Runny03 - Loose Lips (50 page)

Ramelle returned after hearing Juts’s version of the story. She sat opposite Cora and Nickel.

“Pretty good cookies, aren’t they?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Nicky, I called your mother and told her you were here. Did you tell her you were leaving?”

“I’m not telling her anything.”

“She said you could visit for a while and then she’ll come get you.”

“I don’t want to go home.”

Cora shrewdly said, “You can’t leave Yoyo and Buster.”

“Couldn’t they live with me?”

“I don’t think so, honey.” Cora squeezed her with her arm around Nicky’s shoulder.

“And your mother apologizes. She didn’t mean that you were a jam, she meant that Rillma got into a jam. It’s one of those sayings people use. I think she lost her temper and wishes she hadn’t.”

“Did you lose yours?” Cora inquired.

“Yes.” Nicky cast down her eyes.

“Least you have one. The trick is knowing how to use it.”

“I don’t want to listen to her.”

“She didn’t want to listen to me,” Cora said. “But that’s mothers and daughters. She is your mother. She’s not perfect, but she is your mother. Anyway, I’ll talk to her and we’ll get this sorted out.”

“Who’s my father?”

A burdensome moment followed that logical and necessary question.

Ramelle, wondering if she was doing the right thing, thought it better to tell the truth than to lie. The child had had enough lying. “Your father was Celeste Chalfonte’s nephew, Francis. Rillma told people your father was a man named Bullette, but she did that to protect everyone because Francis was married to someone else.”

“Doesn’t he like me?”

“He died at the end of the war from overwork and strain. He would love you.” Ramelle prayed for guidance since no one, not even Cora, knew the whole story. “He and your mother, your natural mother, worked together during the war and they fell in love. What should have been a wonderful story with a happy ending couldn’t be happy because he was married already. The one happy thing to happen was you.”

“Oh.”

“Only Celeste, God rest her soul, and I knew who your real father was. He gave Rillma the money to move to Portland. It was
Celeste who had gotten Rillma her job with Francis, and she always felt responsible, even though she wasn’t. But we are glad you’re here. And no one has to know everything.”

“Bet Aunt Louise knows. Aunt Louise says she knows all kinds of things.”

“Aunt Louise doesn’t know.”

“Does Momma?”

“No,” Ramelle answered.

“Do I have to love Momma?”

“You do—in your heart.” Cora sighed, thinking of the conversations she was going to have with Juts and then Louise before Juts got at Louise and another war started.

“How can you love someone when you don’t like them?”

“You remember the good times,” Cora responded. “And you pray that God will show you the way. You see, people need love when they are most unlovable.”

“Like Momma?”

“Well—yes.”

“Mrs. Chalfonte, did you ever love someone when you didn’t even like them?”

“Many times.”

A knock on the door, followed by “It’s me,” announced Juts.

“Remember—” Ramelle whispered, but before she could finish her sentence Juts was upon them.

She surveyed the scene, then burst into tears. “I’m sorry. Nicky, I’m sorry.”

Nickel watched her mother sob. Cora slid out from her seat and hugged her daughter.

“Juts, if only you’d think before you open your mouth.”

“I know.” Juts sobbed some more.

Ramelle thought of a line written by Paul Valéry: “I loved myself, hated myself, and then we grew old together.”

C
hristmas brought Nicky her Roy Rogers gun and holster and Mother Smith an angina attack. She lived. Juts wondered how many more years she’d have to put up with her mother-in-law. She pretended to be happy she’d survived.

Chester wore himself out running between the hospital and home. His brothers, home for the holidays, weren’t much help. He came down with a bad cold. Juts put him to bed.

Nicky decided not to go to Jackson Frost’s party. Juts dialed the number for her and Nicky got on the phone to tell Jackson that she had to take care of her dad. She did, too. She brought him orange juice, pills, and Vicks VapoRub. She also read to him. He heard “’Twas the Night Before Christmas” four times in a row and swore each reading was better than the last.

Once when he fell asleep he awakened fitfully to find Nicky sitting on the edge of the bed watching him. She petted his hand as though he were Yoyo.

“Daddy, I’ll make you better.”

He sneezed. “Yes, you will.”

“Daddy, I’d give up my Christmas presents if it would make you feel better.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I would, though.” She kissed his hand and snuggled up to him. “You won’t leave me, will you?”

“Never.” He wondered what was cooking inside that curly head.

“You wouldn’t give me back to Rillma Ryan, would you?”

“What?” Chester, knowing nothing of the events of the last few days, was jolted wide awake.

“I’m afraid Momma will get mad at me and dump me.”

“Don’t worry your pretty head, sugar.” He couldn’t wait to grill Juts. “You belong right here with me, forever and ever.”

She nestled her head in the crook of his arm. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He sneezed.

“I’ll get you more orange juice. Mom says you have to drink oceans of it.”

“Thanks. I’ve had enough. But you can do me a big favor. Go ask Momma to come in here and keep me company.”

“Okay.”

By the time Juts’s shadow floated across the threshold he had his questions lined up. They sent Nicky down to the kitchen to feed Yoyo and Buster, which meant they had about fifteen minutes.

“Julia, how does Nickel know about Rillma?”

“Peepbean told her.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I forgot.”

“Shit.” He sat upright, his head throbbing. “You tell her she’s adopted without me. She finds out about Rillma Ryan. What the hell am I around here, the doorman? You have no right to keep this from me.”

“Chester, you’re running a fever.”

“Don’t crawfish!”

“I’m not.”

“You should have told me.”

“I suppose Nicky did.”

“Just now. She wanted to know if you would give her back to Rillma Ryan if you were mad at her. That’s a helluva thing for a kid to feel.”

Juts waved her hand, dismissing the fear. “She’ll forget it. You know how kids are.”

“No, I don’t. But I know how you are.”

“Your mother was put in the hospital and so much happened so fast, I meant to get to it but I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

“I want the whole story.”

“Not now, honey, she’ll be back up here in a minute. I promise I’ll tell you. Everything.”

He flopped back on the pillow. Sweat dribbled down his forehead. Juts dabbed his head.

“I’m going to put ice cubes in a washrag. That ought to help.”

He turned his eyes to their wedding picture as she left the room. Did every woman “forget” pertinent facts, or was it Juts alone? He wondered if there was a worldwide female conspiracy to control men, to make them feel stupid.

Juts and Nicky returned.

“I forgot something else,” Juts said.

“What?” He half squinted because his head hurt so bad, even his eyes hurt.

“O.B. is putting Peepbean in Catholic school. If he’ll be the part-time sexton, St. Rose’s will pay for it. Popeye is vacating his sexton duties.”

“There’s something ignorant about that boy.” Chester closed his eyes, the cool washrag on his forehead comforting.

Nicky repeated a phrase she had heard. “He’s a new bat in an old belfry.”

Chessy and Juts laughed. Somehow it exactly described the situation.

A
foggy April day in 1952 chased Juts and Louise inside to work. Antsy, Juts pulled out her patterns, the thin paper crinkling.

“I don’t like any of these.” Louise turned her nose up.

“Me neither.”

“I need a new hat. Let’s drive over to Hagerstown.”

“I can make you a hat.”

Nicky, hunched over the porcelain-topped kitchen table doing her sums, watched as Juts left, returning with a falsie.

“And what, may I ask, do you intend to do with that?” Louise asked dryly. “I’m well padded.”

“I’ll cover it with satin, put a bow here and a little veil. Black or maybe navy blue. Real Tats.” Tats was what Juts called the famous milliner, Countess Tatiana.

“Hey—” Louise warmed to the idea. “Black, black with a twist of red in the bow.”

“Yeah.” Enthusiastically Julia rummaged around in her wicker basket, which held her fabric odds and ends.

“Momma, I want to be in the Soap Box Derby this year so I can win right in front of Aunt Wheezie’s house. I’m old enough.” At seven she thought she was old enough to do anything.

Through a cloud of cigarette smoke Juts replied, “Girls can’t be in the derby.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.”

Louise, the voice of authority, boomed, “You’ll rattle your ovaries and that will cause problems later.”

“Momma, what are ovaries?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.” She gave Wheezie the shut-up glare.

“Julia, she has to learn about these things sooner or later.”

“Later.” Juts snipped the black satin with the scissors.

“I want to know now. If they’re keeping me from the Soap Box Derby I’ll get rid of them.”

“Ha!” Louise exploded.

“Will you shut up,” Juts warned.

“I don’t want them if I can’t be in the Soap Box Derby.”

Juts slammed the scissors on the table, little bits of satin threads lifting into the air. “Thank you so much, Dr. Trumbull. Now she’ll rag me about ovaries the rest of the day.”

“What are ovaries?”

Louise cleared her throat. “They are little parts inside you so you can have children. Ovaries are God’s gift.”

“God can give them to someone else. I don’t want children.”

Louise’s lip twitched. “Someday you’ll be glad to have them.”

“I’ll give my ovaries to someone who wants children. Honest. I don’t need ovaries.” Nicky pushed her papers aside.

“That does it.” Juts opened and closed the scissors, like a potential weapon.

“She can’t go about saying she doesn’t want her ovaries or to bear children.”

“Will you shut up.”

A world-weary expression, followed by a slight exhale, informed Louise’s every word. “Then again, how would you know.”

Juts pushed the patterns, fabric, and falsie on the floor. “Shut up, I said!”

Louise scooped up her “hat” and shouted, “You aren’t properly emphasizing the natural part of being a woman. But why should I be surprised?”

Juts lunged for her but Louise jumped behind Nicky. “You’ve got a mean streak.”

“Mean streak! I ought to wring your neck. You have to be the smart one, you know more than I do—”Juts, seething, couldn’t even speak.

“I think I’ll be going.” Louise walked quickly to the mud-room to let herself out.

“Other people are born with wealth, with beauty, with brains. I was born with a sister,” Juts complained through gritted teeth.

Seeing that Julia had put the scissors down on the kitchen tabletop, Louise peeked back in from the mudroom. “A sister who has gone through thick and thin with you.”

“I did the same for you.”

“You can’t give this child ideas above her station.”

Sarcastically Juts replied, “I’m not trying to be a Chalfonte.”

Nicky put her head down on her crossed arms. She
was
a Chalfonte, at least her father was. At that instant she realized she had power over Juts, since Juts didn’t know about Francis. She decided that since adults kept things from her, she would keep things from them. Two could play that game.

“She can’t race in the Soap Box Derby. It will upset the applecart.”

“It’s a stupid rule.”

“Stupid or not, it’s for boys only.”

“How come everything fun is for boys?” Nicky smacked her hand on the table. “I can do anything the boys do, and better.”

“For now you can,” Louise said. “The boys will grow bigger and stronger.”