Lizzie and Emma

by Linda Byler

  Now Lizzie could hear the amount. “Emma!” she whispered. “One thousand dollars!”

  “That’s a lot, isn’t it?” Emma smiled at Lizzie, wringing her hands nervously in her lap.

  Dat ran over to hold the ponies’ heads, patting their necks as he spoke to them.

  “Eleven hundred dollars!” yelled the auctioneer. “Do I hear eleven twenty-five?” A pause and a resounding, “Sold!” with a whack of his gavel, and the ponies were officially sold to buyer number 520.

  Dat looked at the girls, a broad smile on his face, but there were tears in his eyes. Lizzie and Emma smiled back, but Lizzie’s smile felt funny, as if it could slide downhill and pull the tears along down, like melting ice cream off a cone. She loved Dat and she loved Teeny and Tiny, so it was a mixture of smiles and tears.

  As Dat led the ponies out of the ring, Emma told Lizzie she had done a really good job of driving Teeny and Tiny.

  “I know I did,” Lizzie agreed. “I really don’t know how I did it, Emma.”

  “You were good, anyway,” Emma said, squeezing Lizzie’s hand.

  When they met the new owner, Lizzie felt better instantly. He was an older gentleman, with a small beard and mustache, his hair shining like a white halo around his head. He wrung Dat’s hand over and over, congratulating Lizzie and Emma on their horsemanship at their young age. The girls just smiled shyly, saying nothing. Lizzie kicked at the loose gravel, and pleated a corner of her apron with her hands. She felt awkward when someone congratulated her, and never knew what to say. She had often heard English people say “Thank you!” after a compliment, but that would be acknowledging the fact that she was a good driver, and that would be too bold of her. So she said nothing. When there was nothing else to do but say their final farewells to Teeny and Tiny, Lizzie tried very hard to feel the same as she had before entering the ring under the tent. Dat was talking to the new owner and blinking his eyes rapidly. Lizzie walked over and laid her head on Tiny’s back, while the tears flowed freely. She watched as Emma hugged Teeny’s neck, through a fresh wave of sadness.

  “Come, girls,” Dat said firmly, and they walked away, Dat in the middle with Emma and Lizzie on either side, looking straight ahead, and none of them looked back—not once. There was simply no use.

  chapter 8

  Summer Days

  After the sale of Teeny and Tiny, the days became longer and sunnier. School was over and the summer weather was upon them with a vengeance that year. Instead of the usual spring rains, the wind blew steadily from the west, and there were weeks of no rain at all.

  The soft green grass turned in color, becoming a different shade of green, and it tickled Lizzie’s bare feet to walk on it. During the day, the sun shone hotly, and the girls sat on the porch swing, dangling their legs down over the side, saying nothing and swinging slightly to catch a tiny breeze.

  It was hot. The heat waves shimmered above the road, making it seem as if the road was moving up and down. If you tried to walk on the road, the black, sticky tar bubbles welled up and were so blistering hot that they hurt your feet. So Lizzie and Emma did not walk on the road because of that.

  Because their living quarters were above the harness shop, it was frightfully hot in the house in the afternoon and evening. Mam helped Dat every afternoon, making halters and harnesses, waiting on customers, and keeping cooler than the house would have been. So Lizzie and Emma had to watch Jason and Mandy, but really, Mandy was getting so big that she didn’t need to be watched, just Jason. They always had to do dishes, sweep the kitchen, and pick up the toys. Mam even let Emma help with the laundry, teaching her how to sort it properly and help put the clothing through the wringer of the gas engine-powered washing machine. Sometimes Lizzie had to help hang it on the line, but she couldn’t reach it very well and had to stand on the wagon. That was really scary, because if Emma became impatient, she would pull on the handle and the wagon would lurch forward, causing Lizzie to lose her balance.

  But on most afternoons when it was so hot, they sat on the porch swing, Lizzie reading and Emma pushing the swing slightly with one foot.

  Emma glanced over at Lizzie, frowning. She looks terribly sloppy, she thought. As long as she has her nose in a book, she couldn’t care less what she looks like. Lizzie’s dress was torn under one arm, and a button was missing, and instead of at least putting in a small safety pin, Lizzie just let it hang open. Her hair looked awful, that was all there was to it. Emma wondered when Mam had last taken a brush thoroughly through her sister’s hair. In the summertime, Mam would braid their hair and make a bob with the braid, and that stayed longer. But Lizzie had bits of hay sticking out of her unkempt braids, and there was a brown line on Lizzie’s forehead that was just plain dirt. Emma decided it came from wiping her forehead up toward her hair with her dirty hands.

  Emma’s eyes narrowed and she watched Lizzie more closely. She was eating again, something that looked like cheese curls, and her fingernails were black under the rims, with the tips of her fingers covered with bright yellow cheese from her snack. Lizzie was definitely getting chubbier, too, Emma decided. She was always sitting around reading her books and snacking on something salty. If they didn’t have pretzels or other snacks, she would spread peanut butter on saltine crackers, which Emma thought were dry and disgusting.

  “Lizzie, what are you eating?” Emma began.

  “Cheese curls,” Lizzie answered, absentmindedly.

  “You should stop eating so much, Lizzie. Your dresses are getting tight.”

  “Of course they are—they’re old.”

  “Mine are, too, and they’re not tight.”

  No answer, so Emma pinched her mouth into a straight line and said, “Lizzie.”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Stop eating those sickening cheese curls.”

  “They’re good,” Lizzie said defensively.

  “Where did you get them?”

  “In the pantry.”

  Lizzie put down the book, looking squarely at Emma. “Anyway, I can eat these cheese curls if I want to, and it’s none of your business. They’re stale. I love stale cheese curls, and I left the bag open overnight on purpose, ’cause I like them that way.” She popped another one into her mouth and chewed, making a stale, squooshy sound.

  “Eww, Lizzie!” Emma said.

  “They’re good. Here, try one,” Lizzie said, handing over a greasy little bag filled with the stale snacks.

  “I don’t want any. Lizzie, you shouldn’t just sit around and read; you’re getting fat, for real,” Emma told her bluntly. “And why don’t you wash your face? It’s dirty.”

  Lizzie shrugged her shoulders and smashed her teeth down on another cheese curl. Emma watched her yellow teeth demolishing the disgustingly stale food.

  “Why don’t you get up and do something? I’m thirsty, so why don’t you go make a pitcher of Kool-Aid?” Emma asked.

  “You go.”

  “You’re probably thirstier than I am, eating like that.”

  Lizzie slammed down her book. “Oh, all right. Stop pestering me when I’m reading, Emma. You just do it to disturb me; you know you do. I’m going to go make Kool-Aid and I’m taking some to the shop for Mam and Dat, and you can just come up to the kitchen and make your own, ’cause I’m not giving you any.”

  “Lizzie, you have to let me have a glassful,” Emma whined.

  Lizzie slammed the screen door and walked across the kitchen into the bathroom. She took a really good, long look at herself, turning sideways and pulling in her stomach. What did Emma mean? She was not getting fat. She looked the same as she always did. She put her face up against the mirror and smiled. She wasn’t either dirty, not even a little bit. She couldn’t understand what Emma meant, because there was no dirt anywhere on her face. She decided Emma was fussy; she was the same with her as she was with sweeping the kitchen and straightening the tablecloth.

  Lizzie got a stool and climbed up to the kitchen cupboard, selecting a packet of cherry Kool-Aid. S
he moved the stool over and grabbed a two-quart pitcher, ripping open the packet of Kool-Aid and dumping it into the bottom of the pitcher. She let the water run into it till it was full, then ran over to the refrigerator for a tray of ice. She dumped the ice cubes into the Kool-Aid and set the empty tray on the counter. Mam always told them to refill the ice cube trays whenever they took some out, but Lizzie never did, because it took too long. She did feel guilty sometimes, though, but as long as Mam didn’t scold her too hard, she didn’t bother filling it.

  She found two tall glasses and filled them carefully with Kool-Aid, putting ice cubes in each one. She grabbed one with each hand and started carefully down the steps to the harness shop.

  She paused in the doorway, watching Mam and Dat at work. The sewing machine was clicking steadily with Dat bent over it, sewing a piece of leather for a harness. Mam was sorting rings and keepers, which were little steel and plastic accessories that were put on fancy harnesses. They both looked tired and warm, not saying anything, just bending over their tasks in the stifling heat.

  Lizzie suddenly felt shy for unexplainable reasons, but she stepped forward and said, “Do you want a cold drink?” feeling selfconscious. She really hoped they would like the Kool-Aid.

  Mam smiled down at Lizzie. “Why, Lizzie, that was really nice! Did you make this all by yourself?” she asked.

  Lizzie clasped her hands behind her back and rocked on her heels, beaming at Mam.

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Good! Melvin!” She tapped Dat’s shoulder and he looked up. “Lizzie brought us some Kool-Aid.”

  “She did?” He turned off the sewing machine, swiveled on his stool, and came over to the counter.

  “Why, thank you, Lizzie!”

  “You’re welcome,” Lizzie said, and turned to go back to Emma and her book on the porch swing. She couldn’t resist looking back to see if they liked the Kool-Aid, only to see Mam take a long swallow and make a horrible face. Dat burst out laughing, bent over double, as Mam struggled for breath. They both looked toward the door where Lizzie had just gone through, as if to make sure she didn’t see them.

  Lizzie felt terrible. She ran up the steps, her cheeks burning with shame and humiliation. What in the world could have been wrong with the Kool-Aid? They definitely did not like it, there was no doubt about that at all. They hated it.

  Lizzie flung herself down on the hot, itchy sofa, turning her face to the back, and cried as if she would never stop. When Emma came in for some Kool-Aid, she heard muffled sobs coming from the living room. She stood in the doorway to find Lizzie crying loudly, her face bright red and perspiration soaking her dirty hair.

  “Lizzie!”

  Lizzie sat straight up, her dress tangled about her knees, her hair sticking out worse than ever and her eyes swollen from crying.

  “Emma, you go away right this minute, and I mean it! If you wouldn’t have made me make that Kool-Aid, I wouldn’t be crying. Go away!” she shouted miserably.

  Emma wisely turned her back, smoothing down her dark hair as she entered the kitchen. That Lizzie. It was hard to tell what brought that on. Oh well, at least there was still Kool-Aid in the ice-cold pitcher beaded with condensation.

  Mmm, it looks so refreshing, Emma thought, pouring some into her favorite cup. She took a long swallow, coughed, and stuck out her tongue, running to the sink to let it all drain out of her mouth.

  “Lizzie!”

  Lizzie appeared at the doorway, looking so miserable and disheveled and so warm and uncomfortable that Emma couldn’t be mad at her.

  “Lizzie, you forgot to put sugar in this Kool-Aid! It tastes absolutely awful. Did you take this down to Mam and Dat?” Emma asked.

  “Yes.”

  Lizzie grabbed a dish towel and wiped her face.

  “Lizzie, don’t use a dish towel. Go to the bathroom and wash your face,” Emma said, opening the canister of sugar and carefully measuring some into the remaining Kool-Aid. With her back turned, she asked, “Is that why you were crying? Dat and Mam didn’t like the Kool-Aid, did they? Lizzie, you could have put sugar in it.”

  “You just be quiet right this minute, Emma!”

  “Well, why are you so touchy about it? You can’t drink Kool-Aid without putting sugar in it—you should know that,” Emma fussed, stirring the sugar and ice, tasting a tiny sip before drinking more.

  “I’m little, Emma. I’m a lot younger than you. How was I supposed to know?” Lizzie defended herself.

  “You’re not very little. Didn’t you ever make Kool-Aid before?”

  But there was no answer, because Lizzie was running water in the sink in the bathroom.

  Emma wandered into the pantry, feeling a bit hungry, but not really knowing what she wanted to eat. It was so warm, and she felt sticky and uncomfortable. She lifted the lid on the cookie container, but there were only a few broken pieces of stale chocolate chip cookies on the bottom. She found the bag of cheese curls that Lizzie had left open during the night because she liked them stale and squooshy. She rolled up the bag and stuck in the clothespin that was lying beside it and sighed. There was nothing good to eat, except maybe some brown-speckled bananas. She broke one off and peeled it halfheartedly, flopping down in a kitchen chair, taking a large bite of the overripe fruit.

  Lizzie was still splashing around in the bathroom. Mandy stirred from her nap on the recliner, tossing her leg over the arm, swiping at her warm forehead with a sticky arm. Emma watched her, wondering how she could sleep on that prickly chair in this warm weather. Mandy muttered in her sleep, settled herself, and resumed her long afternoon nap.

  Mandy was not very strong, Emma thought. She was so thin and pale, never having much of an appetite, and Mam said she just wasn’t as hale and hearty as Emma and Lizzie were, whatever that meant.

  Emma wondered why the water was still running in the bathroom. It was taking her a very long time just to wash her face. “Lizzie!” she shouted, above the sound of running water and all the splashing. There was no answer. “Lizzie!”

  The water ran on. Emma was becoming irritated, because she knew Mam would not like Lizzie to run the water so long. Besides, she probably had everything wet in sight. She stalked over to the door, her hands on her hips, glaring at Lizzie.

  Lizzie was wet all over her head, her shoulders, and her sleeves, and even the hem of her dirty dress was dripping on the shaggy blue bathroom rug. She was taking a wet washcloth and squeezing it over the top of her head, water making little rivulets down her face. She stopped when she saw Emma, looking guilty, but so much cooler, and, in spite of herself, Emma had to admit she looked a lot cleaner.

  “Lizzie, I mean it. I’m going down to the harness shop right this minute, and I’m going to tell Mam and Dat what you are doing,” Emma said firmly, turning on her heels and marching away.

  “Emma, no—don’t!” Lizzie ran after Emma, grabbing at her sleeve with her wet hands. Water was dripping on the living room floor, which only made Emma angrier and more determined to tell her parents.

  “Emma, please don’t tattle, okay? I’ll go clean everything up and put on a clean dress. I’ll wash the dishes tonight—I’ll wash them for a whole week if you don’t tattle,” Lizzie pleaded, standing in front of Emma, soaking wet and looking so desperate that Emma had to try really hard not to laugh.

  “Please, Emma!” Lizzie gave her the most pitiful, repentant look Emma had ever seen, and she had seen Lizzie try lots of faces to help save herself many times. This look was more than Emma could bear, and she burst out laughing, giving Lizzie a shove to move her away. Lizzie looked so relieved, and giggled along with Emma, saying, “I’ll go clean up,” and hurried off.

  When Lizzie returned, her arms raised up over her shoulders to button her dress down the back, she looked at Emma and gave her a sheepish grin. Then she hurried into the bathroom, and Emma heard her grunting with the effort it took to clean up the wet bathroom floor. She heard Mam’s heavy footsteps coming up the back stairway, and cast a hurried glance
toward the bathroom, but didn’t say anything, because there was no time. Mam walked into the kitchen, smiled at Emma and said it was high time to start supper.

  “I had better clean up first,” Mam said, holding up her blackened hands. She turned, spotting Mandy on the recliner and bent to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, murmuring to her about how warm she looked. She reached the bathroom door, stopped, and put her hand on her hip.

  Emma watched nervously, because she was just sure the bathroom was a horrible mess. Mam just kept standing there, not saying a word, but Emma could tell by her stiffened shoulders that she was angry.

  “Lizzie Glick!” Mam did not often raise her voice, but this was one time when she was very, very upset. Emma looked carefully between the door frame and Mam, almost afraid what Lizzie would be doing.

  Lizzie was putting the shaggy blue bath rug into the bathtub because it was dripping wet. It was too heavy to do it quickly, so half of it hung out, dirty water running steadily across the already wet floor.

  In one swift movement, Mam put the whole rug into the tub, catching Lizzie’s upper arm at the same time.

  “What do you think you’re doing, Lizzie?” she asked in an awful tone of voice.

  “I … I just spilled water, Mam. I’ll clean it up. Honest, I will,” Lizzie implored.

  “Why is this whole bathroom covered with water? You did not spill it, Lizzie,” Mam said, still using that same tone of voice.

  “I was just so warm, Mam,” Lizzie said, starting to cry. “And I splashed some water on my head!”

  “Don’t you ever think of playing with water in the bathroom again. You’re old enough to know better. Eight years old! Emma, why did you let her? Didn’t you know what she was doing? Lizzie, you go sit on that platform rocker and stay there till Emma and I have supper ready,” she scolded.

  Mam marched into the kitchen, taking a corner of her dirty gray apron to wipe her face. She sank into a kitchen chair, raised both hands, and waved them in front of her face. “It is so warm up here in the kitchen,” she said wearily. “What am I going to make for supper?”