Kathryn Magendie (13 page)

No matter how weird it all sounded, I’d keep following her because it was more fun to be with her than without her. And it made me even more curious to see where she lived, how she lived. I couldn’t wait to meet her mother. I hoped she hadn’t changed her mind about that.

TWELVE

We dug a hole for the box with good strong sticks. Rock and root and old earth crumbled away.

“Sweetie? What happened when you were born? You said you were born magical.”

She leaned her stick on the tree. “Grandpaw said the mountain spirit noticed me when I was in my mama’s womb.” She made a large circle, touching her fingers, circling, then coming around to touch them again. “He said the moon was big and full and orange the night I was borned, and that the big wolf he’d been seeing stood out by a ash tree and howled all night. Mama was in the worsest pain.” She grabbed her stomach, as if in bad pain. “Grandpaw said Mama screamed and screamed, and when I finally come out, I did not cry.” She raised her hand and swatted down. “He said the old woman slapped my butt hard, and I still did not cry. I looked out the winder at the moon with my big ole eyes holding the moon in them and it was like I knew all the moon’s secrets.” She held her arms as if cradling a baby. “Then Mama held me and rocked me and Grandpaw said she prayed over me, crying and praying over what the granny woman and Grandpaw were saying. She said she didn’t want that for me and Grandpaw said, ‘It’s too late.’”

I shivered.

She picked up her stick. “Soon as we bury this here box we’ll put leaves and rocks on top, so as nobody never ever finds our secrets.” She picked up the tin box and held it out. “You and me got to put it in the ground together.”

I took one side and she the other and we slipped the box in the hole, under a root, then began to fill in the hole with dirt.

“I guess we can’t write it in the diary.”

She picked up a rock and set it aside. “We can’t chance it. Grandpaw said if people find out they’ll put me in a circus act or do things experimental on me. That’s why I don’t go to no town lessen I have to. That’s why I pretended my pinky hurt that day, so’s they’d not start up they’s gossiping. I forget to pretend sometimes.”

We next packed down the dirt and then gathered leaves, twigs, and rocks. I wondered what other kids were doing. Going to parties, to the movies, to the pancake place to eat the best-ever-in-the-world pancakes then down the road and up top of the mountain to ride rides with the pancakes sloshing around and then watch the Wild West shows, swimming and then ice cream or hot salty fries and malteds. I wonder what other kids would think if they knew what I knew. And I couldn’t even tell anyone, and even if I did, which I would not, they’d think we both were crazy and weird.

Sweetie picked up the rock and set it just so over the packed dirt. “Mama says God got some purpose for me, but why’d he give her all the pain and give me none? I don’t know about no god and his mysterious ways.”

“That’s why you hurt yourself? You’re trying to feel something? Or make it Even Steven with your mother?”

She stared at me. “That is not how it is.”

I arranged my own twigs and leaves over our hidden secrets.

When we finished, it looked like a grave.

She pointed up. “Up there, top that ridge. That’s where that boy got kilt and never found again. He used to hold a Bible ever-day.”

“That’s the kid Frannie said she’d kissed and it brought him to his tragical end.”

 
“Grandpaw used to go up there to smoke kinnikinnick and talk to the mountain spirit.”

“Kinniki-what?”

“Mama said Grandpaw went up there too many a time and denied God and made him mad, so God sends death angels to toss people off the ridge when they don’t listen to his ways. That kid fell away and then forever and ever he goes
woooooo woooooo I’m a lost and lonely haint woooooo
.” She laughed, stepped away from the tree, picked up her leather bag.

“Mother says God’s not vengeful like some preachers say. And Father says he doesn’t exist.”

“Kinnikinnick is what Zemry mixed for Grandpaw for his special prayers.” She turned and walked away from Triplet Tree and our buried secrets.

I grabbed my satchel, and hurried to walk alongside her, our arms touching without our jerking them away as we usually did. As much as I wanted to, I didn’t ask if we were still going to her house.

 
Father said we were biological machines. But maybe there was more to the world than I ever was told. Maybe there was more to the world than even Father knew.

As we headed up an incline, Sweetie’s hair blew wild around her face, hiding her eyes from me. My hair couldn’t hide my eyes anymore. I’d chopped it off as short as a boy two days after Sweetie came to our house for brunch. I went into the bathroom with Mother’s pinking shears. As I cut away the brown strings, it became shiny and softer looking. The shorter my hair was, the bigger my eyes looked and the smaller my cheeks seemed. I cut it until the sink was full of hair. When I walked out of the bathroom and into the kitchen where Mother was making shrimp with creamed onions and pears, she threw a conniption fit. I stood and listened to her fuss until she pointed and told me to go to my room until dinner. As I walked away, she’d said, “I’ll make an appointment with Cheryl to fix that mess. I don’t know where your mind is lately, Melissa.”

At dinner, Father looked at my hair and said, “A pixie has joined us for dinner.”

Mother ignored him and kept her mouth in a straight line.

After she had Cheryl fix the straggled ends, Mother quit bothering me about it so much. The next day, I went through my brother’s old clothes she’d put away into boxes and left in the extra bedroom. When I opened the first box, it held some of Peter’s treasures and the inside smelled like Old Spice and glue from the model airplanes he used to put together (a finished airplane was at the top of the box and I took it out). I opened another box, and that one held the clothes he’d outgrown but didn’t want to give away. The next one had belts, shoes, and other things that meant something to my big brother.

I slid two of the boxes down the hall to my room. From them, I took out two pairs of his jeans, his football jersey, three t-shirts, a button-down shirt, his boots, and a belt. I put the airplane on my dresser, and the clothes and the belt in the bottom of my chest of drawers. I hid the boxes in the back of my closet, with his leather boots placed on top.

When I put on Peter’s jeans, I couldn’t believe they fit. I studied myself in the mirror, but it was hard to see myself any different from before, other than the short hair and the boy’s clothes. Yet I had to be different. When I walked into the living room, Mother was reading a recipe book. Without looking up at me, she asked, “Did you eat the pastries I baked for my bridge club?”

“No Ma’am.”

“Well, I suppose your father took them to his office. They aren’t in the kitchen where I put them.” She licked her finger and turned a page. “I suppose that’s what happened to them. Since they’re gone.”

“I don’t know. But I didn’t eat them.”

“Perhaps ginger scones will do.” She licked another finger and turned another page.” Do you want something?”

“No Ma’am.”

She looked up, dropped the book on her lap. “What in the world? What are you doing in boy’s clothes? You look ridiculous. Go change immediately.”

“This is more comfortable, and fits better than my other clothes.”

“I’m not in the mood for an argument, Melissa.”

“I’m not arguing with you. I’m asking you to let me go out in clothes where I don’t have to worry about getting them dirty or torn like I do the nice ones you buy.” I smoothed down Peter’s blue t-shirt. “I won’t let your friends see me dressed like this.”

“Why don’t your other clothes fit? I just bought you clothes a few months ago. It’s just an excuse not to wear the nice things I pick out.”

I couldn’t believe she didn’t notice I’d lost weight. After all the fussing she did about it. “If I’m excused, I’d like to go now.”

“Don’t be late for dinner.” She went back to her recipes.

When I’d showed up at Bear Claw Rock that day, I’d modeled for Sweetie my new old clothes.

“You’re falling away. Leaving pieces of you all over the mountain.” Then she’d added, “And you stopped bumping on your words when you get nervous.”

“Oh, yeah, I f-f-forg-g-got all a-a-a-b-b-bout it.” We both laughed, and then we’d looked for blackberries to make Zemry a pie.

Sweetie poked my arm. “Where you at?”

“I was thinking about the day we picked blackberries to make Zemry a pie.” I danced around the trail, pretending to be the lightweight boxing champion of the world,
punch punch
. “That was the day Mother almost choked on her spit when she saw me in Peter’s clothes.” Then I was a chunky ballerina, did a chunky pirouette, and sang, “The mountains are aliiiive, with the sounds of their muuusic!”

Sweetie shook her head. “Just one like you, that is a sure thing. You are sillier than anything I ever seen.”

When I tripped over a rock in the trail and fell to my knees, I decided to quit dancing. Sweetie turned her head. I knew she was laughing. “Well, that hurt, so I must not have enough of your blood in me.” Brushing off my jeans, I asked, “Do you think when you grow up you’ll feel pain?”

“Don’t know.”

“If you grow up and you still don’t feel pain, will you still try to hurt yourself so much?”

She stopped on the trail. “I don’t try to . . . ” and then sighed and said, “It is all strange and mysterious like the moon.”

We walked on.

I pinched her arm. “How’d that feel? Any different for you?”

“Nuh uh.” She put her arms out and lifted up her face to the sky. “I feel the wind on my face, and I feel the ground while I walk.”

“I think it would be great never to feel pain.”

“I reckon that’s what most would think.” She bent, rooted in some old leaves, and picked up a buckeye that had been hidden from the squirrels. “Look, this here buckeye has a holler spot it in.” She handed it to me. “Rub your thumb on it when you get to feeling worrisome.” She pointed ahead. “We’re almost there.”

My heart thumped hard. What would her mother be like? Would she be weird? Would she yell at Sweetie and tell her she was cursed. Did she hurt Sweetie like T. J.’s Father hurt him? I rubbed the buckeye as we walked. I also let myself worry about Sweetie’s hand, the same one with the hurt pinky, and the deep cut. I wondered if she’d cut off her whole hand a bit at a time. I worried that Sweetie’s mother wouldn’t like me and would get the shotgun out. The buckeye got a good rubbing of my thumb as we walked the rest of the way to Sweetie’s house.

We’d crossed a forked creek, two huge fallen trees, a boulder that looked like a shark fin that we stopped and named Shark Fin Rock, and lots of brambles, vines, rhododendrons, wildflowers and trees. When I thought I’d drop dead from hunger and achy feet, she said, “Right up there it is.”

I gulped some spit, and followed Sweetie. At last, I was going to meet the mother who had a daughter like Sweetie.

THIRTEEN

The cabin was a part of the mountain, just as Sweetie was, with the wild all around, except for a tamed pretty garden with plants and flowers growing.

“Grandpaw built it.”

I liked how it was far away from everyone, and how the logs were old but sturdy, and how a creek flowed right beside it. The wind blew through the leaves and it was so peaceful, I wanted to fall upon the grass and never move again. The front door we came to was a solid wood turned gray from the rain and sun, and hung on a rusted nail was the skull of an animal.

Sweetie said, “That’s Mr. Shitter’s head.”

“
Eeeww
. That’s gross.”

“Nuh uh.” She reached up and petted the skull. “I made him special potions and he lived and lived and lived until he up and died a very old kitty. I buried him under that there sweetgum tree where he used to lay down and watch over me.” She pointed to the tree to show me where. “Then one day he poked his head out so he could keep watching me, so I put his skull up here.” She opened the door and we stepped inside.

We stepped into a room that was a kitchen, dining, and living room all in one. There was a closed door to the right of the kitchen, and on the other side of the room were log steps that led to what may be a loft like we had in an apartment in
California
. The kitchen held an old woodstove that looked heavier than a car and had
Home Comfort
written on the front door. To eat on there was a polished wood table and chairs. In the living room part, a rocking chair, a fat stuffed chair, and a ladder-backed straw-seated chair were in a semi-circle in front of a big old stone fireplace that had an iron pot with legs sitting inside it.

Sweetie said, “Put your satchel here by mine.”

I set it down next to hers by the front door, and turned back to Sweetie, who was at the closed door.

She stopped with her hand on the knob and listened. Knocking softly, she asked, “Mama? You wake?”

A voice answered, “I am.”

Sweetie motioned for me to come with her, and I held my breath, let it out slow. She opened the door; we stepped in. On an iron bed, under a pretty quilt, lay Sweetie’s mother. I’d pictured a sickly bird woman, but the mother on the bed was much more than that. Her pale hair spread across the pillow and down the covers. It was long enough to reach below her waist. As we drew near the bed, she tried to sit up, so Sweetie gently helped her prop up against three pillows that had embroidered flowers sewn on. When she smiled at me, I had a catch in my heart. Sweetie’s mother was beautiful. Not in the way movie stars were, but in the way I imagined Christmas angels were.

“You gone to make our acquaintances, daughter?” Her voice was strong and breathless at the same time.

“Yes’m. This here’s Miss-Lissa, the girl I been telling you all about.”

I hid the thrill that Sweetie had been telling her mother all about me, and stepped closer. “Nice to meet you, Missus, um . . . ” I looked at Sweetie.

“Call me Mae, like the month with a E instead of a Y.” She laughed and it sounded sweet like the creek bubbling. She then said, “Well, you was right. She’s a humdinger of a friend.”

My face warmed with pleasure.

Sweetie pushed a strand of hair from her mother’s face. “Mama, you hungry?”

“No. I ate me something a hour ago. And, you can get that hand out from behind you. I seen it.” Her mother sighed, shook her head. “What am I to do with you? You’ll be the death of me yet.”

Sweetie lowered her head. “I’m sorry, Mama. It was accidental.”

“You got to be more careful, baby girl.” She looked at my hand. “You, too?” She shook her head.

Sweetie leaned over and kissed her mother on the cheek, then said, “We cleaned and wrapped our accidents real good. Got some dirt on but we’ll change the wrappings.”

“What about praying? You been praying to God to watch over you?”

“Yes Ma’am.” Sweetie winked at me.

“I saw that wink, you little stinker.” She picked at the covers. “I get worrisome over you.”

“I’ll use the liniment before I go to bed tonight.”

“Please do. Now, I’m gone take me a bit a rest now.” Mae closed her eyes. We turned away and tiptoed out; Sweetie closed the door behind us.

She moved to the kitchen and lit the stove. “You hungry? I sure am. I got cornbread and greasy beans.” She stroked the stove. “Grandpaw was so proud of this stove. Likened to never got it up here. Best one he could find, he said. I forget what he sold to get it.”

“It’s a really nice stove.”

She smiled.

“Can I help?” I asked.

She shook her head no, pointed to the table.

While she prepared our meal, I listened to the birds outside. My mouth watered as the beans heated, though I worried about the greasy part. Sweetie went outside and came back with a little porcelain pot that she set on the counter. From a clean dishcloth, Sweetie took a cake of cornbread, broke thick pieces from it, set the pieces on tin plates, and sliced into them. From the porcelain pot, she dipped a knife and spread what had to be creamy butter inside the sliced cornbread. There was a basket of tomatoes and she took one from it, lightly pressed into its skin, and nodded her head when it gave just a little. She sliced it, the meat of the tomato dark red and juicy, and put the slices on a small plate. When the beans were bubbly, she ladled them out into two thick pottery bowls. One had a chip on the side, and Sweetie put that one at her place on the table.

On another plate, she put a few spoonfuls of beans, and a tiny piece of cornbread without butter but with a drizzle of honey. She set the plate on a wood tray, along with a glass of water and two white pills. She looked at me, “This for Mama in case she changes her mind. She’ll be needing them headache pills. You can start on that there food.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

She picked up the tray and turned to go to her mother’s room.

I looked around the room again while Sweetie was giving her mother lunch and her medicine—the pills must be what Sweetie said the preacher gave her. When we’d walked in, the cabin smelled as she did—mint and earth smells, but with a medicine and sick smell I imagined became caught in the corners like spider webs. There were no pictures or mirrors around, but on the walls were small quilts, tapestries, and needlepoint pictures. Beside the rocking chair was a basket of yarn and knitting needles. There wasn’t a television or radio, and it was quiet and peaceful, with only the creek, the wind, and the birds making noise. I leaned over and sniffed the beans, my stomach rumbling.

When Sweetie came back and sat down at the table, she nodded to my food, then dug into her bowl.

We ate without talking. The greasy beans, which weren’t greasy at all, reminded me of green beans, and I could have eaten more, but wouldn’t have asked Sweetie for more food I didn’t figure they had much of.

When I was done, I said, “Thank you for lunch, Sweetie.” I took our bowls to the old sink.

“You set right back down.”

“But, Sweetie—”

“I won’t hear of it.”

I put the dishes into the sink and sat down.

She said, “I hope you left room for pie?”

I nodded.

She went to a pie safe and took from it a pie covered with a clean dishcloth. “Yep, nothing like pie to make a smile. Uh huh. A good pie’s what’s hiding under this here dishrag.” She grinned at me, then let out a giggling laugh like I’d never heard from her.

“What’s so funny?”

When she uncovered the pie, I laughed and clapped my hands. A cherry pie. She remembered the story about Mittens and the pie. I wondered how much it cost to make a pie like that.

“This here pie will taste so good that from here on out to beyond, you will not think about upchucking when you see a cherry pie.” She cut slices and put them on two pretty little china plates with tiny roses around the rim.

I dug in and ate every bite. Then we both cleaned up, even though she fussed at me for wanting to help. We used heated water from the stove to do the dishes and I thought how easy I had it at home with our electric stove and modern kitchen.

Sweetie dried her hands, went back to the door and peeked in on her mother. Over her shoulder, she said, “She’s sleeping good, but I orter give them pills earlier.” She closed the door and came back beside me.

“Your mother looks like an angel on top of a Christmas tree.”

 
“Want to see her picture before she got so sick?” She grabbed her leather bag and headed up the stairs with it.

I followed her up the stairs, until I remembered the bracelets. In all the wonder of Sweetie and her mother, I’d almost forgotten. “Wait! I made you and your mother a present.” I ran to get my satchel, pulled out the packages, ran back to Sweetie who’d come back down the stairs, and handed them to her.

Her eyes were wide. “It’s like
Christmas
.” She stroked the comic paper the gifts were wrapped in. “Can I tear off the paper now?”

“Yes, tear it off.”

As she opened the gift, I watched her face open up like a sunflower. When she held up the bracelet, she said, “Oh Lissa! I never had a present so fine.”

“The other one is for your mother. They were made especially by me.”

She surprised me by hugging me, quick and hard. I was the most special person in the whole world. She said, “I’ll give Mama hers when she wakes up. It’ll make her happy like nothing in a long time.”

I was glad I’d spent so much time picking out the right beads. I helped Sweetie tie on her bracelet, and she put her mother’s on the counter for later. She said, “Come on,” and we climbed the stairs.

Her room was tiny, but as I’d imagined, it was full of her treasures: the rocks, feathers, bones, pieces of bark shaped like animals and fish, buckeyes, the skeleton-turtle and shell, dried leaves, and other mountain things she picked up along the way. Her bed was iron just as her mother’s was, and on the mattress was a colorful quilt almost like her mother’s, except her mother’s was white, green, and pink, and Sweetie’s was red, blue, and yellow. I sat on the bed; the mattress was thin but soft.

She crouched down to an old wooden chest with carvings of animals, birds, and trees. “Grandpaw’s chest. He told me to take care of it the night he passed. Said to put all my special things in it.” She turned the key to open it, and from inside pulled out a silver-framed picture. “This here’s Mama before I was borned. She’s something else, isn’t she?” She handed over the photo as if it were a fragile egg.

I stared at the photograph of a young, pretty woman who looked like a softer kind of Sweetie. “Yes, she sure is something else.” Like you, I thought inside my heart. She put the picture back, locked the chest. From her leather bag, she took out the diary and handed it to me.

“Your time to take. I’ve had it a long while.”

I thumbed through it. Her handwriting was messy, scrawled across the page, but I knew how she described everything in more detail that I’d ever have thought to. She remembered the tiniest of things, like how the dirt felt under her feet, and which way the wind was blowing, and what clothes I had on that day, what animals we saw, the smells in the air. Her maps were much neater, even more detailed, and showed all the places we went. The bloody thumbprints were last. I couldn’t wait to add to it, but I knew I couldn’t write about our secrets. Maybe if I did it in code.

It was past three, and I needed to go home. Sweetie looked in on her mother. I listened to Sweetie’s soft voice that sounded almost like a mother cooing to her baby. She stepped out of the room, closed the door, and said, “Mama will sleep for a long while.”