Beholding Bee (17 page)

We climb into the back of her mama’s automobile and go bumping along many back roads. I have never seen so many farms and cows and horses grazing in meadows and alongside stone walls the way we see when we are in the places Ruth Ellen’s mama knows about.

Ruth Ellen and Sammy hang out the windows looking for something by the side of the road, and Ruth Ellen’s mama drives real slow. Ruth Ellen asks if I want to help and I say okay, but what the heck are we looking for?

“There’s some.” Ruth Ellen points out the window and her mama stops the car. I look into the woods to see what it is we are stopping for.

“Right there, can’t you see it all?”

Sammy opens his door and airplanes outside, making very loud propeller sounds. Peabody jumps out of my arms and flies out after him, yapping.

“Shush,” says Ruth Ellen’s mama, “you’ll wake them.”

I look at Ruth Ellen. She is giggling as she climbs out
of the car. Her mama pulls a wagon out of the trunk. Before I can say Jack Sprat, there go the three of them over to a bunch of old logs left by maybe the power company when it was cutting limbs away from the electric lines, and then all three of them are kneeling down and whispering to the logs.

“There are fairies living around the wood, so we have to be very careful when we pick it up and carry it back to the car,” Ruth Ellen tells me when she sees me with my mouth open.

“And we do have to ask their permission,” says her mama. “We don’t want to take any wood that they need.”

I would think it might be a little upsetting to have your friends from school see you picking up logs left by the power company and then whispering to fairies, but not Ruth Ellen. She and her mama are telling the fairies all about how they are going to make Ruth Ellen’s favorite wild apple pie for supper tonight because her mama got her sugar ration stamps at the Ration Board on her way home from work yesterday.

“You need to whisper to them. They don’t like loud noises.”

I shrug. Then we load all the wood into the wagon and stack it in the trunk. We drive to Red’s Feed and Hardware and it doesn’t take me longer than a jackrabbit to figure out what we are doing.

“I’ll give you fifty cents for it all,” says the shopkeeper, looking over our pile when Ruth Ellen’s mama opens the trunk.

“A dollar for half of it,” she says, her voice crisp. “I need half for cooking.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Mrs. Deerfield.” He winks at
her but she pretends not to notice and smooths the wrinkles in her dress instead.

“Deal?” she asks.

The shopkeeper nods.

“Done,” says Ruth Ellen’s mama, smiling like she has gotten a very good deal for all that work. We all unload half the wood and stack it up and we follow the shopkeeper into the store, where he opens the cash register and pulls out the money. I see the moment he recognizes me from the day I bought the pig corn. He tries to get a look at my diamond, but my hair is tight.

Ruth Ellen’s mama sees everything. She reaches up and touches my shoulder and pulls me close. I let my eyes wander over to the butterscotch candies sitting on the counter. She notices that, too. Then she goes over and picks out a butterscotch for each of us. Even Peabody.

72

It is a very big production to bake a wild apple pie. It takes the rest of the day.

First, you have to stop in an old field on the way home and pick a hundred thousand wild apples, being careful of all the yellow jackets buzzing around. That takes all afternoon, partly because I have to keep ahold of Peabody, who wants to go swimming in an old farm pond at the bottom of the hill, and this gets me to thinking about Pauline and about the hole in my heart and I look around at the others to see if they can see it, too. I catch Ruth Ellen’s mama watching me a few times, and I think maybe she can.

Our next job is to make sure Sammy doesn’t eat all the apples before we cut the bad spots out.

Then we pull out the stems and peel and slice them all and pour them into a bowl with flour, cinnamon, nutmeg, and the rationed sugar. Then we make the crust and roll it out and pour the apples in and bake it. When it is finally out of the wood oven, sparkling from the sugar sprinkled on the crust, Ruth Ellen’s mama sets the table and calls us all to dinner. We each get a big mug of cold milk and a big slice of warm pie.

We put our napkins on our laps and Ruth Ellen’s mama says grace, which considering the beautiful pie in front of us is a very nice touch.

“Take care of Papa,” she whispers.

“And tell him we love him,” says Ruth Ellen.

“Amen,” says Sammy. He doesn’t wait any longer to stuff a big forkful of pie in his mouth. “Wowie,” he says.

“Holy cow,” I say. “Mrs. Potter would love this.”

After a few bites, Ruth Ellen’s mama says, “I didn’t think Old Man Bradford would ever sell that house. It stood empty for so long. I am glad somebody is living in it. Was it a lot of work to get it ready?”

“Oh no,” I say, reaching for another bite. “My aunts had it all ready for me when I came.”

“I will drive you home,” says Ruth Ellen’s mama when we are done and the dishes are washed and put away. “I wouldn’t want your aunts to worry, with you walking home on a dark road.”

I get the front seat on the way home, and Ruth Ellen’s mama tells us a long story about stars and how they are all very beautiful but some are different than the others, and how that makes them very, very special. “The red star is the one folks remember,” she says, pulling up to my house. “Look at it.”

I look heavenward. A red star overhead is blinking, maybe even winking. Ruth Ellen’s mama leans over and hugs me good night. It is very nice.

“You can come stay by us anytime you want,” she says, and even in the starlight I can see her eyes have caring for me all over them.

“Can I pick you up Monday morning for school?”

I shake my head. “I am not going back,” I whisper, and I pull Peabody into my arms and climb out of the car. I turn toward the house. There is a candle burning in the window.
I think I maybe see Mrs. Potter sitting on the porch waiting, her shawl pulled tight.

“I’ll pick you up at seven on my way to the factory,” she says, ignoring what I’ve said. “Make sure you’re ready, sweetheart. It takes Ruth Ellen quite a while to get to her class. Maybe you could help her carry her books?”

“Oh, Mama, I don’t need help.” Ruth Ellen folds her arms over herself, but her mama acts like she is already thinking about her factory job and about all the parachutes she will be sewing for the war effort. “We’ll see you at seven, then.”

And before I get a chance to answer, Ruth Ellen’s mama is driving off and I hug Peabody close to my heart and lift the heavy latch on the gate and walk past all the thorny roses. It is a house with a lot of protection.

73

It turns out things are harder for Ruth Ellen than I was thinking. She has to carry her books at the same time she is trying to open the door to the school and rush ahead in the funny skip-drag-her-thick-shoe-to-the-front-and-skip-again way she walks. Plus, everyone is always looking at her. Ruth Ellen can use some help.

I hold the door for her and take half of her books. It is hard to do this and hold my hair at the same time.

We only get a few steps before I see Francine with her friends. She is the tallest. I take a deep breath.

At traveling shows, it is always the same. The biggest girl speaks first. The others stand just the tiniest bit behind. Not too far, because the tall girl needs logs to lean on. She would not be doing this if she were alone.

I hug the books to my chest with one hand and pull my hair tighter across my face with the other and try and look at the floor. Ruth Ellen skip-hops along and grabs my arm.

Francine steps out and blocks our way. I try and steer us around her. I pull my hair tighter. I want Pauline. Or Bobby.

The other girls circle around us, but Betsy backs up a little to make more room for Ruth Ellen. All the other children in the hall notice what is happening. You can tell because they look up for a minute, see what is going on, and then look at the floor again and hurry past. They must be
used to Francine. I could run back outside, but I don’t think Ruth Ellen would make it.

“I never saw anybody who looked like you before,” Francine whispers. I take a few steps back. Ruth Ellen’s eyes are big as supper plates.

“Oh, don’t run away. We won’t hurt you. Will we?” She looks back at the other girls. One has pink ribbons running all through her hair. The other wears thick glasses like Bobby.

“Come on, Francine. We’re going to be late to class.” Betsy turns and walks down the hall. The others edge up and push me closer to the wall, getting me all wedged in. I can smell somebody’s sweet pea perfume. I want to go home. I want Mrs. Potter and Mrs. Swift and Peabody and my high bed. I want to hide under the covers and let my little dog hide with me.

I am shaking. I hold tight to the books while Francine moves even closer.

“You get burned or something?” Her voice is low so no teachers can hear.

“Why don’t you just shut up?” Ruth Ellen’s voice is quivering. She moves closer to me, but Francine pushes her away.

I swish my mouth, working up a pile of saliva and moving it down my tongue, just like Bobby taught me. I pucker my lips and when Francine begins to laugh I blow as hard as I can, aiming for her eye. A clear sticky pile of goo lands on her cheek and drips down her chin.

Bobby was right, I think as I grab Ruth Ellen’s hand and hurry away. Knowing how to spit can come in pretty handy.

74

We are all in class one morning with our hands on our hearts saying the Pledge of Allegiance when Ruth Ellen slumps against her desk and moans, “Oh, ohhhhh, ohhhhhhh.” She lays her face against the wooden top of our table and starts to cry.

I reach over and touch her shoulder. “What is it?”

Mrs. Spriggs drops her knitting and hurries over and keeps asking what is the matter and then Susan wraps herself around Ruth Ellen’s leg and Jonathan comes over and tries to wedge in and even Thomas and Robert are looking like tears are about to fall.

“The doctor tightened th-th-the brace last night. It hurts sooooo much.” Ruth Ellen’s tears blur her face. She shakes. I take her hand and hold it. Big bruises cover her leg.

Susan starts crying just looking at all the tears and she keeps reaching for Ruth Ellen and Jonathan rushes to get a glass of water from the water pitcher even though nobody asked him to.

“She needs to lie down.” I look around the room for a good spot. Thomas and Robert are already pulling the blanket off the window and spreading it on the floor by the Victrola.

“I should telephone your mother to pick you up,” Mrs. Spriggs says.

Ruth Ellen shakes her head. “She’s working at the
factory.” She sniffles and looks at me. “Do you think your aunts could come get me and take me to your house?”

I am quick to shake my head. My aunts are a secret I can’t share, and they can’t help me now. “They don’t have a car,” I whisper.

Mrs. Spriggs hunts through her purse and pulls out two aspirins for Ruth Ellen. “Well now, what shall we do to keep our mind off things?”

“Play tag,” says Robert.

“Jump on trains,” says Thomas. He looks at Robert and breaks out laughing.

“Play music,” says Jonathan. He rockets over to the Victrola.

“There’s no records,” Thomas says. And that is true. There are no books, either, other than a couple of Dick and Jane books and a dictionary in the wooden cupboard. Sometimes Mrs. Spriggs puts a towel over the Victrola so we can dry our watercolor pictures on top.

“Well, I’ve got a lot of lessons to plan,” Mrs. Spriggs says.

I wonder what those lessons could be, since all the time I’ve been in this class, the only things we have done are color and paint with watercolors and make clay finger pots. She goes over and picks up her knitting needles and sits in her rocking chair. She told us she is making a baby blanket and as soon as her daughter has her baby, she will move to Florida. Good riddance, I think.

“I could read,” I tell her. “But not those Dick and Janes. Aren’t there any others?”

“You could go into the other class,” says Ruth Ellen, propping herself up a little on her arm and looking like
maybe the aspirin is starting to work. “They have books in there. Please, Bee. I would love a good story.”

This of course means I will have to parade in front of Francine.

“Oh no,” I say. “I can make one up. Listen to this.” I settle back on my edge of the blanket.

“No,” says Ruth Ellen. “I want a real story you read to me.”

75

It is hard to put yourself before the lions. It takes several deep breaths to find the courage to walk into the den.

The class is chanting. “Ten times ten is one hundred. Ten times eleven is one hundred and ten. Ten times twelve is one hundred and twenty.” I pull my hair tight.

Francine runs her eyes all over my cheek as soon as I knock softly and walk in the door. She dirties my diamond just by looking. I stretch my hair like there is a rubber band across my face.

The teacher comes over. “What is it? I am in the middle of a mathematics lesson.”

“A reading book,” I say, my eyes watching the floor, not daring to look up. “We would like a book.”

“The retards would like to read,” says a boy in the back of the room, laughing.

“Sit down, William.” The teacher points to a bookshelf. “Go pick something out. But hurry. I am teaching a class.”

To get to the bookcase I have to walk past five rows of desks. I can’t think from all the whispering and pointing and giggling. I don’t take time to look. I pull the first one.

76

It takes a while to quiet my heart. When it is still, I begin:

“
Heidi
. Chapter One.”

Susan gets up from where she is lying beside Ruth Ellen on the blanket and comes and sits in my lap so she can watch what I am doing. Jonathan goes over by the coat hooks.

“Get back here,” I tell him. “Now, sit down and listen.”

Our teacher barely looks up from her knitting. Her baby blanket is now as big as her lap.