The 25¢ Miracle

by Theresa Nelson

“Is something wrong, sweetheart?” The blue eyes were so full of kindness that Elvira couldn’t bear to look into them. She shook her head and stared down at her bare toes. She had been too depressed to bother with shoes today.

  “I’m sure we could find other books,” Miss Ivy said gently, “if those were too technical.…”

  Elvira shook her head again. “No, ma’am, it ain’t the books. They’re all right.” She hesitated. “It’s just—well, growin’ things is harder than I thought. I didn’t know there’d be so many rules.”

  Miss Ivy smiled. “You know, you’d be surprised how many rules I’ve broken. But my flowers just keep coming up, in spite of me.”

  Elvira looked up. “They do?”

  “Yes, they do,” said Miss Ivy. She looked thoughtful. “I wonder…”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “I was just wondering—if maybe you’d like to come by and see them sometime. My flowers, I mean. I might be able to give you a couple of ideas.”

  Elvira just stood there with her mouth hanging open.

  “You’d really be doing me a favor,” Miss Ivy went on. “I love to show off my garden, and nobody’s paid it a bit of attention lately.”

  Just then a mother came struggling upstairs with a bald-headed baby on one hip and an armload of books on the other. “I’m so sorry,” she said to Miss Ivy, “but these are three weeks overdue.…”

  “I’ll be right with you,” Miss Ivy said, stopping to scribble something down on a slip of paper. “Here, Elvira—here’s my address—Twenty-four-ten South. Do you know where that is?”

  Elvira nodded. She still couldn’t make a sound.

  “Now, you’ll be sure and come, won’t you? I’ll tell you what—why don’t you come this Thursday afternoon? The library is closed that day. We’ll pretend we’re British and have tea, and then we can talk about roses to our hearts’ content.”

  Elvira thought she must be dreaming, but she managed to nod again, take the slip of paper from Miss Ivy’s hand, and stumble toward the stairs. The bald-headed baby started to cry, and his mother started to talk, but all Elvira heard was Miss Ivy’s voice floating out after her as she climbed down the spiral staircase: “See you Thursday, Elvira!”… Thursday, Elvira… Thursday, Thursday, Thursday…

  5

  Thursday was the day after tomorrow—only two days away—hardly any time—just an eternity, that was all. One minute, Elvira thought the time would never pass; the next, she was terrified that it would. She wanted to go—she had to go—but terrible thoughts kept parading across her brain like old horror movies on the television screen. What if she spilled tea all over herself or put too much food in her mouth or said things so dumb that Miss Ivy would tell her to go on home—she couldn’t be bothered with anybody so stupid—what then? Elvira worried until she was almost sick.

  On Wednesday night she dreamed she was sitting at her desk in Mrs. Eloise Willis’s fourth-grade class in Magnolia, when she suddenly discovered that she had forgotten to get dressed. Oh, my Lord, she thought, I’m neckid as a jaybird. No tellin’ what Mrs. Willis is gonna say about my social development now.… She woke up feeling as if she had a whole pack of acrobats turning cartwheels in her belly.

  She got up and fixed herself some Cream of Wheat. She thought that the iron in it would settle her stomach and make her feel stronger. But she was wrong. Oh, boy, was she ever wrong.…

  Hank knocked on the door while she was in the bathroom throwing up.

  “Elvira, are you all right?”

  “Yessir, I’m f-fine,” she answered, in between gags.

  “Well, it don’t sound like you’re fine. You better go on back to bed, now, you hear me?”

  “No, sir—I’m fine, really—I-I just ate too quick, is all.…”

  “Well, maybe so, but it won’t hurt you none to stay in bed for a day. I’ll move the television over where you can look at it.”

  Elvira threw open the door and glared at her father. “I ain’t s-sick, and I ain’t goin’ to bed. I c-cain’t.” She was so upset that she was almost hollering.

  Hank was too surprised to be angry. “What do you mean, you cain’t?”

  Elvira stuck out her chin. “I got somewhere to go today.” There was a mixture of pride and defiance in her tone that made Hank cock his head and look at her suspiciously.

  “Where you got to go that’s so important?”

  “To—to a tea party.”

  “A tea party?” Hank looked incredulous for a moment, but then his face relaxed, and a pleased expression came over it. “Well, you musta made yourself a friend, huh?”

  “Y-yessir…” It was true. Elvira hadn’t put it into so many words before, not even to herself, but it was true. Miss Ivy was her friend.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Miss Ivy. Miss Ivy Alexander.”

  “Miss? Well, ain’t we gettin’ grown-up and fancy all of a sudden?” Hank grinned. It was obvious that he thought Miss Ivy was some little kid. Well, let him think that, if he wants to, Elvira told herself. Then maybe he won’t be so worried about my social development.

  “Does this, uh, Miss Ivy—does she live in the trailer park?”

  “No, sir, she lives in town. I—I met her at the liberry.”

  “The liberry, huh?” Hank looked impressed. “Well, then, she ought to be right nice. Smart, I bet.”

  “It’s all right if I go, then? I-I really ain’t sick. I’m already feelin’ a whole lot better.”

  “Well, maybe so. But you ought to lie down for a while, anyhow. You don’t hafta go over there this early, do you?”

  “No, sir, not till this afternoon.”

  “All right, then. You get back in bed for a little while. There’s a real good movie comin’ on at ten.”

  The movie was The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance. Hank moved the TV over and then pulled his chair around next to Elvira’s bed so he could watch it with her. They didn’t talk at all, but it was a comfortable sort of morning, with just the two of them sitting there together watching John Wayne and Jimmy Stewart and Lee Marvin and those other old guys shooting each other all to pieces. It took Elvira’s mind off the tea party, and that was a relief. When the movie ended, Hank told her to stay in bed just a little longer; he had to go somewhere, but he’d be right back.…

  Sure enough, he was back pretty soon. He had gone over to Kroger and bought some tomato soup. He fixed it up and carried it to Elvira on a tray with some crackers. Her stomach was feeling better now. She ate the soup gratefully.

  “Thank you, sir. That was real good,” she said, when she had finished.

  Hank looked embarrassed. “You’re welcome,” he mumbled. He put an awkward hand on Elvira’s forehead. “Well, it don’t feel like you got a fever. I guess it’s all right if you go on over to your friend’s house. What time you s’posed to go?”

  “All she said was afternoon—I don’t know what time exactly,” said Elvira, wrinkling up her forehead into worried lines. She hadn’t thought to get the time clear. “She just said we’d have tea—like we was British people—b-but I don’t know what time they have tea.…”

  “Oh. Well, that’d be about four o’clock,” said Hank, to his daughter’s astonishment.

  “How do you know that?” Elvira’s eyes were wide.

  Hank chuckled. “Surprised you, huh? I guess I know a trick or two I ain’t showed you yet.… Well, matter of fact, when I was growin’ up back in Sulphur Springs, the folks next door were from over in England. The Sharps—I’ll never forget ’em—Ol’ Man Sharp owned the hardware store. They had a boy—Whitney, his name was. He was my best friend. Lordy, Whitney Sharp. Haven’t thought about him in years.… We had us some good times, ol’ Whitney and me. Even courted the same girl when we got to high school.…” Hank’s voice had gotten sort of low and dreamy while he talked—it was an awful lot of talk for him—and now it trailed off altogether.

  “The girl y’all courted…” Elvira said shyly, poking at a cracker crumb. “Was
that my mama?”

  Hank seemed to come back to himself. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Uh, yeah, it was your mother.… Look, I believe I’ll stop on by the Davis Lumber Company. I heard they might be hiring over there.… You feelin’ all right now, huh?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Well. All right, then. You mind your manners at that tea party, you hear me? I guess I’ll see you later on.”

  Elvira lay in her bed for a while longer. Now that she knew tea was supposed to be at four o’clock, she had plenty of time. She wasn’t feeling so nervous now; it seemed that something of Hank’s recalling mood had spilled over. She thought of him and Whitney Sharp dating the same girl back in high school. Her mother… Elvira wondered why Hank had never talked about that before. Matter of fact, he never talked about her mother at all. But then, lately, he had been acting kind of strangely, it occurred to Elvira. Quieter, and just—different, somehow. Sometimes she would look up and he’d be staring at her, with a funny expression in his eyes.…

  Well, there was no figuring Hank. He was just—Hank, that was all.

  6

  Miss Ivy lived on a quiet street in one of Calder’s older neighborhoods. Elvira knew right where it was; she had passed South Street dozens of times on her way into town. The houses along it were mostly big and old-fashioned, with wide front porches and two, sometimes even three, stories. Huge shade trees arched their branches far overhead. They looked as if they had been standing there for a long, long time, like giants locked in a never-ending game of London Bridge.

  Two little kids raced by, one on a bicycle, the other on a kind of plastic tricycle with a great big yellow front wheel. The smaller kid was wearing a black space helmet and carrying a green plastic baseball bat. There was a bright blue bath towel pinned around his neck—it streamed out in back of him while he pedaled furiously after the boy on the bike.

  Elvira walked slowly and breathed slowly and willed her heart to slow down, too, but it wasn’t much use. Her nervousness had come back full force the minute her Keds had pointed themselves down South Street. She was holding tight to the slip of paper with the address on it. She knew it by heart, but the paper was proof that she hadn’t just dreamed the whole thing up.

  And then she was there, and her heart didn’t just slow down—it seemed to stop beating altogether.

  Twenty-four-ten was a cozy-looking white house with green shutters on the windows. A wooden swing, touched by the breeze from an old-timey ceiling fan, creaked invitingly over on one side of the porch. A fat yellow cat sunned itself comfortably on the roof. It was a nice house—just the sort of house that Miss Ivy ought to live in. But it wasn’t the house so much that made Elvira’s heart skip a beat. What really got her were the roses. There were roses all over the place. Wonderful roses—red ones and pink ones and, oh, yes, yellow ones—glorious roses… There were other flowers, too, beds full of them, but Elvira hardly saw them. She was drowning in roses. She just stood there, staring, practically drooling.…

  But right then the kid on the bike and the other one in the space helmet came pedaling furiously back up the sidewalk. The big one stopped directly in front of her. He was a curly-haired, freckle-faced boy of about eight, maybe nine.

  “Are you Elvira?” he asked, out of the blue.

  “Uh-huh,” she murmured blankly. How in the world did this kid know her name?

  “Well, I’m Curtis,” the boy went on. “Curtis Alexander. The third,” he added, as an afterthought. “This is my brother, John David Alexander.

  “’Lo,” said a voice from inside the space helmet.

  “Take off the helmet, John David,” said Curtis, nudging his brother.

  “Why?”

  “’Cause it’s polite.”

  “Oh.” The little boy removed his helmet and grinned bashfully at Elvira. He had straight, dark hair that hung low on his forehead and almost hid his blue eyes.

  “Go tell Mama the company’s here,” said his brother.

  The little kid turned around and ran into the house. Miss Ivy’s house. Elvira stared after him stupidly. Then she turned back to his brother. He had said their last name was Alexander.…

  “Are y’all kin to Miss Ivy?” she asked him.

  Curtis looked surprised. “Well, sure—she’s our mother. She told us to look out for you.”

  Their mother? Somehow, Elvira had never thought of Miss Ivy as anybody’s mother.… Angels didn’t have kids, did they?

  “I-I didn’t know she was married. I thought she was a miss.…”

  Curtis looked embarrassed. “She’s not married. Not anymore,” he muttered. “Well, come on in the house. She’s waitin’ for you.”

  Elvira was mortified. She wished she hadn’t said anything. She followed Curtis inside, resolving to keep her mouth closed in the future.

  The inside of Miss Ivy’s house was everything that it should have been. The front room was big and sunny—a real living room, meant for living in. There were plants and flowers everywhere and comfortable-looking furniture and bookcases filled with books and a piano in the corner and a beautiful old fireplace.… Miss Ivy’s house, thought Elvira, breathing it all in. Why, it’s like one of them pictures in Better Homes and Gardens! Maybe not so fancy, but just as nice—nicer, even—homier…

  And then Miss Ivy herself came down the stairs, looking bright and happy as an angel ought to look. She was wearing a yellow blouse and white slacks and a pair of sandals that showed off her graceful little feet. Her halo hair was pulled back in a ponytail and tied with a blue ribbon that matched her eyes. Lordy, thought Elvira, if I could look like that for just one single day of my life, I’d die happy. You couldn’t hardly ask for more than that.

  “I’m so glad you could come, Elvira,” Miss Ivy was saying. “Did you meet Curtis and John David?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, good. You know, I couldn’t remember if I had told you about my boys before.”

  “No, ma’am. I was real surprised. You don’t look that old.…” Elvira stopped and cringed; that hadn’t come out right at all.

  But Miss Ivy only laughed a friendly kind of laugh and said, “Well, that’s a nice compliment. Thank you.”

  Elvira took a deep breath and tried to do better. “I saw your flowers outside. They’re real beautiful.”

  “Oh, do you like them? I’m so glad. The boys have helped me with them a lot, haven’t you, boys?”

  “I hate weeds,” said Curtis, rolling his eyes.

  “Me, too,” John David chimed in.

  “I’m a slave driver, that’s what I am.” Miss Ivy chuckled. “You’d better watch out, Elvira. I’ll have you pulling weeds, too.”

  “I wouldn’t mind.”

  “I don’t believe you would, would you? You know, sometimes I get kind of a kick out of it, too. It’s good therapy, when I start feeling crazy. But even I don’t need that much therapy.… Well, we shouldn’t be standing here in the heat. You must be thirsty. I thought we’d have our tea out on the side porch. There’s a fan out there to keep us from melting, and that way we can enjoy the flowers while we visit.”

  “Can I have punch ’stead of tea, Mama? I hate tea.”

  “May I have, John David.… Curtis, will you please bring out the sugar bowl? I believe I left it in the kitchen. Do you like tea, Elvira? It’s iced tea—I thought that would be better in this hot weather.…”

  It was an altogether elegant tea party. Miss Ivy was the perfect hostess, handing out dainty plates of cucumber sandwiches and fresh fruit and little strawberry tarts that tasted as good as they looked, and pretty soon Elvira was wondering what she had been so worried about. It was all so easy, after all—as easy and natural as breathing—just sitting there, sipping iced tea as if she did it every day of her life, listening to Miss Ivy talk comfortably about flowers and gardening…

  Until Elvira opened her mouth the wrong way again.

  “What kind of a rosebush did you tell me yours is?” asked Miss Ivy.
<
br />   “The man called it a Davidica,” Elvira answered, “but I don’t know for sure. I never did find one by that name in any of them liberry books.”

  “Librrrrary,” John David began. “You’re supposed to say librr…”

  “Uh, come on in the house with me for a minute, John David,” said Curtis, standing up and taking his brother by the arm. “There’s, uh, there’s somethin’ I need to show you.”

  “What?” asked John David.

  “Just somethin’. Come on, now. May we be excused?” He looked at his mother.

  “Yes, you may,” said Miss Ivy, putting a hand on her older son’s shoulder. “Thank you, Curtis.” She turned back to Elvira. “I got a new catalogue just the other day. Why don’t we take a look at it? Maybe we’ll find your rosebush in there.…”

  “Don’t you know anything?” came Curtis’s voice, quite distinctly, from inside the house…and then John David’s indignant reply, “What? What’d I do?”

  Elvira was as red as one of Miss Ivy’s roses, but Miss Ivy acted as if nothing had happened and went on talking so cheerfully that after a while Elvira forgot all about feeling dumb.

  The catalogue that Miss Ivy brought out was a fat one, filled with pictures and names of hundreds of different flowers and plants. She and Elvira went through the rose section and tried to find the Davidica. It wasn’t there.

  “But that doesn’t mean there’s no such thing,” Miss Ivy explained. “There are new varieties being developed all the time. I’ll tell you what—let’s go on out in the garden and look around. You might see a rose that reminds you of yours.”

  The garden tour was the best part of the visit. Elvira could have sworn she had died and gone to heaven.

  “Those are morning glories,” said Miss Ivy. “They’re all closed up now, but you just come back in the morning sometime and see how pretty they are.… And that’s trumpet vine, and those are impatiens and begonias.… The tall yellow flowers are daylilies.… Oh, I wish you could have seen the pinks! They’re done now.… But look over there, hiding behind that hibiscus—can you see the periwinkles? I’m just crazy about periwinkles.”