Casteel 1 - Heaven (3 page)

“Heaven, ya ain't listenin!” yelled Fanny, who had to have center stage all of the time. “An what's more, they got kitchen sinks in Winnerrow. Double sinks! Central heating . . . Tom, what's central heating?”

“Fanny, we got t'same thin in Ole Smokey that sets clean smack in t'middle of our cabin.”

“Tom,” I said, “I don't think that's really what central heating means.”

“As fer as Im concerned, that's exactly what I want it t'mean.”

If I seldom agreed with Fanny about anything else, I did agree that it would be paradise unlimited to live in a painted house with four or five rooms, to have all the hot and cold water at one's will just by turning on a faucetand a toilet that flushed.

Oh, gosh, to think of central heating, double sinks, and flushing toilets made me realize just how poor we really were. I didn't like to think about it, to feel sorry for myself, to be inundated with worries

about Keith and Our Jane. Now, if Fanny would only wash her clothes, that would help a little. But Fanny never would do anything, not even sweep the front porch, though she was pretty crazy about sweeping the dirt yard free of leaves. Because it was a fun thing to do, was my sour reasoning. Out there she could watch Tom playing ball with his buddies, while Sarah and I did the real work, and Granny did the talking.

Granny had good reasons for not working as hard as Sarah. Granny had her own problems getting up once she was down, and getting down once she was up. The time it took for her to get from here to there seemed an eternity as she held on to what furniture we had. There just wasn't enough furniture to take Granny everywhere she wanted to go easily.

Sarah taught me when I was old enough, and Granny was too feeble to help (and Fanny flatly refused to do anything even when she was three, four, or five), how to diaper babies, how to feed them, give them baths in a small metal washtub. Sarah taught me a thousand things. By the time I was eight I knew how to make biscuits, merit the lard for the gravy, add the flour with water before I blended it into the hot grease. She taught me how to clean windows and scrub floors and use the washboard to force dirt out of

filthy clothes. She also taught him to do as much as he could to help me, even if other boys did call him a sissy for doing “women's work.” If Tom had not loved me so much, he might have objected more.

A week came when Pa was home every night. Sarah was happy as a bluebird, humming under her breath and shyly glancing at Pa often, as if he'd come courting and wasn't just a husband tired of running moonshine. Maybe somewhere out on a lonely highway a Federal revenue man was waiting for Luke Casteel, ready to pitch him into jail along with his brothers.

Out in the yard I scrubbed away on dirty clothes, as usual, while Fanny skipped rope and Pa pitched the ball for Tom to swing at with his one and only plaything, a ballbat left over from Pa's childhood. Keith and Our Jane hung around me, wanting to hang up the washed clothesneither one could reach the rope lines.

“Fanny, why don't you help Heavenly?” yelled Tom, throwing me a worried glance.

“Don't want to!” was Fanny's answer.

“Pa, why don't you make Fanny help Heavenly?”

Pa hurled the ball so hard it almost hit Tom,

who took a wild swing and, off balance, fell to the ground. “Don't ever pay attention to women's work,” said Pa with a gruff laugh. He turned toward the house, in time to hear Sarah bellow our evening meal was ready: “Come an git it!”

Painfully Granny rose from her porch rocker. Grandpa struggled to rise from his. “Gettin old is worse than I thought it would be,” groaned Granny once she was on her feet and trying to make it to the table before all the food was gone. Our Jane ran to her to be led by the hand, for Granny could do that if not much else. She groaned again. “Makes me think that dyin ain't so bad after all.”

“Stop saying that!” stormed Pa. “I'm home to enjoy myself, not to hear talk about death and dying!” And in no time at all, almost before Granny and Grandpa were comfortable in their chairs at the table, he got up, finished with the meal that had taken Sarah hours to prepare, and out into the yard he went, jumping into his pickup truck to head to God knows where.

Sarah, wearing a dress she'd ripped apart, then sewn back together in a different fashion, with new sleeves and pockets added from her bag of scrap fabrics, stood in the doorway staring out, softly

crying. Her freshly washed hair scented with the last of her lilac water shone rich and red in the moonlight, and all for nothing when those girls in Shirley's Place wore real French perfume, and real makeup, not just the rice powder that Sarah used to take the shine from her nose.

I determined I was not going to be another Sarahor another angel found in Atlanta. Not me. Not ever me.

School And

Church

.

THE COCK-​A-​DOODLE-​DO OF OUR SOLITARY ROOSTER WITH his harem of thirty hens woke us all. The sun was only a hazy rim of rose in the eastern sky. With the crow of the cock came the mumbling of Ma waking up, of Granny and Grandpa turning over, of Our Jane beginning to wail because her tummy always ached in the mornings. Fanny sat up and rubbed at her eyes. “Ain't gonna go t'school t'day,” she informed grouchily.

Keith sprang immediately to his feet and ran to fetch Our Jane a cold biscuit she could nibble on to calm those hunger pains that hurt her more than they hurt any of the rest of us. Placated, she sat on her floor pallet and nibbled on her biscuit, her pretty eyes watching each one of us hopefully for the milk she'd soon be crying for.

“Hey, Ma,” said Tom, coming in the door, “cow's gone. Went out early to milk her . . . she's gone.”

“Damn Luke Chen an back!” shrieked Sarah. “He knows we need that cow fer milk!”

“Ma, maybe Pa didn't sell her. Somebody coulda stole her.”

“He sold her,” she said flatly. “Said yesterday he might have ta. Go see iffen ya kin round up that goat.”

“Milk, milk, milk!” wailed Our Jane.

I hurried to Our Jane, drawing her into my arms. “Don't cry, darling. Why, in ten minutes flat you'll be drinking the best kind of milk, fresh from a nanny goat.”

Our morning meal consisted of hot biscuits made fresh each day, covered with lard gravy. Today we were also having grits. Our Jane wanted her milk more than she wanted anything else. “Where is it, Hey-​lee?” she kept asking.

“It's coming,” said I, hoping and praying it was.

It took Tom half an hour to come back with a pail of milk. His face was flushed and hot-​looking, as if he'd run a long, long way. “Here ya are, Our Jane,” he said with triumph, pouring milk into her glass, and then into the pitcher so Keith could enjoy the milk as well.

“Where'd ya get it?” asked Ma suspiciously, sniffing the milk. “That goat belongs now t'Skeeter Burl, ya know that . . . an he's mean, real mean.”

“What he- don't know won't hurt him,” answered Tom, sitting down to dig into his food. “When Our Jane and Keith need milk, I go astealing. An yer right, Ma. Our cow is now pastured in Skeeter Burl's meadow.”

Sarah threw me a hard look. “Well, that's t'wager, ain't it? An yer pa lost, like always.”

Pa was a gambling man, and when Pa lost we all lost, not only the cow. Each day for the past several weeks, one by one our barnyard fowl had been disappearing. I tried to convince myself that they'd be back once Pa had a winning streak. “I'll collect the eggs,” called Sarah, heading for the door while I dressed for school. “Got to before he wagers all our hens! One day we'll wake up to no eggs, no nothin!”

Sarah was given to pessimism, whereas Tom and I were always thinking somehow our lives would turn out fine, even without cows, goats, or chickens and ducks.

.

It seemed to take forever for Our Jane to grow old enough to go with us to Winnerrow and attend first grade. But finally, this fall, she was six, and she was going if Tom and I had to drag her there every day. And that's what we had to do, literally drag her

along, holding fast to her small hand so she couldn't escape and dash back to the cabin. Even as I tried to tug her along at a faster pace, she dragged her small feet, resisting in every way she could, as Keith encouraged and assured her, “It's not so bad, not so bad,” and that's all he could say in favor of school. The cabin was where Our Jane wanted to stay, with Sarah, with her ragged old doll with the stuffing half fallen out. Right from the beginning she hated school, the hard seats without cushions, sitting still, having to pay attention, though she loved being with other children her age. Our Jane's attendance at school was irregular because of her frail healthand her determination to stay home with her ma.

Our Jane was a dear, darling doll, but she could wear on your nerves with her caterwauling, and all the food she spat up that smelled sickly sour. I turned to scold her, knowing that she was going to make us late, and that again everyone in the school would mock us for not even knowing how to tell time. Our Jane smiled, stretched out her frail, slender arms, and immediately my chastising words froze unspoken on my tongue. I picked her up and lavished on her pretty face all the kisses she had to have. “Feeling better, Our Jane?”

“Yes,” she whispered in the smallest voice possible, “but don't like walkin. Makes my legs hurt.”

“Give her to me,” said Tom, reaching to take her from my arms. Even Toni, loudmouthed, brash, and tough, proud to be all boy, turned sweet and tender with Our Jane. Definitely my smallest sister was gifted in ways of grabbing your heart and never giving it back.

Tom held her in his arms, staring down at her pretty little face, all screwed up to yell if he dared to put her down. “You're just like a tiny, pretty doll,” Tom said to her before he turned to me. “You know, Heavenly, even if Pa can't afford to give you or Fanny dolls for Christmas or birthdays, you have something even better, Our Jane.”

I could have disagreed with that. Dolls could be put away and forgotten. No one could ever forget Our Jane. Our Jane saw to it that you didn't forget her.

Keith and Our Jane had a special relationship, as if they, too, were “heartfelt twins.” Sturdy and strong, Keith ran beside Tom, staring up at his small sister with adoration, just as he ran at home to wait on his little sister who'd immediately smile through her tears when he turned over to her whatever she wanted. And she wanted whatever he had. Keith, kindly,

sweetly, gave in to her demands, never complaining even when too many “wants” Of Our Jane would have had Tom openly rebellious.

“Yer a dope, Tom, an ya too, Keith,” stated Fanny. “Durn if I would carry no girl who kin walk as good as I kin.”

Our Jane began to wail. “Fanny don't like me . . Fanny don't like me . . . Fanny don't like me . . .” And it might have gone on all the way to school if Fanny hadn't reluctantly reached out and taken Our Jane from Tom's arms. “Aw, ya ain't so bad. But why kin't ya learn t' walk, Our Jane, why kin't ya?”

“Don't wanna walk,” said Our Jane, hugging her arms tight around Fanny's neck and kissing Fanny's cheek.

“See,” said Fanny proudly, “she loves me best . . not ya, Heaven, nor ya, Tom . . . loves me best, don't ya, Our Jane?”

Disconcerted, Our Jane looked down at Keith, at me, at Tom, then screamed: “Put me down! Down! Down!”

Our Jane was dropped into a mud puddle! She screamed, then started to cry, and Tom chased after Fanny to give her a good wallop. I tried to calm Our Jane and dry her off with a rag I had for a

handkerchief. Keith broke into tears. “Don't cry, Keith. She's not hurt . . are you, darling? And see, now you're all dry, and Fanny will say she's sorry . . . but you really should try to walk. It's good for your legs. Now catch hold of Keith's hand, and we'll all sing as we go to school.”

Magic words. If Our Jane didn't like walking, she did like to sing as much as we all did, and together she, Keith, and I sang until we caught up with Tom, who had chased Fanny into the schoolyard. Six boys had formed a line for Fanny to hide behindand Tom was outclassed by boys much older and taller., Fanny laughed, not at all sorry she'd dropped Our Jane and soiled her best school dress so it clung damply to her thin legs.

With Keith waiting patiently, in the school rest room I again dried Our Jane off; then I saw Keith to his classroom, pried him loose from Our Jane, then led Our Jane to the first grade. Seated at the table with five other little girls her age, she was the smallest there. What a shame all the other girls had nicer clothes, though not one had such pretty hair, or such a sweet smile. “See you later, darling,” I called. Her huge scared eyes stared woefully back at me.

Tom was waiting for me outside Miss Deale's

classroom. Together we entered. Every student in there turned to stare at our clothes and our feet; whether we were clean or dirty, it didn't matter. They always snickered. Day in and day out, we had to wear the same clothes, and every day they looked us over scornfully. It always hurt, but we both tried to ignore them as we took our seats near the back of the class.

Seated in front of our classroom was the most wonderful woman in the entire worldthe very kind of beautiful lady I hoped and prayed I would be when I grew up. While all her students turned to mock us, Miss Marianne Deale lifted her head to smile her welcome. Her smile couldn't have been warmer if we'd come adorned in the best clothes the world had to offer. She knew we had to walk farther than any of the others, and that Tom and I were responsible for seeing that Keith and Our Jane made it safely to school. She said a million nice things with her eyes. With some other teacher perhaps Tom and I wouldn't have developed such a love for school. She was the one who made our school days a real adventure, a quest for knowledge that would take us, eventually, out of the mountains, out of a poverty-​ridden shack, into the bigger, richer world.

Tom and I met eyes, both of us thrilled to be

again in the presence of our radiant teacher who had already given us a bit of the world when she inspired in us the love of reading. I was nearer the window than Tom, since looking outside always gave Tom compelling itches to play hooky despite his desire to finish high school and earn a scholarship that would take him through college. If we couldn't win our way to college with good grades, we'd work our way through. We had it all planned. I sighed as I sat. Each day we managed to go to school was another small battle won, taking us closer to our goals. Mine was to be a teacher just like Miss Deale.

My idol's hair was very much the texture and color of Our Jane's, pale reddish blond; her eyes were light blue, her figure slim and curvy. Miss Deale was from Baltimore and spoke with a different accent than any of her students. Truthfully, I thought Miss Deale was absolutely perfect.

Miss Deale glanced at a few empty seats before she looked again at the clock, sighing as she stood up and made the roll call. “Let us all stand and salute the flag,” she said, “and before we sit again, we will all say silent prayers of gratitude to be alive and healthy and young, with all the world waiting for us to discover, and to improve.”

Boy, if she didn't know how to start the day off right no one did. Just to see her, to be with her, gave both Tom and me reason to feel the future did hold something special for both of us. She had respect for her students, even us in our shabby clothes, but she never gave an inch when it came to order, neatness, politeness.

First we had to hand in our homework. Since our parents couldn't afford to buy our books, we had to use the schoolbooks to complete our homework during school hours. Sometimes this was just too much, especially when the days grew shorter and darkness fell before we reached home.

I was scribbling like mad from the chalkboard when Miss Deale stopped at my desk and whispered, “Heaven, you and Tom please stay after class. I have something to discuss with the two of you.”

“Have we done something wrong?” I asked worriedly.

“No, of course not. You always ask that. Heaven, just because I single out you and Tom does not always mean I plan to reprimand you.”

The only times Miss Deale seemed to be disap- pointed in either Tom or me was when we turned sullen and quiet from her questioning about how we

lived. We became defensive of both Ma and Pa, not wanting her to know how poorly we were housed, and how pitiful were our meals compared to what we heard the city kids describing.

Lunchtimes in school were the worst. Half the valley kids brought brown lunch bags, and the other half ate in the cafeteria. Only we from the hills brought nothing, not even the change it took to buy a hot dog and a cola drink. In our high mountain home we ate breakfast at dawn, a second meal before darkness drove us into bed. Never lunch.

“What ya think she wants?” Tom asked as we met briefly during the lunch hour, before he went to play ball and I went to skip rope.

“Don't know.”

Miss Deale was busy checking papers as Tom and I hung back after school, worried about Keith and Our Jane, who wouldn't know what to do if we weren't there when they were dismissed from their classrooms. “You explain,” Tom whispered, and then dashed off to collect Keith and Our Jane. We couldn't depend on Fanny to look .out for them.

Suddenly Miss Deale looked up. “Oh, I'm sorry, Heaven . . . have you been standing there long?”

“Only a few seconds,” I lied, for it had been

more than that. “Tom ran to fetch Our Jane and Keith and bring them here. They'll be afraid if one or the other of us doesn't show up to walk them home.”

“What about Fanny? Doesn't she do her share?”

“Well,” I began falteringly, trying to be protective of Fanny just because she was my sister, “sometimes Fanny gets distracted and forgets.”

Miss Deale smiled. “I realize you have a long walk home, so I won't wait for Tom to return. I've spoken to the school-​board members about the two of you, hoping to convince them to allow you to take books home to study, but they are adamant, and said if they give you two special privileges, they will have to give all the students free books. So I am going to allow you to use my books.”

I stared at her in surprise. “But won't you need them?”

“No . . . there are others I can use. From now on, you can use them, and please take as many books from the library as you care to read in one week. Of course you'll have to respect those books and keep them clean, and return them when they're due.”

I was so thrilled I could have shouted. “All the books we can read in a week? Miss Deale, we won't have arms strong enough to carry so many!”

She laughed, and, strangely, tears came to her eyes. “I could have guessed you'd say something like that.” She beamed at Tom as he came in carrying Our Jane, who appeared exhausted, and leading Keith by the hand. “Tom, I think you already have your arms full, and won't be able to carry home books.”

Dazed-​looking, he stared at her. “Ya mean we kin take home books? Not have to pay for them?”