School of Charm (2 page)

chapter two

G
RANDMA CAME RUNNING OUT IN HIGH HEELS AND A
dress, arms waving in the air, pearls swinging. “Good news, girls! I just called, and there's still time to enter the Miss Dogwood pageant. Charlene's fifteen, right? You could be Miss Dogwood 1977!” That was the very first thing Grandma said as we climbed out of the car and lined up to meet her. It was like she'd just seen us yesterday, instead of never knowing us at all.

Grandma looked very pretty for the mean lady from Mama's stories. Loose, red curls of hair framed her face. She had wide, chocolate-brown eyes and a heart-shaped mouth and hardly any wrinkles. I never knew what it was like to have a grandma because Daddy's mother died before I was born. But my idea of a grandma wasn't this lady standing in front of me. She did not look like she was a cookie-baker or a story-reader or a cheek-pincher in her silky dress and long red nails. And her house wasn't like I'd imagined it either. I was expecting some cute cottage tucked into the woods. Her house was very fancy, with big pillars out front.

“Miss Dogwood? Really? Oh my goodness,” Charlene said, touching her lips. “You really think I could win, Grandma Cooper?”

I wanted to smack that
Ijustcan'thelpbeingthispretty
look right off her face. I squinted at her instead, sending mean thoughts her way.

Grandma put a hand on her hip. “I was Miss North Carolina 1939. Of course you could win. You've got my looks,” Grandma said. “And your mother was first runner-up in 1961. She could have won, too, if she hadn't stumbled during the evening-wear competition.”

Mama's eyes hardened like shiny buttons. “Maybe if you'd bought me the shoes I wanted, I wouldn't have fallen.”

Grandma sniffed and wagged her finger. “I bought you the best shoes money could buy. And you would have won the next year if you hadn't gone and—”

“Mother,” Mama said in her warning voice. She leaned down and brushed off one of my sneakers even though nothing was on it.

Grandma started humming deep in her throat. Then she put on a big smile. Same as Charlene's and Mama's and Ruthie's. Grandma opened her arms. “Oh, welcome home, Cecelia.”

Mama did not move to hug her. She nodded, but she didn't smile back. “Mother, this is Charlene and Ruthie.” She pushed my sisters forward.

Grandma nodded. “You look like your mama. You've got our red hair!” She worked her hand through Ruthie's curls, dark as a ripe cherry. Then her smile fell. “Who's this one?”

“That's Brenda, Mother.”

Grandma's eyes flicked over me. “You look like your father.”

No one said anything.

I cleared my throat. “I know. I have the same blond hair, like honey. Same color eyes—blue-green. Did you know he died?” The words just popped out of my mouth, the way a watermelon seed slips between your lips. I couldn't help it.

Grandma squinted down her nose at me as if I was a bug she was aiming to squash. “Of course I know. Why do you think I'm letting you stay in my home?”

Our eyes locked like we were in a stare-down contest.

Then Mama shot me one of her looks and I stopped. “Sorry, Mother,” she said. “We're all tired. It was a long ride.” She tucked her hair behind her ears and rubbed her eyes.

Mama did look tired, and not just from the ride. Billy always said I had the prettiest mama in the whole class. I warned him he better not let Daddy hear him talking all mushy-pie about Mama. The popular girls in class also told me Mama was beautiful. “You don't look anything like her,” they'd say.

But Mama looked a whole lot older down there in North Carolina.

“Hmph, I guess you do look tired. And you've put on some weight. Of course, it's been a while,” Grandma said. “Let's get your things inside. I've got your rooms all ready.”

I heard a sound coming from Mama like a teakettle getting set to whistle. But her mouth was clamped shut and she was smiling hard again.

We followed Grandma up the stairs to her porch, and she pulled open the great big front door. Ruthie darted inside. Two seconds later she screamed and ran back out. She hid behind Charlene's knees. “There's . . . there's a monster!”

Mama chased after Ruthie. “Sweetie, what's wrong?”

Grandma hurried over, too, but I poked my head inside. And there, right by Grandma's big, winding, stairs, was a bear. A real, full-grown, eat-you-alive bear. Sure, it was dead and stuffed, but it was growling with its arms out, and it was easy to imagine it grabbing you for a little midnight snack.

I ducked into another room to get away from it. But that room was filled with dead animals too. Turkeys hanging on the wall next to deer heads. A stuffed mountain goat rearing on its back legs next to a big stone fireplace. Then I spotted a dead fish on a plaque, all shiny and curled up, like he was trying to peel himself off the wall and get back to the water.

You really have to hate animals to kill them and stuff them and leave them right in your house. She'd probably love to have my turtle on her shelf too. I backed out of the room and bumped right into her. I jumped.

“I see you're making yourself at home,” she said, crossing her arms.

I crinkled my nose. “Why do you have all these scary, dead animals?”

“My word, how rude. My husband was a trophy hunter.”

Mama came up behind us holding Ruthie's hand. “See, darlin'? They're not alive. They're just like big stuffed animals. Go on. Touch one.”

Ruthie reached out and tapped the back of an elk standing by the door.

Charlene tried to smile, but her lip was quivering.

I couldn't believe we were moving into an animal cemetery. On purpose.

“Children.” Grandma clapped her hands. “Start unloading your things.”

Since we'd sold most of our things with the house, it only took us a few trips to officially move our stuff into Grandma's. Mama settled right back into the room she used to live in. Charlene got the great big guest room, and Ruthie got a small bedroom with a canopy bed.

Then Grandma looked at me. “Follow me.” I walked behind her down the hall. Grandma swung her hips when she walked and her pale blue dress made a swooshing sound.

She stopped in front of a door and gave the knob a good shake. “Stay out of here. This room is off-limits.”

I shrugged. “Okay.” What worse thing than dead animals could she be hiding in there?

“Okay? Don't you mean, ‘Yes, ma'am?'” Her big brown eyes blinked fast.

My shoulders slumped. “Yes, ma'am.” I tried not to growl the words.

She walked down the hall a few more steps and flung open a door. “I had to give up my sewing room for you, young lady.”

I peeked in and saw a bed and a dresser. Two dead ducks stood on top, their beaks touching like they were kissing. A stuffed owl with glassy eyes stared at me from the bedside table. A hawk hung from the ceiling with its wings stretched out. There was a sewing machine on a table and boxes of old fabric and patterns were lined up against the wall. It didn't seem like she was giving up her sewing room if all the stuff was still there.

“Thank you, Grandma,” I said. But she didn't know I said it in the voice I used when I didn't really mean it, like when Billy did a handstand and asked if his legs were perfectly straight. They never were, of course.

Grandma was still staring at me. “And change into fresh clothes for dinner. I won't have ragamuffins at my table.”

“Okay.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Yes, ma'am.” I was starting to think the stories Mama had told about Grandma during the car ride might be some of her true ones. Grandma sure seemed like the type of person who'd make turtle soup. She probably even enjoyed eating it too.

Grandma went to help Mama unpack, and I got to work putting away the few things I'd brought. I'd sold most of my old toys at our garage sale. I was still real upset about selling my bike. Daddy had given me that red banana-seat bike when I was eight. It had tassels on the handles and a license plate with my name, Chip. Daddy had that plate made special for me.

“We can't keep all this stuff,” Mama had told me. “We'll get you new things for our new home. We're going to have a fresh start down there. You're going to love it. You'll see.”

But Mama was wrong. Bringing me here was like setting a fish loose in the sky. As I stood in my room with the pink ruffled curtains and the shiny wood floor and all the glassy-eyed birds, my heart slipped out of place. It wasn't home—not even if my books were lined up on the shelf and my clothes were hanging in the closet.

Laughter rang out across the hall as Charlene chased Ruthie around her room. “Say ding-dong if you're a southern belle, too, Ruthie-Roo.”

“Ding-dong!” Ruthie cried. “Ding-dong!” The two of them were settling in already.

I sank onto the bed, pulled down by a hurt as heavy as a big rock.

I took a deep breath to keep the tears back and looked up at the ceiling. “I'll like it here, right, Daddy?” I twisted my fingers in front of me. But Daddy wasn't there to say, “Sure, kiddo. You'll be fine.”

My throat felt tight and my face was hot. How could I survive here without him? It was bad enough to move somewhere totally new, but without my daddy too? A few tears slipped out onto my cheek. I wiped them off and decided to do a test. I'd make a wish and see if Daddy was watching over me. I closed my eyes tight. “Daddy, I wish that you'd show me a sign that you're listening. That I'm going to fit in down here somehow. 'Cause right now, my heart feels like a leftover puzzle piece with nowhere to go.”

Now I just had to wait for my sign. But I wasn't so good at waiting—not like I was at nagging.

A timer went off downstairs, and Grandma and Mama bustled to the kitchen. “Charlene, Ruthie, Chip—time for dinner!” Mama called.

I hopped down the stairs, and ran through the living room, stopping in front of two lit-up cabinets filled with fancy dolls. I couldn't believe how many dolls Grandma had. I stopped counting after twenty and just studied them. Their bodies were made out of china, but they wore real clothes and had real-looking hair.

Some were dressed in outfits from around the world, like the Dutch girl with wooden shoes and a Japanese girl with a kimono. They were lined up on glass shelves in two cabinets pushed up against the back wall. Lights shone down on them like they were beauty queens from different countries waiting to be called for their turns. I pressed my nose against the glass for a closer look and saw little eyelashes that had been painted on each doll. The dolls were all set in special poses or standing near an interesting prop, like the artist doll who stood next to an easel. What was a grown-up doing with so many dolls?

“Girls, you'd better be dressed properly for dinner!” Grandma hollered.

Rats. I dashed back to my room and put on fresh shorts and a shirt. What did she think? We were one of her dolls? She better not plan on putting me in a dress.

 

G
RANDMA'S TABLE WAS SET WITH FANCY PLATES AND
glasses. We used plastic Tupperware cups back home, but Grandma's looked like crystal. All her serving bowls matched the dishes too. And the napkins were cloth, not paper. I sat perched on the edge of the chair, afraid to touch anything, while I waited for the serving bowls to come my way.

“Grandma Cooper, where did you get all those dolls out in the living room?” Charlene asked, taking the smallest piece of meat from the platter. “I've never seen such pretty dolls. And there's so many of them.”

“Those came directly from England,” Grandma said. “They're hand-painted porcelain with real human hair and handmade dresses. No two are alike.”

“Wow. They must be expensive,” Charlene said.

Grandma nodded. “Very.”

“Did you get those when you were little?” Ruthie asked. “I sure would love pretty dolls like them.” She stared into the living room like a dog pouting over a bone just out of reach.

Grandma smiled. “No. Your grandfather bought one for me every year on my birthday and then each Christmas after we were married.”

“They're real nice,” I offered.

Charlene took a sip of water and almost choked. “Chip, you don't like dolls. Mama got you a doll when you were a baby and you chewed all the fingers off it.”

Mama shook her head, smiling. “You never asked for another one.”

I tucked my bottom lip under my front teeth. “That doesn't mean anything. Those dolls, they're nice, Grandma. Real nice.”

Mama, Charlene, and Ruthie all looked at me.

“What? They are,” I said, suddenly real keen to study the pattern of roses and vines on Grandma's plates.

“Thank you, Brenda,” Grandma said. “I like them too.”

Everyone started chattering more about dolls and dresses, but I had nothing else to say, so I shoveled down the horrible okra Grandma had made for dinner as fast as I could and asked to be excused. I ran back to my room and stayed up there until the house was quiet and I got bored staring at the owl, waiting to see if I could catch it moving. I wrote Billy a letter telling him about the car ride down and the hawk I'd seen in West Virginia flying with a snake dangling from its talons. Billy would've loved that. I didn't get any kind of sign from Daddy, so I went down to the patio. Maybe there'd be a sign out there.