Face the Winter Naked (2 page)

Daniel
slipped his hand into the glove. He could almost picture Frankie catching a fly-ball
and throwing it to third base.

"Looks
like he used this a lot."

"Take
it."

"Wh—?"

"It's
yours if you want it." Daniel started to protest, but Kimball cut him off.
"You were Frank's friend, and you went to all the trouble to find us. He'd
want you to have it."

"That's
right," Mrs. Kimball said. "Frank was our only child, so we have no
grandsons to play with it."

"But
it's a dear keepsake, ma'am. It's like giving part of your son away."

"We
gave all of our son away the day he went to war," she replied.
"Besides, you have sons, so it'll get some use again." She turned and
started for the kitchen. "Now don't you leave till I pack your dinner."
She paused a moment in the doorway and smiled back at him.

She's
just like Frankie when he made up his mind to do something.
Daniel's heart warmed at the thought as he turned
back to Frank Sr.

"I
didn't come for gifts."

"I
know, but she's right. We'll be honored. Please take it. Unless it would be too
much extra to carry."

Daniel
shook his head and grinned. He stretched his arm to catch an invisible ball,
then reached out to shake hands, remembering to remove the mitt first.

"This
means a lot, Mr. Kimball. I'll make room in my pack for this great gift. Thank
you."

The
couple saw him to the front porch, where he picked up his gunnysack and started
down the steps. He looked back once and waved before walking down the street.

Chapter 2

LaDaisy
nestled the baby against her breast, trying to ignore her own mother as the
woman moved lazily around the room examining whatnots and pictures. Pausing
once at Daniel's shelf, Vera absentmindedly picked up a hand-carved walnut
toothpick cup with a snake encircling the outside, stared at it a minute, then
put it back.

Her
mother didn't understand Daniel's lust for a talent to call his own; his
passionate desire to add a part of himself to the accumulation of Tomelin
artifacts: oil paintings, music, and religious poetry filled with the fear of
God.

Vera
finally walked over to the open front door and gazed thoughtfully through the
patched screen at the shady yard. Halfway between the house and street, a huge
white oak spread its summer canopy of dark green leaves. Daniel had tied a
thick rope to one of the limbs for a tire swing. Not only the Tomelin children,
but the neighbors, as well, had twirled, twisted, and dragged their feet
beneath the tire until the grass grew a big oval dirt patch.

"Where
are the kids?" Vera asked without turning.

"Bobby's
napping. Earl and Catherine are outside somewhere. Didn't you see them when you
came in?"

"No."
Vera paused. "Saul's hanging around again." She glanced over her
shoulder. "He still lives in the little shack out back, doesn't he? I
think Clayton wants to tear that down."

"Over
my dead body, Mama. It'd be just like him to throw that kind old man out on his
ear. Not going to happen as long as I can help it."

"So,
what good is Saul?"

"That's
a hateful thing to ask. What's come over you?"

"It
wasn't meant to be hateful," Vera said. "You know me better, LaDaisy.
I only meant, what does he do with his time? Does he work? Probably too old to
work."

"He's
more good than you know. Yes, he works hard. He tends his little garden, keeps
me in potatoes and green beans. Plays with the kids, pushes them in the swing
and takes them for walks. Gets them out of my hair for a few minutes so I can
think. He comes in and sits sometimes to keep me company."

"You
trust him?"

"Really,
Mama, your nasty remarks offend me."

"Humph."
Vera stared through the screen. "I just saw him go around back and the
kids weren't with him."

"Little
rascals must've taken off again. Oh, well, they don't go far. Maybe they're
looking for milk bottle caps again."

Vera
turned.

"Milk
caps? As if you need more clutter."

"Earl
pretends they're money. When he finds ten, he runs over to the store and Bart
gives him a stick of horehound candy. Lord knows he doesn't have much else in
the store these days, and nobody buying it anyhow." Then she chuckled.
"Earl also collects soda pop caps. He pries the cork linings out and uses
them to attach the metal caps to his beanie. Daniel showed him how."

"I'll
never understand you," Vera said, "letting those little ones outdoors
all by themselves. Certainly no child of mine would—"

LaDaisy
stifled a yawn.

"Would
ever do this, would ever do that, would ever would
ever
. Oh Mama,
stop."

"I
meant—"

"They're
probably at Rose's house."

"You
let them go alone?"

"It's
not that far." LaDaisy sighed. "Rose gives
your
grandchildren
homemade bread right out of the oven. The cousins play with them, or they go to
the creek to find tadpoles." She looked her mother squarely in the eyes.
"When was the last time you baked light bread? Or invited my children to
come sample any?"

"You
don't need to get on your high horse," Vera sputtered. "You're their
mother. They should be here with you."

"They're
here enough. I can't be with them every minute. Besides, they're doing things
their dad would do with them if he was here."

"Oh
yes, if he was here." Vera turned back to the door. "That seems to be
the problem, doesn't it?"

Her
daughter ignored the remark.

Daniel
Tomelin's children often waited for him on the front porch, eyeing every
movement on the road. Just a few days ago, Catherine ran inside, yelling,
"Mama! Mama! My daddy's here!" But when LaDaisy hurried outdoors to
look, she saw no one at all. "No, Cath, Daddy isn't here. You saw someone
else. If it was Daddy, he'd be swinging you around and hugging you right this
minute."

The
girl was crestfallen as LaDaisy stooped down and placed both hands on her
cheeks. She raised her daughter's face and met the confused hazel eyes staring
up at her.

"I
don't know when Daddy's coming home, honey. Maybe if we all ask Jesus, Daddy
will come." She gave the girl a hug, then rose. "Now run along and
play."

Another
time, Bobby thought he saw Daniel by his bed in the middle of the night.

"It
was just a dream," his mother had said, tucking him back into bed.

Vera
had no idea what it was like living with three frightened children who didn't
know from one day to another where their bread was coming from.

Mary
had fallen asleep, the nipple sliding out one corner of her mouth. LaDaisy
raised her to a shoulder, gently patted and rubbed her back. The soft baby skin
was sweaty, but smelled sweetly of talcum as she hunched her body and tried to
climb up her mother's chest. Then came a burp, and with it a bit of milk
against LaDaisy's print smock.
Thank God she's too young to know.

She
was small for four months—the smallest of the whole Tomelin brood—and hadn't
thrived as the other babies had. While the others had teethed and babbled at
this age, their baby sister was unusually lethargic. LaDaisy worried about
this. But then she worried about a lot of other things these days, too.

She
frowned as she watched her mother. Vera looked out of place in the modest
Tomelin house, wearing a pastel crepe dress and a perky little straw hat with
fake asters around the crown. A cloud of pink veil encircled the hat, covering
the woman's tightly curled hair. But Vera fooled no one, least of all her
daughter. For all her money, she often shopped at Kresge's five-and-dime on the
Square, instead of the more expensive Knoepker or Bundschu department stores on
Maple. The hat was old, the dress homemade, and under the henna rinse was a
headful of gray.

LaDaisy
turned the baby face-down across her lap, patting and stroking as Mary dozed.

"Sit
down, Mama. You're driving me crazy."

Vera
turned and stared at her daughter, her double chins pressed closely to her
neck, her mouth a tight, straight crack outlined in blood.

"I
can't stay. I just came to check on you. If you had a telephone, it would save
me the trouble of driving over here."

You
came to snoop.
LaDaisy rocked gently
back and forth in the rocker, her bare feet sliding—
slish, slish, slish
—on
the cool linoleum.

"I
can barely pay for electricity, let alone a telephone," she said.
"But as long as you're here, you're welcome to stay for supper."

Vera
came over and looked down at Mary.

"Rufus
likes me home when he gets off work, you know. We're having company for supper—Ida
and Clay. I just came out to shop and thought I'd drop by."

LaDaisy
looked up. "How's Ida Mae doing?"

"Some
better. She's not as queasy."

"She
looked miserable last time I saw her. I think she's feeling panicky about the
birth."

LaDaisy
recalled the conversation.

"Please
be honest with me," her sister had said. "Does it hurt much?"

"Does
it hurt? Oh yes. It hurts like hell sometimes. But you'll push the baby out,
then nurse it and forget all about the pain."

Ida
Mae wrung her hands. "I can't do it!"

"It's
too late now. You and Clayton made a baby and it can't stay in there
forever."

LaDaisy
and her sister were as different as rain and sunshine—one like her mother, the
other tall and slender after their father, Richard Blue. One outgoing, the
other backward and shy. Why Clay ever married Ida Mae was a mystery, unless he
wanted a woman he could dominate.

"The
girl's got no spunk," Daniel had said after meeting Ida Mae for the first
time. "She lets people walk all over her, and that includes your
mother."

Whatever
the reason for Ida's strange, retiring personality, there was certainly no love
lost between the two sisters. Competition had been fierce between them from
early childhood. After their parents' bitter divorce, LaDaisy got the brunt of
Vera's anger toward Richard, and Ida Mae quickly learned how to manipulate the
situation.

But
all that was in the past now, or at least it should be. As a woman and mother
herself, she sympathized with her sister's first experience with birth. Under
the circumstances, any woman would be nervous.

Her
mother was still rambling and LaDaisy brought her attention back.

"I
really came to insist you move back home. You can have your old room back—I
repapered it in a nice rosebud pattern and made new curtains and a bedspread.
Did I tell you? Maybe I did. Even your dolls are still propped up on the closet
shelf."

"I
don't play with dolls anymore, Mama. But you could bring them over here for
your granddaughters. I would've brought them when I moved out, but I
forgot."

"Oh,
no," Vera said, "those dolls are my only reminders of your childhood
at home. I won't part with them."

"Maybe
you should charge them rent."

"Don't
sass your mother!"

LaDaisy
kept on rocking, occasionally stroking Mary's sweaty curls away from her face.
It was useless trying to get the dolls, her personal property, given to her for
birthdays and Christmases. Catherine would delight in those baby dolls, since
she'd never had a store-bought one.

"You
didn't come here to talk about dolls," she said.

"I
already said why I came. If I told you once, I told you a hundred times, we can
easily make room for Daniel's children."

LaDaisy
stiffened. "Daniel's? For Pete's sake, Mama, do you think Daniel made our
children all by himself? Do you think I wouldn't uncross my legs and
help?"

"There's
no need to talk nasty. You know what I mean."

"Unfortunately,
I do. You mean Daniel put these kids in me without my knowledge or permission.
What you really mean is they're his children, not mine."

"You're
as stubborn as your father. I'll bet Richard hasn't been to see you for years.
Does he write?"

"Sometimes."

"He
knows about his grandchildren."

"Of
course." LaDaisy became thoughtful. "Anyway, having five beautiful
children is nothing to be ashamed of. Daddy would love Daniel if he knew him
better, as almost everyone does."

Vera
sat stiffly on the edge of the davenport, puffed out like an old hen settling
her feathers over a clutch of eggs. She wiggled inside her tight corset,
seeking to adjust her fat folds more comfortably. Beads of perspiration
glistened on her face.

"Why
can't you be sensible, child?"

"Maybe
that's the whole problem, Mama. Why do you treat me like a child when I'm a
grown woman with kids of my own?" LaDaisy glanced at her baby. "Would
you like to hold Mary?"

Vera
shook her head. "Not right now—she's probably wet and I'm wearing good
clothes."

You
never want to cuddle this baby.

LaDaisy
fought to keep her composure, thinking how selfish her mother was. Vera was all
wrapped up in Ida.

She
thought her sister had done a stupid thing, dropping out of school and getting
married right in the middle of the Depression. But their mother thought Ida Mae
had married well, for Clay had bought some property for back taxes, including
the house Daniel and his family rented. Now the girl was expecting, and her big
sister was beginning to think the two deserved each other.

It
was a wonder Ida Mae didn't see, but the heavier she grew, the more her husband
ogled other women. How could she not notice?

Now,
Vera stood and smoothed down her skirt.

"I
guess I know when I'm not welcome."

LaDaisy
had an uncanny way of shutting her mother's whining voice out of her mind. The
rocker creaked back and forth, back and forth. Her feet continued to hiss along
the floor. The antique clock ticked loudly in the otherwise quiet room. It was
the same old story. Ever since Daniel's disappearance, her mother had harped
about her going home.

She
nodded dreamily, her head tilted back. Through half-closed eyes she watched a
fly buzzing dangerously near a huge spider's web strung across one corner of
the ceiling, tempted to land on the sticky trap. She had better get the broom
later and sweep it down. Daniel always said spiders were mostly harmless—'less
of course you came across a black widow—and they rid the house of flies.