Family Reminders (4 page)

“Now, Hattie, you know that Daniel won’t take charity,” Mama said. “Even from his favorite sister,” she added, trying to muster up a smile.

“This isn’t charity, Liddie. We’re family,” Hattie insisted, trying to press the money into Mama’s hand.

”Charity is charity, no matter where it comes from,” Mama said firmly. “This family has made it through rough times before. We’ll make it through this.” Mama reached over and patted Aunt Hattie’s hand. “Don’t worry about us. We’ll be all right, won’t we, Mary?” Mama’s look told me that she had seen me standing there all along.

As I came to stand beside her, I nodded my agreement, but inside my heart pounded and my mind raced. When I had asked about money earlier, Mama had explained that Daddy got a check from the mine because of the accident. It had never occurred to me that it might not be enough.

After Aunt Hattie left, Mama gave me a quick hug. “Don’t tell your father about this,” she said. “It would just make him angry.”

I pulled away from her hug. “Do we need money, Mama?” I asked.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be fine,” Mama answered, sounding just as she had with Aunt Hattie.

I searched her eyes for the truth.

Mama stood her ground. “Scoot,” she said, pushing me toward my bedroom. “Seems to me you’ll do anything to avoid your homework, young lady.” Later though, when I walked into the kitchen to get a glass of milk, I found Mama sitting at the kitchen table with her head in her hands.

“Can’t I help?” I asked, sitting down beside her. “You can have my birthday money. Or I could get a job.”

Mama hugged me tight. “Thank you, Mary. But I meant it when I said not to worry. Daddy and I will figure out a way to get through this. It’s not your problem.”

Why isn’t it my problem? Aren’t I part of this family, too?
I wanted to yell at Mama, but she looked so sad and tired that I couldn’t. Instead I choked back my words and returned her hug.

That night, as I was getting ready for bed, I picked up one of the Reminders from my dresser. Baby Reminder. That’s what Daddy had named this one. It was a likeness of my family on the day I was christened. Mama was holding me in her lap. Daddy stood behind, his arms a protective circle around us both.

I traced the smooth fold of Mama’s long dress and admired the way her gown cascaded down to the floor. I noticed Daddy’s smiling face and the way both of his feet were planted so firmly on the ground. Mostly I noticed the way their arms formed a double circle around me: Mama’s first, and Daddy’s over hers.

As I looked at the Baby Reminder, I wished with my whole heart that our family could be that way again.

The next day I went down the street and talked to Mrs. Egan, Mrs. Martin, and Mrs. Swanson. “Of course I’ll be happy to call you the next time I need a babysitter,” they all said, one after the other.

By the end of that week, I had my first job.

Mama pretended I was earning fun money, and I pretended I wasn’t worried. Whatever I made I stuck into the money jar on top of the refrigerator. Mama never mentioned it, but she never told me to stop, either.

Months passed
. The piano sat silently in the parlor, and Daddy sat silently in the kitchen. Spring slowly pushed its way into the valley, while winter still clung tightly to the mountain, refusing to release its snowy grasp.

Bit by bit Daddy recovered his strength. He moved restlessly around the house, limping from the kitchen to the bedroom to the parlor and back to the kitchen again.

One evening, after he had passed my bedroom for the third time, I followed him back into the kitchen. “Why don’t you carve something?” I asked. I pulled his tools out from the top drawer of the hutch and plunked a piece of winter-hardened pine from the wood box beside the stove.

Daddy fiddled with the knife for a minute and then set it down. “I can’t,” he said.

“Daniel,” Mama said, looking up from her ironing, “a new bookshelf in the parlor would be nice. Why don’t I have Mr. Miller send over some wood?”

Daddy shook his head. “I can’t, Liddie. Let’s just leave it at that.”

Mama didn’t answer, but her mouth was set in a tight, straight line as she left the room.

But I didn’t leave the room. Not this time. This time I had to say something. I knew that Daddy was hurt and unhappy. Didn’t he know that I was hurt and unhappy, too?

”Why can’t you?” I pushed a little harder. “Your hand isn’t hurt. Your leg is getting better. You haven’t even tried. How do you know you can’t?” I asked, trying unsuccessfully to hold back the tears.

Daddy didn’t answer. He just shrugged and looked away, defeated.

That night I went to bed without saying a word. I guess I felt defeated, too.

When Mama came in to say good night, I just turned toward the wall. Why didn’t she speak up to Daddy? Why didn’t she make him try?

When I came home from school the next day, Daddy was sitting at the kitchen table, a pile of curly, yellow wood shavings at his feet and in his lap. His dark head hunched over the wood as he coaxed a carving into life.

Mama shrugged when I looked at her questioningly. “He must have gotten bored with his orneriness,” she said. Although Daddy didn’t respond, I saw the corners of his mouth turn up. Just a tiny bit. And a new feeling, a spring feeling, lifted my spirits just a tiny bit, too.

After that Daddy’s hands were always busy. He made the bookshelf for the parlor. He worked on a new bench for the front porch, and he also began carving new Reminders. Mama didn’t mind the mess. “I just work around it,” she whispered to me one afternoon as we were fixing dinner.

I didn’t mind the mess, either. I loved to sit beside Daddy at the kitchen table while he worked. It was like magic to watch him uncover the secret hidden in the wood. His hands were strong and sure as he held the carving knife.

Mostly Daddy’s Reminders were images from the past, from before the accident. Daddy carved a figure of our prospector friend Mr. Shay, his pack mule loaded to overflowing with supplies, mining pan, and ax. He carved Uncle William fishing. He carved a tiny stagecoach like the one that used to come to town before the railroad, and he carved a Reminder of the bear that had chased him out of the woods three summers before. In that Reminder the bear was on its hind legs and Daddy was running, every muscle straining to get away.

As the spring won its battle for the mountain and the snow began to melt, the shelf that Daddy made for the parlor became crowded with his Reminders.

The blooming branches danced in the wind
and tickled the windowpane as I lay in bed and listened to Mama and Daddy’s angry voices. My room was dark and cold, but it sounded colder in the kitchen. I stayed where I was, my fingers tracing the flowers Daddy had carved into my wooden headboard, remembering Sundays before the accident.

“Where are my girls?” Daddy’s voice boomed through the house. Up and ready early, he tried good-naturedly to rush us through the morning and out the door. He shifted impatiently from one foot to the other, trying to hurry us both along. “You two are slower than molasses in January,” he complained. But he always smiled at me when I joined him in the kitchen, and he always greeted Mama with a kiss and a compliment
.

Finally hunger pushed me out of bed. When I walked into the kitchen, the angry voices stopped. Daddy was sitting at the table, working on a carving, while Mama stood at the stove.

“Morning, Daddy,” I said, giving him my tightest hug. I breathed in the scent of soap and sawdust. Since the accident Daddy’s smell had changed. No longer did the smell of raw earth mingle with the soap.

“Morning, Mary,” he said, hugging me back.

“Morning, Mama.”

”I was wondering when you were going to get yourself out of bed,” she said, leaning over to give me a kiss. “Sit down. Breakfast is ready. Show Mary what you’re carving, Daniel.”

“Now, Liddie, don’t go trying to change the subject,” Daddy said, sounding exasperated. “I mean it when I say that I don’t want you taking in laundry. You have enough work to do around here now that you’re doing my share of the chores as well as your own. You don’t need to be doing Mr. Stewart’s work as well.”