Right from the start I knew I liked Dorothy Gale from the Oz book. She knew the Plains like I did and I wondered if they’d been dusty for her too, there in Kansas.
I sat on the front porch after lunch and tried to imagine what it was that had her living with her Auntie Em and Uncle Henry. Her real folks might’ve sent her out to live with them on the farm or maybe they’d both died of the dropsy. I wasn’t sure. However it had gone, I could tell Auntie Em and Uncle Henry were good to her, that they loved her.
That was enough for me to know.
When I read the part about the cyclone, how it picked her house right up off the ground, tossing it about in the sky, I almost had to close the book. My heart started thudding and my lungs tightened. I got dizzy, light-headed, scared. It seemed the big duster was coming for me, reaching out from the pages of that book.
But I didn’t stop reading, I had to keep on just to the place where I’d know Dorothy was all right. I had to know she was safe. It seemed she was, her house landing in a pretty place with kind folks to greet her.
When I pictured Dorothy Gale in my mind, she looked a lot like me.
I read, trying to keep my eyes from moving across the words too fast, knowing that I’d only get one chance to read that story for the first time. Every few minutes I’d force myself to stop, close my eyes, and really imagine the goings-on of the book.
I did wish Oz was real.
“Pearl?” Mama called from inside the house.
Her voice had a you’d-best-come-now edge to it, so I marked my place and went inside.
“Pearl Louise?”
“I’m coming, Mama,” I called, stepping in the front door.
The house on Magnolia Street had a screen door that liked to slam shut if we weren’t careful enough. Just that moment I forgot about that house-shaking slam until it was too late.
“Don’t slam that door,” Mama hollered at me from the other side of the living room, holding a hand to her chest like her heart was about to thump right out from her rib cage. “How many times have I gotta tell you?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” I said.
On any usual day, Mama would’ve left it at that. But it wasn’t a usual day. I could tell by the way Mama held her shoulders stiff and how she wore a scowl.
“You come running in and out of here all day long, letting that door slam behind you.” She worked her face like she was trying to hold in a blazing hot anger. “You’re about to knock all the pictures off my wall.”
“I’m sorry,” I told her again.
“Watch your tone, miss,” she told me. “Go get washed up. And change your dress. The mayor’s coming for supper and I need you to help me get the table set.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, rushing to the stairs that led to my bedroom so she wouldn’t see the way my chin threatened to shake and the tears trying to work their way out of my eyes.
“Don’t dillydally,” she called after me. “We don’t have time today.”
Mama hadn’t said anything mean to me and she hadn’t whupped me, still I felt she was real mad at me. It made me so shaky I had a hard time working the buttons of my dress.
I tried hard as I could not to imagine there was some kind of yellow brick road that might lead me away from her and her cross face. But if I’d had a wish, those bricks would lead straight back to Red River.
I did what I could to help Mama and Opal get supper around, but I couldn’t seem to get anything done right. After a while she sent me to the living room saying she needed me to get out from underfoot.
I told myself she was just feeling sick again, was all. She’d be fine once the spell passed. The last thing she’d have wanted was to hurt my feelings.
Mama was kind. Mama loved me. Mama took care of me. She never would do me harm, not on purpose, at least.
I tried to think on such things.
I saw out the living-room window that Opal Moon was leaving for the day. She always went in and out the back door because that was proper for the help. At least that was what Mama’d told me when I asked.
Opal had made her way around to the walk in front of our house and was headed toward Main Street. I rushed out onto the porch to tell her good night.
“I’ll see you in a few days,” she told me.
“Can’t you stay for supper?” I asked her, my arm circled around the pillar by the porch steps. “I bet Mama’d love to have you.”
Opal smiled and shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“People like me don’t get to eat at a table with people like you.”
She turned away from me, crossing over to the other side of the street, walking past the Barnett’s house and straight toward town.
I worked real hard not to imagine her having supper all by herself. It sure did make me feel lonely.
When Daddy got home he sent Mama into even more of a tizzy than she’d been in before. All he did was ask if she couldn’t set another plate on the table for a man named Abe Campbell.
“I don’t even know who that man is,” she said, her voice shrill.
“He’s the newspaperman,” Daddy told her. “Runs the whole operation himself.”
“Well, why didn’t you tell me before that he’d be coming? I won’t have enough food,” She moved around the table, working fast as she could to make room for one more. “That’s fine, Tom. Just fine.”
“I don’t know what’s got into you, darlin’,” Daddy said, carrying a chair to slide under the table. “It’s all right. We always have plenty.”
“You could’ve at least let me know.” She stopped moving and looked at him with eyes wide. “I wouldn’t have let Opal go home early. I could’ve sent her to the store for more meat. I would’ve made more to serve.”
“Well, I apologize.” Daddy kept his voice even and calm. “I didn’t know it would upset you so.”
“Fine,” she said. “It’ll be fine. We’ll make it stretch.”
“You always make good suppers, sugar.”
“I’m just anxious, is all. I get feeling like this sometimes,” she said. “Like I’m about to jump right up out of my skin.”
“It’ll pass like it always does,” Daddy said. “Just get a good breath.”
“Lord, but do I think I’m losing my mind.” Mama shook her head and touched a hand to her chest. “You’ll have to send me to the loony bin before long.”
“Nah,” Daddy said. “You aren’t all the way crazy.”
She turned toward him and gave him a look that could’ve hurt like a slap.
“You’re half-sane.” He gave her a smile. “Almost half.”
“Thomas …”
“Well, honey, I always did say you’d have to be half-crazy to stick with me all this time.” He gave her a kiss on the forehead. “I should’ve let you know Abe was coming.”
“It’ll work out, I suppose.” She wiped under her eye. “I haven’t even done my hair.”
“You’re lovely, Mary.”
Nobody could bring calm to Mama the way Daddy did.
Once our supper guests got to our house Mama was right as rain. She laughed at Mayor Winston’s jokes and served up supper with grace and generosity just like she always had before, when we still lived in Red River. And we ended up having more than enough food, just like Daddy’d said we would. Mama smiled the whole evening through.
It seemed Mr. Campbell noticed Mama’s smiles, too. I couldn’t be sure, but I didn’t think he looked away from her for more than a minute the whole time.
Meemaw would’ve said he was a string bean, Abe Campbell. And she wouldn’t have approved of how his hair was overgrown, hanging all the way below his ears even. He had the kind of eyes that bulged just a little. She’d always said not to trust a man with bulging eyes, that he’d be one in possession of a terrible temper.
Still, he seemed all right by me.
Having company for a meal made for a full evening, especially when it was Mayor Winston who’d come over. He filled every last inch of that house with his booming voice and his thick laughter. I wished he’d come to supper every night.
Him sitting at our table made everything feel a little happier.
“My greatest regret is that I never managed to get myself married off,” Mr. Winston said. “Tom, you don’t know how good you’ve got it.”
“Now,” Daddy said. “I’m sure you’ve had plenty of chances. You just never got around to picking one yet.”
“He’s just too choosy,” Mr. Campbell said. “He’s always finding something wrong with whichever lady strikes an interest in him.”
“Now,” Mr. Winston said. “Nothing wrong with looking for the best.”
“Well, it isn’t too late,” Mama said. “You might meet the right woman someday.”
“Nah. I’m too old,” the mayor said. “Any woman I find would be far too good for me, anyhow. Matter of fact, I think most women are far too good for the men they end up with.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” Daddy said.
“Who would like some pie?” Mama asked, getting up from the table.
“That woman there, Tom,” Abe Campbell said, nodding at Mama. “She’s too good for you.”
“Don’t I know it.”
Daddy smiled up at Mama and she rolled her eyes.
“Y’all stop it,” she said before going to the kitchen door.
“Better watch out,” Mr. Winston said. “Abe here is liable to steal her from under your nose.”
The mayor and Daddy both laughed. As for Mr. Campbell, he kept his eyes on Mama.
From where I sat I could see her cheeks had turned the brightest red. Before she pushed open the door, she turned. It wasn’t Daddy she peeked at, though.
The smile on Abe Campbell’s face told me he didn’t mind her looking at him. Not one bit.
After we finished off our dessert we didn’t leave the table right away. The men each took turns sharing stories. Most of them made me laugh so hard my sides felt fit to bust.
Mr. Campbell broke into song more than once. Mama usually didn’t allow singing at the table. Whistling or humming either. But that night she made an exception and I wondered if it was because Abe had a nice, smooth voice. She even joined him on a few of the songs, adding a sweet layer to them that made my ears happy.
Each time when the song ended I noticed how he had his eyes on her. I couldn’t hardly blame him. Mama sure was pretty when she sang.
Daddy had Ray tell a couple of his jokes. He told the one about the parachuter having to dig his way through the dust just to get to the ground. Then he told one about prairie dogs and another about chickens laying hard-boiled eggs.
He didn’t seem to mind the attention so much.
Mama walked around the table, refilling the men’s cups and asking if they needed anything else. I knew what she served wasn’t coffee. She’d run out the day before and fretted about it something awful, knowing company was coming. All she could manage was a can of ground-up chicory root.
She didn’t say a word to me about it, but I knew she couldn’t afford to get good coffee after I’d given the two dollars to Opal that day in Mr. Wheeler’s store. She might not have blamed me, but I still felt guilty for it.
I was just glad all those men at our table were too polite to say even one word of complaint.
“Now, Gus was telling me how y’all got your roads paved,” Daddy said, sipping at his chicory. “Just last summer, right?”
“Tom,” Mr. Winston said, shaking his head. “you don’t want to start this conversation with Abe around.”
“You against Roosevelt’s jobs programs?” Daddy crossed his arms and looked straight at Abe.
“I am,” said Abe. “A man needs honest work, not a job handed to him by the government.”
“Far as I know, it’s honest enough,” Daddy said. “Planting trees, putting up schools, building bridges. I hear they’re even working on a zoo not an hour from here. All that seems as honest as it comes.”
“Maybe.” Abe leaned forward, putting his elbow on the table. “But where’s this magic money coming from? Huh? How’s old Roosevelt footing the bill to pay all these men?”
“Guess that doesn’t concern me so much.” Daddy reached into his shirt pocket for a cigarette. “Guess I’m more troubled by the folks that don’t have enough to eat.”
“Gentlemen,” Mr. Winston said. “I tend to get awful indigestion when somebody talks politics right after supper.”
“You’re right,” Daddy said. “Arguing over politics never changes minds about something. Just makes for sore feelings.”
We sat at the table in quiet for more than a minute and I wished real hard that Mama might tell Ray and me that we could be excused. She didn’t, so we just sat there suffering until the mayor clapped his hands.
“Now, I went and forgot to show you something.” He winked at Ray and me. “You want to see it?”
“What is it?” I asked.
Mr. Winston held up his left hand and showed us where he’d lost one of his fingers to the first knuckle. Said a shark bit it off.
“Now, Jake,” Abe Campbell said. “Always telling a big-fish story. You know it was nothing more than a lake trout.”
“Sure,” Mayor Winston said. “It never looks like a shark unless it’s your finger being bitten off.”
I was laughing so hard—even though I didn’t think it was so funny, having a finger bit off—that I couldn’t ask what really happened to his finger. I figured maybe it was the kind of story that would turn my stomach and make me have bad dreams. It was just as well that I didn’t know.
That night was the kind that passed by too quick, far as I was concerned. If I could have, I would have made that time stretch so it would last longer than a couple hours. I’d have held it tighter, enjoyed it more. Maybe that was what memory was for, to keep hold of what we wished we got to live over again.
If only it could’ve come without the reminders of what we wished had never happened.
We all stood on the porch, watching the two men walking away into the still-light evening. Just before they turned down the road and out of our sight, Mr. Campbell turned and tipped his hat.
But it wasn’t at me like I would have liked to imagine.
It was just for one person.
Mama turned and went inside, but not before I saw how she smiled and blushed.