A Song of Home

by Susie Finkbeinger

  Ray’s mouth watered every time he thought about the chance of winning one of those cakes. He’d decided he wanted one with chocolate frosting and he did not care what kind of cake it was.

  As for Opal, she shook her head when she heard they were putting on a cakewalk.

  “Can we bake a cake for it?” I asked, helping Opal stretch the fresh-washed fitted sheet over my mattress. “I’ll help. I know how to sift flour and crack eggs.”

  “I don’t want any part of it,” she told me. She stood straight and let me finish the work myself.

  “Why not?” I tilted my head like I did not understand a word coming out of her mouth.

  “Because I know what they mean.” She crossed her arms and pushed her lips together tight, the way she did when she wasn’t happy about something at all. “Back a hundred years ago they were a way for white people to laugh at their slaves.”

  She wasn’t mad at me and I knew it. Still, I didn’t say a word for fear the wrong thing would come out of my mouth. Instead I tucked the top sheet in at the foot of the bed the way Mama’d shown me when I was smaller. It never would be smooth as Mama would’ve liked, but Opal never said a cross word to me about it.

  “My mother told me back in the days when people held slaves, they’d get their colored folks dressed up nice and tell them to act civilized for once,” she told me. “And then they’d judge who did the act the best and give them a cake.”

  “Wasn’t that good?”

  “No, baby,” Opal said, her voice soft. “It’s never good to make fun of somebody for being some way they can’t change. Not even if you do give one of them a piece of cake for their troubles.”

  The night before the dance Opal put my wet hair up in rollers. I’d been happy to let her do so until she started tugging at my hair, wrapping it round and round so I worried I might not have any left on my head by the time she was done. I didn’t dare complain, though, not if I might have movie star curls after all that suffering.

  I couldn’t hardly sleep that night. Partly because I was so excited for the next day. Mostly, though, it was because of those rollers poking at my scalp.

  The morning of Valentine’s day I ended up being glad for how curly my hair was. Little ringlets bobbed around my face and I thought I did look like Shirley Temple after all. Opal had even bleached my warmest stockings so they’d be nice and bright to go along with my dress.

  When I came down for breakfast, Daddy stood up from his seat and put both hands over his heart, tilting his head and looking at me.

  “Oh, Pearlie Lou,” he whispered.

  I couldn’t understand how seeing me dressed up like that could get his eyes watery. But the way he smiled warmed me all the way to my toes.

  “You look nice,” Ray said.

  “Thanks,” I said back.

  Opal followed behind me, fussing with a curl on the back of my head. “Don’t spill anything on yourself,” she said. “There’s toast you can have. No jam.”

  All through breakfast I caught Ray sneaking peeks at me. I pretended not to see.

  Daddy’d offered to drive me to school so my dress would stay nice and my curls wouldn’t get ruined by the wind. Ray’d wanted to walk to school like usual, Bert hopping along by his side. Besides, he’d taken it on himself to be sure that pigeon of Bert’s didn’t perish from the earth due to his owner’s smothering love.

  Only reason I could figure the pigeon’d made it so long was on account of Ray. Even then, the bird had flown back to the Litchfield’s place three times. It hurt Bert’s feelings on each occasion.

  Daddy turned the truck onto the main street and tipped his head to somebody standing on the corner.

  “Might need you to walk home after school,” Daddy said. “I’ll have plenty to do for the dance tonight. You think you’ll be all right?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  “By the way, I did what you asked me to,” he said. “Took your package out to the Fitzpatrick place just yesterday.”

  Looking at him out of the corner of my eye, I nodded and told him my thank you.

  “It was good of you, darlin’. Real good.”

  Having Daddy take one of my good dresses over to Delores’s house was my way of turning a cheek for her saying that nasty word about Opal. Meemaw had always said it pleased the heart of God when one of His children got insulted or hurt and didn’t fight back, but gave them another chance.

  If there was something Delores Fitzpatrick needed, it was a chance.

  I did hope Delores would wear the dress to school, maybe to the dance even. I thought it would be sad if she didn’t come because she didn’t have something nice to wear. I was glad she’d have at least one.

  Hazel stood against the outside of the school, puckering her lips and rubbing them together so the dark red would get everybody’s attention. Her eyes looked me over from curly head to polished shoes, then turned back to the girls around her, all of them fawning over how lucky she was to wear lipstick to school.

  Not a one of them dared tell her she had a smudge of red on a front tooth. When Miss De Weese rang the bell, we lined up and walked into the school. The girls took notice of each other’s dresses once we got our coats off and I tried not to be sad that nobody said anything about mine. I hung up my coat and felt of my curls, glad that they hadn’t drooped since I left home.

  Just as we were all going to our seats, Delores walked in. Her hair was clean and pulled back into a tight braid, a scrap of cloth tied into a ribbon at the bottom. When she took off her too-thin coat, I saw she was wearing the dress I’d had Daddy take over. The green and yellow flowers looked prettier on her than I’d imagined. It hung looser on her than it ever had on me, but it still looked real nice.

  More than a few eyes were on her, and Delores seemed to fold up on herself, not liking the attention just then. I tried making my way over to her, but the other kids walking to their desks blocked me. She saw me coming, but looked away before I could smile at her.

  That was when I saw Hazel walk past her.

  “Nice dress,” Hazel said, her voice hissing. “Who’d you steal if from?”

  I opened my mouth to let loose a string of bad words I knew weren’t fit for the classroom, but never got the chance to say a single one of them. Miss De Weese called us to our seats.

  Slipping into my desk, I tried thinking of something to say to Delores, but my whole body was shaking from being angry and nothing right came into my mind.

  Ray, though, he leaned across me and caught Delores’s eye.

  “You look pretty,” he whispered to her.

  I’d never seen anybody blush so deep a red.

  The way I imagined it, I’d rush out after Hazel just as soon as Miss De Weese dismissed us for lunch. I’d grab her shoulder and swing her around to face me. Without even giving her a chance to say a word, I’d tell her to leave Delores alone or else.

  I wouldn’t hit her, much as I’d like to. And I wouldn’t call her a nasty name even if a whole list of them was right on the tip of my tongue. Still, she’d nod and agree, promising not to say another mean word to Delores as long as she lived.

  But I didn’t get to give Hazel so much as a dirty look. As soon as I stepped out of the schoolhouse and into the yard I heard Bert calling after me.

  “Pearl,” he said. “Wait up.”

  I turned and watched him half trip down the steps toward me, and I wished I could die right then. In his hand was a big old piece of paper cut into a heart shape. He’d taken the time to color red all along the edge of the heart.

  Once he got close enough he held out the card for me to take. Then he ran past me before I could even tell him thank you. I watched him go, fast as if the devil himself was after him.

  Ray walked up to me and looked over my shoulder at the card. “He’s been workin’ on that all week,” he said.

  In the middle of the heart Bert had drawn what I guessed was a cat but looked more like a possum. Whichever it was had a heart in its mouth betwe
en jagged teeth. Above the critter were letters written in the best hand I thought Bert could manage.

  I read it out loud. “I sent along this little kitty to let you know I think you’re pretty.”

  “Well, that’s nice, ain’t it?” Ray said. I could tell he was working real hard at not laughing.

  I shrugged.

  I didn’t want Ray to see how embarrassed I was.

  I got back to school a good half hour early. Opal’d packed a couple things for me to take to Delores. Nothing special. Just a biscuit with a dab of jam on it and a hunk of good cheese. I hoped she was still hungry enough to eat it and walked right to the classroom.

  Before I stepped in, I spied her and Miss De Weese sitting on either side of a table near the front of the room. Delores had a nice, round, shiny apple she was taking dainty bites off of and a big sandwich on a napkin right in front of her. Gifts from the teacher, I knew it.

  She put the apple down and stood, holding out the skirt of her new dress and turning so Miss De Weese could see it. The teacher put her fingers to her lips and declared it the prettiest dress she’d ever seen.

  I stepped away from the door. They didn’t need me snooping on them and I didn’t want Delores to be embarrassed that I’d seen how much she liked that dress or to feel like she had to thank me for giving it to her.

  It was enough to know that turning the other cheek did feel good after all.

  Seemed every time I looked at the clock for the rest of the afternoon only a minute or two had ticked away. Eternity’s passing was how it felt.

  When it was finally time to go, Miss De Weese gave each of us a tiny candy heart as we walked out the door.

  “Pearl,” Miss De Weese said, putting the pink candy in the palm of my hand. She leaned close and whispered in my ear, “You’re a good friend.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” I said.

  “Delores told me about the dress.”

  I nodded, feeling the wilting curls brush against my face.

  “That was kind,” Miss De Weese said.

  I dropped the candy into my coat pocket, saving it for a time when my stomach wasn’t so troubled, when I might be able to enjoy it, and I walked out of the classroom door, Ray right behind me. I could tell he was already sucking the sweetness out of his candy heart. I wondered if he’d even bothered to read what it said first.

  Delores was last to leave and I heard Miss De Weese ask if she’d be going to the dance that night. We walked out of the schoolhouse before I heard Delores’s answer.

  If I could’ve changed the way of things, Delores would have gone back home with Miss De Weese where she stayed with the preacher and his wife. They wouldn’t mind having Delores there. All their kids were grown and moved away to start their own families.

  They’d give Delores a whole closet of dresses their daughters had outgrown ages ago but were still real nice and clean. Miss De Weese would let Delores use a brand-new cake of soap, scented with rose, to take a bath with. Then she’d brush out Delores’s hair—one hundred strokes—before giving her a nice supper that had steam rising up off it.

  Delores would smile and her eyes would stay bright. She’d have somebody looking after her. Somebody to take care of her.

  And Miss De Weese would tell Delores stories of pirates or wizards or fairies until bedtime, when she’d show her a clean bed to sleep in. She’d have a room to herself with soft pillows and maybe even a rag doll to hold through the night.

  She’d sleep well there, no ghosts of chickens to haunt her and no hungry stomach to keep her up.

  Delores would shut her eyes and have nothing but the sweetest of dreams.

  “Bert and me’s gonna go over to the farm,” Ray said.

  “Huh?” I asked, just then realizing we were standing right in front of the house on Magnolia Street. “Oh. Yeah.”

  “You all right?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “You wanna go with us?” he asked. “Mr. Seegert said he’s got a way to make the pigeon stay to home.”

  “Nah,” I answered. “Think I might go in and rest a spell.”

  Ray shrugged and turned to cross the street to collect Bert.

  “Ray?” I said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Why do you think everybody hates Delores so much?” I asked.

  “Don’t know,” he said. “Why does anybody do anything?”

  I didn’t have an answer to that question.

  “Hey, tell Bert I say thanks for the card,” I said. “Would you?”

  “Sure I will.”

  He gave me one last look before going across the street.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Somehow I’d managed to keep my pink polka dotted dress clean all day. As for my Shirley Temple curls, those had loosened only an hour or two after Opal had pulled the rollers out. It was all right, though. Aunt Carrie’d said she’d come over before the dance to help me get ready.

  “That way Opal can have time for her hair, too,” she’d said.

  Aunt Carrie sat on the davenport and had me settle in on the floor, my shoulders against her knees. She was gentle when she brushed my hair and didn’t pull too hard where there was a snarl. I told her it didn’t hurt me, working tangles out of my hair, but she apologized for tugging anyway.

  “I’m afraid I haven’t had much practice at this lately,” she said. “I always liked playing with other people’s hair.”

  “Whose hair did you play with?” I asked.

  “Oh, years ago I had a friend named Ruthie.” She worked her fingers through my hair, parting it down the middle with a fine-toothed comb. “Ruthie had long, thick hair. It was red and she never let anyone say a cross word about it. Have you ever heard that redheads have hot tempers?”

  I nodded, thinking of Hazel and her ginger-colored hair.

  “Well, it’s true,” she said. “I think it has less to do with the hair and more because they get teased about it. Anyway, Ruthie was a spitfire.”

  “Did she climb trees with you?” I asked.

  “Of course she did. We had such fun,” Aunt Carrie said. “Ruthie would let me brush her hair and put it in all kinds of braids while she told me all her secrets. I told her a few of mine, too.”

  “I’ve never had a friend like that,” I whispered.

  “Oh?”

  “Except Ray,” I said. “But he doesn’t play with my hair.”

  “I wouldn’t think so,” she said with a laugh. “But he is a very special kind of friend, isn’t he?”

  “He’s the best kind,” I said. “What ever happened to Ruthie?”

  “She moved away,” Aunt Carrie said. “Long ago. At least it feels that way.”

  “Do you ever see her?”

  “No, dear,” she said. “I’m afraid she’ll never come back to Bliss.”

  “What happened?” I asked, turning. My hair slipped out of Aunt Carrie’s hands and swept over my shoulders.

  She sighed and folded her hands in her lap. “Some things are just too difficult to talk about.”

  I turned back around and let Aunt Carrie finish up with my hair. She braided it and pinned it across the top of my head the way I liked.

  We didn’t talk about Ruthie anymore. Still, I understood.

  I knew what it was to hold onto a bad memory.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Daddy said we could stay at the dance until eight o’clock. I hoped he’d have such a good time, though, that he’d forget about the time. If I’d had my way, we would be the first ones there and the very last to leave. I did intend on dancing all night long even if it was the same dozen steps over and over.

  It seemed like forever before Daddy put on his coat and let us know it was time we headed out for the Legion. Ray ran out ahead of us and opened the door of the truck for me, waiting until I slid to the center of the seat before climbing in and pulling the door shut.

  The whole ride over I shivered, half from the cold and the other half because I was just so excited.


  There weren’t all that many cars parked around the American Legion building when we got there. Not near as many as there’d been on New Year’s Eve and I wondered if most people had decided just to stay at home where it was warm and quiet.

  “It’s early yet,” Daddy said. “Folks’ll come.”

  We followed up the walk behind a lady carrying a wide cake on a long platter. Ray rubbernecked to get a look at that cake as he passed her to get the door.

  “Thank you, young man,” the lady said, nodding at him as she walked through the door.

  “Let me get that for you,” Daddy said, bending to slide his hands under the plate.

  “Don’t tip it, now,” the lady said.

  “I won’t.” He smiled at her. “I’ll be real careful.”

  The woman caught me looking at her and gave me a thin-lipped smile. I gave her one back even though I didn’t want to. She seemed the kind to say nice things to a person’s face just to turn around and say nasty things behind that same person’s back.

  “Be sure it gets a good place on the cake table,” she told Daddy, turning her face from me. “Everyone in town says I make the best cakes.”

  “I’ll bet this is the finest in town, Mrs. Ritzema,” Daddy said, using the sticky sweet voice he usually saved for folks he just could not stand.

  Never in my whole life had I heard Daddy call another grown person Missus or Mister. Back in Red River he’d talked to everybody using their first name the way friends did. But one look at Mrs. Ritzema’s pinched face told me she was a woman who’d have none of that kind of familiar nonsense.

  Under the lights in that hallway I got a good look at the cake she’d made. The lumpy top sunk here and there under the spread-too-thin frosting and one corner of it was singed and crusty looking. If I’d wanted to place a wager, I’d have bet that Mrs. Ritzema’s cake would be the very last picked at the end of the cakewalk.