The Dry Grass of August

by Anna Jean Mayhew

  “Coffee?” asked Mama. She was planning to cope. No matter what Mary had to say, Mama would have a cup of coffee with her cigarette and she would be calm.

  CHAPTER 10

  Mary came to work the day after Mrs. Feaster said what she did, acting like everything was fine, but she and Mama were stiff around each other, saying only what had to be said for Mary to do her work. At first I wished they could get back to laughing and joking, but after a while I got used to their cool politeness.

  Meemaw was coming to visit us in our house on Queens Road West, which she’d never seen. The night before her arrival, Mary worked late, starching the rec room curtains and rolling them to be ironed later. She hung the throw rugs over the clothesline and beat them with a broom, then went back up to the garage apartment with her cleaning supplies.

  The next morning, the Electrolux cord lay coiled on the living room carpet like a snake, and the freshly ironed ivory sheers were laid out on the sofa. Tarnished flatware covered Mama’s heart-of-pine dining table. Grandmother Bentley’s silver service gleamed on the tea wagon in the morning light. The tang of silver polish hung in the air, mingling with the smell of pies baking. In the kitchen, Mary was kneading bread dough. “It’s half past nine. How come nobody rousted you earlier ?”

  “I’m lucky. Where’s Mama?”

  “Beauty parlor. Get yourself some cereal.” She nodded toward the pantry. “When you’re done, I need you to fetch stuff from the freezer.”

  “You’re bossier than Mama this morning.”

  “I reckon I am.” She sounded pleased.

  I sucked in my stomach and inched between the bar and the ironing board, where Mama’s best tablecloth spilled onto a sheet spread to keep the white damask spotless. I fixed my cereal and sat at the bar. The percolator hiccupped on the stove.

  “I want some coffee,” I said, just to see what Mary would do.

  “Your growth need stunting.” She gave me a mug of half coffee, half milk.

  I shook sugar into it. “When’d you last see Meemaw?”

  “Year or so, when she stayed over to your aunt Rita’s.”

  “Because she and Mama were fighting, right?”

  “Where you hear that?”

  “Everybody knows it.” I took a sip of the coffee, added more sugar.

  “I can’t say if they was or not, but one didn’t see much of the other, not the whole time your grandma was here. She hasn’t been back since, that I knows.” Mary looked out the window, shaking her head. “He this one’s son and that one’s husband. Womenfolks is bad not to get along.”

  “What you need from the freezer?”

  “A quart of strawberries, another pound of bacon, two boxes of cream corn. You want to write it down?”

  “A quart of bacon, another pound of cream corn, two boxes of strawberries.”

  I returned to the kitchen, my arms full. Mary handed me a paper. “Your mama says you got to do these things.”

  I groaned. “Windex rec room windows. Sweep breezeway rug and front walk. First vacuum, then dust living room and den.” I stuffed the list in my pocket. “She always reminds me to vacuum before dusting, like I’m a moron.”

  “My mama always said dust first. Chicken and the egg.”

  “You know why Meemaw has to stay in the rec room?”

  Mary raised her eyebrows. She knew my question was loaded. “You reckon you know why?”

  “So Mama won’t have to share her bathroom.”

  “Hmph. You just get to the things on that list.”

  I looked at the clock over the kitchen sink. “Stell sure knows how to get out of work.”

  “She got all that silver to polish when she gets done her Bible study.”

  “She’s better at polishing apples.”

  “Uh-huh.” Mary handed me the Windex. She wasn’t taking sides this morning.

  Up in the rec room, I tuned the radio to WGIV, a jive station Mama hated. With the volume turned all the way up, I washed the windows to the Chatty Hattie Show. Leaves and grass were matted into the straw rug on the porch, and before I’d finished sweeping it, Mary came out to inspect.

  “I know it’s hard, but you got to go over it again. Your mama’ll want every speck of red mud off that rug.”

  I did it again, pretending I was a parlor maid for a rich family in Boston in 1850. I wore gray uniforms with long skirts and ruffled white aprons. When I spoke to my mistress, I said, “Yes, ma’am,” and curtsied. She didn’t know I was going to be a mail-order bride for a silent handsome cowboy in the untamed West.

  Mama came home from the beauty parlor smelling of crème rinse. She had a bouquet of mums and gladiolas in her arms. “Gee, Mama, you’re gorgeous.”

  “Thank you, Jubie.”

  “What’d you get done besides your hair?”

  “Got my legs waxed, a pedicure, a manicure . . .”—she put the flowers on the bar and waggled her glossy nails—“and a facial. This morning I saw dimples in my thighs. They’ll sag more each day for the rest of my life. I can feel them shaking with every step.” She took her cigarette case from her purse, pulled out a Camel, and tamped it on the bar. “I thought I’d never get done.” She exhaled a puff of smoke with every word. “A dryer was broken and they had us stacked up, taking turns on the other two.” With her thumb and ring finger she plucked a piece of tobacco from her tongue, flicked it away, and looked at her watch. “I’ll go get changed. The porch and the walk look good. Is the rec room done?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Better get going with the vacuum. It’s getting late.”

  “Ugh.”

  “No sense complaining, young lady. Finish everything on that list or you’ll do without supper.”

  I was under the sofa, trying to plug in the Electrolux, and hoping Mama didn’t know about the dust bunnies, when she called from the kitchen, “Jubie, before you start, bring me the blue vase from the dining room.”

  I took the vase from the top shelf of the corner cabinet, blowing dust off the cobalt crystal, which shone like the sapphires in Mama’s dinner ring. She had never let me pick it up and I hadn’t known how heavy it was. I cradled it in my arms and took it to Mama.

  With the vacuum running, I sat on the Sheraton and pushed the nozzle back and forth across the rug, jumping up when Mama came into the living room. “Let that go and help me take things to the rec room.” She carried the blue vase full of flowers. I followed her with an armful of thick terry towels and our best percale sheets.

  Stell came in the den door. Mama said, “Silver needs polishing, and the tablecloth has to be ironed. How was Bible Club?”

  “Reverend Coonts has bad breath.”

  “That’s a terrible thing to say about a preacher.”

  Stell looked at her nails, which she’d spent an hour manicuring the night before. “I’ll ruin my nails if I polish silver.”

  “Use rubber gloves. Get to it, young lady.”

  Stell gave Mama a look I would have been smacked for and left the den.

  “Where are you going?” Mama asked.

  “To change my clothes.” Stell didn’t turn around.

  “Estelle Annette!”

  Stell stopped, her back to Mama. “What? I don’t want polish on my good blouse.”

  “Oh, all right. C’mon, Jubie, we’ve got to finish.”

  Mama put the vase in the middle of the breakfast table in the rec room and arranged the flowers. She refolded the bath towel and hung it over the bathroom rod, then walked around touching things.

  “What’s that?” I pointed to wineglasses and a carafe of liquid on a tray in the kitchenette.

  “Sherry.” Mama wrinkled her nose. “Your grandmother wants a nip before bed.” She inspected the windows. “They’ll do. The room looks good, don’t you think?”

  “If Meemaw doesn’t like it, she can stay in my room. I’d be glad to sleep here.”

  “Well, I’m glad we can give Cordelia her own private place.” Mama stood in the middle of the
room, chin in hand. She snapped her fingers, went to the closet, and tossed a lumpy bed pillow at me. “Go get your pillow. Cordelia won’t sleep on anything but goose down.”

  When I got back with my feather pillow, Mama had moved the flowers to a table by one of the windows.

  “It catches the sunlight,” I said.

  “It’s too elegant for the rec room, but Cordelia will know we made things special for her.” She nudged a gladiola into place. “Your father can’t complain. I even remembered the sherry.”

  We went down the stairs. Mama sniffed the air. “Take a shower before you dress.”

  “I had a shower this morning.”

  “June, you do not smell like a lady.”

  I took the shower but didn’t use soap. I put on my gray wool skirt, my white blouse with the Peter Pan collar, the red belt that matched my shoes. Then I got out the fab brooch Aunt Rita had given me and pinned it at my neck. The red jewels twinkled.

  I was sitting in the queen chair when Stell came downstairs, looking just right, as usual. The den door opened. Puddin ran in. “They’re here! Daddy and Meemaw.”

  I followed Puddin to the garage. Daddy had just opened the car door, and there was Meemaw, her face hidden by a low-brimmed brown hat. She put out her hand for Daddy to help her from the car. She was much fatter than I remembered and the top of her hat didn’t reach my shoulder. “Why, June, how you’ve—and Carolina—you girls, you girls.” She squeezed my hand. Puddin hugged her, and her skinny arms didn’t go halfway around Meemaw’s middle.

  “My word, Carolina, you’re not a baby any—so where is my grandson? Estelle, you standing there quiet—I mean, a lady. Last time, I was dizzy with your chatter.” They put their arms around each other briefly. They were the same height, though I’d never thought Stell was so short.

  Daddy put his hand under Meemaw’s elbow and said, “Come on, Mother, let’s go in the house.” It was strange to hear Daddy calling someone Mother.

  Meemaw waddled through the breezeway, her body swaying from side to side.

  Mama met us at the den door and said, “Hello, Cordelia. It’s so nice to have you.” They touched cheeks.

  “I’ll take your coat and hat, Miz Watts.” Mary stepped from behind Mama. She had on a black uniform, a starched apron, and a stiff little hat like a dollop of whipped cream plopped on her head. A maid from the movies.

  Without the felt cloche and wool coat, Meemaw looked soft. Her gray hair swirled into a thick bun near the crown of her head, wisps curling around her face. In the den, she sat in Daddy’s platform rocker and put her feet on the ottoman. Her leather lace-ups were doll shoes on Daddy’s big footstool, and her ankles were so puffed out over the tops of her shoes I wanted to poke them.

  Meemaw sighed loudly.

  Daddy cleared his throat. “Paula, how about some coffee?”

  Mama called over her shoulder, “Mary? Coffee, please. The service.”

  “Where’s David?” Meemaw asked. “Thought you’d—I mean, got to be getting big.”

  “He’s asleep,” I said.

  “Takes good naps, does he?”

  “Usually,” I said. “He’s a great kid.”

  Mama focused on the brooch glittering at my neck. She closed her eyes and looked pained, smoothed the skirt of her amber silk, touched her gold necklace.

  Mary came in carrying a tray with the silver service on it. She put everything down on the coffee table and backed out. I wished she’d stay.

  Mama poured a cup of coffee and asked Meemaw, “Cream and sugar?”

  Meemaw shook her head. “Don’t drink it this late in the day.”

  Mama handed the cup to Daddy. “How was your trip, Cordelia?”

  “It’d be nice if we got what we paid—I mean, bumping along in a train car since early this morning.”

  Nobody said anything while Meemaw sat and rocked slightly, the reading lamp behind her, her hair shining.

  Daddy said, “Was your compartment okay?”

  “Might have been. Wish I’d been left in peace.”

  “We booked a private compartment.”

  “You couldn’t know they would—I mean, people just barge.”

  Everyone waited for her to finish, but she sat there with her hands clasped across her stomach.

  Mama asked, “Cordelia, are you saying somebody shared your compartment?”

  “Three of them. Came in and made theirselfs comfortable.”

  “Why didn’t you report them to the conductor?” asked Daddy.

  “ ’Twas his idea. Train was crowded. He asked if I’d mind sharing—a woman and her two children. Her daddy had died from his heart—so a mercy trip, you know. What can you say, if you—I mean, they gave me a voucher for when I go home.” She reached to the floor, where she’d set her pocketbook, fished around in it, and held up a paper.

  Daddy took it from her, “A free ticket. Mother, that’s really nice.”

  “I couldn’t nap or read. Stared out the window and cried, paid them no mind.”

  “You were crying?” Mama said.

  Meemaw snorted. “The mother, not me.”

  “Did the kids behave?” I asked.

  “Boy sat next to me. She just put him—kicked his feet against the seat. The girl—about your age, June—hummed ‘Tennessee Waltz’ and ‘Some Enchanted Evening’—not a tune in a bucket, neither.”

  “You must be worn out, Cordelia,” Mama said. “Why don’t we get you settled before dinner.” She turned to Daddy. “Are your mother’s things still in the car?”

  Meemaw cleared her throat. “I just got the one. Travel light, always have.”

  Daddy started to rise. “I’ll get it.”

  Mama put a hand on his knee. “No need, William. Stell, you and Jubie show your grandmother to her room. Carry her bag up for her and help her get settled. It’ll be an hour and a half until dinner, Cordelia, which will give you a nice rest.”

  Puddin jumped up. “I’m going, too, Meemaw. All your granddaughters can help.”

  Stell put out her hand for Meemaw to stand. I ran ahead. “We’ll get the suitcase. C’mon, Puddin.”

  I got Meemaw’s bag from the car, ran up to the rec room, and put it on the luggage rack.

  At the top of the stairs, Meemaw held her hand to her chest. “Where’s the ladies—I mean . . .”

  “The door in the corner.” I pointed.

  “Got to take—my arthritis. Should have before now.” She closed the bathroom door behind her.

  “What’s arthur-itis?” Puddin sat on the sofa.

  “Her joints don’t work right,” Stell said.

  The bathroom door opened and Meemaw swayed into the room, trailing the scent of rosewater cologne. She opened her suitcase and handed each of us a gift-wrapped package. “Here you are, girls.” Meemaw sat down next to Puddin.

  “How nice,” Stell said, opening the envelope that was Scotch-taped to her gift. The word Granddaughter was printed in glitter on the front of the card. Inside Stell’s package was a silver charm bracelet. “Oh! I love it.” She jumped up to hug Meemaw.

  “I’ll give you charms—Christmas and your birthday.”

  “I’m next!” Puddin pulled at the wrapping paper and Stell said, “The card, Puddin.”

  “Oops.” Puddin read her card, mumbled, “Thank you,” and ripped the package open. Pastel hair ribbons spilled onto the floor. “Meemaw! How’d you know my hair was long enough?”

  “Asked Rita. Tomorrow I’ll weave one into a braid for you.” Meemaw sat back. “Now you, June.”

  I read the plain note card first. On the front was a verse in Meemaw’s spidery handwriting: Roses are red. Violets are blue. Flowers are sweet. You can be, too. Inside she’d written, This is something to help. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I said, “Thank you, Meemaw.”

  My gift was a tin of deodorant powder and two metal sticks with hooks on the end. “What are these?”

  “Crochet hooks. I’ll teach you while I’m here. And the powder t
in has directions.”

  “I know how to use talcum.”

  “Read it, you’ll see.” Meemaw settled into the sofa cushions, her eyes closed, sighing, “Oh, Lord.” She said, “One of you—I mean, my shoelaces . . .”

  Stell and Puddin kneeled and untied the leather shoes and I helped Meemaw stretch out. I got the plaid blanket from the ottoman and spread it over her. I think she was asleep before we were halfway down the stairs.

  I sat at my dresser and read the back of the powder tin. “Use liberally under arms and in intimate areas to stifle body odor and prevent alarming rashes. Contains essence of gardenias for discreet allure.” Did Meemaw think I had BO? I put the tin in my dresser drawer, thinking about all the fuss people made over body smells. Mama sometimes told Mary to use more deodorant, but I liked all the ways Mary smelled—whether of soap or sweat or her Cashmere Bouquet talcum.

  I was combing my hair when Mama’s voice floated up the stairway, calling Puddin, Stell, and me to her bedroom. She shut the door and sat on the side of the bed, tapping a cigarette into an ashtray on the nightstand. “Be on your best behavior. Use your manners. Remember about the forks; we put out all three. The spoon at the top of your place setting—”

  “For dessert,” Stell said.

  “That’s right. And don’t get mad at Davie if he spills something. Jubie, where in God’s name did you get that brooch? Come here.”

  “Aunt Rita gave it to me.”

  She unpinned the brooch. “Get my short pearls from my jewelry box.”

  I handed Mama the pearls and watched in the mirror as she fastened them. I looked like Stell Ann had dressed me.

  “Be as good as you can be.” Mama jabbed the cigarette out. Puddin crawled into her lap and said, “I’ll be the goodest girl in the world.” Mama kissed Puddin’s blonde curls. One of the new ribbons was tied in a bow and bobby-pinned to Puddin’s hair.

  Mama said, “I know you will, Puddin-tane.” I couldn’t remember Mama ever kissing me and holding me that way.

  Mama scooted Puddin onto the floor and reached for the Sen-Sen she kept in the drawer of her nightstand. She popped one of the mints in her mouth and sucked on it. “Cordelia knows I smoke, but she doesn’t approve, and I want her to think about it as little as possible.” She was spritzing herself with Old English Lavender when Daddy opened the door. He had a drink in his hand.