In Front of God and Everybody (24 page)

But right then, when I saw how Grandma looked all deflated and empty, I realized how much she wanted me to approve of that old goof. And there was only one way I could ever give him my stamp of approval.

I sat up and scrooched close to the edge of the bed. I leaned close and looked right into her eyes.

“Do you love him, Grandma? Do you love that old man? Does he make you happy?”

She looked away, then she took a deep breath and blew it out real slow. She got up stiffly, as if her bones ached right down to the marrow.

“It doesn't really matter to you, does it, April? Even if I loved him with my whole heart and soul, it wouldn't be enough for you, would it?”

Then she gave me such a look I couldn't speak because my throat ached too much. But she'd answered my question without saying it out loud: she did not love Jeffrey Rance.

Grandma walked from the room and closed the door softly behind her. I lay back down and pulled the covers over my head again.

It amazed me that for the next two weeks, all of us went about our regular business with the threat of an upcoming and totally inappropriate marriage in the near future. It's hotter'n blazes in late August, you know, but all us females just kept putting up the garden produce and doing the housework, while Daddy and Ian mended fences or went to town for parts or repaired equipment.

I thought I was going to die with the threat of Grandma's marriage hanging over our heads like a dark, ugly thunderstorm. At least school would be starting soon, and that was the only bright spot in my days.

“Well, is the wedding a week from Saturday or not?” Mama asked Grandma over their coffee the following Thursday.

“Jeffrey says at our age we shouldn't dawdle. And I see his point.” She glanced at me. I just ate my Cheerios and tried to keep my big mouth shut. She said nothing else about that old man. Instead, she talked about the visiting preacher who'd held the service at church last Sunday.

“If you don't want to marry old man Rance, then don't,” I said, interrupting her. I couldn't stop myself. It just came out.

Mama frowned at me. “April Grace, that was rude. And why would you say such a thing?”

Grandma and I looked at each other.

“I'm sorry if I was rude. I didn't mean to be. But Grandma doesn't want to marry him. Not in her heart where it matters. Right, Grandma?” I asked hopefully.

I waited with my fingers crossed for her to speak up. But she didn't, and I was so hurt and disappointed that I left the kitchen with half my cereal still in the bowl and went to the front door.

Every day for the last five weeks since the St. Jameses moved in, Myra Sue and Isabel had been using the shade of the porch every day to do their dancing stuff before the day got too hot. I very nearly went out on the front porch to exercise with them and work off being mad. Instead, I stood just this side of the screen door and watched for a while. Stretches and bends and crunches and twists weren't very entertaining, especially when being done by those two skinny-bones. I could've watched TV or read, but neither
Card Sharks
nor
Press Your Luck
—not even a book—would have helped right then. I guess I was just too disgusted with everything.

In the new black leotards and a neon pink headband Isabel had given her a couple of days ago, Myra Sue was starting to look as gaunt and spooky as her idol. It was so hot outside, I didn't see how Myra Sue could stand to wear those bright pink-and-black-striped leg warmers, but she did. When she twisted around and I got a good view of her back, I saw the sharp ridge of her spine and could practically count all her ribs. Starving herself seemed to be working, if she were trying to look withered like Isabel.

Watching those two only added to my disgust, so I gathered up my newest book,
The Hobbit
, then went outside and called Daisy. The two of us took off through the woods. I wanted to go off stomping, but we had to go slow because the day was heating up pretty fast, and Daisy is old and her white coat is thick.

We walked through the woods across the road and came out of the trees near the smallest east pasture, where Daddy and Ian were setting fence posts. Mr. Brett was there, too, several feet away, digging holes for the posts. His big arm muscles showed every time he rammed that post-hole digger into the hard ground.

“Miss April Grace!” Mr. Brett called out when he looked up and saw me. His teeth showed through his dark whiskers when he smiled. “How you doin', gal?”

“Hi, Mr. Brett. I'm fine.” I wasn't fine, of course, but I liked him and didn't want to bother him with my problems. Daisy went up to him and accepted all kinds of pats and scratches while she smiled. “How's Taz?”

“Sleeping under that big shade tree in my backyard, so he's happy,” Mr. Brett said.

I wasn't in the mood to visit, but Daddy caught sight of Daisy and me and waved us over. I ambled toward him and Ian, and Daisy followed. Behind us, I could hear Mr. Brett breaking the earth with that post-hole digger.

Ian and Daddy had been talking real serious about something, but they quit when I walked up. Usually I'm curious as all get-out when I walk up on a serious conversation and it stops. That means something real interesting has been said. But that day, I was so discouraged that I just didn't care to know about things I wasn't supposed to know about.

“Well, what are you and Daisy up to?” Daddy asked as we got close enough to smell their man-sweat. P-U. Heaving fence posts into the ground and pounding them solid on a blistering day in August isn't the frostiest thing you can do, let me tell you. Ole Ian was getting back to his roots the hard way that day.

“I'll get us some water,” he said, and walked toward the red-and-white cooler under a scraggly hickory tree nearby.

Daddy smiled down at me as he drew out an old blue bandana and mopped his face. “Mama give you the day off?”

I made a face. “I can't hardly stand it,” I told him.

“What's that?” Daddy asked.

“They're talking about the wedding! Like it's some big deal wonderful thing.”

Daddy lost his smile.

“Daddy, I can't stand the thought of Grandma marrying that old man.”

“What's that?” His voice was none too friendly, and neither was his expression. I knew he'd heard me. Right then he gave me a chance to smooth over my comment. But I didn't. I just repeated myself.

Ian walked up just then with three Solo cups full of cold water. He handed one to me, which I accepted gratefully and drank down so fast, I belched like a lumberjack.

Mama would have scolded me, but Daddy took a long drink, then said, “Did Mr. Rance say or do something you don't approve of, April Grace?”

“He's loud and bossy and sneaky and snarky, and Grandma is gonna regret getting married.”

He and Ian shared a long look in which they silently said something to each other. I gave Ian a sharp study, trying to read his mind, but I couldn't see his thoughts any better than Daddy's.

“Well, I'm sorry you feel that way,” Daddy said to me, “but if your grandmother wants to marry him, it's none of your business.”

“But Daddy!”

“I agree with your girl, Mike,” Ian said, surprising me. “I'd sure hate to see your mother get legally tied to that man.”

Daddy took his eyes off me to look at Ian. The two men regarded each other for a minute. Daddy nodded so you could barely see it. Then Ian squatted down and let Daisy lap out the rest of the water in his Solo cup. He patted her head. Guess she'd controlled that vicious, tail-wagging, tongue-lolling, and hours-long napping enough so he could trust her not to rip his arm off.

“Well,” Daddy said after a bit. “I will admit he wouldn't be my first choice for her. But she seems to like him. They get along well. She's happy; he's happy. And they're certainly old enough to know their own minds.”

“But Daddy—”

“No ‘but Daddys.' You have a right to how you feel, daughter, and I won't deny you that right.” He pinned a look on me. “But here's the situation as it stands. Your grandma wants to marry Jeffrey Rance, so don't you be trying to cause trouble. That means no pouting and sulking, no smarty remarks, no running off when you're needed. You jump in there and help your mama and grandma get things ready for the wedding if they want you to. No arguments.”

“Well, you used to stand up for Mama when she couldn't stand up for herself, and now all I'm trying to do is stand up for Grandma.”

“It's not the same thing, April Grace. Not in the least.”

“Oh brother!” I yelled. “As if—”

“Don't you raise your voice to me,” he said in that quiet tone that made the hair on the back of my neck prickle. He narrowed his eyes, and I knew what that meant. I was on my own in this.

“Okay, then,” I said through closed lips. “Since no one will listen to me except ole Ian”—I gave him a friendly look and nearly patted his arm the way he'd petted Daisy—“I reckon I can't do anything. I'm just a dumb kid, ain't I?”

I snapped my fingers to get Daisy's attention and turned to leave. We took a few steps; then I looked over my shoulder at Daddy.

“Oh yeah. One other thing, even though you might not want to believe me: you can't tell by looking at Myra Sue's face or while she's in her regular clothes, but you and Mama ought to take a close look at her in those leotards of hers. All her bones are sticking out.”

Daisy and I took our own sweet time walking back to the house.

“If Grandma keeps letting Mr. Rance push her around,” I told the dog, “that wedding will be in a few days.”

I tried to kick a big, loose rock out of my way. Pain shot up from my big toe. Some rocks are made to be kicked, and others aren't.

“Boy, oh boy, I wonder if Miss Delaine has got that obituary from Texas yet. If Mrs. Emmaline Rance died under Mysterious Circumstances, I am calling the Beauhide County sheriff so he'll know where to come to get that old man.” Daisy looked up at me with one ear cocked. “Don't worry. I know what I'm doing this time. No dogs will be hurt.”

She put both ears back and wagged her tail. I figured that was all the support I was going to get from the Reilly family. At least Ian seemed to be on my side, but since he hardly ever said a word these days, I doubted I could count on him for anything beyond finally getting some sense in his head.

You see, Ian kinda got off on the wrong foot with everybody on Rough Creek Road and in town because he acted like a rude know-it-all. Why someone who'd spent his whole entire life in a big city, thousands of miles away, thought he could tell everyone here how to run their own farms is beyond me. He'd read books, I guess. Big whoop. So had I. But two or three weeks ago, I overheard Daddy tell Mama that Ian had got himself told off pretty good right there in the Farm and Tractor feed store. Apparently more than one fellow told him that he could take his attitude right back to California, or they'd cart him back there personally.

Guess that explains why he lost that attitude of his right quick. Since then, Ian had kept his mouth shut and his eyes open and tried to get along with the “natives.” That's his word, not mine. Daddy told him one night at supper that if he'd learn how not to tear up the equipment, he'd be a right good farmer. You shoulda seen Ian's face. He grinned like a monkey all evening.

By the time Daisy and I got home, Isabel and Myra Sue no longer reached and stretched and gyrated on the porch. I went into the house and heard voices in the kitchen. I overheard Grandma say something about the Reverend Hunsaker being available next Saturday night. Isabel asked about orchestra music. That's when I put my hands over my ears and ran upstairs.

Thank goodness Miss Delaine answered the phone at the library. If that snippy, snoopy, bossy Mrs. Heathcliff had answered, I do believe I'd have hollered at her for no good reason or just hung up in aggravation because nothing had gone right all day.