Wide-Awake Red
BELLA CAME OVER BEFORE I WAS EVEN out of bed the next morning. She came into my room and blushed to find me just waking up.
“Sorry,” Bella said. “I guess I was anxious to read the journal.”
I got out of bed and we went to Zuzu’s room to wake her. Calamity followed, nipping and batting at my fuzzy-monster-green slippers.
Zuzu was awake—kind of. She sat up in bed when we walked in. She looked confused. Her hair was sticking up all over the place and she scratched at it.
“Come on, let’s go to the attic,” I said. She instantly woke up the rest of the way. She tossed off her covers, picked up Calamity and followed us up the stairs.
We pushed away the wooden crates hiding the tiny doorway.
“Wait!” said Zuzu. She pulled a piece of watercolor paper from behind one of the crates and held it up.
“Hey! I painted that!” I said, grabbing for the picture of Palace Beautiful.
“Before,” said Zuzu.
“What?”
“After,” she said, pulling away the last crate.
“Whoa!” Bella and I said.
The little crawl space was spotless. Zuzu had cleaned every surface. A rose-velvet-red-and-cumulous-white quilt was spread over the raw wood floor, and along the tops of the walls Zuzu had strung little clear Christmas lights. A camping lantern hung from the center of the room. It looked beautiful!
“You’re welcome,” said Zuzu, folding her arms and smiling.
“When did you do this?” I asked, still stunned.
“When you weren’t looking. Come on in,” said Zuzu, crawling in first.
“Look!” said Bella, tucking her floor-length black-black skirt under her knees and pointing to the corner of the room. The journal lay in a shoe box that was covered with ribbons and sparkles and painted with what looked like wide-awake-red nail polish.
“I thought it deserved a place of honor, so I made one for it,” said Zuzu.
“I love it!” shouted Bella, flinging out her arms and whacking the camping lantern.
“And look,” said Zuzu. She pointed to the doorway. She had made a curtain door by tacking up a piece of whisper-pink cloth. She flipped a switch on one of those electrical things that have lots of outlets and the Christmas lights twinkled like stars. Then she turned on the camping lantern. It looked so cozy! We all looked at each other and smiled.
“It looks wonderful, Zuzu,” I said. Her eyes closed and her smile took over practically every inch of her face.
“I wish Helen could see it in here,” said Bella.
“Yeah,” said Zuzu. “I think she’d like it. It looks like a Palace Beautiful.”
Calamity curled up in the folds of Bella’s skirt.
Bella reached into a big oil-slick-black bag she was carrying and pulled out some matches and a long black candle with a brassy-fake gold candleholder.
“I think we should honor Helen’s memory by lighting this candle when we read—sort of like our own private ritual. Let’s set it next to the one she left here.”
“I think we should have some beautiful art to decorate the walls,” said Zuzu. She took my painting and tacked it up with a glittery flower-shaped thumbtack. “That was my favorite thumbtack,” she said to me.
I reached over and hugged her. “Thank you.”
Bella struck a match and lit the candle. Zuzu took the journal from its sparkly place of honor and said, “I think we should each read like five entries every time. That way, we can enjoy it longer.”
“Five’s too much,” I said. “It will be over too fast. Let’s just read one each.”
“One?! That would take forever! It has to be five each!” Zuzu folded her arms hard.
“One!” I insisted, folding my arms as well.
“Five!”
Bella must not have been used to this kind of sister stuff. Her eyes were wide and she looked alarmed. “How about two?” she said. “We just read two each. With the three of us, that’s six each time. Besides, some of the entries are pretty short.”
Zuzu and I looked at each other. We nodded.
Zuzu handed the journal to me and said, “Two.” I began to read.
September 27, 1918
Lizzy and I harvested squash from the garden today. We didn’t get as many as we hoped, but there are still quite a few that aren’t ripe yet. Mother made them into buttery, spicy pies. Rachel stayed inside to help with the baking. Anna tried to help us pick “quash” as she calls it, but some of them were almost as big as her. She got distracted by a little white butterfly and chased it all over the yard while Lizzy and I worked.
Mother wasn’t feeling well today. She never complains, but we all know it is time for the baby to come very soon. She went to bed early—just after supper—and Lizzy and I washed the dishes.
I love my new sewing roll. Today I made Anna’s doll Millie a little pillow out of scraps. Anna was so excited, she carried the pillow around all day, and now it’s completely covered with dirt from chasing the butterfly and jam from her lunch. I’m going to make a little patch quilt for Rachel’s doll Margaret.
After supper, Father read us a chapter from The Pilgrim’s Progress. He read about the Palace Beautiful. He says a man’s home is a Palace Beautiful—a place of rest, refuge and beauty where the glory of Heaven is in view. He said that is why he no longer takes the newspaper here: he doesn’t want the war invading our home. He said the world can knock all it wants, but unless we open the door, it can’t come in.
I love the idea of our home being a Palace Beautiful! That is exactly what it feels like to me. Lizzy seemed more interested in the frayed hem of her dress than Father’s reading. She hates religious texts. She likes novels. Besides, she’d rather work on her sewing. She is a wonderful seamstress. She made the prettiest yellow dress last year that was so fine, she could have sold it in a shop. Anna fell asleep on Rachel’s lap. Rachel and I listened to Father’s reading. It is my favorite part of the day, no matter what he is reading. Rachel loves it, too. She is always reading when she isn’t helping Mother or one of us. I guess she helps more than she reads, but I would guess that if she had all the time in the world, she would spend it in the garden with a book.
It’s time to go to bed. I’ll write again soon.
—Helen
Last night after we went to bed, I heard noises downstairs. I went down to find out what it was. When I got to the bottom of the steps, Father and Doctor Snow were talking. They saw me and told me to go upstairs and to not come down until morning.
I went back upstairs, but I couldn’t sleep. I knew Mother was bringing the baby into the world and I couldn’t close my eyes.
I tossed and turned so much that Lizzy kicked me and told me to be still. It felt like I lay awake for a hundred years, but finally, I closed my eyes and fell asleep.
When the sun came up, I dashed downstairs. I heard the baby’s cry even before I reached Mother and Father’s room.
“You girls have a new brother,” said Father. “His name is Alfred Walter White.”
A brother—I know good and well what a brother means. It means don’t get attached.
I stepped into Mother’s room. She looked tired and her hair was hanging down across her shoulders. She held a bundle in her arms.
“Come meet little Freddy,” she said.
“No, thank you,” I said and went back to bed.
Lizzy, Rachel and Anna doted over him all day, but I know he won’t last through the night. We were not meant to have a boy grow up in our family. Father says when people die, they are still part of the family, but I don’t see little Edward, Joseph or Thomas running around the yard chasing butterflies with Anna or helping us with chores or reading with the family at night, and I don’t see Freddy doing it either. I’ve made up my mind. I won’t love my little brother.
—Helen
I handed the book to Zuzu and she took it up reverently and carefully like it was baby Freddy himself. She began to read.
Today we went to church. Mother and Freddy stayed home to rest. Bishop Ayers announced the birth and all the women made a fuss. I’m tired of hearing about the baby and talking about the baby. For all the talk about him, you’d think he’d drafted the Constitution or something.
After services Martha Phelps and I took a walk.
Martha is my very best friend. I have lots of regular friends, but Martha is my favorite. I’m her favorite, too. That’s what makes it nice. We are almost the same age. She was born a week before me and we have made a pact to die a week apart when we are old women. That way things are fair.
Father always stays late at church and discusses the war with the men. Martha’s brother Tom is fighting in France and she doesn’t like to hear about it. Lots of boys from our town are fighting. Some of them have died. I can’t imagine things could get any worse than when people can’t keep the war out of their own homes.
We had a nice walk. The weather was fine and warm, but with a hint of autumn in the breeze. Martha and I filled our pockets with crab apples from the trees by the creek. Her brother Paul and his best friend Charlie Moody picked crab apples, too. They threw them at us until we both screamed and ran away. Paul is fifteen and too young to be away fighting like Tom, so he gets to stay home and pester Martha.
When we got back to the church, Anna was crying. She was so worn out from all the excitement of the new baby and all the extra attention, she needed to go home and take a nap. The Phelpses live just across the street from us. They usually walk home with us, but Mrs. Phelps needed to stay late at church, so they didn’t this time. We said good-bye to Martha and walked home. I carried Anna all the way.
When we got home, Mother called me into her room. I sat down on the bed and she handed me the baby. She said she had noticed that I had not had a chance to hold him yet. I wanted to say that I didn’t want a chance and that it is no use getting attached, but I didn’t want to be disrespectful.
Freddy squirmed in his blankets. He has lots of thick dark hair sticking straight up. He bit his tiny fist and grunted. He felt so warm and he smelled so nice that I gave him right back to Mother so I wouldn’t be tempted to play with him. I kissed Mother and went to the kitchen to help Lizzy and Rachel with lunch.
Lizzy was disappointed to come home from church early. She usually likes to walk home with her beau Matthew Stoker. I don’t have a beau. I don’t care to have one either. Martha says she wishes Paul would be my beau so someday we could get married. Then Martha and I would be sisters. But I don’t want a beau—especially one who pelts a girl with crab apples. I would only have a beau who was desperately in love with me, and if he was desperately in love with me, he’d never throw crab apples at me.
Father left home before we even sat down at the table. Brother Brown came and asked Father to go with him to administer blessings to a family a few streets over who had been taken ill. He left and we ate dinner without him.
Sundays we rest and read scriptures. With Mother in bed and Father gone, I was tempted to skip reading scriptures and read a novel instead, but I knew better. Besides, Rachel would probably tell.
Anna threw a huge tantrum at bedtime because she wanted her doll Millie to have her hair tied up in braids. We tried to explain that Millie’s hair is porcelain and can’t be braided, but she just couldn’t understand. She kicked and screamed and there was no reasoning with her. Rachel took some brown wool from the knitting basket and made a braided wig. She tied it onto Millie’s head with a red ribbon. I thought it looked ridiculous, but it pacified Anna and she finally went to sleep. Rachel always knows what to do.
I will be glad to stop resting and go to school tomorrow.
—Helen
At breakfast, Father was tired. He had stayed with the ill family until the early hours.
When breakfast was cleared, he still sat at the table with his head in his hands. I asked him how the family was this morning. He said, “Dead.” His word felt like a slap, and I had to sit down in a chair to comprehend it. He didn’t try to comfort me or to smooth things over. He just sat with his head in his hands and his eyes closed.
We went to school, but I felt a heaviness that made it hard to concentrate. I kept thinking of the ill family and Father’s tired face.
Tonight, Father seemed to be more himself, but I could tell he was still thinking about the family. I was still thinking about them, too.
—Helen
Zuzu handed the book to Bella. Bella took it and sighed. She looked at the candle in the corner like she was preparing for a great speech. The light from the candle jumped and danced around the room. It felt solemn and reverent. Bella sighed again and began.
October 1, 1918
After school, I went to Martha’s house. I brought my sewing roll and three skirts that needed hemming. I hate hemming, but I don’t mind it if I can visit with Martha while we do it.
Martha is working on a blouse. It’s white with store lace in two strips straight down the front. It is going to be so pretty!
I told Martha about the family Brother Brown and Father tried to help. She said she had heard about several other families across town that fell ill, too.
I didn’t want to talk about it or hear about it anymore. Fortunately, Martha’s mother came in and gave us some cake and lemonade. She asked how the baby was doing and Martha said, “Helen does not know, she is not interested.”
I blushed and told Mrs. Phelps the baby is fine. Martha is always accidentally embarrassing me or herself. Once, a couple of years ago, we were in class and I was fidgeting. Martha raised her hand and the teacher asked what she wanted. She said, “Miss Tanner, may Helen be excused, I think she needs to use the outhouse.” I thought I was going to die! The rest of the week, all the kids kept coming up to me and saying, “Do you need me to ask Teacher if you can go to the outhouse?”
I stayed at the Phelpses’ until it was time for chores and homework, and then I went home.
—Helen
Mother is starting to get around more. Sister Young came over to help with the laundry, but she kept having to tell Mother to go back to bed. I don’t think Mother likes not being able to do all the things she’s used to doing.
Freddy is a happy baby. He loves Rachel especially. Rachel has become his other mother. She dresses him, bathes him and plays with him. I think they are both thrilled with the arrangement.
I still refuse to hold him, and it is starting to worry Mother and annoy Lizzy and Rachel. I say, too bad.
This evening, I started thinking about the sick families again. I wished I could just get away to a place where people don’t get sick, where there is no war and where baby brothers don’t die. I took a spare quilt, my journal and a candle and went to the attic. I went inside the crawl space and spread out the blanket. I’m writing from there right now. I’ve decided to make this my safe place, my refuge from the storm, my very own Palace Beautiful. It is quite comfortable here and I think I’ll stay until bedtime.
—Helen
It seemed to me that the walls of the little crawl space came alive with old sounds and smells, and it was surprising that we weren’t back in 1918. Calamity stirred and began to stretch, showing her tiny pin-prick claws and teeth. I imagined what this place had smelled like sixty-seven years ago when Helen wrote her journal. It probably smelled like fresh wood and paint. Today, in 1985, it smelled like stagnant dust, and old. I smelled rain and heard it tapping against the attic windows. I wondered if Helen ever sat here and heard the same sound from these same windows.
Bella closed the journal. “That’s them!” she said, touching the black-and-white picture tacked to the wall. We all crowded around it. Helen’s parents were sitting in chairs in the front. Anna sat on her father’s knee and Freddy was on his mother’s lap with a fist in his mouth. Lizzy, Rachel and Helen stood behind them.
It was strange, but it felt like I hadn’t seen them before when I’d looked at the photo. Now that I knew who they were, it was totally different. I wanted to look at it all day. I wanted to be with them. I wanted to be with my own mother.
Zuzu squinted and touched the photograph. “Father, Mother, Lizzy, Helen, Rachel, Anna and Freddy,” she whispered to herself as she passed her finger over each person in the photo. “Freddy looks like a girl!”
“They dressed all babies in gowns back then—even boys,” said Bella.
“Well, if Sherrie has a boy, I’ll never in a trillion-zillion years let her put a dress on him!”
“When’s your mom going to have the baby?” Bella said, leaning back against the wall.
“She’s our stepmom. Our real mom’s dead,” said Zuzu.
“Oh, I’m so sorry! What happened?”
“Childbirth—with Zuzu.” I heard something in my own voice that startled me. My throat pinched and I didn’t want to look at Zuzu.
It was anger. Sometimes when I thought about my mom dying, I felt mad at Zuzu. Sometimes I felt so mad, I had to hit something. Sometimes the anger bubbled up into a searing-red rage so intense, it scared me. My brain knew it wasn’t Zuzu’s fault and that I wasn’t really mad at her, but another part of me had to blame it on something—anything—and sometimes Zuzu was the easiest target.
“Oh,” said Bella, looking at the floor like she felt embarrassed for asking.
“The baby’s due in six weeks,” said Zuzu.
“Is it a boy or a girl?”
“We don’t know. Sherrie doesn’t want to spoil the surprise.”
“Hmm,” said Bella. “I think it would still be surprising to have a whole person come out of your body whether you knew what it was or not, but that’s just me.”
“I guess it would,” I said. Zuzu just blushed and shook her head.
Suddenly Bella’s face lit up. “What if we found her?” she said.
“Who?” said Zuzu.
“Helen. If she was born in 1905, she would be eighty years old right now. Maybe she still lives in Utah.”
“What if she’s dead?” I asked.
“If she is,” Bella said softly, “she could be here right now.”
We sat silently looking around the little room. My goose bumps came back, and I rubbed my arms to try to stop them.
“Do you think she would haunt us?” Zuzu whispered.
Bella leaned over and blew out the candle. Smoke curled up from the charred wick like spirit fingers. I wasn’t sure I actually believed in ghosts, but as we sat watching the thin fingers of smoke wrap around the little space, my skin puckered and pricked.
Bella put her hands on our shoulders and whispered, “But what if she’s alive?”
We all looked at each other in silence.
After a minute Zuzu said, “Where do we start? I mean, how does a person find someone who might or might not be dead when they don’t know anything about them?”
“We do know some things,” I said, picking up the journal. “We know she lived in this house. We know her birthday. We know that if she was thirteen years old in 1918, she would be eighty years old. Lots of people live to be eighty. We know her father had a law practice here in Salt Lake City at one time. We know her full name and even her mother’s maiden name.”
“Let’s do it!” Zuzu said.
Bella looked at the scratched-silver watch on her cave-dwelling-white wrist.
“I have to go!” she said, her honey-black eyes large and round. “I told my mom I’d be home at nine. She said if I was late and if I don’t get my chores done, I can’t come to the Bonnie Mae party tonight, and it’s five after!”
“I’m sure your mom won’t mind you being a few minutes late,” I said, following her out of Palace Beautiful.
“You don’t know my mom.” With that, she bounded out of the attic and down the stairs without even saying good-bye.
Zuzu and I laid the journal back in its place of honor and turned out the lights. We left the little room and hid the opening with the wooden crates. A thin trail of leftover smoke from the candle followed us like a spirit out the little doorway and stopped at the stairs.
