Semiprecious Page 4

  We passed an orchard and a rusty mailbox with its lid hanging open. Mama pulled off the main road and onto a dirt lane that led to a run-down house half-hidden behind a row of lilac bushes. We had come to the edge of the livable world. “Well, girls,” Mama announced, tapping the horn, “we’re here.”

  The front door opened, and out came Aunt Julia. She wore a pair of thick-soled boots minus their laces, a faded denim dress, and an apron trimmed with yellow rickrack. She was carrying a sharp knife. Not the most promising of beginnings.

  “Melanie!” she cried.

  Mama got out of the pickup and said, “Hey there, Julia. How are you?”

  “Alive and kicking.” Aunt Julia stuck her head into the open window of the truck and gave us the once-over. “So,” she said. “The precious gems. The only other time I saw you two, weren’t neither one of you bigger than a minute.”

  “And whose fault is that?” Mama rounded the truck and gave our aunt an awkward pat on the shoulder. She tried to keep her voice light, but I could tell from the way she fiddled with her hair that she was nervous. “I’ve begged you for years to visit.”

  “Last time I looked, the roads go both ways.” Aunt Julia smiled, but her eyes were wary. Watching her and Mama was like watching two boxers circling the ring before the first punch.

  Me and Opal got out of the truck. I finger-combed my hair and smoothed the wrinkles in my shirt, trying to make a good impression. Opal crossed her arms and ankles and leaned against the fender. Aunt Julia said, “Opal is her mama made over, but you, Miss Garnet, are the spittin’ image of your daddy. How’s he doing, anyhow?”

  “Same as always,” Mama put in quickly. “Working too much. You know how men are.”

  Aunt Julia nodded like she knew exactly what Mama meant, though as far as I knew, our aunt had never been married.

  Mama took our suitcase out of the truck.

  “I’ll take that,” Aunt Julia said. She folded her knife and dropped it into her apron pocket. “Go on in. I’ve made supper.”

  “I can’t stay,” Mama said. “I need to get to Nashville. I’ve got about a billion things to do. Find a place to stay, do some laundry,and ”—she paused for dramatic effect—“find a place to cut my demo record. I swear, I get so excited just thinking about it, I nearly pee in my pants.”

  “Melanie!”

  “Well, I do! Just think, Julia, this time next year, I’ll be singing at the Ryman like Cordell Jackson. And you’ll be there in the front row. You and my two precious gems. You’ll see.”

  “What about Daddy?” Opal asked, narrowing her eyes.

  Mama looked away. “Well, of course, Daddy, too. If he wants to come.” She threw Aunt Julia one of her Hollywood smiles. “Opal’s fourteen. There’s no pleasing her.”

  Then Mama grabbed Opal and me and hugged us hard. “Be good, and mind your aunt Julia. I’ll be back to get you as soon as I’m settled.”

  “Before school starts?” I asked. If I was going to have to go to a new school up in Nashville, I wanted to be there from Day One. It’s no use trying to make friends once everybody has staked out their territory.

  “I’ll try. Just wait till you see the stores in Nashville. We’ll have ourselves a big time, shopping for new stuff.” She turned to my sister. “Opal? You look after Garnet. And don’t give Aunt Julia a hard time. Just remember, you’re family, not guests. I expect you to help out around here.”

  Aunt Julia shaded her eyes with one hand. “Drive carefully, Melanie. And keep your doors locked. It’ll be dark soon and the world is full of crazy people.”

  “Amen,” Opal muttered.

  If Mama heard that, she didn’t let on. She climbed into the truck, took an oversize envelope out of the glove compartment, and handed it to Aunt Julia. Then she cranked the engine and made a U-turn in the yard. “You watch the mailbox, honey,” she said to me. “I’ll send you a real nice surprise. Bye-bye now!”

  Aunt Julia stood between Opal and me, our suitcase at her feet, Mama’s envelope tucked under her arm. “Wave bye to your mama, girls.”

  I couldn’t do it. I was too stunned at how fast my whole life had turned into something I could barely recognize, and it hurt too much to see Mama’s truck getting smaller and smaller until it was lost in a cloud of Oklahoma dust. I felt like Mama had dumped me on the moon and said, “There you go. Figure out how to survive.” I tried not to cry, but hot tears spilled down my face.

  “Don’t you dare start bawling,” Opal said, her voice tight. “She’s not worth it.”

  “Don’t bad-mouth your mama, Opal Jane,” Aunt Julia said. “She has her faults, but she’s the only mama you’ve got. Come on. Let’s go in.”

  We went up the porch steps. A gray cat sauntered out from under the porch swing and wrapped itself around Aunt Julia’s leg.

  “Get off me, Mozart,” she scolded. “I’m busy.”

  I reached down to pet him, but he hissed and arched his back like I’d gone after him with a pickax, and my tears came back. Even the stupid cat didn’t want me.

  “He’s not used to strangers,” Aunt Julia said. “Go on in. I reckon you’re hungry.”

  We went inside. Mozart shot past my legs and hid in the kitchen. Aunt Julia left our suitcase by the stairs and showed us to the table. It was set for four, with white dishes and glasses with yellow flowers etched on them. On shelves above the old-fashioned sink were jars of strawberry preserves, green beans, and purple beets. Cookbooks, a toaster, and a clock shaped like a rooster sat on the counter.

  “Sit down, you two,” our aunt said.

  I was anxious to call Daddy, but I folded my hands in my lap and tried not to look at the empty chair where Mama belonged. Aunt Julia switched on a light and clomped around in her heavy shoes getting napkins and filling our glasses with ice. Then she dished up enough food to feed the Confederate army: peas, tomatoes, fried okra, a roasted chicken, watermelon, and iced tea with lemon slices floating in it. It was the finest meal I’d seen since Mama’s birthday, and I told Aunt Julia so.

  “Don’t expect it every day,” she said.

  “No, ma’am, I won’t.”

  Aunt Julia picked up her fork. I kept my eyes on my plate. She said, “Well, what are you waiting for? Dig in.”

  We ate without saying much. After we finished, Opal and I helped with the dishes, and then Aunt Julia gave us a tour of the house. The living room was full of old-fashioned furniture, heavy and dark. There was a sofa with oak leaves carved into its wooden back, a floor lamp with gold tassels hanging off the shade, a piano, and an ancient radio in a wooden cabinet the size of a refrigerator.

  “No TV?” I whispered to Opal.

  Aunt Julia continued the tour down a dark hall that led to her room, a bathroom, and a back porch that faced the orchard.

  “Aunt Julia?” Opal said. “We need to call our daddy. He doesn’t know where we are.”

  “He knows. Your mama called him before she called Sunday Larson’s store to tell me she was on her way here with you.”

  “Do you work at Larson’s?”

  “No, Larson’s is the nearest phone, that’s all.”

  My sister went white as a slice of bread. “You don’t have a phone?”

  “Don’t need one.”

  Aunt Julia picked up our suitcase and motioned us up the stairs. “I’ve made up Melanie’s old room for you.”

  We went up the creaking stairs to a room with twin beds, a white painted dresser with an oval mirror, and a narrow closet squashed under the eaves. Two windows looked out to the apple orchard and a garden where dozens of pink and purple whirligigs twirled in the breeze.

  Aunt Julia saw me studying them and said, “I made those myself. Carving whirligigs is my hobby.”

  Which explained why she’d met us at the door with a knife in her hand. I thought of Charlie Twelvetrees and his magic carvings. It seemed like whittling was the major pastime in Willow Flats, Oklahoma.

  “Bathroom’s down the hall on your left,” Aunt Juli
a said. “Don’t use up all the hot water, and don’t leave your wet towels on the floor. I’m not running a hotel.”

  “Right,” Opal muttered. “In a hotel they have to be nice to you.”

  “What was that, Opal?” Aunt Julia said.

  “Nothing, Aunt Julia. Good night.”

  It was barely dark outside, but after two scorching days in the truck with Mama, I was dead tired. I brushed my teeth, splashed some water on my face, changed into my Longhorns nightshirt, and fell onto the bed. June bugs batted against the window screen. The smell of cut grass drifted on the breeze, reminding me of home. I thought of how happy Daddy had looked the night of Mama’s party, so excited to give her the vacuum cleaner, and his bewilderment when everything fell apart. I tried to cry without making noise, but Opal heard me anyway.

  “Garnet? Are you okay?”

  “I miss Daddy. I want to go home.”

  “Me too.” Opal sighed. “The dance is next Saturday. I’ll bet Linda already has a date. And I’m stranded out here in the sticks.”

  I wiped my eyes and counted on my fingers. “If Daddy left tomorrow, he could be here by Tuesday. We could still make it home in time.”

  “We have to find a phone! I’ll die if Waymon shows up at the dance and I’m not there.” Opal was quiet for a moment. The cicadas sang in the silence.

  “Aunt Julia hates us,” I said.

  “I think she’s just upset because Mama dumped us here with hardly any warning,” Opal said. “But guess what? I don’t care if she does hate us. I didn’t ask to come here.” She dug through the suitcase for her baby doll pj’s. “What’s with her shoes? They look like combat boots.”

  “Maybe that’s the style up here.”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me.” Opal pulled on her pj’s and got into bed. “Get some sleep, if you can.”

  I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, but everything felt all wrong. I wanted to be back in my own room, in my own bed that squeaked when I turned a certain way. I wanted the hum of traffic going past our house on Piney Road, and the voice of the TV newsman coming through the wall. And Mama in the kitchen, singing along with Elvis and Conway.

  Here in Oklahoma there was nothing but the sighs of the old house settling down for the night, the memory of Aunt Julia’s grim face, and the musty smell of an unused room. I could tell Opal was still awake, and it felt like we were the only two people in the world. I wondered if Mama was awake too. I imagined her driving along a dark, lonesome highway. Behind my closed eyelids was a map of red and blue lines taking her farther and farther away.

  “I wonder where Mama is by now,” I said.

  “Who cares?” Opal flopped onto her stomach. “Go to sleep, will you? I’m beat.”

  I must have finally slept, because the next thing I knew, Aunt Julia was standing in the room, pulling back the curtains, letting in the sun.

  “Wake up, you two! It’s Sunday morning, and going on ten o’clock. The Lord will be expecting to hear from us.”

  I stifled a groan. I could think of thirty-seven ways to spend a summer Sunday, and not one of them involved sitting on a hard bench listening to somebody yell at me for all the ways I had disappointed the Almighty since last week.

  In her bed Opal stirred. “Is it morning already?”

  “Morning’s nearly gone,” Aunt Julia said. “There’s time for cornflakes if you hurry.” She glanced at her watch. “You’ve got half an hour. It’s a long walk to the church.”

  Opal squinted at our aunt. “Did you say ‘walk’?”

  “I did indeed.”

  “Where’s your car?”

  “Don’t have one.”

  “Great,” Opal said. “That’s just peachy.”

  She stood up real slow and swayed for a minute, like an actress in a death scene. “Oooh. All of a sudden I feel woozy. Maybe I’d better not go.”

  “Nice try, Miss Barrymore,” our aunt said, “but no cigar.”

  “That’s all right,” Opal shot back. “I don’t smoke.”

  Aunt Julia pulled my pink skirt and white blouse and Opal’s blue dress out of the suitcase. “These will do. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

  She draped our clothes over the end of my bed. “Hurry up. I don’t want to be late.”

  When the door closed behind her, Opal fell onto her bed. “How much worse can our lives get? No TV, no car, and no phone. We might as well be in jail. I swear, when Mama comes back, I’m going to wring her neck for this.” She got up and grabbed a pair of panties out of the suitcase. “The sooner we call Daddy the better. I’ll shower first.”

  “Okay. Hey, Opal? Today’s Sunday.”

  “So?”

  “You’ve got your Tuesday panties.”

  “Ask me if I care.”

  We were so anxious to call Daddy that we broke our all-time speed record for getting ready. Half an hour later we were dressed, fed, and heading down the road with Aunt Julia. Opal marched ahead, her sandals kicking up little clouds of dust. Aunt Julia talked about tomatoes and her whirligigs and the new preacher. By the time we could see the church up ahead, a plain white building sitting in a patch of dead grass, we had learned all about Reverend Underwood and his redheaded wife, Arlene; their daughters, Faith and Hope; and their half-blind cocker spaniel, Smitty. We knew the rev drove a Buick and that he had gone to preacher school in Fort Worth, Texas.

  At the church door an old man in a shiny blue suit handed us a program. We went in and sat in the back row. “It’s cooler back here,” Aunt Julia said, settling into the pew.

  Huge, throbbing blisters had formed on both my heels. I slid my feet out of my sandals and looked around. Down front was Arlene the carrot-top, and two shorter redheads I figured must be the daughters. The taller of the two turned around like she had eyes in the back of her head and had caught me staring at her. She glanced at me like I was yesterday’s newspaper and whispered into her mother’s ear.

  Then a woman wearing a white dress and the world’s tallest beehive hairdo slid onto the piano bench, flipped through her sheet music, and began to play. The pews filled up. A baby wailed. Pretty soon after that the door opened and Mr. Underwood came in.

  He lifted his arms. We stood and sang. Prayed and sat. Heat pressed onto me like a heavy curtain. Sweat trickled down my back. I stole a glance at my sister. Opal was busy peeling off her nail polish; hot-pink flakes of it curled and fell onto her lap. I picked up a cardboard fan off the pew and handed it to her. Aunt Julia got out her glasses and opened her Bible.

  Mr. Underwood cleared his throat and I braced myself for the usual warnings about sin, and how if people didn’t shape up, they would not go to be with Jesus when they died but would instead spend eternity in h-e-double-l. But he shuffled a stack of newspaper clippings and began to read.

  “It says here, in the Daily Oklahoman, that Negro children were enrolled for the first time last week at a white public school in Virginia.” He held the clipping between his fingers and let it fall. It drifted down and landed on the carpet right in front of the three redheads.

  “And we’ve got that young senator from Massachusetts who wants to be the first Catholic president of the United States of America. They say if he’s elected, he’s planning to send a man to the moon and back.”

  A whole handful of clippings rained onto the carpet like birthday party confetti. “Think of that,” the preacher said. “A man on the moon, when it hasn’t been but fifty-odd years since the Wright brothers invented the airplane.”

  I fanned my face. The backs of my legs were stuck to the pew. You’d think the preacher would have made short work of his sermon, seeing how miserable we were, but he was just getting started.

  “It’s scary when change rains down on us faster than we can comprehend it,” he said. “Who can know what tomorrow will bring?”

  As desperate as I was to get out of there, I found myself agreeing with him. Just Thursday night we’d had a birthday party for Mama. And look at what all had changed since then.
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br />   He went on talking. I tried to pay attention, but my thoughts kept circling back to Mama and what she’d done, and to Daddy, drifting around sad and alone somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico. I wanted to believe that Mr. Underwood was right, and God was in charge of everything, but it felt as if God had been called somewhere else on a big emergency and left the Hubbard family on its own.

  Finally the preacher ran out of steam. We sang “Rock of Ages” and the service was over. I shoved my feet into my sandals, peeled myself off the pew, and followed Opal and Aunt Julia into the sunlight.

  Aunt Julia mopped her face and checked her watch. “Pot roast’ll be done by the time we get home. Are you girls hungry?”

  “A little,” I said. “But could we call my daddy first?”

  “I don’t see what good it will do, but all right.” She dropped her handkerchief into her purse and snapped it shut. “Larson’s is closed on Sunday, but you can use the phone at the Texaco station if you don’t mind walking some more.”

  Pain shot through my blistered feet, but I wanted to talk to Daddy so bad I didn’t care if they rotted off. “I don’t mind.”

  Just then the preacher came out of the crowd and shook Aunt Julia’s hand.

  Aunt Julia introduced Opal and me. “The girls are visiting for a while.”

  He smiled down at us. “Welcome to Willow Flats. My daughters are here somewhere. They’re about your age. Maybe you’d like to come to our young people’s hayride on Saturday night. We’ll take the wagon out to the Cooleys’ farm for hymn singing, and come back here for peach ice cream.”

  “Thanks,” Opal said. “But we won’t be staying that long.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Our church needs more young people. If your plans change, just come on over. We’ll leave here around six thirty.”

  Aunt Julia said, “If we’re going to the Texaco, we should get started. I don’t want my roast to burn.”

  Mr. Underwood said, “Pardon me, Miss Julia. You’re walking all that way?”

  “It’s important,” I said.

  “I’m used to it,” Aunt Julia said.