Tender Graces (6 page)

“You saying I’m a fattie mae?”

“I’m saying you need to grow up and act like a woman instead of a little girl.”

It was quiet, like before a storm, when all the birds are hiding and the trees are waiting for the wind. Then we heard a crash, and then another. I opened the door to listen better. I was always too nosy for my own good.

“Vee, you crazy?” Micah grabbed Andy and they jumped in the closet. “Come get in here.”

I didn’t listen. I sneaked out just in time to see a plate barely miss Daddy. Then flew a cup and a saucer, a serving plate, and even the favorite carnival glass fruit bowl. I rooted to the spot as I watched Daddy duck glass bombs. He said, “Stop! Stop!”

Momma spewed out mixed up old words and new words and all in between, “Good fer nothin’ son a bitch’n bassurd! I don’ gotta stop nothin’.” She grabbed an empty bottle and threw it hard as she could. It whizzed by my head, missing me by two horse hairs. When I screamed, Momma saw me, and shouted, “Gawd dam-nit! Git inna room . . . git back for’n I git yor’n . . . you know’d bettern—
Git
!”

I ran and dived into the closet with my brothers. Andy snuffled. Micah threw his shoes against the wall. Their fuss went on until I went insane. The light from the keyhole hurt my eyes, so I closed them, pictured my mountain, higher and higher until it reached up to where Mee Maw said God is supposed to be. I rode Fionadala up and we sat in the clouds, the wind blew my hair all around. Everything was green and wild and quiet, even the birds hushed up. There was clean-smelling air and I barely heard the storm, far away, far away.

When tires threw rocks up against the house, I was back.

Momma hollered, “Don’ come back, inna ain’t waitin’ fer yew!”  There was bumping around, and her door slammed.

Micah counted to ten, slow, two times, before we piled out of the closet. He tiptoed out of his room to have a look-see. I held Andy’s hand. Micah came back to tell us the news, “Momma said she’s going to soak in the tub with coffee.”

We heard her go to the kitchen to boil water for her Maxwell House. It took her a long time since she had to think extra hard on things when she and the slap-happy sauce took up together.

“Is she almost done?” I whispered.

“I dunno,” Micah whispered back.

When we heard Momma shut the bathroom door, we sat and waited for the squeak of the tub faucet. Next, the thumping around to get a washrag, towel, and the Dove soap she kept secret for herself. The faucet squeaked off. We knew that squeak would go three times when she put in extra hot water. We knew after she pulled the plug to let the water glug out, she dried off hard, and then put on lotion and powder. That was Momma’s after-fight-gotta-get-the-loopy-out bath. Unless she went straight to bed with a sick headache.

The three of us walked through the house, our eyes bugging like frogs. There was broken glass, an empty bottle in the hall, a half-empty one under the coffee table, and the front door was wide open. I went to close it and saw Mrs. Mendel at the bottom of our steps holding a flashlight. “You chil’ren okay?” She looked at me as if I was an orphan left on the doorstep. I nodded and closed the door.

In the kitchen, the casserole was dumped out into the sink, pan and all. I tried to get it out so Momma and Daddy could have it later, but it was too nasty. Their whole Friday Night Supper Date was ruined. Micah and I cleaned up while Andy cried in the middle of the mess, holding on to his stuffed toy I’d named Fiddledeedee the Tiger.

Micah put the kettle on the fire. I made Momma’s favorite sandwich, peanut butter on one side, with slices of butter on the other. I wrapped it up in a clean dishrag and left it on the counter, with a glass of milk beside it. Daddy’s sandwich was peanut butter and the last of Grandma’s apple butter. I wrapped up his like I did Momma’s, and set it beside hers with another glass of milk.

Micah said, “That there milk will go spoilt.”

“Nuh uh.”

He looked at me as if I was a stupid mule, then he put Daddy’s milk in the ice-box.

Momma came in wearing her robe and slippers, hair up in a ponytail, with the end wet and dripping. She dabbed a towel at her face. “Whew Nelly, I’m almost human, but my head’s still loozy-woozy. I need more joe.”

Micah cut off the fire and picked up the kettle of boiling water careful as can be. “I made more coffee water, Momma.” He stirred her up a cup.

“And I made you and Daddy a sandwich,” I said. “For your supper date.”

She unwrapped the sandwich and while she ate it, she sniffled and hitched, like Andy. She poured the coffee into the glass of milk and drank it down. “That was the best supper I ever ate. And you tried to clean up the mess, my best babies. What would I do without you?” She kissed us, then made another cup of coffee, sipping it while she cleaned up the things we’d missed. “Your Daddy, Mr. ShakesPeck, ought to be here helping to clean up, seeing as it’s his fault!”

After she put on her housedress, she turned on the radio and sang along while drawing Andy a bath. Micah and I sat on the couch and waited for the next thing. When she came out with Andy wrapped in a towel, the front of her dress was wet and it made her look like a real good momma. Andy smiled big and goofy, smelling like her Dove soap.

After Micah and I finished our special Dove soap baths, Momma found some bluegrass and said, “Here’s to Mee Maw, may she lose her Texas talk-box in a yapping accident,” and then slapped her knee and laughed.

We kids laughed with her.

“I’m near starving, kids.” She ran to the kitchen, came back with a plate of sugar cookies, set those on the coffee table, and skipped back in the kitchen like a little girl, except one with lots of booze in her. She next came back with four glasses of cold sweet milk on a tray. We sat on the floor and ate and drank. It was just on the other side of happy.

Daddy wasn’t there to see Momma laughing with crumbs sticking to her face just like ours. Micah’s eyes had a shiny-feeling-happy-about-things look. Andy looked at Momma like little boys look at their mommas. Sometimes she just did that to us, made us forget how things were before and go straight to what was happening then. Later, Momma tucked us in bed like a dream.

The wind blew cool in my window and my good mountain was strong and black against the sky, like it was watching out for me. When Daddy’s shoes finally hit the floor, my body let go of the tight I’d been holding. He passed my door; I called out to him real soft so nobody else could hear, especially Momma.

He came in and sat on the side of my bed. “What are you doing awake, Bitty Bug?”

I sniffed him, missing the Old Spice and warm cotton. His white shirt had blood on it and that made me sad.

He tucked the quilt around me. “Remember who made this quilt?” He smoothed down the squares.

“Grandma Faith?”

“That’s right. She made it with her own two hands. She’d be so proud of how you’ve grown.”

“Momma said . . . ”

“It doesn’t matter what Momma said about Grandma. She was a good woman. One of the best.” Daddy’s voice was soft, same as his face.

“How come she was good?”

“Your grandma worked hard every day and she loved her children, and you grandchildren. She loved Shakespeare’s words, like me.”

“She did?”

“Yep.” Daddy touched the tip of my nose.

“What else about Grandma?”

“Well, she knew all about plants, trees, and birds. She could sew and make the best apple butter.”

“Why’d she burn herself up?”

“Oh Bug, that’s a grown-up question.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It was an accident, or something. She wouldn’t ever do that to her children. Now, no more questions.”

I snuggled under the quilt, wishing Grandma were around so I could show her to Daddy.

“Go to sleep or you’ll turn into a warty toady-frog, froggy croaking the rest of your life so that nobody understands a word you say.”

“That’s silly.”

He laughed warm as fuzzy socks, then said, “I’ll read
Romeo and Juliet
to you tomorrow night, okay?”

It didn’t matter if he didn’t remember, right then it was like only the two of us lived there.

He stared out of my window. “I don’t want you to feel afraid, no matter what happens.”

I snuggled deeper.

“Your momma and I, we just . . . ” His whole face turned down in a frown. “I promise to do better so you won’t have to hear the arguing, okay?”

I nodded.

He stood up. “Goodnight, sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

I fell asleep and dreamed I was a princess and Daddy a king. I didn’t know where Momma went off to.

A week later he broke his promise when he said he’d be home early so we could eat together. Momma fixed herself a drink while we kids ate our macaroni and cheese with hot dogs. She had another while we ate ice cream. She sipped another when his headlights finally glowed down the road.

When he came into the kitchen, Momma said, “I’m glad you finally made it home, Frederick.”

“I’m sure you are, Katie.”

“You promised the kids you’d be early.”

“I was stuck with a problem.”

“Oh, sure, I get it.”

“No, you don’t, because you don’t work, now do you?”

Momma’s lips pressed so when she talked, they hardly moved. “Kids, go on to your rooms and play.”

My brothers did as they were told, but I ran to watch television. Lassie barked at Timmy, trying to tell him another collie killed some chickens and a cat, not her. I loved Lassie. I had a want the size of West Virginia to put my arms around her furry neck and hug the soft while Lassie sat beside me all proud and sweet. In television, everything worked out dandy. I felt warm goodies in my stomach while Timmy’s mother hugged Lassie, and then Timmy.

She was telling Timmy something sweet, but what came out of her mouth was Momma’s voice hollering, “ . . . then why do you smell like a woman?”

“You’re imagining things.”

“Uh huh. And am I imagining you coming home late more here lately? Am I imagining that cheap perfume I wouldn’t wear? I reckon I’m not.”

Daddy stomped into the living room. “Go to your room, Bug.
Right now
.”

I ran to my room, jumped on my bed, and buried my face in Grandma Faith’s quilt. Momma and Daddy took their fussing into their bedroom, slamming the door, like that would keep us from hearing.

My brothers came into my bedroom, which wasn’t like a real bedroom with a regular closet, but had a cedar robe and a fancy ceiling light I was proud to have like nobody else. The old woman before us called it a parlor for her teas nobody came to.

Andy had tears and snot running. Micah had him by the hand, talking about the Wild Wild West Out Yonder and how much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood—that usually made Andy laugh. He plopped Andy next to me. I wiped Andy’s face with the bottom of his shirt.

Micah asked,  “How’s about some Kool-Aid and crackers?”

Andy nodded fast.

Micah opened the door, looked out, and made a face. “Momma and Daddy are in their room wrestling again.”

Micah got our snack; we settled on my quilt to eat. Nothing was better than a picnic in the middle of the bed. I thought those were the good days, even with all the fussing. We chewed our crackers and drank the last of the Kool-Aid. The soft noises in the bedroom down the hall stopped and everything was quiet.

Chapter 5

Mysterious ways

1964

I’d never been inside a church, not even at Christmas when Mee Maw said she went to sing happy birthday to Jesus. She sent us kids a picture-book Bible with Jesus, Jesus’ momma, and other people standing around with halos on their heads. It had Jesus hung up on the cross looking so pitiful and sad. I didn’t understand why Jesus’ Daddy wanted him up there. The stories were interesting, but God sounded ornery and was likely to smite anyone for any little thing. I liked Jesus better than God because he was a kind man and almost as handsome as my daddy.

Momma said God never did anyone any good and to believe it was a waste of time. It didn’t stop Mee Maw from calling to screech over some fellow named Satan. Momma said, “Mee Maw’s afraid that instead of sliding into heaven on a beam of light, she’ll be riding down on Satan’s coattails.”

A fancy new dress changed Momma’s mind about getting religion. Momma held the dress in front of her, smiling so wide I thought her lips would stretch out of place. She said, “We’re going to church!”

The rest of us stared at her, too dumbed up to say anything.

“What’s wrong? Cat got your tongues?”

“What brought this on, Katie?” Daddy asked.

“I want to show off my beautiful new dress to lots of people and church seems as good a place as any.” She twirled around pretending she already wore the dress and knew she looked pretty in it.

“Buster said church is boring,” Micah said. He had peanut butter stuck on his face. “He said they try to drown you in front of the whole church unless you say you love Jesus.” Buster was Micah’s best friend who lived down the long road a fair piece.

“Nuh uh. You lie,” I said.

“I love Uncle Jesus,” Andy said.

“Hush it, you kids.” Momma pulled her I’m-thinking-about-things-so-be-quiet look while the rest of us admired her still holding the dress against herself. “There’s a Baptist church in town. And being Easter next Sunday, it ought to be packed full up.”

Daddy raised up an eyebrow. “As long as our priorities are clear. Right, dear?”

Momma twirled around again and paid no mind to Daddy.