The Christmas Portrait (6 page)

“For my mama,” I said.

“Your mama? You don't have a mama. Everybody knows she's dead.”

Eric's words shoved me into a place where I didn't want to be. I didn't know whether to cry, or to run, or to just sock him in the nose. My mama had gone to heaven on September twenty-eighth, but no one had ever said out loud to me, “You don't have a mama. She's dead.”

Laramie heard what Eric said and came and sat down beside me. “Don't listen to Eric. He's a dumb toad.” Then she leaned over and whispered in my ear, “If you want me to, I'll take care of him after school. I'll make him sorry he ever said something like that.”

I just bit my lip and shook my head. I believed Laramie could take care of him all right, but I didn't want her to get in trouble.

Laramie was as tall as Eric and the fastest runner in the class. She acted like a tomboy, but she didn't look like one, with her green eyes and long blonde hair. She often got in trouble for sassing or for saying ugly words, but she could be nice sometimes. She was the only one in the class who ever told me how sorry she was about Mama dying. I think it was because her mama was gone too. But I wasn't friends with her because my best friend Emily didn't like her. Emily was prissy and all into girly things, and Laramie? Well, Laramie was different and mostly stuck to herself.

I didn't talk to Eric or Laramie anymore. I just wanted to be quiet, put the redbird stickers on my box, and think about Mama. I finished, and Miss Applegate sealed the box and the lid with spray. When I wiped my face on the sleeve of my sweater and Eric started pointing at me, Miss Applegate told him the spray had made my eyes water.

C
HAPTER
F
OUR

T
HE LAST DAYS
of school before Christmas break flew by, and finally it was Friday again. Daddy was working, and Aunt Susannah Hope had to take Chesler to the dentist, so Daddy asked Mrs. Peterson if I could come home with Emily after school. Mrs. Peterson and Mama used to be like me and Emily, best friends.

Everybody said Emily and I looked like sisters. Maybe it was 'cause we spent so much time together or maybe 'cause we were both skinny and had long, brownish hair the color of a dirty string mop.

The Petersons lived down Sycamore Drive only four blocks from Cedar Falls Elementary School and just a few doors down from Aunt Susannah Hope's. Mrs. Peterson said it was safe for us to walk home from school since there were two of us. Emily and I were both on the Honor Roll at school, and we didn't play with matches or knives, but we were not allowed to stay at home without an adult.

I'm not quite sure why it was safe to walk home in the snow, right past Glenn's busy filling station on the corner and the motorcycle repair shop, but it wasn't safe to stay at home by ourselves. I heard Granny say one time, “There are some seedy-looking characters at that motorcycle shop.” She didn't know Laramie's dad worked there.

Laramie walked out the school door ahead of us. As soon as they spotted her, some of the older boys started in. “Hey, Laramie, want to race? Bet you can't catch us.”

She didn't even look their way, she just said, “Shut your mouth, Jeremy, or you may catch my fist in your nose.” They started whistling and teasing her about her long legs. So she stopped, and when she turned around what came out of her mouth would have gotten me grounded until I was eighteen.

We passed right by, but I felt bad for not speaking up or doing anything. “Those boys are so mean. Maybe we should invite her to walk with us.”

Emily shook her head. “No way. Laramie's too trashy.”

I felt sorry for Laramie. I heard Mama and Granny talking after Laramie's mama left in late August. They said Laramie and her daddy woke up one morning, and her mama was gone. Just plain gone. She had taken some of her clothes, a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and the car, and she never came back. Mama said, “It's just not right for a mother to leave her children like that. There's got to be more to this story.”

Mama left me and Chesler, but not because she wanted to. I wasn't sure where heaven was, but wherever it was, I knew Mama was there and it was a good place. Laramie didn't know where in the world her mama was.

Laramie ran on ahead of us, and by the time Emily and I got to the motorcycle shop, Laramie was kicking a pile of beer cans around the parking lot. I raised my hand to wave to her, but when she saw us, she ran around the shop and disappeared.

“Don't wave at her, Kate, she's just trouble.” Emily wouldn't even look in Laramie's direction.

Emily didn't know the difference between being trouble and having trouble. I wanted to tell her I would wave at Laramie if I wanted to, but that would just start a fuss. Emily always had to have her way. Anyway, I would just talk to Laramie when Emily wasn't around. Emily could still be my best friend and all, but somehow I thought Laramie was more like me.

Mrs. Peterson had the hot chocolate almost made when we got to her house. By the time we got out of our coats and mittens, she had put the marshmallows on top and started popping popcorn. She said, “You can eat it, or string it and hang it out back in the oak tree for the birds.”

When we finished our snack, Emily wanted to see what I made in art class. Miss Applegate had helped me wrap up the presents with bubble wrap. So I unwrapped Daddy's fish first and laid it on the kitchen table.

Mrs. Peterson smiled. “Your daddy's just going to love that, Kate. You know how he loves fishing. What else do you have in there?”

Emily touched the bubble wrap. “Yeah, show us. We're good at keeping secrets.”

So I decided to let them see the box.

“Oh, that's really pretty,” Mrs. Peterson picked it up. “Who's it for? Your Granny Grace?”

I paused a minute, and then decided to tell them straight out. “I made this one for Mama.”

Mrs. Peterson's face got a wrinkled-up look and she set the box down. “Oh, my goodness!” Adults said that when they didn't know what to say and thought something was weird. Emily just acted like she hadn't heard me. That was how she acted when Mama died too, like it didn't happen.

Then Mrs. Peterson got her perky smile back. “Would you like me to get the Christmas wrapping paper? You can do your wrapping here.”

Emily said, “Yeah, Mom. Let's use my favorite paper.”

I nodded. “Yes, ma'am, I would like to wrap the fish bowl.”

Mrs. Peterson looked a little relieved that I didn't want to wrap Mama's box. She probably thought I changed my mind about giving my mama a present, but I hadn't. I had plans for that empty, painted box.

Mrs. Peterson brought in two rolls of Christmas paper, one of them silver with pink and purple Christmas balls, and the other gold with pine needles and pine cones. She put them on the table and looked at me. “Here, Kate, you get to decide which one your daddy would like.”

I knew which one was Emily would choose, but I couldn't wrap Daddy's fish bowl in pink and purple. I took the one with pine cones. “Thanks, Mrs. Peterson. Emily's lucky to have you as a mom.”

Mrs. Peterson smiled 'cause what I said made her a little bit happy, but somehow the smile didn't make it all the way to her eyes. They looked kind of sad and worried still. Anyway, I tried to make her happy. But lately, lots of people looked sad around me, as if I had a sign around my neck that said, “Be sad around Kate, her mama went to heaven.” But at least I made her smile enough so I could put another smiley face on my calendar tonight.

After I finished wrapping Daddy's present, Emily and I went up to her room. Her room was pink like bubblegum. The walls, the carpet, the curtains, almost everything was pink. What wasn't solid pink was white polka-dotted. I didn't know how Emily lived in that cotton candy room. I liked my yellow sunshine room better.

Emily perched on her bed, and I flopped down beside her. “So,” she said, not looking at me too close, “why did you make a present for your mama?”

“I always make a present for Mama at Christmas, don't you?”

“Yeah, I do. But my mom's here to get hers. Your mom isn't. So what's the use in making it?”

I moved away from Emily. “But Mama would want it. It would make her so happy.”

Emily traced the polka dots on her bedspread with her fingers. “Okay, but how are you going to get it to her?”

“I don't have that part figured out yet. Putting it under the Christmas tree won't work.”

Emily nodded. “Maybe you could leave it at your mama's grave in the cemetery and put a card with her name on it, sort of like the daisies you and your daddy take there.”

“I already thought of that, but it won't work either, because Mama's not there, not really. Just because that's the last place I saw her doesn't mean that's where she is.” I didn't like putting Mama in the ground because I knew Mama liked sunshine and flowers and warm weather. Daddy told me it wasn't really Mama there in the ground. He said Mama's body was like some old clothes she took off, sort of like butterflies leaving their cocoons behind. He said Mama, the real person she was and all that she felt and knew inside, now had on bright new clothes in heaven.

I didn't tell Emily all that. I just said, “There just has to be a way to get it to heaven. Maybe I could leave the box in the cedar tree outside the kitchen window and the redbird would take it to Mama.”

Emily knew what Mama told me about the redbird. “No, I don't think that's a good idea. Some crow could just fly by and take it.”

She was right. A lot of crows hung out in the woods by the stream this time of year.

Emily got quiet, and I thought she was trying to come up with a good idea, one that would crank up and fly. But then she asked, “Do you really think there's a heaven, Kate?”

Her question made me want to cry, but I just nodded. “I'm sure, really sure there's a heaven because Mama's there, just living in God's neighborhood.”

“So where do you think God's neighborhood is?”

I shook my head. “I don't know, Emily. I think it's somewhere in the sky, higher that we can even see, and so far up it's not even blue anymore.”

Emily didn't ask any more questions about heaven. She pointed at the box. “Why don't you mail it to Santa Claus at the North Pole and ask him to take it to her?”

Now Emily made straight As, but sometimes she could be just plain dumb. She probably thought the North Pole was closer to heaven. Who knew? Maybe it was. I didn't believe in the whole Santa thing anymore, but I didn't tell Emily that just like I didn't say anything to Chesler about it either.

I tried to be nice. “Santa has enough to do without worrying about my mama's present. I'll figure something out.” I had an idea about who might have the answer, but I didn't share that with Emily.

The doorbell rang, and I was glad. I knew it would be Daddy. We'd stop at Aunt Susannah Hope's and get Chesler, and then take off to the Blue Cow for our Friday night supper. Grilled pork chops, succotash, hot biscuits, and cheese grits.

When we got to Aunt Susannah Hope's, Chesler met us at the door with his balloon and the bag Dr. Berg gave him. Like he would use a new toothbrush, and toothpaste, and dental floss. It was a wonder Chesler had any teeth left. He never brushed them the way Mama said to.

We got into the warm car and started singing the “Blue Cow Here We Come” song before we got to the corner. We'd been singing that song every Friday night since I could remember. Every time I heard it, I could taste cheese grits.

We drove up the street, passed the filling station, and right in front of the motorcycle shop, for no good reason I could see, Daddy slowed way down. He leaned over the steering wheel so he could see out the side window over my head.

I turned to see what Daddy was looking at.

Mr. Fields and Laramie were in the parking lot of the motorcycle shop. Her dad was pulling her arm, yelling something, and Laramie was standing her ground just like she did with those boys making fun of her after school. Mr. Fields yanked on her arm, and right then Daddy sounded the horn.

Mr. Fields's head came up. He looked in our direction, dropped his hand, and disappeared into the shop. Laramie took off running down the sidewalk, away from our car.

“What is wrong with that man?” Daddy muttered.

We rolled down the street, and Daddy kept looking in the rearview mirror, watching. I watched out the window till Laramie disappeared between two buildings.

“Do you know that little girl?” Daddy asked.

“Yes, sir. I know her a little. She's in my class.”

“Do you think she'll be all right?” Daddy was still driving slow and looking in the mirror.

“I don't know, but I think so. She does a good job of taking care of herself.” I remembered her offer to take care of Eric after school.

“Looks to me like she's had to learn to protect herself if that's the way her dad treats her.”

“Her mama's gone.” That's all I wanted to say.

“What do you mean gone?” Daddy looked at me.

“I don't know, just gone.”

“What's her name?”

“Laramie. Laramie Fields.”

“Oh, Fields, is it? Okay.” Daddy stopped talking and nodded his head like he knew something I didn't know.

I didn't want to tell Daddy what I had heard Mama and Granny Grace say about Laramie's mama leaving in August. Granny Grace told me after Mama went to heaven that it was a sad thing children had to think about things like funerals and graveyards. Granny would probably add Laramie's mama to her list of things children ought not to have to think about.

We rode the rest of the way to the Blue Cow in silence, too sad to say anything. I knew Daddy didn't like what he saw, Mr. Fields yanking on Laramie's arm like that. Daddy always said hands were for taking care of people, not hurting them. And much as he wanted to, Daddy couldn't fix every hurt there was in the world. Mine included.