Beholding Bee (23 page)

I breathe deeply and hold the picture tight.

“I was just telling Beatrice that her grandfather was very wrong to try and keep so many things hidden.” She raises an eyebrow.

Mrs. Swift is quiet for a moment. I can see her chest rise and fall. I hold my breath. I think maybe Peabody is holding his breath, too.

Then Mrs. Swift walks over to me and touches my hair. “It’s the same color, isn’t it? You remind me of her, Beatrice. It’s really something, isn’t it, Mrs. Potter?”

Mrs. Potter grins. She feeds Peabody a tea biscuit to keep him quiet while we are all talking about serious things.

“Well, if we are going to show her the picture,” whispers Mrs. Swift, “we should show her the other thing, too. Come here, Beatrice.”

She walks over to a bookcase pushed up against the wall. It is lined with many old and very dusty books. On the top is a metal box. Mrs. Swift fumbles with the latch. “You do it, Beatrice, my hands aren’t what they were.”

She pushes the box to me. It takes a few tries to get the rusted latch to open. When I do, there are at least a dozen fat leather envelopes inside.

“There should be enough to get you through if you are careful and conserve. If you are especially thrifty, you should be able to go to college on this. There is a lot of money here, dear, and you know how I feel about getting an education and making something of yourself. It is the best revenge.”

I look at her quickly and study her eyes to see if she knows what I did to Francine. All I see are deep lines around her eyes and a softness inside.

Mrs. Potter holds one of the fat envelopes to the window
and fans through all the bills. “Your grandfather might have been very misguided about his daughter, but he sure knew how to save his money.”

Mrs. Potter giggles and before I know it Mrs. Swift is joining in and Peabody and I are just looking at each other.

103

Of course the first thing I want to do is go tell Ruth Ellen all about my mama. There’s something about having a mama that makes you want to show her off. I tuck the picture in the pocket of my overalls.

I run all the way to Ruth Ellen’s house without hardly stopping. I like running in the cold. I like how you don’t get so hot. Most of the time I am fast as a horse.

Ruth Ellen is sitting on her porch winding pine boughs into a circle. Sammy is trying to help. “Would you stop hanging on me?” she tells him. “I don’t want to be playing with you
all the time
. I just want to make this wreath
by myself
.”

She pushes him away. Sammy sobs and runs into the house.

Ruth Ellen crosses her arms and her mama comes out on the porch. You can tell she has something to say to Ruth Ellen. When she sees me, though, pushing my toe through the dirt, waiting to talk to Ruth Ellen, she shakes her head and walks back into the house. You can hear Sammy sobbing and his mama saying things like “Shush, it will be all right. Hush now.”

I wait awhile for Ruth Ellen to calm down. She ties the wreath with ribbon. I look at how nice the yard is and how the big maple limbs spread over the thin shed with the chickens pecking all around. I could live in a place like this, I think, breathing in all the crisp air around me.

“What you doing here, Bee?”

I grind my toe in the dirt, planning out exactly how I am going to say it. I do not want to get it wrong.

“Ruth Ellen?”

“What do you want?” She crosses her arms in front of her. She is a mad hen.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have told your mama’s secret. But I know I needed to make Francine stop hurting me and that was the only way I could think, to tell things that would hurt her in front of her friends. At least I didn’t hide. It felt good, actually.”

“You could have told someone that Francine was hurting you. That would have stopped her. You didn’t have to tell my mama’s secret. You’re only going to make it worse this way.” Ruth Ellen flings her words like mud.

I fling them right back: “You knew, all the kids knew, and nobody did anything to help me, Ruth Ellen.”

“You could have told Miss Healy how bad it was. You could have told my mama.”

I think on that. Then I say, “You could have told your mama, Ruth Ellen.”

I check to see if I am getting through. Ruth Ellen’s eyes are softer. That is a good sign. She sighs. The porch door slams and Sammy comes out and sits down on the top step, watching us.

“I hate Francine, too, Bee. Sometimes I don’t know what to do when I am getting teased. Sometimes I don’t want to worry my mama any more than she is already worried about my leg and about my papa being missing and about how are we are going to make it through another week living so bare like we do.”

I reach over and hug Ruth Ellen because I have been missing her so and when I do I remember the picture. I pull it out of my pocket. “It’s my mama.”

“Oh, Bee,” Ruth Ellen whispers, and we look at the picture for a long time, at the girl with the pigtails and the happy eyes. “She looks just like you.”

“Yes,” I say, and we keep looking at the picture until Ruth Ellen winces and bends over and rubs at her leg.

“Is it bothering you very much?” I ask.

“All the time. I want this thing to come off.”

“Does the doctor say when?”

“No. He doesn’t tell me anything, and when he does talk to me he talks like I am three. He won’t tell me when it can come off. I hate him, Bee.”

She bends over double then and her shoulders shake and I hold her. I am quiet so she can cry on and on because I know all about grown-ups not telling you things and how you have to be careful to pick the ones you can believe in.

104

There is the wonderful warm smell of bread baking as soon as I get in the door. Ruth Ellen stays outside because she doesn’t want her mama worrying about the tears. Ruth Ellen’s mama has her arms in the sink, soap suds climbing halfway up her arms. She is washing the big wooden bread bowl.

“I am sorry.” I say this to her back because it is easier. I say it quick before I change my mind.

She pulls her arms from the bowl and carefully wipes her hands on a blue-and-white-checked towel, all neat and folded on the counter. When she turns, I see there are tears in her eyes. She must be thinking about Ruth Ellen’s papa.

She smiles softly. “Whatever could you have done wrong, Bee? Would you like some apple cake?”

I say I surely would and she cuts me a fat slice.

“Where’s Ruth Ellen?” She looks out the window over the sink.

“She told me to come in. She’s making up with Sammy.”

Ruth Ellen’s mama smiles about that and pours me a mug of milk. I eat all the cake and drink all the milk before I talk more. I need time to think on things before I say anything.

“Now, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?” Ruth Ellen’s mama sits across from me and pours herself a cup of tea. She cuts me another slice of cake.

“You know that secret about Francine’s papa you told us about? How he took off with that showgirl?”

I wait for Ruth Ellen’s mama to nod. Already there is worry in her eyes. “Well, I told Francine about it, in front of all her friends so everybody would know.”

Ruth Ellen’s mama puts her cup down. “But why, Bee? That’s an awful thing to say to someone. I expect you hurt that girl terribly. And that was a confidence I shared that is going to hurt Francine’s mother. I suspect I shouldn’t have told you.”

I nod. “Francine hurts me all the time.”

Ruth Ellen’s mama wants to know what I mean, so I tell her the whole long sad story of everything awful Francine ever did to me. I tell her about the ugly tree and spitting (I leave out how I spit first) and how Francine said she would lie down on a train track if she looked like me. I tell Ruth Ellen’s mama about Francine saying I was dirty as the sole of her shoe and how I was too ugly to be alive. I tell her about hitting me so hard right across my diamond and about the sparrow.

It takes Ruth Ellen’s mama a moment to take everything in. Then she says, “That is very terrible, Bee. I didn’t know.” She sets her cup in front of her and moves it back and forth slowly in figure eights. “It must have been awful to be treated by that girl with such cruelty. Did it help to hurt her back?”

I shrug because I’m not sure what I am supposed to say. She twirls her cup a few more times. Then she puts her hand over my hand.

“You know, Bee, I did the same thing when I was your age. A boy from the neighborhood tried to burn my cat’s tail
and I chased him all the way back to his house and broke his nose.”

The picture of Ruth Ellen’s mama walloping a boy and breaking his nose is so unbelievable I can’t help myself and I giggle.

Ruth Ellen’s mama smiles. “It was the same boy who teased your mother. I got him good.”

I look up quickly. “I didn’t know she was teased.”

Ruth Ellen’s mama nods. “Yes, she was. Not often, because your grandfather kept her hidden away. I remember that birthday party, though. We were all sitting on the porch with the monkey and all the presents and the cake and punch and that boy and his friends snuck up on us, yelling, ‘Cripple, cripple, what you doing with a cripple.’ Your grandfather sent everyone home right after. I broke the boy’s nose a few days later.”

“Did it help you feel better?”

“For a while. Maybe I should have told someone instead, though. As I’ve gotten older I’ve wondered if I didn’t hurt myself by hurting him. I don’t know.” She looks at me. “It’s complicated, isn’t it?”

I nod. She cuts herself a piece of cake. “You know, Bee, I’m not sure your grandfather gave your mother a chance to handle the teasing herself. He hid her away. That’s not right, either.”

No, I think, but it might be easier. I sigh. “What else do you remember about my mama?”

“Not a lot, I wasn’t with her much, but I do remember she laughed a lot and she looked just like you.”

That reminds me. I pull my mama’s picture from my pocket. “It’s the only one we could find.”

“Yes, that’s her! See? She looks just like you.”

Except there’s no diamond
. I rub my mama’s face, touch the spot where a mark could begin but doesn’t.

Ruth Ellen’s mama sits back and watches me. “Bee, have you noticed you don’t hold your hair over your face when you are here?”

I stop chewing so I can tell her that yes, I have noticed that.

“And Ruth Ellen says you do not hold your hair down like that when you are in class anymore, either.”

I nod that, yes, I have noticed that, too.

“And I imagine you don’t when you are home, either?”

“That’s right,” I whisper, running my finger over my mama’s face.

“Everyone is always going to notice your birthmark, Bee. It’s like Ruth Ellen’s brace. You can’t help but notice. But it’s what people do after they notice that’s important. Do they treat you like a person with dignity? Or do they baby you and coddle you or make fun of you or worse?”

“Yes,” I say, sitting back, thinking on that.

“You have to be strong, you have to stand up for yourself, you can’t hide and you can’t let yourself be hidden away.” Ruth Ellen’s mama sips at her tea.

“Your grandfather was wrong,” she whispers. “Very wrong.” Her voice trails off and then she gets a funny look on her face. I can tell she is thinking on things.

105

After Christmas, Ruth Ellen and I catch Mrs. Marsh nosing around the school. The morning after that she is waiting by the office when we come in the door, all bundled up for the snow.

“Humph,” she mumbles when she sees me.

“Humph,” I say, walking right by.

That afternoon when I am reading
Heidi
, Mr. Taft says he needs to talk to me. Good grief. Again? Susan grabs hold of me and I have to pull her off before I can stand up and follow him.

We walk all the way back to the dark little office and I sit on the same hard wooden chair. I sit on my hands so I will not try and pull my hair over my face. I want to see if I can be different.

Mr. Taft says he wants to talk about my home situation. “Now, tell me more about these aunts you live with. Are they able to care for you?”

I am still mad at them because Christmas was not very much fun with me making a big stuffed turkey and mashed potatoes and honey-glazed squash and them not eating a thing. I would have liked to invite Ruth Ellen over for leftovers, but how can I explain my aunts to anyone?

“Beatrice?” Mr. Taft leans against his desk and folds his arms over his chest. Lordy, I already went through this
whole thing. I do not want to do it again. “We are fine,” I tell him. “F-I-N-E.”

“And you’re eating well and getting plenty of exercise and sunshine?”

I nod.

He writes that down. Next he wants to know how I am feeling about my birthmark, like it is any of his business.

I shift around in my seat, trying to get my pride strong. “I am fine. F-I-N-E.” I am sharp in my voice like I am finished with him.

I do not tell him how Ruth Ellen’s mama helped me get some things straight in my head. I wonder if Mr. Taft notices how I am not hiding and now I am not holding my hair.

Snow falls outside the window and the dirt where we leaned against the building for recess is blanketed in white. Everything is changed. I breathe deeply, just like Pauline taught me.

Yes, I think as I stand up and walk right out of his office. I am different now.

106

The letter arrives two days later.

Dear Madams
,

You are requested to meet in the office of the principal on Friday to discuss the guardianship and class placement of Beatrice Rose Hockenberry
.

Anthony Hutchins, Principal

“Did you notice there is no ‘Thank you kindly’?” asks Mrs. Swift. “Terrible manners. Just terrible.” She is sitting at the kitchen table, sipping from her cup. She has switched to plain hot water with a bit of honey, hardly any nourishment at all. Mrs. Potter is very quiet. I put a piece of molasses cake in front of her, but she won’t take a bite. Peabody wants to sit up on her lap, but she won’t let him. She looks weak as her tea.