Swan Place (31 page)

I went back to trying to recreate all the stories I had lost—stories about Mama and Aunt Bett and Savannah, and they all came back, but much clearer than the first time, even. The more I wrote, the more I realized that I shouldn’t be writing about people separately but maybe write a story where I let them all come together, just to see what would happen. Like wondering what it would have been like if Aunt Bett had known the elegant Miz Swan. And I’ll bet you anything, Aunt Bett would have found a way to talk her out of some good clothes! Or what if the two of them had been faithful friends since childhood and Aunt Bett had come to Mr. Swan’s funeral. I wondered what Aunt Bett would have said, to try and make Miz Swan feel better. So I started writing a make-believe story about that, and it was ever so much fun.

One day I asked Buzzard, “Where is Mr. Swan buried?” Because I was at the part of that story where Aunt Bett would have been at his funeral.

“How come you to ask such a thing?” Buzzard wanted to know.

“I don’t know. I just wondered.” I muttered. Then I added, “I thought I’d like to put some flowers on his grave, or something. I’ve pretended to be his great-niece long enough that I almost feel it’s true.”

“Well, you can’t put flowers on his grave,” she said. “Because he was cremated.”

“Cremated?” I’d never heard of such a thing.

“It’s when the
 . . .
body
 . . .
gets made into ashes, instead of being buried in the ground,” she explained. “And he wanted his ashes scattered in the Savannah River, so that’s where they went.”

“Oh.” That was so strange, thinking of the dapper Mr. Swan being nowhere on this earth where anyone could go and visit him. But I did like the idea of his ashes going into the Savannah River.

That last week of summer,
Buzzard loaded us all into the car, but when I asked where we were going, she just shook her head and smiled. “You’ll see.” And that was all she would say. When we got to town, Buzzard parked the car in a shady spot, and we all got out. She took my elbow and guided me into a little department store, with Molly and Little Ellis trailing behind us.

“Those clothes you brought with you aren’t right for wearing to school,” she pronounced. “So let’s us find you some new things.”

“
Buy
clothes?” I couldn’t imagine such a thing. For as long as I could remember, I’d never had a dress bought right in a real store and with me being first-in-line for wearing it! But even though that thought was completely delicious, I couldn’t really comprehend it.

“Why, we can’t afford clothes that come from a
store
,” I sputtered, once again sounding like Aunt Bett. And suddenly, I wished Aunt Bett was there with me, to help me persuade Buzzard of the terrible expense
 . . .
the sheer folly
 . . .
of store-bought clothes.

“Well, you’re not going to school in outgrown clothes, Dove, and that’s all there is to it,” Buzzard fumed. “Do you want people to say bad things about the late Mr. Swan and about that sweet Miz Swan?”

“What?”

“We have to think of their reputations in this town,” Buzzard went on. “If you go around dressed like a ragamuffin, they’ll say Miz Swan isn’t doing right by Mr. Swan’s kin folk!”

“Oh.”

“When we’re out at the Swan Place, it doesn’t much matter how any of us dress, because we’re way out in the country,” Buzzard went on. “But haven’t you noticed that I make you all put on your Sunday clothes whenever we come to town?”

“Well, sure—but is that why?”

“It is, indeed,” Buzzard said. “Even before we went to the grocery store that very first time, I’d already thought about what I was going to tell folks, and that meant you all had to dress like children who had somebody fine—like Miz Swan—to care about them and take good care of them.”

“Oh.”

Well, Aunt Bett,
I was thinking,
I guess store-bought clothes is what it will have to be. For Miz Swan and what people think about her in this town.

And I’ll say one thing about Buzzard: She sure knew how to shop. It was just a little country town kind of department store, but she flew around, picking out this and that and the other—socks and skirts and blouses, underwear and sweaters, and just about everything you could think of. She kept saying things like “How about this blouse? You like it?” And “Do you like this sweater in blue or in green?” But I didn’t know what to say. All I knew was the skirts weren’t too short for me and nobody had ever before worn them! Oh, it did cost a lot of money! But Buzzard made out a check and she didn’t even bat an eyelid about it. And when we left that store, we were carrying three bags—my all-new clothes. Back home, she helped me hang all those beautiful new clothes in the closet, and she took my outgrown clothes off the hangers and folded them carefully.

“What are you going to do with the old things?” I asked her, suddenly aware that they should go back to Aunt Bett for passing down to her younger girls.

“I’ll just fold them up and put them in a box in the attic,” Buzzard said. “You all stay here long enough, maybe Molly can get some use out of them, one of these days.” So that felt fine to me. Aunt Bett would like it if Molly could use them too. But I sure wondered how Buzzard could think that we might have to stay long enough for Molly to grow that much!

Crystal was fretful
as the first day of school approached.

“You sure you don’t mind taking care of Molly and Little Ellis while Dove is at school?” she questioned Buzzard.

“Oh, they’re no trouble,” Buzzard assured her. “They’re just as good as gold.”

“If we were still at home, they could go to Aunt Bett’s until Dove gets off.”

“Well, I’ll just be their new Aunt Bett,” Buzzard said. And so it was all settled.

On that last night before school started, I woke up a couple of times and went to look in the closet, trying to decide what to wear the first day. But I couldn’t make up my mind until the next morning. And instead of me getting Molly and Little Ellis up, Buzzard did it herself, and while Crystal was getting dressed to go to work, I finally made my choice of clothes: a blue-and-green plaid skirt with a white blouse and a green sweater, even though the weather was still far too warm for me to need a sweater. It was pretty, and so I wore it. I had on brand-new socks, too, and Buzzard had polished my shoes so they looked real nice.

When I came out of the bathroom, Crystal was standing sideways at the dresser, looking into the mirror and running her hand over her stomach. She jumped when she saw me watching her.

“You look real pretty, Dove,” she said. “But I still hate Buzzard spending so much money on clothes. She probably doesn’t make much, being a maid.”

“I told you about Miz Swan’s reputation and how important it is to Buzzard,” I reminded Crystal. “So maybe there’s other money for doing something like that. An allowance or something.”

“Maybe.”

When Crystal and I got down to the kitchen, Molly and Little Ellis were already sitting at the table eating Buzzard’s good biscuits. They were wearing good clothes, and Buzzard herself was wearing a black dress and a hat.

She saw us staring at her.

“Well, what are you two looking at?” she asked.

“You’re so dressed up!” I said.

“We’re taking you to school this first morning,” Buzzard said. “Have to get you all registered properly. From then on, Crystal can drop you off in the mornings and you can ride the bus home, afternoons.”

“Oh.” And all of a sudden, I thought about my school records. I didn’t have them! They were still at my old school.

“What about my records?” I asked, glancing at Crystal.

But Buzzard answered for her. “I already thought about that, and I can get you into school without them. I figured you all wouldn’t have had time to get them or give them a school to forward them to. Besides, that would let somebody know for sure where you all ran off to.”

“How are you going to do it?” Crystal asked.

Buzzard smiled and sipped her coffee. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get it done.”

To me, she gave the now-familiar order: “No matter what I say, don’t you dispute it!”

“Yes’m.”

Molly, Little Ellis, Buzzard, and I
went driving off in Miz Swan’s big car, and when we got to the school, Buzzard adjusted her hat and checked her face in the rearview mirror. Then we all got out. Molly and Little Ellis held Buzzard’s hands and we walked up the walkway toward the big brick building. All around, children of all ages and sizes were running and playing around and finally going inside. Some girls about my age came by in a little clump, laughing and talking and waving their hands around. Made me think of the rich girls in my old school. But what a difference it was—because now, I had nice clothes and hand lotion for my elbows and knees, and even a little purse to hang from my shoulder, for carrying around my tissues and pencils. The girls glanced at me and then at each other, so I knew their mamas had told them that Mr. Swan’s great-niece was starting school and they were to be nice to me. They all smiled at me warmly and then passed on by.

When we got inside, Buzzard ushered us into the office, put Molly and Little Ellis in chairs, and told them to stay put. We approached the desk, where a harried-looking lady was trying to do paperwork and answer the phone, all at the same time. In the hallway a bell rang so loud that Buzzard and I both jumped. The woman didn’t seem to notice the bell at all. She just kept shuffling papers.

Buzzard cleared her throat, and the woman looked up at us.

“Yes?” she asked, pushing her glasses up on her nose.

“This is Miss Dove Johnson,” Buzzard said importantly. “She is the late Mr. Swan’s great-niece, and she will be going to school here until
 . . .
well, we aren’t sure.”

“Do you have her records?” the woman asked, opening a drawer and taking out a form.

“Her records have been lost,” Buzzard said simply.

“Lost?”

“Yes. They were lost while her parents were packing up for their extended stay in the Orient.”

That Buzzard!
I was thinking with admiration.

“Well, what was the name of her last school?”

Uh-oh!

Buzzard frowned for a moment.

“George Washington School.”

“Where?” the woman asked.

“Goodness, I don’t know,” Buzzard said. “Listen, I know we don’t have any records, but if you will just get one of the teachers to ask Dove a few questions, she will find out this young lady is very smart.”

Me? Smart? Me? A young lady?

“She writes stories almost all the time and figures her numbers well too. When we go to the grocery store, she can add up all our purchases right in her head, without even using a pencil and paper.”

“Well, it would be highly irregular for us to accept her without records,” the woman frowned.

“You can ask Miz White,” Buzzard retorted.

“Miz White? Miz White from the school board?” Her eyebrows shot up.

“Yes. Miz White has met Dove personally and said that the school would be honored
 . . .
” Buzzard repeated the word and emphasized it, “
honored
to have the great-niece of the late Mr. Swan attending this school.”

“Oh,” the woman behind the desk looked startled, but then she started filling out the form anyway. As she scribbled away furiously, Buzzard cut her eyes at me and slowly winked one of them.