by E. Joan Sims
I wanted desperately to tell her that three kids hopped up on sugar would be the last thing I would want in a storm-damaged house without electricity, but I bit my tongue.
The woman didn’t appear to be in any hurry, and I knew Mother would be waiting, so I left my cart and walked around her and the kids to get to the bread.
“My! Someone’s impatient, ain’t they?”
“I din’t do nuttin, Mama,” whined the older one of the children.
“I don’t mean you, honey,” said the woman pointing a finger at me. “I meant HER!”
“Excuse me?” I said turning to face her.
“You! You’re being impatient!” she spat.
The woman’s face was mottled with anger. Bright red patches blazed on her cheeks. The blouse she had tucked hastily into her skintight jeans was rumpled and dirty, and buttoned wrong. I longed to tell her that, too. I grabbed my two loaves of bread and made a move to get back to my cart.
“I’m talkin’ to you!” she shouted as she blocked my way. “You’re impatient, ya know it? You need to learn some patience! Ain’t that right, kids?”
The three little children hovered around their mother—one holding on to her ample waist and the other two grabbing at her knees. They all looked at me with wide frightened eyes. I shook my head. I couldn’t believe this was happening. Neither could they. They knew their mother was losing it.
“You’re crazy,” I said. “Please move.”
“CRAZY? You called me crazy in front of my kids! I’m gonna have you arrested!” she screamed.
I pushed past her and pitched the bread in my grocery cart. A second later a small box of raisins hit me in the shoulder. I didn’t look back. I kept moving as box after box of dried fruit sailed through the air, knocking over jars of minced garlic, pickles, olives, and other condiments in flight. The sharp smell of vinegar filled the air as I dodged in and out the aisles like a hunted animal. By the time I reached Mother at the checkout line, I was shaking.
Cassie had locked herself in her room by the time we got home. After we put the groceries away, Mother excused herself and went to bed. I was too charged up to even think of sleeping. I grabbed an open bottle of Chablis out of the fridge and headed out to the patio.
Cassie had done some yard work. The walkway and half the patio were cleared of the smaller limbs and branches. I flopped down in the chaise lounge and popped the top. Relishing the fact that Mother wasn’t here to see me and complain, I swigged the wine straight from the bottle. It went down great—even the little pieces of cork.
I lay back and looked up at the night sky. It was so clear I could see the broad fuzzy band of the Milky Way against the velvet blackness. Fireflies danced over my head and vied with the twinkling of the stars for my attention. It was beautiful—as long as I kept looking up and not around me at the damage the storm had done.
I mourned a while over the ruin of my moonlight garden. I could still smell the sweetness of the crushed lilies and the blooms on the dying gardenia bush. It had taken two years to plant everything and create exactly the look I wanted. It had been a fairy garden—all white and dainty. I wasn’t sure I could do it again.
The tears ran down my cheeks like two little cold wet snails. I wiped and sniffed and wiped again. Then I turned myself loose and cried big. I boo-hooed and whah-hahed for at least fifteen minutes until I slowly began to feel a little better. I found myself wishing the Raisin Lady was within reach and discovered my anger. I wanted to tackle the bitch and hold her down while I slapped her puffy fat face. When I realized how foolish that was. Mother was right, yet again. The crazy lady and I were both showing the effects of post-traumatic stress. I started laughing and couldn’t stop until I was exhausted enough to go to bed. I knew my heart problems were over. I was back to being me – Paisley Sterling.
Chapter Nine
The birds woke me up early the next morning with their loud, incessant chirping. Since the storm, the blue jays and cardinals had been fussing and fighting over territorial rights to the few bushes and other remaining bits of greenery tall enough and strong enough to support a nest. While I sympathized with their plight, I deeply resented the rude interruption of my dreams. The tearful session with my innermost self the night before had left me relaxed and calm enough to have the first good night’s sleep I’d had since the tornado hit. I felt almost as well-rested as the princess who had slept without the pea under her mattress.
I stretched my arms and legs and decided self-indulgently that it was not quite time to get up. Then I heard the barking.
“Rats!”
I quickly hopped out of bed and landed precariously on the handmade hooked rug that Mother insisted gave my room “a finished look.” I fought to keep my balance as I slid wildly across the highly polished wooden floor. When I met the raised transom in front of the bathroom door, I went sprawling. My head missed the edge of the bathtub by a mere centimeter as I fell forward with enough force to shake my toothbrush off the sink and into the open toilet below.
“Damn! Drat and drat!”
I crawled over to the toilet and stared in dismay as I watched my toothbrush slowly sinking to the bottom of the bowl.
“Bother!”
Cassie had a lot to answer for if she got another dog without asking for her grandmother’s permission. And she owed me another toothbrush.
I heard the barking again. And I heard laughter and bits and pieces of conversation—in Spanish of all things.
I got back to my feet and climbed into the bathtub so I could see out the window in the direction of the patio. Sure enough, Cassie was sitting on one of the wrought iron chairs holding a skinny little white dog in her lap. Unlike Aggie with her long silky fur, this mutt was short-haired and had a pointy little nose—and appeared to be affectionate. At the moment, the puppy was standing in Cassie’s lap energetically licking her chin and face, a thin little rat-like tail wagging madly all the while. In the two years we had Aggie she had never wagged her tail even once. The worse thing was that Cassie seemed to be in love with the dog already.
I supposed the man sitting with Cassie was the dog’s owner. I puzzled over his identity for a moment. He appeared clean, but he was very thin and poorly dressed. I wondered where my daughter had met him and why on earth he was giving her a dog.
I ran a comb through my hair and used my index finger slathered with toothpaste to “brush” my teeth before I slipped into some sweats and moccasins. I was starving, but Mother had joined the party on the patio and I didn’t want to miss any of the conversation. She had to be as angry as I was that Cass had impetuously gone ahead and procured a replacement for Aggie without asking. I might have to act as referee.
But Mother surprised me. She was full of smiles and laughter. And Cassie definitely seemed to have gotten over her “mad.”
“Mom! Look!” she shouted as I opened the screened door.
“I am looking,” I grumbled.
The man sitting across from her jumped to his feet and bobbed his head quickly in my direction. His smile was broad and full of darkly stained teeth. He clutched a tattered straw hat in his hands. His right index finger was wrapped with a dirty bandage, but his nails were clean and clipped and he had obviously made an effort to look presentable.
“Señor Rudolfo,” said Cassie as she smiled in the man’s direction. “This is my mother, Señora DeLeon.”
“Encantada, Señora,” he said. His voice was warm and mellow, with a surprisingly well-educated Mexican accent. “I am so pleased to meet the lovely mother of the young señorita.”
“Er, yeah,” I muttered suspiciously. “Encantada to you, too.”
Mother was seated at the wrought iron table presiding over a large tray laden with her next-to-best china and third best silver coffee pot. The little white dog had curled up comfortably in Cassie’s lap and gone to sleep. Rudolfo sat back down when I took a seat across from Mother and smiled broadly at the three of us.
“Cassie,” I began.
> “Mr. Rudolfo has kindly offered to help us out for a while. Isn’t that marvelous, Paisley?” interrupted Mother, with a gracious smile in the man’s direction.
Rudolfo didn’t understand her words but knew he was being discussed. His smile broadened and his head began to bob up and down again.
I tried once more. “What about the…”
“And,” continued Mother, without missing a beat, “he has some friends who might be persuaded to join him.”
“I just bet he does,” I sneered.
“Aren’t we lucky?” she persisted. “We’ll have things cleaned up and back to normal in no time at all,” this with another smile in the man’s direction. “Will you pass Mr. Rudolfo his coffee, please Paisley?”
“But what about the dog?” I finally managed to ask.
“That’s why I asked you to pass the coffee,” she explained with exaggerated patience. “Cassie can’t get up or she’ll disturb poor dear little Aggie, and I…”
“Aggie?” I shouted, almost spilling the coffee in Rudolfo’s lap as I handed the cup to him.
The little white dog’s ears twitched as she squirmed in her sleep.
“Mom, please!” hissed Cassandra. “Don’t wake her up! She’s exhausted.”
I grabbed the cup Mother extended to me and sat down heavily in my chair.
“Where in the world did you find her?” I croaked. “And what happened to her? She looks like hell.”
“You would, too, if you’d been through what she has,” chastised Cassie.
“But she’s been shaved to the bone!” I protested.
“Señor Rudolfo said he had no choice. When he found her, she was filthy. Her hair was wet and muddy, and so matted that he had to cut it all off.” Cassie smiled down at the sleeping puppy. “I think she looks cute,” she insisted.
Rudolfo held the dainty china cup awkwardly in his injured hand and continued to smile benevolently as he drank his coffee.
“Did she bite him for his troubles?” I asked nodding at Rudolfo’s hand.
“No, dear” explained Mother. “Cassie says he was hurt during the tornado. I do hope he had someone look at it.”
Cassie turned and spoke rapidly to her new friend for a few moments. I tried to keep up with the conversation, but the Spanish she had learned in college was much better than the idioms I had learned on the streets of San Romero. I was lost in no time.
“No,” she finally said. “No money for doctors. And, get this! Doc Wallace won’t see the Mexican laborers even if they have the money. He says they carry too many diseases.”
I had never had much respect for Winston Wallace, but I was still amazed when I heard something else that reminded me of his abysmal stupidity. Even Mother, who still believed in the Easter Bunny, was taken aback.
“Cassie, surely you jest!” she laughed.
“Sorry, Gran. It’s the truth. And Señor Rudolfo says the doctor has passed this information along to the Rowan Springs City Park. They won’t let the Mexicans swim in the pool or picnic on the grounds. And several local restaurants have refused to serve them.”
“But, Cassie,” I argued, “that’s real discrimination. They can’t do that.”
Rudolfo was nodding his head vigorously. He seemed to understand the gist of the conversation.
“Si, Señora,” he said. “Es verdad.”
“Believe him, Mom. He’s a nice guy.”
“And rich,” I said sarcastically. “How much did you promise for the safe return of that scrawny little rat? Five hundred smackeroos buys a lot of smiles.”
Cassie was outraged. “That’s mean!” she cried. “And, yes, I did offer a reward; but he won’t accept it.”
“Yeah?”
“That’s right, Paisley, dear,” affirmed Mother. “I heard it with my own ears. I even understood a smattering of the conversation. That’s when I offered to let Mr. Rudolfo and his friends come and work for us.”
“You mean, you jumped on him like a duck on a June bug!” I laughed.
I was still suspicious of this short, dark stranger, but I was vastly relieved that I wouldn’t have to part with five hundred dollars to get back a mutt who had already cost me that much in doctor bills.
Cassie made me take Aggie from her lap so she could give Rudolfo a ride back home. She watched me like a hawk from the car as I carried the sleepy puppy onto the porch and placed her in her basket. I turned and smiled and waved them off, ignoring the distinct growl of canine displeasure coming from behind me. As soon as Cassie was down the driveway, her beloved pet summoned up enough energy to launch herself at my ankle and take a furtive but hearty nip.
“Damn it, dog!”
And thus, she reestablished herself as the alpha dog in our pack.
Chapter Ten
True to his word, Rudolfo returned early the next morning with a whole posse of his buddies. I was never exactly sure of the number of men who came with him because like ants at a picnic, they were all over the place. They appeared to be absolutely tireless—working through the day without taking breaks or lunch. They brought wicked-looking machetes that they used to strip the larger fallen trees of branches, and in turn to reduce those branches into huge piles of debris that they dumped into the dry pond bed.
By late afternoon they lifted the tree off the carriage house, and Watson was free. I jumped in the driver’s seat and without another thought, was down the driveway and on the road with the radio at full blast. Dolly and I serenaded the cows in every pasture all the way to Morgantown and back as I celebrated my own freedom.
To show my appreciation, I stopped and bought the men a couple of cases of cold beer and a ton of hot wings and barbeque at the convenience store just across the county line. Andy Joiner wouldn’t dare arrest them for having alcohol as guests in the home of Anna Howard Sterling. It was time to party hearty.
By the time I got back, I could see the lawn again, or what was left of it, and the pond bed was full. We ate our wings and barbeque on the patio while we waited for nightfall so we could light the bonfire. Cassie passed around the first marshmallows the Mexicans had ever seen and showed them how to make s’mores. While the fire blazed merrily, we stuffed ourselves on chocolate and graham crackers and sang every Mexican song we knew.
When the huge bonfire was a smoldering pile of ashes, we waved our new friends off and trudged wearily to our beds.
Mother woke us up at dawn—even before the birds got up. Rudolfo and his pals had promised to return at seven, and Mother wanted to fix breakfast for them. Cassie and I scrambled a million eggs while Mother made biscuits and pancakes. Soon the kitchen was full of the delicious aroma of sizzling bacon and baking bread. By nine o’clock it was gathering flies—a huge soggy mess on the patio table.
“I can’t believe this,” pronounced Mother in a voice filled with displeasure. “Of all the inconsiderate things!”
“I can’t believe it, either,” I grumbled. “All that good food gone to waste. Thanks a lot for not letting us eat until they got here, Cassie. Now I wouldn’t touch that crap with a ten foot pole. And I’m starving.”
“We couldn’t have eaten first!” protested my daughter. “It would not have been polite.”
“Yeah? And just what do a bunch of illiterate wetbacks know about manners?” I responded angrily. “They didn’t even call to tell us they weren’t coming!”
“Mom! How could you?” cried Cassie as she burst into tears. “How could you be such a bigot! Remember, it was one of those so-called illiterate wetbacks who saved our Aggie!”
“Yeah! And thanks a bunch for that, too! Just what I always wanted, ‘the return of Fang.’”
Cassie jumped up and ran into the house. She slammed the screened door so hard the wind chimes detached from the porch ceiling and fell to the floor with a loud melodic crash.
“Oh, dear,” murmured Mother. “Do you think that was all quite necessary, Paisley?”
I sat back in my chair and gazed morosely at our moldering breakfast bu
ffet.
“I suppose not. But I’m mad as hell.”
“Language, dear.”
“Damn it, Mother, I am mad. And hungry. Pass me a biscuit—from underneath the pile. Maybe there’s one or two left that the flies haven’t crapped on.”
“Please.”
“What?” I asked distractedly. I thought I heard a car coming up the driveway. Maybe the Mexicans were coming after all.
“You forgot to say ‘please.’ And I’ve asked you repeatedly not to use foul language,” she protested. “Paisley, I’m your mother and this is my home. You need to honor my wishes.”
Andy Joiner’s police car pulled into view and ruined the rest of my morning.
“Damn it all to hell. Look who’s here, Mother. It’s Deputy Dawg. Damn! Drat and drat!”
“Paisley Sterling! Have you not heard a word I’ve said?” declared my outraged parent.
“Humm? What, Mother? I’m sorry. Tell me again after Andy leaves.”
I grabbed the silver coffee pot and poured the tepid liquid out in the grass at the edge of the patio.
“Paisley, what on earth are you doing? You’ll ruin what’s left of the grass,” she sputtered.
“How’s the cream? Is it still okay?” I asked, still ignoring her.
I sniffed deeply of the cream pitcher, and poked viciously with my index finger at the soft sagging stick on the butter dish.
“Paisley! That’s quite enough!”
“You’re right. I’ll get some fresh butter and cream, too.”
I balanced the pitchers and butter dish in my arms and hurried towards the kitchen. I smiled as I heard Mother utter one of my “vile epitaphs” under her breath. I had won this round. My mood was improving by the minute.
I dumped the souring cream in the sink and grabbed a clean pitcher from the china cabinet. I deliberately chose an old one with a chip in the handle. Mother would hate that. And when I put fresh butter on the dish, I left a piece of the wrapper on the stick. She wouldn’t say anything in front of Andy, but she would be brooding over those two minor details the whole time he was here. I bounced back out to the patio in total good humor.