Part 13 (1/2)
It was a poem she was writing to read at Mattie's funeral-her mother's idea, of course. She would have preferred to sit quietly in the back and do nothing, but her mother had insisted. ”You were her best friend,” she said, ”and I was her G.o.dmother. How would it look if you didn't say or do anything while someone like Cottie Moore sings a song, or Jane Henson does a dramatic reading?” Lily didn't care what Jane or Cottie was going to do; she didn't like them anyway. And even though she was Mattie's best friend, she still didn't want to read a poem in front of everyone.
She stared at the blank s.p.a.ce under the four lines. She wanted to say something about Mattie's hair, which was a thick bushy brown, or her eyes, which were dark dark brown and always alert, but she couldn't think of any rhymes for hair or eyes, or any adjectives to go with them. Why couldn't she just sit at the back of the church like she wanted to? She hated the idea of everyone staring at her while she read her poem. Lily knew she was what was called a funny-looking child. She looked like both her mother and her father, but all mixed up in a jumble. She had her father's nice full lips, broad nose, and thick kinky hair. But she'd also gotten her mother's fair skin and light hair, and together she knew she looked a little like a duckling, awkward and ungainly. The only feature that was truly hers were her eyes, which were wide and round and sparkling brown, and drew people to her. Lily knew, however, that up on the podium, raised above the pews, she would only look yellow and strange.
She s.h.i.+fted her gaze out the window, hoping to find an adjective to describe Mattie's hair. Why couldn't she just show one of the pictures she had sketched of Mattie? There was the one of Mattie sitting on the steps of her front porch, with acorns in her mouth. Or the one of the baptism, where she had drawn Mattie, Edie Senate, and Floyd Turner all sitting in a row at the back of the church altar, waiting for the preacher to call them down into the pool of water, where he would rest his hand over their noses and mouths and dunk them, fully dressed, in the water. Or even the one she had drawn of Mattie today, of the two of them, sitting on Mattie's front porch the night before she died. They put up flowers at funerals, so why couldn't they put up one of her pictures, like a little flower? And that could be that. It would mean telling about the drawings, of course, and if she did that, her mother would want to see them all. Maybe it would be easier to read the poem; at least it would be over quickly. If she told about the drawings, there'd be no end to it.
There was a quick rap on the door, and as soon as she slid a piece of paper over what she was writing, her mother was in the room.
”Oh, Lily, I'm so disgusted,” her mother said, huffing from the flight of stairs. She dropped onto the edge of Lily's bed and immediately began picking at a loose thread on the bedspread.
Lily watched her mother's eyes frenetically sweep around the room.
”Really, I can't even begin to tell you,” Mrs. Baldridge continued. ”No one seems to have the vaguest notion of how to behave tonight.” She stared at a pile of books on top of Lily's dresser and read the t.i.tle of each one. She focused on Lily's shoes and then at the hem of Lily's dress. ”And do you know what I saw today as I drove past the McDougalds'? No, of course you don't know. You couldn't even begin to guess.” Her gaze at last rested on Lily's face. ”Guess,” she said sharply.
”I don't know, Mother. What?” Lily answered.
”A skate,” she announced. ”Do you hear what I'm saying? A skate.”
Lily was puzzled. She was sure her mother could read her expression.
”You don't understand what I'm saying, do you?”
Lily shook her head slowly.
”It was her skate,” her mother elaborated. ”Right under the front bush.”
Lily's eyes widened.
”Right,” replied her mother; ”that's just what I'm saying. It was as plain as day. I'm surprised Sirus hasn't seen it. But he hasn't. His mind has been too busy, I expect. But there it was and, I imagine, still is. Do you understand what I'm saying?”
”Yes, Mother,” Lily said quietly.
”I mean, anyone could see it tonight. Sirus. Oh, G.o.d, poor Aileen. What a shock that would be.”
Lily tried to imagine how the skate had gotten there. Had Mattie fallen, flung it there in anger, and then clumped into the house on only one skate? Or had she put it there on purpose; was there something wrong with the skate that she wanted to hide?
”I'm at a loss,” continued her mother. ”Completely. I can't very well go over there and pick it up myself. What if someone saw me in the bushes, for goodness' sake? And it can't be left there. What a cruel thing that would be.”
Lily suddenly imagined running over to Mattie's house right now to pick it up, not so that it would be gone, but to make it hers.
”Well,” Mrs. Baldridge said, leaning toward Lily. ”Do you think I'm just talking to hear myself speak? What do you think we should do?”
Lily wished she had seen the skate first and had it now, under her bed, safely wrapped in a blanket.
”Can you really see it from the road?” she asked.
”Like buckshot in a deer's eye.”
Lily winced. ”Then I guess someone should pick it up.” Her voice trailed off at the end of her sentence.
”Do what?” her mother fairly yelled. ”Speak up.”
”Pick it up,” Lily said louder.
”Well, what do you think I've been saying? I mean, have you been listening to a word I've said?”
”Yes, ma'am, I'm listening.” Lily made an effort to sit straighter in her chair and bring her eyes to her mother's.
”What have you been doing up here all this time, anyway?”
Lily wished they could return to the skate, but she knew her mother would not be satisfied with that.
”I cleaned my room,” she answered, ”and ironed my dress for tonight.”
”Oh, really? Let me see it.”
Lily took her dress from the closet and held it up to herself, holding it out at the hem so that the skirt flared.
”There's a wrinkle there, on the left side,” her mother said, taking the material in her hand and balling it lightly. Lily knew that this would not only mark the spot that needed ironing, but make a new wrinkle as well.
”And your ears? Let me see them,” she continued as Lily hung the dress back in her closet.
”Yes, ma'am.” Lily returned and leaned forward so that her head hung just within reach of her mother's hands. Her mother took her chin in one hand and turned it first to one side, where she inspected one ear, and then to the other. ”There's wax at the back of both of your ears,” she concluded.
Lily backed her head away, willing herself to move it slowly. What was it her mother was moving toward?
”You might as well know, I'm worried about this whole thing.”
”You mean about the skate?” Lily asked.
”That, and the whole thing.” Her mother waved her hand listlessly in the air.
Lily wasn't at all sure what her mother meant. ”You mean about the funeral tomorrow? What you're going to say?”
”No, not that . . . You think I'm worried about something so minor when this house, our car, all those fine things you wear, your whole future and mine is what's at stake?”
”No, I guess not,” Lily ventured.
”No, of course not. Do I look like somebody's fool?”
”No, Momma, of course you don't.”
”Oh, if your father were alive, it would be different. He'd still have his job, his position, and we'd have our place from his, but since he died, it's all dependent on everyone else. Did you know we get an allowance from the bank every month, something the bank board voted on after he died? Well, what do you think would happen if Sirus McDougald were not heading up that board? Do you think those others would be so generous? No, I don't think so. They'd just as soon forget we even exist; that's what I think. I wouldn't trust a one of them. And what about this house? Who do you think owns it? Do you think there's a deed with my name on it? Of course there isn't. And do you think it's anyone else down at the bank that argues for us to stay? Not for a minute. The rest of them don't think of anyone but themselves.”
Lily had had no idea of any of this. It was the first she knew that everything they had wasn't really theirs.
”I don't understand, Mother,” she began. ”Why would anything change now? Is Mr. McDougald going somewhere?”
Her mother groaned loudly. ”Don't you know anything? Must I spell everything out for you? Things change. Death changes things.”
Lily still didn't understand. Of course death changes things. It meant she and Mattie would never go to the beach together again, or ride in the McDougalds' car. It meant there'd be no one sitting on the porch or standing in the yard that she could yell hey to when she rode past on her bike. Oh, a hundred and one things would change. But nowhere was there the kind of change her mother was talking about, and she couldn't see, even for a moment, why it should be so.