Billie Standish Was Here (12 page)

I winced. When she caught me off guard she could still make me wonder just when it was that she decided to stop taking care of me altogether.

M
  iss Lydia was waiting at the foot of her sidewalk when Mama and I left the next morning. I had tried on everything the previous evening and settled on my favorite new outfit, but I felt like I was wearing overalls when I saw her. She had on a shirtwaist dress in an autumn-leaves print and brown old-lady shoes I'd never seen. The finishing touches were a brown velvet hat with one of those little veils in front and white wrist-length gloves.

I'd never seen white gloves outside of church occasions and it made me want to stand up straighter and call her “ma'am.” I knew people dressed up to show respect for an occasion, but I had never seen that it worked the other way—clothes can draw respect, too.

Miss Lydia polished Mama's halo all the way to Milton, thanking her for letting her “good help” get away for a couple of days during the busiest season of the year. It was what Mama needed just then and I silently blessed Miss Lydia for it.

And then we were at the station and Miss Lydia was turning our bags over to a colored man dressed like a member of a marching band and Mama was using her stern voice to warn me to behave, like otherwise I was going to give Miss Lydia trouble, and Miss Lydia was back from buying our tickets and we were climbing those shiny metal steps and deciding where to sit and waving out the window to Mama waving back and then watching her get smaller and smaller until the train rounded a curve and we couldn't see anything but muddy grain fields out any window.

The train, once it got up to full speed, had a rhythm and a sway that felt a lot different from a car. There was that to get used to and surroundings to be inspected. The conductor came around to punch our tickets and a man with skin dark as an eggplant came down the aisle selling reading material and oranges and peanuts off a cart. Miss Lydia bought a Kansas City
Star
from him and he touched the brim of his cap before he moved on.

We'd been moving a little over a half hour when Miss Lydia cleared her throat. “Billie Marie,” she said, “I need to tell you something. This trip isn't entirely about sightseeing and such.”

I was looking out the window and said, “Yeah, I know. You said you had some business at a bank.” When she didn't answer I turned and saw that hadn't been what she meant. The expression on her face made my heart pick up its pace.

“I made you an appointment with that Dr. Matassa I wrote to in the city. We're to be at his office this afternoon at three o'clock.”

“Why?” It was no more than a squeak.

“Now, then, there's probably nothing to worry about at all.” There were only six other people in the train car, but Miss Lydia was talking low. She glanced around, then said, “Here.” She opened her purse and handed me an envelope. “This'll explain it better than I can and without being overheard.”

It was a letter from Dr. Matassa. The first paragraph answered “your question as to whether a girl could become pregnant before her menses commence.” I gulped and read, “A woman will ovulate approximately two weeks before her first, and every, period. So, yes, if she happened to have intercourse around that time, she could get pregnant and have a baby before she ever menstruated.”

He went on to say the chances against it were astronomical. I had tears in my eyes, thinking,
But the odds wouldn't mean a hill of beans to you if you turned out to be the one girl in a million it happened to.

There was more. “It would be prudent to bring the girl in for an examination, in any case . . .” the second page began. Then my vision started swimming and I only saw single words here and there. Words about injury and diseases I'd never heard of. I didn't want to make a scene, but I couldn't stop the tears that were dripping down my face.

“Here, now,” Miss Lydia said and reached into the wrist of her left glove for a small hankie. “There's no use of that now.” But I could see tears welling up in her eyes as she dabbed at my cheeks. “It's likely nothing at all. Nothing at all. This is just to make sure. That's all. That's all.” She was crooning like you do trying to put a baby to sleep.

“So . . . he . . . knows?” I whispered.

“Well, sort of.” Miss Lydia looked past me out the window. “I was afraid that if I just asked him like I was curious about whether or not . . . you know . . .” I nodded. “. . . he might not see a need to get back to me with an answer. But I didn't exactly tell him the truth, either.”

“So . . . what did you tell him?”

“That you are my granddaughter. That I am your legal guardian.”

“But who did you say . . . ?” I asked.

“I didn't. I just didn't say.”

“Oh.” I couldn't think of any more to say so I just rode along, steeping in this new worry. Miss Lydia folded the letter back into its envelope and put it inside her pocketbook, then went back to staring out the window. Every time I snuck a quick glance, her face told me she saw nothing of the passing countryside. Finally she sighed and turned toward me with a look of resignation. “Part of the paper?” She was unfolding it.

I said, “Sure, I'll take the section with the funnies.”

And I would bet you she read as many words as I did before we reached the station in Kansas City. Exactly none.

T
  he Kansas City train station was about a hundred times bigger than the one in Milton and I had never been in such a bustle. I felt pretty grown-up walking alongside Miss Lydia with a suitcase in each hand like I was her personal attendant or something. But if anyone noticed us at all we probably looked like what we were pretending to be: a grandma and granddaughter. I'm sure nobody would have believed we were really a murderer and a little girl who might be pregnant.

Outside, Miss Lydia stepped to the curb and raised her hand to hail a cab, and it took work not to fall over in shock.

I guess I had pictured everyplace we were going—hotel, restaurants, theater, department store, whatever—all on the same block. I was conditioned to what you might call condensed geography. But if I
had
thought about transportation, I would have bet we'd be riding the bus.

“The Muehlbach Hotel,” Miss Lydia pronounced once we were seated behind the driver in the bright yellow cab, and something caught in my throat. There were commercials for the Muehlbach on the evening news back home and it looked like the fanciest place in the world.

I had brought ten dollars with me from the Lydia wages I'd saved, and I began to wish I'd brought all I had. “Miss Lydia, just so you know,” I whispered, “I'd be fine someplace cheaper.”

She answered in full voice, “Well, I wouldn't.” She turned to me and her eyes sparkled. “Just so you know.”

Some sort of wordless ceremony took place when we pulled up in front of the Muehlbach. I felt like I was in one of those dreams where you find yourself on stage but you haven't learned the dance steps. Our bags were out and on the sidewalk, money changed hands, a uniformed man materialized and took our luggage inside. A man dressed like a military officer opened a brass-trimmed door next to the revolving door spinning with folks hurrying around and around and Miss Lydia inclined her chin when the doorman tipped his hat. I kept my mouth shut and tried not to fall down.

The lobby was everything it looked like on TV and more. Chandeliers twinkled like stars, the colors were richer, the huge tropical plants greener. I had seen it so many times it felt like I'd been there before.

Miss Lydia, head high, looked neither left nor right. She marched to the front desk where the man who had taken our bags was standing at attention. She slipped something from her glove into his palm. He nodded and smiled before striding away.

She pulled off her gloves, finger by finger, and arranged them on the marble counter. She turned to me and winked.

“Yes, ma'am, how can I help you?” The man behind the desk had hair the color of gunmetal and sounded like he enjoyed listening to his own voice.

“Mrs. Avery Jenkins,” Miss Lydia replied, “and her granddaughter. You will find we have reservations.” Miss Lydia hadn't been talking like herself ever since we left Milton. Now she sounded like an old-time movie star.

The man did a double take too. “Mrs. Jenkins,” he said. His tone was twenty degrees warmer than before. “Of course. It's been too long since you've graced us with your presence.”

“I've not been back since I lost Mr. Jenkins. That's just over seven years now.”

The man bowed his head for a couple of seconds. He would have made a good preacher. They usually like the sound of their own voices too, and he had the sympathetic look down pat. But maybe he reminded me of church just because I could smell the carnation in his lapel and it reminded me of funerals.

“Our sincere condolences,” the man intoned. Their nods to one another were so deep it was almost a bow. “Let us see what we can do to make your stay with us as pleasant as possible.”

Another dance took place with me trying not to make any stupid steps, and we were in an elevator with mirrors on all the walls. Then we were getting out on the twelfth floor and stopping before a door marked 1214. The man carrying our suitcases put a key in the knob and ushered us in with a grand sweeping motion.

It was a beautiful room, and two king-sized beds looked small in all that space. But the Muehlbach showed their rooms on TV, too, so I had the weird feeling of it seeming familiar.

After the door closed Miss Lydia walked to the window and threw open the drapes. “Our favorite room,” she said.

I went and stood beside her. We had a clear view of the buildings in downtown Kansas City and could see beyond them all the way to the river. It was the farthest I had ever been from the ground and it took my breath away.

After some minutes I remembered, though. “Uh, Miss Lydia?”

“Mmm-mm?” She tore herself away like she was lost in a dream.

“What's with your voice?”

“My voice? Why, child? What's wrong with my voice?”

“Nothing's
wrong,
ma'am.” I had never called her “ma'am” before. That's how off-balance I was. “And it's not your voice, really. You just don't sound anything like you do at home. You're not acting it, either.”

“I'm not at home.” She gave me a strange little smile.

“But . . .” I frowned.

She laughed and took my hands in hers. “Do you mean because I'm saying ‘aren't' instead of ‘ain't'? ‘Saying' instead of ‘sayin'?”

“Yeah, I guess that's pretty much it,” I answered.

“It doesn't make me a different person, you know. There's no need to look so frightened.” She laughed again.

I hugged myself. “Are you pretending you're from the city or something?”

“Not really,” she said, looking out the window again. “At least no more than I pretend I'm from Cumberland when I'm there.”

I wrestled with this and lost.

She sighed. “Billie Marie,” she said, “I don't feel like I'm pretending anything anytime. I just find it easier to breathe, wherever I am, as a fish in the water rather than out.”

I stared at her like I'd never seen her before.

“You've watched
The Beverly Hillbillies
?” Miss Lydia's mouth was puckered.

I nodded.

“Why do people think that show is funny?” She cocked her head like a bird.

Those people were so backward and ignorant, it was comical. They had absolutely no idea how life in a big city worked. And then I knew what she meant.

To some people we would be the hillbillies. I had never thought of that and my face got warm. “But, then,” I asked her, “why talk the way you do back home? Shouldn't you just be yourself all the time so people know who you really are?”