On Christmas morning, I lazed in bed with Beanie still snoring next to me. Brewing coffee and something sweet baking smelled so good it made my stomach rumble. I wondered how Mama had gotten enough sugar to make something that smelled so good but decided it didn’t matter. I just wanted to eat whatever it was as slow as I could. That way the good flavor would stay in my mouth longer.
Mama stepped into our room with the prettiest of all her smiles. She wore her red dress, the one she saved for special occasions. Most surprising of all, she had her hair down. Brown curls rested on her shoulders, and I thought she looked just like a movie star.
“Merry Christmas, girls,” she said. “Now get your lazy bones out of bed and come on downstairs.”
Beanie rolled over, turning her backside toward Mama.
“Beanie Jean,” Mama laughed. “Nobody wants to see your underthings first thing in the morning.”
Beanie grumbled and rolled back the way she’d started.
“Pearl?” Mama reached for me. “You want to come down? See what Santa brought?”
I hadn’t believed in Santa for a long time. Ray had told me he was make-believe a few years before. Still, my heart swelled so big it almost hurt. To think that there might be a present for me, even if it was a small one, it was more than I had expected.
“Get up, Beanie,” I said, pushing on my sister. “Come on.”
She rolled out of bed and stood next to Mama. Allowing Mama to smooth her hair, she slumped, letting her shoulders roll forward.
“Pearl, hand me that ribbon, would you?” Mama asked.
I grabbed it from the dresser and gave it to her. She wrapped it around Beanie’s hair and tied it tight.
“There,” Mama said to my sister. “Now I can see your beautiful face.”
Beanie’s beautiful face was still swollen in a few places from where she’d been beaten.
“It hurts to smile,” Beanie said. She grinned anyway.
Some moments I looked at my sister and almost believed she was like any other girl. But then she’d do something strange or look at me in an odd way, and I’d remember that her mind would never be like everybody else’s.
“Well, let’s go.” Mama grabbed Beanie’s hand and walked with her out the room and down the stairs.
I followed behind them.
Meemaw was up and sitting in her rocking chair, a bright-colored afghan tucked around her legs. She had on her big, wide smile. She didn’t have a lot of color in her face, but her sparkling eyes made up for it.
“Merry Christmas,” she said. “Well, look at you, Beanie Jean. Just as tall as your mama.”
Beanie looked at Mama, and Mama looked back. My sister had the blank expression again. I didn’t think she understood why it mattered how tall she was.
“Getting all grown-up,” Mama beamed.
“Not too growed-up for a kiss.” Meemaw reached her arms for Beanie and then for me so we’d give her pecks on the cheek.
Daddy carried a cup of coffee into the living room. He nodded at the davenport where two bundles lay wrapped in cream-colored cotton.
“One for each of you,” he said.
“I didn’t think we were getting anything.” My eyes moved over the small bundles. “You shouldn’t have gotten us anything.”
A lump caught in my throat. I remembered Mama and Daddy talking about not having much money. Then I thought about Ray and how his day wouldn’t be different than any other. Most the kids in Red River would have sparse Christmases.
Guilt settled in my gut. I didn’t see why I deserved any better than the other kids.
“It’s okay,” Mama said, moving to stand beside Daddy. “Go on, girls.”
Beanie walked to the presents, staring at them. I handed her the one with her name on it, and I took mine. We sat on the floor, our hips touching, holding the unopened gifts on our crisscrossed legs. I regretted being so close to her as soon as her sharp elbow jabbed at me.
Mama got down on the floor next to us. Ladies didn’t sit on the floor, not in their best dresses. That was what she had taught us. But that morning, Mama did. Christmas magic changed the rules.
I opened my gift as slow as I could, wanting to make the feeling of not knowing last a little longer. It was the only thing I would open that year, maybe even for a few years.
As for Beanie, she worked at the cotton, tugging it and loosening it as fast as she could. I shielded my eyes from her present just in case we got the same thing. I didn’t want the surprise ruined.
Pulling back the last of the cotton, I drew in my breath. I lifted green fabric and it fell out of a neat fold. It was a beautiful dress. Green with a thin white ribbon along the neck and at the bottom of the sleeves. I stood, holding it up in front of myself. It wasn’t made of a feed sack. It was store-bought fabric. The buttons were shiny, sun-catching, pretty. And they all matched. I recognized them off my old yellow dress, the one that had gotten ruined at the rabbit drive.
“Thank you,” I said to Mama.
Beanie stood, too. She held a dress up by the shoulders. It was tan, her favorite. I’d never met anybody before whose favorite color was tan. The color of dust.
“What do you think?” Mama asked, getting up from the floor.
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered. “Green as grass.”
I remembered grass. It could get as green as that dress. I remembered how bright the fields were after the rain. Even before the dust came, it didn’t rain all that often, but when it did, we thanked God over and over. Back then, I would pretend that I was a flower standing tall in the downpour. Mama would call me in, but I’d only obey after I’d let the drops fall on my head and in my mouth and run all the way down my body.
Those were days when I never felt thirsty or hungry. Green was the color of enough.
Before I knew it, I was hugging my new dress and crying hard because all the green had dried up and gone, never to come back again. The desert was killing us. All of us. Little by little. Drying us until we were nothing more than sun-bleached bones in a pile of dirt.
If the dust didn’t get me, Eddie would. I didn’t know which was worse.
“Are you disappointed?” Mama asked, touching her lips. “I know you probably would have liked a toy …”
I shook my head. “I love this dress.”
“Then what is it?” She wiped at my cheeks with her hanky. “Why are you crying?”
Shrugging, I tried to swallow down my sadness.
“It’s just so pretty.”
It would have been too much to explain all the rest.
I changed into my new dress, the soft fabric hanging loose on my body. Mama had thought to put ties on the back of it, and I was thankful for that. Cinching it into a bow above my rear, I was glad that I wasn’t like to outgrow it too quickly.
When I came downstairs in it, Meemaw had me spin a few times to show how the green swirled out around my shins. Dancing about the room made me feel like a princess. All sad thoughts fell away.
“Oh, honey,” Meemaw said, clapping her hands. “Ain’t you pretty?”
Out of breath, I stopped, the room kept on twirling, though. We all had a laugh while I staggered toward the davenport. After the dizzy spell ended, I pushed the hair out of my face. Mama hadn’t had the chance to braid it yet.
“Mama, can you please put my hair up?” I asked.
She smiled and nodded, her thick curls bouncing and swaying. If I had hair like hers, I never would have pulled it back. But hair as straight as mine just hung in my face and got in the way.
“Come on.” Mama took my hand and pulled me into her room. “Sit on my bed there a minute.”
I did as she said, rubbing my hands on the firm mattress. She never forgot to make her bed, no matter how much she needed to do or how tired she was. From the grit against my palms on the bedspread, I reckoned it was a good habit. I would have been better about it myself if I hadn’t had to share with Beanie. At least that’s what I thought.
Mama used her silver-handled brush to smooth my hair. Closing my eyes, I listened as she hummed and brushed. It pulled a little when she twisted my hair into a bun, but I didn’t mind. I could have listened to her humming all day long. She used a shiny pin to secure my hair. I reached behind, feeling the pin, knowing it must have sparkled.
“You can keep that,” she whispered, holding up a mirror so I could see myself. “I’ve had it since I was about your age. It looks real nice in the gold of your hair.”
“Thank you, Mama,” I said, catching a glimpse of both of us in the mirror.
I didn’t look a thing like her.
While Mama finished cooking our Christmas dinner, Daddy set Beanie and me down at the table. He pulled a deck of cards out of his pocket. He put a finger to his lips and made a shushing sound, winking at the two of us.
“Mama doesn’t let us play cards,” I whispered.
“It’s Christmas,” he answered. “She’ll let us just this once.”
He shuffled the deck, making the cards fall on top of each other.
“Besides,” he said. “Meemaw’s snoozing. She’s the one who’d take a switch to our behinds for this.”
Daddy helped us form our hands around our cards, teaching us to make a fan out of them. “Hold them like this so you can see all of them.”
Then he taught us to hold them up. “You don’t want nobody seeing what’s in your hand.”
“What’s this game?” Beanie asked, trying to hold her cards right.
“Poker,” Daddy whispered.
“Is this good?” Beanie showed him what she had. Three of the aces.
“Yup. About as good as it gets.” Daddy smiled and turned to me. “Remind me to never put money on a game against your sister.”
Next Daddy tried to teach us how to shuffle. That ended with the whole deck shooting into the air. “Make sure you find all fifty-two cards,” Daddy said.
We played a couple hands, and Beanie won about all of them. Whenever she did, her smile would grow even bigger.
“Seems I gotta teach you about having a poker face, darlin’,” Daddy laughed. “You never want the fella you’re playing with to know how you’re feeling, good or bad. Keep the smiles and frowns tucked tight inside your cheek, like this.”
Daddy made his face blank as could be. Which made me giggle so hard my stomach hurt.
“You better try it too, Pearlie Lou,” Daddy said, keeping his face flat.
We all practiced holding our faces straight and not letting a smile inch up on us. Not one of us could go long without a smile cracking and giggles erupting.
There was laughter in our house. Enough to kill most of my fear.
Mama walked circles around the table, setting the plates and glasses and the like on top of her laciest tablecloth. She’d go between that and stirring something on the stove and checking the chicken and dumplings in the oven. Our house smelled like comfort with the rich smell of gravy and dough baking.
“Can I help?” I asked.
“Oh, darlin’, thank you,” Mama said, handing me a stack of cotton napkins.
We worked side by side, putting together the nicest Christmas table we could. I remembered to put the napkins to the left of the plate and was proud that I hadn’t needed her to remind me. Then I helped her put the silverware out, too.
“You’re doing a nice job,” she said.
“Mama,” I said. “I feel real bad.”
“Why’s that, darlin’?”
“Well, I didn’t get you or Daddy a present.” I put the last butter knife down. “I wish I could have gotten you something real nice.”
“Don’t feel bad. I never expected anything.”
“Do you want me to tell you what I’d give you if I had a lot of money?” I asked.
Mama nodded at me to follow her into the kitchen. “That would be sweet.”
I told her about the hose I would give her as she sliced the bread. Then I told her that I would buy her a gold-chained necklace with a locket and a brand new dress. New pots and pans and dishes that didn’t have any chips along the edges.
“And Mama, I’d buy a camera for myself,” I said.
“You would, would you?” She grinned at me.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What would you do with a camera?”
“I’d take pictures of you opening all the presents so I could always remember your smile.”
She put down her slicing knife and wiped the crumbs from her hands. Reaching for me, she pulled me tight against her.
“Did you know that I love surprises?” she asked.
“You do?”
“I do.” She kissed the top of my head. “Did you know that you were a surprise?”
“No,” I said, tilting my head so I could see her face.
“We never expected you, but God brought you to us anyway.” She lifted her eyebrows. “All the gifts you want to give me are nice. They sure would be good presents. But not a one of them is as good as having you.”
She held me again, and I turned my face, looking at Meemaw and Daddy and Beanie. If I never got another present in my life, I’d be happy just so long as I had them.
Daddy wanted us to hold off eating until Millard came. The old mayor had joined us for our Christmas meal as long as I could remember.
“Good lord, but these dumplings are going to be all dried out by the time we sit down.” Mama peeked in the oven. “I do wish Millard would hurry up.”
“He’ll be here.” Daddy checked the clock on the wall. “I suppose it can’t hurt none if I go check on him.”
He put on his hat and opened the front door.
“I won’t be a minute,” he said, closing the door behind him.
He wasn’t a minute. More like half a second. We heard him and Millard talking on the porch. Their conversation ended with Daddy saying, “Sure, let’s go inside.”
The door opened.
Mama took a step or two into the living room and smiled.
“Hi,” she said. “Come in. Y’all hungry?”
A woman and two girls stood wide-eyed, staring, just inside the door. Daddy walked in behind one of the girls and put his hand on her shoulder. She jumped when he touched her, and he lowered his hand. Millard stood beside Daddy. He winked when he caught me looking at him.
“Don’t be shy,” Daddy told the visitors in his most gentle voice. “We’ve got plenty for everybody.”
“I have some chicken and dumplings in the oven and a couple loaves of fresh baked sweet bread.” Mama talked as she made her way to the kitchen. “More than enough.”
“I don’t mean to put you out.” The woman didn’t talk loudly enough for Mama to hear her, so she said it again, louder. Too loud. It came as a shout.
“Oh, you aren’t putting me out. Not at all. Y’all make yourselves at home while I put some beans on. I won’t be long.” Mama moved through the kitchen, her skirt swirling. “Pearl, be a dear and set a few more plates, please.”
The woman joined me, not listening to the protests of Mama. Together, we set three more places at the table. Thank goodness Mama had enough dishes. Daddy and Millard carried in the extra chairs. Between us, we had the work done in no time at all.
“Now, here I put you to work and I didn’t even introduce myself.” Mama gave the pot of beans a quick stir before turning and grabbing the woman’s hand, giving it a gentle shake. “I’m Mary Spence. This here’s my girl Pearl. Over yonder is my mother-in-law, Mrs. Spence, and my oldest daughter there is Beanie Jean.”
“Good to know you.” The woman didn’t take her eyes off Mama to look at a one of us. “I’m Esther. Them’s my daughters Jael and Tamar. We’re good Christian folk.”
I met eyes with Meemaw. She grinned and nodded. She’d told me once of Tamar who had turned into a loose woman and tricked her father-in-law in a way that Meemaw wouldn’t explain, so I figured it had something to do with fornication. All the parts of the Bible she blushed about had to do with fornication. And I’d read on my own about Jael pounding a stake into a man’s head, the point of which went all the way into the ground.
I wondered if that Esther woman had any idea how ugly it was to name baby girls after those women in the Bible. I figured she did not.
“Pearl, darlin’, would you please show Tamar and Jael where to clean up?” Mama turned back to the beans. “We should be ready to eat in a minute or two.”
The girls didn’t talk at all in the bathroom. They looked around, eyes as wide as when they walked in the front door. Running tiny fingers along the porcelain tub and touching the shiny faucets, they glanced at each other with meek smiles.
“The water doesn’t come out of those anymore,” I said. “You’ve got to get water from this here bucket.”
Their shoulders sagged and I could tell they were disappointed. When the water got cut off in Red River, I’d felt the same way.
But when the girls looked up and saw themselves in the mirror, I thought I’d never get them back out to the living room. They stared and stared, making different faces. Jael even stuck her tongue out, which made the two of them giggle just as hard as anything.
“Haven’t y’all ever seen yourselves in a mirror before?” I asked.
Both girls lost their smiles and looked down at their hands, scrubbing them with bars of soap. I guessed that they’d forgotten I was there.
“Girls,” Mama called. “Come on.”
I didn’t say another word to Jael and Tamar. The three of us just walked back to the dining room. I had hoped they might become my friends. I felt foolish for even thinking of it.
Keeping my eyes down, I watched the sway of my green hem until I heard all the adult voices in the dining area.
When I lifted my eyes, I about fell over at what I saw. Eddie was in a chair all pulled up to the table, his plate piled high with chicken and dumplings and bread and beans.
“Come on over, girls,” Mama said, directing us to the empty seats.
Beanie sat beside Millard, her shoulders slumped and looking about as unhappy as a toad. She made a few of her little noises. I figured the room was too full of strangers for her. That always made her real nervous.
“Hey there, Pearl. You get anything for Christmas?” Eddie smirked and popped a piece of chicken into his mouth.
“Young man, I don’t know what kind of upbringing you had,” Meemaw scolded. “But in this house we say grace before we eat.”
“Mother,” Mama gasped. She turned to Eddie. “You’ll have to excuse her. She hasn’t been feeling herself lately.”
“Don’t make excuses for me,” Meemaw said. “I’m feeling just fine, thank you very much.”
“But we don’t need to be rude to our guests.”
“He ain’t my guest. Besides, he’s the one who was rude first. Eating before we’ve blessed the food.”
“Mother, shame on you.”
“Nah, don’t scold her. I should’ve known better.” Eddie winked at me. “Pearl how about you come sit beside me. I don’t like nothing better than sitting with a pretty girl at Christmas dinner.”
“No. I do believe Pearl will be sitting beside me today.” Meemaw reached for me. “Isn’t that right, honey?”
I nodded and let Meemaw pull me.
Eddie’s smirk turned into a sharp glare.
“Another time, then,” he said.
Meemaw kept her hand on my leg and her eye on Eddie all through dinner.
I had never tried to murder someone before. But during that Christmas dinner I worked at killing Eddie with my hate. Meemaw had taught me that to hate someone was just the same as killing them in my heart. She’d told me Jesus was the one who said that. Hoping that it was true, I willed my hatred to be a sharp and swift weapon—I imagined Eddie choking on a forgotten chicken bone or tipping backwards out of his chair and knocking his head on the floor.
So much for the charity and good will of Christmas. I’d become a killer in my own soul, and it surprised me how I didn’t feel anything about it.
“Now, Eddie, I’m sure you’ve got family somewhere that’s missing you today,” Mama said, scooping a soft bite of dumpling onto her fork. “Wouldn’t they have liked to have you home at Christmas?”
“Nah, they don’t miss me none.” Eddie sopped up the gravy on his plate with a wad of bread. Then he glanced at me. “I don’t got much family no more. Most of them’s passed on.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Daddy said.
“Not me. My folks would’ve rather seen me dead than home on Christmas morning.”
“Oh, I don’t believe that for a minute.” Mama smiled at him.
“Some families ain’t as sweet as yours, ma’am.” He kept his eyes on me, the blue of them chilling me all the way through.
“Some folk don’t deserve sweetness,” Meemaw said, sounding like a hissing cat.
“Mother,” Mama whispered. “What has gotten into you today?”
“Full of piss and vinegar I suppose.” Eddie forced a smile. “She’s got the right at her age.”
He went back to eating, keeping his eyes on me.
Oh, how I wished his heart would just stop beating.
Eddie didn’t stick around long after dinner. He didn’t bother making an excuse, and that was fine by me. I didn’t care where he went or what he did, just so long as he didn’t stay a minute longer in our home.
Beanie seemed glad, too. She sat on the floor by Meemaw’s rocking chair, her head on our grandmother’s knee. I thought for sure she would fall asleep right there with Meemaw playing with her curls.
Daddy and Millard went out on the porch to sip cups of coffee and smoke cigarettes.
Mama and I stayed at the table with Esther and the girls. Jael and Tamar still worked on eating their dumplings. All the rest of us had been done a long time before.
Mama had served coffee to Esther, promising sweet bread whenever the girls were ready for it.
Esther closed her eyes with every swallow of coffee, the slightest upturn at the corners of her mouth. I didn’t think she would ever finish that first cup for fear of having no more. I wanted to tell her that Mama would make her as much as she could drink.
But Mama wouldn’t have liked for me to say something like that. She would have worried about it making Esther feel ashamed.
“Goodness me,” Mama said. “I think I’m going to get me another cup of coffee. Would you like some, Mother?”
Meemaw nodded and hummed her yes from the living room.
“Esther, you go on and drink that up. I’m fixing to put a fresh pot on the stove.” Mama smiled. “Christmas comes but once a year.”
“So long as you’re making more.” Esther finished her cup and exhaled, her eyes closed. “I do appreciate it.”
Meemaw had told me so many times about the Good Samaritan. Right then, as she perked another pot of coffee, Mama sure looked a lot like a Good Oklahoman to me. And she did it all while humming “Silent Night.”
I wished so deep that one day I could be a little like her.
Mama came back to the table to collect the empty plates. When she got to Jael and Tamar’s, she leaned close to them.
“You girls still working on that?” she asked.
Wide-eyed still, both the girls nodded. The way they ate, slow and with such little bites, about made me cry.
“They ain’t seen that much food in a good while,” Esther told Mama. To the girls, she nodded. “Don’t you girls make yourselves sick eating.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jael mumbled.
“I’m happy to send some along with you folks.” Mama put the plates in the sink. They clinked against each other. “I don’t know as we can eat all we’ve got left over.”
“Now, I won’t take no more from your table,” Esther said. “Folks is hard up all over, and I don’t got a mind to take from nobody.”
“I’d be glad to send food along. Truly,” Mama said, her back toward us.
“I seen a man walking down the road.” Esther wiped a finger under her nose. “This was near about thirty miles east of here. I seen him with a shovel, scraping up dead animals off the side of the road. He said he was fixing to eat it. It weren’t fresh meat, and I told him so much.”
Mama held the edge of the counter as if she’d collapse without its support. “How horrible,” she said.
“We never been that hard up.” Esther shook her head. “God’s been providing.”
“Please let me send food along with you.” Mama turned, her eyes sparkled with tears. “I wouldn’t feel right unless I sent you folks with something.”
“It sure would be a kindness.” Esther stood and collected the used glasses, carrying them to the kitchen. “Let me wash up these dishes for you.”
“No.”
“I’ll wanna work it off. Pay you back for your hospitality.”
“I won’t hear of it. Today’s Christmas.” Mama tried her best to smile. “Nobody’s doing dishes today. Go on and rest a bit. The coffee should be ready soon.”
Esther watched Mama for a minute before sitting back down at the table.
“That man that was here,” Esther said. “He’s a hobo ain’t he?”
“You mean Eddie?” Mama brought over the cups.
“I believe so.” Esther looked over at Tamar and touched her shoulder. “I seen him at the camp.”
I knew she meant the Hooverville.
“That so?” Mama asked.
“You okay, darlin’?” Esther asked, giving her attention to the girls.
Tamar nodded, but her face wore a frown. “Getting full up.”
“Don’t force it in.” Esther turned her head toward Mama. “Y’all don’t mind having him here? That hobo.”
“I suppose not. He’s done no harm to anybody.” Mama checked her sugar bowl, scraping a spoon against the bottom of it. “I don’t have but a grain or two of sugar.”
“As for me,” Meemaw said from her rocking chair. “I don’t trust that man.”
“You made that clear, didn’t you?” Mama asked, taking the coffee off the stove. “I sure am sorry I don’t have any sugar for your coffee, Esther.”
“That’s all right. I take it black.” Esther blinked a few times. “I ain’t had coffee in so long I wanna be able to taste it.”
Mama poured three cups, one for each lady.
“Pearl, will you get the sweet bread off the counter?” she asked. “It’s sliced already.”
When I carried over the plate, Tamar started crying. A quiet, shake-the-shoulders cry.
“What’s wrong with her?” Beanie asked. She’d gotten up from the floor and stood a foot from the table. “Why’s she crying?”
“I don’t got no more room,” Tamar said, still crying.
“Honey, you don’t have to eat it all right now.” Mama grabbed a fresh hanky from her pocket, handing it to the little girl. “I’ll send some with you. I’ve got a whole other loaf just for you and your sister.”
“What if I ain’t never hungry again?” Tamar asked.
“You will be. And when you are, you can eat it then.”
“Are you okay now?” Beanie asked, leaning forward to look at Tamar. “Can you stop crying now?”
Tamar nodded and dried her face with the hanky. She sipped from her water glass and pushed her lips into a smile.
“That’s a girl,” Mama said. “You go ahead and keep that hanky, too.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” the girl whispered.
Jael and Tamar sat on the same chair all through dinner. Even with plenty of chairs empty after most excused themselves, they still shared. Their bodies were so little, they fit just right.
I didn’t mean to stare, but I couldn’t hardly help myself. They weren’t shorter than me, not really. Their legs hung long off the end of the chair. It was just that they had no meat on their bones. I wondered if they ever had.
Their feed-sack dresses hung off them with no shape. No buttons. It was like someone had just cut holes in the bags for their heads and arms.
I ran my finger over the soft green of my own dress. Felt the way it tugged in the back to fit better.
I figured out how to be like Mama and the Good Samaritan.
“May I be excused, please?” I asked, pushing out of my chair. “Just for a minute. I’ll be right back.”
Mama nodded.
I went straight to my room. There, I grabbed a couple things from my closet and returned to the table.
Jael and Tamar looked at the fabric draped over my arms and their mouths opened as wide as their eyes.
“You can have these if you want them,” I said. I handed each of them a dress that I’d grown out of. “If it’s all right with your mama.”
Before they even looked at the dresses, they turned to Esther and waited for her to nod her head. I was so glad she would let them keep the clothes.
The girls touched the dresses, so gentle, like they worried the cloth would fall apart under their fingers. They met eyes, and I thought they were talking to each other without words.
“That’s real nice of you,” Esther said, holding her fresh cup of coffee with both hands. She blinked out her tears. “Real nice, darlin’. What do you girls say?”
They both told me “thank you” and put the dresses in their laps.
“Wouldn’t you like to try them on?” Mama asked, dabbing at the corner of one eye. “I’ll let you go in my bedroom to change, if you’d like.”
The girls nodded their heads, making their bobbed hair swing against their cheeks. Mama showed them where her room was and pulled the door to.
“You are good,” Beanie said. She looked me right in the eyes for the first time I could remember.
When Jael and Tamar came out from Mama’s room, they were even more shy than before. They took small, shuffling steps and kept their heads lowered.
“Look at you girls,” Mama said. “How beautiful.”
The girls touched the sides of their new dresses. The fabric was from a couple sugar sacks, but they were clean and had flowers printed all over them. Mama had made those dresses just for me, not knowing how pretty a couple other girls would look in them after I’d gotten my use out of them.
Tamar dared a smile, and that made her sister smile, too. Not big smiles. Tiny, shy, just-for-themselves smiles.
Tamar and Jael sat on either side of me while I read to them from my book of fairy tales. They wanted to hear the story of Cinderella. I didn’t reckon either of them could read, so I changed the story so the evil stepsisters didn’t chop off their toes or get their eyes pecked out by birds.
I would have hated for them to have nightmares on Christmas night.
“How about I scrub the girls’ other dresses?” Mama offered. “It won’t take me but a minute and a little lye.”
“Oh, no.” Esther shook her head. “I can’t have you doing that. You done so much already.”
“It’s nothing at all.”
“I haven’t gotten to wash them dresses in weeks. Not since we left home.” Esther used her knuckle to stop a tear in her eye. “I’m so ashamed.”
“With all this country in a scrape, you’re going to be embarrassed by a couple dirty dresses?” Mama tilted her head. “That doesn’t make sense to me.”
Esther smiled. Mama brought that out in folks.
She had a way.
I pulled the blankets back from Beanie. She always stole them from me when she rolled over. In her sleep, she grunted but didn’t fight me for the covers.
She’d fallen asleep about as soon as her head hit the pillow. Meemaw’s soft snores from the other room told me that she was sleeping sound, too.
My thoughts kept me awake. I wished I could slow them down. My body was tired, and I wanted to rest.
All I could think about, though, was Tamar and Jael and their wide-and-wondering eyes. I worried for them. The next morning, they would be hungry and have a little something to eat that Mama sent with them. They would have fresh, clean dresses to wear.
But then they would be hungry again and again until the food ran out. One day they would grow too tall for the dresses. Either that or the fabric would wear thin.
I worried at the pictures in my head of them eating jackrabbits or tire-flattened animals while wearing their filthy, too-small dresses.
What I had to tell myself over and over that night was that they had gone to bed that Christmas with full bellies. I tried to remember that God loved them more than the sparrows He’d fed and the lilies He’d clothed.
I just hoped they would find other Good Oklahomans along the road.
A couple days after Christmas, Mama asked Daddy to go on down to the Hooverville to check on Esther and the girls.
“I don’t like them staying down there without a man to watch over them,” she said. “It’s not safe.”
Daddy agreed and made his way out the door.
“Can I go, too?” I asked, already double knotting my shoe.
“I guess that would be all right,” Daddy said.
“Take your jacket,” Mama called after me.
Daddy and I walked at a nice, easy pace and kept our voices still. What I liked about Daddy was that I never felt lonely with him, even when we were quiet together.
He helped me up and over the stacked-up sand and into the Hooverville. It still smelled as bad as I remembered it, but the makeshift camps were less zigzag and more even lines.
“They’re staying this way,” Daddy said, putting his arm around me, guiding me down one of the lines. “Stick close to me, darlin’.”
We walked past a man bent over the engine of a truck, a handful of kids huddled together under a flimsy tarp, a group of men squatting low in the dirt. A few of the folks greeted Daddy, and he stopped to ask after them.
Daddy was kind to them. He listened to their troubles and their plans. He wished them luck and left them with slight smiles on their faces.
In the Hooverville, my daddy was famous because he was good.
We reached a spot in a line of camps, and Daddy humphed and scrunched his face to one side.
“That’s where they were camped,” he said.
The space was empty, but I could see where something had been dragged, leaving a shallow ditch in the dirt.
They were gone. Not even so much as a scrap of paper left behind. My heart ached.
“Hey, fella,” Daddy called to a man standing nearby. “You know what happened to the family that was here? A woman and two little girls.”
The man removed his hat and rubbed at his forehead with a wrist. He let his eyes follow the drag mark where the camp had been.
“Yeah,” he said. “Seems just the other day they got on a truck with a family and rode off. Don’t know where at they went to.”
“Thanks kindly.” Daddy nodded once like men did and took my hand.
We walked out of the camp, Daddy once again helping me over the pile of dirt. When he noticed I was crying, he wiped the tears with his thumb.
“Pearlie, people have got to keep moving,” he said. “That’s the way of the world. If they sit too long, they’ll never get ahead.”
I didn’t understand but didn’t ask him to explain. It didn’t matter.
The way of the world never seemed to make folks happy.