“Old Yeller! Please come home!” a voice called out, causing Jimmy to jump.
It was Walt.
“That's a sappy story, isn't it?” he asked as he clicked off the movie. “I'll tell you what happens so you don't have to watch it. The boy gets another dog.”
Jimmy asked the question that remained on his mind.
“Do you know where the boy lives?”
“Just over the line in Alabama. The sad thing is that his new dog died too. A neighbor killed it. Shot it in the head while the boy was watching. Blood and brains went everywhere.”
Jimmy started for the door. He'd heard enough. He'd rather sit in the kitchen and watch Aunt Jill cook supper. The thought of the boy losing two dogs was more than he could bear. Walt put his arm around Jimmy's shoulders and stopped him.
“Don't run off. I'm kidding. The boy got another dog that looked exactly like Old Yeller, and they lived happily ever after.”
Jimmy tried to squirm free, but his cousin tightened his grip.
“Do you want to wrestle?” Walt asked.
Jimmy shook his head. He didn't know what Walt meant, but it didn't sound like fun. Walt didn't release him.
“This is how it works. I'll hold you down on the floor and you try to get up. Or, you can hold me down, and I'll try to get up. Which one do you want to do? You pick.”
“No,” Jimmy answered.
Walt leaned over close to Jimmy's face.
“Then go to the kitchen and peel potatoes, but be careful not to cut your finger.”
Walt released him, and Jimmy fled to the guest bedroom. He sat on the bed and stared at the wall, waiting for his heart to slow down. He heard footsteps in the hall. He'd forgotten to close and lock the door. He looked up in alarm. A head appeared in the doorway.
It was Uncle Bart.
“Hey, Jimmy,” he said. “We're glad you can stay with us. It's almost time for supper. Wash your hands and come to the kitchen.”
“Yes, sir.”
When Jimmy went downstairs, Walt was getting a soft drink from the refrigerator. Uncle Bart was filling four glasses with tea.
“Did you finish the movie?” Aunt Jill asked Jimmy.
“No, ma'am.”
Aunt Jill set a bowl of peas on the table. She'd fixed fried chicken. The sight of the chicken lifted Jimmy's spirits. Aunt Jill made very good fried chickenâ crisp and slightly spicy on the outside and hot and juicy on the inside. They all sat down, and Bart prayed the blessing.
“Tell us what you've been up to,” Uncle Bart said as Jimmy selected a golden drumstick. “Are you still learning to ride your bike?”
Jimmy took a bite from his chicken leg. It was delicious.
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell us about it.”
Jimmy wanted to focus on the chicken leg but knew Uncle Bart's question had to be answered first. He gave a brief report of his progress with special emphasis on bike safety. Jimmy had learned that no matter what he did, adults were always interested in safety.
“Have you seen Walt's car?” Uncle Bart asked.
“No, sir.”
“I
hope he thinks as much about safety as you do.”
Jimmy saw Walt roll his eyes. The conversation shifted to Walt, leaving Jimmy free to remove every speck of meat from the chicken leg. When he finished, Aunt Jill gave him another one before he could ask for seconds.
T
HE REST OF THE EVENING PASSED WITHOUT INCIDENT.
U
NCLE
Bart returned to the office, Walt mercifully disappeared into his room, and Jimmy stayed close to Aunt Jill. In a small storage room adjacent to the kitchen, she'd set up a craft room, where she spent many hours making wreaths and Christmas tree ornaments.
Aunt Jill's wreaths weren't simple circles decorated with a few plastic berries. She placed hand-painted figurines into the greenery and made every wreath different. Jimmy was amazed at her ability to paint with the tiny brushes neatly lined up in a wooden rack on her worktable.
Aunt Jill brought an even greater eye for detail to her Christmas tree ornaments. For several years, she'd given Mama a new ornament on which she'd painted a member of the nativity scene. This past Christmas, a whole section of the tree in the Mitchell living room was occupied by shepherds, angels, animals, and members of the holy family. Most recently Aunt Jill had painted the wise men riding camels, one each on three ornaments. Mama placed them in a row moving up toward the star at the top of the tree.
“Let me show what I'm working on for your mother,” Aunt Jill said to Jimmy.
She opened a drawer and took out a gold-colored ornament with a delicate winged figure on it.
“What do you think of my angel?” she asked.
Jimmy leaned closer but remembered not to touch. He could see fluffy detail in the creature's wings. It reminded him of the pictures in the angel book.
“It's very pretty,” he said.
“Would you like to help me?”
“No, ma'am. I'm not a good painter.”
“I'm not talking about this type of work. There is something I'm sure you could do very well. Will you give it a try?”
“Yes, ma'am,” Jimmy answered reluctantly.
Aunt Jill taught him how to paint small Styrofoam balls. The first three turned out messy, but Jimmy thought his fourth wasn't so bad.
“I paint a spot on the pole I climb in Grandpa's backyard,” Jimmy said, liking his work. “But I don't have to be so careful because nobody sees it up close.”
Wearing half-frame magnifying glasses, Aunt Jill carefully finished the dark eyes and nose for a miniature sheep.
“How far have you climbed?”
“I'm not sure, but Grandpa says it's a lot higher than Goliath's head.”
“Is that close to the top?”
“No, ma'am. It's a forty-five-foot, class B pole, and I'm not going to stop until I go all the way up.”
“That's amazing. I could never do that.”
“Oh yes, you could. I'm sure Grandpa would teach you if you asked him. You could borrow my climbing hooks. We're about the same size, so they would fit you.”
Aunt Jill shook her head. “I think I'll stick to painting angels.”
T
HAT NIGHT
J
IMMY CRAWLED IN TO BED MISSING HIS MAMA.
He stared at the closed door with the narrow band of light beneath it and sighed. Rolling onto his left side, he faced the darkness and felt an aching loneliness. At home, Mama slept out of sight in the bedroom at the other end of the hall, but Jimmy knew she was there. If he didn't quickly fall asleep, he would imagine her cleaning the kitchen counters, drinking a glass of water, reading a book in the living room, or turning off the downstairs lights.
Jimmy was afraid he'd stay awake all night feeling sad, but the next thing he knew the morning sun was dancing around the sides of the curtains. He dressed and went downstairs to the kitchen. Aunt Jill, a cup of coffee in her hand, leaned over the counter reading the newspaper.
“Would you like pecan pancakes for breakfast?” she asked.
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Your mother told me how much you like them. Bart has already left for the office, and I don't expect to see Walt for another hour or so.”
Jimmy sat at the kitchen table and watched Aunt Jill make the pancakes. When she put a steaming stack in front of him, he bowed his head and offered a brief, silent prayer before coating the hot disks with butter and syrup. He took a monstrous bite.
“How are they?” Aunt Jill asked.
Jimmy chewed and swallowed. “They're good. Not as good as Mama's, but I like them.”
Aunt Jill smiled. “I'll take that as a high compliment.”
Jimmy finished breakfast, washed his plate off in the sink, and put it in the dishwasher. Aunt Jill stood back and watched.
“Do you always do that?” she asked.
“Unless the dishes in the washer are clean. Then I leave my plate in the sink.”
“That's good. Would you like to watch TV?”
“No, ma'am. I'd like to help you.”
Jimmy helped Aunt Jill perform her morning tasks. She watered her indoor plants on Saturday. Jimmy carried the watering can and filled it up with water from the sink when it ran dry.
“Do you always stay this close to your mother?” she asked.
Jimmy nodded. “Yes, ma'am. I love her a lot. When you love someone, you want to be with them all the time. I like seeing Grandpa too.”
Walt made his first appearance of the morning as Jimmy, a load of dirty clothes in his arms, followed Aunt Jill to the laundry room.
“When you finish the laundry, vacuum my room,” Walt said.
“You should hang around and learn a few things,” Aunt Jill responded. “Jimmy knows more about taking care of a house than a lot of grown men.”
“Do you want me to vacuum Walt's room?” Jimmy asked.
“No, there's too much stuff on the floor. It wouldn't do any good.”
Walt went back to his room and closed the door. When he appeared a half hour later, he called out to his mother, “I'm going out for a ride to see some friends. I'll be back by supper.”
A few minutes later, Aunt Jill received a phone call.
When she hung up, she said, “A woman in our church is in the hospital, and I'm going over to see her for a few minutes. Will you be okay by yourself ?”
“Yes, ma'am. Mama leaves me alone at the house, but I'm not supposed to leave the yard or answer the door.”
“That's a good rule for here too.”
“I usually play with Buster.”
“We'll go over later today and make sure he has food and water.”
After Aunt Jill left, Jimmy wandered around the house. He missed his bike and Buster. After looking at the pictures of a forest in a magazine, he went upstairs. He slowed when he came to Walt's door. He tried the knob. It was unlocked. After looking both ways, he slowly pushed the door open and entered. A trash can was in front of the drawer where Walt put the pictures of Jimmy and Vera. Jimmy moved the trash can and opened the drawer. It was filled with broken pencils, rubber bands, CDs without the cases, and photographs. Jimmy grabbed a handful of pictures and flipped through them. Most were of Walt playing baseball and opening Christmas presents. Jimmy took out more pictures. In the second batch, he found the photo of Vera holding him in the hospital. He took it to a window and held it
in the light. The scene was as he remembered. Both Vera and Daddy looked happy. Jimmy studied his own face more closely. He couldn't tell much. He looked red and wrinkled. It was hard to believe that he had been so tiny. He put the picture on top of the desk and continued to look through the drawer. He found the picture of Vera and Daddy beside the Christmas tree but not any others. The drawer was a mess.
Jimmy held a picture in each hand. He wanted to put them in his suitcase and take them home. He hesitated. He remembered the commandment against stealing. But then, Walt wasn't in the pictures. Photos should belong to the people who were in them. And Walt wasn't taking good care of them. One had suffered a tear in the corner since the first time Jimmy saw it.
Suddenly, he knew what he would do.
He would borrow the photos. Borrowing wasn't stealing, because the pictures would be returned. Jimmy could look at them for a few weeks then give them back to Walt so he could look at them. Sharing was a good thing. Mama encouraged him to share.
Jimmy left the room, took the pictures to the guest bedroom, and put them in his suitcase. If he put tape on the back of the torn photo, he could keep it from ripping more.
Going downstairs, he wandered around until he reached the craft room. Under the counter was a small bag filled with the white balls Aunt Jill had showed him how to paint. Beside it were cans of red, green, and gold paint. He shook the green paint, listened to the little ball rattle inside, and slowly counted to sixty. Grandpa said that the little ball stirred the paint from the inside. Jimmy wasn't sure what needed to be stirred since only one color could fit in a can, but he'd shaken his can many times before spraying a white spot on the pole.
He placed a white ball on the end of a long needle that held it up in the air. He held the can the right distance and pressed the button. He carefully moved the spray back and forth. In less than a minute, he finished a perfect green ball. No runs; no drips. He blew on it and waited for it to dry. Setting it aside, he pulled out another one.
He was on his seventh ball, a red one, when the phone rang. Startled, he turned toward the kitchen, and his hand followed his eyes. He didn't release the spray button on the paint, and the result was broad racing stripe across a wreath Aunt Jill had almost finished. Jimmy lifted his finger from the button and stared. He looked again at the balls he'd painted. Seven perfect balls, even without drips or runs, wouldn't equal the damage to the beautiful wreath. He touched the red paint on the wreath with his finger. It was already dry. He heard the front door open. He quickly put another wreath on top of the ruined one.
Walt came into the kitchen and saw him in the craft room.
“What are you doing?” Walt asked. “You'll mess up her stuff.”
Jimmy sat still. Walt came over to him.
“Did you paint these balls?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“You might have a future as one of Santa's elves.”
Jimmy adjusted the wreath to hide his mistake. Walt reached across him and picked it up.
“What's this? Got a little carried away with the red paint?”
“The phone rang, and I forgot to let go of the button.”
“At least you didn't paint a line all the way across the kitchen.” Walt held up the wreath. “This was her favorite one. She's going to be very upset.”
Jimmy felt a hot tear in the corner of his left eye. He rubbed it away with the back of his hand. Walt patted him on the back.
“Don't cry. I have an idea.”
“What?” Jimmy asked, his voice shaking a little.