Anybody Shining

by Frances O'Roark Dowell

  “I know her,” I replied in a shaky voice. “I’m heading that way now.”

  “Can you show me how to get there?”

  Every part of me was a-trembling, but I said, “I’ll show you the way, Oza.”

  Only it was her who trotted up the path ahead of me! I had to hurry my steps to keep up with her, and a few times she dropped away from sight and I was sure that I’d lost her. But then there she was again, waiting for me to catch up, still smiling.

  We reached the place where you could see smoke rising out of Aunt Jennie’s cabin. “Your mama lives just over that ridge,” I told Oza. “We’ll be there shortly.”

  “Thank you, Arie Mae,” she said. And then, just like that, she disappeared.

  My heart was thumping so hard in my chest, I thought it was going to bust through. Oh my goodness! My legs shook, and every part of me went cold and then hot.

  “Oza!” I called. “Oza, where are you?”

  Nobody answered. I looked all around me, but she was gone. I was alone in a clearing, the only sound around me the chatter of squirrels and a lone bird chirping. Had I really seen the ghost of Oza Odom? Or was my mind all twisted and turned from the heartbreak of losing my own true friend, Tom Wells?

  When I saw the tree stump in the middle of the clearing, I thought to sit and catch my breath and calm my mind before traveling on to Aunt Jennie’s. But when I reached the stump, I noticed something laying smack-dab at its center.

  It was Tom’s book. Oza had led me straight to it.

  Oh, didn’t I grab it and hold it tight! It was like having a piece of Tom right there with me. But what was it doing out here? I examined the pages and saw they was wet around the edges, as though the book had been lying on the grass and had soaked up a bit of morning dew.

  “Oza?” I called out again, and a voice called back, “Arie Mae?”

  Only it weren’t Oza’s voice, but Aunt Jennie’s.

  She come into the clearing, stooped over and walking with a stick. “Tom left that book at my place when you’uns were there last,” she said when she saw me. “I thought I’d walk it down to Miss Sary’s yesterday afternoon so she could give it to him, and then I got curious and sat down right on that stump to read it. I reckon I left it there. Don’t look any worse for the wear, now do it?”

  I shook my head. “No, ma’am. Just a little wet here and there.”

  “You see Oza this morning?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Well, I seen somebody—or something.”

  Aunt Jennie lowered herself slow and careful as could be until she was sitting down on the stump. “Oh, it were Oza all right. I seen her run past the window.”

  I sat next to her. “Don’t it spook you to see her?”

  “Arie Mae, I’m a hundred years old. Nothing spooks me. I just wish she’d go on over to the other side, to be with her daddy. I’ve asked her to, but she seems to like it here.”

  I held up Tom’s book and looked at it. “Tom got sick and had to go home to Baltimore. I reckon it’s halfway my fault. I knowed his heart weren’t good enough to come up here. Only he told me it was. He were stubborn when it come to doing what he wanted.”

  “Everybody tells a lie from time to time. Tom’s just the same. Weren’t your fault he come up here, Arie Mae. He did what he wanted to do. Now what you aim to do with that book?”

  “Give it to his sister, for her to take to him.” I flipped through a few of the pages, reading a line here and there. “Though Lord knows if she’ll give it back to him. It’s filled with ghost stories, and she’s against them. Maybe it’s best to mail it.”

  “His address is in there too,” Aunt Jennie said. “I saw it on the inside cover. It’s 1306 St. Paul Street. Why, you could just mail that book to him. Everybody likes to get something in the mail.”

  That’s when I knowed exactly what to do. “I wish I had a pencil. Tom always had a pencil with him to write things down right away so he wouldn’t forget, and I don’t want to forget what I want to tell.”

  Well, I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, but didn’t Aunt Jennie pluck Tom’s pencil from behind her ear and hand it to me! Then she used her walking stick to push herself back up, saying, “I reckon I’ll leave you to it. You come visit me now. Bring me some more greens!”

  “I’ll come tomorrow,” I promised, opening Tom’s book and finding the first blank page. There I wrote the story of Oza the ghost, and when I was done I cried a little, wishing so bad that Tom had seen her this morning too.

  Signed,

  Your Cousin,

  Arie Mae Sparks

  Dear Cousin Caroline,

  I don’t believe I could dance another step in my life, not even if you paid me good money. Last night we danced till our toes was about to fall off. Us children got silly after a while, not so much dancing as running around the barn, just a-singing and a-yelling, chasing one another in a game of Crack the Whip. Usually the grown-ups will call for us to settle down when we get that way, but there was too much good cheer for bossing children around last night. We was allowed to be as high-spirited as we wished to.

  Folks begin to gather at the barn around seven o’clock so they’d be ready for when the National Barn Dance radio show with your host George D. Hay started up at eight. It seemed like everybody in the world was there last night, even old Uncle Cecil Buchannan, who had come with some of his mostly grown grandbabies.

  At eight o’clock, Daddy turned on the radio, and George D. Hay’s voice come out saying, “Welcome, welcome, welcome! We’re here in the old hayloft in Chicago, Illinois, for another Saturday night at the National Barn Dance!” Everybody whooped and hollered at that, especially us children. Then the sound of fiddles started up, and Uncle Cecil Buchannan got us dancing in a Virginia reel, calling out the steps. “Head lady and foot gentleman forward and back!” he shouted, and then, “Forward again with both hands round!”

  Oh, we clapped and sung and stomped. But if I had my ears bent toward Uncle Cecil, I had my eyes glued to the door. Would Miss Keller and Miss Pittman come like Mama had asked them to? I wondered what Daddy would do if they didn’t. He’d been feeling more kindly toward them after playing fiddle at the school for the Baltimore folks last Friday, and it would be a shame to see his goodwill go to waste.

  Mama says a watched pot never boils, and I guess she must be right, for it was when I finally unstuck my eyes from the door and went to get a sip of lemonade that Miss Keller and Miss Pittman made their entrance. The reaction to them being there was mixed, as most everyone had heard from Thelma Maycomb and her mama about Miss Pittman’s letter. Many leaned toward forgiveness, as the letter had been written some time ago and they felt the songcatchers’ school had brought a gracious plenty to us. So there were greetings and hellos as they come in and looked for where to stand and who to speak with, but some whispers and icy looks, too.

  Daddy himself went over to say hello, which I thought was neighborly of him. He had heard about Miss Pittman’s letter, but he was inclined to not judge too harshly. “I reckon she might have felt taken aback when she come to our mountains, especially if it were to a rough bunch such as the Nidiffers and the Fowlkeses she first went to visit,” Daddy had said when James shared Will Maycomb’s report. “And she might be right that we don’t meet up to the world’s standards. But as long as we meet up to our standards, then what’s that to worry us?”

  I was wondering if Miss Keller and Miss Pittman would join in the dancing. There was two types of dancing going on, the square dance in the middle of the room and the clog dancing on the edges. Some folks wore taps on their shoes that made it sound like tiny pistols was going off every time their toes hit the floor. I think both kinds of dancing are fine, and it depends on my mood as to which one I favor. Sometimes stomping your feet and jumping around is mighty satisfying, but other times I like to swing around with a partner, even if it’s just Harlan Boyd.

  The radio show dancing went on for an hour, but neither Miss Ke
ller nor Miss Pittman had tapped a single toe. With each step I took, I stomped a little harder, wishing I had the nerve to tell them a thing or two about being snooty and stuck-up and too big for their own britches. They might as well have not come at all if they wasn’t going to join the party!

  Oh, I was a-fuming and a-fussing in my own mind, and a few times I stomped on Harlan’s toes and he yelped like a dog. “Ease on back, Arie Mae!” he’d cry. “We ain’t at war!”

  When the National Barn Dance show was over, Daddy turned off the radio. That meant it was time for him and Mr. Peacock and anybody else who brung a fiddle or a guitar or a banjo to get tuned up. The musicians huddled in a corner, leaning their heads together, plucking their strings, until everybody was on the same note. Chatter and laughter rose around them as folks got ready for the second half of the dance. A few of the older boys slipped out, most likely to make mischief of one sort or another, and some of the young’uns piled up on bales of hay and fell fast asleep.

  “We’re gonna start out with ‘Cluck Old Hen,’ ” Daddy informed the crowd once the band was tuned up. “Now, this is one of our favorites, and we hope it’s one of yourn, too.”

  You can’t help but to dance to “Cluck Old Hen,” and all us children run to the center of the barn, even the younger ones who didn’t know much about dancing and just liked to jump up and down. The grown-ups made a circle around us, clapping and a-stomping. “Cluck old hen! A-doodily-do,” they sang. “Cluck old hen, cock-a-doodily doo!”

  Us children linked hands and made a skipping circle, singing, “Cluck old hen, cluck and sing, ain’t laid an egg since late last spring!”

  We was going faster and faster, and then someone broke into the circle next to me. Miss Pittman! She sung the words right along with us, and when the song ended, she clapped her hands like she weren’t ever going to stop.

  “Oh, Arie Mae,” she said, her breath coming out hard. “Your daddy has converted me to the fiddle!”

  And she danced every song after that, and guess what? That hair that’s always pulled back so tight on her head? It started coming loose, and Lord, it was pretty the way Miss Pittman looked like a young girl, curls all around her face.

  I think getting converted to the fiddle is just what Miss Pittman needed.

  This morning we set off to church, all of us feeling tired and weary from dancing. But Mama is not a person who says, “Let’s lay about this Sunday morning and forget about worshipping the Lord!” So off we went, and the whole way I was thinking about Miss Pittman. I reckon she’s sorry for what she wrote, don’t you? I reckon she might be feeling a little ignorant herself now that she knows us as good as she does. It takes time to get to know people. You got to listen to their stories, and you got to tell your stories back. It all goes back and forth, back and forth, until one day you turn into friends.

  Until that time, I expect it’s best to keep your opinions to yourself.

  I am still missing Tom something fierce and have written him two letters since sending him his book, telling him everything that has happened since he went off the mountain back to home. Now, Tom is somebody who likes to hear your stories and that’s the truth. I am hoping that he’s also the sort of person who writes back and tells a few stories of his own, unlike some other people I could name.

  Signed,

  Your Cousin,

  Arie Mae Sparks

  Dear Cousin Caroline,

  I weren’t expecting anything when I went to the post office this morning, but I hoped I might find a letter from Tom waiting for me. It has been ten days since I sent him his book. But, I reminded myself as I walked down the path, he is sick and might not be able to write a letter. It might be weeks and weeks until I hear a word.

  Still, I was hoping. When Miss Ellie seen me walk in, she got such a big grin on her face, I thought it must be so! There must be a letter. Oh, my heart just jumped up and down, I was so happy.

  “Arie Mae Sparks, looks like Santy Claus done come for you today!” she called out, and then she run around from the back of the counter, her arms filled with all manner of things!

  “All that’s for me?” I cried, counting two boxes and two envelopes. “How could that be?”

  “Well, it ain’t all for you,” Miss Ellie said. “One of them letters is for your mama. It’s from Raleigh. Now, don’t she got kin in Raleigh?”

  “My mama’s sister lives in Raleigh,” I said, and the little hairs on my arm stood straight up.

  Miss Ellie dumped all that mail into my arms. “Well? Ain’t ya gonna open it?”

  I was afeared that if I even so much as looked at what I held, I’d melt into a puddle on the floor. “I reckon I’ll take it home and open it there. Kind of hold on to the surprise for a little bit longer.”

  “Oh, you ain’t no fun, Arie Mae!” Miss Ellie said with a pout. “Well, I want you to come back tomorrow and tell me what you got, you hear?”

  I run all the way home, still not letting myself look at who them packages and letters was from. “Mama!” I cried as soon as I reached our yard. “Mama! You got a letter!”

  Well, Mama come running out of the house, Baby John in her arms, Lucille and Harlan on her heels. “A letter? Who on earth would be sending me a letter?”

  “It’s from Raleigh, Mama.”

  Mama put her hand over her heart. “From Raleigh.”

  “I got a letter too, but I ain’t let myself look to see who it’s from yet. And two packages.”

  “Who’s them packages from, Arie Mae?” Harlan asked, peering over my shoulder. “Anything good in ’em?”

  That’s when I looked and seen that one package was from T. Wells, 1306 St. Paul Street, Baltimore, Maryland! The other didn’t have no return address. “One’s from Tom,” I reported. “And the other one’s a mystery. And I got a letter, too.”

  “Let Mama read her letter first,” Lucille said, taking Baby John out of Mama’s arms. “Mama, you sit down on the step right here and read. You can read it out loud.”

  “I’m too nervous to read it out loud,” Mama said, sitting down on the top step. Careful as could be, she tore open the envelope. She pulled out two sheets of paper, and as soon as she seen the handwriting, she gasped. “It’s from Anna!” she cried, and then she bust out sobbing.

  “Read the letter, Mama!” Harlan told her. “You can cry all you want later.”

  We all sat there on the steps, quiet as could be. I was dying to open my parcels and my own letter, but I thought Mama should go first.

  “All right then, I’ll read,” Mama said, wiping her nose with her apron. “It’s from my sister Anna in Raleigh,” she began, and then she cried a little bit more before reading on. “She says she misses me so much and she feels terrible about not writing in ever so long.” Mama paused, cried, read some more and reported, “She says she has read every single one of Arie Mae’s letters, and they have made her homesick something awful . . . And that she hadn’t shown any of them to Caroline until the day she wrote this letter, because up until then . . . until then Caroline didn’t know she had any cousins in the mountains.”

  “She didn’t even know about us?” Lucille harrumphed. “What kind of manners is that, not to tell your own child she has cousins?”

  “Hush now, Lucille,” Mama said, sniffing a bit. “Anna says she has been in the wrong all these years, and she wants to come visit and see the old home place just as soon as she can, which will probably be next month.” Well, that set Mama off to crying for a long spell, and we all leaned over and patted her, trying to soothe her a bit.

  “Did she give my letters to Caroline then?” I asked. “Does Caroline know I exist yet?”

  Mama nodded. “Anna says Caroline’s going to write you a nice letter back. Well, you got a letter today, didn’t you? Who’s it from?”

  And that’s when I finally let myself look at the return address. Sure, enough, it said Raleigh, North Carolina. “I think this is it,” I said, my fingers all a-trembling. “I think this is the le
tter from Caroline.”

  “Read it, Arie Mae!” Harlan cried. “Let’s hear about our cousin in Raleigh!”

  But I couldn’t bring myself to read it in front of them. I had told Caroline so much that I ain’t told them, I felt our friendship to be a private thing.

  “How about I open this package from Tom?” I asked, and they all cheered. So I opened up the box and what did I find, but a book just like Tom’s and a note saying he was feeling much better and he was sending me a book for me to write my own stories in. “Please tell me all the ghost stories you hear, Arie Mae,” he wrote, “and let me know if you see Oza again.”

  “Oza Odom?” Lucille asked, leaning toward me as though to read the letter herself. “You seen her?”

  I folded it back up and said, “I’ll tell you about it later. Now let’s see what’s in this other parcel.”

  Turned out the other parcel was from Aunt Jennie! She’d sent me a copy of her recipe book with a note that said, “Please copy out the souse receipt and send it on to Tom Wells.”

  “I guess I’ll go do that directly,” I said, standing up and gathering my things together. I leaned over and give Mama a hug. “I’m happy Aunt Anna wrote you a letter, Mama.”

  Mama looked at me a long moment. “I gave up on my sister when I should have kept trying to reach her. I’m so glad you didn’t give up on your cousin. It means the world to me that you two are friends.”

  Cousin Caroline, I could barely keep still as I sat on my bed to read your letter. I feared it would be short and polite, even though the envelope had a nice heft to it. What if you had nothing to say to me, only “Thank you for your letters, I hope you are fine.” Oh, I couldn’t bear it if that was the case.

  But as you and me both know, that weren’t the case at all.

  Thank you for the picture you sent! It is such a nice one, the way your face is shining and full of life. Why, it makes me feel like we have knowed each other for years and years and have always been the best of friends.