by Kris Knorr
“Why, no.” Ocean blue eyes beamed from a tiny face, and the Dutch-boy haircut jumped when she shook her head. “Not at all. Vera left me in this corner so I wouldn’t get into trouble.”
Lorena talked slowly and loudly for the woman’s old ears. “Are you a friend of Vera’s?”
“Are you?”
“I…uh…well, yes.”
“Naaah. You aren’t. That was a church-lady response. Vera doesn’t have friends, at least not any close ones that I’ve ever known.”
“I guess you aren’t her friend either.”
“I’m a relative. Aunt Ula.” She stuck out a tiny hand mapped with the raised lines of blood vessels in her thin skin. “There was quite an age difference between my sis—who was Vera’s mom—and me. I was fifteen when Vera was born. Sometimes I tell people she’s the older one. They believe it. She was born a Methuselah.”
“I’m Lorena.” She squeezed the old woman’s fingertips. “How should I call you Miz—?”
“Aunt Ula! I already introduced myself. Goodness, child, your hearing’s worse than mine. No wonder you’re sitting in this forlorn corner with me.”
“Well, Aunt Ula, I’m sitting back here because I had a little hissy fit at church weeks ago, and I don’t want to parade through the crowd and hear anyone say something about it.”
“Why not?”
“Because…because…” Lorena weighed the long and short explanations. “It would hurt my feelings.”
Allie set a piece of cake on the table and lowered herself into a chair. “I hope it’s cooler in this corner.”
“I hope you’ve got two babies in there. If not, you don’t need that cake.” Aunt Ula pointed to the bulging midline of Allie’s shirt.
“Good try, but you’re not getting my cake.” Allie took a forkful and nodded at Lorena’s shocked gaze. “I met Aunt Ula earlier.”
“LoWena, be a dear—”
“It’s Lo-Rena.” She pasted a smile on her face.
“Dear, get an old lady a piece of cake. Vera said she was going to bring me a piece, but that was hours ago.”
“Now, ma’am,” Allie pointed her fork. “Vera already gave you cake, and she wanted you to park it here so she could find you.” The young woman covered her mouth, her eyes wide. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way. The hormones have removed my mouth filter.”
“Call me Aunt Ula, and I won’t mind your mouth if you go get me a piece of cake.” Allie pushed away from the table as the old lady added, “Don’t get a square with any of that red icing. It’s as sour as a tin can. See if you can get a little dove on my piece.”
Lorena eyed the old woman’s shoes. Low-top Keds. A circle of the canvas material was cut away on each foot just below the big toe. Lacy anklets peeked through the holes. “You’re pretty tricky, Aunt Ula. Is that why Vera sat you here by yourself?”
“I’m not alone anymore. I’m sitting with a pregnant woman and the church outcast, and I’ve got a piece of cake coming. I’m doing pretty well. How about you?”
“I…”
“You can say it. Even if we are in church, LoWena.”
“Lorena!”
“Well, quit worrying about other people. Say what you think.”
“I already did. I was loud and angry about all the changes on Easter Sunday. That’s why I’m sitting in this corner with…” Lorena gave the old woman a pointed stare, “with you.”
“Do you regret it? I mean, what you did, not about sitting with me. You may feel badly about sitting with me, but I don’t give a rat’s tail. Are you sorry for your actions?”
“I should’ve done it another time and another way instead of exploding.”
“So apologize.”
“That would be even more embarrassing,” Lorena said.
“How can you be forgiven if you have nothing you’re sorry for? What do you practice in this church? Even a cantankerous ol’ woman like me knows you need to repent if you’re trying to do some internal housecleaning. And believe me, I’ve had to do a lot.”
“I believe it,” Allie said as she slid a paper plate with a big corner piece of cake and extra frosting in front of Aunt Ula.
“Who would I apologize to?” Lorena shrugged. “I don’t even know which people saw my emotional meltdown.”
“Aaaw! There’s no little dove on this piece.” Aunt Ula gave her waitress a sugary smile. “Thank you, Allie. I bet the next piece will have a little bird on it.” She scraped her fork across the icing and stuck a big clump into her mouth. “Lo-Wena,” she emphasized the last syllable, “I’d say you’re not sorry about diddly; you regret people thinking you’re a loon.”
“Holy carrotballs,” Allie licked her fork, “you sure don’t pull any punches.”
“I’m old. I don’t care. I’m tired of folks living to please everybody else. I’ve been around them all my life.”
“And now you’re visiting Vera and sharing your opinions?” Lorena grinned.
“No. My house in Ponca City was condemned, so I’m living with Vera. She hasn’t changed a bit. She was born giving orders and handing out opinions.”
“Does she try to order you around? I’d like to see that,” Allie said.
“LoWena, while you’re getting a refill, get me a cup, too, and another piece of cake. Get a little dove on it this time.”
“It’s Lorena. And I don’t even have a cup. I’m fine.”
“You don’t want people to gossip about how you made a pregnant mother and a crazy old woman wait tables. Not after what they already think of you.”
With a big sigh, Lorena left for the serving line.
“That was kind of mean. This is the first time she’s been back since her blowup.” Allie wiped frosting from her lips. “Now tell me how you manipulate Vera when she orders you around.”
“Oh, I don’t fight with Vera. I’m just a guest there. She could put me out in the street—but she won’t. Poor thing. I’ve always felt sorry for her.” She shook her head, staring at the crowded room, not seeing anyone.
Allie leaned forward as far as her belly would allow. “Why feel sorry for her?”
It took a moment for the words to break through Aunt Ula’s thoughts. She blinked then took a bite of cake. “Well, she was supposed to be a boy.” She nodded at Allie’s frown. “Vera’s daddy was a pastor. He prayed for a boy to follow in his footsteps. He was disappointed when their little “Vern” turned out to be a Vera. She’s spent the rest of her life trying to make up for it.”
“There are women ministers,” Allie said.
Aunt Ula’s eyes widened as though she’d heard blasphemy. “Not back then.”
“She could’ve become a nun,” Lorena spoke behind them, making the old woman jump. The full-figured blonde grinned as she pushed cups of punch toward each lady.
“She could’ve done a lot of things, but following in her daddy’s footsteps was the only sacrifice she felt would please him, so she married a pastor, controlling everything around her to meet her daddy’s expectations. And why did it take you so long to bring this punch?”
Lorena’s eyebrows rose. Her forehead furrowed. “I said hello to a few people, Your Highness, and maybe I stopped to slip something in your drink.” Aunt Ula stared at the mug but didn’t touch it.
“It’s good to see you again, Lorena. I see you’ve met each other.” Vera walked to the table also frowning into her coffee cup.
“We’re hearing about your family. I didn’t know your father was a pastor.”
“I come from a long line of pastors,” Vera said without a smile.
“Vera’s daddy pastored right up until the day he died.” Aunt Ula continued peering into her punch. “When he drew crosses on foreheads with ashes, he was so old and shaky, they looked like swastikas.” She snorted a laugh. “You should’ve seen the looks we got when we stopped by the grocery store on Ash Wednesday.”
“That’s enough, Aunt Ula.” Vera’s mouth pulled into a tight line.
&nbs
p; “Niece, go get some cake for Allie, LoWena, and me. Relax. Join us. You’re working everyone hand over fist like a military operation.”
“You don’t need cake. It will ruin your lunch.”
Aunt Ula narrowed her eyes. “The Captain likes cake. He’s coming to get me.” She arose quickly for someone her age and grabbed a dirty paper plate. Her shoes smacked the floor as she headed toward the kitchen. “Thanks for the punch,” she said over her shoulder.
“I didn’t put anything in it. I was just kidding,” Lorena called after her. The small figure stopped and threw a smug look at the blonde.
“I got you out of this corner, circulating again, didn’t I?”
“Where are you going?” Vera’s words were respectful, but the tone dripped with a sense of get-back-here. “We need to leave; a neighbor’s coming over to give me an estimate on fixing the latest leak in my roof.”
“The Captain insists on a shipshape table. Wash your cup and stow it when you’re through, Vera.” Her white anklets beamed from the holes in her shoes.
“That’s the Aunt you were preparing for?” Allie rubbed her stomach, staring at the bony retreating form.
“My crazy Aunt Ula,” Vera sighed, sipped her drink, made an exasperated face, and set the cup on the table. “I think she salted my coffee.”
“Why’re her shoes like that?”
“She has bunions and won’t spend any money to have them fixed.” Vera rubbed her forehead.
Lorena smiled. “I love her lacy anklets with fancy buttons around the top.”
“You would.” Vera sighed and shook her head.
“So who’s the Captain?” Allie’s eyes were wide as she leaned forward.
“A figment of her imagination. She was never married. Sometimes she’s lucid, and sometimes she seems…a bit off.” Vera sighed again.
“Yeah. She’s crazy all right.” Lorena could see Aunt Ula bellied up to a counter in the kitchen, chatting and eating another piece of cake. Crazy like a fox.
Experienced Merchandise Sale
WALT REMOVED HIS cap and rubbed his bald head with a handkerchief. A “V” of perspiration patterned the front of his blue shirt. “Okay, Lorena, I hung that big banner of yours in front of the church, but dang if I know what it means.”
Vera, sorting through a carton, straightened and stared. “Why? What does it say?”
“Now, now.” Lorena wiggled fingers at the older woman. “You said I’m in charge of publicity, and you wouldn’t interfere. We’ve got to create pizzazz to get people to leave their air conditioned cocoons and come out in this heat.”
“What does it say?” Vera stood upright, arms akimbo.
Walt pulled a toolbox from the donation bin and examined it. “You don’t need publicity. Folks show up every August. They always come.” He slid each drawer in and out. “I don’t know why people think they need others’ junk.”
Cartons blocked Vera’s path but she used her voice like an arrow, pinning Lorena in place. “What does it say?” Aunt Ula took advantage of the diversion to slip a sequined party dress over her clothes.
Lorena arced her hand like a banner across the room, “EXPERIENCED MERCHANDISE SALE.”
“Oh, heaven help us. It’s a rummage sale. You take a simple task—”
“Well, nobody wants to buy rummage.” Lorena looked around for Walt. He’d already made his getaway with the toolbox, leaving five dollars on the table. “We want people to know these are good, perhaps slightly experienced, quality items. Some of the merchandise was donated from two estate sales. Besides, the Presbyterians are having their sale this weekend, too. We want to set ourselves apart.” Lorena headed for an exit.
“Yeah, quality stuff. How experienced do you think these are?” Kay held up lacy women’s briefs.
“Lorena! Change that sign,” Vera yelled, but her publicity woman had escaped. “People will be a half-mile down the street before they figure out what it means. Kay, throw that out. Why anyone would donate undergarments is beyond me.” Vera shook her head.
Kay made a twenty-foot shot, lobbing the wadded ball of panties into a “FREE” box. “If you don’t have anything, then cheap, clean underwear is a godsend.”
Aunt Ula snatched them from the box, patting the sides of her party dress, looking for pockets.
“Hey, Aunt Ula, how’d you get your name?” Kay smiled as the elderly lady whisked her treasure behind her back and strolled away from the bin.
“I’ve told you before, dear, my name is French, for Ooh-La-La.” She busied herself with a jumble of purses.
“It is not.” Vera pulled tangled Christmas decorations from a shoe box. “Her name is Eulalia. I couldn’t say it when I was young, so she became Aunt Ula.”
“Isn’t that the most asinine thing you ever heard?” The old woman stuffed a large straw bag with contraband she’d hidden throughout the room “Who would call a child Eulalia? And my poor brother was named Faron.”
“Are those family names?” Kay said.
Aunt Ula examined a candle then shoved it into her purse. “Yes, some poor souls in our clan were saddled with ugly names, and our parents, being good Germans, continued the misery. But no kid who valued their front teeth called my brother Faron. He always went by Joe. That’s what we put on his headstone. When he was young, he inked over his name in the family Bible so no future generation would be tempted to call anyone Faron. I always thought that’s why he died so young. It can’t be good luck to scratch yourself out of the family Bible.”
“He died in the war. The Bible had nothing to do—” Vera straightened to stab Aunt Ula with a glare. “Get that dress off! We are here to unload boxes, not shop. Get it off. Right now. Before we started, I told everyone there would be no early shopping or saving things. That includes you.”
Kay hefted another box to the table. “Get real, Vera. That’s the main reason anyone helps. So they can get first pick. That’s why I’m here.”
“And I’m tired of listening to complaints that the good stuff is bought by the set-up crew. So it’s not happening. Come back and shop tomorrow with everyone else.”
“That’s probably why most of your volunteers left. You need to reward them. Let them buy something before the sale starts.”
Vera looked around, noticing for the first time that the number of helpers had silently diminished. “I’m checking on the outside crew,” she said as she went upstairs.
Aunt Ula waited several moments then cat-called down a hallway of Sunday school rooms, “You can come back now, LoWena. I saw you.”
“Thank you, Eulalia.” Lorena slipped into the room and grabbed a wooden flowerbox.
“Hiding your swag from Vera?” Aunt Ula added a small laugh as she folded a pair of pajamas.
“It’s better and easier than stashing it in a big purse.” Lorena pointed at the straw bag slung over the old woman’s wrist.
Aunt Ula shrugged. “At least I don’t hide in the Sunday school rooms.”
“You hide from Vera by acting nuts.”
“I am crazy. Who else would wear this color of shoes with this dress?” The old woman held the glittering skirt in front of her, shook it, and laughed.
Lorena held up a palm. “Someone’s coming. Break a sweat, girls.” She turned and hurried down the side hallway.
“They’ve left. I can’t believe it.” Vera’s voice shot down the stairwell. She emerged a moment later, hands stirring the air, each word pitching louder and higher. “And people are trying to bring donations today, even though the cutoff was a week ago. I caught Alice Hanson upstairs, unloading curtain rods. I told her she’d have to store it and donate it next year; we have all we can handle. Do you know what she told me?”
“I know what I would’ve told you,” Aunt Ula mumbled.
“Why don’t you try to be helpful?” Vera gave her a white-lipped, venomous look. “What have you done today?”
“I maintained this table in Bristol fashion by folding . . .” she held up the pajamas, “t
his!” Her bag slipped from her wrist, swinging down to the crook of her elbow.
“What’s that?” Vera walked toward her. Aunt Ula dropped the pj’s, clutching the straw purse to her chest.
Kay made her breakout, telling herself some problems were better left between family members. The last thing she saw was two white-haired ladies tugging a straw satchel, stitched in orange letters, “Miami.”
*
Roger parked his fifth Wheel at the church. He sat in a lounge chair under its awning, having a beer and guarding tools, furniture, barely-used treadmills, and plastic swimming pools. When Vera and Aunt Ula emerged from the church at 1 a.m., he kept an eye on them as he quietly stuck his two empties in a used fertilizer spreader. Vera had one arm around the old woman, urging her to keep moving. “Because we have to be back by 7 to set up.”
“You really put in a day,” Roger called out as he stood. “You’re welcome to spend the night in the trailer. I’ll let you have it.”
Vera looked up and gaped at the big RV. She let go of Aunt Ula and marched toward Roger, her eyes strafing him with criticism as she approached. “People are not going to steal from a church There’s no reason for you to be here, using the parking lot for your campground. I didn’t approve it. It’s neither appropriate, nor allowed by the city. Move it.” Without waiting for rebuttal, she turned and strode to her car. She had to return to drag Aunt Ula out of a lawn chair.
“Let me be,” the old woman protested. “It’s been a long time since I spent a night with a man.” Roger winked, gave her a thumbs-up, and settled back in his chair. Aunt Ula grinned and blew him a kiss as Vera tugged her to the car.
*
The Sunday school teachers arrived at 6 a.m. and began cooking. Within an hour, they were icing down their second batch of orange juice cartons. Church volunteers, arriving early to sort and price, had bought them out. The smell of sausage, onions, and breakfast burritos wafted through the parking lot.
Vera arrived, barking orders as soon as she opened her car door. Aunt Ula traipsed to Roger’s trailer and knocked. “Can I borrow one of your beds? I can’t dance all night like I used to.”