Dicey's Song

by Cynthia Voigt

  Dicey didn’t say anything.

  “And I see this paper of yours as a kind of reaching out,” Gram said. She stopped then, as if she was finished.

  “What do you mean?” Dicey demanded. She wasn’t going to let Gram stop there, not until she understood.

  “Think about it,” Gram said.

  “No, you tell me. Reaching out? But for what?”

  “I don’t know,” Gram said. “If I was sure, I’d say. For your Momma, maybe. For all of us, maybe, but I don’t think so. I think, maybe, it’s reaching out for that school. Somehow. I’m not saying that’s what you thought you were doing or what you even wanted to do. But it’s how it turned out. And I’m sorry, the way it turned out. Because somebody’s slapped your hand back good and hard. But I don’t want you to stop reaching, just because it didn’t come out the way it should have.”

  Dicey stared at her grandmother. Her mind was whirling. “That’s why Mr. Lingerle —” she began.

  Gram’s smile flashed across her face, under the golden color the fire painted there. “He’s met us halfway, hasn’t he?” she observed. “I took him — in the nature of an experiment. You know? I wondered if I could. I like him, don’t you?”

  “Sure,” Dicey said. “We all do. But that’s why you told him how poor we are.”

  “You don’t go reaching out with your hand closed up,” Gram said. “It worked out all right this time.”

  Dicey thought.

  “It took me so long to learn,” Gram explained. “I’d like you to have more of a head start.”

  Dicey threw back her head and laughed. She didn’t know why, except the feelings inside her needed some expression. If she grabbed Gram’s hands and started dancing around the room, Gram would think she was crazy, for one, and she’d drop those stitches, for another. She was laughing because she couldn’t hug her grandmother, and because she’d figured out something else right then: that Gram was reaching out for her, Dicey. And Dicey was laughing for another reason, because she had a phone call to make.

  She found the address and number in the directory they kept beside the phone. Gram was curious, but didn’t ask questions. Dicey knew Gram was curious so she didn’t wait to keep her phone call private.

  A man answered the phone. “Is Wilhemina there, please?” Dicey asked.

  “Do you know what time it is?” the man answered.

  “No,” Dicey said. “I don’t. I’m sorry, is it too late to call?”

  “When I was a boy, my mother told me you shouldn’t ever call after ten,” the voice instructed her.

  “I’m sorry,” Dicey said again. She bit her lip to keep from giggling. He had a voice like Mina’s, just as rich, only deeper. “I didn’t know it was after ten.”

  “It’s not exactly, not yet,” the voice told her, “but it will be in seven minutes. I’ll get Mina, but don’t be long.”

  “Thank you,” Dicey said.

  “Who shall I say is calling?”

  “Dicey Tillerman.”

  There was a short silence. “Ah,” he said. She heard the phone at his end clatter down onto a table.

  “Dicey?” Mina’s voice came. “I won’t, Dad,” she called over her shoulder.

  “I just wanted to say thank you,” Dicey said. “For helping out today.”

  She could hear the smile in Mina’s voice as she answered. “That was some fun, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes and no,” Dicey said.

  “I can understand that,” Mina agreed. “I was thinking I ought to thank you for giving me such a good chance to show off. So I guess we’re about even. Talk to you tomorrow, OK?”

  “OK,” Dicey said. “I really liked yours, you know.”

  “We’ll form a mutual admiration society,” Mina answered. “See you.”

  “See you,” Dicey answered. She turned back to meet Gram’s eyes. “Wilhemina Smiths,” she explained.

  “Her father’s the preacher, isn’t he?” Gram asked.

  “She’s the one who — ”

  “I figured that out. I don’t know, Dicey —” Gram didn’t finish the sentence.

  “You’ll like Mina, you’ll see,” Dicey reassured her.

  “Of course I will; I already do. But I’m a crazy old bat and my opinion’s not worth a flea bite. I’m just wondering what her people will think. What they already think. About me.”

  “Who says you’re a crazy old bat?” Dicey demanded. “James said you’re crazy like a fox, he said that right away. You can’t fool us, Gram.”

  “Good,” Gram answered. “Are you going to bed or not? I thought you had reading to do.”

  CHAPTER 8

  MINA AND DICEY walked down the hall together at the end of the school day. A few people greeted Dicey, who hurried to keep up with Mina. “Hey, Dicey,” they said. “Hey,” she answered. “Hey, Mina,” they said, passing by.

  As they stepped out into the biting air, Mina asked, “How’s it feel to be a folk hero?”

  Dicey stopped and stared up at her companion. She didn’t answer, except to say, “Most of them I don’t even know their names.”

  “Hey, Dicey,” Jeff called. He had a case for his guitar, probably to protect the wood from the cold air. Dicey was kind of sorry. She had gotten used to hearing a song or two at the end of the day. “I hear you put Chappelle into his place.”

  “That wasn’t me, that was Mina,” Dicey told him. “Do you know Mina?”

  “Everybody knows Mina,” Jeff said.

  “Yeah,” Mina answered. “Everybody knows you, too, friend.”

  “That’s what they think,” Jeff said. Mina chuckled.

  “So, was this essay as good as everybody says?” Jeff asked Dicey. He sat on the wall, squinting up at her.

  Now how was Dicey supposed to answer that? “No, of course not,” she said. That was probably the truth. “But it was pretty good,” she admitted.

  Dicey went over to her bike. “Where are you going now?” Mina asked. She put her books down to wrap a long scarf around her head and tuck it inside her coat.

  “To work,” Dicey said.

  “You’ve got a job? Where? Doing what?”

  “At Millie Tydings’s store,” Dicey said. “I clean the place.”

  Mina bent over to pick up her armload of books. “OK, if I walk with you? I live downtown.”

  “Sure,” Dicey said.

  They went down the winding road that led from the school and out onto the main road into town. “How did you get work papers?” Mina asked. “You’re not older than we are, are you? If you are,” she said, “you sure don’t look it.”

  “Millie never asked about them,” Dicey said. “I guess she doesn’t know about them. And she’s known my grandmother all her life, so I guess she was doing Gram a favor.”

  “I never met your grandmother. I heard about her,” Mina said.

  Cars hurried past them. Dicey considered what to say.

  “What you heard probably isn’t true,” she finally said.

  “How come you live with her? And there are more of you, aren’t there? Somebody told me — maybe my little brother. How come —” She stopped talking and stopped walking. “Dicey, was that your mother you were writing about?” Dicey looked up into Mina’s face. She felt her mouth trying to find out what to answer. “No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ask, I shouldn’t say. Me and my big mouth. Pretend I never said that, will you? Let’s forget it. Let’s talk about the weather. Cold, isn’t it?”

  Dicey grinned. You didn’t hold your hand out with it clenched up. Gram had said. “No, it’s OK. It was Momma.” She started walking again, and Mina walked with her. A fuel truck roared past them, heading east, inland. “That’s how come we’re here with Gram. There are four of us, I’m the oldest.”

  “I’m the second youngest,” Mina said. She was offering Dicey a way out, but Dicey declined to take it.

  “The funny thing is, we didn’t know until this summer we even had a grandmother. Momma never said. And Gram didn’t know ab
out us, either, until just before we all showed up.”

  “Really?” Mina thought. “Do you get along OK? Are you going to stay long with her?”

  “She’s going to adopt us.”

  “But what about your mother?”

  “The doctors don’t think she’ll ever get better.” They were at the store by then, to Dicey’s relief. “Come on in and get warm,” Dicey said.

  Inside, Sammy waited for her. He waited right by the door, watching. He was watching for her to come, but he didn’t say anything when she said hello. Dicey introduced him to Mina. Sammy’s forehead had a cut on it, and his cheek had been scraped. Somebody had painted his face with mercurochrome. Millie started to come out from behind the meat counter.

  “Sammy?” Dicey asked him.

  “Did you ever play marbles?” he asked. Dicey shook her head. She guessed he didn’t want to talk to her. But she wanted to know what happened.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “I can’t ride the bus for a week. That’s two days next week too.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s Thanksgiving this week,” he told her. Dicey had forgotten.

  “I forgot,” she said. She introduced Mina to Millie. They shook hands and Millie told Mina to call her Millie, not Mrs. Tydings.

  “Do you play marbles?” Sammy asked Mina.

  “I used to,” Millie said. “We all did, marbles and jacks. Jacks for the girls and marbles for the boys. Only the girls all wanted to play marbles too. I guess to show we could. I don’t remember the boys ever wanting to play jacks with us. Kids still play jacks, don’t they?”

  Dicey never had.

  “I did,” Mina said. “Remember pig-in-a-poke?” she asked Millie.

  “I sure do,” Millie said.

  “Everybody has them now,” Sammy said. “I got some last week. I’ve lost about half of them,” he said. “I’m coming home with you after work,” he told Dicey. “I called Gram so she won’t worry.”

  “Sammy, could you show me how to shoot marbles?” Mina asked. “Dicey’s got to work, but I always wondered.”

  “In here?”

  “No, outside — unless it’s too cold for you.”

  “It’s not cold around here,” Sammy said. They went outside.

  Dicey got to work. She was checking the sale dates on the canned and boxed goods. She did this once a month. Millie kept an eye on the dairy products and bread, but she forgot that other things also had limited shelf life.

  “You won’t be working on Thursday,” Millie observed. “I had to remind Ab to get herself a turkey.”

  “We don’t need a turkey,” Dicey said. They hadn’t celebrated Thanksgiving in Provincetown, except for the days off from school. “I could come in on Friday, if you wanted.”

  “I guess that’s all right. I go up to Salisbury. I know a widow lady up there, she makes the dinner and I bring the turkey.”

  “I could come in Friday morning, if you’d rather,” Dicey offered.

  “Doesn’t matter to me, the afternoon is fine. He looks like he was in a fight.”

  Dicey nodded agreement, but didn’t say anything.

  She tried, without success, to get Sammy to tell her what he’d fought about. All he would say was that Millie had washed him off. “She knew Gram when Gram was little. Do you think Gram knows how to shoot marbles?”

  “Why would she know that?” Dicey asked.

  “She might,” Sammy insisted. “I gotta learn how or I’ll lose them all and it’s a dollar a bag.”

  “What about the bus?” Dicey demanded. It was hard trying to talk to him with the cold wind and without being able to see his face.

  “It’s my punishment for fighting on the bus,” Sammy said. “It’s OK. Do you mind?”

  “I suppose I’m going to be riding you in, too,” Dicey realized.

  “If it stays cold, we’ll have to put off playing until spring, and I’ll have time to practice. The barn would be a good place,” Sammy said.

  Dicey gave up.

  Gram grilled Sammy when they got home, but learned nothing. She didn’t seem to mind the punishment of not being able to ride the school bus for a week; she agreed with Sammy that that was fair. “Except to Dicey,” she added.

  “It’s OK,” Dicey said quickly.

  Gram dropped the subject until they had finished dinner and were loitering around the table. All during dinner they had talked about the Thanksgiving meal, and what they would eat, and whether they would ask Mr. Lingerle. Gram said she’d call him that evening, to see if he’d like to come out and eat with them. “But why none of you told me Thanksgiving was coming — what’s the good of having children around if they don’t keep you up to date?” she’d asked. But she was teasing them, so nobody answered.

  Then, “What about these fights?” she asked. Sammy wouldn’t meet her eyes. James looked a question at Dicey, and she shook her head to say she didn’t know any more than he did.

  When it became clear that Sammy wasn’t about to say anything, Gram looked at Dicey and James for help.

  “Who’d you fight with?” James asked. He got up to clear their plates away. Dicey realized he’d done that so Sammy would think he didn’t care much about the answer. She thought that was pretty smart.

  “Ernie,” Sammy said.

  “He that big kid?” James asked.

  “Yeah. You never played marbles, did you?”

  “I don’t like him,” Maybeth volunteered.

  “Why not?” asked Gram.

  “He picks on kids,” she said.

  “Does he pick on you?” Gram asked. Dicey knew what she was thinking.

  “No. I keep away from him. He picks on them — in a mean way,” Maybeth said.

  “What did you and Ernie fight about?” Gram asked.

  “Nothing,” Sammy said. “Hey, Gram, did you used to play marbles when you were little? Millie said she did. So maybe you did. Could you play with me sometime, if you did? I bet you were good at it. So you could help me practice.”

  “Stick to the point,” Gram said. “You fought with Ernie. Is he in your class?”

  Sammy nodded.

  “Do you like him?”

  “I dunno,” Sammy said. “He’s my only friend.”

  “Was it just Ernie you fought with?”

  Sammy shook his head.

  “So you fought with Ernie and some of his friends,” Gram asked. She sounded like she would never run out of patience. Sammy looked around the room.

  “Yeah,” he said. “They don’t ride the bus.”

  “Was there anybody on your side?” Gram asked.

  Sammy shook his head. “Custer tried to stop us. We weren’t on school grounds,” he pointed out. “And anyway, if I could get enough to win all Ernie’s marbles, that would show him.”

  “Show him what?” Gram demanded.

  Sammy looked around at all their faces. He was wondering if he had fallen into a trap, Dicey knew.

  “Show him I’m better at marbles than he is,” Sammy announced triumphantly.

  “But Sammy, you ought to tell us what you’re fighting about,” Gram said.

  Sammy shook his head. Dicey had to admire the way he stuck to himself. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “If it doesn’t matter, then why are you fighting?”

  “It doesn’t matter to you. It just matters to me.” His jaw was thrust out and he changed the subject again. “You didn’t answer if you’ll play marbles with me.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, I can’t even remember —” Gram started. Then she smiled at Sammy, smiled slow. “I will, if you’ll tell me what you’re fighting about. And I was pretty good when I was a girl. Not even the boys could beat me.”

  Sammy was tempted. He wriggled in his chair and refused to smile back at Gram.

  “Got you now,” Gram said.

  “No, you don’t,” Sammy told her, but smiling himself now.

  “OK. I give up. I’ll play with you any
way, and I’ll teach you everything I know, if I remember any of it. But I surely wish you’d tell us.”

  Sammy shook his head apologetically.

  “Then I wish you’d stop.”

  “I try. I’ll try harder,” Sammy said. “Honest.”

  “All right. You’re excused,” Gram said. He burst out of the room. She sat looking after him.

  “He wouldn’t say anything to me, either,” Dicey said, before Gram could ask.

  “Well, I don’t know,” Gram said.

  Neither did anyone else.

  “IT MIGHT SNOW!” Sammy greeted Dicey as she walked into Millie’s the next afternoon. Certainly the sky had that heavy, leaden look to it.

  “Not before we get home, I hope,” Dicey answered. “I hope Gram can find us coats in the attic. Think we’ll ever be allowed up in that attic?”

  “Sure,” Sammy said. “James said maybe there’s a dead body up there. But I don’t believe him.”

  “Neither do I,” Dicey agreed. Although the old clothes, the old toys, the past, that might be kind of like a dead body to Gram. “How was your day?”

  “I didn’t fight,” Sammy announced. Dicey stood in front of him, rubbing her hands to warm them, studying his round face. He looked up at her. His eyes were set far apart, the way Momma’s and Maybeth’s were, and his yellow hair straggled over onto his forehead. In his jeans and the big, old baggy sweater, he looked comical, and Dicey smiled at him. “Good for you,” she said, suspecting that it wasn’t for lack of temptation that he hadn’t fought. “Ernie again?”

  Sammy nodded and pushed his hands down into his pocket. He squared his shoulders.

  “You need a haircut. I’ll give you one tonight, a Dicey special. Why don’t you play with Custer, he sounds OK.”

  Sammy shrugged. “He’s got lots of people who want to play with him. You ought to get to work, Dicey. Gram said we have stuff to do when we get home, for tomorrow. What do you think Mr. Lingerle will bring for dessert?”

  “Something sweet and gooey,” Dicey guessed.

  “Maybe chocolate?” Sammy asked hopefully. “Can I help you?”

  “Better not,” Dicey said.

  She had washed the inside of the windows and the whole meat case (moving meat and chicken and fish away from each section before she cleaned it) before Jeff appeared. Millie was at the front with Sammy, talking about something. They had just the ordering left to do before Dicey was through.