A Trail of Crumbs

by Finkbeiner, Susie;

  Mama’d never been one for taking naps. Back in Red River she only sat down at meal times and when she had a radio show she wanted to listen to. Even then she kept her hands busy with mending. Meemaw had called her a “busy body,” always moving around doing something.

  But since we’d been in Bliss, Mama’d taken to resting more than I’d ever seen her do before. She’d sleep right in the middle of the afternoon, sometimes not even getting up to eat dinner. When she got up, she was no better than she’d been before.

  Aunt Carrie told me she thought Mama needed all that rest, that she’d be better soon enough. Ray said she had the blues. Daddy, though, said she was going through an adjustment.

  “It’ll take some time,” he’d told me. “She’ll be back to herself before you know it.”

  As for me, I thought she was heartsick, missing Beanie and Red River and having her own house. I thought the very last thing she needed was to be by herself so much. Not if she was ever going to get better, that was.

  So, about once a day I’d go into the room where Mama rested just to keep her company. She’d let me curl up beside her on top of the covers. I’d tell her about what I’d done that day or hum a song to her. She didn’t seem to mind that I couldn’t sing so pretty as she did.

  After Ray and I folded up his letter and put his ma’s new address on the envelope, I got to thinking about my own mama. I went to her room to tell her about the tree and the letter and a bird I’d seen early in the day. I was about to knock, but I noticed the door wasn’t shut all the way. Peeping in I saw she was standing in front of a tall mirror, looking at herself in a dress I’d not seen before. She turned sideways and gathered the fabric at her back, pulling it tight on her too-flat stomach.

  She turned her head toward the door and I pulled my head back so she wouldn’t know I was peeking in at her.

  “Might as well come in,” she said, dropping the fabric so the dress hung like normal. “I can see you.”

  I pushed open the door and went to stand beside her. She put an arm around me and we looked at each other, at ourselves in that mirror. I’d grown to just below her shoulder. I wondered if I’d be tall as her some day. Maybe even taller.

  I couldn’t remember if Winnie had been short or tall. And I couldn’t remember how her voice had sounded, not really. I’d never learned if she knew how to make a good supper or if she could sing sweet and pretty.

  I did know all those things about Mama, and that’d have to be enough.

  For about the hundredth time in the months since learning about how I was born, I regretted that Mama hadn’t been the one to give birth to me. It was plenty, though, to know that she’d given me a life.

  “You all right?” Mama asked, looking into the reflection of my eyes in the mirror.

  “Yes, ma’am.” I didn’t want to tell her I’d been thinking about Winnie. She’d told me she wanted me to forget all about That Woman. “Is that a new dress?”

  “New to me,” she said. “Carrie told me to try them on, that they didn’t fit her anymore. She said I could have any of them that suited me.”

  There on the bed she and Daddy shared were laid out dresses of all different colors and patterns.

  “They’re pretty,” I told her.

  “Aren’t they?” She turned toward the pile, touching the fabric. “They’re all fine dresses. Too fine, maybe.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m afraid I’d spoil them,” she said, crossing her arms. “They’re all store-bought. It’s been years since I had a dress I didn’t make myself.”

  “They’ll look nice on you.” I picked one up that had a green and blue plaid across it, handing it to her. “They’d just get wasted if you didn’t wear them.”

  She held the dress against the front of her.

  “Maybe I could wear them on Sundays,” she said. “Maybe for special.”

  She smiled at the thought.

  Ever since I could remember, I’d thought Mama the prettiest woman in all of Oklahoma. Her dark hair that held a spiral of curls, her creamy skin and warm eyes. The way her smile lifted her whole face when she laughed at something Daddy said. How soft and sweet her eyes were when she sang.

  I didn’t have so much as a drop of her blood in my veins, still I had hope that one day I’d glow the way she did. One day I’d be so nice a woman as my mama.

  “I should hang these up,” she said. “I’m just so tired today.”

  “I can do it,” I told her. “You wanna lay down?”

  “Thanks, darlin’.” She let her shoulders slump and she hung her head like a rag doll. “Seems no matter how much I sleep I just can’t get rid of this exhaustion.”

  “It’s all right.” I put my hand on her back, pushing her toward the bed. I pulled back the covers so she could climb in. Like she’d done for me most every night of my life, I tucked her in, pulling the sheet up to her chin.

  “I’ll be better soon,” she whispered.

  “I do hope so,” I told her.

  “Hope.” She yawned. “I like how that word sounds.”

  “Me too, Mama.”

  After I got done hanging up all the new-to-Mama dresses, I left the room, making sure to turn the doorknob as I pulled it all the way closed. Mama was sleeping so good I didn’t want anything to wake her.

  It felt like something in my heart flickered, making it beat a little faster.

  Hope sure was a pretty word.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I watched Ray and the tan-colored dog playing chase out in the front yard. Ray’d run one way and the dog would go after him, big slobbery tongue flapping out his mouth. Then Ray would jump and run the other way, teasing the poor critter to keep coming along.

  The way that boy hooted and hollered made it seem like he was having the very best time of his life.

  When I asked—even begged—Mama to let me go out, she just shook her head.

  “You’re sick,” she said.

  “I’m feeling fine now, Mama.”

  It was almost half-true. At least I felt better than I had the night before when a coughing fit near turned me inside out. They’d even sent for the doctor to come and give me medicine that made me feel all shaky and full of jitters.

  He’d called it asthma. Said it was what happened sometimes after a bout of pneumonia. If somebody’d asked me I would’ve said too much was made about it no matter what name he called it.

  “You can’t spend the whole night coughing and gasping and tell me you’re fine.” Mama crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re staying put for today.”

  “But Ray—” I started.

  “I won’t hear a word of it, missy,” Mama said. “Just watch him out the window. That’s fun enough.”

  Much as I wanted to, it wouldn’t have done a thing for me to throw a snit fit over it. Staying inside and watching was nothing like running all over creation with Ray and that dog, but I didn’t say that to her. Sassing Mama was a dangerous endeavor even if I was sick. Especially since Daddy usually took her side in the end.

  I obeyed and stayed put.

  Aunt Carrie told me she had a couple magazines I could look at if I wanted. I told her please and thank you and took the stack up to my room to read.

  The famous lady airplane pilot Amelia Earhart was on the cover of one of them. I’d heard about her on the radio but hadn’t ever seen what she looked like. Her hair was cropped like a man’s, but she had curls that made it look pretty enough. Her leather jacket was open over a nice blouse and she leaned back against her airplane.

  What made my eyes grow wide and my mouth drop was that she wasn’t wearing a dress or a skirt. She had on a pair of slacks. I thought they sure looked smart on her even if Mama thought they were sinful on a woman.

  I read the article about her quick the first time, then slow the second. I could hardly imagine it, a woman flying over oceans and mountains and fields. Seemed it would be real scary, especially flying all by her lonesome like she did. And at n
ight, even.

  I wondered what it had been like for her to jet through a cloud or look down from miles up in the air. What had the world below looked like from her airplane? I was sure it was real pretty.

  Mama wouldn’t allow it, me going up in an airplane like that. She liked me sticking to earth, staying in out of the sun and rain, and never having fun ever again. At least that was how I felt just then.

  But if Miss Earhart came knocking, things might be different.

  She’d stand on Aunt Carrie’s porch, leaning back against the railing with her arms crossed. She’d have on her slacks and her leather hat with the goggles built in.

  We would invite her in and she’d sit in the rocking chair, with Ray and me on the floor close to her feet so we wouldn’t miss a single word.

  She would tell about how she had learned to fly and how nervous she’d been that first time in the air. Then she’d go on about flying all the way across the sea. She’d have plenty of stories of adventures she’d met all because her mother hadn’t told her to stay inside and be safe.

  I’d wonder if she ever got lost, flying so much. When I’d get the chance, I would ask her. She would smile at me and get a faraway look in her eyes. Leaning forward, she’d make sure I was listening real close.

  “Of course,” she’d whisper just for me to hear. “Everybody gets lost sometimes. What matters is finding your way home.”

  Then she’d have Ray and me take turns riding in her airplane. She’d fly nice and low so Mama wouldn’t be too nervous.

  And all the kids in town—Big Bob and Hazel, too—would feel jealous of us. They’d want a ride, too. But there wasn’t time for that. Amelia Earhart had come just for Ray and me.

  When it was time for her to leave, she’d take off in her plane, doing a loop the loop that would get all of us to clap and cheer.

  I’d wonder how she didn’t fall right out of her seat, doing a thing like that. It didn’t matter, I guessed. She’d go flying off to her next grand adventure, waving as she went.

  And there I’d stay, on the ground, with the flying feeling still in my heart and stomach.

  Man alive, did I ever hope one day I’d get the chance to fly.

  For the better part of the afternoon, Daddy sat on the porch talking with Mayor Winston. Daddy smoked a couple cigarettes while Winston had his cigar. Both of them sipped at cups of black coffee and accepted cookies when Aunt Carrie offered them.

  I was glad that Aunt Carrie offered me a cookie, too, even if I had to leave the sofa in the living room to eat it in the kitchen. I missed out on hearing all the two men were saying, but her cookies were worth it.

  “Don’t spoil your supper,” Mama told me when she walked past, a basket of laundry balanced on her hip.

  “I won’t,” I answered.

  “Just one cookie, hear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I put the cookie on my napkin and took a drink of milk, feeling the cool of it touching my lip and making a mustache.

  “Wipe your mouth,” Mama said. “Don’t drink so fast.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said again. “Mama, what’re Daddy and the mayor talking about?”

  “None of your beeswax.”

  With that she stepped outside to hang the wet clothes on the line.

  I finished my cookie and went back to the sofa in the living room. By then, though, the mayor was long gone and Daddy was putting out a cigarette in the dirt by the porch. When he straightened up, it seemed he stood taller than before.

  That night I sat in the bedroom doorway listening to Mama and Daddy talk in their room. Their door was closed, but I could still make out what they were saying.

  Ray stood behind me, his shoulder resting on the doorframe.

  “We’ll just be renting it,” Daddy said. “Fella that owns it is giving us a good deal.”

  “That’s fine,” Mama said. “Just so long as it’s got a roof and walls, I’ll be happy.”

  “It’s got a good deal more than that, darlin’,” he said. “The kitchen’s nice. Plenty of space. It’s got an icebox even and a good cookstove.”

  “Don’t get me worked up, Tom,” Mama told him. “I won’t be able to sleep.”

  “The porch isn’t so big as ours was in Red River. Still, you can fit a swing on it if you want.” Daddy went on and I closed my eyes, trying to picture a place so perfect as he described it.

  It was a house painted a pretty shade of yellow with green shutters framing big windows that let in so much light we’d never have to turn on a lamp so long as it was daytime. There was a fireplace to keep us warm in the winter and plenty of shade trees to cool us in summer.

  There’d be room enough for Ray and me to have our own rooms and even an extra if we had a guest come over. I thought we’d be able to have Millard come live with us if ever he made up his mind to move.

  The yard would be big enough for us to have a garden. We’d grow all the tomatoes and peas and carrots we could eat. There’d be so much room that we’d have to put in flowers of every color in the rainbow. Every day we’d cut a different bunch of them to put in a vase on the dining-room table.

  We four could be happy in a house like that. We’d be a family even if not a one of us shared so much as a drop of blood.

  Blood didn’t mean anything when it came to making a home.

  I’d just about given over to the dream of that house when I heard Mama make a sound that was half sigh and half hum.

  “It sounds real nice, honey,” Mama said. “Real nice.”

  They didn’t talk for a minute or two. Daddy’s belt buckle clinked and Mama yawned.

  “You sure you’re happy taking that job?” she asked.

  “I am. It’ll pay just enough.” His voice was firm and steady.

  “Didn’t you want to look for something else? Something different?”

  “I’d miss it too much, darlin’,” Daddy answered. “Keeping the peace is all I know how to do, Mary.”

  “It’s not all you know,” she told him. “Come to bed, Tom.”

  Ray and I went back to our beds real quick, but not before shutting our door. Somehow we both knew there were some things we didn’t need to overhear.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The new house was on Magnolia Street. Mama told me that was the name of a flowering tree. One with bright pink-and-white petals. I asked if someday we might have one of those trees in our yard, maybe even just outside my bedroom window.

  Mama said that would be nice.

  It turned out to be a good house. The kitchen was just as nice as Daddy had promised Mama the night before. She touched every surface, calling them fine. Her eyes moving from cupboard to sink to floor to ceiling, she took it all in and nodded her approval.

  Together, we walked through the house. Daddy told us the names of each space. Living room, study, dining room, root cellar. We went up the stairs to see the bedrooms, a whole hallway of them. Enough for Ray and me to have two each if we’d wanted.

  My room looked out over the back yard, Ray’s over the front. I thought that was fine. Standing at my very own window I hoped Mama would let me have my bed pushed right up against it so I could look out at the garden we were sure to plant. Beyond that were the thick woods that led all the way to Uncle Gus and Aunt Carrie’s farm. The woods I’d wandered in on the day of the picnic.

  “What do you think?” Daddy asked, crossing the room to stand by me.

  “It’s fine,” I told him. “It’s real nice.”

  “I’m glad you like it.” He scratched at his head. “You want to go out in those woods again, don’t you?”

  I did and told him so. “It’s real nice in there.”

  “Well, I guess that’s fine, darlin’. I want you to be careful though, hear?” he warned. “I don’t want you getting yourself lost.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You probably should take Ray with you.” He winked at me. “I believe it would do him some good, too.”

  He patted my shoulder before leaving
me in the room by myself.

  I kept looking out at those woods, seeing the way the branches of ancient trees curved up to heaven like they were reaching for something.

  Ray and I sat on the porch of the house on Magnolia Street. It’d turned out to be the kind of day that was as close to perfect as could be. I imagined heaven would be of blue skies and soft-looking clouds, gentle breezes carrying the sweet smell off of the flowering trees.

  But instead of watching the birds flitter-flutter around, Ray and I were busy watching a yellow-headed boy crawling in and out of the bushes across the street.

  “What’s he doin’?” Ray asked.

  “Don’t know,” I answered, wondering if children in the north were all a little touched in the head due to how it got so cold in the winter.

  The boy crawled backward out of the shrubs with something in his hands. Careful as he could, he lowered it into a bucket and rubbed both palms on the legs of his pants. Standing, he caught us watching him and headed right our way, not even bothering to check for cars before crossing the road.

  “Hi there,” the boy said. He was a mite smaller than me and had the softest yellow-colored hair I thought I’d ever seen. “I’m Adelbert Barnett. You can call me Bert.”

  “Hi,” I told him. “I’m Pearl Spence. This here is Ray Jones.”

  “Are you living here now?” Bert asked.

  “Sure we are.”

  “My mother made cookies. She’ll want to bring them herself later,” Bert said. “She’s helping my father. He’s the doctor.”

  “I met him already.” I sat up straighter and crossed my arms.

  “All six of the Litchfield boys got into poison ivy,” Bert told us. “Don’t worry, they won’t die.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Ray said.

  Bert turned to Ray. “You wanna see my frog?”

  “I guess,” Ray answered and shrugged like he didn’t care either way, but followed the younger boy out the door anyhow.

  It didn’t bother me that they hadn’t asked if I’d like to come along. What did I need to see a stupid old frog for?