“Would you run down to Brown’s Emporium for me?” Mama asked as soon as I walked in from school and dropped my book bag on the kitchen chair.
“Oh, Mama, can’t I do it tomorrow?” I asked, breathing in the delicious, warm smell of just-baked bread.
“No. Daddy is out of pipe tobacco,” Mama said in a tone that made it perfectly clear that there was to be no argument. She handed me a piece of bread slathered with wild raspberry preserves. “Here, have a snack before you go,” she said, softening her voice and kissing me on the head as she went back to her chores. One sweet-sour bite brought the memories of last summer flooding back.
Mama, Daddy, and I left the house early one morning to pick raspberries. We hiked up the road past the house until it was no longer a road but a dusty trail into the mountains. Daddy whistled as he carried the picnic basket and his fishing pole. Mama and I both carried tin buckets. Up and over the ridge we climbed until we reached a scraggly mountain meadow dotted with wildflowers. The creek bubbled and rushed along past the raspberry bushes, their branches full of knobby, red fruit.
“Heaven on earth,” Daddy said, taking in a deep breath. I breathed in, too, big gulps of moist air that smelled of the river, pine, and the sweetness of ripe fruit.
Mama and I rolled up our sleeves and went to work plucking ripe, plump raspberries off the prickly branches. Daddy gathered firewood and started a campfire. Then he stuck a worm on his hook and began to fish. The sun climbed higher and hotter in the sky, and the only sounds were the rustle of the raspberry branches and the rushing of the river.
Finally Daddy called us to a lunch of trout cooked over the campfire. “Why is it that food always tastes better on a picnic?” Mama asked, after cutting into the tender trout with her fork, washing it down with the icy stream water, and topping her meal off with fresh, sweet raspberries.
“It must be my cooking,” Daddy said, with a wink.
After lunch Mama stretched out on a blanket in the shade and read her book. Daddy leaned against a tree, pulled out his knife, and began to whittle, and I waded in the river. So the afternoon passed until dark thunderstorms rumbled down from the peaks and chased us home.
That night when I climbed into bed, tired and content with my day, I found the carving Daddy had been working on tucked under my pillow. It was a girl with the hem of her long skirt tucked into her waistband and an overflowing bucket of raspberries in her hand.
“Hurry up, Mary. It will be dark soon,” Mama said, her voice rousing me from my reverie. “Here’s a dime. Tell Mr. Brown that Daddy needs more pipe tobacco. He’ll know which kind.”
“Just one minute, Mama,” I said as I ducked quickly into my room and grabbed the Raspberry Reminder still sitting on my dresser. It was a good memory, and I wasn’t ready to leave it behind. I stuck the Reminder into my coat pocket and headed out the door and down the hill toward Bennett Avenue.
Ten
The bell at the top of the door jingled, and a voice from the back said, “I’ll be out in just a minute.”
“That’s okay, Mr. Brown,” I called back. “Don’t hurry. It’s just me, Mary McHugh.” The truth is, I was glad to have a chance to wander around the store alone, breathing in the spicy-sweet smell of tobacco. Outside, the sign read “Brown’s Emporium: The Finest Things in Life.” Inside, the store was crowded with shelves and glass display cases full of beautiful things to buy: fancy marble chess sets, carved wooden pipes, delicate music boxes, jewelry, and sculptures from all around the world. As I looked around I thought about the town’s rich mine managers, bankers, and store owners who bought these trinkets.
“Well, hello, Mary,” Mr. Brown said as he came out of the store’s back room. “What can I do for you today?”
“I came to get some more of Daddy’s pipe tobacco,” I said, fishing in my pocket for the dime Mama had given me earlier. “I know it’s here somewhere,” I said nervously. A dime was a lot of money, and our family couldn’t afford to lose even a penny. I emptied the contents of my pocket out onto the counter. I pulled out a purple-veined rock that I’d found up on the mountain, Daddy’s Raspberry Reminder, and a piece of hard candy. “Here it is,” I said finally, holding up the dime triumphantly.
”And here is your daddy’s tobacco,” Mr. Brown said, looking over the treasures lined up across the counter. “This is mighty fine work,” he said, picking up Daddy’s carving and inspecting it with an experienced eye over the top of his glasses. “Yes, mighty fine indeed,” he said softly to himself. He turned it over and over in his hand, inspecting the delicate details of the girl’s dress and bucket.
“Where did you get this, Mary?” he asked at last.
“It’s my Raspberry Reminder. Daddy made it for me last summer after we went raspberry picking. He carves lots of things. He even makes furniture,” I boasted proudly, feeling happy that I had something to brag about.
“This is beautiful, Mary. Your daddy is a real artist,” Mr. Brown said slowly. “How ‘bout I buy it from you? I could easily sell it in the store.”
I smiled as I pictured Daddy’s Reminder sitting on the shelf in some fancy mansion up on the hill, or better yet, wrapped up and taken to Denver. “Thank you, Mr. Brown, but I can’t. See, it’s me. I’m holding my pail of raspberries. I could never sell it. Especially now …”
Mr. Brown looked over the carving once more before giving it back. “Well, if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.”
I walked home with my hand wrapped around the smoothly carved piece of wood in my pocket and my mind wrapped around a new picture of Daddy. A real artist!
Eleven
As I trudged up the hill toward home, I watched the sun go down behind the mountain, its last rays of golden light tangled on the ragged peaks. The mine’s evening whistle echoed off the mountain walls, signaling the end of the day shift. Soon a string of twinkling lights streamed forth as the miners, with headlamps still on, headed down the path toward home.
Sometimes, before the accident, Mama and I used to watch those twinkling lights as they slid down the mountain.
Which One Is Daddy? was a guessing game we played.
“I think he’s the one in the back of the line,” Mama said. “Probably got so tied up talking to Mr. Egan about the Saturday dance at church that he forgot to leave the mine.”
“I bet he’s the first in line, Mama. He knows you’re making roast chicken for dinner tonight. You know he’s never late for your roast chicken.”
We both laughed.
That night I sat on the top step for a few moments and once again enjoyed the cheerful sight of the strand of pearly lights. When I finally went inside, I was greeted by the welcome-home smell of Mama’s dinner and Daddy’s called-out hello from the kitchen. He sat in his usual place at the table, working on a carving. I handed him his tobacco and leaned over his shoulder, watching the knife blade bite into the wood, chewing away the surface bit by bit.
“What are you making, Daddy?”
“Just another Reminder,” he said, showing me the figure of a man playing the piano. It was Daddy before the accident. Even in the carving I could see that his whole body moved to the music. His eyes were closed, his head was thrown back, and a broad smile lit up his face.
Before the accident, Aunt Hattie and Uncle William used to tease Daddy about his playing.
“Goodness’ sake, Daniel, you’re acting like a wild man,” Aunt Hattie said, shaking her head with disapproval.
Daddy laughed and said, “I can’t help it, Hattie. I play the way I feel. And I feel happy when I play.”
I thought about Daddy’s piano dancing as I took the Reminder from his hand. “It looks just like you, Daddy,” I said. I remembered the words Mr. Brown had used earlier. “Daddy, you are an artist, you know that?”
“Nope. Just a one-legged miner who carves,” Daddy answered.
Although his words were sad, he tried to say them jokingly. It was as if he thought that talking about missing his leg would help
him get used to it. This time his words didn’t make me sad. They made me angry. “No, just a one-legged artist who used to mine,” I fired back, daring him to see himself differently.
Daddy just laughed, his smile flashing and his eyes sparkling. He took the Reminder back from me and looked it over carefully.
“Well, I still say you are an artist, Daddy, and so does Mr. Brown. And he knows what he’s talking about, so there,” I said, kissing him on the cheek. “Can I have another one of the Reminders?”
“Take any that you want. Except this one,” he said, putting the Piano Reminder beside him on the table. “I think I’ll keep this one for myself.”
Twelve
That night after dinner, we lingered at the table.
“Mary,” Daddy said, “Mama and I want to talk to you about something.”
Just the way he said it, slow and measured, made my heart drop. I held my breath as he began to talk.
“I’ve been sitting here thinking about the future, our future,” Daddy said. “I’m feeling better now, and I’m getting around pretty good on my crutches.”
“I know, Daddy.” I smiled encouragingly.
“So, I think I’m ready to start looking for a job. What do you think about that?”
I let out my breath. “I think that’s a good thing. Is that what you wanted to tell me?”
“Mary, I’m going to start looking for work here in Cripple Creek. But I don’t know what kind of luck I’ll have. I might have to look in Denver, too. It’s a big city. There are more jobs there. More kinds of jobs that I could do….”
“But I don’t want to move,” I said, the tears quickly welling up.
“That’s how I feel, too, Mary. It’s how we both feel,” he said, looking at Mama for support. “But I wanted to warn you, just in case.”
“But what about Aunt Hattie and Uncle William? And Mama’s laundry business? And my babysitting? What about school? And church and our friends?” Inside, though, I already knew the answer to all my questions. I knew it was good that Daddy was feeling well enough to look for a job. That’s what I had wanted. For all of us. Still, a tear splashed down my cheek.
“Now, Mary,” Daddy said, his voice soft and gentle, “don’t go expecting the worst just yet. You know I’ll try my best to keep us here. I just thought you should know what we’re thinking.”
The next morning, Daddy surprised me by walking into the kitchen in his Sunday suit. His curly hair was wet and combed flat to his head, and a smile was plastered across his face. I couldn’t help but smile back.
“Doesn’t your father look handsome?” Mama asked, leaning down to give him a kiss.
I nodded my agreement. “Why are you dressed up, Daddy?” I asked.
Daddy took a hungry bite of toast and said, “I’m going to talk with the manager of the mine. I’m going to see if he can give me a job. I thought maybe they could use me in the office.”
“But, Daddy, why would you want to go back to the mine? There are a lot of other things you could do,” I said, remembering what Mr. Stewart had told me once about an injured miner: “His luck has run out. That’s why he got injured. You surely don’t want someone like that around a load of dynamite, do you?”
I knew Daddy wasn’t bad luck. He wasn’t. But I also knew that he wasn’t going to like the answer they gave him at the mine.
“Mr. Brown said you are an artist, and no one can play the piano like you. People are always saying so.” Tears burned my eyes, but I blinked them back. More than anything, I didn’t want to see Daddy hurt again. Especially now, when he was feeling so much better, so much happier.
Daddy’s voice got firmer, and there was an angry edge to his words. “Mary, you said you wanted to stay here. That you didn’t want to move. Well, if we are going to stay, then I need to get a job. Don’t you understand? I need to start pulling my weight around here.”
“Now, Daniel,” Mama interrupted, “no need to get angry. Mary just wants what’s best for you.”
“You’re right, Liddie,” Daddy said, swallowing his anger along with his coffee. “Don’t worry about me, Mary. This is what’s best.” He pushed himself away from the table, heaved himself up to his crutches, and clumped out of the kitchen.
“But, Mama—,” I started to say as soon as he left the room.
“Hush, Mary. You know how stubborn your father is. I can’t tell him what to do. He has to figure things out for himself.”
But I understood better than Daddy did. He couldn’t go back to the mine. They wouldn’t let him. I knew that. Why didn’t he?
Thirteen
When I ran home up the long, steep hill after school that afternoon, I saw Mama and Daddy sitting on the front porch. I could tell right away that something was wrong. Daddy wasn’t smiling anymore. His shoulders sagged, and he seemed to shrink in on himself. He looked like he had those first few weeks after the accident.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
”I didn’t get it,” Daddy said, without looking up. “The mine manager took one look at my missing leg and said no. Just like that. Without any discussion. Just no.” Daddy shook his head, his voice quiet. “I followed him around, practically begging him to give me a job. He wouldn’t reconsider. Said that it would make the other miners too nervous to see me without my leg.”
“But, Daniel,” Mama interrupted, “maybe you can go back later….”
“I can’t go back,” Daddy said firmly. “I know that now. I can never go back.”
Mama’s eyes filled with tears, and her forehead creased with worry. “This is just your first day of looking. You know you’ll find a job eventually.”
“I don’t know anything of the sort, Liddie. That’s just the problem. What if everyone feels the way they do at the mine? What then, Liddie?”
Mama shook her head. “We can move to Denver. Surely you can find work there,” Mama said, sounding as sad as Daddy.
After that Daddy didn’t go out anymore to look for a job. Instead, he settled back into his old routine of wandering aimlessly around the house. When he did sit down, it was with his hands folded and still in his lap and his mind far away. We ate dinner in silence, and as soon as we were done, Daddy took himself off to bed. Although late spring was warming up the valley, our house felt as cold as a winter snowstorm.
For the first few days I ignored Daddy’s sadness, thinking that it would go away. But it didn’t, and instead of feeling sorry for him, like I did right after the accident, I was angry. Really, really angry.
One evening as we were finishing up the last bit of Mama’s double-fudge chocolate cake, I caught Daddy off guard just as he was about to leave the table. I don’t know if I wanted to start a fight or just push him to talk, but I asked him defiantly, “Daddy, why don’t you play the piano anymore?”
Mama shot me a warning look from across the table, but I pretended not to see. Daddy looked surprised at the directness of the question.
“Well, I’m not exactly sure,” he said, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. After a pause he added softly, “I guess I feel like there isn’t any music left inside of me, Mary.”
“But, Daddy, don’t you remember how you told Aunt Hattie that the music came from your heart? Your heart hasn’t changed, has it?”
Daddy didn’t answer. I looked over and saw Mama bending intently over her plate, her lips quivering.
After a while I had an answer for him. “Well, Daddy, my heart hasn’t changed and neither has Mama’s. We’re still both here, missing you. Missing you and wishing you would come back to us. And I’m getting tired of waiting.” And before Daddy could leave us behind again, I got up and walked out of the room.
Fourteen
After school the next day, I headed straight for Brown’s Emporium. When the bell on top of the door jingled, Mr. Brown looked up from his paper. “Well, hello, Mary. Don’t tell me that your daddy needs more tobacco?”
“No. I came because I have some business to discuss with you, Mr. Brown
,” I answered, trying to sound as grown-up as possible.
Mr. Brown’s eyes widened in surprise. “This sounds serious, Mary. Why don’t we step into my office?” He motioned to the back of the store.
I followed him back. I had never been in his office before. It looked just like Mr. Brown—worn and comfortable. He pulled out a chair for me before seating himself in the cracked leather chair behind his desk. Leaning back, his hands folded across his large stomach, he said, “Well, young lady, what can I do for you?”
I gathered my thoughts for a minute, and then I said, “Mr. Brown, you said that you wanted to buy the carving my daddy made of me holding the raspberry pail. Do you remember?”
“Sure I do, Mary.”
“Well, I decided that I want to sell it to you. I brought a couple of other carvings that I thought you might want to buy, too.” I reached into my book bag, pulled out the three bundles, and lined them up on the desk, like three presents waiting to be opened.
”My, my,” Mr. Brown said under his breath as he carefully unwrapped each package and inspected the Reminder that he found inside. Meanwhile, I inspected his face, looking for a clue as to whether he liked what he saw.
After what seemed like a very long time, Mr. Brown put down the last Reminder. “These are mighty fine pieces of work, Mary. My offer still stands. I’d love to buy them, if you’re sure you want to sell them.”
I let out my breath in a huge sigh and nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, I’m sure,” I said.
“Let me ask you this, Mary. Does your daddy know you’re selling these?” he asked, peering at me gently over his glasses.
“These are my Reminders, Mr. Brown,” I said with feeling. “Daddy gave them to me, so I figure I can do what I want with them. I definitely want to sell them.”
Family Reminders Page 3