The Firefly Dance

by Sarah Addison Allen

  On the counter and on the table were Momma’s goodies. There was another chocolate cake not counting the leftovers of the one they’d had for dessert, a carrot cake, and a lemon cake. There was an apple pie, cherry pie, and blackberry pie. There was a peach cobbler. The whole kitchen smelled of Momma’s sweets. Petey gawked, stuck her finger into one of the pies to make sure it was real, sucked the cherry juice from her finger. It was real. Dreams didn’t taste so good.

  Petey went back to bed, and was soon drifting away. Anna and Momma had baked so many pies they were wading through them, looking for Hill, who was howling and yelling, “I’m lost in all these pies! I can’t eat my way out! Help! Help!” They were laughing and laughing. Laughing and laughing. Laughing. Petey awoke to someone laughing.

  She shot out of bed and ran down the hall. Daddy stood laughing in the kitchen, while Momma brewed coffee. Momma had a little grin at the corners of her mouth.

  Daddy said, “I knew you were up half the night, but . . . Beth? My lord!”

  That started off Momma. She baked most every day. She gave Anna pies and cakes until Anna begged her not to give her anymore. Anna took some to the dance studio, even though she said half her students wouldn’t eat a sweet if it hopped up and slapped them silly. Daddy took goodies to work, and came home telling Momma how everyone asked for more. Momma had Daddy carry pies and cakes down to the church supper on Wednesday, even though they never went to the church supper. She baked for the nursing home. She baked for Petey and Hill’s school teachers and principal and Bus-Driver Bill. She baked for the policemen at the police station and for the firemen at the fire station.

  And during all that baking and sweets and pure-D madness, Anna had had her date. She’d had to re-fry another chicken and bake another cake (with Momma’s help) since her date turned out to be a week after Momma had shown her how to cook. Momma told Hill and Petey if they so much as stuck one nostril in Anna’s business, she’d punish them for a month. Petey about jittered a fit she wanted to spy so bad. All she had was a peek at a dark-haired head as he stepped from his little car with the top down and into Anna’s house. Anna ran up the stairs twice and asked Momma for advice. Petey’d danced from one foot to the other, but Momma had given her a look that said to keep her mouth closed.

  Finally, when Petey couldn’t hardly stand it anymore, Anna brought Stephen up to supper. The whole time Stephen kept his sweet eyes to Anna as if she were something he wanted to put in his pocket and keep forever. What Petey liked the best was how Anna was the same, whether Stephen was there or not she didn’t act silly like some of the girls Petey saw at school when they were around boys. Anna stayed Anna. Petey was proud of that.

  And still Momma kept baking. Petey ate so much sweet, her pants began to tighten. Daddy said he’d had to move a belt hole over. Hill stayed as skinny as always.

  One day Daddy came home from work with a big grin and said, “Wrap up two of those chocolate cakes, and can you bake a cherry pie and a lemon meringue?”

  Momma said, “There’s chocolate pie over there already made.”

  Daddy pulled money out of his pocket. “No, you don’t understand.” He reached out the money to Momma. “This money is yours. They want to buy them. They said no more taking your bakeries for free.”

  Momma stared at the cash, reached out and touched it. Then she washed her hands, tightened her apron, and set to work.

  Daddy put the money into a jar and made a label for it that read, “Momma’s Sweet Jar.”

  That week, Momma had orders for three more cakes, two pies, and three-dozen cookies. When Daddy was back from taking a cake to the church supper on Wednesday, he told Momma the pastor wanted to buy some of her cakes, pies, and cookies for a bake sale to raise money for the church. He said, “He’ll pay for the ingredients, plus pay you for your labor.”

  “I can’t take money from the church.”

  “He insists. Says the church will make plenty money and he wants things to be fair.”

  Momma tied up her palomino hair and put on a clean apron.

  Petey helped her more and more, learning more things about baking than she ever thought she could learn. She’d been helping cook suppers, too—biscuits and gravy, stewed chicken, meatloaf and potatoes, beans and cornbread.

  Soon, Momma asked Anna if she wanted to help, for pay. Anna said, “Yes! I think I’m getting pretty good at it.”

  Momma said, “You’re a natural. You just needed a chance.”

  Anna lit up like a Christmas tree that had finally been found by the perfect family and taken home.

  Momma said to Petey, “And I’ll start paying you a wage, too, Petey.”

  Petey about split her lips she smiled so wide.

  The orders were coming in faster. Momma never complained, just kept going, sometimes late into the night to where Petey would wake up and smell the baking and hear Momma’s whisk whisking or the oven door squeaking or the mixer whirring.

  Sometimes while they worked together (Petey after school, Anna after dance classes), Momma and Anna told stories. Momma would tell how she used to gather frogs when she was a little girl, and put toilet paper diapers on them, naming them silly names like Peanuckle or Boomdidledee or Skeedaddledah. That made Petey laugh. Momma said she had to make up a lot of games to play alone, since she was an only child. She told how one Christmas when she was little, they’d not had much under the tree, but she hadn’t cared. She said Grandma always made Christmas happy somehow, no matter if they had any money or not.

  Anna told stories about her parents, and how she’d been an only child, too, so she had similar stories of playing games by her lonesome. Sometimes she talked about Stephen, and Petey didn’t mind hearing that so much since Anna didn’t act all gooey-eyed and romantical. Like how he’d taken her to the movies, or out to eat at restaurants, or how she’d cook something for him using the notes and lessons Momma gave her. She said she was even teaching Stephen to cook, so if they were ever married, not that she wanted to be married mind you, she said (and Petey smiled), he could do some of the cooking himself while she put up her feet.

  Once Petey woke to go to the bathroom and walked in on Momma lying in a sea of bubbles, a cup of tea steaming on the side of the tub. Petey said, “Oh, sorry Momma.”

  “That’s okay, sweetie. I’m just relaxing. Anna’s tea is wonderful . . . wonderful.”

  Petey thought maybe she’d like to try some of that tea. She went back to bed and soon she was leaning back against a tulip poplar, her feet dangling in the cold creek, while the mountains rose up all around her and the air smelled fresh and new. She woke startled, with an ache in her chest that she’d not felt for a time. Until that dream, she’d almost let herself forget how she missed North Carolina. Everything had been so exciting. But with the dream came the toothache in her body feeling. She turned over and covered her head with her pillow. It was a long time before she felt her eyelids dropping down down.

  Chapter 8

  Petey flopped home from exploring in the woods to find Daddy painting the kitchen. The ugly as a baboon’s behind curtains were down and the glass gleamed. Momma stepped in with a bucket and big sponge, eyed Petey, and said, “The faster we get this place cleaned, the faster you can have that lilac wall you’ve been wanting.”

  Petey hated cleaning more than goose grease on the sidewalk but she grabbed a sponge and set to work. Soon as Hill panted in from the scraggly woods, he was put to work, too, even though he howled about it.

  While Petey cleaned, she wondered why she felt more cranky than happy. She thought about her best-ever friend Angela, who wrote letters that weren’t as long as they used to be, but felt longer with all the things she didn’t say and Petey only imagined. There was the letter where Angela said Barry Burke had been holding hands with Sarah, and how Angela went to the movies with Serena and Anita. Petey didn’t understand the hard knot t
he letters caused in her stomach, so hard that sometimes she couldn’t hardly swallow her supper. Her stomach acted as if it was mad at her. That night, she asked Momma if she could use her soap bubbles and have some of her special tea.

  Momma looked her over, as if expecting to see something on her skin that told of her inside hurts. “What’s wrong?”

  Petey shrugged.

  “You sick?”

  She shook her head.

  “Can you tell me at all?”

  “I miss home, that’s all.” Petey kicked at the kitchen table chair. “I mean, Angela’s making new friends. And I miss playing in the creek.” She took a breath, let it out, her cheeks flaming. “And Barry Burke was holding hands with Sarah.” She quick-added, “But I don’t care about him any-ole-way. Don’t know why I even said it.” She kicked the chair harder.

  Momma put on the kettle to boil. Petey followed her when she went to the bathroom and ran a tub of lilac bubbles. “Get in the tub. I’ll make you some tea.”

  As Petey sipped the tea and lay in the bubbles, she thought about things. Thought about how people couldn’t have everything they wanted all the time. How she should be happy enough with Momma gaining weight and smiling and baking. With Daddy making new friends at his work. With Hill finding a friend and him maybe not quite so wild, even if he still acted like an animal covered in fur. She should feel happy enough, still . . . still.

  She thought of how when she saw her daddy painting, instead of feeling happy she’d had a cramp through her body. She knew then that seeing that paint meant they were staying in the half-house and not going back to North Carolina. Didn’t it?

  She finished the tea, rinsed off, and didn’t feel anything different one bit, couldn’t feel any answers to all her questions. She felt like one big question mark.

  Then before she knew it, Petey came home from school to a whole different half-house. Even though her parents had been doing something every day, she’d not had the full force of it all until most everything was done. She’d seen the catalogues open and things circled like curtains, towels, and all that. She’d seen the paint card samples with names that came from the earth like ocean, sand, sage, eggshell. She walked around the house, looking, touching. But that day as she came home from school, slam bam it hit her—their half-house was fixed up nice.

  The kitchen was painted a soft green like a lamb’s ear plant, and the cabinets cream like the milk come straight from the cow’s udder. At the window there was a darker green cloth pull shade (Petey thought, maybe colored like herb from the garden green) that was pulled most the way up to let in a cooled breeze. In the living room was also the lamb’s ear green with the baseboards painted the same cow udder cream as the cabinets, and there was a flower-printed rug under their coffee table at the front of their leather couch. On the windows were nice blinds and thin cotton see-through curtains that swept to the floor and swayed in that breeze that passed through the opened blinds.

  There was no more pickle bathroom, and instead was half green painted wall on top and on the paneled bottom was the cream. On the floor were dark green bathrugs. Petey thought they must have had a sale on the lamb’s ear green and from-the-cow-udder cream. She had to admit it made the half-house seem bigger having the same colors go from room to room.

  Her parents’ bedroom was all cream, with a colorful quilt that Petey recognized was one her grandma made; it had been put away before. She stepped into her room. Hill had his way and there were zebra stripes, but only in a zebra painted over fresh cream-painted wall. The sheet between their beds wasn’t there and instead there was a heavier white (milk from the store white) curtain. Daddy said he had another idea he was going to try later. Petey’s side of the room was lilac and she had her bedspread with the wild flowers, and her rug shaped like a flower bloomed.

  Petey wandered outside and walked around their yard. Momma had put in a garden and Daddy was still trying things to make grass grow better.

  It all was as if they were never leaving.

  Petey ploddered back into the house. Momma had left a note that she was at the grocery with Anna. It seemed strange not having Momma at home all the time. Petey was glad, but that glad mixed with lonely. She was a stupid idiot girl who was never satisfied.

  Daddy at work. Hill was at the playground with his friend. Petey was alone.

  She lay on her bed and felt the cool from outside. At least the weather wasn’t as hot. There’d been no snow or promise of snow. They’d had a few cold nights, and one freeze where the trees were heavy and glittering with ice. The weather couldn’t seem to make up its mind whether it was winter or summer, back and forth back and forth the cold and hot went. Petey picked up To Kill a Mockingbird and decided she needed to escape. That was the best thing ever about reading books; how she could go anywhere she wanted just by following the person she was reading about.

  She was so into the story, at the part where Scout was rubbing Walter Cunningham’s nose in the dirt (oh, Petey loved it!), she hadn’t noticed that Anna and Momma were back. When she rose and went down the hall and into the kitchen, they were rolling out pie crust. Anna was talking about a trip to Greece and how maybe Stephen would be going with her. Momma said she’d love to see Italy or Scotland.

  Then Momma said, “Do you think you could teach me to dance a little? I’ve always wanted to know how to rumba or that dance they do when the man has a rose in his mouth. It’s such a romantic dance.”

  Petey about fainted dead away; she had no idea Momma wanted to do those romantical kinds of things with dancing and roses in the mouth.

  Anna said, “I’d love to teach you to dance. That would be so much fun.”

  Petey felt as if she were a stranger in the house. Everyone seemed to be doing fine. Everyone was going on and finding new things. Hill had a friend. Daddy had his projects around the house and sometimes had some of the men from work over for barbeque. Momma was filling and re-filling her Sweet Jar from all her baking, and she was talking about dancing around with flowers. Anna was like a part of the family—like a sister—just as Petey had wanted. All Petey had done was look into mirrors like a stupid idiot.

  Momma turned to her. “Hi, sweetie. Did we wake you from a nap?”

  Petey shook her head no.

  “How was school?” Anna smiled at her.

  Petey shrugged.

  “Your mom wants to take some dance lessons. What about you?”

  Petey shook her head no.

  Momma stepped to her, put her lips on Petey’s forehead, as she always did to check for fever. She stepped back. “I hope you aren’t getting sick.”

  Anna looked at Petey and Petey stared down at the floor.

  “Miss Beth, can you excuse Petey and me a minute?”

  “Sure. I’ll get the cherry filling started.”

  Anna said, “Petey, come on.” She headed outside.

  Petey followed Anna down to Anna’s half-house. Once inside, Anna sat at her table and pointed to the chair across from her. Petey sat.

  “Petey?”

  Then it all gushed out as if Petey had vomited. She told Anna how long she’d wanted their house to be nice, and that had come true. How she wanted Momma to be herself again, and now she was and even more so. She told how she wanted to hear her daddy whistle as he worked around the yard or house, and he was doing that. How she wanted Hill to have a friend and not feel bad for being so different, and he had a friend and couldn’t care less if anyone thought he was different. And how she was never happy no matter what.

  “And I tried the tea while soaking in Momma’s bubbles and I didn’t feel a thing different. I’m a lost cause,” Petey said.

  “You can’t use your mom’s tea! Everyone is unique, and every unique person has to have their own unique tea.” She stood, went to her pantry. “I need to think about this. What kind of tea is especi
ally for you and you alone? And when you drink it, you must be where you like to relax. You can’t copy what someone else does, you see?”

  Petey shrugged again, but it felt rude, so she said, “I guess so.”

  Anna pulled out teas, opened them and sniffed, put them back. Pulled out more, sniffed, put back. Once again, sniff-put back. At last, she held a tea and said, “Aha! This is your tea. It has hibiscus flower, and rosemary, and other secret herbs and spices.” She came back to the table. “I bought this tea at a strange little shop. There was this beautiful woman there and she said, ‘Take this tea.’ And I asked, ‘What is it for?’ and she smiled and said, ‘You’ll find out when it’s needed.’” Anna stroked the tea box, “The entire time I was in that shop I knew it was special and magical and all the teas in it were, too. I saved this tea even though I didn’t know what I was saving it for, or for whom. Now I do. Just as she said.” She slid the tea to Petey.

  Petey thought it was the most beautiful tea box she’d ever seen. It was a reddish brown wood with colorful carvings of birds and flowers that seemed so real that she thought she could smell the blooms and hear the birds sing. She reached out and touched the box, then opened the lid. Spice, herb, and sweet flew up into her nose. She put the lid back on the tea and picked up the box, held it to her chest. “Thank you, Anna.” Then in a rush. “I wish you were my sister for real.”

  “But I am, Petey. Don’t you know that? Your family is like my family, so that makes you my for-real sister, right?”

  Petey smiled, smoothed her fingers on the box, rubbed the carvings.

  “Now, let’s go help your mom get those pies done. I’m making her take a night off tomorrow so she can come to dance class.”

  That night, Petey couldn’t stop opening the tea box and taking in the smell. She couldn’t wait to try it. She only had to figure out where she could drink it. Maybe in the garden, where it was always quiet and something always grew, even in winter.