Grace Above All (Fesler-Lampert Minnesota Heritage)

by Jane St. Anthony

  “For a while,” Frankie answered. “What are you doing here, Grandpa? Are you on a date?”

  “You noticed that I’m not alone,” Grandpa said. “What’s the matter with little Polly?” He held his walking stick over Polly as if she were a lifeless bug that he might prod.

  “She’s just a quiet one,” Grace said.

  “Are you certain that she’s all right?”

  Polly, who had been looking at the ground, tipped her head back so that she could see Grandpa Ernest. She stared as if wondering whether Gunda had morphed into this familiar visage.

  “Are you feeling under the weather, Polly?” Grandpa Ernest inquired. “Would you like a drink of water?”

  “She’s fine.” Grace pointed at Polly’s Orange Crush. “Are you having a nice time with Hilda?”

  “We’re having a wonderful time. It’s a marvelous day when you have someone with whom to enjoy so many memories.”

  No one could summon a reply to this declaration from Grandpa Ernest, who had voluntarily sat on a park bench with an ancient pocket-size woman.

  “Did she know you were going to show up?” Frankie said, breaking the silence.

  “Oh, no. After Bernadette visited Hilda, I wondered why I hadn’t done so myself. Over the years, my Julie and I would sometimes run into Hilda when we came into town. This is the first year I’ve returned since my Julie died. To proceed, I spied Hilda and her daughter on their way home from a little shopping trip, so the timing was perfect.”

  Another silence followed, during which Grace pictured Grandpa Ernest cutting his losses by fleeing the park.

  “The funny thing is,” he continued, “Hilda may be a little stooped, but I would know that pretty face anywhere.”

  Grace glanced at Polly, whose mouth was open in a way that suggested her jaw’s hinges were severed.

  “I’d better be getting back to them,” he said. “Just a few more minutes here and then I’ll drive the girls home. I’ll be back to pick you up in about half an hour, if that suits you.”

  Grace took a moment to grasp who “the girls” were. To Grandpa Ernest, “the girls” were not her and Polly, but Hilda and Gunda. His thinking must be distorted because he was old. “Aging,” Grace said to herself. “Avoid it.”

  Grace, Polly, and Frankie watched Grandpa grow smaller until he was in proportion to Hilda and Gunda, patiently awaiting his return.

  “Your cousin made a beeline for you, Polly,” Frankie said. “Why would she do that?”

  “When Bernadette made us go see them, Polly went into Gunda’s room to find some liniment,” Grace said. “It was a bet.”

  “So she recognized you, Polly?” Frankie asked.

  “Maybe. I don’t know,” said Polly, speaking for the first time since Gunda had traversed the park. “It was dark in her room, and light was behind me. She gave the dandelions to me, didn’t she?”

  “You’re her little pet,” Grace said.

  “It’s a curse,” Polly said with resignation. “It’s the curse of the liniment.”

  Polly was naming things, Grace thought with agitation. This outing wasn’t about Polly. If it had a name, it would be “Grace and Frankie’s Golden Summer,” not “The Curse of the Liniment.”

  “Maybe I could break the curse if I gave the liniment back,” Polly said, patting the book bag she had carried on her shoulder to the park.

  “What? You have it with you?”

  “I thought that if we were in town, I might have a chance to leave it on her steps.” She sighed. “I didn’t really want to, though.”

  “Polly, you don’t even know where she lives.” Hilda’s house didn’t have steps, but Grace decided to let that go.

  “It’s not a big town.”

  “Gad, Polly, I’d hate to see what else you’re carrying around with you in that thing. Why don’t you just give the liniment back now?”

  “Gracie, I can’t. She scares me too much.”

  “Then give it to me.”

  “No, Gracie, don’t go over there.”

  “She won’t hurt anyone, Pol,” Frankie said. “Look, Grandpa’s there. And her mom. She came over here to give you flowers, not strangle you.”

  The “Pol” thing was too much, Grace thought. Frankie was becoming too familiar with her weakling sister.

  “Give me the liniment,” Grace commanded.

  Polly reluctantly put her hand in the book bag and produced the small pot.

  Grace made her feet take turns, one in front of the other, as she moved across the expanse of land. Gunda stared from her post in front of a tree next to the bench where Grandpa Ernest and Hilda sat. When Grace was close enough to see the mole on Gunda’s chin, she called, “Hello,” and raised her hand in greeting. Grandpa smiled a wide smile and Hilda, a sweet one.

  Before Grace knew what was happening, a whoosh flashed past her. She turned to watch Gunda run across the park. Within seconds, Gunda headed back, using a clumsy walk-run to cross the grass.

  This time, Gunda was not alone. Arms extended in front of her, she carried Polly, as if presenting a ceremonial flag, or, perhaps, a ninety-two-pound communion wafer. Frankie ran alongside. Gunda, panting heavily, reached the bench and placed Polly next to Grandpa Ernest.

  “Whoa!” Grandpa said. “I see that she wants us all together.”

  “Gunda!” said Hilda, looking surprised. “No picking up children!”

  “Girl,” Gunda said, dragging out each letter.

  No one else spoke until Grace said, “This is yours,” to Hilda. “It kind of followed us home accidentally.”

  “My, my, I looked all over Gunda’s room for this,” she said. “Look, Gunda, this nice cousin found your liniment.”

  Gunda patted Polly’s head.

  “She seems to be very taken with your sister,” Hilda said to Grace. “She’s a quiet one, isn’t she? Just like my Gunda.”

  “Girl,” Gunda said.

  With a show of bravery that was painful to witness, Polly raised her head and smiled at Gunda.

  Hilda pulled a hankie out of her cardigan sweater sleeve and dabbed at her eyes.

  “She so rarely speaks,” she said to Polly. “This is the talkingest day we’ve had in a long, long time.”

  25

  Grandpa Ernest drove Hilda and Gunda home and returned to the park for Grace, Frankie, and Polly. Grandpa was the only talkative one. “After all these years, to think that we could pick up as if we had never lost touch,” he said. “She’s the same fun gal I remember.”

  Poor man, Grace thought. He’s lost his mind and doesn’t know it.

  Frankie broke the silence in the backseat, where Polly had pushed in next to Grace.

  “Grandpa, you already have a girlfriend.”

  “Dot is a wonderful lady,” Grandpa answered. “But there’s something special about someone you knew when you were just a pip.”

  “He has a girlfriend?” Grace said quietly to Frankie.

  Grandpa caught Grace’s eye in the rearview mirror. “Are you asking about my lady friend?” he asked. “She has a grownup family and grandchildren, too. We love to go dancing. But when I saw Hilda today, she brought my past alive.”

  Your past doesn’t sound that great, Grace thought. Hilda was older than you, and she married someone else.

  “Hilda will always represent possibilities to me,” Grandpa continued. “Summer, youth, a beautiful lake, a lovely girl on the threshold of womanhood.”

  Grace looked at Frankie, who raised his eyebrows. Grace raised hers back, making sure that Grandpa wasn’t looking at her in the rearview mirror.

  “For one afternoon, I forgot my arthritis,” he said, “because of Hilda.”

  Grace stared at the back of Grandpa, his neck a pattern of deep creases that didn’t resemble skin. She couldn’t think of one thing to say.

  “She was thrilled. She was so happy to see me. You already know that I was crushed when she married Harold. But then I found my Julie, and she made me feel the same way that
Hilda made me feel. Full of possibility.”

  Grace looked out the window at the trees. Grandpa was repeating himself. He had already covered possibility. How could you respond to someone who turned crooked little Hilda into a glamorous movie star?

  “You don’t understand now,” he droned on. “But someday you will. Certain people become more precious with time.”

  What had all that possibility come to? A visit with a crone? Grace stifled a yawn.

  Polly shifted in her seat. “Recovering, Pol?” Grace asked.

  “She didn’t want to hurt me, did she, Grace?”

  “I don’t think she’s a hurting kind of person.”

  “Hey, Grandpa,” Frankie interjected. “Does Gunda hurt people or just scare them?”

  “Neither,” Grandpa said. “She’s just a bit slow.”

  Grace thought about how Gunda’s life was changed by carelessness. Someone had taken their eyes off her. Add bad luck or bad timing. She pictured Beth bobbing on the water. She blinked the image away and noticed Frankie’s thigh next to her own. Now, that was easy on the eye. His thigh was leaner than Chuck’s and less lanky than Pinky’s. During the school year, tweedy uniform pants covered boys’ thighs.

  “What are you looking at?” Frankie asked.

  “Your thigh is hairier and firmer than a girl’s,” Grace didn’t say. “It’s not a self-conscious thigh, pushed up just a little from the seat so that the fat doesn’t splat out the sides. If you were a girl, we might talk about how thighs can puff over the tops of nylons, especially if there’s a girdle pushing from above.”

  “Nothing,” she said. “I wonder if being old feels as bad as it looks.”

  “Old people kind of dry up,” Polly whispered. “That’s why their faces crack.”

  Grandpa Ernest’s face had definitely cracked. But his face didn’t scare kids. Bernadette had a youngish face, still freckly and fresh in spite of all the kids and cigarettes. But that didn’t make her more likable.

  “How do you know if kids will like you when you’re a grownup?” Grace asked Frankie.

  “What are you kids talking about?” said Grandpa.

  “Ask him,” Grace mouthed.

  “Grandpa, how do you know if kids will like you when you’re old?”

  “I don’t think you do. They probably do if you treat them decently. I never thought about it.”

  “There’s a man who lives about two blocks from our school,” Grace said. “Kids hate him. Every day after school—even when it’s cold outside—he yells at kids if they go near his grass.”

  “Or his snow,” said Polly.

  “Right, his snow, too. He looks as if he spends the whole day inside thinking about how kids are out to get him.”

  “What does he do?” Grandpa asked.

  “Shakes his cane. Yells. Says he’s going to call the police if you walk too close to his yard.”

  “I would say that he lashes out because he’s so unhappy.”

  “His poor wife,” Polly added. “She waves at me when she’s outside gardening and her husband isn’t there.”

  “Polly, you are a kind girl,” Grandpa said. “Gunda senses how kind you are. Hilda is kind, too.”

  Grace looked at Polly, pale at the mention of Gunda. Were kind people losers? Kind Hilda had one date every fifty years or so with a grandpa. The kind wife of the man who waved his cane couldn’t be having much fun, either. Dad was kind. But he fell for a cute girl who didn’t seem to know that if you had babies, you were responsible for them.

  Grandpa turned onto the long driveway that led to the cabins. Grace’s head hurt. She wondered if it was too late to become a genuinely nice, kind person, even though the rewards seemed meager. Otherwise, she might turn into Bernadette. That was a horrible thought.

  26

  In the evening, Grace sat in a lawn chair in front of the cabin, staring at the lake. Beth and Pinky sat on the grass next to her, slowly turning the pages of the new comics that Frankie had let them borrow. Neither of them asked Grace to read the words they didn’t know inside the puffy balloons. They were in awe of the new comics.

  “Look,” Pinky said. “I think the ink is still wet.” He held his hand up for Beth and Grace to see. There wasn’t any color on his fingers, but Beth nodded solemnly before turning back to her comic.

  When Grace had paid Chuck the rest of the five dollars for watching the kids, it hurt. What had she gained? Frankie’s hand had rested on hers in the car, his fingers curving around it. But she could have done without the rest of the afternoon: Gunda’s heart-stopping appearance at the restroom door, Gunda’s lope across the park with Polly flapping in her arms, and Grandpa, who didn’t seem to know the difference between fun and prehistoric memories.

  She closed her eyes against the setting sun, which warmed her face even as the breeze cooled it. Her thoughts tangled and bumped into each other as she drifted toward sleep. Something stirred, and Grace opened her eyes. Frankie sank onto the grass beside her.

  “They like the comics?” he said, nodding at Beth and Pinky, who stared hard at the pages as if Frankie might suddenly snatch their reading away.

  “Hooked. They barely noticed that we had dog food for dinner.”

  He snorted appreciatively. “I was thinking,” he said, suddenly businesslike, “that we should have a party. We could invite Hilda and Gunda.”

  Grace frowned. A party should include her and Frankie and kids their age on the beach, with music blaring from a transistor radio. They would dance in the sand in bare feet and build a fire that they would sit around when the stars came out. Frankie would tell her she looked beautiful with her strawberry blond hair tousled. He wouldn’t say “red hair.”

  “A party?” she repeated.

  “We could build a fire and roast hot dogs and marshmallows.”

  Was Frankie normal? Didn’t he know that Bernadette and Chuck and everyone else she didn’t want to see would be on the beach fending off Gunda?

  “Wait a minute,” she said. “It’s your grandpa who wants to have a party, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Grandpa wants a party for Hilda.”

  “I guess so.”

  “Why doesn’t he just ask her out to the park bench again?”

  “I don’t know. He told my dad and me that we should have a party with your family on your last night here. That’s Thursday, right?”

  “Right.” Why Bernadette wanted to leave before the weekend was a mystery. Maybe she couldn’t last any longer without Dad’s cooking. “And he wants to ask Gunda, too?”

  “Yup.”

  “He’d better ask them before they’re booked. Why were you acting as if the party was your idea?”

  “It’s kind of embarrassing,” he said, looking at his bare toes, “to have your grandpa so excited about a centenarian.”

  Poor, poor Grandpa, Grace thought. “We would love to have a party, wouldn’t we?” Grace said to Pinky and Beth, who had stopped pretending to read as they eavesdropped.

  “We love parties,” Beth said, raising her eyes to Frankie and then shyly looking away.

  “Okay, a party,” said Frankie. “You’re in, too, Pinky?”

  “Sure,” Pinky said, trying to inject a dose of swagger into his thin voice. “And we like the comics, a lot.”

  “Good, I’m glad,” Frankie said as he got up from the ground. He looked at Grace. “Can you go on a walk tomorrow morning after I go fishing with Chuck?”

  “Sure,” Grace said, feeling herself turn red. Why did that happen when her skin had stayed calm until now? “A walk sounds good.”

  “A party?” Bernadette said when Grace found her playing solitaire inside at the big table. “I don’t think Hilda wants to hang out here.”

  “Grandpa Ernest will be in charge.”

  “Since when does he give parties?” said Bernadette, tapping a cigarette out of her pack. “It’ll be at his cabin, right?”

  “On the beach.”

  “A beach party
with Hilda. Now, that’s different.”

  “Frankie said that Grandpa plans to go into town tomorrow to invite Hilda.”

  “It would save me from making another trip in to see the old girl,” said Bernadette, blowing smoke rings across the table. “Why don’t you take money out of my purse and ask Ernest to pick up some chips for us to bring?”

  “He wants to buy all the food.” She and Polly could make a cake or a pan of brownies. Grace couldn’t ask someone else’s grandpa to shop for Bernadette.

  “I suppose we’ll let him,” said Bernadette, eyeing Grace with suspicion. “Was this party your idea?”

  “No. Grandpa Ernest thought it up.”

  “So, Thursday night, a blowout. A beach party. Your dad and I used to party at the river.”

  Grace hated Bernadette’s references to herself as a young person. Bernadette—the mother of five kids—mentioned boyfriends from time to time, always a different one. As a girl, she must have had “It.” Grace and her friends knew those girls. Often they weren’t the prettiest or the funniest or the most popular, but they radiated something special. The girls with “It” were loose and comfortable in their bodies and, without fail, drew boys to them effortlessly. Dad hadn’t gotten away.

  “All you have to do is show up,” Grace said. “Grandpa or Frankie’s dad will pick up Hilda and Gunda, I guess.”

  This wouldn’t qualify as a real party. Who wanted a party with an age span from six years old to about one hundred, complete with your mother’s cousin who could speak two words? Poor Polly. Gunda would be on the lookout for Girl.

  “Count me in,” Bernadette said, “but don’t sign me up to make punch or anything.”

  Grace stood. She should round the kids up for bed.

  “Bernadette,” she said, “I wish Dad could have stayed for this.”

  “So do I, Gracie.”

  The words stunned Grace. Bernadette had responded without her trademark edge. Who was this woman?

  Bernadette lipped her cigarette as she began to flip through her cards, slapping one down with an accompanying cheer.