Footsteps ran down the stairs lightly. Pinky approached Grace’s head, which Grace didn’t bother to raise.
“What did he want?” he said breathlessly.
“Who?” Grace murmured into the sand.
“Frankie. He came to the door and asked for you, and Polly said you weren’t there. Then he came down here. I watched him.”
Grace raised herself on one elbow. “Pinky, are you sure he was looking for me?”
“He said, ‘Where’s your sister?’ I don’t think he meant Polly because Polly was talking to him.” Pinky looked puzzled. “Do you think he meant Bethie?”
Grace rested her head on the sand again, keeping her nose and mouth clear. Frankie had been looking for her. She hadn’t understood. She had turned him away. For all her bluster, she, Grace Doyle, knew nothing.
8
The next day, Grace gave up on the idea of ever seeing Frankie again. She pretended that he had left for home with his father and grandfather, which could have happened under other circumstances.
“We’re going fishing. See you guys later,” Chuck announced, looking smug, after finishing his cereal.
“We’re going fishing?” Pinky said, looking up from a comic book.
“No, Frankie and I are going fishing.”
“I would like to go, too. Please.”
“No, Pinky, Frankie and I are going. We can’t watch you and fish at the same time.”
Pinky’s eyes began to fill, causing the rims to look more pink than usual. He mumbled something to the floor.
“What did you say, Pinky?” Grace asked.
He squeezed his eyelids tightly to hold back the tears, but they leaked out.
“Pinky, what did you say?” Grace repeated. Chuck wasn’t going to get off lightly. Let him see Pinky suffer. “Tell me.”
“I said,” Pinky answered, covering his eyes with his hands, “I said I can watch myself.”
The porch door slammed. Frankie stood in the doorway, holding two fishing poles. “Sorry,” he said. “Should I come back later?”
Grace looked at him. He was already gone, as far as she was concerned. She could say whatever she wanted. “Chuck won’t let Pinky go fishing with you guys,” she said. “And that stinks.”
“He can come with us,” Frankie said. “Come on, Pinky. You can pick out a pole. Let’s go. We’re getting a late start.”
Pinky followed Frankie through the porch and out the door, blinking hard. Chuck glared at Grace as he walked by her. She glared back.
“Hey, Grace,” Frankie called back into the house. “Let’s go swimming when I get back this afternoon.”
“Sure,” Grace called before she knew it was her voice that had answered. It was so easy. He had asked. She had responded. Words, but no face-to-face. How simple was that?
“Grace,” Polly said from a chair in the corner of the room, where she had been reading. “Frankie is really cute, isn’t he?”
“He’s nice,” said Beth, who had resumed drawing at the table.
“He’s okay,” Grace said.
Chuck, Grace, Polly, Pinky, Beth, and Frankie spent the afternoon on the beach. Grace and Frankie swam, Chuck floated in the inner tube, and Polly lounged at the edge of the water with Pinky and Beth, who mimicked swimming by walking on their hands while splashing with their feet. Grace told the two little ones when it was time for a shade break.
“May we come out now, Gracie?” Beth asked when the swimmers returned.
“In a little while,” Grace said. She had ordered them under their beach towels. “You don’t want to turn into lobsters. Do you need some more comics?”
Later Frankie sat next to Grace when they played old maid with everyone except for Chuck, who disliked card games. “I have to go with my dad and grandpa to visit my grandpa’s brother tomorrow. He’s an invalid.”
“Then I guess you’ll be here on Friday,” Grace said.
“Right. We’ll be here for the weekend.”
“So will we.”
“And next week.”
“For most of it.”
“Maybe we can spend every day together,” said Polly, whose shoulders were very pink.
“Here’s your T-shirt, Pol,” Grace said, swiveling to pick it out of the sand behind her. “You’re getting burned.”
“I’m going fishing with Chuck in the morning on Friday,” Frankie said. “And Pinky. I’ll see you after that, Grace.”
“I love fishing,” said Pinky, who had returned from his expedition with two sunfish that were swimming in a bucket in front of the porch.
“I love the cabin,” Beth said.
Frankie and Grace looked at each other and smiled.
How had so much changed so quickly? Grace wished that she could stretch the day like a rubber band into twice its length.
“Let’s eat supper on the beach,” she said.
“But first we’ll finish this game,” said Beth.
“Sure, Bethie. Then we’ll put the sun to bed.”
9
Grace survived Thursday, the day that Frankie was gone, by reliving the previous day. As she made fudge in the morning and sand castles in the afternoon with Pinky and Beth and Polly, she thought about how Frankie had stayed by her on the beach. She never had time to wonder where he was. He was always there. She was there for him, too, quipping, laughing, reaching for the catsup bottle at the same second.
On Friday morning, Bernadette announced another Hilda and Gunda expedition.
“Your father is coming up tomorrow, and he sure as heck won’t want to play Little Red Riding Hood,” she said to Grace. “No visiting any grannies while he’s here.”
“I promised Beth that we would make scrapbooks this morning,” Grace said, hoping that she would be rescued from this craft ordeal when Frankie returned.
“That should take about ten minutes,” said Bernadette.
“It’s a very big project. Besides, it’s Chuck’s turn to go. All he does is sit around and eat. Take him.”
“I suppose I could,” Bernadette said. “At least I wouldn’t break the bank at Icey Ices if I only take one kid with me.”
Too nervous to feel victorious, Grace kept her lips together.
Through the windows, the sky shone intensely, promisingly blue.
Polly walked into the main room with a threadbare beach towel. “Hi, Grace,” she said on her way to the door.
“Hi, Pol.” She felt sorry for Polly because Polly would never be her. “Don’t forget we’re going to make scrapbooks later.”
On his way into the cabin, Chuck almost collided with Polly. “Forgot my pail,” he said. “I’m going fishing.”
“Sorry, Chuck, we’re going to see Hilda this morning,” Bernadette said, pausing for a sip of steaming coffee. “Might as well leave before it gets any hotter.”
“Ma, it’s hot already. Besides, I made plans with Frankie.”
Happiness rose in Grace like the mercury in a thermometer. Maybe he wasn’t going fishing with Frankie after all.
“No lip, Chuck,” said Bernadette. “You have to put your time in like the others did.”
“Can I drive?” Chuck begged. “Please, can I at least drive?”
“Aren’t you the kid who hasn’t studied for his permit test? No permit, no driving.” Bernadette lit her cigarette and waved the match in the air. “I value my life. Now I need to finish working on my hair.”
“Say hi to Gunda for me,” Grace said.
Chuck walked to the box of old comics he had brought from home and grabbed a stack. “This is all your fault,” he said to Grace as he passed by her. “I could have been fishing.”
“Hey, Chuck,” Frankie called through the screen door. “Are you ready?”
“Oh, man, I gotta visit some ancient people with my mom,” Chuck moaned as he opened the door. Frankie stepped into the porch and waved at Grace.
“That’s too bad,” he said. “We can fish tomorrow morning. Or the next day.”
Frankie noticed
Pinky staring at him. “You too,” he said. Pinky relaxed.
“Wait a minute, Frankie,” Chuck said. “You can come with me, now.”
Bernadette emerged from the hallway with a can of hair spray. She lipped her cigarette as she gave herself a final misting, setting the can down on the table when she had finished.
“Jeez, Ma, you’re killing me,” Chuck said, coughing.
“Let’s get going, then.”
“Can Frankie come with us?”
“I guess so, if you two don’t ask for anything or run away like Polly did.”
Everything was wrong. The joke had turned into an excursion for Chuck and Frankie.
“Polly ran away from what?” Chuck said to Grace.
“Polly didn’t run away. She was playing outside and we forgot her.” She turned to Bernadette, who was trying to stuff a can of Tahitian Treat into the pocket of her pedal pushers. It wouldn’t go. “Bernadette, maybe Chuck should stay here and help with the kids.”
“Too late, Gracie. We’re gone. You need Chuck like you need a hole in the head.”
“I have to get some money from my dad,” Frankie said as he headed for the door. “There’s a place to buy ice cream in that little town.”
“Will we make scrapbooks now, Gracie?” Beth asked from her chair by the window. “You told Mommy that we’re going to make scrapbooks.”
“Have fun, kids,” Chuck drawled. “Have fun with your arts and crafts teacher.”
“C’mon, Chuck, I don’t have all day,” Bernadette called from the porch. “Here comes your friend.”
Grace heard three car doors slam, one after the other. She walked to the porch and watched the car back away from the cabin.
10
“Is it time to make the scrapbooks now?” Beth called to Grace, who was on the porch setting up a card table. At least they might catch a breeze.
“Sure. But first we have to find something to use for pages. Your tablet is too small. There has to be some blank paper around here somewhere. You and Pinky search the big room.”
Rummaging through a cupboard on the porch, Grace found a lot of mouse turds. Maybe the bedrooms would be more fruitful. As Grace headed to the hallway, Pinky triumphantly held up a thin piece of cardboard.
“Good job, Pinky,” Grace said. “Now see if you can find a few more.”
In Bernadette’s bedroom, an old-fashioned chiffonier yielded dresses and hats that must have been Aunt Marie’s. Grace reconsidered the scrapbook plan. They could play dress-up instead. Would that be easier?
Curious about anything out of sight, Grace pulled a chair to a tall, narrow chest of drawers. She stepped onto the chair and then up onto her toes to begin at the top. Two photo albums covered with dust crowned the chest. Pull out the pictures and two empty scrapbooks awaited. Maybe Polly could find her own pages.
“What did you find, Gracie?” asked Beth, standing at Grace’s feet.
“Scrapbooks for you and Pinky. We should wipe them off.” She held the albums to her chest and jumped down from the chair. Surveying the floor, she spied one of Bernadette’s bobby sox. She picked it up and dusted the albums.
“Here you go, Bethie. Let’s bring Pinky’s to him.”
“Then what will we do?”
“First, take the old pictures out. Then put in anything you want—pictures from magazines, pictures you drew in your tablet, flowers, anything.”
“Money?”
Where did Beth get her ideas? Would her goofy little brain work in the world?
“You can put a penny in if you want. But if you keep the penny, you can buy something.”
“A penny,” said Beth dreamily. “I have a penny with my birthday on it.”
“Your birth year, Bethie. Money doesn’t have actual birth dates on it. Let’s take these scrapbooks to the porch.”
“Where’s my album?” said Polly, who had just returned from the beach as dry as when she had left, Grace noted. Morning, too cool. She had been there.
“Use Pinky’s cardboard and some tablet paper taped together or something. Polly, you have to try harder to find your own.”
Polly sat next to Beth, who began to gently remove the black-and-white photos from their triangular corners.
“Do you think we should be messing with these?” Polly said to Grace.
“Nobody cares about these old pictures. They were rotting away up there,” Grace said, although she had wondered the same thing when Pinky had begun ripping the photos out of his album.
“Mom might want them,” Polly said.
“She doesn’t know they’re here,” said Grace, her guilt growing along with the piles of snapshots.
“I know what we can do,” suggested Pinky, as he continued to yank out pictures. “We can put them back where you found the albums.”
“Now, that’s using your noggin,” Grace said. Why hadn’t she thought of that?
“What’s the matter with this little girl?” Beth asked, looking at a photo she had removed.
“Who?” asked Grace.
Polly stared at the picture. Pinky stood up and peered over Polly’s shoulder.
“Let me see it closer,” said Grace. Beth released her hold.
Two women smiled in the photo. Their short hair was almost hidden under the brims of straw hats, and they wore short-sleeved dresses with slightly dropped waists and skirts that showed a bit of ankle. One woman held a baby, its face turned from the camera. In front of the other woman stood a little girl, eight or nine years old.
Beth knelt on the chair in order to see the snapshot better. “What’s the matter with the girl holding the doll?” she said.
The girl stared out of the photo with a lifeless expression. Grace stared back. The girl wasn’t holding the baby doll in front of her. Her arms hung at her sides. The woman behind the little girl was holding the doll in place.
Polly swallowed hard. “I think it’s her.”
“Who?” Grace said.
“That Gunda woman. No expression.”
If that was Gunda, Grace thought, the woman holding the doll might be her mother, Hilda. Hilda didn’t look crooked. She looked straight and happy in spite of having to hold Gunda’s doll for her. The other woman might be one of Hilda’s sisters, Grandma or Aunt Marie.
“The baby,” Polly said. “That baby could be Mom.”
“What is wrong with the little girl?” Beth asked again.
“The little girl’s brain wasn’t right,” Grace said. “I think she was born with only part of a brain or something.”
“Let me see,” said Pinky, struggling to get a look. “Oh, I thought maybe her head would be smaller.” He settled back in his seat and continued piling up photos.
“That look,” Polly said. “That’s her look.”
The women seemed so lighthearted to Grace. Would they have been as happy if they knew the little girl would grow up and scare kids? Would they have been thrilled to know that the baby would grow up to be Bernadette? What about Hilda? What if she had known that she would turn into a human pretzel?
Grace stared at the faces, then turned her attention to the background. They stood in front of a house with a porch. It looked different in black-and-white, but she was certain. They were at the cabin that Grandpa Olav had built for his wife and three daughters.
“Let’s get going,” Grace said. “I’ll read to you while you work.” She picked a Reader’s Digest from a stack of magazines, stuck the photo inside, and began reading from “Laughter Is the Best Medicine.” Grace didn’t want to think about the picture. Those people couldn’t see their fates. They would turn into a grownup Gunda, a grownup Bernadette, and a Hilda, grown facedown. Or, in the case of Grandma or Aunt Marie, dead.
A car honked outside the cabin.
“Polly, why don’t you go see who that is?” Grace said.
“It sounds like Mom’s car.”
“She couldn’t be back this early. Go and see.”
“Grace, why me? Why can’t you go?”
<
br /> “I’m trying to help you become a responsible person.”
“Keep reading, Grace,” Pinky said. “This is so funny.”
“Polly will read. I’ll go, I’ll go,” Grace said, thrusting the magazine at Polly. Reading out loud to the kids reminded her that she wasn’t reading what she wanted to read to herself. “I’ll go this time.”
Polly was right. Bernadette sat behind the wheel of the station wagon. Hilda sat next to her, low in the passenger seat.
“We were just staring at Hilda’s walls, so I thought I’d take her out on a Sunday drive even though it isn’t Sunday,” Bernadette said. “Gracie, run and get the pack of cigarettes on the dresser as long as you’re out here.”
“Hello, Grace,” Hilda said with a little wave. “It’s lovely to see you again. This is my Gunda in the back.”
Grace stopped breathing. She hadn’t looked beyond Bernadette and Hilda.
Hilda made an attempt to look behind her, but she was too low to see over the top of the seat. Grace’s eyes went from Hilda’s sweet smile to the backseat, where Gunda sat stiffly, staring at Grace. In her plaid summer dress, Gunda looked as startled as Grace felt. “Ma,” Gunda uttered, the syllable laced with concern. She moved her hand over the seat to the top of Hilda’s head.
Hilda raised her hand and gently patted Gunda’s larger one. “You’re all right, dear,” she said. “This nice girl is Grace, Bernadette’s daughter. Don’t you worry, we’re going home now.”
“Enough of a field trip for one day,” Bernadette said. Grace realized that the car was still running. “You can see the rest of the gang another time, Gun. Grace, go grab those cigarettes.”
“Thank you for coming out to see us, Grace,” called Hilda in her fragile voice as Grace sprinted into the cabin.
“Who was out there?” Polly asked.
“Bernadette forgot her cigs,” said Grace. She understood why Polly hadn’t wanted to discuss Gunda. She didn’t either. The sight of a grownup body without much of a thinking part was enough to shock anyone except Bernadette into silence.
11
Early in the afternoon, Bernadette clattered onto the porch alone.
Grace Above All (Fesler-Lampert Minnesota Heritage) Page 4