by KD McCrite
She got all prickly again.
“Well, April Grace, you really need to stop making snide remarks about anyone not born and raised in these parts. It’s very off-putting. Sometimes I think you’re making fun of us. And I’ll tell you something else for your edification: sarcasm is a very unattractive trait in a child.”
I knew she was right. Every thought in my head did not need a Voice. I’d probably hurt people’s feelings more often than I realized.
“Well, I reckon I can try to control that.”
“I’ll make an honest effort to adjust my behavior too.”
“And what you said earlier about us being alike?”
“Yes?” She wore a little smile that threatened to become bigger.
“Well, it just about kills me to admit it, but you were absolutely right.”
She let out a breath as if she’d been holding it for a long time.
“So let’s try to get along as friends, shall we?” she said.
That sounded reasonable to me. I stuck out my right hand. “Deal?”
She reached out, and we shook.
“Deal. But one more thing.” She did not let go.
I gave her a look. “What’s that?”
“When you speak to me, please call me Isabel or Mrs. St. James instead of my entire name. Will you do that?”
Well, if someone called me April Grace Reilly every time they spoke to me, I’d feel more like a thing instead of a person, so her request was reasonable.
I said, “Okey-dokey. I’ll do it, Isabel.”
“Good.” She released my hand. “Now, let’s go save Grandma Grace from the clutches of that wormy old weasel.”
I grinned at her. “I like the way you think.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Lily Reaches Her
Boiling Point at Last
When we got to their house, Ian was halfway finished mowing the grass. In his spare time, Ian had come over to their place and cut back the seedlings and scrub and burned all the brush. Even though they weren’t living there yet, he had kept the yard mowed. Their old place didn’t look near the wreck it had a few weeks ago. In fact, it looked right nice and neat.
Isabel beckoned to him. He turned off the mower and walked over to us, wiping the sweat off his face with his forearm. Isabel explained about Mr. Rance and Grandma and the letter from Eunice Magruder that was at the library.
He announced, “I knew that old man was up to no good. I’m going into town with you.”
Boy, oh boy, Ian can drive fast when he gets a notion.
After I ran into the library and got the letter from Miss Delaine, we sat in the cab of the pickup, and all of us took turns reading it.
He said, “That explains it.”
Isabel and I looked at each other and then at him.
“Explains what?” I asked.
“Yes, darling,” Isabel said. “If you know something more, you should tell us.”
Ian nodded. “Yesterday, Jeffrey Rance showed up in the lower pasture where I was grubbing out some of those multiflora roses from the fencerow. He asked me for a loan, can you believe that?”
Isabel blinked a bunch of times, but she did not say anything. He continued.
“He said his truck payment was due, and he found himself short of cash. I told him I didn’t have a penny to lend him, but he didn’t believe me. Kept saying that since I’d sold my Caddie and we were living rent-free with the Reillys, he knew good and well that I had plenty of money. I told him about the deal Mike and I had worked out, how we were using the cash from the sale of our car to buy remodeling for the house. He kept wheedling and trying to strike a bargain, but I stayed firm.”
“Oh, darling, it’s marvelous that you didn’t give in to him!” Isabel said. “I would hate to think you gave money to that awful old man.”
“But I’m not finished.”
“Oh?” she said prissily. It’s such a habit for her, speaking that way. I have a feeling it will be a while, if ever, before she quits doing it. “Then continue telling us, darling.”
“Well, old Rance muttered and paced around a bit. Then he said, and I’m quoting, ‘I’ll pay you back as soon as me and that old woman get hitched. Everything that’s hers will be mine, too, and I aim to make good use of it.’”
Isabel and I looked at each other, and she looked as outraged as I felt. I wanted to get out of that truck right then, go find old man Rance, and strangle him with my two little girly hands.
“I was telling your daddy about it when you showed up this morning, April Grace,” Ian said. “He was all set to confront Rance, but once you told him about Myra Sue, it was more important that he take care of her as soon as possible.”
Just one more reason that we couldn’t let that old goof marry my grandma. Besides, if he succeeded in doing to Grandma what he’d done to Emmaline, he’d take everything she owned and sell it all to Japanese developers.
“Anybody with half a brain,” I declared loudly, “would not sell our farm to Japanese developers. Good grief.”
“April Grace,” Ian said, “that old guy does not have half a brain.”
Good ole Ian St. James.
We hadn’t been home long when Mama called to say they were going to be late getting back. So, in the spirit of our newfound cooperation and friendship, Isabel and I fixed supper, while Ian helped Mr. Brett with the milking. We took turns peeking out the window above the sink every little bit to see if Mr. Rance’s red truck was at Grandma’s house yet, but they were still off somewhere.
Isabel forbade me to fry potatoes or make bacon—two of my most favorite foods—but we put together a decent meal of leftover baked chicken, green beans, fresh sliced tomatoes, and cucumbers. I tried my hand at making biscuits, and they didn’t turn out half-bad. Over the protests of his little missus, Ian ate six. With butter. And molasses.
But much later, after we’d eaten supper, it was nearly dark outside, and my folks still weren’t home. I was worried.
“I wonder where Mama and Daddy are.”
“So do I,” Isabel said. “I wish they’d call and at least let us know if everything’s all right. I wonder where they went.”
Ian refused to look at us, and I got suspicious.
“You know where they are?” I asked.
He buttered a biscuit. “I might.”
Isabel leaned forward. Her movements made me think of a snake because they were all slinky and smooth.
“Do tell,” she said, “and I mean it.”
Boy, after the day we’d had and all the progress we’d made, I hoped they refrained from fighting. At least she didn’t sound too threatening this time.
Ian sopped up the last of his molasses with the final biscuit; then he looked at his wife.
“Not sure Mike wanted us to know, but since it’s taking them all day, I probably should tell you. I think they took the girl to a doctor.”
Isabel gasped and sat up straight.
“Dearest Myra? Why? Is she sick? She didn’t say a word about feeling ill. Oh, my!”
“I don’t know anything,” he said. “I just think that might be what Mike decided to do.”
Isabel’s face was all scrunched up and as frowny as a newborn bull calf. She put down her fork and pushed away her weensy half-eaten meal.
“Well, I’ve simply lost my appetite to worry.”
Now, I’ll tell you something. I may have made peace with Isabel St. James, but I had not lost my appetite just because ole Myra Sue had to see a doctor maybe. If she saw a doctor, he’d probably put her on vitamins and tell her to eat something and send her home, and she’d be mad for a week, but that was nothing to worry about.
“How about some ice cream?” I said.
Ian nodded, but Isabel didn’t even hear me. I tell you, she did look worried.
While I spooned out ice cream for me and Ian, she said, “That child is not dating, is she? I mean, she would have told me, wouldn’t she?”
Ian frowned. “Isabel, what are yo
u thinking?”
“Well, I hear tell that the girls here . . .” She let her voice trail and looked at me kinda guiltily. “I don’t mean to say that girls here are the only ones who have boyfriends at an early age and indulge . . .”
“Are you kidding!” I hollered, because I’m no dumb kid. “Myra Sue is not pregnant. She’s never even been kissed, unless you count kissing yourself in the mirror. Good grief, Isabel St.— I mean, Isabel.”
She blinked a bunch of times. Right then we heard tires crunching gravel in the driveway.
“There they are!” I yelled.
Leaving my ice cream to melt in its bowl, I ran outside with Ian and Isabel right on my heels.
“Where’ve you been?” I asked the minute Daddy opened the door.
He looked tired and said nothing. Mama got out, and you could see she’d been crying because her eyes were swollen and red. Myra Sue sat in the backseat, sulled up like a possum. She refused to look at anyone, not even Isabel, who was gawking in the back window at her and tapping on the glass like she thought my sister was a goldfish in a tank.
“Everything all right?” Isabel asked.
Daddy closed his car door and stood there, looking exhausted. He raked his fingers through his hair, and Mama made a strangled sound as she came charging around the car.
“You might ask that,” she said. Even in the twilight you could see she looked at Isabel with a peculiar expression on her face. “You might just ask that! Then you might ask yourself what will you do, Isabel St. James, if Myra Sue Reilly has eating problems for the rest of her life just because of you!”
“What?” Isabel’s mouth wagged open as she stared at Mama.
“Now, honey—” Daddy said.
“Don’t you ‘now honey’ me, Mike!” Mama snapped at him. I’d never heard her raise her voice to my daddy before. “If it hadn’t been for that woman . . .” She rounded and got in Isabel’s face. “You and your obsession with weight! You, who do not weigh a hundred pounds, encouraged my beautiful, innocent daughter to lose weight. You sabotaged everything I tried to do to keep her healthy.”
“Lily, I didn’t—” Isabel began, but Mama didn’t let her talk.
“We took you into our home when you were rude strangers. We have sheltered you, fed you, waited on you, helped and encouraged you while you’ve done nothing but complain about what we don’t have and criticize our lifestyle. I want to be charitable, Isabel. I told myself over and over you must have had an unhappy life to make you so callous and badmannered. I’ve done my best to go the extra mile, but this is too much! I tell you, this is too much!”
She opened the back door, unbuckled Myra Sue’s seat belt, and more or less dragged her out of the car because my sister refused to get out on her own.
“Come on, honey,” she coaxed. “Let’s get in the house and get you in bed.”
She brushed past Isabel without another word and led Myra Sue into the house. The rest of us just stood there, stunned and silent in the semidarkness.
“Mike,” Ian said softly, after a little bit. “Can you tell us what happened?”
Daddy took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, as if he were pondering whether or not to answer Ian’s question.
“She has an eating disorder,” he said finally. “They call it anorexia nervosa. You ever hear of it, Isabel?”
She stood straight as a stick. “Of course. But I never realized . . .”
“If it hadn’t been for April Grace telling us this morning how bad her sister looks in those dancing leotards, I guess we wouldn’t have noticed until it was too late,” Daddy said. “She’s always been a little-bitty thing, so her face didn’t show how much weight she’d lost.”
Isabel pressed her hands to her mouth as tears began to spill from her eyes. “You have to believe, I’d never in a thousand years wish to harm that girl. Why, she’s as dear to me as if she were my own child.”
Daddy took in another deep breath. “Well, maybe that’s what you told yourself, Isabel, but the reality is that now she wants to be a rail-thin dancer, just like you.”
“Oh no!” Isabel sagged, and Ian caught her. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. Please believe me, I didn’t want anything like this . . .”
Daddy just stood there a minute, clenching and unclenching his fists. Then he shook himself like he had a shudder inside that had to get out.
“I can’t talk to you now,” Daddy said. “I’m too upset and too exhausted. April Grace, come here.”
I went to him. He pulled me into his arms and hugged me as if I were the last child on the planet. He kissed my cheek real hard and hugged me some more.
“Your mother needs you,” he said. “Go to her.”
As I left them, I heard Ian say, “Mike, I know you’re mad, and you have every right to be. I sure hate to be the bearer of more bad news, but there is something else you should know.”
I wanted to hang around and listen, but if my mama needed me, I had to go to her. I pulled the letter out of the pocket of my shorts and handed it to Ian. I trusted him to tell Daddy all about Mr. Rance.
In our room, Myra Sue was in the bed, all cuddled down, and staring at nothing in the dim light from the small, blue lamp on the dresser. She refused to answer when I spoke to her, so I just stared at her a minute, then went to find Mama.
Mama wasn’t in the bedroom, but I could hear the shower running. I knocked on the bathroom door and called to her.
“April Grace, honey, I’ll be out in a minute.” She sounded weary and weak.
I went back to my room, combed my hair, and put on a clean T-shirt, thinking that, after all they’d been through that day, the least I could do was look as clean and neat as possible.
Myra Sue was lying silently on top of her bed, staring up at the ceiling.
“Are you okay, sister?” I asked finally, looking at her over my shoulder.
For a minute, I thought she was just going to keep ignoring me, but finally she said, “I guess so.” She looked at me. “But I wish you hadn’t said anything. Mama and Daddy are all worried, and they’ll probably throw Isabel to the wolves.”
“They won’t either. They care about you, and so does Isabel. And I reckon I do too.”
She just looked at me for a bit longer, then closed her eyes. I figured she wanted me to leave, but I didn’t. Instead I told her about Mr. Rance.
It was like all of a sudden she’d had a jolt of energy. Her eyes flew open and she sat up. “Really? Why, that old coot!”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I have a feeling he’s gonna get what’s coming to him sooner or later.”
“He’d better! Imagine trying to do something like that to our grandma!”
When I heard Mama come out of the bathroom, I went to the other bedroom where she was. She wore her pale yellow summer robe and sky-blue house slippers. Her curly red hair was wet, and she smelled like Dove when she hugged me. For a long time she crushed me into her, and I could hear her heartbeat and feel her chest rise and fall as she breathed.
“Honey,” she said, still holding me close, “I want to thank you for telling your daddy about your sister.”
“I just told him her bones were sticking out.”
“You said more than that.” She let go, except for holding my upper arms, and knelt in front of me. “You’ve been saying more than that for a long time, and we have not listened. You saw Isabel’s negative influence and kept pointing it out, but I turned a deaf ear because I thought it was important to see the best in her. I want you to know I’m so sorry.”
“But, Mama, Isabel’s not as bad as you might think.”
She smiled a little bit.
“I’m not saying she’s bad, honey. I’m saying she’s been a negative influence on your sister, and it must stop.”
“Okay, Mama. But Mama, Myra Sue’s not going to die, is she?”
She smoothed my hair. “No, of course not. Your sister will need treatment from a good doctor, and we’ll have to watch her closely
. The doctor told us that sometimes girls with eating disorders eat only to placate those around them, and then they throw up their food later. We have to make sure Myra Sue doesn’t do that.” She held me at arm’s length and looked me up and down. “You don’t think you’re too fat, do you?”
I gawked at her.
“Good gravy, no! I like food too much. Especially yours and Grandma’s food.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Showdown on
Rough Creek Road
It was so late when Mr. Rance brought Grandma home from wherever they’d gone that I wasn’t allowed to go with Mama and Daddy to her house that night to talk to her. But boy, oh boy, I was there when it all hit the fan the next morning.
Myra Sue and I came downstairs, and there sat all the adults—except Mr. Rance. It was about midmorning, and everyone had eaten their breakfast, but they sat at the kitchen table like they expected another meal. Half of a cinnamon coffee cake sat on the counter and fresh coffee brewed. Myra Sue leaned sullenly against the doorframe until Isabel made Ian move to another seat and patted the chair for Myra to sit beside her. She caught one of Myra Sue’s hands in her own and clung to it as if she’d never let her go.
Grandma looked about the same as usual, if you didn’t count her modified pixie cut, and new hair color, and the eye shadow and lipstick and blush. What I mean to say is, she didn’t look upset or anything.
“Well,” she said, looking at me, “there’s our own little detective. Come over here, Jessica Fletcher.” Everyone laughed. Jessica Fletcher was a sleuth on the show Murder, She Wrote, which is Grandma’s favorite TV show.
I went to her, and she actually pulled me onto her lap as if I were a little kid and loudly kissed my cheek.
“Here’s the girl that saved me from a big fat mistake,” she said.