We haven’t had any meat for days now. Not even a chicken. I told Jackie I would die if we had tuna hot dish, though. So she’s making green tomato pie from the tomatoes she and Mama canned last summer. “Now, I suppose you want chocolate pudding for dessert.” So I say yes, that would be very fine. “And how about some cornbread?” Oh, gosh, this could be the best dinner ever. Then I remember that we haven’t made a present for Jackie. I rush upstairs to Lady and Willie Faye and tell them we have to make a hat for Jackie. All Jackie ever wears on her head when she is working in our kitchen is an old silk stocking tied up like a little beanie with her hair stuffed under it. She says it’s the most sanitary way to work in a kitchen because it keeps hair and sweat out of the food. It does make her look funny, though, because Jackie has a very big round head and moon face, and when she smacks her hair down with that tight little stocking beanie, she seems rounder and more moonish. Despite being so big, it seems as if she can float around our kitchen. Jackie sort of defies gravity, as they say. Anyhow, I know that Jackie wears fancy hats to church, and Lady says that Homer Peet saw Jackie all dressed up down at the Tick Tock Club listening to Erroll Grandy, who is a jazz piano player and is as famous for jazz as Booth Tarkington is for books. And he’s from right here in Indianapolis. So she would have times to wear this hat and not just to church.
Later
Ozzie is not doing very well. He’s been really quiet. Then tonight he came into our bedroom. He just blurted it all out. “I think Papa’s dead.”
Willie Faye was so shocked she stood right up on the bed. “He’s not dead, Ozzie. He’s not. I just know it.” Ozzie looked so miserable. I told him to listen to Willie Faye because I thought Willie Faye was right about Papa not just up and leaving or “just vanishing,” as Ozzie keeps saying. Then Willie Faye said the most amazing thing. “Your Papa has not vanished. He is somewhere. He knows where he is. We don’t.” Ozzie and I both blinked. There was a strange kind of logic here. It seemed to jolt Ozzie out of his misery just a bit.
So then he climbed up on Willie Faye’s bed and asked for a story — the one about the cutoff cows’ heads. But Willie Faye just sighed and said that she had told him that story at least seventeen times and she didn’t want to tell it anymore. She’d tell him another story. A Christmas Eve story. So she told him one. It was THE BEST. I can’t believe the adventures that Willie Faye had out in that emptiness called Heart’s Bend, Texas. And Willie Faye is a great storyteller. This was something that happened the second time in her life that Willie Faye saw snow. I am going to try to write it down here just the way she told it. I am going to say “I” just as if it were Willie Faye speaking. Here’s what Willie Faye told:
“It was Christmas Eve. The wind shrieked like a pack of coyotes, driving the snow so hard that it drifted over the windows. Every now and then the chimney would suck down a huge draft and burp out puffs of ash right into the room. It was a night when you knew that every animal out on the range — the winter jackrabbit, the red fox, the titmouse — had all burrowed in. But Daddy had to go out, not far, no more than twenty feet from the house, to check on the cattle in the pens. Two were due to drop calves. Well, when he came back in he was like to be tied. The wind had blown down part of the fencing and one of the cows had got out. He was going to have to go and find her. If she gave birth out there on the open range both she and the calf would freeze to death.
’Long about midnight I started to worry because Daddy wasn’t back. I thought maybe I’d just peek out the door. I could see dim marks where Daddy had walked. I grabbed my big boots, put on Mama’s coat, wrapped three scarves around my head, and set out.
It was pretty easy at first, following the footprints, but suddenly the wind came up and a wall of snow blew in. The whole world turned white. I didn’t know what was up and what was down. I had heard cowboys talk about this. They called them whiteouts and they are very dangerous.
Now, you’re not going to believe this but I was even littler then than I am now, and I suddenly felt myself picked up in a huge whoosh. I was flying through the air, tumbling this way and that and then I just dropped. I dropped onto something warm and furry but a little bit wet. Then I heard this bellow. It was my daddy. “Willie Faye!”
“Daddy!” I said. We both just stared at each other. Then I realized that I had landed right on the rump of the cow.
Daddy said, “I thought I just delivered this here calf but it seems like something delivered you as well.” I looked down, and sure enough, I saw something shiny, shiny as polished river stones. It was the calf’s eyes staring up at me and there was a little frozen teardrop in the corner of one eye.
It was the cutest little calf you ever did see. Then Daddy said we had to hurry up and figure out how to keep us all warm, because there was no finding our way back in that whiteout. Daddy had already begun to pile up snow into a windbreak. He told me that that was how the Eskimos made their igloos and that if we piled up enough, the four of us could stay warm.
And it was funny the way he said “the four of us.” It was as if we were all one family. There wasn’t any separation between people and animals. There were just some creatures that were mothers and fathers and others that were little children. I had heard those stories about the magical Christmas Eve when at midnight the animals could talk. We weren’t exactly speaking out loud to one another but we all knew what the others were thinking. We got the windbreak built and crowded in around the heifer with the calf at her teat.
Pretty soon it stopped snowing. We looked up and the sky was prickly with stars. And Daddy started to point out the constellations. I saw Orion stumbling up there with his club and the lion skin he holds. Daddy told me all the stories that went with the star pictures. And I think the heifer and the calf were listening, too. The sky that night was prettier than any Christmas tree. It was as if every star, every constellation was getting out of its cloudy bed to give us creatures on earth this spectacle. I could look into the black shiny eye of the calf and see the stars reflected. And there really were no separations amongst God’s creatures and there was nothing dividing us from the stars. When I looked into that calf’s eye and saw the stars I thought, The stars are in us and we are in the stars.
Come morning, the sun broke out and with Daddy carrying the calf and me leading the heifer, we walked home. I wanted to bring the calf right in by the fire and the heifer, too. I wanted us all to be together on this Christmas morning, but Daddy and Mama said no. I guess the magic was over. The separations were back and it was time for animals to be with animals and people with people.
Very late
We were real quiet for the longest time after Willie Faye finished telling her story. “You know, it’s stopped snowing outside,” Willie Faye said finally. “Maybe we could go see if there are any star pictures. The winter constellations should be up.”
We’d have to go up on the flat part of the roof to see them and that was sort of against the rules, but we figured that Mama was so distracted about Papa that she wouldn’t notice. It was my idea to bring the peaches and some molasses crinkles to eat. Ever since I ate peaches outside in the snow I think it’s really the only way to have them. So I put the peaches jar in a basket, and three bowls and spoons, and tied the cookies up in a napkin, and we went up to the third floor and crawled out through a window onto the flat part of the roof. Ozzie has brought his telescope and he sets it up. Willie Faye has never in her life looked through a telescope and she is just about knocked over by what she sees. It is all so clear and seems so close. I nearly laugh when I see her reach out her hand as if she plans to touch a star. But Ozzie is still very quiet. Normally he would be jabbering on about Saturn’s rings or Magellanic Clouds or galaxies. But he is so quiet it gives me the creeps. He’s just standing there on the rooftop, staring out into space. I’m not sure but it is almost as if he is looking for something in particular. Then finally he says to Willie Faye without even turning around to speak to her, “Willie Faye, when you flew it was
kind of like magic, wasn’t it? I mean you were blown right to where your Daddy was.” It was then I knew what poor Ozzie was thinking about. He was thinking about Papa and he was hoping that maybe some kind of weird Christmas magic would just all of a sudden blow Papa back to us.
December 20, 1932
The O’s are coming over this afternoon with Opal’s cousin. Opal’s cousin was in World War I and he is missing a hand. It got blown off at the battle of Verdun in France. Clem has warned us at least thirty-five times not to stare. I have a feeling Ozzie won’t be able to hold back from staring.
Later
Ozzie stared, all right. Clem kept clearing her throat and coughing. Finally I said, “You’re getting a cold.” I found her constant gargling worse than Ozzie’s staring. But Opal’s cousin, his name is Harry, didn’t seem to notice. He was talking about Hoover and how awful the veterans’ march was in Washington last summer. He was in it. More than twenty thousand veterans marched in Washington to demand their bonuses from serving in World War I. They had been promised these bonuses from Congress and now so many of them were out of work, they were going hungry and their families were, too. They camped out in tents and built shacks right in the city of Washington, D.C. But President Hoover wouldn’t listen to them and then, worse than that, he turned the police on them! Turned the police on the very men who had fought across the seas to keep the world safe for democracy. I remember Papa saying that when That Fool Hoover did that, he lost the election even though the election would not be for a few more months.
Harry is very nice, but he has sadness about him. He’s old. Over thirty! And he’s been married but his wife died. He’s lost a lot — his hand, his wife, and his job last spring. He’s come to live with Opal and her family for a while. Marlon is going to see about getting him a job at Ayres. If anyone can do it, it’s Marlon.
I wish Marlon could do something about Papa. I guess that is asking too much. I keep trying to believe the way Willie Faye told me to. It’s hard. And I can’t believe for Mama. I can see that Mama is not able to hide her worry so well. Soldiering on is getting harder.
Speaking of soldiering on, there was a picture of Mrs. Roosevelt in the paper today going into a coal mine in West Virginia and then another one of her in the same town shaking hands with little dirty-faced children. It reminded me of the little boy we saw in the shantytown, the one who asked me if his cookie through Christmas magic might turn into Santa Claus.
Ozzie said the weirdest thing this evening. He said, “I wonder what Al Capone is doing for Christmas.” Al Capone — the biggest gangster ever and Ozzie is wondering whether he’s going to have a nice Christmas in jail!
December 21, 1932
Gwen was allowed to bring family members to the Bobbs-Merrill publishing company Christmas party last night. Ozzie and Mama didn’t want to go but Clem, Willie Faye, Lady, and I all went. I must admit that I was a little worried that they’d have lots of aspic from that Joy of Cooking book. But they didn’t and it was a really nice party with punch, every sort of cookie imaginable, and a turkey and a ham. I wish Mama and Ozzie had come. Willie Faye and I got dressed up. Lady cut down an old party dress of mine for Willie Faye. It was plaid with velvet trim and we found matching bows for her hair. I wore a sailor dress. I don’t generally like sailor dresses but it was all that fit me and Mama likes it, and I just didn’t want to put up a fuss when she’s feeling so bad. As Lady said, “So, darn it, you’ll go as a sailor.” The party was nice and they gave each of us a present. They publish a lot of children’s books. They gave Willie Faye a copy of Raggedy Ann. I think they thought she was a lot younger than she is. They gave me a book from the Childhood of Famous Americans series. George Washington. It’s all right. It didn’t thrill me. In a way I would rather read about the childhood of unfamous Americans — just normal kids who lived through something like the Civil War or the Revolutionary War.
I did meet Mr. John Jay Curtis, who is a company officer and according to Gwen is supersmart and thinks up what she calls sales strategy. When he asked me how I liked the book I said fine, but then I told him I thought they should have more girls in the series. He said, “Well, we’re going to be doing Martha Washington and Betsy Ross.”
I didn’t want to say this but I think a book on Betsy Ross might be a colossal bore. Instead I said, “How about one on Amelia Earhart?”
There was another lady standing next to him and she looked kind of shocked. And then she said the stupidest thing I ever heard. “But she’s so modern. She can’t really be considered history yet.”
Well, I just blurted out, “She IS history. You don’t have to be dead to be interesting. What could be more interesting than being the first woman to fly solo across the Atlantic Ocean?”
Now the lady really looked shocked. “My goodness, aren’t you a pert young lady.” I didn’t mind the pert part, but I HATE HATE HATE it when grownups call girls “young ladies.” All it really means is that we’re teensy and powerless and don’t know our place. Well, maybe I don’t know my place but I know what’s history and what’s interesting. But the good part is that Mr. Curtis didn’t seem to be paying attention to her. He raised his eyebrows and said, “Now, Minerva, that’s not a half-bad idea.”
Later
I keep on thinking about Amelia Earhart. I got out my scrapbook and showed Willie Faye the pictures of her I had cut out from the newspaper when she made her flight last May. Guess what Willie Faye says. She says I look just like Amelia Earhart. You know, I think she’s right. If I cut my hair shorter and wore bangs that are just a little puffy on top I would look like her.
One hour later
I look almost exactly like Amelia Earhart except shorter. Lady cut my hair. This is so exciting. Now Clem jokes that I better learn how to fly. She jokes, but why not?
Holy smokes! Marlon knows how to fly a plane. He flies a biplane out at a little airport in Carmel. He said he would take me for a ride. Mama said, “Yee gads! Over my dead body.” Gosh, what a spoilsport she is. If she weren’t so worried about Papa I would really put up a fight over this. When I put my mind to it I can whine like nobody’s business. I’ve been known to drive every one of my sisters out of the house with whining. Jackie says I could whine the feathers off a chicken. For some reason my whining doesn’t get to Ozzie.
Not much gets to Ozzie these days. He didn’t even come down to listen to The Shadow tonight. So I went upstairs to look for him and where did I find him but on the roof looking out, just the way he was the other night — hoping, I guess, that Papa will be blown back to us the way Willie Faye was blown to her daddy. A part of me wishes Willie Faye had never told us that story.
December 22, 1932
This morning Willie Faye and I went over to Betty Hodges’s with Lucy, and we built a snowman, and a snowwoman, too. When we came inside to get warm, Mrs. Hodges had made cocoa for us. I like Mrs. Hodges a lot but she kept looking at me with these very sad eyes. I know that she was thinking, Oh, poor child, her father’s gone off and left the family. I just know she was thinking that. She was looking at me like I was some half orphan. I hate being looked at that way. So I snatched off my knit hat and I said to Mrs. Hodges, “Don’t you think I look like Amelia Earhart with my hair short?”
She kind of snapped out of it and said, “Why my goodness, Minerva, you do bear a striking resemblance to her.” She was all right after that. No more sappy, teary little looks. I swear sometimes you really have to shape up these grown-ups, be a little strict with them.
Later
I can’t believe I never noticed it but after we got back from Betty Hodges’s I went upstairs to Papa’s room. I had been working on my Christmas gifts for at least an hour when I saw that his typewriter was missing! Now I can’t remember seeing it when I was up here yesterday, either. Whatever has happened to it? Mama was going to the Fortnightly afternoon tea today. I’ll ask her when she comes back.
Later
This is unbelievable. Mama did not go to the Fortnigh
tly afternoon tea. She and Ozzie went downtown to hire a private detective to look for Papa. And what did she use for money? She sold the typewriter! And this is almost more unbelievable: Ozzie sold his chemistry set to Homer Peet’s younger brother Chester. Mama swears that she did not make Ozzie sell his set, that he had already done it and that she would have come up with the difference between what the typewriter brought and the cost of hiring a detective. This is all so incredible. I mean, people like us don’t hire private detectives. We are the Swifts. We are a very boring, predictable (until Papa up and left) normal family. I am trying to imagine Lamont Cranston or Charlie Chan showing up here at our house, 4605 North Meridian Street. We are becoming a radio show! Or at least like one. I picture Charlie Chan in our kitchen interviewing Jackie. It boggles the brain. I guess it can’t do any harm and there is one good thing: Ozzie seems a lot happier. He keeps saying, “Well, at least we’re doing something to find Papa.”
December 23, 1932
Gwen has today off and is taking us all to lunch at the Ayres tearoom. She got a very generous Christmas bonus from Bobbs-Merrill, and she said that in any case she gets a company discount at Ayres so she can afford to take us to lunch. Ayres is my favorite place to go for lunch. I always have the same thing: chicken à la king, hot chocolate in a clown mug with whipped cream and sprinkles on top, and three-colored Jell-O for dessert with a sugar cookie. Mama doesn’t want to go. Ozzie says Ayres tearoom is a sissy place. But I know that both he and Mama want to stay home in case Mr. Fromeyer calls. Mr. Fromeyer is the detective. I don’t think Fromeyer is a very detective-sounding name.
Christmas After All Page 8
