A Sky for Us Alone

by Kristin Russell

  “Perfect timing,” I said when I opened the door and helped her with the two brown paper bags she carried.

  “Told you I would, and that was even before—”

  “Thank you,” I whispered. I set the bags on the counter and started unpacking them. There were two dozen eggs, as if she’d heard my thoughts earlier, along with a homemade loaf of bread, some fat tomatoes, sliced ham, and a few other things. I looked up from the bag to introduce her to Tennessee and Omie, but she was already sitting next to them, talking.

  “Oh, you’re the one who sent us the amazing pie,” Tennessee said.

  Omie looked up at the word “pie” and said, “Yum.”

  Mama Draughn giggled with him. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Plenty more, and I can’t wait to have you both in my kitchen soon.”

  “If you’re willing to share your recipe, I’d love to learn,” Tennessee said. “It tastes like one that’s been in your family a long time.”

  “You got good taste buds, woman. Harlowe’s been bugging me to sell my pies, but I don’t have the energy. But if you two wanted to give it a go—”

  “Really?” I interrupted her, excited to think about starting any kind of project with Tennessee.

  “What are y’all talking about now?” Mama looked down at her cleavage and wrapped her robe tighter around her.

  “We were just trying to come up with some ways to make a little cash,” I offered.

  “It’d be good outlet for Harlowe,” Mama Draughn said. “For all of us, really.”

  “I used to bake with our mom but haven’t done any since she passed. Your crust is like nothing I’ve ever had before,” Tennessee said, sounding a lot more cheerful than she’d been before Mama D showed up.

  “Glad to hear it. We’ll start today, then. If that’s all right with you, of course,” Mama D said to Mama.

  “That sounds just fine. It will give them all something to do,” Mama said.

  “My thoughts exactly.” Mama D leaned over and whispered to her, as if we couldn’t hear, “And there’s plenty of food in those bags that should keep you set for at least a few days, so you can just rest.” Mama D was always warm with her, no matter the proud cold shoulder Mama gave her.

  “That’s very kind of you, as always,” Mama said, and ran her hands over her curls. “I can’t believe I’m not dressed yet. It was a long night, as you might guess.”

  “You have more reason than anyone to take your time these days. I haven’t forgotten about our girls’ night, so you know. We’ll make that happen real soon. For now, enjoy a little quiet. I’ll get these hoodlums out of your hair so you can take a nice long bath. Those always give me a new lease.”

  Mama smiled and squinted when she inhaled her cigarette. “That sounds nice,” she said, but seemed a little put off by the advice.

  I carried the cereal bowls to the sink, unpacked the food Mama Draughn brought to us, and put away anything that might spoil.

  Mama pointed to the tomatoes on the counter. “I never see ones like that anymore,” she said. “Don’t know why they can’t stock good ones in town.”

  “Costs too much, I guess,” Mama D said. “Or people don’t buy them. Next time I go to market, I’ll make sure to bring you some, along with some peaches before the season’s over. My friend Aida gets them off her sister’s land in Georgia. You won’t believe. Better than strawberry wine.”

  “Only if it’s no trouble,” Mama said. “You’ve always done so much for Harlowe. I worry you think he’s not all right here, but he is. We’re doing fine. Just takes time.”

  “I don’t worry about that,” Mama Draughn said. “I’ve always loved each of you, and nothing could ever change that for me. Just reflex by now, that’s all.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mama said. “My nerves are raw lately. Think they’re all showing through my skin today.”

  “Don’t cover them on my account,” Mama Draughn said. “The three of you ready to go?”

  “Just let us brush our teeth,” Tennessee said.

  I remembered Nate telling me to do the same, just before he took me and a bag of clothes to Mama Draughn’s over six years ago. Now Mama was getting worse from missing him, and that made me miss him more, along with the advice he could have given me.

  Chapter 22

  ROWS OF WRINKLES DREW up around Mr. Draughn’s eyes as he smiled at all of us standing on the front porch. “Well, Darla, didn’t know you were going on a treasure hunt today,” he said.

  “Thought you might enjoy some company,” Mama Draughn said. “These two are as golden as their hair.”

  Omie ran straight to Mr. Draughn’s side, grabbed the arm of the rocker, and grinned up into his face. “Can I have a turn?” He hopped on one foot.

  “Climb on up,” Mr. Draughn laughed, his gums shining where his teeth had gone missing.

  Mama Draughn whispered to me and Tennessee, “The three of us can have a little time to talk, now.” Once we were standing inside the kitchen she said, “I don’t know how much Harlowe’s told you about me, Tennessee, but I wanted to ask if there’s any way I can help, knowing only a little bit of what y’all are facing.”

  “Do you mind if I ask how you know?” Tennessee asked.

  “You’re sharp, that’s good. Don’t mind at all, but I can’t answer your question except to say, somewhere along the way, I became that person people tell things to. This is a safe place, here. I’ve worked hard to keep it that way, and I suppose folk feel the freedom to tell me things because of it.”

  “I see,” Tennessee said. “I understand why people feel at ease with you, I felt it right away. I really hope I didn’t sound rude, I’m still learning the way things work around here.”

  “I only thought you sounded smart, certainly not rude. You’ve got a good head on some strong young shoulders. How are you holding up? Has this kind of thing happened before?”

  “Yes. But Omie doesn’t know that, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “Understood, but don’t be surprised if it comes out at some point that he knew all along. I think he’s got your spirit, and I’m guessing that part of y’all came from your mama. The intuition, I mean. Our Harlowe’s got a hefty dose of it too.”

  “It’s not always easy to feel things so much,” Tennessee said, and looked a little sad.

  “That’s why our kind have to stick together. Got anywhere you and Omie could go if things got worse? Any family close by?” Mama D took a bag of cherries from the counter and began sorting through them, checking for any bad ones.

  “No. Mom’s family is still mad at us because Dad owes them money, and we’ve never met any of his blood relations.”

  “Well, they can’t stay angry with you over his faults forever,” Mama Draughn said. “Let me add that they shouldn’t.”

  “Mom’s sister wouldn’t even come to the funeral. That’s how much they hate him.”

  “People act surprising when they lose someone.” Mama Draughn filled a big pot with water and set it on the stove.

  Before we could see him, we heard the patter of Omie’s little feet running toward us on the wooden planks. “Mr. Draughn says bring him tea,” he said.

  “Oh look, Herbert finally got himself a little helper!” Mama Draughn laughed. “Hold tight just one minute.” She reached into the fridge and filled a glass. “There you go. Ask him about the time he walked smack into a sourwood honey tree. Best honey there is, you know.”

  I’d heard the story at least five different times, and it still sent shivers up my back wondering how he escaped all the bees alive.

  “Okay!” Omie shouted, spilling only a little tea on his way out the door.

  “We might as well get to work in here,” Mama Draughn said. “No matter how I tried, I could never get my June to bake with me. So I’m real happy to have someone who wants to learn.” She scurried around the cupboard and grabbed tools and ingredients, then handed them over for us to set on the table.

  “Tennessee, grab two sticks
of butter from the fridge and cut them into little squares straightaway. Don’t touch it too much though; we have to keep it cold. That’s hard to do in these summer months, but it’s the most important thing. I keep my flour in the icebox and that helps some. Looks like you got the touch,” she said, peering over Tennessee’s shoulder. “Harlowe, pour the flour into that bowl. We want to smear the butter in there with it, so you get flat leaves of butter covered in the flour—no powdery stuff left at the bottom, and no balls, neither. Do it fast, that’s right—get on in there. Smear those big chunks there or the crust will tear.”

  “How does this look?” Tennessee lifted her floury hands so Mama Draughn could see inside the bowl.

  Mama D sifted through the mixture a little with her fingers. “It’s ready for the ice water now. Scoop your hand around to mix, just to the point when you can pull it all together without it falling apart, and then shape it into a ball. Next we’ll set it in the icebox to rest and let it get good and cold again before it hits the oven. That’s when the butter and flour make the real magic happen.” She fanned herself with the recipe book and didn’t notice when something fell to the floor.

  I reached down to pick up the old photograph while Tennessee scooped the dough and began shaping it. When I held the picture close, I saw that it was of a young Mama Draughn, slim with curled hair, holding a baby on her hip, who I guessed was tiny June. On the other side of them stood an even younger-looking woman, with dark hair, wearing pants and an oversized men’s work shirt. She had one hand on June’s little arm, and the other around Mama Draughn’s shoulder.

  “Who is this beside you?” I asked Mama D, then showed the picture to Tennessee so she’d know what I was talking about.

  “Wow, look at you.” Tennessee pointed at the photograph, but moved her hand away quick so she wouldn’t get flour on it. “You were so beautiful. I mean, you still are.”

  Mama Draughn laughed a little at Tennessee trying to cover her tracks. “It’s okay. My looks certainly aren’t what they used to be. No need to sugarcoat that truth. That there’s my sister Nuna,” she said, leaning into my shoulder when she looked closer. “Lord, we were so young. If I’d only known then, and all that hooey us old folk say. It’s true though. It will hit you one day, and you’ll remember me saying so.”

  “You have a sister?” I’d never heard her mention one before.

  “We’ve only known each other for eighteen years, Harlowe. I don’t believe you can ever know all there is about a person. I got more than one sister. The other two gone on ahead, though, and it’s just me and Nuna still living. She won’t come down off the mountain, though.” She looked at the ingredients on the table and muttered, like she was eyeing what she needed at the next grocery trip.

  “Why won’t she?” I asked.

  “Oh, she’s still mad at me,” she said, still making some kind of mental list and not looking up. I could see we weren’t going to hear any more about Nuna that day.

  “You could just tell me to mind my own business, you know,” I said.

  “What’s the fun in that? I like to watch you try to figure things,” Mama Draughn said. “Come on over to the stove and I’ll show you how to cook the filling. Not for too long, or it will turn to syrup. Good for pancakes, but not the kind of thing we want for pies. The fruit should still have a crunch to it before it goes in the oven, but the bit of extra cooking thickens the sauce.” She measured sugar and spices and stirred it all together with a spoon almost as big as my hand.

  I looked at the piles of fruit sitting on top of the counter and thought she must have already spent a month’s worth of groceries on all of the supplies for us.

  “We’ll jar whatever filling we don’t bake in the pies. Herbert eats it with a spoon for breakfast. Puts it on everything. If you two decide to sell the pies at market, you could sell the filling too. Always nice to have more than one thing to offer people.” She handed me the spoon and I took over the stirring while Tennessee measured ingredients for another crust.

  The first pie we baked didn’t seem anything like the ones I’d tasted of Mama Draughn’s, and I wondered if we’d ever get close to touching hers. The next two came out a little better, and the fourth was finally sellable, Mama D said—a golden peach pie with decorations of leaves that Tennessee cut out of extra dough and put on top.

  For the rest of the day, we worked more than we talked, our hands finding a kind of rhythm that made it hard to think about anything else. Omie ran in to check on us, following his nose once the baking was under way, and Mama Draughn sent him straight back outside with one of the ugly pies and two forks for him and Mr. Draughn.

  Finally the three of us sat at the table and rested, wiping the sweat from our faces with old kitchen towels Mama D passed around, and sipping ice water. Mama Draughn looked at the photograph of her and Nuna again. Her expression held the same sadness on her face as when she looked over at the wall of June’s photos.

  “How are you feeling now?” she asked Tennessee after she set the photograph on the table and looked up at us again.

  “A lot better than I did this morning. Learning how to do something new always seems to get me out of a funk.”

  “You should see how many books she has,” I said to Mama D. “Got me beat in the brains department, that’s for sure.”

  “Men often feel a need to state the obvious, don’t they?” Mama Draughn said, smiling at me.

  Tennessee laughed but then softened when she saw I didn’t join in the laughter. “At least with Harlowe it’s obviously kind,” she said.

  “You given any thought to what you want to do in life?” Mama Draughn thumbed the edge of the photograph, but this time kept her eyes on the two of us, sitting across from her.

  “Teaching, most likely. I’d love to write stories too, but with Omie, it’s really hard to find the time.”

  “You’d be a great teacher, and with the stories—you’ll find time if it’s something you really care about. You’re a diligent sort, I can see that even in your crust making.” I knew these were the kinds of questions Mama Draughn wished she could still ask June about, and I was glad Tennessee didn’t seem to mind answering them.

  “I have so much to learn. And then there’s the hope of getting to college . . .”

  “You’ll find a way. Plant your dreams carefully. Might take a while to find the right kind of sunshine and water, but remember even wiry thistles can sprout up through rocks.”

  “My mom would have really liked you,” Tennessee said, and pulled pieces of dough from her fingers with a faraway look. Then she cleared her throat to bring her thoughts back from wherever she’d gone and said, “Did it take you long to get your recipe the way you wanted it?”

  Mama Draughn filled both of our glasses with some more ice water from the pitcher on the table. “A lot of time and even more mistakes. Only thing I ask in return is that you remember my kitchen is a place of peace. I don’t allow any trouble here.”

  Tennessee took a deep breath. “You’re saying that because you’ve heard about our dad, aren’t you? I don’t plan on telling him about us taking pies to market, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “I’m not saying what you should or shouldn’t tell your daddy about. I wish there was a simple way to know what secrets we should keep and which we should tell. Figuring that out can take a lifetime,” Mama D said with a sigh.

  “You seem to have it down,” I said. “I bet you know more secrets than anyone in Strickland, but you’ve never had any trouble with the Praters, far as I know. That takes some skill, for sure. Any of them ever bug you?”

  “No,” she said, and knocked her apron free of some fallen flour. “I’ll say this for myself, I can count on one hand the choices I made that didn’t come out of love. If I can keep it that way for the rest of my days, I’ll leave this world in peace.” She carried her glass to the sink and filled it again, drinking almost all of it in one go like all of a sudden thirst had overtaken her.

&n
bsp; Omie stumbled into the kitchen again, yawning this time, and we all smiled at him, Mama D included.

  “Look at your sticky face.” Tennessee pulled him to her side. “I’d say you made a new friend today.” She tried to smooth his cowlicked hair. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

  While they washed at the sink beside Mama Draughn, Mr. Draughn set the almost-empty pie tin on the table. “Welp, you can count on us to eat up all your rejects, ain’t that right, O? Think that little fella could win some pie-eating contests right good.”

  “You have no idea how true that is,” Tennessee chimed in from the sink.

  “Anytime you need a hand with him, bring him on over here. Been a long time since I had as good of company.”

  “You always wanted grandkids, didn’t you,” Mama Draughn said.

  “True, but, I’m still plenty happy with the way things turned out,” Mr. Draughn said, resting his hand on her shoulder. “I’m the luckiest fool I ever known, to still be here with you.”

  She smiled up at him. “We both know that you’ve had to put up with plenty with me,” Mama Draughn said. “The two of us are equal lucky, and that’s the truth.”

  After Tennessee dried Omie’s hands, she carried the mixing bowl from the table to the sink, and I followed her with the dirty measuring cups, spoons, and rolling pin.

  “Oh, leave all that,” Mama Draughn said. “It will give me something to do later. Take the best pie home to your mama. I’ll put a few jars of filling in a bag for y’all, too.”

  Omie leaned against Tennessee’s legs and rubbed his eyes.

  “We should probably start walking,” Tennessee said. “I don’t know how much longer he’ll last. Thanks again for today,” she said to both Mama and Mr. Draughn.

  “No need for any more thanks,” Mama Draughn said. “I enjoyed it as much as anyone.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that, because I have a feeling this one will be asking to come back very soon.” Tennessee looked down at Omie.