by Ann B. Ross
Mildred was not generally known for speaking in a thoughtless way. In fact, she bent over backward to be kind, generous, and complimentary in referring to other people, especially within their hearing or to others who might repeat what she’d said.
So I was shivering with more than the cold by the time I entered my warm kitchen. Irretrievable damage could be done by Mildred’s so openly making known her displeasure not only with Tonya, but with the child herself. It had been unmistakable to me that Mildred was not thrilled to have Penelope on her hands.
“Lillian,” I said, coming out of my coat as I entered, “please tell me that Latisha can come over tomorrow and play with Penelope. That little girl needs some normalcy.”
Lillian’s eyebrows went up as she turned to look at me. “Well, I don’t know as I’d call Latisha all that normal if you’re talkin’ about actin’ right. She’s a handful, as you oughta know, but I’ll bring her ’cause she’ll have a fit if I don’t.”
“Good. But, Lillian, there is a problem. Mildred says the child is deaf, and it really seems that she is—at least a little. Mildred called her by name in a normal tone of voice and Penelope made no indication that she’d heard. Of course her back was turned so she wasn’t able to read lips, which Mildred thinks she can do. Tonya, however, said nothing about it. She didn’t prepare her mother for anything like that.”
“That Tonya something else,” Lillian pronounced, shaking her head. “Ev’rybody waitin’ to see her on television an’ see if she’s gonna flip a table or slap somebody’s face or what.”
“Oh, Lillian,” I said, laughing in spite of myself, “do you watch those shows, too? They’re so trashy, but fun, too. And I suppose if we’d been offered a starring role in one of them, nothing else would seem quite as important. However, it’s a crying shame to discard a child in favor of a few minutes of fame. Or rather,” I went on after a deep sigh, “of notoriety, considering that the subject matter is not in the least edifying.”
* * *
—
After glancing out a window the next morning and seeing a few tree limbs heavy with ice, I worried that Lillian and Latisha wouldn’t be able to come in and I’d be stuck with entertaining a half-deaf child. So it was with relief that I heard Latisha’s voice as she and Lillian came into the kitchen downstairs.
“Where is she, Great-Granny?” Latisha said, or rather yelled, for her piercing voice carried easily from kitchen to master bedroom upstairs.
I heard Lillian shush her, then begin to close interior doors. Sam had risen early to have breakfast at the Bluebird café with a few of Abbotsville’s movers and shakers. I hurried through my toilette to be prepared to welcome Penelope, devoutly hoping that the morning would be a success with the little girls enjoying each other.
After quickly finishing my breakfast and taking my plate to the sink, I watched as Latisha made her preparations. She’d brought her pink backpack and was proceeding to empty it of books, papers, crayons, Magic Markers, pencils, and who knew what else—all onto the small corner table that was hers alone.
“I’m gettin’ ready for that girl,” Latisha announced with authority as she leafed through a coloring book. “An’ I’m gonna let her color whatever picture she wants to, except maybe this hummingbird. I been saving it.”
Smiling, I made my own preparations, bringing my invitations and address book to the kitchen table so that both Lillian and I would be around to supervise the meeting of Latisha and Penelope.
Almost on the dot of ten, Ida Lee knocked on the door and presented Penelope, who looked lost swaddled in a jacket too large for her.
“Mrs. Allen said to call us if Penelope needs to come home,” Ida Lee said.
“She’ll be fine,” I assured her. “Come in, Penelope. We’re so glad to have you.”
After introducing the child to Latisha, I turned her toward Lillian. “And this is my best friend in the world,” I said. “This is Lillian.”
Lillian stooped over, spread her arms, then wrapped them around Penelope. “What a pretty little thing you are! Now you know the way, little honey, you jus’ come on over here any time you want to. We always glad to have you. Now, you just set down with Latisha, she got all kinds of things to play with.”
With the girls settled at the play table, I spread my work on the kitchen table while Lillian busied herself with making a thick vegetable beef soup for supper. Gradually my attention focused more and more on what I was doing as the little girls seemed to be happily playing together. Only occasionally did Latisha break my concentration with a bossy comment to tell Penelope what colors to use.
They seemed so busy that there was little talking between them—just a few mumbles back and forth—until Latisha screeched, “What! Great-Granny, did you hear that! This girl’s almost got my name!”
“What?” I asked, smiling at Latisha’s imagination. “How does Penelope’s name sound like yours?”
“’Cause, Miss Lady, her name’s not Penelope, which I’m glad of ’cause it’s not much of a name to start with. Her name’s Lisha, almost ’xactly like mine! We could be twins.”
Intrigued, Lillian and I gathered around the table as Latisha said, “Lisha, write your name down. Let ’em see what it is.”
Penelope, or as it seemed, Lisha, gripped a number 2 pencil and, bearing down hard, printed on a page from the coloring book the name ALICIA, which when pronounced did, indeed, sound close to Latisha.
“Well, my goodness,” I said as a few worrisome things began to clear up. “Lillian, this child’s not hard of hearing at all. She just doesn’t respond to the wrong name, as neither you nor I would either. I expect that Tonya changed her name in the same high-handed way she’s done everything else. Not,” I hurriedly added, “that I’m being critical, but . . . Well, sweetheart, which name do you prefer?”
For the first time, I saw the beginnings of a smile on the child’s face. “Alicia,” she whispered.
“Then, around here you will be Alicia, and we’ll tell your grandmother that you have a beautiful name all your own.”
But, I thought to myself, of all the thoughtless things to do, it would be to change a child’s name in midstream, so to speak. It was as if the child’s basic identity was unacceptable and had to be altered. What in the world had Tonya been thinking? Probably, I thought somewhat unkindly, she assumed a family name would endear the child to Mildred, but so far that hadn’t seemed to have worked so well.
After a lunch of peanut butter and banana sandwiches, eaten with a lot of giggles, the little girls went upstairs to the room that Lillian used when she stayed the night and where Latisha kept a few toys. When I went up to the bathroom, I heard them talking—Alicia almost as much as Latisha.
At one point, Latisha said, “Now you be the mother, and I’ll be the baby.” Then in an even higher-pitched voice, “Wah, wah, I want my bottle.” Giggles broke out from both girls. It was the first time I’d heard Penelope—I mean, Alicia—laugh, so I smiled to myself and went about my business.
Grateful for a successful playdate, I went back downstairs, getting more and more indignant with each step.
“Lillian,” I said when I entered the kitchen, “I can’t stand this. I’m going to march myself over to Mildred’s and tell her that absolutely nothing is wrong with that child. Not only can she hear as well as anyone, she’s perfectly normal in every way. And not only that, I’m going to tell her that Penelope is now Alicia and always has been. And if Tonya doesn’t like it, she can speak to me. And I’m going to tell Mildred that she has to curb her tongue and quit making snide remarks about either Tonya or Alicia. If she can’t bring herself to warm up to that little girl, better that she send her back to Tonya. I am not going to stand by and watch as Mildred thinks only of herself and how she’s being put upon.”
I snatched a coat from the closet and headed for the door. “I may lose a friendship, but that’s bett
er than damaging a child for life.”
Chapter 20
I should’ve known better. Mildred did not take kindly to criticism of her social skills, going so far as to lecture me for misunderstanding her. Still, I said what I’d come to say, most of which seemed to go right over her head. That, though, was better than enraging her. Maybe some of it would eventually sink in, although at the time Mildred pounced on the name change and ignored everything else I said.
“Alicia?” she asked, frowning. “Then why in the world would Tonya tell me it was Penelope?”
“Think about it,” I said, in no mood to commiserate about the giddiness of a failed potter-turned-reality-TV starlet.
“Oh,” Mildred said as if suddenly enlightened. “Giving her my grandmother’s name was Tonya’s way of including her in the Beasley family. How thoughtful of her!”
“Undoubtedly,” I said dryly, as my eyes rolled back in my head.
“Well, now,” Mildred went on, “I wonder if it should be Penelope Alicia Beasley or Alicia Penelope Beasley. Think how important a girl’s initials are since they’ll go on so much of her trousseau. Hers will be either PAB or APB, neither of which is very auspicious. With PAB, I’d always think of pabulum, and I think APB stands for something in law enforcement.”
“All points bulletin,” I said, having once or twice in past years been the subject of such a designation. “But speaking of names, what does she call you?”
“Me? Why, nothing so far, but at least she speaks English—when she speaks at all.”
“It’s the grandmother’s prerogative, you know,” I said, “to decide what the grandchildren should call her.”
“I haven’t thought about it,” Mildred said. “What do you think?”
“Well, I’ve heard Granny, Grams, Gammie, and Grandmommy . . .” I stopped at the face she made at the suggestions. “What about Nana? That’s a sweet name.”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t know to whom she was speaking. Grand-Mère is a possibility, but, no, I’ll stick with Grandmother since it’s been foisted on me anyway. There’s a certain distinction about it.”
Yes, I thought, and a certain distance about it, too, but I let it pass.
“So,” Mildred went on, “she’s not deaf at all? That’s good news because I can cancel her appointment with the audiologist. I wasn’t looking forward to that, anyway. Well, Julia,” she said, shifting in her chair, “I’ve finally gotten some papers from Tonya by FedEx, and I have to tell you that nothing looks very legitimate. I wouldn’t be surprised if we have to send her back, but I’ve already called my lawyers in Atlanta to put them on the case. It seems that Penelope, oops, I guess I mean Alicia, has been in an orphanage somewhere in South America. How Tonya found her, I don’t know, and I don’t know what her legal status is in this country. Tonya says that her attorneys have it well in hand.
“Anyway,” she went on with a wry twist of her mouth, “the child is of South American heritage of some sort, which is of some relief to me. There’re certainly some very high-ranking families of South American origin, and Alicia has the fine facial features that are their hallmark.” Mildred sat back with a sigh of contentment. “And the name, Alicia, indicates a certain social standing, don’t you think? I should’ve known that Tonya wouldn’t have just picked up someone off the street. I’m much relieved to know that she chose not just a physically normal child but perhaps a child of some standing. How good of you to have recognized that.”
“I’m happy to’ve been of help,” I said as I mentally threw up my hands.
* * *
—
“Lillian,” I said as I entered my kitchen and began to undo my coat, “it is absolutely amazing how we can talk ourselves into believing what we want to believe. Mildred Allen is one of the most clear-eyed women I know, yet right there before my eyes she convinced herself that Alicia is of noble birth. But,” I went on, hanging my coat on the back of a chair, “I guess if it works for her, it shouldn’t matter to me. And it doesn’t, because whatever makes that child more desirable, acceptable, or whatever to her has to be a good thing. I just kept my mouth shut.”
“It’s pro’bly a good thing you did,” Lillian said, “’cause sometimes you jus’ have to let people find out what’s what for theirselves. Tellin’ ’em don’t do no good. Jus’ give it some time, Miss Julia, that little girl’ll make her own way.”
“She’s a sweet little thing, isn’t she? Not a bit of trouble, and Latisha seemed to really take to her, don’t you think?”
“She did, an’ she’s ready to do it again. One thing, though, we was both wonderin’ about. Where’s Alicia goin’ to school?”
“That’s a good question,” I said, sitting at the table. “I assume she’ll go to the local elementary school, but Mildred hasn’t said. She’ll have to be tested to determine what grade she’s in. Mildred should get on to that right away.” I leaned my head on my hand, then said, “I’d better mention it to her because she’s been so taken up with all that’s wrong with the child that she can’t think of what she should be doing to help her.”
“Well,” Lillian said, “now I think of it, I better mention that Miss Etta Mae wants you to call her.”
“Oh, good,” I said, rising. “Maybe there’s some good news for a change.”
There wasn’t, for when I returned Etta Mae’s phone call, she immediately said, “You won’t believe this, but Lurline’s been dancing all around her office. She told us that somebody else is interested in The Handy Home Helpers—I mean, besides the Dollar Store people. And Lurline thinks that’ll make the Dollar Store eager to snatch it up before this new somebody can get it. What’re we going to do, Miss Julia?”
“Well, wait a minute, Etta Mae,” I said. “Does Lurline know who this new somebody is?”
“No’m, just that somebody else wanted to look at the business records.”
“That would’ve been us, remember?”
“I thought of that, but it doesn’t matter if it is or not, all it’s doing is making her think she can hike up the price. Or at least that she won’t have to lower the price. She’s tickled to death thinking there’ll be a bidding war. What’re we going to do?”
“Not a thing,” I said. “Now, listen, Etta Mae, I don’t think the Dollar Store is all that interested. If her place had met all their needs, they would’ve already made an offer—not what she’s asking by a long shot, but they would be in negotiations. And they’re not, are they?”
“I don’t guess so.”
“So Lurline can dance all she wants, because so far it seems that no one has made an offer and that includes us. Just hold on, Etta Mae. If the Dollar Store people want to meet her outlandish price, then more power to them. They’ll close The Handy Home Helpers because all they’ll want is the property, and you and I will step in and open a new home care business of our own. How does that sound?”
“Um, real good, I guess,” Etta Mae said. “Real scary, though.”
“Don’t worry about it. Let’s wait a few more days till we hear what Mr. Blair, C. J. Sims, and Sam think the business is worth.”
“Well, that’s a problem. I called Mr. Sims’s office for an appointment and his secretary said he wasn’t taking any new clients. I could go back to H&R Block, I guess.”
“No, just wait. He’s taking new clients though he doesn’t know it yet. He’ll call you in a few days, and as far as Lurline is concerned, let her think what she wants to . . .”
“She thinks she should’ve asked for more.”
“She’ll get over that when the Dollar Store buys something else and our offer comes in.”
“Well, okay, but I get all jittery thinking what’ll happen when she finds out it’s me who wants her business.”
“Oh, I doubt that, Etta Mae. She’ll be thrilled to have it off her hands so she can move to Florida. It won’t matter to her who gets it
.”
“Maybe, but you don’t know her like I do.”
With that, I launched into another encouraging lecture, reminding Etta Mae that she was fully capable of stepping into Lurline’s shoes as soon as we could get rid of her and that she shouldn’t feel we were doing anything underhanded by not disclosing our interest.
“That’s the way these things are done,” I said. “Everybody plays their cards close to the vest. It all depends on how quickly Lurline wants to move to Florida. If she’s not in a hurry, she can string it out for a year or so until somebody meets her price. Or if nobody does, she can just close it down or stay in business herself.”
“Oh, do you think she’ll do that?” Etta Mae sounded as if she was near tears at the thought.
“No, I don’t, but here’s something you can do. Keep reminding her of how beautiful and warm Florida is, especially on one of our really cold days. Tell her how you envy her being able to live there. If she feels in competition with you—which you seem to think she does—she’ll be more eager to do something you can’t do, which is to move to the Sunshine State.”
“I hadn’t thought of it like that,” Etta Mae murmured.
“That,” I told her, “is because you’re a nice, trusting person, Etta Mae, and unfamiliar with the way business is done.”
Chapter 21
After several days of gusty winds, heavy rains, and a few icy mornings, the weather turned mild again and we stopped worrying about the heating bills sending us to the poor house. Actually, I’d gotten over worrying about heating bills soon after interring Wesley Lloyd Springer, my late first husband. The first thing he’d done every day when he came home from work was to turn down the thermostat. The man had been absolutely loaded, the extent of which I hadn’t known until he’d passed, yet he could not bear to spend an extra penny on heating the house.
The first winter he was in his grave, I kept the thermostat set at a comfortable temperature and turned it up when I wanted to. I much preferred to pay Duke Power than freeze to death.
