31
For days and weeks and months after, Truman and Nelle met up to write stories. One day, they’d write in A.C.’s office, Truman dictating and Nelle typing. Other days, they’d meet at Truman’s, and he’d be at the keyboard with Nelle making up stories. Sometimes they met halfway, hauling that typewriter up into their secret headquarters (not an easy trick, but they devised a rope-and-pulley system to do it). Usually Truman had to pressure Nelle into writing, but once she got going, she was good. Big Boy wanted to join in, but he really didn’t have the imagination for that kind of thing. Instead, he often sat nearby with Queenie on his lap, listening to the stories they wove.
And what stories they were. Mysteries and crime tales featuring themselves as detectives. Or adventure stories where they’d travel to exotic locales and get mixed up in intrigue and high jinks. Or just simple stories about busybodies in town who got into trouble by spreading gossip and rumors.
Truman was very protective of their stories. He kept them locked up in a trunk under his bed and wore the key on a chain around his neck. On cold nights when snow dusted the street in front of the house, he would recount a story in front of the fire as if it were true. Jenny and Callie didn’t care for his fibbing but they found themselves laughing just as hard as Bud did at Truman’s anecdotes. He told stories about Sook on Thanksgiving and Christmas that made her teary-eyed, and he saved his wildest yarns for New Year’s Eve.
After the New Year, Nelle’s mother came back unexpectedly, recuperated after her time away. In moments of quiet, Nelle would tell her some of their tales—mostly funny stories and mysteries, anything to keep her mind off her troubles. She listened attentively, trying to guess (and usually getting it wrong) what the punch line would be or who the culprit was. She enjoyed this, liked it much better than being in the hospital, especially when A.C. joined them for a listen.
The kids were having fun, racing home from school with new ideas. Monroeville was still boring, but at least they were able to live their adventures on the page, which was the next best thing.
Nelle’s mother was not the only one to show up unexpectedly. One day, Truman and Nelle were cleaning up his precious Tri-Motor plane when Truman looked up and saw his own mother standing in the doorway.
It had been many months since she’d visited. He’d almost forgotten he had a mother. But seeing her in the flesh brought all his feelings rushing back into his head. He ran up and hugged her around the waist.
“I have a surprise for you,” she said.
“What?” he asked.
She pulled an award certificate from behind her back. “Aren’t you proud of your mother?” she said, showing it off.
“What is that?” he asked.
“Well, it’s a prize that I won!” she said.
Truman and Nelle gazed at the award. It said Elizabeth Arden Beauty Contest, First Prize: Lillie Mae Persons.
“You won a beauty contest?” Truman asked, confused.
“I just sent in my photo and they picked little old me.” She blushed.
“Who’s Elizabeth Arden?” asked Nelle.
“Only one of the wealthiest women in the world who just happens to own the biggest cosmetics company in the States,” she said. “And they’ve invited me to come up to New York City and enroll in a free beauty course. New York! Can you beat that?”
Truman looked depressed. “So . . . you’re moving?”
“Oh, don’t be a fuddy-duddy, Truman. This is your mother’s big chance. I’ll be back in a couple months. Be happy for me for once, dear. You can say your mother’s a beauty queen.”
“I think you’re pretty, Lillie Mae,” said Nelle.
“Why, thank you, Nelle. And when I come back, I’ll do a makeover on you,” she said, looking at Nelle’s dirty hands and feet. “Heaven knows you need one.”
She left without giving Truman a hug. He looked downright grim.