by Mary Morony
She put her arm around me. “You’re coming with us, don’t worry,” Stuart said.
The two of us held on to each other in the back seat of Judy’s father’s car. For the first time that night, the idea that Ethel was really dead began to take root in my mind. Stuart kept whispering. “She can’t be dead. Don’t cry, don’t cry. It’s gonna be all right.”
As we drove into the driveway, we saw Big Early’s truck parked by the kitchen steps.
“Poor old fellow,” Judy’s father said with a shake of his head. “That’s a tough thing to have to come upon. You girls stay here.” He got out of the car.
“I can’t,” Stuart protested. “Gordy and Helen are in there and I’m supposed to be babysitting.” She reached over and opened the back door.
Judy’s father raised an eyebrow, but he seemed to think better about saying anything. “Well, come on then. But you get the children and take them upstairs. I’ll take care of Ethel.”
We walked into the front hall. Helen and Gordy were sitting wide-eyed under the dining room table. The television was still droning on. They didn’t make a move to come to us. In the back hall, Bertha knelt over Ethel’s body with Big Early who looked like he was pretty mad. They were engaged in a vain attempt to heave Ethel off the floor. “Was a matter, honey, did ya slip?” asked Bertha as she busied herself arranging Ethel’s disheveled uniform.
Judy’s father started to laugh. He laughed a big ol’ rich, deep laugh. Big Early, who I was shocked to discover wasn’t much taller than Gordy and Bertha, looked at him as if he were insane. Judy’s father laughed and laughed. While still chuckling, he went over and helped them get Ethel upright, which appeared to be an engineering feat. Once righted, it took more massive effort to get her shoe back on her foot.
Ethel didn’t come back to work for a good week or two. As far as I know, there was never a word said about the experience. Sure, there was a lot of tittering about it, but I don’t believe my mother ever said a thing to Ethel about the incident, and I know I never did. I suspect that my mother couldn’t say much considering she was not much better off herself.
A few nights after Ethel’s last episode, I was lying in bed listening to Helen’s soft breathing and wishing I was asleep. I heard a noise I couldn’t place. Light was shining in under the door, so I knew my mother was still up. I listened at the door—nothing. I was about to dismiss it as just my imagination, then I heard it again: shuffling and a tinkling, then a small knock. I knew I had heard that tinkling somewhere before, but there was that small knock, then more shuffling like the noise Lance used to make when he tried to get up off a wooden floor. I carefully opened the door and peered out in the hall—nobody. But, there was that sound again. I looked over the banister and saw my mother crawling up the stairs with her drink on the step above.
Her unfocused eyes were half lidded; I doubt she could have seen me had I been tap dancing at the top of the stairs. I slipped back into my room and quietly shut the door.
In our backyard a week or so later, Helen said, “I sure do wish Ethel would come back. It seems like forever since she’s been here.” Helen pumped her sturdy little legs for all they were worth, almost as if she was trying to swing herself away: away from the yelling and drinking and complaining; but most of all from the sadness that had enveloped our lives in the past year.
Ever ready to make a correction, Gordy pointed out that Ethel had only been away for a week and a half. “She was here Saturday night, because Wild Wild West was on and today is only Wednesday. I heard Mama say she was going to get someone else to work for her. She was talking to Miz Chambers on the phone. She said she was damned tired of all of Ethel’s hijinks. She said it was bad enough that Ethel has been getting drunk, but getting drunk and passing out on the phone, that took the cake.” Gordy’s swing fell out of time with ours. He leapt off the swing and turned to face us with his hand on his hip, and his elbow jutting into the air dramatically. He turned his nose up and began shaking it back and forth, imitating our mother in a high, tinny voice: “Imagine screaming at my children and telling them what they can and cannot say.”
Helen giggled at Gordy’s imitation of our mother.
“Why do you suppose Mama is being so mean to Ethel?” I asked.
Gordy got back in his swing. “Or us. I don’t know, but she actually told Miz Chambers, ‘You’d have thought Ethel lost a baby.’” I grimaced, knowing that Helen could go off in a second at the mention of Dennis, but Gordy pressed on. “Then she said the worst thing of all: she said maybe it was Ethel’s fault.”
Helen and I stopped swinging. “What? What did she mean, Ethel’s fault? She is crazy. Ethel wouldn’t hurt anybody, most of all a baby!” I said this with all of the indignation I could muster.
Helen’s face blanched. “What are we going to do?” she asked. “We can’t let Mama fire Ethel. We got to do something. If Ethel doesn’t come back, I don’t want to live here anymore.”
“Well, that is just plain dumb,” Gordy said. “Where would you live?”
“With Daddy,” she said plainly. “Stuart got to.”
“Judge already said—” Gordy started to say.
“I don’t care what any old dumb judge says,” Helen interrupted. “If Ethel isn’t going to be around, then I don’t want to live here. And I know if I tell Daddy I want to live with him, he’ll let me.”
“Not if the judge says ya can’t,” Gordy said like he knew. “Judges get to say, and they would put you in jail if you go against a judge.”
“I’m just a kid. They don’t put kids in jail. ‘Sides, Stuart got to,” she insisted.
“Stuart is older, and when you get to be fifteen you get to decide where you live. I can go live with Daddy in three more years.” Gordy puffed up like a big old frog ready to croak.
My mother appeared on the back porch with an apron wrapped around her waist and a drink in her hand. She took a sip then yelled, “Gordy, Sallee, Helen.” Then she took another sip. “Dinner. Now.”
All three of us leaped out of the swings. “You might not have to worry about where you are going to live,” I muttered, as we headed toward the house, noticing only then how dark it had become. “That sour cream and zucchini she makes so much could kill us before it really becomes a problem. Please, please, please don’t make it tonight.”
“Sallee, what were you doing out there without a coat? It’s cold.” She started in on me the minute I walked into the kitchen. I noticed that the gin bottle was out on the counter. Gin always made her mean; a fact with which the three of us were becoming painfully familiar on a daily basis. I looked over at my siblings and shared a knowing look. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me, young lady,” she said. “Set the table.”
“I didn’t…,” I started to say and then mumbled, “Never mind. I don’t feel well. I’m going to bed.” Before I could turn to leave, her hand connected with my face.
“Don’t you ever talk to me in that tone!” Stunned, I made my way to the cupboard where the plates were kept, trying hard to stem my tears. I didn’t want to give her another reason to hit me. My face stung. “Sit down and eat your dinner,” she directed the other two. Helen and Gordy had figured out that saying anything was a mistake. They helped me set the table and took their seats while our mother slapped food on our plates. I couldn’t look at them; I was too mortified. “Sit up at the table,” she snapped. All three of us sat bolt upright. She leaned against the counter and stared through us. The only sound in the kitchen was chewing and the tinkling of ice in her glass.
If dutifully obedient children were what she wanted, my mother had found the perfect solution. Gordy and Helen jumped up to clear the table after asking politely to be excused. A distracted wave was all they got. They sat back down for some time, trying to decide what, if anything, they should do.
“Can I be excused to start washing the pots and pans?” I asked, holding my breath as I waited for her reply. She fixed herself another drink and left the room without a wor
d. Gordy and Helen sprang into action, clearing the table and loading the dishwasher in record time before retreating upstairs out of harm’s way. I was grateful that dinner hadn’t required many pots. I scraped the leftovers into bowls and prepared to wash up. Did she want dinner? Surely she wouldn’t eat fish sticks and tater tots. Still I thought I’d better ask, even though I dreaded having to face her again that night. I walked as soundlessly as I could, looking in rooms along the way until I got to the living room where I found her alone, weeping. My question no longer seemed appropriate. I backed up unseen. Seething with anger and crying at the same time, I decided to run away.
It was important that I kept my decision to myself. Even if they meant well, I didn’t need Helen or Gordy trying to talk me out of it, or worse yet, telling someone. I was having enough trouble sticking to my guns. As desperate as the situation felt, I thought I should give myself time to prepare, so I decided to leave on Saturday morning.
Once I had settled on running away, I discovered that the resolution buoyed me. The first two days I floated around the house in a kind of calm. I was nicer to Helen and Gordy than I had been in months. I found myself memorizing the details of my room and gazing on my home with renewed interest, as if it were a museum full of precious artifacts from my life up to now.
By the time I left for school on Friday morning, living at home almost seemed bearable again. And by Friday night with my departure fast approaching, a knot of anxiety began to form in my stomach. I was as irritable and melancholy as ever. All Gordy or Helen had to do was look at me funny and I would just about snap their heads off.
My plan was to leave the house like I was going to play outside as I almost always did. I would just do it a little earlier than usual so that I didn’t have Gordy nosing in, or Helen asking questions. I had already stashed some clothes in a backpack under the kitchen porch where I could get them when I was ready to go. I hadn’t gotten much further than that. Planning for the future proved to be far more complicated than I had anticipated. Where would I go? Daddy? I knew that wouldn’t work some dumb judge had made sure of that. Bertha came to mind, but that was dismissed because I knew she would tell Ethel, and Ethel would make me go home. Besides, the last person I wanted anything to do with was Ethel—she’d deserted us. Jilly, another possibility, was out of the question because Uncle James would drag me home by my hair. Finally, a plausible plan came to me. I could buy a bus ticket to the beach. I could live in the house and no one would think to look for me there. I spent two days checking for loose change in all the spots my mother would leave it. By Friday night, along with the contents of my piggy bank, I had more than fifty dollars. I snuck out after dinner and put the money in my pack under the porch. That last night was excruciatingly painful. I already missed Helen so much that I wanted to crawl in bed with her to soak in her smell so I wouldn’t forget her. And I couldn’t stop thinking of my terrifying trip to Judy’s house three long months ago. I longed to stay, but I couldn’t. I hated my mother. I hated Ethel, and I hated the life we were stuck with. The next morning I was surprised to find that it was already seven-thirty when I awoke.
“You’re dressed already? Where are you going?” Gordy demanded as he changed channels on the TV.
“Nowhere, I just felt like getting dressed, Mr. Have-to-know-everything. For your information there is no law against being dressed on a Saturday morning,” I snapped at him.
“Well, excuse me for living. I just wondered since you are usually the last one dressed. Do you want to watch The Lone Ranger or Looney Tunes?”
Helen piped up, “Wooney Thunes,” with a mouth full of thumb. “What’s for breakfast?” she asked after taking her thumb out of her mouth.
“What, do you think I’m going to fix it?” I shot back. “Go get your own cereal. You might as well start learning how to take care of yourself. You’re not exactly a baby, you know.” I hated myself for being so mean. I just couldn’t help it.
Helen looked at Gordy and then back at me. Then she shrugged. She was wearing a vacant look as she hunkered down with her blanket and thumb. Casually I went into the kitchen as I had done a hundred times before and banged open a few cupboards, poured myself some Cocoa Puffs into a bag, and then slipped the bag into my jacket pocket. I searched in the icebox for some bologna. As I drank some milk, I shuddered to think what kind of trouble I would be in if I got caught drinking the milk out of the bottle, and then sort of laughed at myself. Finally, I found the bologna, put it in my pocket, and slipped out the kitchen door. I had just gotten my backpack from under the steps when the door opened above me. Gordy whispered, “What are you doing? Where are you going?” His volume rose with each question. “Can I go? You’re not running away, are you?” Finally he yelled, “I’m going to tell.”
“Tell what?” I demanded. “That I’m outside on a Saturday morning? Go ahead, tell.” I half hoped he would.
“I’m going to...” I couldn’t think, “…um, go play,” I finished lamely.
Helen was at the door by then. She glanced suspiciously at my face and then my backpack then drew her thumb out of her mouth. “What ya doin’?”
Just then we heard the heavy slam of a truck door, tires on gravel, and Ethel’s tuneless whistle coming up the drive as Early’s truck chugged and belched its way up the street.
“Ethel!” we all cried together. “You’re back!” We ran down the drive to meet her.
Her eyes widened when she saw Helen and Gordy in their pajamas and barefoot. “What are ya doin’ out in dis cold with yo’ night clothes and no shoes? You betta get in that house afore I tan ya’ll good,” she said, breaking out in a grin. “You’ll catch yo’ death a cold out chere. Get on in tha house,” she chuckled as she shooed the two of them along. She turned to me. “You dressed mighty early this morning, miss? Where ya off ta?”
Gordon and Helen were happy that Ethel had been restored to her old self, and had begun racing back to the house. But Gordy took it upon himself to answer Ethel’s question. “She’s trying to run away, Ethel. Don’t let her,” he shouted over his shoulder before disappearing into the house. Ethel gaped at me. She was speechless for what seemed like the first time. I hesitated, shifted the weight of my backpack, and then looked out toward the street. Before I knew it, I had started to cry. Glad as I was to see Ethel, I couldn’t keep the anger from welling up and overcoming me.
“What’s the matter, honey chile?” she asked, as innocent as a lamb.
Before I could push it back down again, it swelled up and rolled out of me like a wave. “Don’t you know? Don’t you know what you do? Do you think it’s OK to keep getting drunk and then leave us for weeks with nobody to take care of us, nobody to love us, and then come back here like nothing ever happened? Do you care that Mama beats on us and calls us names? What are we supposed to be doing while you’re out getting drunk?”
Ethel just stared at me a moment. Then before I knew it, she had grabbed me up into her arms and held me to her warm chest while I sputtered and coughed into her. Then she let me loose. “You gettin’ to be a big girl, an’ ol’ Ethel can’t hol’ ya like I used ta.” She took me by the hand and we walked back down the drive.
Realizing that I had spoken the unspeakable, I started to blubber an apology. Ethel stopped me. “I’s the one tha’s sorry, honey. I never been so sick as I been since Dennis died. Big Early, he tol’ me that I gotta pull myself together. He say you chil’ren is my responsibility and I’m lettin’ ya’ll down. And no, honey, I don’ think it’s OK to get drunk an’ leave ya’ll.”
We had gotten to the end of the drive. She steered us over to the sidewalk, never letting go of my hand. “C’mon, we’s goin’ for a walk.” We walked past the Dabneys’ house, down to the end of the street, and then turned to go around the block past the woods Gordy liked playing in past Mr. Gentry’s house. Finally she brought us to a stop under a maple tree whose leaves were past yellow and eased her self down onto the grass. She patted her lap for me to sit down too, and
then she put her arms around me and began to talk slowly and deliberately. As she talked, it was as if a door, which had always remained just cracked, was flung open wide before me. She had always given me her love. That much I knew because that’s what she did: she gave her love—to heal possibly; probably she didn’t know how else to be. Now she was offering me her life, too; that was different and I knew it was important. I curled into her, my legs dangling, and listened.
“I was fourteen years old when I come to work for yo’ granddaddy’s family, Miss Sallee. It was just a few days a week when I didn’ have nothin’ to do at the boardin’house; helpin’ my mother in the kitchen, mostly. Turned out to be one of them little decisions that don’t seem like much at the time, but ends up changing yo’ life…”
EPILOGUE
Ethel
Sho’ do wish I could say that I held to that promise I done made to Sallee and myself that day. Lord knows I tried, but I fell off the wagon a time or two, what with my feelin’ like I done Mista Joe and the chil’ren a bad turn. Then when I gets to thinkin’ ‘bout lil’ Denny and Miss Ginny, and what I could’da done different—the nights they gets mighty long and lonely. The devil, he commences to whisperin’ in my ear, “Just a little will make ya feel better. Go on now, won’t hurt none.” I listened, called in sick too. The hangover weren’t nothin’ compared to how I felt when I saw the sufferin’ in my babies’ eyes. I told ol’ Slewfoot to get behind me right then and there. I still have to tell him pretty regular.
Miss Ginny kept up her drinkin’. Try as I might there wasn’t nothin’ I could do ‘bout it. I knew how it felt to lose a baby, though mines never got born, and Denny might as well be mine, for as much as I loved him. Mama say “Feelin’ sorry for her or yo’ own self ain’t gon’na make a lick of difference.” Then with that steel in her voice and love in her eyes she say, “It sho ain’t gonna help the other chil’ren, so yo’ best be gettin’ hold’da yo’self.”