by D. Anne Love
At midnight Aunt Julia gave us our presents and we ripped the silver paper off the boxes and admired them like they were the biggest surprises we’d ever laid eyes on. Opal modeled her sweater set, and I sorted through my paint box, planning pictures in my head.
Aunt Julia said my paper crane was the finest one she’d ever seen, and she found a place for it on our tree. When I gave Opal hers, she said, “It’s too pretty to use only at Christmas. I’ll hang it over the mirror in our room.”
She ran upstairs and came back smiling. She handed Aunt Julia a poem she’d written on pale blue paper, then said to me, “Hold out your hand.”
She dropped something round and smooth into my palm.
“Lipstick?”
“It’s called Cotton Candy, and it’s perfect for you.” She took the cap off the tube. “Hold still.”
I opened my lips and Opal smoothed on the lipstick.
“You look pretty, Garnet,” my sister said.
And that was the best Christmas present of all.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Scott and Joey, give us a hand with these panels, will you?” Powla motioned to the two sophomore hoodlums slouching in the corner.
The play was now only two weeks away, and we were working fast to get everything done. Nathan had decided to concentrate on baseball training, which left Celestial Jones, Polly Barton, Cindy Lawless, and me to do most of the work. Celestial avoided me like I was the Cootie Queen, but Polly, who was a way better artist than any of the rest of us, smiled at me now and then when Powla offered us a compliment.
Scott and Joey shuffled across the stage and hoisted one of the panels. Scott growled, “Where to?”
The week before, Mr. Conley had caught him and Joey smoking in the restroom and offered them a plea bargain: help us with the scenery project every Tuesday and Thursday after school, or flunk tenth grade. Even with their limited brain power, they could see the choice was simple, so there they were. Sometimes I thought Powla made them move stuff back and forth more than was necessary, just to teach them a lesson.
Miss Barnes, the senior adviser, had chosen readings from Spoon River Anthology by Edgar Lee Masters, and according to Powla, it had caused a bigger stink in the teacher’s lounge than Mr. Conley’s cigars. Miss Sparrow argued that most of the anthology, which consisted of short monologues from a hundred-and-something dead people telling what awful lives they’d had, was too depressing, and we should do Our Town by Thornton Wilder instead. Miss Barnes argued that every school between Willow Flats and Sydney, Australia, had done Our Town to death and it was time for something different. Miss Barnes won, and now we were finishing the scenes we’d begun last fall, painting Spoon River, Illinois, the way it looked in the old days, with houses and churches in the background, and the river and a graveyard covered with tombstones in the foreground. Polly was in charge of painting the river. I worked on houses and helped Cindy paint the tomb-stones. Celestial, who couldn’t draw a straight line even with the help of a ruler, was in charge of keeping track of our supplies, sweeping up, and lettering SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY onto a banner to hang above the stage.
Opal had auditioned and won a part in the play, even though most of the other actors were juniors and seniors. She was to portray Constance Hately, a Spoon River woman who had raised her older sister’s daughters. Every night up in our room Opal practiced in front of the mirror, trying out different ways of reciting her last lines. “‘But praise not my self-sacrifice. I reared them. I cared for them, true enough! But I poisoned my benefactions with constant reminders of their dependence!’”
Opal was planning to wear one of Aunt Julia’s dresses, a pair of old-fashioned ladies’ boots, and a bonnet. I was fairly sure she wouldn’t rise from the grave on roller skates.
“Okay, everybody, let’s stop and clean up,” Powla said. “Remember, we have only three more sessions before the dress rehearsal, so it’s important that you be here every time, and on time.”
Joey grabbed his leather jacket. “Can me and Scotty go now?”
“As soon as you put the paints in the closet. And pick up those drop cloths. I don’t want anyone tripping over them.”
We all pitched in to help clear the stage. I cleaned the paintbrushes and put away the turpentine.
Powla put the folded drop cloths into the cubbyhole behind the stage. “By the way, Garnet,” she said, “how is your painting for your history project coming along? I haven’t seen it since you completed your sketches.”
“Almost done. It’s due in three weeks.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing it.”
Part of me couldn’t wait to show it to her, even though the thought of it made me nervous. I desperately wanted her approval, and I was afraid I’d disappoint her.
Powla stepped back and let out a yelp when she nearly tripped over a broom lying on the stage floor. “Who left this broom here? Celestial?”
Celestial went all wide-eyed innocent. “I don’t know! Garnet had it last!”
She was such an actress she should have been in the play.
“I did not!” I shot back. “Sweeping is your job!”
“Girls,” Powla said. “Never mind. Just be more careful in the future.” She picked up her book bag and started switching off the stage lights.
“Teacher’s pet!” Celestial spat. “Commie teacher’s pet.”
“She’s not a Commie. And I never touched that stupid broom and you know it.”
“Drop dead twice.”
“Ditto.” I got my stuff and went outside to wait for Charlie.
As I turned the corner by the gym, I ran right into Nathan Brown. Since getting the hate mail in my locker, I’d gone out of my way to avoid him, so you could have knocked me over with a straw when he said, “Hey, Garnet.”
Gosh, his eyes were amazing. I managed to say, “Hey.”
He tossed his baseball back and forth, smacking it into his glove. “How’s the painting going?”
“Okay.”
He nodded. “That’s what I figured.”
“I’m waiting for my ride.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’ll see you in the funny papers.”
“Yeah.”
A horn honked, and Charlie pulled into the drive. I opened the car door.
“Garnet?” Nathan said. “The season opener is on Saturday. You could come, if you want.”
I was too amazed to say a word. I nodded, dumped my books on the floorboard, and got in the car. Nathan stepped back and I closed the door.
“The sun is strong today,” Charlie said as we pulled away from the school. “Summer will come early this year, I think.”
“I hope so,” I said. “My daddy is getting out of the hospital as soon as it warms up. Then we’ll go home.”
“No place like home,” Charlie agreed. He rolled his window down, and the cool spring air blew in. Watching Charlie steer around the potholes the March rains had made, I got the feeling something was wrong, like he had gone off to a whole other place.
“Guess what?” I said. “Nathan Brown invited me to his baseball game.”
Charlie nodded. “I’m glad you’re making friends.”
“Aunt Julia says you’ve been her friend her whole life.”
“We’ve seen a lot of life together. But our journey is nearly done.”
My heart fluttered like a trapped bird. I didn’t want to hear what he was trying to say.
Charlie pulled into Aunt Julia’s yard and turned to me, his old eyes clouded and wet. “In a little while I will be gone from you.”
“Don’t say that!”
“Leaving the earth is not a bad thing,” Charlie said. “It’s time. My spirit wants to be free.”
I fumbled for the door handle, desperate to get out of the car before I started to cry. I grabbed my books, slammed the door, and ran inside. Charlie’s ancient voice followed me. “Good-bye, Garnet Hubbard.”
Aunt Julia was in the garden out back, installing her new wh
irligigs. I watched them spinning in the breeze, and tried to decide whether or not to tell her what Charlie had said. I’d once seen a documentary on TV about how some people can tell when they’re going to die, but I hadn’t really believed it. I told myself Charlie would live another ten years, maybe even longer. Some people lived to be a hundred, didn’t they? Charlie wasn’t even ninety yet.
But he died the next day.
I had just got home from school and was upstairs changing clothes when I saw the Preachermobile coming down the road. When it stopped in the yard and Reverend Underwood climbed out, dressed in his black suit, I knew.
I sat on the stairs and listened to the preacher’s conversation with Aunt Julia. “Charlie said you’re the closest to family he had. He’s left you his car. He said you would know how he wanted his service conducted.”
Aunt Julia dabbed at her eyes with a wad of tissue. Mozart leapt into her lap and curled himself around her. “Charlie loved that plot of land near the river. We’ll put him there.”
“I’ll see to it.”
They went on talking about flowers and hearses, but I couldn’t listen. It was hard to think I would never see Charlie again, that I wouldn’t hear any more about worry dolls and spirit dreams, about how he loved sleeping under the stars at night, and how paddling on the river with fish and birds for company was the highest kind of prayer.
The funeral was held on Saturday, and almost everyone in Willow Flats came to say good-bye. After Reverend Underwood read from the Bible, different people stood up and told their favorite stories about Charlie. Sunday Larson told about the time her barn caught on fire and Charlie was the first one there to help put out the blaze. Cooley’s father said Charlie was the one who taught him to hunt, and Miss Sparrow said Charlie lent her a hundred dollars to start college, and without him she never would have become a teacher. Which just goes to show that even Charlie could make an occasional mistake.
I held tight to Opal’s hand and thought about the way Charlie had tried to comfort me when Daddy got hurt, how he had given me the bird carving and helped Aunt Julia track Mama down. He had driven me home twice a week without ever making me feel like he was doing me a huge favor. He was one of the best people I’d ever known, but I couldn’t stand up and talk about him. I was crying too hard.
Cooley came over and blinked at me through his thick glasses. “I’m real sorry about Charlie Twelvetrees,” he whispered. “I know he was your friend.”
I waited for the punch line, but Cooley patted my shoulder and went to stand with his parents.
After Ida Wink sang the Lord’s Prayer, we walked across the new spring grass to Charlie’s coffin. On the way I heard Ida telling Miss Sparrow about plans for a garage sale, and Cooley’s dad complaining to the bank manager about the price of seed corn, like they had already forgotten Charlie and were moving on without him.
“Garnet?” The reverend handed me an envelope as we waited for everyone to gather. “I found this at Charlie’s place. It’s addressed to you.”
I opened the envelope, and the money Mama had sent him to pay for my ride—a wad of crumpled five-dollar bills—fell out. The sight of it sent me into another fit of tears.
“Shhh, it’s okay.” Opal put her arm around my shoulders and handed me a tissue. “Charlie wouldn’t want you to cry about it.”
Revered Underwood took his place under the green funeral home tent. The wind whipped his hair and stirred the yellow roses covering Charlie’s coffin. “Not long ago,” he began, “Charlie told me that when the time came, he wanted to say good-bye with this prayer of his ancestors.” The preacher took a piece of paper from his prayer book and read, “Great Spirit, whose voice whispers in the wind, whose breath is the breath of life to all the world, hear my prayer. Let me live strong, as the buffalo is strong. Let me light the world as the firefly lights the summer night, and when my time on Earth is finished, let the raven bear my spirit skyward, that I may return to you without shame.”
I closed my eyes and imagined Charlie paddling his canoe on the water, the fireflies darting and flashing in the darkness. I imagined the stirring of the wind in the willow trees and Charlie’s oars whispering to the river.
High above me, a black-winged bird circled the river, rising higher and higher until it was lost in the sun.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Because of Charlie’s funeral, I missed Nathan’s baseball game. Opal said it was good that I hadn’t gone to the game, because boys are more interested in you when you play hard to get. The next Monday in homeroom, while Miss Sparrow’s back was turned, Nathan opened a brand-new package of peppermints and offered me the first one, so I guess maybe my sister knows a thing or two about dealing with the opposite sex.
Now that she had Charlie’s car, Aunt Julia took to driving again like a duck to water. She went to the courthouse and signed some papers that said the car was truly hers. She kept the roads hot between school, the Texaco, and Sunday’s place, and when Mozart got a hair ball roughly the size of Dallas, she drove him to the animal hospital in Hopkinsville.
The night of the spring play Opal put her makeup and costume into our suitcase and Aunt Julia drove us to school. In the parking lot she twisted around in her seat and said to Opal, “Break a leg.”
Opal grinned. “I’ll wait for you by the stage door after, okay?”
Inside, the auditorium buzzed with sound. Aunt Julia and I found seats near the back and saved one for Sunday Larson. Reverend Underwood and his wife came in, and Aunt Julia waved to them. Ida Wink patted my shoulder as she came down the aisle with Mr. Conley and Coach Riley. Cooley was there with his parents. Nathan came in with his mother and took a seat close to the front. Celestial Jones, in a hot-pink dress and matching shoes with tiny heels, started down the aisles, handing out programs to everyone, smiling like she’d just been crowned Miss America.
When she got to me, she held a program out with two fingers, like she was afraid touching me would give her malaria.
Aunt Julia said, “Garnet tells me you helped with the scenery for the play.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Celestial said. “I painted the banner. A very important job.”
Then Sunday came in and plopped into the seat we’d saved for her. “Sorry I’m late! I got tied up in town.”
The house lights dimmed and the stage lights blazed on. Loud whispers came from behind the stage curtain. Then the senior class adviser, Miss Barnes, stepped onto the stage, welcomed everyone to the play, and said, “Now I’d like to introduce our art teacher, Miss Paula Mendez.”
Powla read the names of everybody who had helped with the scenery project. “These students worked many hours after school to recreate the town of Spoon River, Illinois, as it might have looked in the last century. Our title banner was created by Celestial Jones.”
Little Miss Perfect stood up, turned, and waved as the curtain parted and the banner was lowered into place. It said SOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY.
“Hey, Celestial,” somebody called. “You forgot your P!” It sounded like the delinquent Joey Davis, but I couldn’t be sure because his next words were drowned in laughter. Celestial ran out of the auditorium, the door banging shut behind her.
The audience settled down. Opal stood near the right side of the stage as the other players recited the parts of Mrs. Kessler, Elizabeth Childers, and Faith Matheny.
Then my sister stepped into the spotlight. “You praise my self-sacrifice, Spoon River,” she began, and it seemed like the whole audience was holding its breath. I remembered last spring, back in Mirabeau, when she’d played Juliet so convincingly that half the audience cried. Tonight Opal looked more beautiful than ever, serene and far away, just the way Mama looked when she was playing her guitar. The stage was a refuge for Opal, too. As long as she was pretending to be someone else, she didn’t have to worry about Daddy’s injuries or wonder whether Mama was ever coming home.
It would have been easy to feel jealous of Opal, of her beauty and her talent, but I knew that
a life in art was meant to be mine, if only I was brave enough to go after it. I wouldn’t end up like Aunt Julia, standing on the sidelines, watching someone else play the game.
Opal’s part was ending. “But I poisoned my bene-factions with constant reminders of their dependence!”
Aunt Julia found my hand in the dark and squeezed it hard. I squeezed back.
The play went on, and like Miss Sparrow had argued, the stories the Spoon River dead people told were pretty grim. They were stories of dead children, lost wives, deep regrets, and missed opportunities. All in all, pretty depressing.
When the last story ended, the whole cast stepped forward and bowed. Applause erupted around us as the house lights came up. We clapped and clapped as Opal and the other cast members left the stage, then ran back on for another bow. Aunt Julia, Sunday, and I chatted as we waited for the aisles to empty. Then Sunday left to talk to Ida Wink, and me and Aunt Julia pushed through the crowd to the stage door to wait for Opal. A knot of parents and teachers spilled down the stairs and across the hall. Celestial, red-faced and teary-eyed, rushed past us.
Powla appeared at my side, her dark eyes snapping with excitement. “I’m so proud of your work, Garnet. The whole evening went very well, don’t you think?”
“Yes, ma’am. Except that Celestial’s banner was misspelled.”
“Yes,” Powla said. “That was unfortunate, but Celestial insisted she didn’t need me looking over her shoulder while she worked.” She shrugged. “And so she pays a price for her hubris.”
I wasn’t sure what “hubris” meant, but I could see that Miss Mendez wasn’t exactly feeling sorry for Celestial. I wasn’t either. I figured Celestial got what she deserved and had nobody but herself to blame for her humiliation.
Opal rushed down the hall to meet us. She’d taken off her stage makeup, and her face was glowing. “Guess what, Aunt Julia? Miss Barnes says I’m good enough for a summer theater company, and she’s going to write a recommendation for me for next year. Isn’t that fabulous?”