A Trail of Crumbs

by Finkbeiner, Susie;

  Being out under the rain felt like a blessing. It soaked me through and through and I wouldn’t have been surprised if my skin drank it right up. I was glad I hadn’t bothered putting on my shoes that morning. The mud mushed up between my toes and made me laugh.

  Cupping my hands, I caught the rain, tossing it into my face and at Ray. Face turned upward, I drank the water, liking the way it tapped on my tongue and cheeks.

  I spun around and around, the skirt of my dress not flaring out like it usually would’ve. It was stuck against my thighs, plastered by the rain.

  “Pearl Louise,” Mama hollered at me from the porch, hands on hips. “Didn’t I tell you to stay outta the rain?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I called back, unable to keep the laughter out of my voice.

  “I made her, ma’am,” Ray called at her. “It’s doin’ her some good, don’t ya think?”

  He kicked at a puddle, sending a spray of brown water right at me.

  “You’ll spoil your dress,” Mama said, taking a step away from the front door. “Come on, Pearl. Come outta that rain.”

  Ladies didn’t play out in the rain. I knew that was what Mama would say once I came back to the house. But it was the last thing I wanted to hear just then. Being ladylike was as far from my mind as it could be.

  “Mama, it’s just like a bath,” I said. “Just feels better.”

  She folded her arms, rubbing at them like she was cold.

  “You’ll catch your death,” she said.

  But I didn’t know how that could be. Playing in the rain that day felt more like being alive than anything had in a real long time. If anything, it seemed like I was catching my life.

  A whooping, hooting laugh came from inside our house. Aunt Carrie came out the front door and past Mama, making her barefooted way down the porch, her hands up in the air, her face holding the best, big-mouthed smile I’d ever seen. She got soaked right away, the rain making her hair hang in her face. She pushed it back before running toward Ray and me.

  When she got to me, she grabbed both my hands and led me in a wild dance that about took my breath away. I didn’t mind at all, though. I couldn’t stop myself from laughing.

  “Mary,” Aunt Carrie called, letting go of one of my hands and waving for Mama to come. “When was the last time you played in the rain?”

  “I never have,” Mama answered, her eyebrows going up like she thought Aunt Carrie had lost her mind.

  “Well, I can tell you it’s been too long since I have.” Aunt Carrie pulled me behind her to the steps. “You should join us. It’s fun.”

  “Carrie …” Mama said, shaking her head. “We got canning to do.”

  “Oh, come on, Mary,” Aunt Carrie said. “We can finish that up any time. Come on.”

  Just like Ray could get me to do about anything, Aunt Carrie seemed to have that same way with Mama.

  Mama shook her head again, but I knew she’d be off that porch soon as she could get her feet out of her shoes.

  Aunt Carrie took Mama’s hand, making sure she got off the porch without slipping on the wet wood. Once her bare feet touched the ground, Mama shut her eyes, her lips pursed together and her shoulders tensed up next to her ears. It was as if she was trying to figure out if she liked it or not.

  Then she lifted her hands, palms up, to feel the drops and a smile broke on her face.

  Hair soaked, dress drenched, Mama opened her eyes and laughed.

  She grabbed for Aunt Carrie’s hand again, shaking it and squealing like she was ten years old.

  “I can’t believe you got me out here,” she yelled.

  “It’s nice, isn’t it?” Aunt Carrie asked.

  Those two grown women stood in the grass and let the water fall all over them. I could have watched Mama standing out in the rain all day long.

  God was the God of contentment. That was so.

  But just then, with Mama smiling so wide, I thought He might just be the God of wild, out-of-control happiness, too.

  It did me some good to think on that.

  Ray showed me how to slide across the slick grass on my feet. I fell down more than once but it didn’t hurt even a little. It was the best kind of good fun.

  Booming thunder sent us all running for the porch. We stood there, huddled together, suddenly chilled by our soaked clothes.

  Ray and I sat together, our backs against the house and the awning sheltering us, watching the cracks of lightning splinter the sky, and I forgot about anything sad happening in all the wide world. What I did think on was how out-of-my-mind happy I’d been, dancing in the rain.

  While we ate ham sandwiches, still sitting on the porch, the storm eased. The sun found a break in the clouds and let in just enough shimmer to make a bow of many colors spread across the sky. It took my breath away.

  Meemaw’d told me many a time that all the good gifts in any part of creation were from God Himself. The pretty sunsets and glad feelings were His good gifts. Whenever somebody did for somebody else, that was really a present from God.

  “He don’t change, neither,” Meemaw’d said. “He don’t shift like the sand.”

  She’d pointed out the window at the dust and said how it was different from one day to the next on account the wind moved it all over the place.

  “He ain’t like that a’tall,” she’d said. “He’s the same all the time. And He sure likes givin’ to His children.”

  The rain that day had been a gift. Aunt Carrie and Uncle Gus, too. The library and letters from Millard. Ray and Daddy and Mama. Miss Shirley’s good pie and the preacher’s gentle sermons and the stained-glass windows. Mayor Winston’s funny stories and Mr. Campbell’s smooth singing voice. Even Opal and how she helped Mama.

  All good gifts.

  I didn’t know how life could get any better. And I couldn’t let myself think on how it might all fall to pieces at any minute.

  From the kitchen came the sounds of Mama laughing at one of Aunt Carrie’s jokes. Closing my eyes I pictured the way Mama must’ve been smiling all the way up to the corners of her eyes.

  Just then, the gifts were good and perfect and plenty enough for me to feel like smiling all day long. And I asked if God might be pleased to keep life good just like it was in that very moment.

  But a dark cloud moved over the sun, making the day dim again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Uncle Gus sat out on the back porch of the farmhouse with Ray, the two of them whittling shapes into blocks of wood. It was a regular occurrence between the two of them, knives in hand and wood shavings flying out into the yard. They didn’t talk when they were working, but that was how they liked it, I supposed.

  Quiet between men was nothing more than a way of saying how comfortable they were together. That was one thing I was learning.

  Uncle Gus had taught Ray all kinds of things about finding the shape of whatever he was carving. He told him how to use all the special instruments and how to be real careful so he wouldn’t cut a finger off.

  When they’d started whittling together I’d begged Mama to let me go out and watch. She’d told me I was to leave them be.

  “I won’t touch the knife,” I’d promised. “And I swear I won’t get in the way.”

  “Don’t swear,” she’d said. “And my answer is still no. It’s something Ray needs for himself.”

  I hadn’t understood what she’d meant by that. What I did know was that it sure made me sore to be left out. That was until Ray brought me the doll he’d carved for me.

  “Gus helped me with the face,” he told me. “The lips and nose mostly. But I did the rest. She’s a Indian princess.”

  I told him I could tell because of the dress she wore, straight and without shape just like the squaw in one of the books Daddy’d left behind in Red River.

  That evening, the day before the Fourth of July, Ray and Uncle Gus were out back of the farmhouse, working their knives into the wood. Ray’d told me he was going to make something for his mother.

>   “How’ll you get it to her?” I’d asked.

  “She can have it when she comes here to get me,” he’d told me. “It’ll be a bird. Might even paint it.”

  I told him I thought she’d like that a whole lot. I could only sit and wonder if she’d ever see it. Even if she did, she wouldn’t be proud of him for making it.

  She’d never been that kind of mother.

  “Is there really gonna be a parade?” I asked for probably the fifth time that week.

  We’d just sat down at Aunt Carrie’s table for supper, waiting on her and Mama to bring out the pan of chicken and platters of fixings. I found it real hard to stay in my seat, my excitement made me restless.

  “That’s right, darlin’,” Uncle Gus answered. “And your daddy’s gonna be walkin’ in it.”

  “Not of my own free will, though,” Daddy answered, dropping his napkin onto one of his knees.

  “It’s part of the job, Tom.” Uncle Gus worked at getting his napkin into the collar of his shirt. “I gotta walk, too, with the other veterans.”

  “What about Jake?” I asked, letting my feet swing back and forth under my chair.

  “Don’t let your mama hear you calling him that,” Daddy warned me. “And, yes, Mayor Winston’s walking alongside me.”

  “I’ll wave at you,” I said.

  “I wish you would, darlin’.”

  “Who’s hungry?” Aunt Carrie asked, coming into the dining room with a plate full of food.

  “Be still my heart,” Uncle Gus said. “My very favorite meal.”

  “You say that about everything I fix.” Aunt Carrie reached over, putting the platter smack-dab in the middle of the table.

  “And it’s true every time.” He winked at her. “It’s even true that you’re my favorite wife.”

  “I’d best be your only wife,” Aunt Carrie said, giving him a pretend-angry look.

  “You know you’re the only gal for me,” Uncle Gus said. “I’m too lazy a man to look after more than one woman.”

  Aunt Carrie shook her head and rolled her eyes as she took her seat. “You’re something else, Gustav Seegert.”

  Mama walked in from the kitchen just then. I waited for Daddy to say something or other that might make her blush. He didn’t say a word, though. Just watched her until she caught him looking. She pushed her lips together hard and put the bowl of mashed potatoes on the table and sat down.

  I wasn’t sure I’d be able to eat. It felt like I’d gotten a big old rock stuck in my throat. If I hadn’t known any better I might’ve thought we’d left Mama back in Red River and picked up another woman along the way that was sour as a lime.

  I never would have said a thing like that out loud. But I sure felt it deep down to my tippy-toes.

  Once everybody’d settled into their seats, we all held hands and bowed our heads. Daddy said the blessing. Uncle Gus had my left hand in his right. His thick and heavy fingers covered over mine and after Daddy said “amen” Uncle Gus squeezed my hand so gentle before letting go.

  The next morning Mama had to remind both Ray and me not to gobble our breakfasts. She told us we’d make ourselves sick if we weren’t careful. I at least tried slowing down. It was just we were so excited about the parade, though, it was hard not to rush. Besides, we wanted to find good spots on the curb so we didn’t miss a single thing.

  Soon as our plates were clean Ray and I hurried to leave, Mama following behind us.

  “Hold up,” she hollered.

  We turned, shoulder to shoulder, just inside the door. I tried not to let Mama see how impatient I felt.

  “Now, you two stick together,” she told us. “Don’t get in anybody’s way, hear?”

  We told her “yes, ma’am.”

  “Find a good spot.” She crossed her arms over her stomach. “And be sure there’s room for Carrie. She’s planning on sitting with you.”

  “Aren’t you coming?” I asked.

  “No. I’ve gotta get a cake in the oven for lunch. We’re having folks over later on.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Never you mind, snoopy.” She made sure we met her eyes before she smiled. I could tell already, she was having a good day. “All right. Go on.”

  Ray and I bolted out the door. He jumped off the porch and was at the end of our walk in just a couple steps. I hurried but didn’t run. I knew Mama was watching and would holler for me to slow down.

  Folks were already lining the street when we got there. I was about cursing myself for being so slow, thinking sure we’d never find a place. But Ray didn’t say a sideways thing to me about it.

  We made our way through the crowd and saw there wasn’t hardly a space left to sit.

  “Looks like the whole county’s here,” Ray said, grabbing for my hand.

  I gave it to him gladly. I sure didn’t want to get lost.

  A girl ran past us, one I recognized from Hazel Wheeler’s group of friends. Old Caleb Carter chased after her, making to tug on her braids. When he went past us he flinched like he worried I might clobber him one for good measure. I would have if he’d tried pulling my hair.

  That girl, though, giggled like she didn’t want him to quit coming after her. Sometimes I thought girls were just plain silly. Some of them simply did not make any sense at all.

  Ray pulled me past crowds and through clusters of people. Up ahead of us was Aunt Carrie, waving us over. It didn’t take but half a minute for us to get to her and I was glad. Being in the middle of all those strangers was starting to make me feel antsy and cut off from fresh air.

  “You got here just in time,” she said, putting her hand on my back. “I managed to save us some seats.”

  The three of us sat right down on the curb with me between them. It felt safe being there and I could breathe easy again.

  Aunt Carrie leaned over and whispered in my ear. “I always get so excited for parades,” she told me. “There’s nothing like them.”

  I thought that since I had no choice but to grow into a lady one day, I’d be happy to be the kind that Aunt Carrie was. The kind that wasn’t afraid of sitting on curbs or laughing loud or walking around without shoes on.

  Blasting, pounding, and trilling, the parade started with what Aunt Carrie told me was the high school band. They marched past us, playing a tune that made me wish I had a flag to wave. Their fresh-polished instruments flashed sunlight into the faces of the crowd.

  “Bravo,” Aunt Carrie called through her cupped hands.

  Ray tapped his foot to the beat and clapped along with the song.

  As for me, I couldn’t hardly get over how the drums felt like they boomed all the way into my very own chest, like they thudded on behalf of my heart.

  Next came a bunch of kids leading all different kinds of livestock through on leashes and ropes. Pigs and sheep and even a calf trod along the street behind their owners. One small girl pulled a wagon with the fattest rabbit I’d ever seen riding in it. A hand-painted sign declared it the “BIGGEST HARE IN ALL LENAWEE COUNTY.” I didn’t doubt that was true.

  A boy trailed behind the rest, tugging on a lead tied around the neck of an old, ornery billy goat who didn’t willingly take so much as a step.

  That boy was red in the face, like a ripe tomato, and I could tell he was about to give up on trying to get that beast to mind him.

  “Poor Jack,” Aunt Carrie laughed. “Bless him.”

  The boy named Poor Jack stopped pulling and let the lead go slack. He wiped at his forehead with the back his hand.

  Just then the goat let out a holler and took off running, dragging Poor Jack behind him, tripping over his own feet.

  At least the boy got a good laugh out of everybody.

  Lots more folks came down the street. Some driving tractors, streamers and flags tied to them and flickering in the wind as they rumbled by. A dozen or so ladies glided along with sashes that showed them to be the Daughters of the American Revolution. A man riding a one-wheeled contraption weeble-wobbled by and
another rode a bicycle that was tall as a house. A juggler and a man on stilts and another dressed as a clown made their way past, too.

  That parade was like nothing I’d ever seen before in my life. It made me think of all the stories Daddy had told about Jed Bozell and I wondered if he hadn’t been real after all.

  Ray tapped me on the shoulder long after the start of the parade. “There’s your pa,” he said.

  Sure enough, Daddy walked right down the middle of the street. If anybody ever asked me if I had a hero I would’ve told them without batting an eye that it was Daddy. I felt sorry for anybody who didn’t know him. My daddy was the best kind of man.

  I kept my eyes on him, trying not to get choked from all the pride I felt. Daddy wore his old rumpled hat, tipped back on his head so folks could see his face. Back in Red River he’d never worn a badge, not that I could remember. He’d said it made him stand out too much, made folks feel nervous. But there in the parade, he wore one. It was gold colored and gleamed, it was so new.

  Daddy kept his eyes straight out in front of him, but he waved his hands back and forth over the crowd. Mayor Winston followed behind him, hollering out at all the folks, thanking them for coming to the parade. Everyone cheered as they passed by, hollering out their thanks and whistling.

  “Daddy,” I called, not expecting that he’d hear me through all the fuss.

  But he did. He caught my voice out of the many and turned toward me, giving me a wink before moving on down the line.

  I knew the parade was about to end when I saw folks all around me getting to their feet. I got up, too, and watched the handful of men who took up the tail end of the parade.

  “These are the war veterans,” Aunt Carrie whispered. “They’re always the finale.”

  The men wore uniforms, some of them a funny green color and others of brown. One very old, very shrunken man had on a blue uniform that looked far too big on him. Aunt Carrie whispered that he’d fought in the Civil War.

  Uncle Gus walked all the way in the back, carrying the American flag. Old Glory rippled in what little wind there was that morning. Still, I thought it looked real pretty.