The Book of Bright Ideas (22 page)

“Hmm,” Aunt Verdella said. “Maybe she suddenly wasn't feeling well. She did look a little peaked there all of a sudden, didn't she?” Aunt Verdella stood up. “All this sittin' today. I'm not used to sittin' so long.” She circled around the little room, looking at a vase of plastic flowers, then reading a poem about resting in peace that was hanging on the wall in a gold frame.

After what seemed like forever, the doors opened and a man came into the room, Mrs. Hamilton behind him. He held out his hand to Aunt Verdella, and it looked a bit damp, like he'd just washed it. I cringed, thinking that maybe he'd had to wash his hands because he'd been cutting armpits, so I was glad that he didn't expect to take my hand too. “Ma'am? I'm Charles Hamilton, and of course you've met my wife. Sit down, please.” He had one of those slow, kind voices that sounded like it was saying, “I'm sorry,” even when it wasn't. Both Mr. Hamilton and his blue-headed wife looked like they felt sorry, and a little scared, about what they were about to say. Aunt Verdella must have figured this too, because she groaned.

“Oh dear, don't tell me I need a death certificate to order these things, or something like that. Why, me and Button drove six hours to get here. Oh dear. The minute I saw your faces when you came through the door, I thought of the death certificate we had to bring in when we buried Mae, my mother-in-law.”

“Sit down. Sit down,” the man said, and that too, sounded like, “I'm sorry.”

“Ma'am, a death certificate would certainly help in this case.” He cleared his throat. “Please, Mrs. Peters, can you tell me some more about what you're doing here, and why?”

Aunt Verdella plucked at the eyelet trim around her collar as she quickly told him about Freeda and Winnalee and how they came into Dauber, Winnalee carrying that urn. She told him about the color television set she was going to buy too, and why she'd changed her mind. “Oh dear. I never thought of a death certificate till now,” she said again. “And we drove such a distance. Oh dear.”

The man and the lady exchanged looks, then the man cleared his throat again. “Can you tell me the name of the sisters again, please?”

“Freeda and Winnalee Malone.” Poor Aunt Verdella looked ready to cry, because something was telling her—just like it was telling me—that Freeda and Winnalee's ma was not gonna get her final restin' place.

The man leaned back in his chair and then came forward again. He folded his hands, the tips of his pointy fingers and thumbs touching, kind of like he was going to start playing “Here Is the Church, Here Is the Steeple.”

“Ma'am,” he said, “I don't know quite how to say this, but…” He stopped and scratched behind his ear. “Well, Hopested is a small town, ma'am, and in my business especially, I've come to know every family, going back a good three generations.”

I looked at him, and at Aunt Verdella, and my throat got so full of gunk that I couldn't stop clearing it. I knew what he was gonna say next was not gonna be good.

“Ma'am, I've known the Malones for years. I knew Freeda's granddaddy, and I knew her father. I buried them both, in fact. But, well, I never buried Hannah Malone. Do you understand what I'm trying to say here?”

“Well, of course you didn't,” Aunt Verdella said. “She was cremated. Her poor little daughter carries her everywhere she goes. That's why we're here.”

“Ma'am, I don't know how to put this delicately, so I guess I'm going to have to just come right out and say it. Hannah Malone isn't dead, Mrs. Peters. She's a member of our church, and we see her there regularly, when her health allows it.”

“She was there yesterday, in fact,” Mrs. Hamilton said. “In pain or not, from a ruptured disk, she was there.”

Aunt Verdella gasped, and maybe I did too.

Mr. Hamilton cleared his raspy throat, but just once. “Ma'am, I don't care for gossip, but I don't see any other way to explain this to you but to come right out and tell you what everybody in this town knows anyway. Freeda Malone, Hannah's daughter…well, let's just say, she was on the wilder side. She ran away when she was young and then came back into town about four years ago. Anyway, the best any of us know, Freeda left her mother's house after they argued and went straight to the school. The little girl's teacher, Miss Miles, had taught Freeda herself, so she was able to tell Hannah for sure who took Winnalee.”

Mrs. Hamilton continued the story, but not before she too, apologized for repeating gossip. “Poor Miss Miles believed Freeda when Freeda told her that her mother had just passed away an hour ago and that she needed to take Winnalee out of school immediately. After all, Miss Miles knew of Hannah's poor health, as we all did. Why, word spread of Hannah's death quickly. Within an hour, folks were calling Charles to ask when the funeral would take place, but we still hadn't gotten a call to pick up her body.”

“I finally drove out to the Malones' to find out what was going on,” Mr. Hamilton said.

“Hannah was heartsick when Charles got there, of course, because by that time, folks had called out to the Malone place, expecting to talk to Hannah's younger brother, Dewey, only to find themselves talking to Hannah herself!” Mrs. Hamilton stopped to take a breath, then continued. “Poor Hannah has been sick with worry since, as you can imagine. It's taken a toll on her already-precarious health. After all, once her husband passed away, and then after Freeda left, what did she have but that little one, for those few years? Granted, Dewey moved back in with Hannah just before Freeda took Winnalee, and although I'm sure he's fine company for Hannah, that doesn't help lessen her worry over the child.”

Aunt Verdella got out of her chair and paced. “I…I just don't know what to say.”

“We're sorry,” Mr. Hamilton said. “It looks like you're another in a long line of good people that Freeda has duped.”

Aunt Verdella was so upset that she dropped her purse. There were tears in her eyes and in her voice as she thanked the Hamiltons for their time.

Mr. Hamilton walked us to the door. “Ma'am, we are so sorry that you made such a long trip for nothing.”

Aunt Verdella thanked him again, then asked him where we could find a room for the night. “I don't see well enough to drive in the dark, and as shook up as I am now, I couldn't drive back tonight if I wanted to.”

The man told us where to find a motel, and out the door we went, walking like zombies.

20

Aunt Verdella didn't yack at the man who checked us into the motel, like she'd done to everyone else we'd met so far. She just quietly handed him the money he asked for, and then we carried our bags to room number 26.

The room was totally beige except for the nubby, dark green bedspread and curtains. Aunt Verdella sat on the bed, her hands limp on her lap. “I just can't believe this,” she said. “Why would Freeda lie to that poor child and tell her that her ma was dead and in that jar? Oh my. Oh my. What on earth do we do with this, Button?”

We went back to the diner for supper, even though neither of us was hungry, but like Aunt Verdella said, it was better than staring at the walls. Aunt Verdella ordered us each a meatloaf platter, and some banana cream pie for dessert. While I ate the best I could, Aunt Verdella took a bite here and there but mostly sat without talking, staring out the big window to the side of us, her eyes not budging even when somebody walked by on the street. I watched her as much as I could without looking rude for staring, and I thought about how she looked old without a smile on her face.

We got back to our room and Aunt Verdella turned the television set on, but she didn't really watch it. “We'd best get ready for bed, Button. We'll head back first thing in the morning.”

That night, the room was dark with the curtains drawn (except for the sliver of light coming from the bathroom door, which Aunt Verdella said she'd leave on in case I had to pee in the night) and we just laid there for a time, each thinking our own worries. Aunt Verdella sighed now and then, her folded hands rising up and down with each rise of her belly.

“I just can't believe this, can you, Button? That poor child thinks Hannah is dead. Oh my. It's almost more than I can bear to know.”

“Aunt Verdella?” I asked. “Whose body is burned up in Winnalee's jar, then?”

Aunt Verdella sniffled. “I don't know. Probably nobody's. Maybe they're just ashes from a woodstove or something. I don't know.” She asked me to go to the bathroom and get her some Kleenex. She dabbed her wet eyes, blew her nose, then said, “You know, when I told Rudy about the urn tipping over, he said that he hoped that Winnalee didn't see any bones or teeth bits, because that would be so traumatic for a child to see. I didn't question it then, but now that I am, I'm thinking about how I didn't see any bits of bones or teeth in those ashes either. What did I know, though. I've never seen anybody's ashes before.”

“They looked like cigarette ashes to me when I saw them,” I said. “I even told Winnalee that it looked like someone dumped their ashtray in that jar.”

Aunt Verdella sighed. “I guess what we've got to think about, Button, is what we're gonna tell Rudy and your ma and daddy. And do I say something to Freeda or not? I just don't know the answers to those questions. Maybe the good Lord will give me some ideas by morning.” She reached over and put her arm around me. She gave me a hug and a hard kiss on the back of my head. “Good night, Button. Auntie sure loves you.”

Aunt Verdella fell asleep after a time, but she turned and fidgeted so much that I felt like I was sleeping on a boat instead of a bed. Each time her moving woke me up, I ended up thinking about Winnalee again and about the lie Freeda told her.

I felt thirsty, so I got out of bed. I opened the bathroom door slowly and the light creeped up Aunt Verdella's stick legs. I didn't want the light to crawl all the way up to her face and wake her, so I opened the door just enough to slip inside, then drank water from a Dixie cup. On my way back to bed, I saw my opened suitcase on the floor and me and Winnalee's Book of Bright Ideas peeking out from behind my folded shirt. I picked the book up and ran my hand over the gold, dented-in letters on the cover. Winnalee said that an expectation was something you hoped for. What I hoped for was that even if Winnalee found out the truth about her ma, she'd decide that she wanted to live with Freeda instead. And that she'd stay my neighbor and my best friend forever.

I looked over at Aunt Verdella. Her face was tinged red from the letters that lit the top of the pole on the corner of the parking lot. I could see her eyeballs jiggling under her lids, which were still colored blue from the eye shadow she'd put on that morning. I didn't want to wake her to ask if I could use her pen, yet I wanted to write something in our book. After thinking about it for a time, I slipped my hand into her purse, which was sitting on the nightstand, and felt for a pen. Then I opened our book and wrote,
Bright Idea #97: A person doesn't have to be ugly and mean to tell a big lie. They don't have to be a stranger either. Sometimes the biggest lies come from pretty people who are in your own family.

 

The next morning, we woke early and went back to the diner. It was filled with the smells of coffee and bacon and cigarette smoke. We ordered pancakes, but they weren't shaped like bunnies.

Aunt Verdella was quiet while we ate. She gave her half-eaten eggs back to the waitress and sipped her coffee some more. After a time, she said, “I was just remembering something.” She took a sip of her coffee, leaving red lip prints on the mug, then, while I swirled the rest of my pancakes into the syrup and ate, Aunt Verdella told me a story.

“One spring—a messy, messy spring where the weather turned so fast that the poor ground couldn't soak up the melting snow fast enough—your uncle Rudy and I were taking a little drive over to Lincoln County so he could look at a heifer somebody had for sale. Your uncle Rudy's back was bad, and I didn't like the idea of him drivin' that far alone, so I thought I should ride along in case he ended up needing me to help drive. Anyway, on the way home, along the highway, we came across a man. Oh, he was a raggy-lookin' thing. Young, hair all askew, clothes all filthy and torn. He was downright scary looking!

“When he saw our car comin', he started runnin' right at us. Waving his arms and yellin', his face in those headlights, tortured like a madman's. Rudy started slowin' the car down and I got upset. ‘Don't stop!' I yelled. ‘He's crazy! Look at him! Lord knows what he'll do to us!' I was sure that he was some murderin' lunatic who would rob us, defile me, who knows what else. And with your uncle Rudy's back so bad, I knew he'd be no match for that young lunatic.

“But your uncle Rudy stopped, anyway, of course. And it was a good thing he did. What we couldn't see from the highway was that this man's car was stuck something fierce in the mud, down this long driveway hidden from the road by trees. His wife was in the car, about ready to give birth to their first baby. Why, that poor man looked like a lunatic because he was crazy with fear. And who could blame him, him being still wet behind his ears and her in such pain and screaming for him to hurry and get her to the hospital?

“He was trying to get his car out of the mud when he heard our car. He ran out onto the highway then, hoping it would be a neighbor or someone who'd lend a hand. He was a filthy mess from rooting around in the mud. We got that poor little thing to the hospital, and all was well. Afterward, your uncle said to me, ‘It just goes to show, Verdie. You can't judge a person by what they're doing, till you know why they're doing it.'

“Anyway, that whole night just came to my mind a bit ago, as I was trying to figure out why Freeda took that little girl out of Hopested like she did and told her such a horrible lie. It looks crazy to us, yes, mean even. But we don't know the whole story, Button. For all we know, she had a good reason for doing what she did, even if she did go about it in the wrong way. You understand what I'm trying to say?”

“I think so.”

“And I was thinking of this too,” she said. “Button, if I go telling your ma what we learned, and she judges it without knowin' the whole story, I'm afraid it's gonna change how she feels about Freeda. And worse yet, I'm afraid it's going to change how she feels about herself. Freeda has made your ma go from a little caterpillar into a beautiful butterfly. Your ma learns that Freeda lied about all those big things, and she'll believe that Freeda lied about the good things she said to her too. I don't want that to happen. So what we're gonna do is tell your ma and daddy that when we got to Hopested there was already a stone for Hannah Malone sittin' in the cemetery. And I'll leave it at that. I'll be telling Uncle Rudy the truth, though, 'cause I ain't gonna lie to him. But you know your uncle Rudy. It won't change nothing about how he sees Freeda. Your uncle Rudy is good like that, Button. He don't judge people, and he stays out of other people's business, like I shoulda done in the first place. Do you understand why I think it should be like this?”

“Yes,” I said.

“As for Freeda, I'm not saying anything to her either. I'm gonna take a lesson from your uncle Rudy and just stay out of it and trust that Freeda is as good as I believe she is. It just ain't our place to say anything. To Freeda and Winnalee, we'll just pretend that we went to cart my friend's kids to their aunt's house, like we said we were gonna do. Do you think you can keep this secret, Button?” I nodded, and she reached over and patted my hand. “Okay, then let's head for home.”

 

We stopped at St. Croix Falls for gas, and I reminded Aunt Verdella that we had told Winnalee we'd bring her home a special surprise. Aunt Verdella asked me what Winnalee would like the most, but I couldn't think of one thing past that final resting place for her ma.

We looked around in a Ben Franklin store. We didn't find nothing real special, so Aunt Verdella kept buying things that were only part special: new paper dolls, a new coloring book, a set of jacks—one for each of us—and barrettes just for me, because she said my hair was getting long enough now to need them. Then we went to a gift shop, and Aunt Verdella got busy looking at stuffed animals. Aunt Verdella picked up one teddy bear after another, hugging each of them to see which was softest. That's when I saw the glass jewelry counter, all lit up, pretty little necklaces laid out like sunbathers. “Aunt Verdella, look!”

She hurried to the counter and bent over, looking where my finger was tapping on the glass. “Oh my!” she said. Then she called a lady over to the counter to unlock it, so we could buy Winnalee the pretty silver chain with a silver fairy dangling from it.

When we got back into the car, I asked Aunt Verdella if I could borrow her pen again, and then I wrote,
Bright Idea #98: When what your best friend really wants is to have the one they love back again, but you can't give them that, or even help them put that person to rest, then give them a fairy instead. Because we all gotta believe in something good.