I knew how Father felt.
I hadn’t had teeth knocked out of my head and hadn’t floated around scared to death on a terrible lake, but every morning, after I made breakfast for Mother and Jimmie, I would sneak into my parents’ bed and didn’t want to move or think or anything. I wouldn’t even read a book.
At first I tried to remember that poem Father used to say about how “Hope has wings …” but I couldn’t.
I just wanted to have my face covered with the pillow that Father used to sleep on.
Three days after we found out we had to go to that miserable place in Michigan, Mother said to me, “Deza, once we leave you are not to get back in bed. You are to eat every meal with Jimmie and me, and you will clean your plate. You are to go to the library every day, and you will read and study. Am I clear?”
I shot a look at Jimmie. I was still in bed when he got home every day and he’d ratted me out.
“Yes, Mother.”
This was good. I’d learned that sitting in bed all day just made you want to spend all day sitting in bed.
After Mother gave me a kiss and left and Jimmie said, “Sorry, Deza,” and went out too, I climbed into Mother and Father’s bed just one more time.
And didn’t get out until Jimmie got home hours later.
I picked up a book and rushed downstairs but I don’t think I fooled him. He hugged me and went in the kitchen.
The next day as soon as they left, I got back in bed again.
There was a loud knock on the front door.
It was Clarice. “Deza! You look terrible.” Only somebody you share a heart with could say that and not get you upset.
I gave her the tragic news about how we were going to have to move to Flint.
“Yes, I know. It’s my fault that I wasn’t here earlier, Jimmie told me yesterday. I would’ve come but I couldn’t stop crying. I finally ran out of tears this morning, but seeing you like this makes me wonder if I might have some left.”
I was so glad she came by. I knew I’d have to give her a good example of being strong.
She said, “The librarians have been asking where you are. You know you are such a credit to our race, after all.”
I laughed and ran upstairs to get ready. I hadn’t read anything in four days and felt like I was starving!
“Deza! My Darling Daughter Deza!”
Mother was home right on time, and she was singing! I ran downstairs to meet her at the door. She had both of her hands behind her back and a huge smile on her face.
I hugged her, but instead of hugging me back she said, “How was your day?”
“Mother, don’t tease! What’s behind your back?”
She acted surprised that her hands were hidden and said, “What? This little thing?”
It was a envelope. From Father?
Mother touched my cheek. “No, Deza. It’s not that, but it’s good nonetheless!”
She said, “Ta-da!” I read Mrs. Ernest Nelson, Flint, Michigan in very good penmanship.
Mrs. Carsdale had given us the letter for a new job in Flint! This was good news!
Not really, but when you’re feeling bad you can’t be picky about what kind of things can lift you up.
“Oh, Mother, you got it! So now we can move to Flint and find Father?”
Mother said, “Why on earth would a sensible Indiana girl want to move to Flint, Michigan?”
“If Flint’s where we’ll find Father I’ll go. The quicker we find him the quicker we can get back to Gary. Can I read it?”
Mother held the letter over her head.
“Well, I’m not sure, I wouldn’t want you to lose it or tear it or—”
I grabbed Mother’s arm and we tussled back and forth over the letter. She let me take it.
It was sealed.
I don’t know why, but my stomach started folding itself up.
This wasn’t good.
“Did you read it, Mother?”
“No. But I told her what I needed and she finally said she’d do it and … here it is.”
“You trust her?”
I was sorry I’d asked. Mother’s good mood was gone.
“Of course I don’t trust her, but some of the time you have to have faith, Deza.”
“Should we open it?” Her 1-1-1 lines showed.
“Deza Malone, I’m surprised at you, you know that would be wrong. Besides, if you ripped this expensive envelope open, where in the world would you get another?”
She was right, the envelope felt like it was made out of the same thick, heavy paper as a dollar bill. I knew better than to ask Mother to borrow one from Mrs. Carsdale. She’d see that as nothing but stealing, and me opening the letter would be almost as bad.
“I was just talking.” I tried to get her back to feeling good. “Boy, Jimmie’s going to be so excited when he hears, can I tell him first?”
Mother smiled but the fun was gone. “Of course, Deza. Now we have to start planning.”
She held her hand out. “Let me put this in the filing cabinet so it will be safe.”
The Malones aren’t like any other family in the world, and one of the reasons is our filing cabinet. It isn’t anything like the kind you see at school or in rich people’s offices in the movies.
Those filing cabinets have drawers and handles and locks and make a solid echo-y kra-bang sound when they’re closed.
Ours is a lot quieter. It’s as soft and comfortable and quiet as a couch. That’s because it is our couch. Mother lifted the middle cushion and stuck Mrs. Carsdale’s letter on top of some other papers.
She patted the cushion back in place. “Now, what’s that delicious smell, Deza?”
“Just supper.” I smiled and headed to the kitchen, but my mind was under the couch cushion with that letter.
After we ate and Mother went over to see Mrs. Henderson, I went in the filing cabinet, got the letter and took it to Jimmie.
“Great. We can go find Father now.”
“Not great, Jimmie, we can’t trust that woman.”
“What you mean, sis?”
“We’ve got to open this letter.”
“No problem. Put the kettle on.”
I knew he’d be able to get into the envelope without anyone knowing, he’d opened every sealed report card and letter from teachers he’d ever gotten before he gave them to Mother and Father.
After the kettle boiled, Jimmie took it off the stove.
“The most important thing is don’t get it too wet. Most folks mess up by soaking the glue too much, that way the envelope gets bumpy and people know it’s been opened before.”
Jimmie is always very generous, even with his lessons on how to be a criminal. He held the envelope over the kettle’s neck and slowly pulled at the flap. “You have to take your time. With everything, not just steaming open letters. Be patient and take your time. Remember what Pa says, ‘All things come to the person who waits.’ ”
I didn’t correct Jimmie because in every movie I’d ever seen and every book I’d ever read if one criminal criticizes what their partners do or say it always ends up with someone in prison.
What Father really says is “All things come to the person who waits … if that person works like mad while they’re waiting.”
Jimmie got the last part of the flap from the envelope and it was absolutely flat!
“Wow, Jimmie, that’s great!”
“Hold on, we ain’t all the way done yet. This is just as important.”
He blew along the envelope’s flap. “This stops the glue from clumping up. All set.”
I pulled the letter out. It was on three pages of fancy writing paper. My stomach was folding, not because I knew this was wrong, but because I was afraid of what the letter might say.
While Jimmie put the kettle away I quickly read through what the woman had written. I got happy and mad at the same time.
Happy that my gut feeling was right, and mad at what that horrid woman had written.
“All rig
ht, Deza, what’s it say?”
I read parts of the letter to Jimmie.
Dear Marilyn,
I’m certain you’ve heard about the tragic situation here in Gary. Charles has been ordered to take an unheard-of twenty-five-percent cut in his salary. He’s a man of integrity and refuses to accept this.
We have made the heartbreaking decision to close Grace Hall and to travel the Continent for the next three years or until such time as this country gets back to normal.
As you can imagine, this has placed a tremendous stress and burden on me as I arrange for lodgings with kind and generous friends in six countries.
I’m left to wonder at God’s mercy. Thus far I have been able to keep a strong and cheerful face for the sake of Charles and the children. Speaking of which, how are Ernest and your young ones? Please forgive me for waiting so long into this correspondence to inquire after their well-being. I’m certain you can understand the unimaginable stress under which I operate daily.
Has this horrible depression devastated your family as much as it has devastated ours? Remember, Charles says it shan’t be long before this great country comes to its senses, throws off that filthy communist Roosevelt and is returned to its rightful owners.
I shall write from Burton-on-Trent, where we will be staying with Lady Chigwell for the next six months. Who could have dreamed that it would come to this?
Sincerely,
Milly
(Mrs. Charles Carsdale)
Postscript
The colored gal bearing this letter has been in our employ for the past twelve years. She missed an entire year for some cause or other. She is a competent worker so I relented and rehired her. I’ve always believed ’tis better to stay with the devil you know.
I skipped reading the next lines to Jimmie.
In that time she has also missed four or five days to tend to a sickly boy who has not grown properly. I’m sure it’s nothing more than the terrible food those people enjoy so much.
I read aloud.
I’ve never been able to catch her stealing. If your experience has been anything like mine, you know them as well as I. I’ve found that one is a carbon copy of the next. Hire her at your own peril.
My hands were trembling. Jimmie was looking down and shaking his head.
“Man, Ma’s gonna be mad.”
“No, she won’t, we can’t let her see this. I wish I could get some of this woman’s writing paper, I know I can copy this penmanship in a flash.”
“You know I’m going to the Carsdales’ with Ma for the rest of this week, I’m getting a dime a day to help them close their house up.”
“Jimmie, I don’t know—”
“You hit the nail on the head, sis, you don’t know, and you don’t want to know. Let Jesse rob this train. Give me some skin and leave the rest up to me.”
I slapped Jimmie’s palm and had never felt like such a big crook in all my life. And doggone it all, the second brain was taking over, because I really liked the feeling!
Mother and Jimmie came home together the next day and as soon as he saw me Jimmie made his eyebrows go up and down over and over.
I followed him into his room.
He smiled. “Ta-da!” He opened a paper sack and pulled out ten sheets of the beautiful paper and two envelopes.
It wasn’t until that second that I saw that Jimmie’d stole this stuff for nothing. We didn’t have any ink or a good pen so I could copy the woman’s writing.
Jimmie read my mind. “Ta-da!”
He reached into the bag and this time he was holding a gorgeous pen and a inkwell. “What’d I say? You got to let Jesse rob this train. I knew you were gonna need the ink too. I’ll take anything you don’t use back tomorrow. Now it’s your turn.”
After I practiced on some of my foolscap, I only messed up one sheet of the pretty paper when I wrote the new letter. I kept in mind what Mrs. Needham said about good writing being short and to the point.
Mrs. Carsdale was far too verbose.
I was kind of upset that I was making this woman look good by improving her writing.
I got my thesaurus and dictionary and after about a hour I came up with:
Dear Marilyn,
The woman bearing this letter has asked for a recommending letter and my heart is filled with joy to give her one. She is kind and loving and helpful in every way. She has worked for us for the past twelve years and we wish she would stay forever but she is moving to Flint to be with her husband who is also kind and loving. She is trying to keep her delightful family together.
If you give her a job she will work as hard for you as she did for us. She never lies or steals, because that is against everything she’s taught her children. One of them is a charming, kind and loving boy. He sings like a angel. The other one is a girl who is very humble.
Don’t answer this missive, I shall write from Burton-on-Trent which is geologically located in England where we will be the guests of Lady Chigwell for a very long time.
Sincerely,
Milly
(Mrs. Charles Carsdale)
Postscript
God bless President Roosevelt, America and all the world.
“Jimmie?”
He came upstairs into my room.
I read the letter.
He gave me a thumbs-up sign and said, “Put it back in the filing cabinet, Deza, and let’s get ready to say goodbye to Gary.”
Jimmie’s words brought all the sadness back out in me. It was true, I was going to have to leave my home, just when it seemed my luck was turning. I’d have to say goodbye to Mrs. Needham, and worst of all, I’d have to say goodbye to Clarice.
But the chance of finding Father and bringing him back home was worth even this.
Chapter Eighteen
Deza Steers on the Last Days in Gary
If I ever found that Dewey decimal system for superstitious sayings and looked up “Bad news comes in threes,” I would’ve seen that for the Malones, it meant three times every hour.
At supper Jimmie asked what kind of truck we were going to use to move.
Mother said, “Children, give me your hands.”
A not-so-good sign.
“Jimmie, Deza, there isn’t going to be a moving truck, we won’t need one.”
My heart flew! “Oh, Mother! I knew it! We aren’t moving!”
“Yes, Deza, we are. We just won’t need a truck to do it.
Most of this furniture …” She looked around. “Who am I kidding? None of this furniture is ours.”
“What?” I wouldn’t have been more surprised if Mother had told me that after twelve years of being on the end of my leg, my left foot belonged to someone else!
“No, dear, we rent this place furnished. Pretty much all of this belongs to the landlord.”
I was shocked and mortifried! The first thing that came to my mind was the wardrobe. That had to be ours, we’d been writing on it for years and Mother and Father wouldn’t tolerate us writing on someone else’s furniture.
“Mother, what about the wardrobe?”
“What about it, Deza?”
“We wrote all over it. It’s always been part of our family history.”
Well, it had been part of the Malone history for a while. Ever since I was two and Jimmie was almost five, on each of our birthdays, we would stand next to the opened wardrobe door. We’d stretch our necks as long as they’d go without letting our feet come off the ground.
Then Mother and Father would put a ruler on top of our heads and take a pencil and make a mark to show how tall we were. That way we could keep track of how much we’d grown.
All that stopped around the time Jimmie turned twelve. I was nine when, after measuring me, Father put the ruler on Jimmie’s head.
It was right at the same mark it had been last time.
Father looked at Mother, then made a mark that was half a inch taller than Jimmie really was.
I almost said, “Hey! That’s not fair!” But Mother
shot me a look and I kept quiet.
Jimmie was so happy that he had grown even that much. But after while, when my dress had to be let out, Jimmie was wearing the same clothes month after month. We stopped going to the wardrobe on our birthdays.
“Yes, Deza, we wrote on it because we thought, a million years ago, that we were going to buy the furniture from the landlord, but just like with so many other things, life got in the way.”
Which is just a unpoetic way of saying, “gang aft a-gley.”
Mother was so sad that I said, “I guess that means we’ve got a lot less to worry about, right?”
She smiled. “When aren’t you right, my Mighty Miss Malone?”
“It’s only because I’ve got the blood of the Malones in my veins!”
“You also have the blood of my family, the Sutphens, in there too. Let’s not forget that.”
We looked around at what we’d need to pack. There wasn’t going to be much.
Mother said, “OK, Deza, Mr. Rhymes is going to give us a ride as far as Detroit. I’ve got three dollars for gas for him, then another two dollars for bus fare to Flint.
“Jimmie, we’ll be leaving in three days, you’ve got to say goodbye to your friends. I’d much prefer you write, rather than visit in person, those who are currently in jail.”
Mother could still make jokes.
She told me, “Sweetheart, you have permission to walk over to Mrs. Needham’s and Clarice’s to say goodbye. Jimmie, walk with your sister, please. Give them my love, Deza.”
This was going to be terrible.
I was relieved when no one answered Mrs. Needham’s door. She was counting on me so much that I knew it would break her heart that I was leaving. But I stayed strong.
It wasn’t until we were walking to Clarice’s that I could feel tears swelling up in my eyes.
How can you say goodbye to the best friend you’ve ever had?
I reached over and took Jimmie’s hand. I knew he wouldn’t try to pull away.
“Come on, sis, don’t cry. We gotta get this over with. It’s just like when you pulled that tape off of my eyebrow. Do it quick, that way it don’t hurt as much.”
The Mighty Miss Malone Page 11