Wings of a Dream (32 page)

He lurched into my arms, nearly knocking me to the ground. Tears gruffed my voice as I whispered, “Let’s get you tucked in, too.”

His head nodded against my shoulder. I carried him from the room without so much as a glance at his daddy. My heart couldn’t bear to know whose side Frank had taken—Ollie’s or James’s.

W
ill your mama like me?” James distracted me for the hundredth time.

While I swept the floor, I assured him, again, that she would, although my heart fluttered in my chest every time I said it. Who knew what Mama would think? My stomach roiled, and my breath heaved. And so I worked harder.

By late afternoon, I paced the front walk, twisting my good lace handkerchief beyond recognition. Frank remained in the fields, well beyond my sight. “Bedding up” for planting, he’d told me. And already more than a month behind.

What would Mama say when she saw him here? And what would Frank say when he realized I hadn’t told my parents he’d come home? I ripped my thoughts from that conundrum and focused again on the children. If only the boys would stay clean until Mama arrived. She needed to see them at their best, right off.

The
chug-a-lug
of a car drifted on the breeze. I leaned over the fence. Dan held open the small gate with his body. Ollie slipped her hand into mine as James whispered, “They’re here. They’re here.”

The same excited terror that tremored his voice accelerated my heart. I drank in fresh air and pasted a smile on my face. I had no idea what Mama would look like after her debilitating bout with the Spanish flu, but I prepared myself for the worst.

Mr. Culpepper had hardly stopped the automobile when Daddy jumped out. He reached for Mama’s hand. She set a tentative foot on the brown grass at the edge of the road.

Mama. Paler. Thinner. Softer, somehow. What had done that to her—the influenza or losing her firstborn?

She opened her arms, and I ran into them, our tears mingling on pressed-together cheeks. Then she held me away from her. “Let me look at my baby.”

I wore a real smile now, pulling back my shoulders so I wouldn’t be scolded to stand up straight.

“You look fine.” She cocked her head to the right. “More grown up, I think.” She sighed and looked away.

Daddy stood on the porch, an old valise hanging from his hand. “The air’s cooling off fast. Let’s get her inside.”

James tugged on Mama’s sleeve. Her eyebrows raised in a look I knew meant disapproval. James crooked his arm like a gentleman, ready to escort her up the walk. I held my breath. Mama’s expression didn’t change right away, but then her censure melted. With a prim smile, she wrapped her hand around James’s small elbow. I closed my eyes and breathed a quick prayer of relief.

One down, three to go.

Daddy kissed my cheek as I walked past.

Mama stepped through the door behind me. “What a charming little house.”

Little house? I wanted to laugh. This house wasn’t any smaller than ours in Downington. But I let the comment pass.

“And now, Rebekah, why don’t you introduce me to the welcoming party?”

I placed my hand on James’s head. “You’ve met James.”

Mama tilted her head in acknowledgement.

“This is Dan.” I nudged him forward.

“I’m four.” He held up five fingers, then folded down his thumb with his opposite hand.

Ollie fidgeted, her hands on Janie’s shoulders in front of her. I laid my hand on Ollie’s head. “This is Ollie Elizabeth. And little Janie.”

“Beautiful girls.” Mama’s words sounded strangled and stilted, and the look on her face, now the color of ash, made my stomach tumble. She put her hand on Daddy’s arm.

“You’ve had a long day, Mama. Do you want to rest before supper?”

Mama waved her hand. “Of course we’ll eat your good supper. We’re about starved. You can’t eat a bite while the train’s moving all around like that.”

Daddy grimaced. He looked older than I remembered. And thinner.

“James, take the suitcases to your mama’s bedroom. Ollie, help me put dinner on the table. Dan, take care of Janie.”

I looked to see if Mama approved of how I handled the children, but she didn’t seem to notice. Instead, she fussed with her handbag and frowned.

Oh well. She was tired. Besides, I didn’t need her to tell me I’d done well. I knew I had. In the kitchen, I opened the oven door, intensifying the sweet smell of the sugar-crusted ham. Potatoes sat soft in the water, ready to be beaten and buttered and salt ’n’ peppered. The biscuits went into the oven as soon as I removed the ham.

“Rebekah?” Mama’s voice nearby.

Then the click of the kitchen door.

I whipped around. Mama and Frank stared at each other, red rising in both of their faces.

“Who’s this?” Mama’s voice, barely more than a whisper.

Frank’s features turned hard, as if carved from stone. “Frank Gresham.” He glanced at me, then back to Mama. “I assume you are Mrs. Hendricks?”

Mama turned fiery eyes in my direction. “I see you know who I am, but I haven’t been given the same consideration.”

I backed away, not wanting to be caught in the middle of the twister I’d created.

“Ahhhhh!” Hot metal seared my skin. I grabbed my hand, doubled over. Mama and Frank beside me, one voice in each ear, pain blinding my sight.

“Margaret? Rebekah?” Daddy.

I felt Mama and Frank move back. Daddy led me to the table as my scream drifted away.

“We’ll need eggs and some clean cotton.” Mama taking charge, as usual.

“I have butter and flour right here.” Frank.

“We aren’t making a cake; we’re dressing a burn.”

“I realize that. Butter, then flour. My mother swore by it.”

“It really hurts.” I leaned my head into Daddy’s shoulder.

“I know, baby. Let me see.” He eased open my hand and studied the raised red splotch on my palm.

Frank arrived at the table first. He cradled my hand in his. I whimpered.

“Hush now.” A gentle whisper.

“Let me do that.” Mama pressed her fingers into the pristine “G” atop the newly pressed butter and lathered it on my skin.

“Go on now. Let me do my work.” Mama scooted beside me. Daddy led Frank from the room as Mama wrapped a clean rag around my greasy hand and tied the ends together.

“Thank you, Mama.” I reached up and kissed her cheek.

Moments later, Daddy was there, leading her away. “Let’s rest awhile, Margaret.” He looked back at me. “Supper will wait.”

I nodded. Then Frank stood over me, his eyes more gray than blue.

“I’m sorry.” I fiddled with the end of the bandage.

His face crumpled in confusion. “Why? You didn’t mean to burn yourself.”

“No.” I smoothed the folds of the rag around my hand. “Not that. I’m sorry I didn’t tell Mama you were home.”

“You what?” His voice rose but then fell, as if he remembered the need for quiet.

“Mama didn’t know you’d come home.” My teeth held my bottom lip as I watched him jump up and cross the room, his hands combing through his hair before resting atop his head.

He blew out a long breath, his gaze pinning me still. “And just when were you going to inform her of my presence—in my own house, I might add?”

“I hadn’t quite figured that out yet. But she knows now.” On my feet, I swayed a bit. He reached my side in an instant, that little-boy look softening his face.

I pressed my lips together, holding in the sudden urge to laugh. “I imagine we need to get supper finished.”

He shook his head and led me to the stove. As hard as he tried to hide it, I spied the corners of his mouth fighting to hold a frown.

While Daddy blessed the food, I prayed in my head, asking God to help me be patient with Mama—and she with me. Then voices quieted while dishes clinked and clanked. I filled and refilled glasses with water and milk and coffee.

A while later, Daddy sat back and patted his stomach. “That was what I call larrupin’ good, baby girl.” Daddy’s Texas roots always came out that way after a meal he enjoyed.

I glanced at Frank. Had he thought I’d done well, too? I couldn’t read his expression.

Mama dabbed her napkin at the corners of her mouth. I noticed she’d only picked at the food on her plate, and yet she’d claimed she hadn’t eaten much on the journey. I tried to catch Daddy’s eye, to ask him my silent question, but he didn’t—or wouldn’t—look my way.

“Shouldn’t these children be running off to bed?” Mama said.

Frank’s fingers tightened around his fork, and his chest puffed out.

“I think they can stay up awhile longer, Mama.” I kept my tone light. “The sun’s hardly gone to bed itself. And anyway, this is a special occasion.”

Mama’s eyebrows rose, first at Frank, then at me. I pretended not to notice and hoped Frank would do the same.

“James and Ollie, scrape the plates into the slop barrel.” I said it low, hoping to avoid Mama’s ears.

But very little escaped Mama, even in her somewhat altered state. “You mean to let these children handle this fine china by themselves?”

Their mama’s china,
I wanted to answer back. Something they held near sacred. But I swallowed down my temper. “They’ll be careful.” I turned to them. “Won’t you?”

They nodded back, all eyes.

“Mama, why don’t you let Daddy take you to the parlor? We’ll get some of this put away and join you in a few minutes. Won’t we, Frank?”

Never before had I suggested a course of action to Mama. She always did the “suggesting.” I held my breath, waiting to see what she would do. And if Frank would respond.

Daddy didn’t give Mama a chance to react. He took her arm and led her from the room.

Frank picked up two plates. “You managed that nicely.”

“Thank you.” I picked up a half-full pitcher of milk with my uninjured hand.

He cleared his throat. “Your mother is a bit . . .”

“Overbearing?” I carried the milk into the kitchen, set it in the cooler.

He followed behind. “You’ll have to let me in on your secret if we’re all to survive her visit.”

“Survive whose visit?” James piped up.

Frank looked like he’d been caught eating dessert before dinner. “You and Ollie bring the rest of the dishes.”

The two of them scampered from the room.

I burst out laughing and covered my mouth with my unbound hand.

Frank looked stricken. Then he grinned and handed me a dish towel. “I’ll wash. You dry. We’ll get this cleaned up in no time.”

We fell to work, side by side. And it felt so right.

N
ever in my life had I imagined one person could cause so much disruption to a household. Whatever the influenza had done to weaken Mama’s body, it hadn’t affected her tongue.

“You should let down Ollie’s dress. It’s too short.”

Janie whined at my skirt. I lifted her into my arms.

“You’re spoiling that child. Let her cry. She’s big enough to know better.”

She’s not even a year old, Mama. And her mama’s dead. I think I can hold her when she cries.
I shouted the words in my head. And even though Mama couldn’t hear, it felt good to answer back.

I put on the sweetest smile I could muster. Janie watched my face and did the same. “Why don’t you stay out here on the porch and enjoy this nice morning, Mama?”