The Book of Bright Ideas (21 page)

Winnalee's eyes were already leaking, but when she realized that Aunt Verdella wasn't going to change her mind, big tears started rolling down her apple cheeks. One fell right on her ma's jar and slipped down the side. I felt like crying too. I knew why Aunt Verdella didn't change her mind, but at that minute I wanted her to.

Uncle Rudy came out of the house then, the screen door slamming behind him. He had a toothpick sticking out of the side of his mouth. He watched Winnalee walking toward home.

“Oh, Rudy. She feels so bad not being able to go with us. But how can I take her? It would ruin the surprise. And like Jewel said, it would be better with just one, since Winnalee is bound to get restless on such a long trip.”

“She'll be fine, Verdie.”

Uncle Rudy opened the car door and yanked the lever to open the hood. “I'm gonna check the oil before you go,” he said.

“Rudy, you checked it yesterday!” Aunt Verdella shook her head.

“I wish you were waiting until I could drive you over there, Verdie. You sure you can't wait just three, four more days?”

“Oh, Rudy. We've waited long enough! And we'll be fine.”

“You got the map I marked for you?” he asked, as he wiped the long dipper stick clean with an old rag he took from his back pocket.

“I got the map. Button's gonna help me navigate. And if I get lost, I'll just stop and ask somebody.”

“I remember what you said, Uncle Rudy,” I told him. “We take Highway 8 west for about four hours. Then we're gonna come to Minnesota and cross the St. Croix River at St. Croix Falls. And once we cross the river, we're gonna run into Highway 85—no, Highway 95, and then go on Highway 23, which comes like a split in the road. Then we're gonna drive about fifty miles.”

“Well, what on earth was I worrying about, with this little smarty going along,” he said.

“Wait,” I said. “And I remember this part too. We're supposed to stop at that Barren town, and at St. Croix Falls to get gas on the way there and the way back. I remember how it looks on the map too.”

Uncle Rudy was so proud of me for remembering everything he said that he gave me a teeth-speckled-with-snuff smile. And after he slipped the dipper stick back in the car and slammed the hood down, he patted my head at least ten extra times.

“You drive carefully now, Verdie. And you call Jewel at work, or at home, if there's any problems.”

“There's not gonna be any problems,” Aunt Verdella said. “Now, give me a hug good-bye and stop that fussin'. And your food is in the roaster in the fridge. You have sandwiches for lunch today and tomorrow and the pot roast and vegetables in the roaster for supper tonight, and for tomorrow night if you're hungry before I get home. I put heating instructions on the fridge door. And there's ice cream in the freezer for your pie too.”

“Hear that, Knucklehead?” he said. “We're gonna eat like kings.”

“Rudy Peters, don't you dare let that dog eat out of my dishes. You hear?”

Aunt Verdella grabbed him and gave him about a million kisses and then a big squeeze. Uncle Rudy opened her door and patted my shoulder as I climbed in. Then he picked up Aunt Verdella's suitcase and put it into the backseat. “You have the phone number of the funeral home that's going to make the arrangements, Verdie?” he asked.

“It's right here,” Aunt Verdella said, patting her purse. “I swear, Rudy, you're soundin' just like me now!” She ha-ha-ed.

I scooted over to make room for Aunt Verdella. Uncle Rudy shut her door, then patted the hood of the car. He stepped back and started waving us on, like he always did when Aunt Verdella backed out.

“Stop! Wait!” came Winnalee's voice, then Uncle Rudy's, saying the same thing.

Aunt Verdella started shaking when she saw Winnalee's face right outside her side window.

“Honey, never, ever run up to a moving car like that. Oh good Lord, you scared Auntie about half to death!” Aunt Verdella dabbed at the little dots of scared that suddenly wet the skin above her lip.

“Sorry,” Winnalee said. “But I wanted to give Button this.” She slipped our book out from her rope belt and poked it through the car window.

“Why you want me to take it along?” I asked.

“Because when you go places, you find lots of bright ideas. If we don't get busy, we'll never reach one hundred by the time summer's over.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Once Aunt Verdella got the car twisted onto Peters Road, we waved to Uncle Rudy and Winnalee, who stood in the yard waving back at us, Uncle Rudy's arm on Winnalee's shoulder.

“Oh, I'm so glad she got done cryin'. I couldn't bear the thought of keeping that sad face in my mind all the way there and back. But you just wait, Button. When we come back and tell that little girl what we've done, she's gonna be so happy that she'll forget all about how sad she was when we left.”

I tucked the book on the seat between us and unwrapped the map and laid it across my legs. I traced the route with my finger, paying special attention to the numbers alongside of the lines that drawed the roads. Uncle Rudy told me that while we were driving, I'd see those same numbers on the road signs, and I was to help Aunt Verdella look for them.

It was a hot, sunny day, so we drove with our windows rolled down and let the wind swirl inside. I folded the map, which flapped from the wind, and tucked it under my leg. Once we left Dauber, Aunt Verdella said that we'd be driving on that same highway a long time, so I didn't need to keep watching the map. Then Aunt Verdella and I munched cookies and sang “You Are My Sunshine,” about twenty times, because that was her favorite song. After we stopped singing it, Aunt Verdella reached over and patted my bare knee. “You're my little sunshine,” she said. And I told her, “You're my big sunshine. And Winnalee is my little sunshine.”

While we drove down long stretches of county roads to get to the highway, there was nothing to see but more of what we had at home, trees and brush and high-line wires, so I waited for us to get close to a new town, because I liked that the best. I liked looking at the houses that started near towns. Some old and crumpled, some medium, with bikes out front and gardens off to the side, and some brand-new. I liked looking at them all, but I liked the old houses best. I liked wondering what they must have looked like when they were new, and I liked thinking about all the old-fashioned people who once lived in them. I liked wondering if they were happy people, or sad people, or somewhere in between. And I liked thinking about what kinds of things happened to them. So while Aunt Verdella chattered about this and that, I listened to her with my big ears and I watched for the old houses, with eyes that Freeda said were pretty.

When I thought of a bright idea, Aunt Verdella said I could dig in her purse for a pen, and I did. Then I wrote,
Bright Idea #96: When you go on a trip to buy a special surprise for your best friend, sing “You Are My Sunshine” and think of all the big people and the little people who are your sunshines. Then look at the old houses you pass, and think about the people who lived in them, and hope that they were somebody's sunshine too.

19

Aunt Verdella did fine until we got to the highway, then she sat at the stop sign at the end of the county road, staring out at the highway for so long that the car got oven-hot. I watched her from the corner of my eye. Her face was wet, the curls over her forehead clinging to her extra-pale skin. I could see a little shake in her hands, which were wrapped tight around the steering wheel. When her breaths started coming fast and hard, she fumbled for the door handle and got out of the car, leaving it running.

I got up on my knees and watched her go around to the back of the car. She was taking quick steps from side to side, one hand on her chest and the other on her forehead. She looked downright sick. I waited until she got still, then I got out of the car. Another car zoomed past on the highway, blowing a wind on me. I hurried to Aunt Verdella and asked her if she was okay. She had tears streaming down her face as she lifted her head and looked at me. “I'll be fine in a minute,” she said, then she told me to get back in the car and that she'd join me in a little while.

Once in the car, Aunt Verdella slammed the door shut and dabbed at her wet eyes. She glanced in her rearview mirror. “I'm sorry about this, Button.” She blew out hard, then took a jagged breath. “It's hard to explain, honey, but today is a very big day for Auntie. Like Freeda said, this drive will bring me my redemption.” I wanted to ask her what
redemption
meant, but I didn't want to bother her, because I could tell by the way she was staring hard at nothing that her mind was busy.

She looked down the highway in the direction we needed to turn and took another breath, this one not sounding nearly as ragged. “All these years, since that horrible accident, I've been wrapped up in trying to find forgiveness. From God, from the family I hurt…Then, when Freeda came over to wish me well on my trip to my friend's house—because that's where she believes we're going too, of course—she told me that the only one who needs to forgive me at this point is me. And she said something else too. She said that when we can't find forgiveness for ourselves, or for somebody else, then we should just settle for acceptance. She said what happened, happened, and if I could just accept it and stop dwellin' on the ‘if only's, forgiveness for myself would come in time.” Aunt Verdella laughed a tiny bit. “That girl. Only in her mid-twenties, but already wiser than most.”

Aunt Verdella took her hands off of the steering wheel and wiggled her fingers. She took another big breath, this one softer and steadier. “There, now let's get movin'. I think I'm ready now.” I didn't know what to say to her, so all I said was, “I love you, Aunt Verdella.” This made fresh tears come to her eyes, but happy tears this time.

 

We stopped at a town called Barren to buy gas, just like we were supposed to, and we bought potato chips and Hershey bars with almonds and a couple of root beers. “We'd best not drink our soda pop right now, Button. Lord knows if there's another restroom between here and St. Croix Falls.” Aunt Verdella sure was proud when she told the gas station guy how her and her niece were traveling all the way to Hopested to buy a plot and a gravestone for our little friend and how it was her first long car trip in years. “We're doing good too. Aren't we, Button?” I nodded, but the man didn't watch me nod. I don't think he cared if we were doing good on our trip or not.

When we got to St. Croix Falls, we stopped again, just like Uncle Rudy told us to, and we got gas and more potato chips and candy bars. Aunt Verdella looked a bit tired, and when she got out of the car, she walked as stiff as the Tin Man. She was happy though. She smiled the whole time she told the lady behind the counter at that gas station all about our trip too. The lady smiled back and told her that it sure was nice, what we were doing for our little friend.

It was about noon when we came to the sign on Highway 23 that said
Hopested
. Aunt Verdella laughed and shouted real loud, “Hopested, Minnesota. Population two thousand six hundred. We made it, Button! We did it!”

Hopested looked a lot like Dauber, with just one street for the stores and the few other streets for houses. Aunt Verdella drove us down Main Street till we saw a diner, then she parked the car. It took her four tries to line the Bel Air up with the curb, and when we got out of the car, she walked to the sidewalk and looked at the space between the curb and the Bel Air and said, “Well, a horse could probably fit into that space, but the street's wide, so I think it will be okay.”

It was a real nice little diner, all decorated in red and white checkers, with a nice waitress who was almost as pretty as Freeda. She brought us each a hamburger and french fries, and two root beers that Aunt Verdella said we could drink now because the restroom was right there if we needed it.

“Miss,” Aunt Verdella said when she paid our bill, “can you tell me where to find Hamilton's Funeral Home? We came to order a plot and gravestone for a little friend of ours. Well, not for her, but for her mama. Mr. Hamilton told me on the phone that I could order them right through his establishment, but, silly me, I forgot to ask exactly where he's located.”

The pretty waitress stopped chewing her gum and said, “Sure. You just keep going here on Lincoln to the second stop sign, and then turn right. It's two blocks down on your left. It looks like a big white house. Three stories high. You'll see the sign propped on the lawn.”

“Thank you, honey,” Aunt Verdella said.

“Sure.” The lady slid coins out from the register and counted them out in Aunt Verdella's hand. “And I'm sorry about you having to buy such things for your little friend's mother.”

“Oh, no need to be sorry, honey. It's a good thing that we're buyin' them. Now she won't have to carry her ma around in a jar anymore.” The lady gave Aunt Verdella one of those funny looks that means, “Wow, did you just say something kooky.” Aunt Verdella put her change back into her purse and said, “You have a nice day, now, honey. And thank you for the real good service.”

There was only one car in front of the big white house, so it didn't take Aunt Verdella long to park. As she reached for her purse, I looked up at the place, which was almost as pretty as the house Scarlett O'Hara lived in. I bit the inside of my cheek though, thinking about dead people being in there. Tommy told me once about funeral places. How they slap dead people on a concrete slab, point them upside down, and cut their armpits to drain out their blood. Then he told me how they put marbles where their eyeballs should be and stitch them shut so nobody could see that their eyes are gone. The whole idea of people laying in there with marbles for eyes and cut armpits made my stomach feel sick.

“What's the matter, honey?” Aunt Verdella said. “You're making those noises in your throat again. You scared?”

I couldn't lie. Not with my throat going nuts like it was. I nodded, then I told her that I didn't want to see dead people.

She reached over and petted my hair. “You don't have to be afraid, honey. We aren't going into the funeral part. Look. See that back door there? See the sign above it? Mr. Hamilton's wife sells the plots and gravestones out of that office right there. That's where we're going.” I sure was happy to hear that.

I walked real fast down the sidewalk to get past the other part of the building, and I held my breath, in case Mr. Hamilton just carried a dead person inside and there were dead people's germs still floating in the air.

The lady inside was little and had a bump on her back. Her hair was sprayed stiff to her head, and it was a bluish color, like her dress. “Can I help you?” she said. She wore big, thick glasses that made her eyes look like marbles too, under a magnifying glass.

Aunt Verdella started telling her the whole story then. How this beautiful young woman and her little sister came into Dauber, the little girl carrying an urn with her ma inside. “It was the saddest thing I'd ever seen,” Aunt Verdella said. “That child carries her ma with her everywhere she goes. She talks to her too. And she told Button here that when she grows up she's gonna buy her ma a final restin' place. Well, Tommy—that's my husband's farmhand—he accidentally knocked over the urn. That poor child was hysterical! That's when I decided to skip buying the color television set I was saving for and buy her mother a plot and a stone instead.

“Anyway, the woman lived right here in Hopested, ma'am, so I thought it would be a good idea to have her final restin' place be here. I know the dead woman has a sister and a brother living here, so it would be nice for them too. I ain't got much, mind you, but Mr. Parkins—the funeral director back in Dauber—he gave me a price quote on what both would cost in Dauber, and he figured it'll run about the same here.”

While Aunt Verdella was talking, the lady's stiff hand kept spreading out toward the two fancy chairs facing the front of her desk, which meant we should sit down. Aunt Verdella didn't seem to notice though, so the lady waited for Aunt Verdella to take a breath, then she told us to have a seat.

Once we sat down, the lady with the marble eyes—who said her name was Mrs. Hamilton—brought a couple big books to the desk and opened them. “Here we have our stones,” she said.

“We want a white one. A pretty one. Not too expensive, like I said. And do you think we could have an etchin' of a little fairy cut into it?”

“A fairy?”

“Yeah. A fairy.”

“Well, I suppose so. I imagine you'd need a picture for them to go by, but we'll see what we can do.”

Aunt Verdella scooted the book over a bit so I could see, then she turned page after plastic-coated page, while she asked the cost on this gravestone and that one. I swore we were gonna be there for a hundred years till Aunt Verdella found a nice one we could afford. I about sighed out loud when she finally said, “This one. Yep, that's the one we want, ain't it, Button?”

Then the lady started talking about plots. “Golden Gate Cemetery is just at the edge of town,” she said. “It's a lovely place. The plots all run about the same price, of course, but—”

“Oh. We have to have a plot next to a tree. I don't suppose you have apple trees there, but, boy, wouldn't that be nice, Button? If not, then of course any tree will do.”

“There's a few trees, ma'am. And also some pretty lilac bushes. Perhaps we could find a plot next to one of those?”

“Oh, that would be wonderful!”

We were there a long, long time before it looked like we were gonna get any closer to being done with our business. And the longer it took, the more I thought about the dead people laying in the rooms just past the double doors behind Mrs. Hamilton. Tommy had said that some dead people turn into zombies. Out the window, I saw a man in a suit go down the steps and cross the street. He sorta looked like a zombie to me.

Aunt Verdella stopped talking right in the middle of a sentence and looked down at me. “Button, what's the matter? You have to tinkle?”

“There's a restroom just through these doors, down the hall and to your left,” the blue-haired lady said. I shook my head fast. “No, I don't have to go.”

The lady got out some forms. She asked Aunt Verdella for her name and her address first. Aunt Verdella recited them, spelling out Verdella, since the lady didn't know how to write it. Before Mrs. Hamilton could even ask another question, Aunt Verdella was talking about something else. Telling the lady how we were gonna need a minister to come say a few final words on the day the ashes got buried.

“I'm sure that can be arranged. Now, I need the deceased woman's name, the year of her birth and death, and any verse you'd like on the stone.”

“Oh dear. I didn't think of what we might like written on it.” Aunt Verdella dug in her purse until she found an envelope, then put it down on the lady's desk, scribbled side up. She turned to me. “What do you think, Button? Course, a verse will probably cost extra.”

The woman picked up the envelope. She stared at it, her eyes stretching wide, then shrinking small, making it look like the lenses of her glasses were made from fun-house mirrors.

“Oh, can't you make out the name? I'm sorry. I don't have much for penmanship. It's Hannah Malone. Hannah, H-a-n-n-a-h, Malone, M-a-l-o-n-e. And I know that's the correct spelling too, because Winnalee—that's the woman's daughter—she's a real smart little girl, just like Button here, and she spelled the first name out for me. And I'm sure on the last name. Anyway, the dates are—”

Aunt Verdella didn't have time to finish giving the lady the dates, because Mrs. Hamilton looked up and said, “Excuse me. Did you say the child's name is Winnalee?”

“Yes, Winnalee Malone. She's the deceased woman's daughter. Her and her big sister, Freeda, moved into Dauber—that's where Button and I live. Anyway—”

“Excuse me a minute, please. Excuse me.” Mrs. Hamilton hurried out of the double doors, closing them behind her (which I was glad about, because I didn't want to see no dead people with bloody armpits, or any zombies).