Apron Strings

by Mary Morony

  “Never you mind, girl…just talking through my hat, thas all. Go’n out and play, now.” She said as she bustled a bit more than was her nature.

  “What’s for dinner?” I asked as I slipped out of the chair while gravel crunched in the drive. I slunk off to the window to check; sure enough my mother was just getting out of the car.

  Later that day Ethel took a rare afternoon off. That left us at home with my mother. I found her alone in the sitting room playing solitaire.

  “Don’t you have to go riding today?” I should have known better than to have asked, but I wasn’t thinking.

  “Ethel had something she had to do at the last minute and she couldn’t find a sitter.” She rolled her eyes and sighed, sounding exasperated.

  “Oh, you wanna play war?” I asked as I looked for another deck of cards.

  “Sallee, it is—want to. The question you are asking is: Do I want to play war?” She looked at me intensely as if her look could somehow make me speak properly. Then she acquiesced, “If you’d like,” she gathered the cards up into a deck. “How do we play?”

  “You cut the deck in half if you don’t have two decks, and give me one, and you put down a card and then I put down a card and the highest one wins. If they are the same then you spell ‘war’, and then the highest one wins.”

  “Who taught you how to play this game?” she asked as she handed me half of the deck.

  “Daddy taught me and Gordy.”

  “Gordy and me,” she corrected.

  “Daddy taught Gordy and me. We play it with him all the time. Do you want to play?” I turned a card over and looked up at her expectantly as I rested my chin on my arm.

  She placed a king on my six. I asked, “Didn’t you play this with Granny Bess when you was little?”

  “You were,” she corrected. “No, Mother didn’t play cards.”

  “I was what?” I looked at her quizzically, then shrugged and continued. “Did you play with Granddaddy then?”

  She shook her head, “He only played bridge and solitaire. Not games for children.”

  “Two twos,” I exclaimed, “this is when you spell w-a-r and ... don’t turn ‘um over, you put’m upside down like this.” I slipped three cards off the stack in front of me and arranged the cards face down, carefully stair stepping them just as I had seen my father do, then waited while my mother followed suit.

  “My brothers played cards with each other, but not with my father. My parents didn’t play games with their children.” Her perfect red nails clicked on the table as she placed each card down exactly as I did.

  “Now you turn this one over. I win!” I shrieked as I struggled to gather up my winnings. In my triumph, I carelessly picked up my line of questioning again. “At least not when they was in the Attic, right?” As soon as I said it, I could have kicked myself. I had just broken Ethel’s unspoken law. I braced myself for the reaction.

  “What? Attic what are you...? Is it over?” she asked as she went to gather up all the cards. Her gold bracelets jingled while her long elegant nails clicked on the cards; her movement was at once both graceful and tense.

  “No, we still have lots of cards.” Relieved, I let out a long slow breath. “See,” I pointed to our stacks. “Did you have any friends in the neighborhood you could play with?”

  “We didn’t live in a neighborhood. We lived on a farm. Daddy had a good friend who lived on the next farm over. He had a daughter ten years older than me. She wasn’t much of a playmate.”

  “Ethel lived there, didn’t she? You coulda played with her.”

  “Ethel’s mother, Bertha, had worked for my parents for some years in the kitchen. I didn’t know Bertha like you know Ethel now. It was different then. All I remember of her was that she had a kind voice…” My mother’s voice trailed off as she played with the edges of the cards I dealt her, looking thoughtful. Finally, she continued, “I don’t remember meeting Ethel until just before I married your father. When she was a child, she worked at a boarding house. Later on she worked for another family, and then she came to work for your father and me.”

  “I thought…” I started and then remembered that it was Ethel who told me “…uhh that you um played—that you and Ethel were friends like Lil’ Early and me.”

  “I never played with Ethel. Where would you have heard such a thing?”

  “I guess I just thought it up,” I lied knowing that Ethel told me that she had known my mother since she was a young girl.

  After a double war that she won, my mother scooped up all of the cards and dealt out a game of solitaire. “Why don’t you go outside and play with your brother and sister?”

  “It’s raining.”

  “Well then don’t go outside.”

  I left the room as the cards clicked on the table.

  Before everything changed, my mother spent most of the day at luncheons or meetings or horseback riding with friends. Whatever she did took her away for most of the late morning and afternoon, and just before our dinnertime she would rush into the house, race upstairs and change into a pretty dress. She must have taken a bath first, but I don’t know how she had time. She always smelled sweet and flowery. Her gold bracelets jangled on her arm, and her lipstick was freshly applied like she was going to a party. It must have taken some serious time, but it seemed like magic. Her soft blonde hair would be done up in a chignon; pearls encircled her long graceful neck. One minute she was in a suit or riding clothes and then, as if her fairy godmother had waved a wand, she was all dressed up. She would greet my father in a cloud of sweet perfume with a drink and a kiss as he came in the door.

  Usually, he entered with one, if not all three of us in tow. We would wrap ourselves around his legs and stand on his feet. He’d heave us all in the door while wondering out loud why it was so hard to walk. A favorite thing for us to do was to wait for him at the bottom of the driveway. As soon as his big, black Cadillac pulled into the drive, he’d throw open the door. We’d clamber onto the doorjamb, oftentimes before the car came to a full stop. He would hold us tightly while he slowly drove up to the house with the door wide open. The tiny breeze felt like wind as it whipped through my hair. Knowing how forbidden this would be if my mother knew heightened every sensation. I gazed up into the bright blue sky as I leaned against my father’s strong sure arm, arching my back and pointing one foot as I had seen an aerialist do at the circus. As we came in the front door, my mother shooed us away like flies. “Run along, children. Your daddy’s tired. I’m sure your dinner is about ready.”

  Sighing, he hung his jacket over the dining room armchair.

  “Go on now, do what your mother says,” he said, patting one of us on the backside.

  My mother called into the kitchen. “Ethel, Mr. Joe is home,” as the two of them disappeared into the living room.

  Ethel, wiping her hands on her apron, ushered us upstairs where she stripped us down and started our baths. More often than not, she would bathe all three of us at the same time. All lined up in the claw foot tub, we waited our turn to get scrubbed, rinsed, dried and dressed before returning to the kitchen to eat our dinner. After dinner, we trooped into the living room to kiss our parents goodnight.

  Stuart managed almost every night to get home just before dinner was on the table. I felt sorry for her because she had to eat in the dining room with Daddy and our mother. She’d slip out as soon as she could, sometimes in tears, go up to her room and close the world out. Sometimes Daddy would go up afterward and they’d talk, but I never knew what about. I think she would have happily stayed downstairs if my mother weren’t around. They couldn’t say a word to each other that the other one wouldn’t jump on. It seemed the more Stuart grew up, the less she had to say to any of us.

  Not that it took much in those days, but it seemed like everytime Daddy went up to talk with Stuart afterwards my mother and he would get into a big fight. Doors slammed and sometimes I could hear glass and china smash against the wall. One morning we came down fo
r breakfast and Ethel was cleaning plaster out of the sink and her big black skillet was covered in paint and plaster chips. “The shouting and cursing was flat out terrible last night.” I said. She didn’t say anything but stopped what she was doing and bent down and hugged me tight.

  “I didn’t hear anything.” Helen mumbled with her mouth full of thumb.

  Ethel let me go and patted Helen on the head. “Honey, go on and sit down. Ethel gonna make you some hot chocolate with marshmellows. How ‘bout that?”

  “I had to put my pillow over my head and pray that they wouldn’t kill each other last night.” I said. “I just hate it when they do that.”

  “I know, darlin’.” Ethel said shaking her head, “I know.”

  Chapter 5

  “Have any plans today?” Daddy asked my mother as they sat at the breakfast table reading the newspaper. I was playing at being a waitress and clearing the table.

  “No, I hear it’s going to be hot, so I thought I’d stay home and enjoy that new air conditioner. Why? Do you have something in mind?” She folded her paper and placed it neatly by her plate. “Sallee, tell Ethel we’d like some more coffee, please. Oh, excuse me, I meant to say, Miss, may we have some more coffee?” She looked at Daddy to confirm.

  He shook his head. “None for me, but I’d like the check, please.” He winked at me.

  As I left the dining room with their plates, I heard Daddy say, “I thought we could take the children for a picnic up to Crabtree Falls. I remember how much you used to love hiking there. It ought to be much cooler in the mountains.”

  I put the plates down by the sink with a loud clatter. “Ethel, Mama wants some more coffee!” I shouted, turning on my heels as quickly as I was able. I was half way out the door when Ethel’s head shot up from her task. “Mind them dishes!” she said. “Where you goin’ so licktey split? Ain’t you gon’ to carry your mama her coffee? You can pour it like a real waitress do, from the pot.”

  “No, I gotta go.” I danced from one foot to the other.

  “Well, you can take it when you get back from the baffroom. Don’t forget to wash yo’ hands.”

  “Will you do it?” I didn’t wait for an answer. I rushed from the kitchen. I had to find Gordy and tell him the news.

  As I passed the dining room, I heard my mother say, “Oh, it’s much too hot for me to go.” I stopped dead in my tracks. “But why don’t you, if you want? I’ll stay home with Helen. She’s still too young for that hike. Ethel can make the three of you a picnic before she takes the rest of the day off.”

  “She’s already working on it,” he said. “I asked her first thing.”

  I gave a delighted little hop. Taking two steps at a time all the way to the third floor, I was gasping in deep gulps by the time I reached Gordy’s room. Not here, darn. Where could he be? I wondered out loud. I slid down the bannister, ran around the second floor landing, and slid down the main bannister to the front hall. Gordy came running out of the dining room and met me as I slid to a stop. “Guess what?” he shouted. “We’re going on a picnic to Crabtree Falls!”

  “I know,” I said, bouncing up and down like the red ball on that television show, Sing A-long with Mitch.

  “Settle down, you two,” Daddy said as he walked out to the hall. “You need to get ready. Put on old clothes and tennis shoes.” As I turned to go back upstairs, I heard my mother talking softly to Helen. She was sitting in her lap with her thumb stuck squarely in her mouth. Big tears ran down her face.

  “Don’t you worry,” my mother cooed. “We’ll do something special, too. I promise.”

  Minutes later Gordy flopped himself on my bed dressed in a pair of tight shorts and a T-shirt that barely covered his belly button. “Too bad for Helen, huh?” he said. “Bet she’ll have to take a nap most of the day.”

  Helen and my mother waved goodbye from the front door. I felt guilty about Helen’s misfortune for about as long as it took me to reach the car. Gordy raced ahead and then ran back to help Daddy with the picnic hamper. “It’s all right, son, I’ve got this. You get in the car.”

  Mr. Dabney banged out onto his porch. He waved to me then sat down in a chair and stared at us like he was watching Leave It to Beaver on TV. I waved back. Daddy nodded first toward Mr. Dabney then for me to get into the car.

  “I’ll go get Lance,” Gordy volunteered. He yelled frenetically, “Here Lance, here boy, here,” over and over as he ran to the kitchen porch to get the leash.

  “Gordy, come back,” Daddy called. “We can’t take the dog.” Gordy and Lance trotted around from the other side of the house.

  “Aw shucks, why?” Gordy whined. Lance cavorted up to the car, barking and wagging his tail.

  “Remember the last time? He ended up in Greene County.”

  “But…” Gordy’s glee was instantly dashed. He rubbed Lance’s broad head. “Sorry, buddy. You can’t come,” he said then crawled onto the front seat next to me. He swung the car door closed. “Stay, Lance. You hear?” The big dog sat down with his back legs splayed out then he flopped to the ground with a grunt and began to pant.

  Daddy climbed in behind the wheel and reached across me to rub Gordy on the head. “It’s better this way, son. You know how he is when he catches a scent.” Daddy started the engine and patted Gordy again, this time on the knee. “When he puts that head down and starts baying, he’s gone for who knows how long. He’s a bloodhound, son. It’s what they do.”

  “Sure, but…” Gordy started.

  “Remember how upset you got when we couldn’t find him? And we had to leave cuz it was getting dark? Remember you cried?” I added.

  “Did not!” he retorted.

  “Did too,” I said.

  “Enough!” Daddy bellowed. Then, just as loudly, he started singing “There’s a Hole in the Bucket.”

  An hour later Daddy pulled off onto the side of the road and stopped the car. “That Henry must be really dumb,” I said.

  Daddy shoved the gearshift lever into park and opened the door. “Who’s Henry?” he asked as he got out of the car. “Coming this way?” he asked with a tilt of his head.

  I scooted over the seat to the driver’s side and hopped out onto the gravel. “Henry in the song. Why didn’t he just fix the bucket? He could’ve carried water in something other than the bucket, like his hands. I don’t think he needed Liza to tell him all that unless he was just plain dumb.”

  Daddy tousled my hair and laughed as he pulled the picnic basket from the trunk of the car. “That head of yours doesn’t stop spinning, does it?” he chuckled. He put the basket on the ground with a grunt. “Ethel must’ve thought we’d be gone for a week. This thing weighs a ton. How ‘bout we walk to the stream and eat? Then we’ll hike on up to the falls. We can have a swim when we get there. Here Gordy, you take this blanket.”

  Soon we were spreading the blanket on a warm rock, pulling fried chicken, potato salad, deviled eggs, and cherry tomatoes from the hamper along with a thermos of lemonade, and forks, plates and napkins. Daddy whistled. “Ethel sure can pack a mean picnic,” he said.

  “She sure can,” Gordy concurred, stuffing chicken in his mouth. He had a smear of deviled egg on his lip.

  Daddy sat, leaning against a tree trunk with one knee up, eating slowly and watching as Gordy and I scarfed down our food. He held a chicken leg loosely in his fingers, his right hand draped causally over his bent knee. Smiling, relaxed in his madras shirt and khaki shorts, Daddy looked like a man in an ad on television.

  With cookie crumbs flying from his mouth, Gordy said, “Race you to that rock over there.”

  “I’m too full,” I groaned. I lay down with my head on Daddy’s outstretched leg. “I wish I hadn’t eaten so much. Ugh, I’m never going to eat again, ever,” I complained as I spread my hands over my stomach.

  “Ever?” Daddy asked with a laugh. He laid his hand lightly on my shoulder. “Take a little rest. We don’t have any place to go—plenty of time.”

  The last thing I hea
rd was Gordy complaining, “Oh no, she’s not going to sleep, is she?” I drifted off.

  When I awoke, Daddy and Gordy were both asleep. I stared up into the trees towering overhead and thought it might be the very best day ever. I slipped in and out of daydreams, wriggling to get more comfortable. I thought about how Daddy’s laugh made me feel good, like Ethel’s laugh. Not like my mother’s. I never knew with her. Daddy laughed when he thought something was funny and he never laughed at me.

  I saw Daddy was looking down at me and smiling. “Daddy?” I smiled back., “Do you love me?”

  “What do you think, you goose?”

  “I think you do,” I said.

  “I think you think right.”

  “Will you love me no matter what?” I asked.

  “Of course, forever; no matter what. Scout’s honor.” He held up two fingers. “Are you planning on doing something dreadful any minute, or do I have time to steel myself for it?” He laughed and moved to get up, poking Gordy with the toe of his sneaker. “Come on, buddy! We’ve got a date with a waterfall.”

  As we climbed, Gordy and I must have taken thirty steps to Daddy’s one; we ran ahead, then back to him to show off whatever treasure we’d discovered. We galloped over fallen branches like ponies, and ran down to the icy stream, splashing our faces with water, and then scampered back up to the trail. By the time the climb grew steep, we had worn ourselves out and trudged behind Daddy like pack mules, huffing and puffing; sweat streaming down our faces.

  Gordy stopped. “Come on, slow poke,” I said.

  “Do you hear?” Gordy shouted. “The falls, do you hear?”

  “I might be able to if you’d quit yelling!” Daddy stopped too and we all listened.

  “It must be pretty close,” Gordy said. “At least, I hope so.”

  “It’s a while still, Gordy. Do you need some help?” Daddy reached for Gordy’s hand and began to tug him up the hill.

  “Me, too!” I shouted and stuck out my hand.

  When we finally made it to the falls Daddy was dripping with sweat. Water cascaded down shelves of rock and pounded the stones in the pool below. Even the air around the falls was cooler.