” Mumma said, sweeping her arm toward the farm stand. “We might as well. It’ll never be as good.”
“And here’s Barbara wearing a cherry dress,” Fred said unexpectedly, and Aunt Avis and Mumma stopped and looked down at my flouncing red dots. He looked into my cup and saw that it was empty. He poured a little bit more, the end of the bottle, and smiled at me like we had a secret.
Avis laughed. “Well, they could pass for cherries, Freddie,” Avis said.
“Why, yes,” Mumma said, holding out my skirt a little farther than I liked. “It’s got a real cherry color to it.”
“With no stems.”
“And no pits.”
“Oh, no. No pits.” This sent the two of them into wild laughter.
“Come on, Idella. Fred, you stay here with Barbara.” Avis reached over and grabbed Mumma’s hand, and they pranced the few steps over to the farm stand, tossing their joined hands up and down.
“Very refreshing!” Avis spoke to the man first and handed him the empty bottle. “We thought you could use this again.” There were no other customers at the moment.
“Just what I needed, that cider. So refreshing on a hot day.”
“Why, thank you, ma’am. It’s been a good year for cherries.”
“I should say,” said Mumma.
“That cider is so good, I think we’ll have to buy some more. Don’t you think so, Della?”
“Oh, yes.” She giggled.
The farmer nodded and smiled. “How much would you like?”
“Well, now, that first bottle was so good—if you can promise me that it’ll be as good—you know, the good stuff—why, I think we’d like ten bottles!”
“Ten!” That was Mumma, sounding more like herself.
“Yes, Della, ten. Why the hell not? As you yourself were saying, here we are, and here it is. The time is ripe.”
“You mean the cider is ripe!” Mumma said. That set them off.
“Well, now, ladies,” the farmer said, coming in over their giggling, “if you promise not to drink it all in one place, I believe I can round up ten more bottles.” He glanced over in our direction. Fred nodded to him and touched his hat, like a detective in a movie.
“Would it be from the same batch? If you know what I mean?” Avis’s voice was lower than Mumma’s. They were all acting as if they were in a murder mystery.
“Yes, ma’am. I do know what you mean.” He winked at Avis and Mumma both. “If you ladies will excuse me for a moment.” He went out behind his stand and started bringing back bottles of the red cider. They were a lovely color, like ruby tenpins all lined up across his wooden counter. The sun shone through them as he held each bottle up to be inspected.
The way Aunt Avis ended up in the back is that we had to hold on to the bottles somehow, to keep them in place. They couldn’t very well roll around in the trunk. So Avis had the idea that if she got into the back seat with us, and if we sat right up against each other, then we could put the bottles between us and our bodies would be the cushions. Avis handed three bottles in to Mumma. Then I got in.
“Sit right next to her now, Barb, leg to leg. Use your skirt as a bumper.” We got three bottles snug between us. Then Aunt Avis handed in three more bottles, we lined them along my other side, and she climbed in next to me. Fred stood beside the open door, holding the four remaining bottles, not saying a thing. “Here, Fred, honey, hand them in. Della, you’ll have to sit holding two of these. Barb, honey, hand these over to your mother.”
“Jesus, Avis. Ten was too many.” Mumma took one of the bottles and put it on the floor between her feet. “There. Try that.”
Avis did the same and then glanced at me. “You doing all right there, Barbara? You look a little pale.”
I nodded. I had to keep my elbows close in and my hands in my lap. I could feel the smooth curves of the bottles wedged between us. The sun coming through the back windshield was hot on my neck. I would be glad to feel the breeze through open windows again.
“I guess we’re ready, Freddie.” Avis smiled out at him. Fred nodded and closed her door. Then he got into the front behind the wheel and started the engine.
“I promised you ladies a ride in the country,” Fred said, using the rearview to get a glimpse. “I feel like you ladies have been shortchanged.”
“Oh, I’ve had a lovely time.” Mumma spoke over his shoulder. “This has been plenty of country for me. Really.”
“And we promised Barbara we’d take her to a restaurant. Didn’t we, Barbie dear?” Avis reached over and squeezed my knee.
“Well, let me take you back by another route at least, rather than see the same old thing again.”
“Anything she wants on the menu. Right, kid?” Avis patted my knee. “I think the direct route is best, Fred.”
“Oh, yes, the direct route would be just fine,” Mumma added. “Just fine.”
But he had already turned off onto a different road and was picking up speed. Mumma and Avis rolled their eyes at each
other. Avis shrugged. Mumma shrugged back. They started giggling. Fred’s eyes filled the mirror every now and then for a quick glance back.
“We’ll be coming up soon to one of my favorite barns. It’s so well situated off the road. And the animals are beautifully cared for. I stopped once and introduced myself. They showed me the barn. Beautiful horses. Very nice folks.”
“Why, Fred, I didn’t know that you were a gentleman farmer.” Avis was pointing at the bottle of cider in her hand, so we could see that the cork was loosened. Mumma slyly nodded her head.
“Oh, there’s a lot you don’t know about me, Avis.”
“Well, I guess that could be said for most of us.” Avis worked the cork from the bottle a smidge at a time. Just as she was easing it out, Mumma faked a sneeze.
“Bless you,” Avis said, giggling.
“Why, thank you, Avis.”
Fred’s eyes flicked across the rearview and back to the road. “Is that true for you, Barbara?” I could feel Avis leaning over to the side and taking a swig. I sat up a little higher, not daring to look at her.
“Excuse me?” I stammered.
“Are there things about you that other people don’t know?”
I immediately thought about the box of ice cream sitting in our freezer. I’d been opening it up and eating it from out of the bottom, so the top would look the same. Daddy must know about that by now.
“That’s a hard thing for a kid to answer, Fred.” Avis leaned up behind him. She slid a finger under his hat and tickled behind his ear, handing Mumma the cider bottle while she was doing it. “Is that a hawk way up there?” She leaned forward. Fred had picked up considerable speed on this more deserted road. Mumma took a sip.
“I think that’s a crow, Avis. You should know that, coming from up there in Canada. You must have seen a lot of crows on your farm.”
“We had a lot of bats up there.” Mumma leaned in a little, passing the bottle back.
“Christ, yes.” Avis laughed. “More than a few. We were all batty.”
Avis and Mumma were making too much noise, talking back and forth across me, for Fred not to know there was a party going on. But he kept his eyes on the road.
“Are you ladies enjoying yourselves?” he finally said.
“Oh, yes, immensely.” Mumma giggled. It was the kind of giggle I’d only heard from her in two places—at Cousin Ella’s wedding reception, where everyone got tipsy from champagne, and on Saturday nights in the kitchen when she and Daddy had whiskey and water and played cards with the Martins. I looked at her now. Her cheeks and nose were as flushed as radishes.
“And you, Avis? Are you enjoying our little jaunt?” Fred stared straight ahead.
“Oh, Freddie, it takes my breath away. Truly.” She wiped her brow with a hankie. “Whew. It truly does.”
Her lipstick was smeared up over her top lip from the cider bottle. I pointed with a finger to my own lip, to give her a clue. She took her compact from her purse, opened it, and burst out laughing.
“I look like I’ve been kissing a gorilla.”
“Let me see.” Mumma leaned over. “Why, Avis. It looks like you’ve been kissing two gorillas.”
“Well, one of ’em wasn’t Edward.”
“That’s not necessary, Avis.”
“And one of them sure wasn’t me,” Fred said.
Mumma and Avis both got quiet. They looked at each other, raised their eyebrows, and sat back. Mumma started fiddling with the cork on her bottle of cider and looked out the window. Avis wiped her mouth and reapplied her lipstick. I watched Fred’s eyes in the mirror. We rode along in silence.
“This last stretch is pure country, ladies. Hold on to your hat, Avis.” He jerked the car onto a gravel road. We bumped and jostled along in the back, not saying anything. A flurry of small stones flew off to the sides as the tires gouged through ruts and gravel, making tinny little spitty sounds against the hubcaps.
Suddenly there was a loud pop.
“Jesus H. Christ.” Mumma held on to her bottle as the contents exploded. Cherry cider, foaming and red, shot up to the roof of the car and splashed all over the seat, the carpeting, Mumma, and me.
“Holy Mother of God!” Aunt Avis exclaimed as cider sprayed her face.
“Will you look at that.” Mumma was incredulous.
Fred slowed and stopped the car. His hands were gripping the steering wheel. Finally he turned and stared at us. All my beautiful polka dots were smeared in a cherry background. The pale brushed leather of Fred’s seats took on the color of blood as cherry cider seeped in. The beige carpet under my feet was red, too. Fred got out of the car.
Aunt Avis and Mumma opened their doors and got out. Mumma kept dabbing at her splotched blouse with her fingers. “We need a little seltzer water.” She was flustered. I sat in the middle of the seat, using my dress to mop up cider.
Fred stuck his head right into the back and reached across my lap, feeling the stickiness of the seats and the wetness of the rug. He took his white handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed it against the cushion till it soaked through. He stood up. “Get in, both of you. Just get in.”
Mumma and Avis quieted down and closed the doors. Fred got behind the wheel, turned the car around without a word, and took off. I don’t know which of them was laughing first—full-out, nonstop laughing. It started with snickers between them and kept escalating. Fred and I were both silent.
“Poor Fred,” Avis wheezed, but she didn’t sound too upset. “Poor Barbara. Look, look at the dress. Her cherry dress.” But she was laughing. “I’m going to pee, I’m going to wet my pants,” Avis said, barely able to speak.
“Oh, don’t, Avis, please don’t.” Mumma gasped for air. “We’ve done enough.”
The whole time Fred was driving lickety-split. He drove directly to a little town we’d passed through a few miles back. When he got to the main street, he pulled up in front of a small grocery store and pointed to a sign that hung above the door. It said BUSSTOP, and there was a picture of a greyhound poised mid-lope over the door.
“This, ladies, is the end of the line. I’ve been taken for a ride, and now the ride is over.” He got out, opened the back door next to Avis, reached in, and helped her climb out of the car. “And take your cider with you.”
“Why, thank you, Fred. How thoughtful,” Avis said as he handed her the bottles one by one. Mumma was scurrying to get out by herself on the other side.
Fred turned and pointed across the street. “If you catch one going in that direction, it might take you all the way back up to Canada.” Then he took his wallet from his pocket and selected a bill. He leaned into the car toward me, grabbed my hand to help me out, and pressed the bill into it. “That is for your supper, miss. I’m sorry I won’t be joining you. Get whatever you want on the menu. And get yourself a new dress besides. You’re a lovely young girl, Barbara, a flower among the few.” Then he winked at me for the last time, touched his hand to his hat, and closed the door. “I hope you don’t have too long a wait, but you seem to amuse yourselves nicely.” Then he started up the car and sped away.
“That shithead.” Avis watched him go. “Well, now I can have a cigarette.” She put her bottles of cider at her feet, fished one out of her purse, and lit it.
Mumma just stood there holding two bottles in each arm, looking in the direction the car went. “Well, I’ll be damned.” She turned to Avis. “You do get me into the darnedest predicaments.”
“But we amuse ourselves nicely.”
It was a fifty-dollar bill in my hand. Mumma tried to whistle when she saw it, but she couldn’t. We had to use some of it for bus tickets. Mumma and Avis had spent their cash on the cider. Avis took the bill from me and went into the grocery store. I refused to go in because of my dress. I was pretty miserable, inside and out. Mumma stood with me. In a few minutes Avis came back out with three hot dogs and the bus tickets.
“It’ll be coming through in a little over an hour. We can wait right here.” She po
inted to a patch of grass. “At least we can sit. I got us some grub.” She laughed. “Figured we already had something to drink.” We sat on the grass and ate steamed hot dogs on soggy buns. Avis and Mumma passed a bottle of cider between them. Avis dropped mustard on her collar, a blob that smeared more when she wiped it with a dry napkin.
“Well, good. Now we all look right out of a slop pail,” Mumma said.
“Not quite what we expected, by way of dinner.” Avis stretched her legs out in front of her and lit a cigarette. “But I’ve had worse.”
“Oh, yes,” Mumma chimed in, “much worse. Some you’ve cooked yourself.”
Avis laughed. “We could still be with Fred.” The cigarette was between her teeth.
It was more fun being with just them. “Could I have some cider?” I asked, smiling for the first time in hours.
“Take it slow,” Avis said, opening a bottle and handing it to me. “Don’t jiggle the contents.”
We sat quietly together, watching people come in and out of the grocery, and waited. Mumma said good afternoon to whoever noticed us, like we were perfectly normal, having a picnic. The bus finally came, and we straggled on board. The driver looked curious when he saw my poor dress and then alarmed when he saw the bottles Mumma and Avis were carrying. We were down to six.
“Don’t worry,” Avis said to him, with a sly smile. “We’ve had our fun for the day.”
We went to the very back of the bus. It wasn’t crowded. We sat in the last seat, the one that goes all the way across, so we could be together. We lined the bottles along the floor in front of us and kept them steady between our feet. I sat in the middle.
“We’ve certainly had our fill of buses today, Barbara,” Mumma said, leaning back against the seat. “But I’m glad to get on this one.”
“I’m sorry about your dress, Barb.” Avis fingered the limp mass of material. “But there’s plenty of money left over for a new one. Old Fred saw to it, got to give him that much. We’ll go downtown tomorrow and do it up.”
She reached over and put her hand on my knee. “A flower among the few,” she said, smiling. “He got that right.”
The Sisters from Hardscrabble Bay Page 25