Eleanor Rose’s house was not huge but it was strong; built with gray stones, like the walls had come straight out of the earth, right there on that ranch. It had a reddish tile roof, all bumpy. The front porch was deep and shady and home to a few rocking chairs. Red roses bloomed along the porch. Frank pointed at the flowers in the field leading down to the creek and named them: Mexican hats, Indian paintbrushes, and blue bonnets. Hills rose tall behind the house, rocky and dusty with twisty trees.
Frank put the truck in park. I stepped out and put Bunny on the ground. “Paradise is right,” I said. I began to think that Eleanor Rose, a woman who lived in paradise, couldn’t be all bad. Well, Eve lived in paradise. She listened to that nasty serpent and all hell broke loose. Still, Eve wasn’t all bad. Adam was a wuss, blaming her, but that wasn’t all his fault, God made him weak.
Angie pulled up beside us and parked. She got out and whispered to me, “Nice digs, Ruby Clyde.”
Frank called out “Hooty hoo,” and a distant nun popped out from behind a peach tree. A jolt ran through me that it was Eleanor Rose and I still wasn’t ready, but Frank waved at the nun and said, “That’s Sister Joan. Always checking on the peaches.”
Frank grabbed the pig chow from the back of the truck, walked up on the porch, and opened the front door. It wasn’t locked. Mother never locked things either; Catfish always locked things. I thought Eleanor Rose must be a very trusting person. She lived in Paradise and she was a trusting person—that was two good things.
Frank took the pig chow to the kitchen. Angie and I trailed in behind her, all eyes.
The inside of the house was restful. The rooms were cool and dark with black wood running across the ceiling and red tiles on the floor. The front room had a big fireplace, clean, but you could tell she made cozy fires in the winter because of the black soot on the inside, and she kept wood stacked nearby. The nun’s furniture was plain and hard. Leather bound. No fabric anywhere.
I walked around the front room, stopping at her bookshelf. So many books, a dozen or more by Mr. Charles Dickens. Eleanor must have loved words as much as I did. Books! She lived in Paradise, was trusting, and loved books. Three good things.
I lifted out the Oliver Twist book, the full adult version. It was larger and heavier than the short version I had read in school, but I could read it. Especially since I knew the story.
Angie stood by my side. “You like Charles Dickens?”
I nodded and flipped back and forth looking at the drawings. “Here’s where Oliver asks for more.” I remembered that was where all his trouble started—well no, actually, like me his trouble started when he was born. Only he was born an orphan, and I was afraid of becoming an orphan. I felt a little less afraid now that I had found that the nun lived in Paradise, was trusting, and loved books.
We went upstairs to the bedroom where Frank told us to go while she fed Bunny. I put Oliver Twist on the bedside table and Angie put my new clothes in a drawer. “This is good,” Angie said, walking around the red-tiled floor. “And look, you have your own bathroom.”
I couldn’t believe that, but she was right. And it was bright with painted tiles. A bathtub and a shower.
“Are you still worried?” Angie sat on the bed.
“No, not at all,” I lied. “It’s all good. You don’t have to stay.”
“I do have another three and a half hours to go, at least.”
“Go, please. I can take care of myself. Really, I can.”
“I suspect you’ve been taking care of yourself for a long time, Ruby girl.”
“Sure, I’ve taken care of myself. Hasn’t everybody?”
“You’d be surprised,” she said. “But listen, I’ve given Frank my number, and if you are comfortable with her, I will drive on.”
“I’m fine, perfect, go.”
“Okay,” she said, “if you have any trouble at all, I want you to call me.”
“Okay,” I said, thinking it odd that people were passing me around, but that was fine with me so long as they didn’t pass me to the orphanage.
* * *
Frank, who was rocking on the front porch, stood to say goodbye to Angie. They shook hands with chatty promises to take care of me. I walked Angie down the steps and to her car. I had become strangely attached to her, since she was the only one present who actually knew my mother. It was more difficult than I had imagined to let her go. That fear of being rejected by Sister Eleanor and ending up in an orphanage took hold again, but I forced myself to look calm. I stuck my hand out like a soldier.
Instead of shaking it, Angie took my hand in both of hers, smiled, then she let go. “Goodbye, Ruby Clyde.”
“You’re an angel,” I said.
“Not hardly.” She laughed, then turned, and, with a bounce of her angel curls, settled into her yellow car. I watched her motor away, down the driveway, under the crossbar, and onto the road. I felt like she was taking my mother with her. It sliced my heart.
I almost ran back to the porch and begged Frank to take me to see Mother in jail, but I didn’t know what that even meant. Where was jail? What were they doing to her? Would I even be allowed to see her? Angie had said these things take time, but what kind of things? What kind of time?
I knew enough to keep my mouth shut.