Ruby Lee and Me

by Shannon Hitchcock

  In memory of Mrs. Pauline Porter, who first taught me to read, and my sister, Robin, who once said, “Make up a story about us.”

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One: The Accident

  Chapter Two: Grandpa’s House

  Chapter Three: Bread Baking

  Chapter Four: Berry Picking

  Chapter Five: Good Books

  Chapter Six: The Power of Prayer

  Chapter Seven: Down the Ravine

  Chapter Eight: This Old House

  Chapter Nine: Ruby Lee

  Chapter Ten: Broken Promises

  Chapter Eleven: Storytelling

  Chapter Twelve: Sarah’s Great Idea

  Chapter Thirteen: Potty Humor

  Chapter Fourteen: A Clean Slate

  Chapter Fifteen: Surelick

  Chapter Sixteen: Walking on the Moon

  Chapter Seventeen: Back to the Hospital

  Chapter Eighteen: Ice-Cream Social

  Chapter Nineteen: A Brave Girl

  Chapter Twenty: Sarah Comes Clean

  Chapter Twenty-One: Goodnight Moon

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  Picture Section

  About the Author

  Copyright

  It was a perfectly ordinary day, until it wasn’t.

  Robin played in the sandbox while I read underneath the mimosa tree. I was spending the first day of summer vacation babysitting my sister, or at least I was supposed to be. Before long my mind had drifted clear out of North Carolina, and I was swimming with a dolphin off the English coast.

  A loud screech jolted me out of the story. A car, a black car, had hit someone! Bad things never happened in our neighborhood. I hid my face in my hands. It couldn’t be real.

  When I got the courage to look, people were spilling from cars and homes into the street. I dropped my book and ran toward them.

  A man I didn’t know took charge. “Call an ambulance,” he shouted. “Somebody call an ambulance!”

  I saw Robin’s red tennis shoe abandoned in the street. I yelled. I cried and wailed. She lay on the ground, small and still. When I screamed her name, she tried to get up. Her legs crumpled beneath her.

  I got all cold and numb, like I’d been put in the meat locker at Gentry’s Grocery. A faraway ambulance siren rang in my ears.

  Mama gave me a hard shake. “Sarah, listen to me.”

  I tried to focus on her face, but it was a blur. Instead I stared at Mama’s hands. They were still dirty from working in the vegetable garden.

  “I have to go with Robin in the ambulance,” Mama said. “Stay with Cathy until I get back.”

  I was terrified for the ambulance to take Robin away. I might never see her again.

  I pulled from Mama’s grasp and hurried to where the paramedics were loading Robin onto a stretcher. With her eyes closed, she didn’t look six years old. She looked like a baby.

  I fell to my knees. Why did this have to happen? Why?

  The ambulance sped away, and our neighbor Cathy helped me to my feet. “You’re trembling,” she said. “I’m gonna wrap you in a warm quilt and make you a cup of tea.”

  A quilt and tea? That wouldn’t fix things. Nothing could.

  I took a last look at the scene of the accident. A policeman was questioning the driver whose car had hit Robin. He looked about eighteen, Cathy’s age, and kept tugging at his shirt collar. A red-hot hatred ran through me. I wished I could kick him, scratch him, bite him. I would never forgive him for hurting my sister, not in a million, billion years.

  Cathy put her arm around me and led me from the street to her house. Though she piled quilts on me, I was freezing from the inside out. My teeth chattered. Her dog, Scruffy, burrowed under the covers and cuddled up with me.

  The phone rang, and Cathy ran to answer it. “Yes, yes, sir,” she said. “Don’t worry. I know I sound young, but I used to babysit Sarah. Yeah, I think she’s doing okay. She’s wrapped in a quilt and sipping some tea.”

  Cathy stayed on the phone a long time and then hung up the receiver. “That was your grandpa. He’s coming to get you.”

  “Why?”

  She picked at her fingernails and didn’t look at me directly. “Because your parents are spending the night at the hospital. Your grandparents want you to stay with them until Robin’s better.”

  I hid my face in Scruffy’s fur. Ever since Grandpa called, Cathy’s eyes were swimming in tears. I was scared to ask why.

  At five thirty, Cathy’s mama got home from working in the hosiery mill. She fussed over me and made a meat loaf, but my stomach churned. I pretended to be asleep, so I wouldn’t have to eat it.

  Just after supper, Grandpa shuffled in, wearing his Old Hickory overalls. I flung the quilts aside and barreled into him, nearly knocking him off his feet. He patted my hair. “How’s my girl?”

  “I’m afraid, Grandpa.”

  “Me too,” he whispered. He thanked Cathy and her mama for taking care of me. “We surely appreciate it.” He promised to call whenever he had more news. Then Grandpa turned to me. “We need to get you packed up,” he said.

  Our house was quiet, except for a running toilet. I wiggled the handle until it stopped, and then hurried down the hall to my bedroom. I called it the lavender library, because the walls were purple, and it was full of books. I packed my clothes, then stuffed sandals and a pair of Keds underneath them. There was only room left for my journal and a few novels. I stood in front of my bookshelf, thinking about which ones I might need. Finally I chose Little House on the Prairie, Heidi Grows Up, and The Wizard of Oz.

  I lugged the heavy suitcase to Robin’s room. It was decorated with Western stuff, because she wanted to be a cowgirl when she grew up. I took a picture of Robin wearing a cowboy hat off her dresser. I wrapped it in a towel and placed it in my suitcase.

  Grandpa’s dog, Rowdy, was waiting in the back of the truck. He barked and wagged his tail. I was glad to see him.

  “You don’t mind if I put your suitcase in the back with Rowdy, do you?”

  “Course not. He can’t hurt that old suitcase.”

  “I’ll get your bike,” Grandpa said. “You might be staying with us for a while.”

  A while sounded like a long time. I wanted the doctors to make Robin better and send her home tomorrow or, better yet, right now.

  Night settled in, and the sky would be black as pitch before we reached the farm. Grandpa rolled his window down, and a warm breeze blew in. We left the small town of Tucker behind and traveled down a country road with no streetlights. Grandpa sang “In the Sweet By-and-By.” He had a wonderful, deep voice. Listening to him soothed me like a lullaby. I could almost pretend the accident hadn’t happened.

  When he finished the song, Grandpa said, “Sweet pea, what happened today?”

  I didn’t know how to answer him. I saw the accident, but my memories were jumbled. At first I didn’t know Robin was hurt. I just thought she had wandered off. And then when I saw her lying on the ground, it felt the way Reverend Reece describes hell when he’s all wound up.

  “Sarah?”

  Grandpa was waiting for me to explain, but I didn’t know how to own up to a mistake that big. Finally, I took the easy way out. “Robin ran and I couldn’t catch her in time.”

  “Where was she going?” Grandpa asked.

  “I don’t know. Could we not talk about it? Please.”

  Grandpa reached into his pocket and handed me a handkerchief. “Maybe you’ll feel more like talking tomorrow.”

  I didn’t think so.

  It grew even darker on Shady Creek Road. The pavement ended, and Grandpa’s red truck bumped along on the gravel. There were no signs and no
streetlights. We passed the shadows of cow pastures, tobacco barns, and cornfields.

  “Dang it,” Grandpa said. “Now I can’t see at all. Can you drive from here?” Grandpa needed an operation for cataracts, but so far he’d been too stubborn to get one.

  Grandpa pulled over, and I changed seats with him. Though I was only twelve, that didn’t matter on a farm. I had been driving ever since my feet could reach the pedals. A few minutes later, I turned into the farmhouse driveway and shifted into park.

  “Mighty fine driving job,” Grandpa said. “It’s good to be home.”

  It surely was. Though I didn’t live there, the farm felt like a second home to me. Granny had left the front-porch light on for us, but only the moon shone on the barn and outbuildings. I usually visited the farm with Robin. I had a baseball-size lump in my throat.

  Granny was waiting in the kitchen. She smelled like fresh-baked biscuits, and when she hugged me, her faded housedress felt soft against my cheek. “I bet you haven’t had anything to eat,” she said. My granny thought a hot meal would help almost any problem.

  I told Granny I wasn’t hungry, but she didn’t let that stop her. “A little bit of chicken soup will make you feel better. It’ll warm you up and calm your stomach.” Granny ladled soup into a bowl and crumbled saltine crackers on top. “Now eat it real slow.”

  It was easier to do it Granny’s way than to argue. When I finished, she led me to the bathroom and drew a tubful of warm water. “Climb in and take a nice, long soak,” she said. “I’ll be back directly to check on you.”

  My arms and legs relaxed in the warm water. I closed my eyes and wished it could wash away the accident, suck it right down the drain like it had never happened.

  Sometime much later, Granny knocked on the door. “Can I come in?”

  My skin had shriveled like a dried apple. “Yeah, I need to dry off.” Granny handed me a fluffy towel, and I burrowed into its softness. I perched on the commode while Granny worked a comb through my tangled hair.

  “You forgot to pack a nightgown, so you’ll have to sleep in one of mine.”

  It had been a long time since I had let anybody take care of me like that. I followed Granny to the big bed, climbed in, and pulled the quilt up to my chin. “Dear Lord,” Granny prayed. “Thank you for both of my granddaughters. Please watch over them tonight. I don’t understand why this terrible thing has happened, but I’m trusting you to get us through it. Amen.” She bent down and gave me a goodnight kiss.

  All alone, I couldn’t sleep in the big bed. I thought about Granny’s prayer. Her faith was strong, but I had trouble believing in things I couldn’t see.

  My arms felt empty, and I wanted to hug Robin so much it hurt. I climbed out of bed and took her picture from my suitcase. Clutching the frame to my chest, I knelt by the window.

  The farmyard was covered by moonlight. When I was little, I used to wish upon a star. I closed my eyes and wished for two things. The first was for Robin to be good as new. And though my second wish was impossible, I wished it with all my heart. Somehow, I wished the accident hadn’t been my fault.

  I woke to the rooster crowing. For a few seconds, I didn’t even know why I was on the farm, but then I remembered. Robin was hurt. She could even be dead.

  I hid underneath the covers while the accident played inside my mind like a horror movie. Robin’s body slammed against the pavement; the siren wailed. I curled up like a ball of yarn. Maybe if I rolled up tight enough, I’d feel safe.

  Granny pulled the covers back and gathered me into her arms. “Sssh,” she whispered. “Don’t cry. It’ll be all right. Everything will be all right.”

  When I finally quieted down, Granny said, “Robin’s still unconscious. They’ll know more about her head injury when she wakes up.”

  Robin was alive! Those words were as sweet as an angel’s singing.

  “I want you to get dressed,” Granny said. “I’m gonna teach you to make my prizewinning biscuits. Ain’t nothing in this world more soothing than making biscuits.”

  Granny walked over to the cupboard by the sink and took down a wooden recipe box. “Grandpa made this for you a while back,” she said. “I’ve been waiting for the right time to give it to you.”

  The box was made of maple wood and had Sarah’s Recipes carved on the lid. “Grandpa did a beautiful job. I’ll always keep it.”

  “I’m glad you like it,” Granny said. “I thought you would.”

  Following her directions, I sifted two cups of self-rising flour. I threw in a dollop of lard about the size of a hen’s egg. I worked in the lard, then slowly added buttermilk.

  Granny peered over my shoulder. “Buttermilk’s the secret to good biscuits,” she said.

  Getting the dough just right was harder than it looked. First my dough was too gooey, and then it was too dry.

  “Don’t get frustrated,” Granny said. “Find your rhythm. Focus on your hands and the dough.”

  Making biscuits relaxed me like a warm bath.

  Once the bread was in the oven, I had a question for Granny that had been gnawing at my insides. “How do I get through something this awful?”

  Granny turned from crumbling sausage in the skillet for gravy. She stared at me a while before answering. “Every sorrow is different, but you get through ’em the same way. Plenty of rest, good food, and keeping your family and friends close by.” She paused for a minute. “A lot of prayer doesn’t hurt either.”

  I thought about all Granny had said. I knew she prayed for us every single day, but that didn’t stop bad things from happening. Nothing could.

  The screen door banged shut, and Grandpa carried in a full pail of milk. With every footstep, he tracked mud and manure across the kitchen floor. Granny grabbed her broom. “Look at those muddy brogans,” she scolded. “Out, out of my kitchen.”

  I cracked a smile. Grandpa almost never remembered to wipe his feet.

  At the sound of crunching gravel, Granny hurried over to the window. “It’s your daddy,” she said.

  I knocked over my orange juice.

  Dad’s eyes settled on each of us gathered around the table: first Grandpa, then Granny, and finally, on me. “The doctors didn’t expect Robin to make it through the night,” he said, “but she proved them wrong. Robin’s always been a fighter.”

  I gripped the oak table so hard my knuckles turned white.

  Steam rose from the stove, and Granny bustled over to turn off the burners. “Have mercy,” she said. “I almost ruined breakfast.” Though nobody had much of an appetite, she broke open a biscuit and spooned sausage gravy over the top. She placed the plate down in front of my dad. “Charlie, not another word until you get some food in your stomach.” She filled more plates and told Grandpa and me to eat too so we’d keep our strength up.

  Dad took a couple of bites, but mostly he just sipped coffee. I kept my grip on the table, and my eyes never left his face. “There’s no easy way to say this,” he said. “It’s a bad sign that Robin’s still unconscious. And the longer she is, the more serious it looks.”

  Granny pulled a handkerchief from her apron pocket and wiped her eyes. “What else?” she asked.

  “She has a collapsed lung,” Dad said. He sounded like he was reading from a medical encyclopedia. Dad was a lot more comfortable talking about car engines than dealing with doctors.

  “What are they doing about it?” Grandpa asked.

  Dad raked his hands through his light-brown hair. “The doctor put a chest tube in.” Then Dad patted his thigh. “And her femur is broken. That’s the big bone right here.”

  I thought about how much Robin liked to run and jump and climb. “But the leg’s not a big deal, right? Can’t they just put a cast on it?”

  Dad looked down at the table. “It’ll take a year or more for her leg to heal. But right now, the leg doesn’t matter much. What matters is that she opens those beautiful brown eyes of hers.”

  I knew that a year would seem like forever to Robin. �
��Dad, when do the doctors think she’ll wake up?”

  He kept looking down at the table and didn’t meet my eyes. “There’s no way of knowing,” he said. “No way at all.”

  After Dad left for the hospital, I curled up on the den couch with an afghan. Cleaning sounds kept me company: running water, a swishing broom, and banging cupboards. I didn’t have the energy to help Granny with her chores. I wished that I could fall asleep and not wake up until Robin was back home again.

  For lunch, Granny made chicken pie, one of my favorites. I ate exactly one forkful and pushed my plate away.

  “Honey, you should try to eat,” Grandpa said.

  I moved some peas around with my fork and didn’t answer.

  Once the plates were washed and dripping in the dish drainer, Granny said, “Sarah Beth, grab a bucket. We’re gonna pick blackberries with Miss Irene and Ruby Lee.”

  I shook my head no, but Granny had already made up her mind. She said waiting for the phone to ring was driving us both crazy as bedbugs. Granny reached for her bonnet on a hook by the back door. “The fresh air will do you good.”

  We set off for the berry patch, with Granny swinging her hoe and me trailing behind. Granny belonged in the Little House on the Prairie books with her bonnet and hoe.

  Chickens squawked as we passed by the henhouse. Before long the chicken smell was replaced by the scent of flue-cured tobacco. It reminded me of a pipe only stronger. Though it would be another month before it was time to cure tobacco, the smell had seeped into the old wooden barns. I remembered the last time I was here. Robin and Rowdy had been with me.

  Miss Irene and her granddaughter, Ruby Lee, were already picking berries when we got to the patch. Granny and Miss Irene had an arrangement. Miss Irene helped Granny butcher hogs, make quilts, and can vegetables. In return, Grandpa delivered milk and eggs to Miss Irene, and shared her vegetable garden and fruit trees.

  “Lawd, child, you have been through a hard time,” Miss Irene said. She wrapped me in her strong brown arms. I had always loved Miss Irene, and Ruby too, but there was a fine line between our families. Granny and Miss Irene gossiped like best friends here on the farm, but only nodded and smiled when they saw each other in town. I had asked Granny about it once and she said, “The creek don’t care what color feet wade in it, but the town pool surely does. It’s easier to be friends away from wagging tongues.”