Crayons and Angels

by Rita Kano

  “I ain’t hurryin’ anywhere,” said Lizzie’s grandpa. “Wouldn’t if I could. Not for your mama or anybody. Why…” he removed his baseball cap and stuffed it in a pocket, “why, if I’d known when I was a pup like you how fast time passes all on its own, I’d never of helped it hurry along.” Lizzie’s grandpa nodded in Shirley’s direction as she stood at the side of the road. “Looks like you forgot to tell me something, sugar pie.”

  “Miss Shirley. I forgot Miss Shirley. Lift me over, Grandpa.” Lizzie took her grandpa’s hand as they walked between headstones toward Shirley. “Grandpa,” Lizzie said with her nose crinkled up, “Why did you call me a pup? Sometimes I don’t understand the things you say.”

  “That’s okay, sugar baby. There’s times when it’s more important to remember than to understand. Now, who is this nice lady you brought here to see me?”

  “This is Miss Shirley Foster.” An open smile stretched across Lizzie’s face, exposing for the first time the gap where a baby tooth had been. “You know how I remembered her whole name, Grandpa? I remembered her last name cause when I first saw her she looked like she was lost and her name rhymes with lost her. Ain’t that funny grandpa?”

  “Lost her Foster … you know what, sweet pickle? It ain’t funny a bit.” Lizzie’s grandpa chuckled and tickled his granddaughter in the side.

  “Yes, it is funny, Grandpa. You laughed. Miss Shirley, this is my grandpa.”

  He reached out to shake Shirley’s hand. “I’m Lizzie’s grandpa and some folks call me Nash. Nash Britt.”

  “I’m very pleased to meet you, Grandpa Nash.” Shirley noticed an amazing resemblance between Nash and an actor she had been especially fond of ever since she watched the movie Parent Trap starring Haley Mills, Maureen O’Hara and Brian Keith. Lizzie’s grandpa Nash looked remarkably like Brian Keith; tall, broad shouldered and ruggedly handsome. She found it hard not to stare and became just a wee bit nervous when he smiled. She even felt the sensation of butterflies flitting about in her stomach. Shirley blushed over the strangely pleasant feeling she had experienced only once before.

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Shirley. May I say you are the loveliest vision I’ve seen in many, many a year.”

  “She ain’t no vision, Grandpa. Watch.” Lizzie poked Shirley in the ribs with one finger. “See that. She flinched.”

  “What I said was a figure of speech, baby. Your grandpa’s just tryin’ to be a charmin’ old man instead of a rusty old coot.”

  Lizzie giggled. “Grandpa, I sure do like the way you talk.”

  “Did I fail, Miss Shirley?” asked Nash. “I beg your pardon if I did. I meant no offense.”

  “You didn’t fail, Mr. Britt. You can practice your charming on me any time.”

  “Well now, that does brighten up my day. You can brighten it up more if you say it’s me you come to see and Lizzie didn’t just snatch you up from somewhere and drag you off your intended course.”

  “She’s from the welfare,” said Lizzie.

  “The welfare, you say. Well, I most certainly would never have known that from just lookin’. You don’t have that hard crease line between your eyes and your mouth don’t turn down at the corners giving that let’s just get on with business impression.”

  “What does that mean, Grandpa?” Lizzie drew ticktacktoe lines in the sand with one foot as her mind took another leap into distraction.

  “Thank you for the compliment, Nash,” said Shirley, fluttering her eyelids with another blush.

  “Grandpa,” Lizzie tugged on her grandpa’s faded denim overalls. “I didn’t understand what you said.”

  “Just remember it, Lizzie, like I told you. That’s all you need to do right now. The understandin’ of it will come later.”

  “Okay, Grandpa. I will. I’ll try to remember.” Lizzie looked up all of a sudden. The sun setting behind the tall pines cast a shadow over her and stretched across the road all the way to the Magnolia tree beside the graveyard. “It’s getting’ late, Grandpa, we’d better go. You know mama.”

  “Yes, baby, I know your mama, but we still don’t know what brought this lovely lady way back here to us.” Nash slipped both hands into his pockets. “Now do we? So, mind your manners. The rest will take care of itself as the good Lord intends.”

  Lizzie sucked in a noisy breath and peered into the expanding shadows of the swamp woods.

  “So, Miss Shirley, how can I be of help to you?” asked Nash. “And I’m hoping I can be,” he added.

  “Grandpa,” Lizzie tugged on her grandpa’s shirtsleeve, “maybe it’d be a good idea if we talked and walked at the same time. Deddy can drive you and Miss Shirley back over here after supper. Won’t that do?”

  “Well, I don’t have any objection. It’s a fine idea. If Miss Shirley don’t mind.”

  “Must be why I wore my walking shoes today,” replied Shirley. “But I don’t know about staying for supper. Arlene didn’t seem to…”

  Lizzie plowed into Shirley’s direction of thought. “Mama’s in a bad mood today, Grandpa.”

  “Is she now?” said Nash. “Then why don’t we just see if we can change that?”

  Shirley detected a twinkle in Nash’s eyes.

  As they walked, Lizzie skipped alongside Shirley and her grandpa. “I don’t know if you can change that, Grandpa. Mama wasn’t very nice to Miss Shirley even before she figured out she was from the welfare.”

  “Figured it out, did she? That tells me all I need to know. I think your mama’s resisting the very thing she needs.” Nash winked at Shirley.

  “Grandpa, have you got another secret?” Lizzie cupped one hand over her mouth. “You know lots of secrets, don’t you?”

  Grandpa Nash grinned. “Secrets?” he scratched a scruff of day old salt and pepper whiskers. “Yeah, I suppose I do at that.” Nash glanced back toward the graveyard.

  “Uh-oh,” said Lizzie. “Mama’s gonna know we come this way if you start talkin’… you know…” Lizzie fiddled nervously with the hem of her over-sized cotton dress, “you know how, Grandpa.”

  “Then we’ll just have to make sure she don’t find out. Don’t you worry, pickle head.” Nash ruffled Lizzie’s tangled red hair with one hand and then scooped her up into his arms.

  “Grandpa, it’s sweet pickle not pickle head.”

  Nash tossed his granddaughter up in the air, spun her around like a whirly gig and laughed.

  “It’s not funny, Grandpa. I’m not mad, though. You can laugh if you want to. I’m not going to get mad like mama does. And I’m not going to say, here we go again like deddy says before he don’t say nothin’ for a week and acts like he’s gone off somewhere and disappeared, even though I can still see him right in front of me.”

  Nash returned Lizzie’s bare feet to the dirt road.

  “Grandpa, you made me dizzy. I think I’m getting’ too many things in my head I don’t understand. I sure have an awful lot of stuff to remember. Will you carry me the rest of the way?” Lizzie held her arms up to her grandpa. “Please,” she said as an afterthought.

  “Sure, baby.” Nash picked Lizzie up, grunting as he did. “Uh-uh-uh,” he said, “won’t be much longer before you’ll be too big for me to carry around.” He gave her a quick squeeze. “Now, look at that. I want you to take a look at Miss Shirley and how patient she’s been waiting to say why she come way out here searching for me. So, what are we going to do? We’re just going to keep quiet now and listen. Ain’t we, sugar baby?”

  “Okay, Grandpa.”

  “You’re Grandpa’s sweet girl.” Nash combed fingers through his tousled hair. “So, Miss Shirley, why did you come way out here looking for me? It’s long after government quittin’ time. And I’ve never known any state workers that put in extra.”

  Shirley didn’t hide her amusement. For years it had been one of her pet peeves that only she and two other employees of the Department of Social Services, the janitor and the receptionist, could manage to get to work on time, didn’t take an e
xtra half hour for lunch and didn’t leave fifteen to twenty minutes early.

  “I can’t argue with that,” she said. “But the reason I’m here is,” Shirley hesitated as memory served up a bitter helping of Arlene’s reaction to her unexpected visit. “I came about Martha Ann, Mr. Britt. I came completely outside any official capacity, however. So, if you’d rather not talk to me about her, I’ll certainly understand. I know she’s only been missing for…”

  “Only a few days,” Nash said. “Not long. Would you pardon me for just one minute, Miss Shirley?” Nash touched Lizzie on the tip of her nose. “I’m going to put you down now and I want you to run along ahead of me and this nice lady. Just a little ways, so her and me can talk some grownup stuff.”

  Lizzie frowned a plea to the contrary.

  “I promise you won’t be missing nothin’, sweet pea. Look here. Look what I’ve got in my pocket.” Nash pulled out a tootsie pop.

  “A cherry sucker? Thank you, Grandpa.” Lizzie skipped on ahead.

  “You know much about Martha Ann, Miss Shirley?”

  “I know she’s run off a few times before and that she’s always come back.”

  “Yeah,” said Nash. “And I’m sure you know what people say about her, too.”

  “She’s a beautiful girl, Nash… much more than average. She gets a lot of attention wherever she goes.”

  “She’s barely 16. Did you know that?”

  “No, I didn’t. She looks a lot closer to 19.”

  “Yeah, she does. And it’s the prettiest rose on the bush that always gets picked first. Just like they say,” said Nash. “Which leaves me with thorns and a hand full of worryin’. Sheriff Pate won’t even go looking for her anymore when she takes off.”

  “I know. I’ve heard him talking about Martha Ann at the Goody-Goody Ice Cream Parlor.”

  Nash sighed. “Since you ain’t here on official business, Miss Shirley, I gotta wonder if you’ve got some feelings you want to share with me.”

  “Yes. Yes, I do. Only a feeling mind you, but it’s a strong feeling that somebody ought to be looking for your granddaughter.” Shirley blushed when she realized she had reached out and touched Nash’s hand.

  Nash stopped walking and looked headlong into Shirley’s eyes. “Are you thinkin’ I can give you some idea where to start?”

  “That’s what I’m hoping. I’ve been with the welfare department almost ten years and worked most of the county. I know a lot of people. There might be something I can do to help. Was there anything different about this time? Did Martha Ann talk about anyone in particular before she left? I could use any information like that. You know, like was there someone new in her life or any old problems bothering her?”

  The inside edge of Nash’s eyebrows turned upward as he searched his memory. “No. At least none comes to mind right off.”

  “I see her in town a lot,” continued Shirley. “How does she usually get there? You’re at least fifteen miles out, aren’t you?”

  “Seventeen. I take her to town sometimes. Sometimes her Uncle Joe does. She takes the school bus home, if me or Joe ain’t plannin’ on stayin’ around town long enough to bring her back too, which is most days.” Nash looked firmly into Shirley’s eyes, again. “If you think she’s been hitchin’ you can just chuck that notion right out of your mind. She knows better than that. She don’t accept rides unless the person offering is somebody she knows real good. I’ve brought her up right in spite of what any town body,” he lifted his eyebrows, “or Arlene might say.”

  “I don’t care about what people say,” said Shirley. “Questions have to be asked. Nothing gets done without every question having an answer. If you want to find Martha Ann, I’m afraid you don’t have the privilege of being offended by anyone.”

  “You’re a plain talker, Miss Shirley Foster. I like that.”

  “Grandpa.” Lizzie had stopped walking when her grandpa did. She stood several yards beyond with her hands propped on her hips and her head cocked to one side with the white stick of the tootsie pop sticking out of her mouth.

  Nash and Shirley started walking again and Lizzie resumed her skipping and humming.

  “Martha Ann’s a happy, trustin’ child, Miss Shirley. A whole lot like a puppy sniffing around, wagging its tail. Don’t see what’s coming or care what’s past. I sure am grateful for your concern, but there ain’t anything special I can tell you. The last time I saw her was just another Wednesday morning, as ordinary as a day could be.”

  “An ordinary Wednesday morning,” repeated Shirley. “Three days before the snowfall on Saturday. So, that’d be the 18th and middle of the week.”

  “That’s right. Nothin’ much happens on Wednesdays. There weren’t no carnival in town and I went from store to store askin’ about any strangers being seen around … big city salesmen and such. Nobody noticed anything out of the usual. All the store owners and sidewalk checker players said the whole week had been an especially quiet one.”

  “All the stores close at noon on Wednesdays,” said Shirley. “She could have been there after that. I know she sits by the fountain pool near the drug store where I sometimes stop for a bite of lunch. She seems to enjoy feeding the birds and once she’s seen you twice she always waves hello. The store owners might not have seen her, but people coming and going from the courthouse or the post office might have. If she was there, I’m certain someone noticed.”

  “There ain’t no doubt people notice her. She’s a friendly girl all right and spends a lot of time with those birds. Once, she told me she’d like to flap away like them birds.” Grandpa Nash’s thoughts drifted away for a second. “But I talked to a lot of people and nobody could remember if they saw her. Time’s pieces run all together when there ain’t nothin’ special happening from one to the other.”

  “Mr. Nash, if you’ll pardon the asking … why would Martha Ann want to fly away?”

  “Grandpa.” Lizzie shouted running back and jumping into her grandpa’s arms. “We’re almost there. Remember not to tell mama or deddy we walked past the graveyard. Don’t forget. Don’t forget now, Grandpa.”

  “I won’t forget. And I won’t tell.” Nash nuzzled his nose against Lizzie’s cheek. “Honey bun, I have a question for you. What do birds do?”

  “They fly away when I try to catch them.” Lizzie made a flapping motion with her arms. “I wish I could fly away … but not from you, Grandpa. I wouldn’t fly away from you.” Lizzie hopped down and grabbed her grandpa’s hand. “Don’t be afraid, Grandpa. I’ve got you. Now, you take Miss Shirley’s hand.”

  “Honey bun, I… I can’t hold…”

  Shirley reached out.

  “See, Grandpa. Miss Shirley likes you,” said Lizzie. “Go on, Grandpa. Take Miss Shirley’s hand.”

  Nash flashed a jittery smile.

  Shirley flushed rosy pink.

  Lizzie took a couple of steps and started whistling the melody of Three Blind Mice. They walked hand in hand toward the Lovett house with gold specks from the setting sun reflecting in their eyes and thin, wavering shadows stretching out behind them.

  “Sing with me, Grandpa. You too, Miss Shirley.”

  “Three blind mice. Three blind mice.” They sang together. “See how they run. See how they run. They all ran after the farmer’s wife. She…”

  Nash held open the back screen door, as he continued to hum the melody.

  Arlene, the farmer’s wife, wasn’t expecting to have Shirley Foster, Social Worker, at her supper table. Her presence was going to be a really big unwelcome surprise.

  Chapter 3

  Icky Fuzzy Jumping Spiders

  “My, my, my, Arlene, supper smells uncommonly good. I kindly accept your invitation and I’ve brought a friend along,” said Grandpa Nash as he, Shirley and Lizzie walked into the dining room where the rest of the family sat waiting rather impatiently. “Arlene, you’ve already met Miss Shirley. Miss Shirley Foster, this is my son-in-law, Joe.”

  When Nash announced he had invit
ed Shirley to stay for their evening meal Arlene made certain her father saw the surprise and disapproval in her eyes. Joe mumbled something unintelligible and avoided direct eye contact with both his wife and his father-in-law.

  As soon as everybody got seated, the family around the supper table went quiet and Joe muttered a blessing. After the blessing, the dining room adjoined to the living room by two French doors with sheer white curtains, hummed with uneasiness as platters and bowls of food were passed around consisting of mashed potatoes, cornbread, string beans, meatloaf with gravy and buttermilk biscuits.

  The meal, the surroundings, the furniture and decades old knickknacks plus the tension in the air brought back memories of the Cox family and dear sweet Quessie’s cooking. Shirley didn’t expect Arlene’s cooking to compare to Miss Quessie’s. Before a bite went into her mouth, she knew one very necessary ingredient wouldn’t be there, pure organic, natural love. Arlene was not a happy woman.

  “Miss Shirley, we’re sure real happy to have you join us tonight,” said Nash. “Would you like cornbread or a biscuit?”

  Although Nash designed his comment to illicit similar, polite and friendly responses from around the dining room table, it didn’t. However, under the unusual circumstances and in the presence of a man who appeared to have as much hound dog blood running through his veins as Shirley, she felt no offense and in fact, her emotional response bordered on elation.

  “Thank you,” replied Shirley. “It’s a pleasure to have some good home cooking other than my own. Biscuit, please.”

  As Nash held the platter of biscuits, he looked at Shirley and Shirley looked at Nash. The silence between them sparkled. Shirley might have blushed, except for the fact that no one else at the table seemed to notice.

  “You have family here?” asked Nash, plopping a healthy serving of mashed potatoes onto his plate.

  “I don’t have family anywhere, Mr. Britt. They’ve all…” Shirley paused and sighed. “They’ve all long passed.”