A Trail of Crumbs

by Finkbeiner, Susie;

  “I don’t remember what it feels like,” she said. “I’m tired, Abe. It’s so hard being sad all the time.”

  He took her hand. She left the other arm wrapped around her waist and she still didn’t look at him.

  “I hate seeing you like this.” He stooped down so he could look into her face. “You don’t have to live like this anymore, Mary. We could go—”

  “Tom used to make me happy,” she said, interrupting him. “He was all I wanted.”

  “He doesn’t anymore, though.” It wasn’t a question.

  Mama started crying. Abe Campbell put his arms around her and she let him. She didn’t pull away like she should have and she didn’t tell him to let her go. What she did was rest her head against his chest the way she would have if he’d been Daddy.

  He only let go after the heaviest of her crying had passed.

  Then he lifted his hand, putting his fingers along Mama’s jawline, tracing it all the way to her chin. She reached up and put her fingers around his wrist. But she didn’t force his hand away; she didn’t push him back. She held him and leaned her face into his touch.

  Bending, he drew near her, putting his lips against hers. She let go of his wrist and put her hand on his chest, resting her fingers on his shirt, but not forcing him from her.

  It didn’t last but a moment, but it was long enough to knock the breath right out of me, leaving me feeling like I might fall all to pieces right there on the floor.

  I decided right then that I could never forgive her for that. I never would.

  Somehow I got myself up the stairs and back to my room without making any sound. At least not so far as I knew. I didn’t know if it would have mattered one bit to either of them if they had heard me. They were too busy keeping their eyes stuck on each other.

  When I got to my room my legs nearly gave out. I felt so weak all of a sudden and the air wheezed in and out so that I had to think real hard about every breath I took in. If I hadn’t known better I might have thought I was going to die right there.

  I sat on my bed, staring out the window to see when he’d leave. When he did, Mama held the door open and told him to have a good night. He turned and kissed his fingertips.

  I didn’t move, not so much as an inch, all night long. I didn’t know that I could have even if I’d wanted to. I stayed put until the dawn blossomed as the sun rose inch by inch in the sky.

  By then Mama was stirring out of her room and setting the coffee on the stove to perk. Her singing filled the house as if she just could not help herself.

  For the very first time in all my life, I wished she’d just shut up.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Getting out of my bed, I saw my reflection in the mirror on the wall. Half circles of purple showed under my eyes and my mouth was turned down. My hair was still in the German braid Aunt Carrie’d put it in the day before. Feeling around with my fingers, I took out all the pins, dropping them on top of my dresser. It didn’t take long for my hair to come undone around my shoulders, waved from being in the braid all night like it’d been.

  Ladies kept their hair long. That was what Mama had always told me. She’d said it was a lady’s glory, her long hair. The Bible even said as much.

  Ladies were kind and gentle. They were slow to get angry and quick to smile. Ladies didn’t run or burp or pass gas or forget to say their prayers before taking a bite of dinner. They kept their knees together when sitting and didn’t slurp their soup. Ladies never, ever cursed or took so much as a sip of booze.

  Being a lady was as important to Mama as saying the sinner’s prayer and following the Ten Commandments.

  As for me, I was done trying to be ladylike.

  I gathered all my hair into one hand, pulling it in front of my shoulder and letting it hang down my still-flat chest. Not thinking of anything at all, I opened the top drawer of my dresser where I kept odds and ends that didn’t have a place anywhere else. I felt all through that drawer until my fingers wrapped around cool metal.

  I turned away from the mirror.

  It took just a few good snips and a whole foot of hair was freed. I let it all fall to the floor at my feet. What remained swept against my jaw and tickled against the back of my neck.

  When I gazed back into the mirror, I cried.

  No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t think of a way to hide what I’d done. Mama would be upset with me for sure. I cussed under my breath, wishing there was some kind of magic that might put my hair back together again.

  But all the king’s horses and men couldn’t help me out of that pickle. “What am I gonna do?” I whispered through my ground-together teeth. Pacing around my room, I stepped over the fistful of hair on the floor, wishing I was smart enough to think up something to do.

  Nothing.

  Shutting my eyes, I decided to be brave. I’d go down the steps and hope Mama would show mercy just like I meant to show her even after what I’d seen the night before.

  She’d forgive me and I’d forgive her.

  On tiptoe I went down the steps and crossed to the kitchen, pushing the door open and taking in a good breath. She stopped her singing when she heard me coming.

  “Well, I wondered if you’d ever get up,” she said, her back to me. She had something in her stew pot to boil. “Just get a slice of bread for breakfast, hear?”

  “Mama?” I said.

  “Don’t make me get it for you, darlin’. I’m up to my elbows …”

  She looked at me over her shoulder. Her face was beaded up with sweat and her hair had formed tiny ringlets around her face from the steam that clouded up from the stove.

  Mama turned toward me, her hand on the counter like she needed its support to keep her from falling over. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes went dull like she was fixing to get good and angry.

  “What did you do to your hair?” she asked. “Where is it?”

  Trying to explain to Mama what I’d done was like trying to swim with lead weights for shoes. I was drowning in her stare. All I managed to get out were stammering noises that didn’t mean anything at all.

  “But why?” she asked over and again. “Why would you do that to your beautiful hair?”

  I told her I didn’t know, which was a lie.

  Mama always could sniff out an untruth just like she was an old bloodhound.

  “You’ll tell me,” she said.

  “I saw you,” I said back.

  It was only a whisper, but its weight hung heavy in the air between us. “Saw me what?”

  “I saw you with Abe Campbell.”

  “You didn’t see a darn thing, missy.” She crossed her arms.

  “He kissed you.” I felt a hot tear make a trail of wet down my cheek. “And you didn’t make him stop.”

  Mama took a step toward me and shook her head. “You saw no such thing, girl. It was a dream.”

  “It was real,” I hollered, letting my voice fill with wild anger, making it out of my control. “I saw it and I’m going to tell Daddy.”

  The back of Mama’s hand hit one side of my face and then the palm struck the other. I stepped back to get away from her but she grabbed my arm, digging her nails into my skin. Using my free hand, I tried fighting her off, tried prying her fingers loose.

  “Let go of me,” I cried. “You’re hurting me.”

  “You won’t tell your father anything, you hear me?” She pulled me toward her so our faces were close. “It never happened. You’re lying.”

  “But I’m not,” I whimpered. “I saw it.”

  “You’ll do as I say. I’m your mother.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  She shoved me from her. I fell backward, stumbling until I came crashing down to the floor, my head hitting the kitchen table.

  A glass mixing bowl, one that’d belonged to Meemaw, smashed on the floor, one side of it shattering into so many pieces I’d never be able to count them.

  “Don’t you ever say that to me again,” Mama screamed. “N
ever.”

  Ray must’ve heard all the carrying on. He came running into the kitchen, a look of alarm on his face. His eyes went from Mama to me and back again.

  “What happened here?” he asked, standing between us.

  Mama opened her mouth like she wanted to give an answer, but none came. Looking at me, but careful not to meet my eyes, she shook her head like she wanted to deny that she was the reason I was there on the floor. She turned back to the stove and stirred what was stewing in the pot.

  Ray helped me get to my feet and told me to go up to my room.

  “I’ll take care of everything,” he whispered. “Just wait for me.”

  I did as he said, not feeling anything as I climbed the steps or went into my room. There on the floor was my hair. I left it be and went to the other side of the room.

  I made my bed the very best I could even though every inch of me trembled. I thought it would’ve made Mama proud.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Hard-heeled shoes clipped up the steps, followed by the padding of bare feet. My bedroom door opened and I tensed my body, expecting to see Mama walk through.

  Instead, Opal came in with Ray at her heels. She had him close the door behind them and came right to me, touching my face. Her hands felt cool against my aching cheeks.

  “Are you all right?” She looked me all over from my eyes to my arm and then rested on my hair. “Are you hurt?”

  “I’m okay,” I answered. I wasn’t sure if it was a lie or not.

  “Do you have any shears?” she asked.

  I told her I did and pointed at the dresser. She nodded and told Ray to get them for her.

  “Is my mama still here?” I asked.

  Ray shook his head, handing the shears to Opal. He said he wasn’t sure where she’d gone.

  “Probably just the store,” Opal said. “But she could be back any minute. We’d best hurry.”

  “How did you know to come?”

  “Ray came to get me.” She touched the jagged and uneven ends of my hair. “I can fix this. Do you want me to?”

  I nodded.

  She had me stand upright and still in my bedroom as she used the shears to clip the ends of my hair, straightening it, making it even. Hers were gentle hands and warm. She worked quickly but well. The hair fell, covering my dress and the floor. Opal said she’d help me clean it up soon as she was done.

  “Who did this to you?” she asked, standing in front of me and checking to be sure she’d made it even.

  I shrugged. “I did,” I answered, whispering.

  “Why?” she asked, looking me right in the eye.

  I didn’t want to tell her and told her so.

  “All right.” She used her hands to brush the hair off my shoulders. “You’ll have to change dresses.”

  When she was done, she and Ray left me alone so I could get changed. Then I let them back in and Opal used one of my clips to hold back the one side of hair that wanted to cover over my eye. Ray made himself busy cleaning up all the yellow hair clippings off the floor with a broom and dustpan.

  “Thank you,” I said, touching the ends of my hair, feeling how even she’d managed to get it. “That was real nice of you.”

  “It was nothing.” She stood behind me, tilting her head so her reflection joined mine in the mirror, making me look like I had a second head sprouting from my skull. On any normal day that might have made me laugh.

  She brought me a piece of bread on a plate and a half cup of milk. “You can’t start your day without a little breakfast,” she said.

  I told her I did appreciate it.

  “I’d best go,” she said. “Before Mrs. Spence gets home. I don’t need to lose my job today.”

  “I won’t tell her you came,” I said.

  Before she stepped out the door, she turned toward me and smiled. “Your hair looks nice like that,” she said. “It suits you.”

  I didn’t even get to tell her thank you before she shut the door behind her.

  I asked Ray if I could borrow a pair of his overalls. He looked at me like I was half out of my mind, but still went to his room for some he’d outgrown over the summer.

  “Your mama’s gonna be sore,” he said.

  “I don’t care,” I told him, taking the soft denim pants from him. “I’ll tell her I stole them from you if you want.”

  “You don’t gotta do that.”

  “What you saw today, what Mama did—”

  “Pearl,” he interrupted me. “You didn’t deserve it.”

  I turned away from him. He’d made me cry and I didn’t want him feeling pity for me.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  I shut the door after he left and put those overalls on over an everyday blouse I had. I asked Ray to show me how to work the buckles on the shoulders. Other than that, I thought they were easier than putting on a dress.

  Mama was home by then and I decided to walk right past her wearing those overalls. She gave me a don’t-you-dare kind of look when I reached out for the doorknob.

  “What’re you doing?” she asked. “You’re not leaving this house like that.” I set my jaw, tucking all my fear into my cheek like I did when I was making a poker face. Turning the doorknob, I pulled and stepped out on the back porch. Ray followed behind me.

  “You come right back in here,” she hollered, her shoes clacking across the floor like she meant to chase us. “Pearl Louise, I said come back.”

  I’d never once in all my life disobeyed Mama on purpose. It surprised me how easy it was. And how sad it made me.

  It had me feeling lost.

  I leaned my back against the twisted tree, the bark of it rubbing against me as I shook with crying. Ray stood beside me, holding one of my hands and not saying anything because he knew it wouldn’t make anything better. Not really.

  What I needed most of all was just to know he was standing right there. Somehow, he knew that.

  “I can’t go home,” I said. “I never wanna see her face again.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “I sure do.” I sniffled. “I gotta run away.”

  “You ain’t neither,” he said.

  I knew he was right. It would’ve taken more strength than I had to do a thing like that.

  He tugged on my hand. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go see Carrie. She’ll know what to do.”

  I followed behind him, making my way between trees and stepping over whatever lay in our path. By the time we got to the end of the trail we were running, our hands still held together.

  For once, he wasn’t trying to race me.

  Once we got to the farmhouse my tears had dried. There was something about running through an apple orchard that cheered me up. Having Ray there with me helped, too.

  I was glad. I didn’t need Aunt Carrie worried about me or asking questions I didn’t know how to answer. The last thing I wanted was for her to think anything bad about Mama.

  When Aunt Carrie saw me, she clapped her hands and laughed. “Look at you,” she cried. “A pretty haircut and overalls? What’s next? You running for president?”

  I told her I might just do that someday. She laughed and told me she didn’t doubt it for a minute.

  “Wait right here,” she said.

  She went inside her house and came out in a pair of pants to match me. They belonged to Uncle Gus and she’d had to fold the legs up more than a couple times. She cinched a belt around her waist to keep them from falling off.

  She said it was all right just so long as we kept it our secret.

  “Half the town would think I’d lost my mind if they saw me in these,” she said. “I’m surprised your mama let you out of the house in those.”

  I just kept my mouth shut and gave her a smile. Then I nudged Ray with my elbow to remind him he best not say a thing.

  He said he was going to find Uncle Gus and took off running into the field.

  “I have never worn slacks before,” Aunt Carrie said, looking down at her le
gs.

  “They feel funny,” I said, feeling of my thighs, not used to having so much material between them like that.

  But, oh, what freedom, being able to run and climb and play without fear of my underthings showing or the need to sit like a lady.

  I’d kicked off my shoes soon as I got to the farm, letting my feet shuffle in the dewy grass. My soles were far from tough the way they’d been in Red River. It would take more than a couple shoeless days to rebuild the thickness of skin.

  I hadn’t felt wild and free like that in too long.

  “Have you ever climbed a tree?” Aunt Carrie asked.

  “No, ma’am,” I answered.

  “Would you like to learn how?”

  I told her that I would like that just fine.

  She went inside for a couple books before taking me out to the old weeping willow tree. Aunt Carrie told me where to grab hold of the branches and showed me the best way to work my feet to get a good grip while I was climbing. It wasn’t so hard as I’d expected and I didn’t mind being so far off the ground, just so long as I had a good stout branch under me.

  Up in that old tree, I sat and read one of Aunt Carrie’s books about a girl named Alice who fell down a long tunnel into a strange world of talking animals and magic food that made her change size. I didn’t care for that story quite so much as the Oz book. At least in Oz Dorothy had found a handful of friends. There in Wonderland Alice was wandering about all by herself. Seemed the only thing that even half helped her out was a cat that kept disappearing. Reading that story just made me feel lonesome.

  Aunt Carrie had a book of poetry and every once in a while she’d read me a line or two. I’d close my eyes to listen, letting the words form pictures in my mind the way she’d taught me to.

  When I did that, the watercolored butterflies or starry nights or yellow daffodils took shape in my imagination, leaving less and less room for the bad pictures of what had happened just that morning. That was the magic of poetry.

  One thing I’d learned from my aunt was that poetry was best when shared out loud, with a good friend. Another was that beautiful words strung together had the power to heal.