Hidden Hearts (17 page)

I scrunched up my face, puzzled. She’d never been in a tornado, and she’d lost Grandma’s thimble when she’d thrown it at my head after I painted all the checker pieces the same color. She’d thrown a fit and the thimble happened to be on her finger at the time. After it bounced off my skull, it flew through an open window. I spent an hour crawling around her rosebushes looking for it, but all I found was a lot of thorns.

“This is very kind of you,
Ila
, thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome. I saw it and I just knew you’d like it. I knew if you were standing next to me you’d gush over how beautiful it was.” She paused as if she was waiting. Mama gazed at her until she added, “I’ll need a dollar.”

She looked stunned. “What?”

“That’s what it cost. Certainly you don’t expect me to pay for it after I went to all the trouble of finding it for you and bringing it over.”

She rolled it in her hand.
“Of course not.”

She got up and I moved back to the kitchen table. Kiah was doing her summer school homework, and Mac was cleaning off his wrench, having finished the sink. Mama went to the tea canister she kept on the second shelf and slowly pulled out a single from our grocery money. I’m sure she was already figuring what we’d have to cut from our list this month. A dollar was a lot to her.

She replaced the can and went back into the living room. I plopped down next to Kiah and muttered, “What a bitch.”

She offered an understanding smile. I guessed she and Mac had heard most everything. He dropped his wrench into his toolbox and went to the cabinet. When he removed the tea canister, he held a finger to his lips. We watched as he pulled a dollar from his pocket and wrapped it around the small wad of money Mama had stashed. He quickly stepped back to the sink as they returned from the living room.

Ila
stared at the table again. “Well, I’m sorry to have interrupted your…
lunch
?” she said, but like a question.

“Oh, Mrs. Battle is just the kindest woman on earth, ma’am,” Mac gushed, a huge smile plastered on his face. “She’s so good to me and my daughter. Helping us out when times are tough. And that happens a lot.”

I thought he might cry as he stood there and wrung his hat in his hands, letting his head fall in shame.
Ila
was so moved that she touched her heart with her hand and sighed.

Not willing to be outdone, Kiah added, “And Vivian tutors me every day, helping me not to be such an ignorant Negro and catch up on my schooling.” She pointed at the book for effect, and I pretended to look smarter than her.

Ila
shook her head, overwhelmed by the sentiments. When she could finally speak, she grabbed Mama’s arm and cried, “Lois Battle, you are indeed a saintly woman. I’m so glad I stopped by today to witness this act of charity. I am indeed changed. I’ll see you tomorrow. God bless you.”

I wasn’t sure what she thought made Mama more saintly—allowing her daughter to tutor a black girl or actually allowing them to eat at the table with our kind.

Mac stepped to the window with her and they watched
Ila
drive away. When they were sure she was gone, they burst out laughing and Kiah and I quickly joined them. And just when we’d all managed to pull ourselves together, Mama held up her new thimble, dropped it onto the linoleum and crushed it with her shoe.

The next day when the sewing circle arrived, Kiah and I were curious to learn what Mama would say if
Ila
noticed the thimble was gone.

“Maybe there’ll be another tornado,” I said.

“There aren’t any tornados in Phoenix,” Kiah replied.

We had spent the morning cleaning the silver, baking the refreshments and making the tea. Mama flew around the kitchen like a sick bee trying to get everything ready. I was so grateful Kiah was there because she wasn’t yelling half as much as she usually did. Kiah always knew just what to say and what she needed. I think she was just as grateful for Kiah as I was.

An hour before the guests arrived, she went to get ready. The woman who came back down the stairs wasn’t the same one who went up. She looked stunning in a simple skirt and blue silk blouse. I couldn’t understand why ladies got all dressed up to sew, but I knew none of them would look like her, with a chignon and makeup.

She smiled at Kiah. “Your mouth is hanging open, dear. Haven’t you ever seen a proper lady?”

Kiah swallowed hard. “Yes, ma’am, but you’re beautiful.”

“Thank you. Now, I’ve got some leftover cookies and I know chocolate chip is your father’s favorite.” She glanced at her watch. “Isn’t it almost time for his break?”

She nodded. “Uh-huh. We could take him some.”

Mama shook her head. “No. I was thinking… Well, why don’t you go see if he’s nearby?”

We headed down the makeshift dirt roads that had been built for all of the trucks and equipment. It was still hard for me to look at the remaining orange trees and not see the whole grove. Sometimes at night I’d come out and stand on one of the cement foundations and breathe deeply, almost certain I could still smell the blossoms.

We found him talking to a man holding some blueprints and Mr. Rubenstein. When he saw us, he smiled.

“Mama wanted to know if you wanted some cookies,” I said.

Mac grinned. “You know I do. Where are they?”

“Mrs. Battle wanted you to come to the house to get them,” Kiah said.

He looked a little puzzled and scratched his head. “Well, I suppose I could do that. Mr. Rubenstein, would you like to come over to the Battle’s with me?”

“I’d love to,” he said. “I haven’t seen Lois in a week or so. It’ll be nice to check in.”

When Mama came down the back steps, it was a contest to see who looked more surprised. She gushed over Mr. Rubenstein and he kissed her cheek, but at the sight of her, all dressed up with her hair and makeup done, Mac nearly fell over. He stood there like a statue even as the rest of us went for the cookies. I didn’t understand why he looked so funny. He’d seen her dressed up lots of times.

“You look lovely,” Mr. Rubenstein said to her. “What’s the occasion?”

“Oh, my sewing circle’s coming over, but I thought I’d get the rest of these cookies out of the way. I can always count on Mac.” She giggled and glanced at Mac, who remained at the foot of the stairs, his hat in his hand. The giggle died in her throat. “Is something wrong? Mac, don’t you want some cookies?”

He looked up slowly and something passed between them, a look written in a special adult code that she understood—and maybe Mr. Rubenstein.

“No, thank you, ma’am,” he said quietly.

She took a step but Mr. Rubenstein gripped her arm. She glanced at Kiah, still watching her father walk away.

“Why is Daddy mad?”

“He’s not mad, Kiah,” Mr. Rubenstein said. “He’s just not hungry.” And he muttered in a low voice that only Mama was supposed to hear, “At least for cookies.”

The four other sewing circle members arrived just as Mr. Rubenstein was saying his goodbyes. Mama stiffened as they got out of their cars and greeted him. Only Agnes McNulty flinched when his hand grasped hers. The rest of them acted as if it wasn’t a big deal to touch a Jew, and Clara Drew, the youngest member, actually smiled and asked a few questions about his business. Then Agnes insisted they were wasting precious circle time so he took his leave. 

Mama directed Kiah and me to the kitchen while the ladies assembled in the dining room. We served the tea and set out the cookies, listening to the idle chatter of the four women who knew each others’ private lives intimately. Kiah and I excused ourselves with a stupid curtsy that Mama had insisted upon, and we went outside to climb the trellis and tiptoe back to the landing to listen.

“So who are all these ladies other than Ila?” she whispered. “Who’s the lady at the head of the table with the bad wig?”

I almost laughed and gave us away. Agnes McNulty’s wig, a clump of wavy brown hair, looked like a little dog lived on top of her head. She was an incredibly large woman today wearing a flowered dress that was definitely a size too small. The roses on her dress disappeared into the folds of fat like they were being pressed.

“That’s Agnes. She’s the head of the circle. She’s the top lady at the church and in charge of a bunch of committees. When we moved here Pops told Mama she had to get to know her. She was very important to our orange business.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “Don’t know. The one across from
Ila
is Mary Rose. Don’t get mad, but that’s Billy Smith’s mama.”

She leaned forward and stared sharply at her. Mary Rose wore a skirt and a long-sleeved white blouse that looked too hot for summer. “I see the resemblance,” she murmured.

“And that’s Clara next to her. She’s actually really nice. She always says hi to us at church. I think she’s just trying to fit in.”

She was younger than Mama but not as pretty. Her blonde hair was in a bun, and she wore a silk dress so I knew she had money. But she kept her head down, focused on her needlework.

“I know I’ve told you this before, Lois,” Agnes announced loudly, “but I do believe this is one of the most beautiful dining rooms I’ve ever seen.”

“I agree,”
Ila
said. “I told Lois that very fact just yesterday when I brought her the loveliest thimble.”  She searched Mama’s hand. “Where is it, Lois? Certainly another tornado didn’t strike last night,” she said and all the ladies laughed.

Mama gathered her thoughts. I remembered the toe of her shoe smashing the porcelain to dust and smiled. But what could she say to
Ila
?

“Ila, I meant to tell you before we sat down that I loaned it to that very nice black girl you saw yesterday. Do you remember her?”

“Oh, the one that Vivian is tutoring?”

Kiah snorted and I punched her in the arm.

“Yes. She’s a dear girl. Lost her
mother,
and she does all the sewing for her father. She asked to borrow it for a project and I didn’t feel right saying no.”

“Of course not,” Clara said.
“How kind of you, Lois.”

“Absolutely,” Agnes agreed, but
Ila
still looked upset.

Mary Rose shook her head and said, “It was a Christian thing to do, Lois, but I doubt you’ll ever see that thimble again. Negroes are just so careless. I loaned a book to my Mabel, after she got on her high horse about learning to read, and she didn’t return it for nearly a month.”

“Maybe she wasn’t finished yet,” Mama said.

“Perhaps,” Mary Rose said. “But I didn’t make that mistake again. A month to return a loaned item is incredibly rude. I figured even the Negroes knew that,” she added acidly.

“Lois, dear, you could take a lesson from Mary Rose,”
Ila
said. “I think your Christian charity is admirable but perhaps misplaced. I wasn’t going to mention what I saw yesterday, but since Mary Rose has brought up the shortcomings of the Negroes, perhaps you should reflect on her wisdom.”

She set down her sewing and faced her. “What do you mean?”

She didn’t bother to look up as she explained.
“Just that there are limits.
There’s a point where charity becomes foolishness.”

“Absolutely,” Mary Rose agreed. “Have you heard that the school down the street is talking about letting those little Mexican children go to classes with white children?”

Ila
gasped. “You mean they’d let them out of the basement?” She shook her head. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Lois, you need to hear all of this. Having Vivi tutor that girl is one thing, but allowing a black man to eat at your table—”

“What?” Agnes recoiled, pulling her fabric into her lap. Mary Rose seemed equally mortified.

“It wasn’t the table in this room,”
Ila
clarified.

“I would certainly hope not,” Mary Rose said.

Mama looked like she was facing a death squad. The pleasantness and charm she’d shown when they arrived was gone. “There is nothing wrong with being hospitable,” she said quietly.

Agnes sighed. “We certainly agree, Lois, but
Ila
is right about limits. Besides, I think you have other matters that need your attention.”