A Cup of Dust

by Susie Finkbeiner

“I didn’t think we were getting anything.” My eyes moved over the small bundles. “You shouldn’t have gotten us anything.”

  A lump caught in my throat. I remembered Mama and Daddy talking about not having much money. Then I thought about Ray and how his day wouldn’t be different than any other. Most the kids in Red River would have sparse Christmases.

  Guilt settled in my gut. I didn’t see why I deserved any better than the other kids.

  “It’s okay,” Mama said, moving to stand beside Daddy. “Go on, girls.”

  Beanie walked to the presents, staring at them. I handed her the one with her name on it, and I took mine. We sat on the floor, our hips touching, holding the unopened gifts on our crisscrossed legs. I regretted being so close to her as soon as her sharp elbow jabbed at me.

  Mama got down on the floor next to us. Ladies didn’t sit on the floor, not in their best dresses. That was what she had taught us. But that morning, Mama did. Christmas magic changed the rules.

  I opened my gift as slow as I could, wanting to make the feeling of not knowing last a little longer. It was the only thing I would open that year, maybe even for a few years.

  As for Beanie, she worked at the cotton, tugging it and loosening it as fast as she could. I shielded my eyes from her present just in case we got the same thing. I didn’t want the surprise ruined.

  Pulling back the last of the cotton, I drew in my breath. I lifted green fabric and it fell out of a neat fold. It was a beautiful dress. Green with a thin white ribbon along the neck and at the bottom of the sleeves. I stood, holding it up in front of myself. It wasn’t made of a feed sack. It was store-bought fabric. The buttons were shiny, sun-catching, pretty. And they all matched. I recognized them off my old yellow dress, the one that had gotten ruined at the rabbit drive.

  “Thank you,” I said to Mama.

  Beanie stood, too. She held a dress up by the shoulders. It was tan, her favorite. I’d never met anybody before whose favorite color was tan. The color of dust.

  “What do you think?” Mama asked, getting up from the floor.

  “It’s beautiful,” I whispered. “Green as grass.”

  I remembered grass. It could get as green as that dress. I remembered how bright the fields were after the rain. Even before the dust came, it didn’t rain all that often, but when it did, we thanked God over and over. Back then, I would pretend that I was a flower standing tall in the downpour. Mama would call me in, but I’d only obey after I’d let the drops fall on my head and in my mouth and run all the way down my body.

  Those were days when I never felt thirsty or hungry. Green was the color of enough.

  Before I knew it, I was hugging my new dress and crying hard because all the green had dried up and gone, never to come back again. The desert was killing us. All of us. Little by little. Drying us until we were nothing more than sun-bleached bones in a pile of dirt.

  If the dust didn’t get me, Eddie would. I didn’t know which was worse.

  “Are you disappointed?” Mama asked, touching her lips. “I know you probably would have liked a toy …”

  I shook my head. “I love this dress.”

  “Then what is it?” She wiped at my cheeks with her hanky. “Why are you crying?”

  Shrugging, I tried to swallow down my sadness.

  “It’s just so pretty.”

  It would have been too much to explain all the rest.

  I changed into my new dress, the soft fabric hanging loose on my body. Mama had thought to put ties on the back of it, and I was thankful for that. Cinching it into a bow above my rear, I was glad that I wasn’t like to outgrow it too quickly.

  When I came downstairs in it, Meemaw had me spin a few times to show how the green swirled out around my shins. Dancing about the room made me feel like a princess. All sad thoughts fell away.

  “Oh, honey,” Meemaw said, clapping her hands. “Ain’t you pretty?”

  Out of breath, I stopped, the room kept on twirling, though. We all had a laugh while I staggered toward the davenport. After the dizzy spell ended, I pushed the hair out of my face. Mama hadn’t had the chance to braid it yet.

  “Mama, can you please put my hair up?” I asked.

  She smiled and nodded, her thick curls bouncing and swaying. If I had hair like hers, I never would have pulled it back. But hair as straight as mine just hung in my face and got in the way.

  “Come on.” Mama took my hand and pulled me into her room. “Sit on my bed there a minute.”

  I did as she said, rubbing my hands on the firm mattress. She never forgot to make her bed, no matter how much she needed to do or how tired she was. From the grit against my palms on the bedspread, I reckoned it was a good habit. I would have been better about it myself if I hadn’t had to share with Beanie. At least that’s what I thought.

  Mama used her silver-handled brush to smooth my hair. Closing my eyes, I listened as she hummed and brushed. It pulled a little when she twisted my hair into a bun, but I didn’t mind. I could have listened to her humming all day long. She used a shiny pin to secure my hair. I reached behind, feeling the pin, knowing it must have sparkled.

  “You can keep that,” she whispered, holding up a mirror so I could see myself. “I’ve had it since I was about your age. It looks real nice in the gold of your hair.”

  “Thank you, Mama,” I said, catching a glimpse of both of us in the mirror.

  I didn’t look a thing like her.

  While Mama finished cooking our Christmas dinner, Daddy set Beanie and me down at the table. He pulled a deck of cards out of his pocket. He put a finger to his lips and made a shushing sound, winking at the two of us.

  “Mama doesn’t let us play cards,” I whispered.

  “It’s Christmas,” he answered. “She’ll let us just this once.”

  He shuffled the deck, making the cards fall on top of each other.

  “Besides,” he said. “Meemaw’s snoozing. She’s the one who’d take a switch to our behinds for this.”

  Daddy helped us form our hands around our cards, teaching us to make a fan out of them. “Hold them like this so you can see all of them.”

  Then he taught us to hold them up. “You don’t want nobody seeing what’s in your hand.”

  “What’s this game?” Beanie asked, trying to hold her cards right.

  “Poker,” Daddy whispered.

  “Is this good?” Beanie showed him what she had. Three of the aces.

  “Yup. About as good as it gets.” Daddy smiled and turned to me. “Remind me to never put money on a game against your sister.”

  Next Daddy tried to teach us how to shuffle. That ended with the whole deck shooting into the air. “Make sure you find all fifty-two cards,” Daddy said.

  We played a couple hands, and Beanie won about all of them. Whenever she did, her smile would grow even bigger.

  “Seems I gotta teach you about having a poker face, darlin’,” Daddy laughed. “You never want the fella you’re playing with to know how you’re feeling, good or bad. Keep the smiles and frowns tucked tight inside your cheek, like this.”

  Daddy made his face blank as could be. Which made me giggle so hard my stomach hurt.

  “You better try it too, Pearlie Lou,” Daddy said, keeping his face flat.

  We all practiced holding our faces straight and not letting a smile inch up on us. Not one of us could go long without a smile cracking and giggles erupting.

  There was laughter in our house. Enough to kill most of my fear.

  Mama walked circles around the table, setting the plates and glasses and the like on top of her laciest tablecloth. She’d go between that and stirring something on the stove and checking the chicken and dumplings in the oven. Our house smelled like comfort with the rich smell of gravy and dough baking.

  “Can I help?” I asked.

  “Oh, darlin’, thank you,” Mama said, handing me a stack of cotton napkins.

  We worked side by side, putting together the nicest Christmas table we
could. I remembered to put the napkins to the left of the plate and was proud that I hadn’t needed her to remind me. Then I helped her put the silverware out, too.

  “You’re doing a nice job,” she said.

  “Mama,” I said. “I feel real bad.”

  “Why’s that, darlin’?”

  “Well, I didn’t get you or Daddy a present.” I put the last butter knife down. “I wish I could have gotten you something real nice.”

  “Don’t feel bad. I never expected anything.”

  “Do you want me to tell you what I’d give you if I had a lot of money?” I asked.

  Mama nodded at me to follow her into the kitchen. “That would be sweet.”

  I told her about the hose I would give her as she sliced the bread. Then I told her that I would buy her a gold-chained necklace with a locket and a brand new dress. New pots and pans and dishes that didn’t have any chips along the edges.

  “And Mama, I’d buy a camera for myself,” I said.

  “You would, would you?” She grinned at me.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “What would you do with a camera?”

  “I’d take pictures of you opening all the presents so I could always remember your smile.”

  She put down her slicing knife and wiped the crumbs from her hands. Reaching for me, she pulled me tight against her.

  “Did you know that I love surprises?” she asked.

  “You do?”

  “I do.” She kissed the top of my head. “Did you know that you were a surprise?”

  “No,” I said, tilting my head so I could see her face.

  “We never expected you, but God brought you to us anyway.” She lifted her eyebrows. “All the gifts you want to give me are nice. They sure would be good presents. But not a one of them is as good as having you.”

  She held me again, and I turned my face, looking at Meemaw and Daddy and Beanie. If I never got another present in my life, I’d be happy just so long as I had them.

  Daddy wanted us to hold off eating until Millard came. The old mayor had joined us for our Christmas meal as long as I could remember.

  “Good lord, but these dumplings are going to be all dried out by the time we sit down.” Mama peeked in the oven. “I do wish Millard would hurry up.”

  “He’ll be here.” Daddy checked the clock on the wall. “I suppose it can’t hurt none if I go check on him.”

  He put on his hat and opened the front door.

  “I won’t be a minute,” he said, closing the door behind him.

  He wasn’t a minute. More like half a second. We heard him and Millard talking on the porch. Their conversation ended with Daddy saying, “Sure, let’s go inside.”

  The door opened.

  Mama took a step or two into the living room and smiled.

  “Hi,” she said. “Come in. Y’all hungry?”

  A woman and two girls stood wide-eyed, staring, just inside the door. Daddy walked in behind one of the girls and put his hand on her shoulder. She jumped when he touched her, and he lowered his hand. Millard stood beside Daddy. He winked when he caught me looking at him.

  “Don’t be shy,” Daddy told the visitors in his most gentle voice. “We’ve got plenty for everybody.”

  “I have some chicken and dumplings in the oven and a couple loaves of fresh baked sweet bread.” Mama talked as she made her way to the kitchen. “More than enough.”

  “I don’t mean to put you out.” The woman didn’t talk loudly enough for Mama to hear her, so she said it again, louder. Too loud. It came as a shout.

  “Oh, you aren’t putting me out. Not at all. Y’all make yourselves at home while I put some beans on. I won’t be long.” Mama moved through the kitchen, her skirt swirling. “Pearl, be a dear and set a few more plates, please.”

  The woman joined me, not listening to the protests of Mama. Together, we set three more places at the table. Thank goodness Mama had enough dishes. Daddy and Millard carried in the extra chairs. Between us, we had the work done in no time at all.

  “Now, here I put you to work and I didn’t even introduce myself.” Mama gave the pot of beans a quick stir before turning and grabbing the woman’s hand, giving it a gentle shake. “I’m Mary Spence. This here’s my girl Pearl. Over yonder is my mother-in-law, Mrs. Spence, and my oldest daughter there is Beanie Jean.”

  “Good to know you.” The woman didn’t take her eyes off Mama to look at a one of us. “I’m Esther. Them’s my daughters Jael and Tamar. We’re good Christian folk.”

  I met eyes with Meemaw. She grinned and nodded. She’d told me once of Tamar who had turned into a loose woman and tricked her father-in-law in a way that Meemaw wouldn’t explain, so I figured it had something to do with fornication. All the parts of the Bible she blushed about had to do with fornication. And I’d read on my own about Jael pounding a stake into a man’s head, the point of which went all the way into the ground.

  I wondered if that Esther woman had any idea how ugly it was to name baby girls after those women in the Bible. I figured she did not.

  “Pearl, darlin’, would you please show Tamar and Jael where to clean up?” Mama turned back to the beans. “We should be ready to eat in a minute or two.”

  The girls didn’t talk at all in the bathroom. They looked around, eyes as wide as when they walked in the front door. Running tiny fingers along the porcelain tub and touching the shiny faucets, they glanced at each other with meek smiles.

  “The water doesn’t come out of those anymore,” I said. “You’ve got to get water from this here bucket.”

  Their shoulders sagged and I could tell they were disappointed. When the water got cut off in Red River, I’d felt the same way.

  But when the girls looked up and saw themselves in the mirror, I thought I’d never get them back out to the living room. They stared and stared, making different faces. Jael even stuck her tongue out, which made the two of them giggle just as hard as anything.

  “Haven’t y’all ever seen yourselves in a mirror before?” I asked.

  Both girls lost their smiles and looked down at their hands, scrubbing them with bars of soap. I guessed that they’d forgotten I was there.

  “Girls,” Mama called. “Come on.”

  I didn’t say another word to Jael and Tamar. The three of us just walked back to the dining room. I had hoped they might become my friends. I felt foolish for even thinking of it.

  Keeping my eyes down, I watched the sway of my green hem until I heard all the adult voices in the dining area.

  When I lifted my eyes, I about fell over at what I saw. Eddie was in a chair all pulled up to the table, his plate piled high with chicken and dumplings and bread and beans.

  “Come on over, girls,” Mama said, directing us to the empty seats.

  Beanie sat beside Millard, her shoulders slumped and looking about as unhappy as a toad. She made a few of her little noises. I figured the room was too full of strangers for her. That always made her real nervous.

  “Hey there, Pearl. You get anything for Christmas?” Eddie smirked and popped a piece of chicken into his mouth.

  “Young man, I don’t know what kind of upbringing you had,” Meemaw scolded. “But in this house we say grace before we eat.”

  “Mother,” Mama gasped. She turned to Eddie. “You’ll have to excuse her. She hasn’t been feeling herself lately.”

  “Don’t make excuses for me,” Meemaw said. “I’m feeling just fine, thank you very much.”

  “But we don’t need to be rude to our guests.”

  “He ain’t my guest. Besides, he’s the one who was rude first. Eating before we’ve blessed the food.”

  “Mother, shame on you.”

  “Nah, don’t scold her. I should’ve known better.” Eddie winked at me. “Pearl how about you come sit beside me. I don’t like nothing better than sitting with a pretty girl at Christmas dinner.”

  “No. I do believe Pearl will be sitting beside me today.” Meemaw reached for me. “
Isn’t that right, honey?”

  I nodded and let Meemaw pull me.

  Eddie’s smirk turned into a sharp glare.

  “Another time, then,” he said.

  Meemaw kept her hand on my leg and her eye on Eddie all through dinner.

  I had never tried to murder someone before. But during that Christmas dinner I worked at killing Eddie with my hate. Meemaw had taught me that to hate someone was just the same as killing them in my heart. She’d told me Jesus was the one who said that. Hoping that it was true, I willed my hatred to be a sharp and swift weapon—I imagined Eddie choking on a forgotten chicken bone or tipping backwards out of his chair and knocking his head on the floor.

  So much for the charity and good will of Christmas. I’d become a killer in my own soul, and it surprised me how I didn’t feel anything about it.

  “Now, Eddie, I’m sure you’ve got family somewhere that’s missing you today,” Mama said, scooping a soft bite of dumpling onto her fork. “Wouldn’t they have liked to have you home at Christmas?”

  “Nah, they don’t miss me none.” Eddie sopped up the gravy on his plate with a wad of bread. Then he glanced at me. “I don’t got much family no more. Most of them’s passed on.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Daddy said.

  “Not me. My folks would’ve rather seen me dead than home on Christmas morning.”

  “Oh, I don’t believe that for a minute.” Mama smiled at him.

  “Some families ain’t as sweet as yours, ma’am.” He kept his eyes on me, the blue of them chilling me all the way through.

  “Some folk don’t deserve sweetness,” Meemaw said, sounding like a hissing cat.

  “Mother,” Mama whispered. “What has gotten into you today?”

  “Full of piss and vinegar I suppose.” Eddie forced a smile. “She’s got the right at her age.”

  He went back to eating, keeping his eyes on me.

  Oh, how I wished his heart would just stop beating.

  Eddie didn’t stick around long after dinner. He didn’t bother making an excuse, and that was fine by me. I didn’t care where he went or what he did, just so long as he didn’t stay a minute longer in our home.