“I know that.”
“Well, the derby won’t be for another year. It just happened.”
As Louise’s house was on the finish line everyone congregated there, and Nickel was vastly impressed by the competition.
“It keeps her busy. She likes to build things.”
“She’d be better off sewing.”
“She doesn’t like to sew.”
“Julia, you can’t let children do what they want. You have to guide them.”
“I am not in the mood for a lecture. Can it.”
“Okay, okay. I will say, though, that Aunt Dimps doesn’t sound like she’s doing a good job as a Sunday-school teacher. Nicky is—”
“Louise, I mean it. I don’t want to hear anything. I’m forty-five years old and I have a hard time believing in the Virgin Birth and the Resurrection. How come Jesus gets to come back but no one else does?”
“Don’t even say such things. It’s blasphemy.”
“Christianity is not very logical, and if nothing else, Nicky is logical.”
“Faith. You don’t need brains.”
“That’s obvious.”
This jab flew past Louise. She sat down on the swing, a tendril of wisteria at her feet. “Juts, I think you’ve got your work cut out for you.”
“In all respects.” Juts sat next to her sister. “As the governor of North Carolina said to the governor of South Carolina—”
Louise chimed in with Juts. “‘It’s a long time between drinks.’”
71
A soul was in mortal danger. Louise came to the rescue. She gave Nickel a set of rosary beads, pearl-white, telling the child not to let her mother see them. She showed her how to say her novenas and Hail Marys. She volunteered to take Nicky out on walks or to the movies and then would instead sneak her into St. Rose of Lima’s for a bracing mass.
Nicky, responsive to pageantry, adored the flickering votive candles, the icons, the paintings, the deep-rich colors of the vestments. “Nomine Dominus, Filius, et Spiritus Sanctus.” She could chant her Latin along with Louise.
The conspiratorial nature of their expeditions appealed to both niece and aunt. Putting one over on Juts was a thrill.
“Don’t mention this to your mother, now. Loose lips sink ships.”
“We don’t have a ship,” Nickel replied.
Louise was again reminded that children know nothing of the past. “During the war we were worried about spies. There were posters all over that said ‘Loose Lips Sink Ships,’ which meant you were never to tell secrets because it might help the enemy.”
“Is Mom the enemy?”
Louise drawled, “She’s just a terribly misguided person.”
“Did you worry about the enemy during the war?”
“Indeed I did. I was the one who saw the German bomber squadron on Runnymede Day … your mother was there, too. She didn’t do much. I identified the enemy.”
“Gee,” Nickel exclaimed, filled with awe.
“Oh, yes.” Louise nodded. “Now remember, pretend we’re at war. Christians against the nonbelievers. Loose lips sink ships.”
Juts, glad to be free of the rigors of loving motherhood, didn’t question Nickel’s jaunts. So long as Nicky said she’d had a hot-fudge sundae at Cadwalder’s or she liked Lash LaRue better than ever at the movies, Juts failed to notice any spiritual improvements in her daughter.
Louise, like all the Hunsenmeirs, had been born to the Lutheran Church. It was during her adolescence that she had embraced the One True Faith. It was more than an embrace, it was a death grip. Since Louise wanted people to be better than they were, she was doomed to lifelong disappointment and bitterness. The Catholic Church enabled her to survive these disappointments, chief of which was her wayward sister.
Juts’s habits preyed on her mind. When Louise made the sign of the cross at the dinner table, Juts would make the sign of the dollar. She’d trace an S in the air, dash her finger through it twice, and follow this with an extremely reverent “Amen.”
Louise worried that Nickel would be corrupted by such entertaining blasphemies.
She missed raising children. She had loved Mary’s and Maizie’s antics, sayings, and questions up until age fourteen. At that point she thought God had come down and stolen her two adorable daughters, substituting two recalcitrant slugs.
Maizie had taken a summer job in Baltimore. Louise felt some relief that Maizie was returning to her old self.
Although she saw Mary almost every other day, she never felt that she spent time with her. It was rush here and rush there. She’d baby-sit for her daughter. She loved children but hated being known as a grandmother. She wouldn’t allow the two little boys to call her Grandma. They called her Wheezie.
Nickel’s enchantment with St. Rose’s made Louise forget occasionally that she and her niece weren’t the same blood. She was planning to take Nicky to high mass. So far, they’d only attended early-morning mass. High mass would do it. Nicky would be the church’s for life.
She also gave Nicky a small black book, The Key to Heaven, instructing the child not to let Juts find it or the precious rosary beads.
Nicky hid them in the corner of her toybox after first wrapping them in her bandana. Since Nicky usually wore her bandana, Juts looked for it one morning, thinking perhaps the child had stuffed it in a pocket, dropped it, or forgotten it somewhere, although Nicky rarely forgot anything. She flipped up the lid of the toybox and saw the red bandana tied foursquare. She opened it up, spilling the rosary beads and The Key to Heaven.
“She’d better put her tail between her legs and kiss her ass good-bye.” Juts stubbed out her ever-present cigarette.
She threw the bandana in the wash, then ironed it along with the other clothes. When Nickel came home she found her clothing neatly piled on her bed, the bandana on top of everything.
“Uh-oh.” Nicky opened her toybox. The Key to Heaven rested on the chest of a worn teddy bear. She closed the lid. She wondered if she should slip out the back door and run to Wheezie or if she should pretend nothing had happened. As she sat on her trunk, pondering this crisis, she heard Juts’s footfall. A long shadow fell by the door. Yoyo scampered in first, followed by Juts. Buster, on Nickel’s bed, raised his head, then lowered it. Buster was slowing down.
Rosary beads twirled on Juts’s finger. “Nicky, here’s your necklace.”
Nickel stared at the hypnotic twirling. She cupped her hands underneath it and Juts dropped it dead center.
“I’m not mad at you.” Juts loomed over Nicky. “But I am ripshit at that religious-nut sister of mine. Come on.” She grabbed Nickel by the hand.
They rode the bus to a joke shop out on Frederick Street. The faint aroma of mildew and alcohol permeated the premises. Musty, dinky, and dark, it was filled with items like fake ice cubes with flies in them, whoopee cushions, rubber snakes and spiders, and Groucho Marx noses, as well as sexual items hidden behind the desk. Stationed there, parked like a behemoth, was a distant cousin of Rob McGrail’s.
“Momma, if I put this under Wheezie’s seat she’ll let out a real boomer.” Nickel held up the whoopee cushion.
“That’s too big to hide. I’ve got a better idea.” She bought a large, realistic piece of plastic vomit and spent the trip home coaching Nickel on how to behave during her first high mass.
“Momma, why don’t you like the Catholic Church?”
The maple trees swayed overhead. A light breeze was keeping the heat down. “The Lutheran Church is good enough for me and it ought to be good enough for you. Besides, one church is about as bad as another, so stick with the one you know. Louise thinks she’s the Virgin Mary, and it’s all Celeste Chalfonte’s fault.”
Nickel knew who Celeste was, if for no other reason than that she had died the day before Nickel was born, and people still talked about her. “Was Celeste Catholic?”
“No, she was Episcopalian, although just as happy going to the Lutheran Church. It’s a long story. I’ll make it short
. Louise liked to play an old piano Celeste had—by ear, mind you, Wheezie is very musical. After a big fight because Celeste wouldn’t give Louise the piano, Momma walked out on Celeste—she worked for Celeste, you know—Celeste weakened and finally gave the piano to Momma. Louise fell ass over tit. She played morning, noon, and night and was so revoltingly adorable that Carlotta Van Dusen, Celeste’s older sister, found her a place at Immaculata Academy and Celeste paid for Wheezie’s education. That’s how Louise became a Catholic. That piano.”
“St. Rose of Lima’s is pretty.”
“Sure it is, but I’m not having any child of mine taking orders from some greaser in Rome.”
“What’s a greaser?”
“Oh—never mind. Now, do you remember what I told you?”
Nickel nodded that she did.
July 23 was the Feast of the Magi. The bones of Balthazar, Melchior, and Caspar were said to be in Cologne Cathedral, except that nothing much was left in Cologne now, and the Wise Men’s bones were discreetly omitted from discussion. Then again, some stray schnauzer might have had a holy feast after the bombings.
The feast fell on a Sunday, so Louise fabricated a story about why she needed Nickel that Sunday even though it meant she’d miss church at Christ Lutheran. Juts pretended to believe her.
That Sunday when Louise picked up her niece, the plastic vomit was folded in Nickel’s white patent-leather pocketbook, which matched her white Mary Janes. A white ribbon was tied around her black curly hair.
Nickel rehearsed every step in her mind. She was quiet, but then she was usually quiet, so Louise didn’t notice. Also she was too busy saying, “I don’t want to talk against your mother but—” after which she would launch into the litany of Julia Ellen’s sins in the hopes that Nicky wouldn’t repeat them.
Louise wore so much jewelry for high mass that she resembled a glamorous beetle, everything hard and shiny. She shepherded Nickel down the center aisle near the altar. The two sat at the end of the pew. Pearlie, backed up and working weekends, attended early mass, so it was only the two of them.
Mary Miles Mundis sat opposite them, Rob McGrail immediately in front. Nickel returned everyone’s smiles. They were all wondering, of course, why the child was in church with Louise rather than at Christ Lutheran with her mother.
The processional began, the music filling the beautiful, small church. Light flowed through the brilliant colors of the stained-glass windows.
Father O’Reilly walked down the aisle preceded by Peep-bean, the acolyte, swishing the incense. An older boy, immediately behind Peepbean, held high the gold crosier. Behind Father O’Reilly walked the new junior priest, young Father Stewart.
Just as Peepbean passed the pew, Nickel yelled, “Your purse is on fire!” Then she threw out the plastic vomit.
She didn’t throw it where Juts had told her to throw it, which was in front of Father O’Reilly. In her excitement, Nickel gave it a weak pitch and it splattered in front of Mary Miles Mundis. The sight of it made her sick as a dog.
Peepbean jumped to get out of the way, and in so doing he swung the incense bowl a little too high. He lost control of it and it flew off, whirling toward the altar.
Father Stewart, a quick thinker, sprinted from the procession to the vestibule to find the janitor.
“I’ll kill her!” Louise exclaimed as Peepbean took a swing at Nickel.
“Peepbean wears skirts,” Nickel taunted him.
The congregation was in an uproar as Louise yanked Nickel out of the pew by her wrist, holding her dangling for a moment, then dropped her as Peepbean rounded for another swing.
Father O’Reilly grabbed Peepbean as Wheezer hauled Nickel out of there.
“Did you think of this by yourself?”
“No.”
The click-click of Louise’s high heels reverberated through the marble vestibule. She pushed open the door with both hands. It swung back so hard it knocked Nickel off her feet. She picked herself up, opened the door, and stood on top of the steps, watching Wheezie hurrying down the sidewalk toward her car. Then she roared off, leaving the child standing there.
Nickel walked home. By the time she got there Juts was on her hands and knees trying to splice together the phone cords. Louise had pitched a fit and fallen in it, yanking the cords out of the wall. She’d yank her own out of the wall, too. Once, in the 1920s, she had wrecked a phone booth in the Bon-Ton. They had asked for her charge card back.
It took Louise five years of good behavior to get another card from the store.
Juts looked up at Nickel as she trudged into the house.
“Good job.”
“Peepbean threw his purse at me.”
“Ha!” Julia laughed after taking the precaution of removing her Chesterfield. “As you can see, your aunt Wheezie had a moment. At forty-nine, perhaps she’s had too many of them.” She laughed again, then held out her hand to Nickel, who sat next to her.
“Here.” She turned around her cigarette, offering Nicky a drag. “You earned it.”
Nickel eagerly lifted the cigarette to her lips and gently inhaled.
“Don’t suck in too much. Okay, now let it out.”
“Tastes funny.”
“I love the taste. I bless the American Indian every day for cultivating this weed.” Juts smiled and returned to twisting wires. She held out her hand for the cigarette, but Nickel took another puff.
“Momma, when I grow up I want to be just like you. I’m going to smoke Chesterfields.”
Juts’s laugh turned to a hum as she wondered what she’d have to do to top this one: a food fight in the Sistine Chapel?
72
The open can of paint sitting on the drop cloths dripped mint-green. Lillian Yost, due again and thrilled, had decided to paint the upstairs hallway mint-green. Millard indulged her every whim when she was pregnant, partly out of pride and partly out of guilt, he worked her so hard in the bakery.
Extra Billy Bitters dipped a wide brush into the paint. A vision of his life—open cans of paint, pink, blue, green, white, beige, eggshell, red—frightened him. His eyes glazed over, he held the brush a moment too long, and a big drop splattered on his shoe.
“Pop.” He’d taken to calling his father-in-law that.
“Huh.” Pearlie was cutting in woodwork.
“Is this it?”
“Huh?” Pearlie didn’t look up.
Billy laid the brush on the wall in swift, controlled strokes. “What I mean is, when you came back from France … what did you do?”
“Started working for Bob Frankel.”
“That was that?”
“Well, I was damn glad to be alive.”
“Yeah.” Billy’s voice trailed off.
“You know, Billy, sometimes you can think too much. Sometimes I see the faces of my buddies … funny things. Like I knew this skinny Italian kid from Massachusetts, Vito Capeto, and we were eating fresh French bread, those long loaves. He compared French bread to Italian bread and I wish I could imitate him. Funny boy.” He paused. “Guess I was just a boy, too.” He exhaled. “Well, two days later we were in Belleau Wood and I slipped, fell facedown, mud up my nose, couldn’t breathe. The earth shook. A damn sea of mud rolled onto me. I slid out, clawing for anything solid. Got on my feet and Vito was up in the tree branches, just like a rag doll. And here I am painting houses.”
“Yeah.” Billy, relieved, smiled at the older man.
“You know what else? I still don’t know why I was fighting. The war to end all wars.” Pearlie’s voice had a mocking tone.
“Did you ever feel trapped?”
“Over there?”
“Here.”
A long pause followed. “Sure. After Mary was born I had a rough time. I loved the little tot.” He stood up to face his son-in-law. “But once the babies are on the ground you can’t leave. You’ve got Oderuss and David. Boys need a father. You thinking about leaving?”
“No. It’s just sometimes I can’t breathe. I don’t know w
hy.” He brightened. “I want to get in my truck, pick up the boys, and get drunk … go out and howl at the moon.”
Pearlie gave a little howl and Bill joined him. The howling dissolved into laughter.
Billy abruptly stopped and imploringly asked, “What am I gonna do, Pop?”
“Make the best of it.” Pearlie put his hand on Bill’s shoulder. “You play the cards life dealt you.”
73
Louise avoided Juts for three weeks, a record. She succumbed to the thrill of being a victim. She could shake her head, lower her voice, and intone how Julia Ellen was leading Nickel along the paths of unrighteousness. Filled with delicious anguish, the center of sympathy and attention, she told Orrie Tadia that Juts wasn’t a good mother because she wasn’t a natural mother. That pronouncement roared through Runnymede like prairie fire, everyone adding their own commentary to the issue. Some people agreed with Louise, others didn’t, but everyone expressed some variation on the theme of the child’s future, Juts’s personality, and life in general.
The human tongue is like the rattler of a rattlesnake: People would be better off without it.
Mother Smith enjoyed this tempest thoroughly. Julia Ellen’s reputation was being assassinated but Josephine’s own hands were clean. Trudy Epstein didn’t much mind, either, because her version of the past was that Chessy had truly loved her, only staying with his wife out of respect for social convention. Once she married Senior Epstein she shrewdly kept her mouth shut, but that didn’t mean she didn’t love hearing her friends trumpet her version of the story.
Mary Miles Mundis surprised everyone by saying, “We needed some excitement.”
Ramelle heard about the gossip from Ev Most, who loved Juts but didn’t want to be the one to break it to her. Ramelle then told Cora, working that day, who grabbed her purse and marched out the door. Ramelle hopped in the car to drive her over to Louise’s. Cora rarely lost her temper, but she was so mad she couldn’t see straight.
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