Tomato Girl

by Jayne Pupek

  She lifted the jar to her pale lips and kissed the glass.

  I TOOK JELLYBEAN’S body back outside to bury. After shaking the loose dirt from the handkerchief, I smoothed the fabric and pillow. “Good-bye, little friend,” I whispered, then placed him back in his box. Using Daddy’s shovel, I covered the grave, patting the soil into place with the palms of my hand. I wanted to make sure nothing ever disturbed his grave, to protect him the way I hadn’t when he was alive.

  Satisfied that the dirt was packed over his box casket, I hunted through the fence row for some honeysuckle and a flat gray rock to mark his grave. I felt too tired to pray, too tired to cry. I leaned my head against the crab apple tree and closed my eyes.

  I didn’t hear the back door close or Daddy walk up to me. His voice startled me.

  “Ellie,” he said, then cleared his throat.

  I opened my eyes and saw Daddy beside me, his hands shoved into his pockets. “Tess heated up some ravioli and bread. Why don’t you come inside and eat?”

  He turned around, expecting me to follow.

  I dreaded going back inside, but knew I had no choice. “I’m coming, Daddy.”

  He waited for me to catch up, then took my hand in his. His rough fingers circled mine, and he looked at my hand as if this was the first time he’d seen it. “After dinner, Ellie, we need to talk about your mother.”

  His eyes never left my hand.

  TWENTY-SIX

  WHITE LIES

  TESS STOOD IN THE KITCHEN, making a tray for Mama: ravioli squares on a blue plate, a slice of buttered bread, a glass of milk, and a cored apple cut into quarters.

  “Can I take Mama’s food upstairs to her?”

  Tess looked to Daddy for an answer.

  He nodded. “Go ahead, but don’t take long. You need to eat, too, Ellie.”

  “Here’s a napkin,” Tess said as she lifted the silverware and placed the folded cloth beside Mama’s plate. She’d found Mama’s good linens, the beige ones embroidered with small pink tulips. These were for Sunday dinners and not used for canned ravioli and sliced apples. Tess didn’t ask, she just took what she wanted and used it the way she pleased. No wonder I was growing to hate her. She didn’t care about what belonged to anyone else. To her, everything in reach was hers.

  Tess handed me the tray, then reached for a bottle of pills from the window sill. She set the bottle beside the glass of milk. “Tell her to take two of these. They’re for pain.”

  Daddy picked up the bottle and shook two white pills into his hand, then plopped them on the tray. He looked at Tess as he spoke. “Don’t ever give her a full bottle of pills, for Christ’s sake. If today’s events didn’t teach you that much …”

  “Don’t snap at me,” Tess said, parking her hands on her hips. “I’ve never played nursemaid to a crazy woman before.”

  “Mama isn’t crazy,” I yelled at Tess. “You take that back!”

  “Hush, both of you. God knows we’ve had enough turmoil for one day.”

  Daddy’s voice quieted us both.

  Tess’s mouth tightened into a thin line. I wished I could take my needle and thread and stitch her mouth closed so she couldn’t say another word. Ever.

  Daddy pointed to the table. “Tess, go ahead and set out the plates. And you,” he said as he placed his hands on my shoulders and turned me toward the stairs, “need to take this food to your mother before it gets cold.”

  I walked slowly, careful not to spill the milk as I carried the tray upstairs. Warm tears slid down my cheeks. I blinked, and took a deep breath so Mama wouldn’t know I’d been crying.

  The door was closed, so I had to set the tray on the floor to open it. I stepped inside and placed the tray on the edge of her bedside table. “Here’s your food, Mama.” When I moved the vase aside to make room for her food, daisy petals fell from the arrangement and scattered on the dark wood.

  “They’re wilting, Ellie.” Mama’s voice sounded sad. “Why do pretty things have to die?”

  I wondered that, too, and didn’t know the answer. “I’ll pick you some new ones in the morning, Mama.”

  “Don’t you see, Ellie? What’s the point? Those flowers will die, too, in a few days. Everything pretty dies.”

  “Are you hungry, Mama? I brought you food.”

  Mama looked at the plate. “Did she make it, Ellie? Did she make the food?” Her voice sounded harsh and angry. She pulled herself up so that she was sitting in bed, wincing a little when she moved. On the pillow next to Mama, Baby Tom floated in his jar, his stubby fingers open toward her.

  “Well, yes, Mama. But it came in a can, so she didn’t really cook it. All she did was heat it up.”

  “It’s poison, Ellie,” she whispered. “She wants me dead so she can have your father.”

  “Mama, it’s not poison, really. Here, smell it.” I lifted the plate and held it close to her.

  She leaned forward a little and sniffed. “Rat poison. It’s in the tomatoes. She put rat poison in the sauce. I’m not eating this, Ellie.” Mama shoved the plate back into my hands.

  “At least drink the milk and take your medicine.”

  She took the glass from me and smelled the milk.

  “Tess didn’t touch the milk, Mama. I promise. I watched her the whole time. I know to keep an eye on her.”

  Mama hesitated, as if unsure, then held her hand open to receive her pills.

  “These will make you feel better,” I said, placing the pills in her hand.

  She shoved the white ovals to the back of her tongue and washed them down with milk, swallowing huge gulps until the glass was empty.

  “I wish you’d eat something, Mama. You have to be hungry.” I reached for the napkin and blotted the milk away from her lips, grateful that she didn’t notice her good linens.

  “I can’t eat any food that girl prepares, Ellie. Don’t you see she wants me dead? She wants to kill me just like she killed Jelly bean.” Mama reached over to adjust Baby Tom, propping the jar up against the pillow. His little bald walnut-shaped head tilted to one side. “You keep sliding down, don’t you, love?”

  I tried to ignore the baby, and instead looked back at Mama’s face. “Jellybean’s drowning was an accident, Mama. Tess didn’t really mean it.”

  Mama placed her hands on my face and tilted my head. She stared into my eyes as she spoke. “Girls like Tess don’t do anything by accident. You watch her, Ellie. Don’t turn your back on her for a minute.” Mama’s thumbs dug into my skin, hurting my cheeks.

  I nodded.

  Mama let go of my face and pointed to the tray. “Here, take this food back downstairs and tell her I don’t want it.”

  “Mama, can’t I just flush the food down the toilet? This is only going to start an argument with Tess. I’m tired of fighting with her.” I didn’t mean to whine, but couldn’t help myself. This was all too hard for me, trying to keep Mama calm, doing what Daddy wanted, not stirring up trouble with Tess. I felt like a bandage being stretched to cover too many places at once.

  Mama reached out her hand and stroked my hair. “I know this is difficult, Ellie, but you can’t let her frighten you. Now, you take this food right back to her and tell her not to send any more of her garbage.”

  I picked up the tray and started to leave.

  “Wait a minute,” Mama called.

  I walked back to the bed. Maybe she’d changed her mind. Maybe she’d eat the apples at least. “Yes, Mama?”

  She leaned forward, lowered her head over the tray, and spat on the food. “There.”

  After leaving Mama’s room, I sat on the top step and tried to think of what to say. Tess would have a fit if she saw that Mama spat in her food. Maybe I could mix it up, make the spit disappear in the tomato sauce. Still, Tess would see that Mama hadn’t eaten. I could say Mama had an upset stomach and wanted poached eggs and milk toast instead. Mama wouldn’t have to know Tess cooked the egg. I could tell her I cooked it. Sometimes a little white lie isn’t a bad thing, not if the l
ie helps someone. If it got Mama to eat, I’d tell white lies and not even ask God to forgive me.

  While sitting on the step and going over what to say, I caught Daddy’s voice. “You just don’t understand, Tess. I can’t send her away.”

  “Why not, Rupert? You sent her before.” Tess said, her voice shrill and impatient.

  “Because I’ve been giving her the tranquilizers again. They’d show up in her blood.”

  “Oh, God, Rupert …”

  “I love you, Tess. You know I do. I just don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to make it right.”

  “Maybe you can’t.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Rupert, I’m not staying here and waiting for your crazy wife to hurt me.”

  “Tess, don’t …”

  I’d heard all I could stand. I couldn’t just sit on the step and listen to Tess talk Daddy into putting Mama into the hospital. I couldn’t sit by and let Tess take Daddy away.

  I ran down the stairs. “Daddy!” I tripped on my shoelaces and fell, dropping Mama’s tray. The ravioli splattered the floor. The empty milk glass shattered. When I reached out to steady myself, my hands pressed on the glass, cutting my palms.

  “Ellie?” Daddy called. “Oh, Ellie.” He ran into the hall and knelt beside me. Taking my hands in his, he turned them over to look at my bleeding palms. A piece of glass glittered in my skin.

  “I’ve got to clean this, Ellie.” Daddy scooped me up and carried me into the kitchen. He sent Tess upstairs to get cotton, antiseptic, and a pair of tweezers.

  “Put your hand under the stream,” he said as he turned on the cold water faucet.

  My palms burned, and I couldn’t help crying. “Promise you won’t leave, Daddy. Promise you won’t send Mama away,” I sobbed.

  “Don’t you worry, honey. Let’s talk about this later. Right now, we need to take care of your hand.”

  Tess walked back into the kitchen and handed Daddy the tweezers. She touched my shoulder. “Poor Ellie,” she whispered. “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.”

  Daddy struck a match and held it to the tweezer tips, turning the ends black. “Sit here on the table where the light’s good,” he said.

  I stepped up on the chair and sat down on the edge of the table.

  Tess began to clean up the broken glass and spilled ravioli, putting everything into the garbage pail.

  Daddy held my hand in a firm grip. “Be still and this won’t hurt,” he said. Bending forward, he fished the glass sliver from my hand.

  I held perfectly still, just like he told me, but it did hurt.

  “The cut isn’t deep. You won’t need a bandage.” After he pulled out the glass, Daddy dabbed on the alcohol, which stung sharply for a moment, then cooled when Daddy blew across my palm. When he was all done, Daddy said, “There now, didn’t hurt a bit, did it?”

  “No,” I said, figuring even somebody as strong as my daddy needed white lies sometimes, too.

  “That’s my girl,” he said, patting my knee. Moving down my leg, Daddy’s hand brushed the corner of the envelope sticking out of my sock. “What’s this?”

  My face grew warm. I’d forgotten all about Tess’s letter. She’d think I’d done it on purpose, to pay her back for drowning Jellybean and being mean to Mama.

  Daddy pulled the envelope from my sock and studied it.

  I scratched my leg where the letter had been.

  Tess chewed her thumbnail and looked at Daddy.

  The vein on my father’s temple darkened. He looked at Tess. “It’s for you.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  THE LETTER

  GIVE ME THE LETTER, Rupert.” Tess held out her hand, palm up. “I mean it.”

  Daddy looked at Tess, then back at the envelope, turning it over in his hand. “Who else knows you’re living here, Tess? And who would be writing you?” Daddy stared at her, his eyes full of angry questions.

  “I don’t know. Don’t look at me like that, Rupert. It’s not a crime to get a letter, is it?”

  “No.” Daddy smacked the envelope down on the table. “There’s no crime in it, but I still need to know who’s writing you. You are living in my home now. You’re my responsibility.”

  “Don’t speak to me like I’m a child.” Tess’s milky skin showed red patches.

  My father studied the writing on the front. “This doesn’t look like a girl’s writing. Letters are too large, sloppy. A man wrote this. Or a boy.” Daddy nodded his head as if he’d suddenly figured out who’d written Tess. “It’s that Cline boy who used to come looking for you at the store, isn’t it? What’s his name? The prick with the guitar on his back who thought he was headed to the Grand Ole Opry?” Daddy faked a laugh.

  “Roger, but …”

  “You been writing to Roger, Tess?” Drops of sweat shone on Daddy’s forehead. “You planning to run off with Roger and live in some two-bit trailer with a kid who sings for his supper?” He slapped the table. “Tell me, Tess!”

  Tess and I both jumped. I suddenly needed to go pee, but was too afraid to move.

  “No, of course not. I can’t even stand Roger Cline. I don’t know who it’s from, honey, I swear. Go on and open it if it means so much to you.” Tess wiped the corner of her eye as if she didn’t want Daddy to see her crying. She looked so broken I almost felt sorry for her.

  “It’s from her daddy,” I said, looking down at the tiled floor. “The postman brought the mail today while I was outside. He said the letter was from Mr. Reed, and I forgot to give the letter to Tess when I came inside.”

  “Daddy wrote me?” Tess asked, her voice quivering. She seemed shocked and afraid, not happy to hear from her father, but then he was not the kind of father anyone would miss.

  I thought I’d be in trouble for keeping the letter in my sock, but neither Daddy nor Tess paid attention to me. A heavy quiet settled in the room.

  “You want to read it?” Daddy finally said. He looked at Tess.

  She shook her head. “No, I don’t want it. Throw it away, Rupert. Just throw the damn thing away. I don’t want to hear a word he has to say.”

  Daddy placed the envelope back on the kitchen table and didn’t say anything, just kept staring at the envelope.

  Tess’s eyes darted from Daddy to the envelope on the table. Did she want him to open it? Did she care what it said, or did she wish, as I did, that Daddy would rip the letter into pieces so small no one could read the words?

  Even as I wished differently, I knew Daddy would read the letter. Mama likes to hide from the hard things, but Daddy is more afraid of what he doesn’t know than of anything he can see.

  Finally, Daddy spoke. “That bastard wants something. I don’t trust him. I want to know what he has to say. No need to be operating in the dark, now is there?”

  Before Tess had time to speak, Daddy shoved his thumb under the loose corner flap and ripped open the envelope. He pulled out the piece of notebook paper, unfolded it, and read. He mouthed the words to himself.

  Tess and I waited.

  “That bastard!”

  I covered my ears, but could still hear my father cursing.

  “That no-good fucking bastard!”

  “Rupert, what is it?” Tess stepped forward, reaching for the letter.

  Daddy shoved the paper into her hands. He stood up and pounded his fist against the wall.

  Tears filled my eyes. Daddy’s loud voice and glaring eyes scared me. “Daddy?”

  “I’ll be back,” Daddy said. “You both go ahead and start supper without me.” He ripped his keys from the hook on the wall and stormed out of the house, slamming the door so hard the table shook under me.

  “Rupert, please don’t,” Tess called after him. She wadded up the letter and threw it down, then ran out the door behind Daddy.

  Would Tess be able to calm my father? I wondered. Or would he pace the sidewalk or go into his shed and chisel wood until the last angry sparks inside him were gone?

  I l
ooked around.

  The letter lay on the floor.

  Reading somebody else’s mail is wrong. Still, I had to know what Mr. Reed had written. I wanted to know what upset Daddy so much.

  I picked up the crumpled paper and spread it flat on the table. The letters were fat and black. They slanted downhill like mine had in first grade. Some were even backwards. I read the letter as fast as I could, but Mr. Reed spelled most of the words wrong, and I had to think hard to figure them out:

  deer Tess,

  i seen you com here and took your tomatos. Look here, young ladie, I want you to com home rite now. i wud com git you mysef but i turnd my ankl on the porch step when i seen them tomatos gone. you hav staid with that man long enuff. so i wrute to you to tel you to com hom rit away. you is my gurl Tessy. com home to yur daddy. i need you with me. i miss your voice and your purty pink skin.

  If that man you is with don’t let you com home I wil sind Raymund Witters out ther to git you, Tessy.

  al my lov

  yur daddy

  Mason Reed

  My hands shook as I crumpled the letter and tossed it back on the floor.

  I knew Daddy would never let Tess go back to live with Mr. Reed. Even if the man had treated her right and Tess wanted to go back, Daddy might not allow her to leave. What would happen if Mr. Reed’s ankle healed and he showed up to take Tess home, or if he sent someone for her like he’d said in his letter? Daddy would do anything to keep her. I knew it in the way he looked at her, watched over her, and kissed her.

  I walked to the kitchen window and looked at Daddy and Tess. They stood in front of Daddy’s toolshed, arguing. I couldn’t hear their voices, but I knew they were angry. Daddy’s clenched fists hung at his sides. Tess leaned toward him, tugging at his shirt, her face red and shiny.

  I didn’t know what to do. Hide upstairs with Mama? Go outside and try to stop Daddy and Tess from arguing?

  Deciding that keeping busy was the best thing to do, I began to clear the table. I moved the plates and glasses first, a habit I’d gotten into because leaving glass out in the open too long made Daddy nervous, especially when Mama was upset.