Family Reminders (8 page)

Right before he opened the door, Mr. Brown stopped me and said, “Mary, tell your daddy that if his carvings sell as well as I think they will, I’d love to work out a permanent business arrangement.”

I nodded and smiled as I walked out the door, my empty book bag bumping against my side. Once past Mr. Brown’s windows, I danced a little dance, full of excitement, full of hope, and—I stopped short—full of fear. What would Daddy say when he found out what I’d done?

When I got home that afternoon
, I walked straight into the parlor, ignoring Daddy’s sad hello. I looked over all the Reminders on the shelf. They were lined up across the mantel like a time line of Daddy’s life. It surprised me to see that they were dusted, since we never used this room anymore. It stayed dark and stuffy all the time, and there was an empty space where Mama’s rocker used to be.

At first, when Daddy started moving around after the accident, we tried to use the parlor in the evenings, more out of habit than anything else. But the silent piano reminded us too loudly of how everything had changed. So Mama moved her rocker and her sewing basket into a corner of the kitchen. “It’s warmer by the stove,” she said when I asked her why.

After that, evenings were spent in the kitchen, with both Mama and Daddy willingly adjusting to the change in our routine. For me, the change wasn’t so easy to bear.
You hardly even gave it a chance
, I wanted to yell at them. But I didn’t. I had already learned that for Mama and Daddy, avoiding a problem was easier than trying to fix it.

As I stood in the darkened parlor, looking over the Reminders, Daddy came limping in. “What are you doing in here?” he asked.

”I’m looking at your Reminders,” I said, turning to look him straight in the eye. “I’m trying to figure out which ones to sell next.”

Daddy looked puzzled.

I pulled the roll of money out of my book bag. “Here,” I said. “This is for you.”

“Mary McHugh,” he said sternly, taking the money and looking it over. “Where on earth did you get this?”

“Mr. Brown gave it to me. I sold him some of your Reminders. Actually, I sold him three of your Reminders, and he paid me three dollars apiece.”

“Oh, Mary …,” Mama whispered as she came into the room.

“I only sold him the ones that Daddy had already given me. I figured since they were mine, it was okay.” I talked fast, hoping to outtalk Mama and Daddy’s questions.

They didn’t say a word, just stared at me as if that would somehow make things clear. To fill up the silence, I told them how it all started, how Mr. Brown had asked to buy the Raspberry Reminder.

“At first I said no, but then today I went right in and sold it to him. Along with a couple others that Daddy gave to me. And, Daddy, Mr. Brown said that he wanted to set up a permanent arrangement. He said that your carvings fit in perfectly with the other beautiful things in his store.”

Mama took the pile of money from Daddy’s hand. “Nine dollars, my goodness,” she said, fanning the money in front of her. And then she started to smile. “Daniel, I hope you’re ready to work. Seems to me that you just got a job!” I waited nervously, staring at Daddy’s face, wishing he would say something.

Daddy took the money back from Mama, slowly counted it, and looking me right in the eye, started to laugh. A great big before-the-accident laugh. He laughed and shook his head and swept me up in a great big bear hug. I didn’t say a word, just smiled and held on as tight as I could.

That night after dinner I
didn’t even bother asking Mama or Daddy if it was okay. I took matters into my own hands and moved Mama’s rocking chair back into the parlor and lit a fire in the fireplace.

Mama sat and sewed while Daddy paced restlessly around the room. Finally she said, “For heaven’s sake, Daniel, you’re making me nervous. Mary, go get your daddy’s carving from the kitchen.” I got up to leave but stopped at the piano.

“Why don’t you play something, Daddy?”

Daddy looked at me. “Hush, Mary,” he said quietly. His words held no smile.

“Just try,” I insisted.

“I told you, Mary,” he said, “I’m not sure I can anymore.”

“You won’t know ‘til you try,” I said as I pulled out the piano stool for him to sit on.

Daddy hesitated for a moment and then leaned his crutches against the wall and sat down heavily, staring at the keys and keeping his hands clasped tightly in his lap.

Unable to remain quiet, I urged him again. “Play, Daddy. Please.”

He laid his hands lightly on the keys for a moment and then played a few chords. The sound of the piano vibrated loudly through the house, strange and unfamiliar.

Don’t stop
, I begged him silently.
Please don’t give up. Just give it a chance
.

Daddy looked at Mama, then at me. He shook out his fingers, took a deep breath, and began again. At first he played some scales. He played gently, gingerly, as if he were awakening the piano from a long sleep. Then he stopped.

“Go on, Daniel,” Mama said softly. “Play ‘Danny Boy.’ I’d surely love to hear that again.”

“If I can remember it,” Daddy said, almost shyly. Slowly, hesitantly at first, with his eyes open, he played. Then gradually, warming to the lilting beauty of the piece, his eyes closed and his body swayed in time to the music.

Mama came and stood behind me to listen, her arms around my shoulders, tears streaming down her face.

The room was filled once again with Daddy’s music. I think his heart was filled, too.

Daddy stopped after one song. “Don’t want to wear myself out,” he said, nudging me playfully and winking at Mama. “That piano playing is a lot of work.” When I watched him hobble out, I swear his step was lighter then it had been since the accident.

“It’s just like it used to be,” I whispered happily to Mama. Inside I knew it wasn’t exactly the same. Daddy didn’t piano dance and Mama had worry lines crisscrossing her forehead when she watched Daddy play. Still, it was close enough for me.

Daddy went in to talk to Mr. Brown
the next day, and they did set up a permanent business arrangement. Daddy’s carvings sold well right from the start, mostly to visitors who wanted to take a piece of the West home with them. He started making furniture, too, like the bed he had carved for me and the bookshelf he had made for Mama. Soon he had more work than he had time. He spent much of the day busy in the kitchen or, if the weather was nice, on the front porch, lost in carving. One afternoon as I sat beside him, I remembered another afternoon, from before the accident.

Daddy hadn’t been to work for two days, his cough so bad that Mama finally insisted that he go to the doctor. “He’ll be fine,” the doctor reassured them both, “but I think it’s a good idea to take a few days away from the damp and the dirt of the mountain. Just to be safe.” That was all Mama needed to hear
.

“I’m fine, Liddie,” Daddy argued, but he was no match for Mama’s stubbornness. That afternoon when I came home from school, Daddy was carving at the kitchen table. I expected him to be anxious about missing work, but he smiled up at me and showed me the Reminder he had been working on that day. It was of a man sitting on a bench, hunched over his carving. I nodded my approval as I pulled my homework out of my book bag. It was nice to have Daddy home in the afternoon. We worked together until, in the middle of our silence, Daddy laughed out loud and said, “Mary, my girl, this is the life. Look at me, playing in the middle of the day. You’d think I was one of the rich mine owners.”

“Don’t go getting any of your crazy ideas,” Mama said, interrupting his daydreams with common sense. And we all laughed together
.

I smiled at the memory, and I smiled even more when I looked over at Daddy “playing” in the middle of the day. He was surely happy. No doubt about it. True, maybe it was a different kind of happy. Maybe it was a deeper kind of happy. Whatever it was, I was glad to see him smiling again.