Nebula Awards Showcase 2006

by Gardner Dozois

  Ruby parts the sea of sheets to reveal a small head of carrot-red hair.

  “Miss Mouse? What on God’s green earth you doin in there? I like to bury you in all them sheets!”

  A bit more of Mary Louise appears, her hair in tangles, her eyes red-rimmed from crying.

  “Is Kitty gone?” she asks.

  Ruby nods. “She at the beauty parlor again. What you doin in there? You hidin from Miz Kitty?”

  “Uh-huh.” Mary Louise sits up and a cascade of hand towels and washcloths tumbles out onto the floor.

  “What she done this time?”

  “She—she—” Mary Louise bursts into ragged sobs.

  Ruby reaches in and puts her hands under Mary Louise’s arms, lifting the weeping child out of the pile of laundry. She carries her over to the basement stairs and sits down, cradling her. The tiny child shakes and holds on tight to Ruby’s neck, her tears soaking into the white cotton collar. When her tears subside into trembling, Ruby reaches into a pocket and proffers a pale yellow hankie.

  “Blow hard,” she says gently. Mary Louise does.

  “Now scooch around front a little so you can sit in my lap.” Mary Louise scooches without a word. Ruby strokes her curls for a minute. “Sugar? What she do this time?”

  Mary Louise tries to speak, but her voice is still a rusty squeak. After a few seconds she just holds her tightly clenched fist out in front of her and slowly opens it. In her palm is a wrinkled scrap of pale blue flannel, about the size of a playing card, its edges jagged and irregular.

  “Miz Kitty do that?”

  “Uh-huh,” Mary Louise finds her voice. “I was watching Disney and she came in to get another drink. She said Bankie was just a dirty old rag with germs and sucking thumbs was for babies—” Mary Louise pauses to take a breath. “She had scissors and she cut up all of Bankie on the floor. She said next time she’d get bigger scissors and cut off my thumbs! She threw my Bankie pieces in the toilet and flushed, three times. This one fell under the couch,” Mary Louise says, looking at the small scrap, her voice breaking.

  Ruby puts an arm around her shaking shoulders and kisses her forehead. “Hush now. Don’t you fret. You just sit down here with me. Everything gonna be okay. You gotta—” A buzzing noise from the washer interrupts her. She looks into the laundry area, then down at Mary Louise and sighs. “You take a couple deep breaths. I gotta move the clothes in the washer so they’re not all on one side. When I come back, I’m gonna tell you a story. Make you feel better, okay?”

  “Okay,” says Mary Louise in a small voice. She looks at her lap, not at Ruby, because nothing is really very okay at all.

  Ruby comes back a few minutes later and sits down on the step next to Mary Louise. She pulls two small yellow rectangles out of her pocket and hands one to Mary Louise. “I like to set back and hear a story with a stick of Juicy Fruit in my mouth. Helps my ears open up or somethin. How about you?”

  “I like Juicy Fruit,” Mary Louise admits.

  “I thought so. Save the foil. Fold it up and put it in your pocket.”

  “So I have someplace to put the gum when the flavor’s all used up?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe we got somethin else to do and that foil might could come in handy. You save it up neat and we’ll see.”

  Mary Louise puts the gum in her mouth and puts the foil in the pocket of her corduroy pants, then folds her hands in her lap and waits.

  “Well, now,” says Ruby. “Seems that once, a long, long time ago, down South Carolina, there was a little mouse of a girl with red, red hair and big blue eyes.”

  “Like me?” asks Mary Louise.

  “You know, I think she was just about ’zactly like you. Her momma died when she was just a little bit of a girl, and her daddy married hisself a new wife, who was very pretty, but she was mean and lazy. Now, this stepmomma, she didn’t much like stayin home to take care of no child weren’t really her own and she was awful cruel to that poor little girl. She never gave her enough to eat, and even when it was snowin outside, she just dress her up in thin cotton rags. That child was awful hungry and cold, come winter.

  “But her real momma had made her a blanket, a soft blue blanket, and that was the girl’s favorite thing in the whole wide world. If she wrapped it around herself and sat real quiet in a corner, she was warm enough, then.

  “Now, her stepmomma, she didn’t like seein that little girl happy. That little girl had power inside her, and it scared her stepmomma. Scared her so bad that one day she took that child’s most favorite special blanket and cut it up into tiny pieces, so it wouldn’t be no good for warmin her up at all.”

  “That was really mean of her,” Mary Louise says quietly.

  “Yes it was. Awful mean. But you know what that little girl did next? She went into the kitchen, and sat down right next to the cook-stove, where it was a little bit warm. She sat there, holdin one of the little scraps from her blanket, and she cried, ’cause she missed havin her real momma. And when her tears hit the stove, they turned into steam, and she stayed warm as toast the rest of that day. Ain’t nothin warmer than steam heat, no siree.

  “But when her stepmomma saw her all smilin and warm again, what did that woman do but lock up the woodpile, out of pure spite. See, she ate out in fancy rest’rants all the time, and she never did cook, so it didn’t matter to her if there was fire in the stove or not.

  “So finally that child dragged her cold self down to the basement. It was mighty chilly down there, but she knew it was someplace her stepmomma wouldn’t look for her, ’cause the basement’s where work gets done, and her stepmomma never did do one lick of work.

  “That child hid herself back of the old wringer washer, in a dark, dark corner. She was cold, and that little piece of blanket was only big enough to wrap a mouse in. She wished she was warm. She wished and wished and between her own power and that magic blanket, she found her mouse self. Turned right into a little gray mouse, she did. Then she wrapped that piece of soft blue blanket around her and hid herself away just as warm as if she was in a feather bed.

  “But soon she heard somebody comin down the wood stairs into the basement, clomp, clomp, clomp. And she thought it was her mean old stepmomma comin to make her life a misery again, so she scampered quick like mice do, back into a little crack in the wall. ’Cept it weren’t her stepmomma. It was the cleanin lady, comin down the stairs with a big basket of mendin.”

  “Is that you?” Mary Louise asks.

  “I reckon it was someone pretty much like me,” Ruby says, smiling. “And she saw that little mouse over in the corner with that scrap of blue blanket tight around her, and she said, ‘’Scuse me, Miss Mouse, but I needs to patch me up this old raggy sweater, and that little piece of blanket is just the right size. Can I have it?’ ”

  “Why would she talk to a mouse?” Mary Louise asks, puzzled.

  “Well, now, the lady knew that it wasn’t no regular mouse, ’cause she weren’t no ordinary cleanin lady, she was a conjure woman too. She could see that magic girl spirit inside the mouse shape clear as day.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  Ruby smiles. “Now, the little mouse-child had to think for a minute, because that piece of blue blanket was ’bout the only thing she loved left in the world. But the lady asked so nice, she gave over her last little scrap of blanket for the mendin and turned back into a little girl.

  “Well sir, the spirit inside that blue blanket was powerful strong, even though the pieces got all cut up. So when the lady sewed that blue scrap onto that raggy old sweater, what do you know? It turned into a big warm magic coat, just the size of that little girl. And when she put on that magic coat, it kept her warm and safe, and her stepmomma never could hurt her no more.”

  “I wish there really was magic,” says Mary Louise sadly. “Because she did hurt me again.”

  Ruby sighs. “Magic’s there, sugar. It truly is. It just don’t always work the way you think it will. That sufferin hand we put in Miz Kitty’s bed, it work
just fine. It scared her plenty. Trouble is, when she scared, she get mad, and then she get mean, and there ain’t no end to it. No tellin what she might take it into her head to cut up next.”

  “My thumbs,” says Mary Louise solemnly. She looks at them as if she is saying good-bye.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of. Somethin terrible bad. I been thinkin on this over the weekend, and yesterday night I call my Aunt Nancy down in Beaufort, where I’m from. She’s the most powerful conjure woman I know, taught me when I was little. I ask her what she’d do, and she says, ‘Sounds like you all need a Peaceful Home hand, stop all the angry, make things right.’ ”

  “Do we have to make the bed again?” asks Mary Louise.

  “No, sugar. This is a wearin hand, like my money hand. ’Cept it’s for you to wear. Got lots of special things in it.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, first we got to weave together a hair charm. A piece of yours, a piece of Miz Kitty’s. Hers before the goopher, I think. And we need some dust from the house. And some rosemary from the kitchen. I can get all them when I clean today. The rest is stuff I bet you already got.”

  “I have magic things?”

  “I b’lieve so. That piece of tinfoil from your Juicy Fruit? We need that. And somethin lucky. You got somethin real lucky?”

  “I have a penny what got run over by a train,” Mary Louise offers.

  “Just so. Now the last thing. You know how my little bag’s green flannel, ’cause it’s a money hand?”

  Mary Louise nods.

  “Well, for a Peaceful Home hand, we need a square of light blue flannel. You know where I can find one of those?”

  Mary Louise’s eyes grow wide behind her glasses. “But it’s the only piece I’ve got left.”

  “I know,” Ruby says softly.

  “It’s like in the story, isn’t it?”

  “Just like.”

  “And like in the story, if I give it to you, Kitty can’t hurt me ever again?”

  “Just like.”

  Mary Louise opens her fist again and looks at the scrap of blue flannel for a long time. “Okay,” she says finally, and gives it to Ruby.

  “It’ll be all right, Miss Mouse. I b’lieve everything will turn out just fine. Now I gotta finish this laundry and do me some housework. I’ll meet you in the kitchen round one-thirty. We’ll eat and I’ll fix up your hand right after my story.”

  At two o’clock the last credits of As the World Turns disappear from the TV. Ruby and Mary Louise go down to the basement. They lay out all the ingredients on the padded gray surface of the ironing board. Ruby assembles the hand, muttering under her breath from time to time. Mary Louise can’t hear the words. Ruby wraps everything in the blue flannel and snares the neck of the walnut-sized bundle with three twists of white string.

  “Now all we gotta do is give it a little drink, then you can put it on,” she tells Mary Louise.

  “Drink of what?”

  Ruby frowns. “I been thinkin on that. My Aunt Nancy said best thing is to get me some Peaceful oil. But I don’t know no root doctors up here. Ain’t been round Detroit long enough.”

  “We could look in the phone book.”

  “Ain’t the kind of doctor you finds in the Yellow Pages. Got to know someone who knows someone. And I don’t. I told Aunt Nancy that, and she says in that case, reg’lar whiskey’ll do just fine. That’s what I been givin my money hand. Little bit of my husband’s whiskey every mornin for six days now. I don’t drink, myself, ’cept maybe a cold beer on a hot summer night. But whiskey’s strong magic, comes to conjurin. Problem is, I can’t take your hand home with me to give it a drink, ’long with mine.”

  “Why not?”

  “ ’Cause once it goes round your neck, nobody else can touch it, not even me, else the conjure magic leak right out.”

  Ruby looks at Mary Louise thoughtfully. “What’s the most powerful drink you ever had, Miss Mouse?”

  Mary Louise hesitates for a second, then says, “Vernor’s ginger ale.

  The bubbles are very strong. They go up my nose and make me sneeze.”

  Ruby laughs. “I think that just might do. Ain’t as powerful as whiskey, but it fits, you bein just a child and all. And there’s one last bottle up in the Frigidaire. You go on up now and fetch it.”

  Mary Louise brings down the yellow and green bottle. Ruby holds her thumb over the opening and sprinkles a little bit on the flannel bag, mumbling some more words that end with “father son and holy ghost amen.” Then she ties the white yarn around Mary Louise’s neck so that the bag lies under her left armpit, and the string doesn’t show.

  “This bag’s gotta be a secret,” she says. “Don’t talk about it, and don’t let nobody else see it. Can you do that?”

  Mary Louise nods. “I dress myself in the morning, and I change into my jammies in the bathroom.”

  “That’s good. Now the next three mornings, before you get dressed, you give your bag a little drink of this Vernor’s, and say, ‘Lord, bring an end to the evil in this house, amen.’ Can you remember that?”

  Mary Louise says she can. She hides the bottle of Vernor’s behind the leg of her bed. Tuesday morning she sprinkles the bag with Vernor’s before putting on her T-shirt. The bag is a little sticky.

  But Mary Louise thinks the magic might be working. Kitty has bought a blond wig, a golden honey color. Mary Louise thinks it looks like a helmet, but doesn’t say so. Kitty smiles in the mirror at herself and is in a better mood. She leaves Mary Louise alone.

  Wednesday morning the bag is even stickier. It pulls at Mary Louise’s armpit when she reaches for the box of Kix in the cupboard. Ruby says this is okay.

  By Thursday, the Vernor’s has been open for too long. It has gone flat and there are no bubbles at all. Mary Louise sprinkles her bag, but worries that it will lose its power. She is afraid the charm will not work, and that Kitty will come and get her. Her thumbs ache in anticipation.

  When she goes downstairs Kitty is in her new wig and a green dress. She is going out to a luncheon. She tells Mary Louise that Ruby will not be there until noon, but she will stay to cook dinner. Mary Louise will eat in the dining room tonight, and until then she should be good and not to make a mess. After she is gone, Mary Louise eats some Kix and worries about her thumbs.

  When her bowl is empty, she goes into the den, and stands on the desk chair so she can reach the tall books on the bookshelf. They are still over her head, and she cannot see, but her fingers reach. The dust on the tops makes her sneeze; she finds the key on a large black book called Who’s Who in Manufacturing 1960. The key is brass and old-looking.

  Mary Louise unlocks the liquor cabinet and looks at the bottles. Some are brown, some are green. One of the green ones has Toto dogs on it, a black one and a white one, and says SCOTCH WHISKEY. The bottle is half-full and heavy. She spills some on the floor, and her little bag is soaked more than sprinkled, but she thinks this will probably make up for the flat ginger ale.

  She puts the green bottle back and carefully turns it so the Toto dogs face out, the way she found it. She climbs back up on the chair and puts the key back up on top of Manufacturing, then climbs down.

  The little ball is cold and damp under her arm, and smells like medicine. She changes her shirt and feels safer. But she does not want to eat dinner alone with Kitty. That is not safe at all. She thinks for a minute, then smiles. Ruby has shown her how to make a room safe.

  There are only five nails left in the jar in the garage. But she doesn’t want to keep Kitty out of the dining room, just make it safe to eat dinner there. Five is probably fine. She takes the nails into the kitchen and opens the cupboard under the sink. She looks at the Drano. She is not allowed to touch it, not by Kitty’s rules, not by babysitter rules, not by Ruby’s rules. She looks at the pirate flag man on the side of the can. The poison man. He is bad, bad, bad, and she is scared. But she is more scared of Kitty.

  She carries the can over to the doorway between
the kitchen and the dining room and kneels down. When she looks close she sees dirt and salt and seeds and bits of things in the thin space between the linoleum and the carpet.

  The can is very heavy, and she doesn’t think she can pour any Drano into the cap. Not without spilling it. So she tips the can upside down three times, then opens it. There is milky Drano on the inside of the cap. She carefully dips in each nail and pushes them, one by one, under the edge of the dining room carpet. It is hard to push them all the way in, and the two in the middle go crooked and cross over each other a little.

  “This is a protectin’ hand,” she says out loud to the nails. Now she needs a prayer, but not a bedtime prayer. A dining room prayer.

  She thinks hard for a minute, then says, “For what we are about to receive may we be truly thankful amen.” Then she puts the Drano back under the sink and washes her hands three times with soap, just to make sure.

  Ruby gets there at noon. She gives Mary Louise a quick hug and a smile, and then tells her to scoot until dinnertime, because she has to vacuum and do the kitchen floor and polish the silver. Mary Louise wants to ask Ruby about magic things, but she scoots.

  Ruby is mashing potatoes in the kitchen when Kitty comes home. Mary Louise sits in the corner of the breakfast nook, looking at the comics in the paper, still waiting for Ruby to be less busy and come and talk to her. Kitty puts her purse down and goes into the den. Mary Louise hears the rattle of ice cubes. A minute later, Kitty comes into the kitchen. Her glass has an inch of brown liquid in it. Her eyes have an angry look.

  “Mary Louise, go to your room. I need to speak to Ruby in private.”

  Mary Louise gets up without a word and goes into the hall. But she does not go upstairs. She opens the basement door silently and pulls it almost shut behind her. She stands on the top step and listens.

  “Ruby, I’m afraid I’m going to have to let you go,” says Kitty. Mary Louise feels her armpits grow icy cold and her eyes begin to sting.

  “Ma’am?”

  “You’ve been drinking.”