Beholding Bee (19 page)

My head spins. My heart whirls. I say it again. “My mother lived here?”

“Well, yes, dear. Of course she did. Sweetheart, are you all right? You look a little pale.”

In this house that I picked out myself, the birthday cake house with the frosting dripping off and all the protection? My mama lived here?

I try to hold myself together before all my pieces slip apart. I breathe slowly and listen to my mind try to explain things to me.

Ruth Ellen’s mama feels my forehead to see if I have a fever. “Didn’t your aunts tell you all this? I know you were young when your mother and father died, but didn’t anyone tell you these things?”

I shake my head.

“Pleeease.” Ruth Ellen interrupts. “You promised me I could come over. I want to see the inside.”

“You have to let us in,” says Sammy, who is already turning the knob and opening the door.

I hop up and rush to stop him, but I am weak from all my parts falling on the ground. Before I can count to three they step inside, and I don’t see any way out of it without being rude.

“Oh, it looks just the same. Look at that staircase.
Bernadette’s room was up there, the most beautiful bedroom I have ever seen.” Ruth Ellen’s mama goes over and puts her hand on the rail. Sammy is already running up the stairs.

“Wouldn’t you like to wait in here?” I say quickly, telling Sammy to get down here and shooing everyone to the parlor and showing them where to sit. I point out how the little lace runners are for keeping your head off the upholstery.

“Would you like some tea? And some honey cake? I made it myself.”

“I love cake,” says Sammy, jumping off the sofa, and Peabody jumps down with him.

“You wait here,” I say sternly. “I will bring everything out.”

Then I go out and get the tea ready and cut fat pieces of honey cake, wishing I didn’t have to keep my aunts secret. “Would you like some cake?” I whisper, but Mrs. Swift and Mrs. Potter are so quiet you would think I live alone.

“You do your shopping yourself?” Ruth Ellen’s mama asks when I carry everything in on the same tray I used for Mrs. Marsh. “You do all the cooking? And the cleaning? And get your own ration stamps?”

“I don’t use sugar,” I whisper.

Ruth Ellen’s mama looks slowly over at Ruth Ellen. I start to feel a little self-conscious. I pull my hair down and look in my teacup.

Generally, it is not good to feel sorry for yourself. You can get in a pickle that lasts for days. I make myself stand up. “Well, would you like to see the rest of the house?”

“Oh yes,” says Ruth Ellen.

First because it is so impressive, and because I am not
sure how Ruth Ellen’s leg will do on the steep stairs, I show them the library.

“Some terrible things have been written about my aunt so she is correcting that. She’s writing her autobiography.”

Ruth Ellen’s mama walks over to the desk and looks through the papers and at the pen and the inkpot.

She picks up one of the books on the desk. “Why, these are all biographies of Abigail Swift.”

“Yes, my aunt.”

“Your aunt is Abigail Swift? The aunt you live with now?” She waits for me to answer but I am getting a little worried about how things are going. Peabody is flopped on Mrs. Potter’s sofa watching us. He is wondering how things will turn out, too.

Ruth Ellen skip-hops over to look at the papers on the desk. Her mama flips through the book. “Why, Bee, Abigail Swift would be one hundred and twenty-five years old! Surely this cannot be your aunt. This is Abigail Swift, the famous abolitionist and suffragist.”

“Yes,” I say, fumbling with my words. I can tell Ruth Ellen’s mama thinks I am making everything up.

She puts the book gently on the desk. She reaches for my shoulder and rubs it while I am fighting back tears. “Why don’t you come home with us, Bee? You could stay with us for a while.”

I back up and scoop up Peabody. I want my bed upstairs. I want to hide under my blankets and make Peabody hide with me. I want all the thoughts rolling in my head to go away. I shake my head.

“My aunts would wonder where I am. Besides, Peabody wouldn’t want me gone. And I have to take care of Cordelia.”

83

That night Pauline’s notebook is sitting on my pillow. This time I don’t stuff it under my mattress. I open to the first page:

Little Bee is sleeping. I will keep a journal of her days because no one kept one for me
.

And on the second page:

We stop at a diner in Plymouth and Bee eats French toast for the first time. She has been smiling all day
.

On day three:

I bought Bee a book at Woolworth’s. I set up a milk crate and she is sitting on it, asking me, “What’s that, what’s that?” I am waiting on folks and grilling up hot dogs and answering what’s that, what’s that, and I am a little sorry I bought her that book
.

I throw the journal across the room.

How could she leave me?

Peabody pushes my door open and comes in and jumps up on my bed when he hears me crying. He circles until he finds just the right spot near my belly. He whines when I cry, so I make myself stop so we can both fall asleep.

The next morning, the notebook is back on my bed.

I throw it across the room.

I hurry downstairs and find Mrs. Potter and Mrs. Swift in the kitchen talking quietly.

“I want you to tell me about my mama,” I say, sitting
down beside them. “And I want you to tell me who you are and why only I can see you.”

Mrs. Potter opens her mouth but Mrs. Swift waves her hand and shakes her head slowly. Mrs. Potter closes her mouth.

“Not now, Beatrice. Later, when we are rested.”

Already their edges are beginning to blur, like the wind is blowing awful hard. I pack my school lunch and do not bother to cut them cake. They wouldn’t eat it anyway.

84

At school, we are greeted with an empty teacher’s desk. There are no knitting needles and no baby blanket.

We are like this for the whole day, with the lady in the half-moon glasses coming in to check on us and teachers up and down the hall taking turns. None of the teachers stay very long and no one tells us anything.

Left to ourselves, we read
Heidi
. Jonathan gets the blanket from the corner where the janitor leaves it all folded up now. He spreads it out and then we all pile on top, giving Ruth Ellen lots of room for her brace. We are past the part where the little bundled-up girl meets her crabby grandfather who no one likes very much.

Susan does not understand all the words, but my voice settles her down and she loves to lie snuggled up to Ruth Ellen. Even Robert and Thomas like the book. I can tell because when I say I am so parched I am sounding like a frog, Robert is the first one to the pitcher getting me a drink of water.

But on Monday everything is different when we walk into class.

White ruffled curtains hang in the windows. The glass has been polished. Best of all, soft music is playing on the Victrola.

I look over at Ruth Ellen. Her mouth drops open. Jonathan rushes right over to the Victrola.

A tall woman stands up from the rocking chair. Her back is as straight as the map pointer she holds at her side. Her hair is piled on top of her head and her glasses are perched on her nose. Instantly everyone is quiet. Susan hides behind Ruth Ellen and the rest of us are starched shirts, folding all the noisy pieces of ourselves into place.

“I am your new teacher, Miss Healy. Please take your seats.” The woman pronounces every word like she has read the dictionary many times. She does not raise her voice and she does not smile.

We rush to our seats.

“Slowly, slowly. I do not allow running.” She moves over to her desk. It is covered with books. Our
Heidi
sits on top.

“I do not allow whispering or chewing on your hair or any shenanigans whatsoever. There will be no talking when you are doing seat work. Children will sit at their tables until it is time for recess. We will have three recesses a day because children need a lot of fresh air. We will eat our lunch outdoors when the weather is promising.”

I look over at Ruth Ellen, raising my eyebrows. “Three recesses?” I whisper.

“Young lady?” It seems Miss Healy has ears on the back of her shoes. Otherwise, how does she know I am whispering when she is looking over at Jonathan?

I shiver.

“I do not like secrets. Do you have something to share?”

I shake my head quickly.

“No, ma’am,” I whisper.

85

It takes us about two minutes to realize Miss Healy does not knit and does not do anything like Mrs. Spriggs. First of all Miss Healy has very definite ideas of what we should be doing with our time and she walks around and around the class making sure we are doing it. I bet she walks a mile before lunch.

She stops by Susan many, many times. Susan is having trouble staying in her seat, which is no surprise to me or Ruth Ellen or anybody else, but it takes Miss Healy a few minutes to catch on.

“Perhaps you’d like the rocking chair?” she asks finally, and Susan flies over and spends the rest of the morning rocking and looking through the fat Sears catalog Miss Healy brought to class. “What do you see, Susan?”

Susan keeps climbing off the rocking chair and plods off to be near Ruth Ellen, but Miss Healy reminds her that Ruth Ellen is busy with her own work and perhaps Susan can find a picture of a boot. After that she looks for a rain slicker and then a hat.

“Very good, Susan. That is very, very good.” Miss Healy gives her a chunk of soft banana and a big hug. Susan stuffs it into her mouth and looks happily into Miss Healy’s eyes. “I lub you.” Miss Healy smiles softly, clears her throat, and walks over to see what Jonathan is doing.

He is looking out the window at the leaves on the maples
that are now golden. He nods his head to the Glenn Miller music that is playing softly.

He has not run around the room once. He hasn’t looked in the trash bucket, either.

Miss Healy rubs Jonathan’s back. “Do you like that music, Jonathan?” He nods. “Why don’t you draw me a picture of what that music feels like? Can you do that for me?”

She puts a fresh piece of starched paper in front of him, and a brand-new box of crayons. Jonathan dumps the crayons out and looks at them for a while. Ruth Ellen and I are holding our breath, the crayons are so new and perfect.

86

When Ruth Ellen and I come outdoors for recess, Francine and her friends are standing where we always stand, up against the building. I think they want a good look at our new teacher.

“Hey!” says Jonathan. “Why are you in our place?”

We all watch Francine to see what she will say. She is wearing the same dress from her papa. All I can think about is how I spit on her the last time I saw her. And now I know about how her papa ran off with that showgirl.

Francine takes a step closer and points her finger at my chest. “You spit on me again and I’ll make you eat the dirt you play on, you little retard.” She pushes me. “Maybe I’ll do it anyway.” She laughs and then her friends pull her away before Miss Healy sees anything and they run off for games no one asks us to join.

Miss Healy pulls her skirt up past her knees and runs back and forth from the building to the broken basketball hoop. She is out of breath when she gets back and her face is very red, but she turns around and runs again and again. It is rather funny to see a teacher run. She bounces a lot, and she gallops. It is surely something we have never seen before.

Ruth Ellen and I try not to laugh at the way Miss Healy looks sort of like an old horse. Susan holds on to Ruth Ellen because she didn’t have enough hugging while she was sitting in the rocking chair. Thomas and Robert crawl around
the stone foundation of the schoolhouse. Jonathan kicks a puddle, splashing mud up on his pants.

Miss Healy stops in front of us and lets her skirt fall back to her shins and she pants for a while to catch her breath. “Why are you just standing here?”

Susan wraps herself around Ruth Ellen’s arm. There is a bunch of screaming over by the hopscotch because Francine must have won the game. Miss Healy is waiting for an answer.

“We aren’t supposed to mix,” I say finally, my cheeks hot because I have to say it out loud.

Miss Healy stands there looking at me, all out of breath from her running, and I feel a little hot under her glare.

“Phooey,” she says finally. “This playground is for everyone. Now, go play.”

Holy moly. We watch her lift her skirt to her knees and run off for the basketball hoop again.

87

Robert wants to know if I can keep reading.

Miss Healy looks out at the class, with everyone looking all happy with the prospect.

“Well, certainly. After all that fresh air, a book would be wonderful.”

Before she has a chance to say anything else, Robert is up getting
Heidi
off her desk and Thomas is unfolding the blanket and spreading it on the floor. Susan is grabbing Ruth Ellen’s hand, pulling her over, and then we all pile around each other and Robert is handing me the book.

“Where were we?” I ask, testing them to see if they were listening.

“Heidi is all alone with the mean grandfather,” Thomas says.

Jonathan is nodding. Susan snuggles up to Ruth Ellen.

“Okay,” I say, taking a big breath:

“ ‘Where am I going to sleep, grandfather?’

“ ‘Wherever you want to,’ he replied. That suited Heidi exactly. She peeped into all the corners of the room and looked at every little nook to find a cosy place to sleep. Beside the old man’s bed she saw a ladder. Climbing up, she arrived at a hayloft, which was filled with fresh and fragrant hay. Through a tiny round window she could look far down into the valley. ‘I want to sleep up here,’ Heidi called down.
‘Oh, it is lovely here. Please come up, grandfather, and see it for yourself.’ ”

While I am reading, Miss Healy drags the rocking chair over and sits beside us. She begins winding Mrs. Spriggs’s bits of yarn into a ball. I don’t let myself get too interrupted because I am reading about Heidi’s new bedroom. I know how important it is to have a bedroom that helps you feel good about things.