“I don’t have any yellow shoes, honey,” she’d responded.
“Yes you do.”
“No, I don’t.”
So I’d turned around and went to her room and pulled them out of her closet. I carried them to the kitchen and said, “See?”
Her friends gave a unanimous gasp and Shelly had said, “They’re perfect!”
Mom had taken one shoe out of the box and weighed it in her hand. She’d smiled at me and said softly, “Thank you, Louise.”
She’d discussed it with her husband-to-be, Reverend Joe, and he’d said he didn’t mind her wearing them at all, that it would be a nice tribute to the memory of my father.
I had cold cereal that morning while the wedding party in the house scurried around trying to figure out what to do about the missing shoes. Great Aunt Sophie came in through the kitchen door at exactly ten o’clock, looked around skeptically, then demanded to know what was going on. She had worked too hard for anything to go wrong with that particular day. She was wearing her straw visiting hat, which she always wore when she came over to our house. I thought that was pretty silly since we were family. And we lived right next door.
“I can’t find my shoes, Aunt Sophie,” Mom said, leaning against the kitchen counter with an ice pack on her head. She had been looking in the lower kitchen cabinets and had banged her head when coming out. I wondered why anyone thought her shoes would be in the kitchen cabinets in the first place. Even if by chance someone had put them there, that’s not the kind of place you would forget.
“Your shoes?” Great Aunt Sophie said, frowning. She turned to me. “Louise, do you know where your mother’s shoes are?” She asked this as if I were naturally the primary suspect and no one had had sense enough to confront me yet.
“No!” I said. “I would have said something before now if I did.”
“Well, don’t get testy,” she said. She eyeballed me critically. “What are you still doing in your nightgown?”
“The ceremony isn’t until four,” I reminded her and she squinted at me.
“She’s still trying to wake up, Aunt Sophie,” Mom said. “We didn’t mean to, but we woke her up looking for my shoes. She was up late last night.”
“They were on the back porch the last time I saw them,” I offered, feeling a little guilty that I was being contrary on my mother’s wedding day.
“The back porch! Yes! That’s where they were last night. I cleaned them and left them out there to air and dry.”
“Well they aren’t there now,” Great Aunt Sophie observed doomfully, going to the back door and looking out through the screen. “Do you think someone took them?”
Mom took the ice pack off her head and turned to Great Aunt Sophie. “But who would take my wedding shoes?”
No one could answer that question so the next two hours were spent on the phone calling everyone in town trying to ascertain if any would-be shoe thieves were lurking about.
At noon, my best friend Sue meandered down the street to my house. She came by to ask if someone really did steal my mother’s wedding shoes. By that time, most of the town knew. Several offers of substitutes had come in, but my mom had her heart set on her own—the ones that had vanished.
“Let’s go walking,” I said to Sue. “It’s crazy here.”
“Are you excited about being in the wedding?” Sue asked me as we headed down the street. We had been on the phone several times the week before and she was forever changing what she was going to wear. The last I heard it was her green dress with the daisies on it. I was prepared to be surprised, though. I had no choice in what I was going to wear, but I liked the dress anyway. It was icy pink and so shiny that if you turned the right way and held still, you could see things reflected on it, distorted, like when you blur your eyes looking at Christmas tree lights.
“Yeah, I think so,” I said. It was so hot that sweat was making the back of my knees slick. “Mom sure is. Oh, and she wants me to be sure to thank your mom again for letting me spend the night with you tonight. Otherwise I would have to stay with Great Aunt Sophie.”
“And my mom said to tell your mom that she’s sorry she doesn’t have any shoes she can borrow. My mom’s feet are bigger than Bigfoot’s,” Sue said, rolling her eyes. I laughed. Sue was going to be as tall as her mother. She was already a head taller than me.
We came to Mrs. Yardley’s old overgrown field at the end of our street. It was one of our favorite stomping grounds. There was a big rock in the back corner that we liked to climb on. In the spring we’d sit on it and make crowns out of dandelions, in the fall we’d pile the top with fallen leaves and make a leaf slide, in the winter we’d never stay long, but in the summer we’d stay all day and sun ourselves like lizards.
We entered the field and the weeds topped my knees. We stopped short when we saw a black lump jump up from the wild onion and Queen Anne’s lace not far from us, then disappear.
“Whoa,” I said. “Was that a dog?”
“I think so. But what’s it doing?” Sue asked quietly.
“I don’t know.”
“Louise, come back here right now,” Sue hissed as I walked toward where the dog had last jumped up. I didn’t pay any attention to her and, apparently fueled by my bravado, Sue followed me at a distance.
There was some movement and rustling a few feet away, so I quietly approached the noise. When I got there and looked down I found a skinny black Lab on his back, chewing on something he was blissfully holding between his two front paws. He was making content cooing and grunting noises and was occasionally rubbing his back on the ground by squirming his body around.
“Is something wrong with it?” Sue asked as she came up behind me.
At the sound of her voice, the dog realized he had an audience and immediately jumped up. Sue screamed and ran to the rock and jumped onto it, stomach first. She shimmied her legs wildly until they were safely underneath her and not sticking out in the air where a vicious mad dog could bite them.
But Sue’s legs were the last thing on the dog’s mind. He had taken off in the opposite direction. When Sue finally stopped screaming, the dog stopped at the edge of the field. I stood there, looking from one to the other. Then I looked down and saw what the dog had been chewing on. One of my mother’s wedding shoes.
I picked it up. “Sue!” I yelled, waving the shoe. “Look!”
“What is it?” she called back. “Did it kill a rabbit? A cat? Oh God, Louise, run! It’s coming back! Run!” I turned to see the dog trotting back to me, wagging his tail, his long tongue dripping drool out of the side of his mouth. He apparently saw that I had discovered his toy and was coming back to take credit for it.
He approached me and made some half-hearted jumps at the shoe, which I was holding up and away from him.
“Watch out!” Sue screamed and the dog backed away.
“Stop it,” I called to her. “You’re scaring him.”
“Whoop-tee-do! He’s scaring me, too!” she shot back.
“Come here, boy,” I called to him and he came to me as trusting as you please. I patted his head and he leaned against my legs. He was so skinny I could feel his ribs. He had gray around his muzzle and one eye was caked with some dried yellow stuff. He was in sorry shape, but as happy as a plum. I decided I would love him even though he smelled worse than those rotten banana peels Great Aunt Sophie always put around her rose bushes in the spring.
“It’s okay, Sue,” I said to her. “He’s harmless. He’s a stray. I think he needs something to eat.” Then I remembered the shoe. “And look! It’s one of my mother’s shoes. I think he’s the one who took them.”
Sue slid off the rock. “Your mom’s going to be maaaaad,” she said, as if trying to make the dog tremble at the thought of my mother’s wrath. But my mother had no wrath. Now Great Aunt Sophie—well, that�
�s another story.
We found the other shoe nearby and then we ran out of the field. We were going to save the day. I just knew it.
Mom had almost decided on another pair when we burst into the house, Sue with one shoe, me with the other, and the dog with nothing but an eagerness to be in on the excitement. We found my mom in her bedroom, modeling a pair of shoes someone had brought her.
We proudly presented Mom with her wedding shoes. One was in good shape. The other had some pretty bad chew marks on it.
“Where did you find them?” Shelly asked me as she took them from Mom and gave them a thorough inspection, making a disgusted face when dirt and drool stuck to her fingers.
“Over in Mrs. Yardley’s field. The dog had them.”
“What dog?” Mom asked as she took off the shoes she’d been trying on. She was wearing her red cotton robe and as she bent over it fell open a little and I could see the beginnings of the two long scars on her chest.
Maybe the smell finally clued her in. She looked up. That’s when she noticed the dog in her room and took a startled step back. “Louise, get the dog out of my bedroom. Get him out of the house,” she said calmly, not taking her eyes off of him.
“But Mom, can I keep him?” I said, going over to him and petting him protectively. “You know he didn’t mean to eat your shoes. Look at him. He doesn’t belong to anyone. Can I have him? I’ll take good care of him. Please? I’ve never had a dog before.”
“Take him outside and give him something to eat,” Mom said, shaking her head. “We’ll discuss this later.”
“If I ask Reverend Joe and he says it’s okay, can I keep him?” I asked, referring to Reverend Joe for the first time in a parental capacity. This seemed to please Mom but she stood there, still looking at the dog, probably thinking about this possibly being her and her husband-to-be’s first joint venture.
“All right. Just get him out of here.”
“Can I go over to the parsonage right now and ask him?” I persisted. We were in the process of moving into the parsonage where Reverend Joe lived, though not even half of our stuff was over there yet. “Please?”
“Okay, go on. But be back here by two or else.”
Great Aunt Sophie entered the bedroom at that moment and the dog came up to greet her. “What is this?” she screeched, throwing her hands in the air and backing up against the wall. Then she saw I was there and everything seemed to make sense. “Louise, you get this mongrel out of this house immediately! This is your mother’s wedding day! Are you purposely trying to upset her?”
“No ma’am,” I said as Sue and I and the dog ran out.
We ran most of the way to the parsonage. We went into the house without knocking because the last time I knocked Reverend Joe told me it was my house and you never knocked to come into your own home.
Reverend Joe’s family had come down from Connecticut for the wedding and they were staying at the parsonage. I forgot that, or I wouldn’t have come storming in because I knew Mom wouldn’t like for them to think I was rude. Reverend Joe’s mother was sitting alone at the dining room table with a cup of coffee. She smiled at us, unruffled, as we entered. She was a small woman, dressed entirely in floral that day, right down to the plastic flowers at the tips of each high-heeled shoe.
“Hello girls,” she said. “Are you excited about today?”
“Yes ma’am,” I answered. “Look. I found a dog and I’m going to ask Reverend Joe if I can keep it.”
“That’s sweet, dear. Where did you find him?”
“In a field. He stole Mom’s wedding shoes and was chewing on them.”
“On her wedding shoes?” Reverend Joe’s mother looked distressed. Apparently, no one had thought to fill her in on this news. “Goodness. I should call her.”
As she got up, Sue and I ran to the kitchen. Reverend Joe wasn’t there so we ran out the kitchen door. Reverend Joe was standing next to his father, by his father’s car. I thought they were probably talking about tires because that’s all Reverend Joe’s father talked about when we had lunch with them the day before. He was very proud of how well the tires on his new car traveled.
“Reverend Joe!” I yelled from the porch.
He looked up at me and frowned. “Louise?” He said, walking over to us. “What’s wrong? Is it your mother?”
“No.” I shook my head and tried to catch my breath as I walked down the steps. “It’s a dog. I found a dog and I wanted to ask you if I could keep him. When we move in here, I mean.”
Reverend Joe watched the dog come slowly down the steps after me and collapse onto its side in the grass, panting and flopping its tail in a tired greeting. “Looks like a stray,” he said.
“Yes. We found him in a field and he likes me. Can we keep him? I’ve never had a dog.” I figured if I kept using that line, I’d get more sympathy points. As if all kids should have dogs and I’d been deprived of a significant childhood staple because I’d never had one. “Mom says it’s okay with her if it’s okay with you.”
He smiled in that same way Mom had smiled. Like it was a family thing. “Let’s get him some water,” Reverend Joe said. “Pop? Will you get out the water hose?”
So it was settled. I officially had my first dog. Reverend Joe found an old pie tin and we had to fill it up four times before the dog had enough water. Then Reverend Joe’s mom made him a meal of leftovers.
The dog liked Reverend Joe. It was hard not to. Reverend Joe was a huge man, tall, overweight, divorced once and a freely admitting sinner with good intentions. He commented that the dog was very dirty, so Sue and I and Reverend Joe found ourselves giving him an outside bath. The dog jumped around trying to catch the water from the water hose, so bathing him was like trying to shoot a moving object. All three of us ended up as wet as the dog.
When we were finished, Sue said she had to go home to get ready for the wedding. She later told me her mom got mad at her because she had to wash her hair again.
I stood with Reverend Joe outside. I was late already but I didn’t care. We were both dripping, standing in the warm sun, watching the dog. The dog smelled around the back yard for a while, periodically shaking himself. Finally he decided on a place to sleep and collapsed. But then, looking discontent, he stood back up, walked a few steps to the left, and plopped back down. The first place he had picked was in the shade of the chokecherry tree. The second was in the sun.
Reverend Joe laughed. “Sundog.”
“Is that what you want to call him?” I asked.
He put his arm around my shoulders and squeezed. “No. But how about Lazarus?”
Reverend Joe’s parents were sitting on the back porch swing, watching us. His mother was smiling. I couldn’t be sure, but I think she had tears in her eyes. Or maybe it was just the pollen.
Great Aunt Sophie was always complaining about the pollen.
A preacher from Jonestown performed the ceremony because Reverend Joe couldn’t officiate at his own wedding. Most of the town of Clementine was there and had to have a good look at Mom’s shoes as she came down the aisle. Great Aunt Sophie had improvised with masking tape almost the same color as the shoes and you could hardly tell that they had been chewed on. I was anxious for the reception to start because Lazarus was outside the church, waiting.
After the ceremony, Great Aunt Sophie parked herself beside me as Mom and Reverend Joe danced the first dance at the reception in the fellowship hall below the chapel. “Are you happy, Louise?” she asked me.
“Yes ma’am,” I answered, taking a swipe of icing off the wedding cake I was standing beside, knowing it would make her mad. She was positively possessive about the presentation of the food at the reception. The sausage balls, which she normally only made at Christmas, were in a perfect pyramid. And her butter mints were neatly separated into groups of yellow, pink and pale green, with
none of the colors touching.
“Good.” She paused. “Your mama’s been through a lot, but she’s happy now. You know that, right?”
“Yes ma’am.” I was still kind of mad at her for making Lazarus stay outside. I argued with her, but she said the dog didn’t have the sense God gave a little green apple and she wasn’t about to have him hanging around all her carefully prepared food.
Great Aunt Sophie watched Mom and Reverend Joe dance for a while. “Never marry a man who can’t dance, Louise,” she said quietly as she walked away. Great Aunt Sophie loved to dance, but never with anybody. She’d dance across her kitchen floor sometimes when she cooked. I saw this many times in the days before the wedding when I watched her and her friends fix the food for the reception. Her friends would laugh and clap as Great Aunt Sophie danced with an invisible partner around her kitchen table.
The reception lasted well into the evening. I finally got to slip outside with Sue and we ran laughing across the church courtyard with Lazarus at our heels. We played keep-away with a stick and Lazarus barked and barked. Finally, out of breath, I collapsed back onto the dewy grass. Sue was catching fireflies and letting them go. I could hear the music coming from the fellowship hall as I looked up at the stars.
The moon glowed like half-hearted sunlight above me. My world slowly drew up into a noisy, shimmering bubble and floated above the earth for a while.
The Wayfarer
On Friday afternoon after school, the day of my grandfather Charlie’s arrival, my best friend Sue and I sat under the chokecherry tree in the back yard and watched Robert Junior, who was in high school, chop wood. He was chopping a lot of it. Reverend Joe had announced that he wanted to always have a fire burning in the fireplace that winter. I didn’t understand why. We had a furnace. Reverend Joe had given up trying to chop the wood himself earlier that week after scratching his leg with the ax. Mom told him a one-legged preacher was the last thing this town needed, so he hired Robert Junior.
The Firefly Dance Page 17
