Dicey's Song

by Cynthia Voigt

  Maybeth looked at Dicey. “That’s like Stewart’s songs,” she said.

  “Who’s Stewart?” Jeff asked. He was playing softly now, as if he didn’t want ever to stop.

  “Somebody we met last summer,” Dicey answered. She pushed her lips together, because she wasn’t going to say any more about it.

  “Because of the way you say the words,” Maybeth explained.

  Mina looked at Jeff and shrugged. “Whatever they say, right?”

  “Let’s do it again,” he suggested. “Maybeth, can you? Dicey?”

  Maybeth could, but Dicey didn’t remember the words yet, so she hummed along. Gram brought in a plate of warm cookies and sat down to join them, listening. Sammy perched himself on the arm of Gram’s chair, like a pet watchdog, Dicey thought.

  CHAPTER 9

  SAMMY RAN UP the street to meet Dicey as she rode to work the next Monday. It had rained the night before and he splashed in the puddles. The arms on his sweater flapped and his gait was awkward, as if his knees might at any time give out. It wasn’t until he was close to her that Dicey saw why: he was laughing.

  “You know what she did? She came to school. She beat — ”

  “Who?” Dicey interrupted. She gave him about half of her attention, glad that he was glad. The rest of her mind was trying to remember something about Miss Eversleigh, something that had begun to tickle at the edge of her memory while she was separating eggs today in home ec. But it had nothing to do with eggs, and how to beat the whites stiff, and how the yolks were rich in iron.

  “Gram. Dicey, are you listening?”

  Then Dicey did listen. “Gram? What about her?”

  “I told you, she came to school. She had a bag of marbles, and they weren’t new ones either. They were old. She said she found them in her attic and they must have belonged to one of her sons. She gave them to me!” he cried. “I left them safe with Millie, but she gave them to me. You can see them.”

  “So she brought you some marbles at school?” This was strange behavior.

  “No, that’s not what I said.” Laughter poured out of Sammy’s face, like lights from a firecracker. “It was at recess, lunch recess. And she played marbles with us. She won all of them, everybody’s, even mine.”

  Dicey stopped walking and waited to hear the rest of this story. A couple of firecrackers were going off inside her head, too.

  “She made us let some girls play too. And that got Ernie mad, but Gram said if he was going to play he was going to play fair or she wasn’t going to be in any game with him. She was kneeling down, and her skirt got in a puddle.”

  “How did — did everyone play?”

  “Everyone wanted to. They asked her to come back tomorrrow, but she said she was the Lone Marble Ranger and only came once. So we better learn all we can.” Dicey could picture her grandmother crouching down among the second graders, concentrating on the marbles.

  “The Lone Marble Ranger.” Sammy giggled. “So we did. And then she gave everybody back the marbles she won. Because she said she had so much more practice. Except me,” he said, “she gave me her old ones.”

  “Good-o,” Dicey said, that being about the only thing she could think of to say.

  “Yeah,” Sammy agreed. “And Custer said he wished he had a grandmother like that, and Ernie said he was glad he didn’t have a crazy grandmother.”

  “And what did you say?” Dicey asked.

  “Nothing. Why should I say something?” Sammy asked. “It was fun; I wish she would come back. They asked me, would she, and I said, ‘No, Gram does just what she says she will.’ But wasn’t that a crazy thing for her to do?” he asked happily.

  Crazy like a fox, Dicey thought, but did not say.

  Gram had also been in to see Millie, and Millie had something to say about “Ab when she’s up to something.”

  “What was she up to?”

  “Dunno,” Millie said. “But she made me laugh, I guess. She had that devilment look in her eye, and I guess I’ve seen it often enough to know what it means.”

  “What does it mean?” Dicey asked. But Millie couldn’t tell her.

  Dicey was washing the outside of the front windows, taking it slowly because the sun on her shoulders felt so good, when she felt somebody come stand beside her. Miss Eversleigh, in her same suit and pin, with her same teacher face. Dicey smiled at her. She couldn’t help it: her mind was still on Gram beating all the second-graders at marbles.

  “I didn’t know you could smile,” Miss Eversleigh remarked. Something about her tone of voice and her glance made Dicey remember.

  “Miss Eversleigh.” She dropped the squeegee into the bucket and dried her hands on her jeans. “I wanted to ask you. You were talking to us, but I wasn’t listening. Last week? But I think I’d like to know what you said.”

  “I was talking to you,” Miss Eversleigh said. “Mostly to you. I was talking about you.”

  “But what did you say?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because I have a feeling I should have paid attention.” That was as far as Dicey was willing to go. Miss Eversleigh pursed her lips.

  “I said that it was important to learn the things we are doing in the class.”

  Then Dicey found she could remember. “Because they take skill. That’s what you said, isn’t it? You said it takes as much skill as building something.”

  Miss Eversleigh nodded. She was looking at Dicey as if she couldn’t understand what Dicey was up to.

  “OK,” Dicey said. “Thank you. I remember now. I never meant to be — disrespectful to you.”

  “And?” Miss Eversleigh insisted.

  “And?” Dicey asked. She knew, though, what Miss Eversleigh wanted her to say. Instead she said, “I guess I think it’s interesting to say that, and I’ll think about it.”

  “But you won’t try harder and care more?” Miss Eversleigh inquired.

  “How can I say that? I haven’t even thought about it yet.”

  “You’re a strange child,” Miss Eversleigh said. She was holding a purse in her two hands, right in front of her stomach.

  “I guess so,” Dicey agreed.

  “Well. It was nice running into you,” Miss Eversleigh said. She didn’t sound like she thought it was nice.

  Miss Eversleigh walked on down the street. Dicey forgot about her and turned back to her work. Maybe it was important to know how to do those things. If Gram didn’t know them, where would the Tillermans be? Maybe Dicey ought to try to learn them. If you learned something, that didn’t mean you had to do it. Just because you knew how to do it. All it meant was, if you had to, or if you wanted to, then you could.

  When Gram put a tall apple pie down on the table for dessert, Dicey knew she was up to something. When Gram brought out a quart of ice cream to serve with the pie, Dicey was sure of it. Dicey sat quiet while the pie was cut and scoops of ice cream put on top of the flaky brown crust. The pie was still warm. You could tell because the ice cream slipped off the top and nestled down against the side of the slice. The apples inside smelled tart and sweet and had been cooked to a deep honey-brown color. Dicey put her nose over it and inhaled the aroma: apple, cinnamon, nutmeg.

  “What did you do today?” she asked Gram. As if she didn’t know.

  Gram fixed her with a mischievous eye. “Not much. I changed the sheets and did a wash. I made a pie. I played a game or two of marbles — and won.” She waited. Dicey didn’t say a word, didn’t let her face show any emotion. “As you undoubtedly heard,” Gram said at last. Dicey grinned. “Then I picked up a few things at Millie’s.”

  Dicey just waited. She was sure there was something more.

  “And I had an appointment at the lawyers,” Gram announced. “At which I was told that you are now, legally and officially and permanently — and any other lee they could think of — my responsibility.”

  “We’re adopted?” James asked.

  “That’s what I said.”

  “No, it’s not,”
he pointed out.

  “Well it’s what I meant and since you understood me it must be what I said.”

  The children looked at one another around the table. Gram looked at the pie she was eating.

  “Good-o,” Sammy said. “Good-o,” he repeated.

  “And we’ll always live here?” Maybeth asked.

  “You are my heirs and assigns,” Gram said. “I thought it was good news,” she declared.

  “It is,” Dicey said. That explained Gram’s mood. Dicey herself had felt pretty good after hearing about the marble game. She felt pretty terrific now, knowing they were adopted. If this was really their home now — and it was — she could understand why she felt safe now, but why was she also feeling excited?

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Gram said to her, “because I also made a call today, since I was downtown and the weather was fair. I called to meet the family of your friend Mina.”

  “What?” Dicey said. Her fork clattered down onto the floor. She bent to pick it up.

  “For the same reason that I took on the second grade at marbles,” Gram pointed out.

  Dicey didn’t know what to think. She wondered what Mina’s parents had made of Gram’s visit. She couldn’t think what Mina would have to report about the call.

  As it turned out, Mina didn’t have much to report. She told Dicey about it during lunch. “I don’t know, Dicey, I don’t know what got into her. What gets into her?”

  “I don’t know,” Dicey said. Although she had some idea.

  “They were confused,” Mina told her. “They didn’t know what to think. Do you know what she said to my father, first thing?”

  “She didn’t tell me anything,” Dicey said. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to know or not.

  “She said: ‘I’ve come to put a face on the bogeyman.’ What was Dad supposed to answer to that?”

  “I dunno,” Dicey mumbled. Gram certainly didn’t beat around any bushes. Then laughter escaped her, even though she tried to hold it in. “I wish I’d been there.”

  “It went all right, I think,” Mina admitted. “My mother said she’s a lady, no question. Mom only says that about any white woman who doesn’t ask if she does daily cleaning.”

  “Gram wouldn’t do that,” Dicey protested.

  “She’s a minority.”

  Dicey looked at her friend with an idea of the difficulties this girl might face; and she knew she had only the vaguest idea of them. Mina must know much, much more. “What are you going to do? What do you want to do?”

  “When I grow up?” Mina asked, laughing. “Who knows? My mom’s an RN, and there’s always work. But I don’t know — I’d rather be a doctor than a nurse, if I was going into medicine. I think I’m smart enough. What I want is — not to do something just because it’s available to me because I’m black and female. You know? I want to really choose. What about you?”

  Dicey was surprised. “I’ve always been so busy trying to keep things together until tomorrow, I never thought about much else. I just do what needs to be done.”

  “I’m pretty sure I want to go to college,” Mina continued. “What about you?”

  “I told you, I never thought more than a day ahead.”

  They looked at each other with curiosity, with interest.

  The world was full of surprises; and, Dicey began to believe, interesting surprises. It was mostly the people who made it surprising. Jeff — who waited for her after school and made it clear he intended to walk with her to work — reinforced that opinion.

  Jeff carried his guitar slung over his back again. He put his books on top of Dicey’s in the basket of her bicycle. He took her bicycle from her and wheeled it for her. It felt strange to Dicey to walk without anything to carry, without anything to push; with just the walking to do.

  Jeff talked about how he had a good time at Dicey’s house. He talked about the weather. He told her his father was a college professor and was gone three days a week, up to Baltimore to teach.

  “Why do you live way down here?” Dicey asked.

  Jeff shrugged. Something he didn’t want to talk about.

  Dicey changed the subject back to the singing they had done. “Maybeth liked it,” she told him. “She liked you,” she added, because it was the truth.

  “Well,” Jeff said. He looked at her with glances out of the side of his eyes, as if he was nervous.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Dicey finally demanded. They were standing beside the porch of Millie’s store, and he wouldn’t give her the bicycle so he could take his books out and let her get to work. She saw Sammy watching through the window.

  “There’s something I want to ask you —” he began.

  Dicey knew what it was. “I said she likes you, and that means that any time you want to come back and sing with her it’ll be fine. I didn’t mean to be so — unfriendly. When you first got there. But she has to work hard at school, and she’s taking piano lessons, so only on weekends. OK?”

  “But —” Jeff said. He swallowed and tried again. “There’s a dance at school.” Dicey nodded; she had seen the posters. “Will you go with me?”

  Dicey’s mouth opened. It opened and it stayed open. She grabbed for the handles of her bike. Jeff didn’t look at her, just reached in for his books. What was she supposed to say?

  “You haven’t said,” he prodded her.

  “But I can’t do that,” Dicey told him.

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “Then why did you ask?” Dicey demanded.

  “Because I want you to,” he snapped back at her. “There’s no crime in that,” he pointed out.

  Dicey liked the way he got angry when she was unfriendly. She didn’t know why she liked it, but it made her willing to explain. “I’m — too young for dances. I’m only in eighth grade. I don’t want to go to dances. And all. Besides,” she added desperately, “high school boys don’t take out eighth-graders.”

  “Who cares?” he asked.

  Dicey couldn’t answer that. Certainly she didn’t. “I really am too young,” she assured him. “Really.”

  At that, he smiled again. Good, Dicey thought, we can continue to be friends.

  “But next year you’ll be in ninth grade,” he said.

  “I think so.”

  And I’ll be in eleventh.”

  “You’d know more about that than I would.”

  “Ninth-graders are much older than eighth-graders.”

  “Are they?” Dicey asked. This was a pretty stupid conversation, but she was enjoying it.

  “I’m going to ask you again next year,” he said.

  “OK,” Dicey answered. She leaned her bike against the window and went inside without looking back.

  She didn’t care if he asked her again next year, just as long as he didn’t ask her again tomorrow. The last thing Dicey wanted to do was to go to a dance and jump and jiggle around, getting hot and sweaty. She was bored just thinking about it. On the other hand, she admitted to herself, it was nice he wanted to ask her, it was flattering. She was singing when she pulled the big broom out of the closet. “When first unto this country, a stranger I came.”

  “You’re certainly cheerful today,” Millie observed.

  Mina, walking part of the way home with Dicey, said the same thing. Dicey was watching Sammy ride on ahead on her bike and circle back, then ride off ahead again. Mina said, “You haven’t said anything sharp or cross for half a mile. Did Jeff ask you to the dance?”

  “What do you know about that?” Dicey demanded.

  Mina laughed. “That’s more like it. I know I’ll be going to it. I know Jeff asked me if I thought you’d go with him. I said probably not. He said he didn’t think so either, but he thought he’d ask. Were we right?”

  “Yeah,” Dicey said. “Why should he ask you first?”

  Mina shrugged. “He’s smart enough — you’re not an easy person, Dicey.”

  Well, that was no surprise, although it surprised Dicey that
Mina thought so.

  “I think he only asked you this time because he was afraid you’d get popular and he wanted you to know — ”

  “Never mind,” Dicey said.

  “But I don’t think he needs to worry about that. I told him you’re pretty strong meat.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You know perfectly well what it means, Dicey Tillerman.”

  Dicey guessed she did. And she guessed she liked that. “So are you,” she pointed out.

  “Yeah, but I’ve got charisma,” Mina argued. “And I’m a clown. I’m much easier to take.”

  “If you think about it, everybody has something — wrong about them,” Dicey said, following her own thoughts. “I mean, some flaw, or something you just don’t like. But some people, it doesn’t seem to matter so much. You know there’re things wrong, but it’s just part of them and you like them. And other people — no matter what, you won’t like them. Take Millie. I started out disrespecting her, because she’s not smart, not at all. But she’s been a good friend to my grandmother — all her life, without changing — and she never asks anything much from anybody and — I don’t know, now I think she’s pretty unusual. Or Mr. Chappelle — especially these days — I mean, he acts like I can’t do anything wrong. And that’s not right, Mina. And the way he pussyfoots around me, it makes me sick. But I never liked him before and I never will.”

  “Or like blood relations, you always like them no matter how much you don’t,” Mina observed.

  Dicey nodded enthusiastically. “But with other people, not family, you choose,” she said. “What do you think? Do you think we choose people by what’s important to us? Like whether someone’s brave or not.”

  “So bravery is one of the things you choose by?” Mina asked.

  “Sure,” Dicey said. “And music.”

  “Music’s not a quality,” Mina protested.

  Dicey noticed that Mina had them talking about Dicey again. She made a mental note to ask Mina what she chose by, but was too interested in her own ideas to do that right then. “It is too,” Dicey insisted.