The rest of June went by, and my daddy didn’t turn up. Seemed like folks got tired of talking about it after a while, and even Nana and Grandpa stopped acting anxious. Or at least I didn’t hear any more worrisome conversations through the bedroom wall.
Thinking about my twelfth birthday coming up took the place of thinking about my daddy.
As the first week in July passed, the days turned hot and dusty. Panther Creek started to dry up, and Grandpa said he was able to walk parts of it. He told Nana he’d been smart, planting some of his corn in the cool, damp bottom ground.
He did temporary work for the REA, using his team to help clear brush for the highline. They were working right down on Karse Road, which meant Grandpa could come home for dinner each day rather than carrying his lunch. He told us about the linemen who climbed up the tall poles like monkeys to install things called insulators that the electrical wire would hang on.
Aunty Rose and Nana and I hoped being exposed to so much electrical work would make Grandpa change his mind about wanting electricity.
“When the highline comes to our road, Dad, are you going to sign up for it?” Aunty Rose finally asked one day at the dinner table after Grandpa had contented himself on fresh, warm cherry pie.
We held our breath while he thought about it. I think Nana was contemplating the wonders of an electric stove, which she’d heard about the last time she went to Huxley. Aunty Rose wanted an electric iron so we wouldn’t have to heat up our old flatirons on the woodstove on a hot day and change them five or six times to do up one of Grandpa’s starched white shirts. I wanted a refrigerator so we could keep ice cream.
But Grandpa said, “I don’t see why we can’t get along with what we’ve got. We don’t want for anything we really need.”
Grandpa was right about that, but Nana said we could “have things a lot nicer” if we got the electricity.
Finally the thirteenth came, and Aunty Rose woke me up Sunday morning sitting on my bed and singing “Happy Birthday.” Nana gave me a hug and a pinch of love to grow on when I went in the kitchen. And when Grandpa came in from milking, he got a 1935 silver dollar he’d been saving for me out of his bureau drawer.
At church, Uncle Retus’s family was talking big about how they’d be getting a transformer put up at the end of their driveway, and Petey Tyler said his mama had already ordered a fluorescent floor lamp from the Jewel Tea man for $12.95.
I might have felt left out of the excitement, but when the Sunday school superintendent asked if there had been any birthdays this week, I got to go up and drop twelve pennies in the Birthday Bank.
When we got home, the black-eyed peas Nana had left simmering smelled so good, I asked everybody to please hurry so we could eat. Also, I knew a surprise angel food cake, ringed with maraschino cherries, was hiding on the top shelf of the cupboard, where Nana thought I wouldn’t look.
The cake didn’t turn up at dinner, so I figured Nana was saving it for later. Grandpa had said he’d make ice cream in honor of my birthday, and he went outside and cranked the ice-cream maker while I helped Nana and Aunty Rose do the dishes.
By the time I got outside, Grandpa had covered the ice-cream maker with a burlap bag and left it in the shade so the ice cream would harden.
“How would you like to walk over and see the sheep?” he asked me.
I could see some of the sheep from where I stood. Several ewes with their spring lambs grazed on the hill.
But maybe Grandpa meant how would I like to see them up close. Sometimes, if he was nearby, the woolly lambs would let me touch the kinky topknots on their heads.
“I’d like that,” I said.
As we walked toward the pasture, the dried-up grass crunched under our feet because of the lack of rain.
“You hear that, Grandpa?” I said, turning back to look at the northwest horizon. Maybe—just maybe—it was a shade darker than the rest of the sky, and maybe I had heard a rumble of thunder.
He nodded.
“Think it’ll rain?”
“You never can tell,” he said. But I saw hope in his eyes.
Grandpa opened the gate to the pasture, taking a bucket of mash for the lambs off a nail pounded high into the gatepost.
“I’ve been thinking to give you a lamb of your own to raise,” he said.
I glanced at him in surprise, then looked away, acting like I was paying close attention to going through the gate, because it didn’t seem decent letting another person see how proud that made me. Nana had her chickens. Aunty Rose had two hogs. And now I would have a sheep. Well, a lamb, really. But the lamb would grow into a sheep. And there was nothing finer than owning livestock.
The lambs rambled across the pasture, their hooves noisy on the dry, cracked ground. They saw the bucket of mash and scrambled to get their faces in it, bumping our legs and stepping on our feet while their mamas stood back, bleating nervously.
While one lamb had her nose in the bucket, I touched the thick wool on the top of her head, but she jumped back.
Eventually the lambs got their fill and ran to join their mamas.
“Did you see one you’d like to have?” Grandpa said, dumping what little was left of the mash on the ground, which brought a few lambs trotting up again.
“I don’t know good stock,” I said, trying to sound responsible. “How can I tell? But I kind of like that one there with the black face.” I pointed to the lamb that had come back to nuzzle the ground for the last traces of the mash.
Grandpa nodded. “She comes from a good mother.” He tried to point the mama out, but in the mass of sheep I couldn’t tell for sure which one she was.
“Good mothers usually have good lambs,” he said. And the light in his eyes told me he was proud of the way I’d chosen.
Thunder rumbled louder in the northwest, and Grandpa and I smiled at each other.
I watched the darkening sky as we walked back toward the house. It was going to rain, the ice cream was ready to eat, I had a birthday cake waiting in the wings, and now I owned livestock.
I ran ahead to tell Nana and Aunty Rose what Grandpa had given me for my birthday. They acted all surprised, but they probably had their fingers crossed behind their backs.
We gathered up bowls and spoons, and Grandpa had the ice cream ready to dip by the time we got outside.
The storm front pushed a cool breeze ahead of it. Since the sun had slipped behind the clouds, we sat on the concrete platform around the well to eat. I tried to slow down and savor the moment, but the icy sweetness drove me on, my spoon pinging against the thick, cool crockery bowl in my hands.
“If you eat too fast, you’ll get a headache,” Nana said, touching my knee as we sat beside each other on the well curb.
In the pause between bites, I looked down the drive. A man in a white sailor suit waited there, watching us.
For a second, I thought lightning had hit nearby because he stood out in an eerie light. My foot went all cold where I dropped my ice-cream bowl as I stood.
I tried to tell Nana and Grandpa to look, but my voice box wouldn’t work.
When Jacky came tearing around the machine shed, barking and growling, aiming down the drive like a bullet, Grandpa whirled around.
“Jack,” Aunty Rose commanded, jumping up and slapping her thigh.
Jacky, whining, trotted back to sit by Grandpa’s side. He gazed up at Grandpa’s face, waiting for a signal.
I wanted a signal from Grandpa too, but he was no more aware of my presence than of the little black ant crawling on his shirt collar. Grandpa had his feet planted apart and his arms at his side, his only movement a deep breath that made him look even bigger.
Nana, her lips still parted for a bite of ice cream, stared at the sailor.
Aunty Rose was so still, she could have been a picture of herself.
Nobody paid any attention to me.
“Daddy?”
I took one step toward him, then another.
“Daddy?”
But I couldn’t have heard if he’d answered me because my heart was drumming so loud.
I got halfway down the drive, my legs trembling. Then I stopped and looked back at Aunty Rose, Nana, and Grandpa. Their faces brightened for an instant, then dimmed again as I turned back toward the sailor.
But wait.
He wasn’t my daddy after all.
I stared at the man’s coppery hair falling over a sweaty face and freckles spattered on every bit of his skin. He looked awful scrawny, with a big Adam’s apple that bobbed up and down. And he was crying.
“Mae Bug?” he said, his voice hoarse.
Then he dropped his duffel to empty out his arms, and I ran into them, knowing he was my daddy after all.
“Mae Bug.” He squeezed me, scratching my face with his whiskers. He smelled like dust and something else that I remembered from a long time ago.
He held me away from him. “What happened to my little girl? You got all tall and skinny on me. But look at that hair,” he said, touching the top of my head.
Then I saw his bloodshot brown eyes settle on the people waiting for him under the hickory tree.
I looked, thinking Grandpa might turn away in contempt, but a gust of wind blew his hair back as he stood stiffly, like Jacky with the scent of an intruder.
Thunder rumbled more loudly.
Daddy’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, and his grip on my arm tightened probably more than he realized.
He brought his eyes back to mine.
“How are you?” he asked me, looking so deep that I felt tears starting to come.
I nodded. “Good,” I whispered. “How are you?”
“Mighty glad to be home,” he said. Then he pulled a handkerchief out and mopped the sweat off his forehead, wiping away tears at the same time.
He turned his back and blew his nose, and I didn’t know what to do. I glanced at Grandpa. Could he tell Daddy was crying?
My family just stood there, holding their ice-cream bowls like they were glued to their hands. I wanted to be with them.
But I couldn’t leave my daddy standing there by himself.
Finally he picked up his duffel and took my hand and we headed toward the shade.
When Daddy stuck his hand out to Grandpa, my heart nearly stopped.
Ignoring Daddy’s gesture, Grandpa just nodded.
Daddy nodded back.
Then Daddy clasped Nana’s hand, calling her Mae. And before he could shake hands with Aunty Rose, she gave him a hug that made him step back and smile. If I could have given Aunty Rose the whole world tied up in a pretty bow at that point, I’d have done it.
“We’ll dip you some ice cream, Harold,” Nana said. But that wasn’t a serious sign of peace, because everyone knew you could count on Nana for hospitality.
“I could have been here sooner,” Daddy said, addressing himself to everybody but Grandpa. “I got off the train in Huxley this morning and caught a ride to Hinner’s Corner. Then I took a notion to come cross-country. So I’ve walked the last six miles.”
His shoes were coated with dust, and his nose glowed with sunburn, but he was grinning at me.
I didn’t know what else to do, so I pulled up my socks and grinned back.
“So what are you fixing to do now, Harold?” Grandpa said. He towered over my daddy, and his voice was colder than any ice cream I’d ever tasted.
Nana shot Grandpa a look.
“Well, I haven’t seen my folks yet,” Daddy said. “Need to get down there first thing. How about you, Mae Bug? Want to come along? Go visit your other grandparents?”
All on its own, my head bobbed up and down.
Daddy nodded toward the electric poles standing out on the horizon way over by Mick Pennington’s place to the southwest.
“I see the rural electrification work has started up again now the war’s over,” he said, dipping into the ice cream that Nana handed him. “I just may wire some houses,” he told Grandpa.
He licked the cream off his lips and smiled at me again.
“Ever wired a house?” Grandpa asked in a tone that said, Ever walked on water?
“Nope.” Daddy rocked back on his heels. “But I learned electricity in the navy. That’s what this badge means.”
I looked at the globe he pointed to on his wrinkled white sleeve.
“Electrician.” He spooned ice cream into his mouth. “I wired ships. I figure I can wire houses. At least they stay still.”
He set his bowl down on the well curb, making the spoon clatter in the silence.
“Well, better take your nightgown, Mae Bug,” he said, nodding at me. “Maybe we’ll stay at my folks’ for a few days. Then I’ll see if I can find us a place to live.”
Grandpa jerked as if somebody had stabbed him with the pitchfork. Nana made a choking sound, and Aunty Rose gripped my shoulder.
Thunder rolled over the pond dam, banging closer.
Would Grandpa shoot Daddy?
Nana smoothed her skirt with both hands and her voice shook. “She’s slept right here every night that she can remember, Harold.”
That was true. And I felt my toes curl down to grip the earth.
“Now, Mae, I’ll take good care of her,” Daddy told Nana. Then he turned to me. “We’d better shove off, Mae Bug.”
“Storm’s coming,” I said. “We better get inside.”
I pushed for the house, not knowing what else to do. I ran straight through to the sunroom and probably would have kept on going if the walls and windows hadn’t stopped me.
I stood watching the light, which had gone all queer, since the blackness of the storm was coming in from the north, but the sun was still shining in the south.
The screen door banged, and Nana’s patient, steady footsteps moved around the kitchen.
I listened.
What was Nana doing?
My hands left damp prints on the window frame when I took them away. As I watched the smudges evaporate, I hung on Nana’s every footstep.
When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I went to find her.
“Reckon I’ll have to light a lamp if it gets much darker,” Nana said, setting my surprise birthday cake in a box.
“Why are you doing that?” I cried.
“You can take it down to Harold’s folks’,” Nana said, reaching to cradle my face in her hands.
I smelled the sweetness of the ice cream and cake icing on her fingers. I tried to shake my head no.
“The cake will taste just as good there,” she said. “You’ll see.”
No, it wouldn’t. It was a birthday cake for here. Not there.
But she turned to put the lid on the box and started tying it up with string.
The curtains billowed over the washstand and lightning slashed the sky behind the pond dam.
“Why don’t they come in?” I asked, watching Aunty Rose and my daddy out the window and worrying the lightning would get them. They stood by the old Packard. Wind whipped Aunty Rose’s skirt between her legs and snapped my daddy’s dark sailor tie over his shoulder.
“Rose is going to drive you and your daddy down to Harold’s folks’,” Nana said. “We got it all worked out. If you hurry, you can beat the storm.”
Where was Grandpa?
Nana held the boxed cake out to me.
I shook my head. “I don’t want to go.”
She set the box back on the counter and drew me to her. “Maybe you do and maybe you don’t,” she said. “But it’s best to go ahead with what you told your daddy.”
She squeezed me, then left me standing by the awful cake box as she walked through the dining room to the sunroom. She came back with her sewing basket. “I meant to give you these at bedtime,” she said, lifting the lid.
Nana held up a pair of pink cotton pajamas banded around the collar and cuffs with pink satin. They were identical to the pair Nana had made Aunty Rose for her birthday back in May.
If my daddy hadn’t come home, tonight Aunty Rose and I would have put on our twin pajamas and polished each other’s toenails. But now everything was different.
Nana folded the pajamas and laid them on top of the cake box.
“You’ll have something new to sleep in tonight,” she said.
I clenched my teeth. Why was Nana packing me off like this?
And where was Grandpa? I thought sure he would do something if my daddy tried to take me away. But he’d just slapped on his cap and headed for the sheep shed. I’d seen him crossing the road when I was looking out the sunroom windows.
“We better hurry,” Nana said. “Don’t want Rose to get caught in a gully washer.”
She carried the cake box and pajamas in one arm and guided me with the other.
In no time Aunty Rose, my daddy, and I were getting in the car, me in the backseat by myself and Aunty Rose driving.
“Be good now,” Nana said, shutting my door. “Don’t be any bother.”
Aunty Rose turned out of the drive, lightning crackling behind us and a gritty wind blasting us broadside.
Ignoring the storm, Grandpa strode through the pasture, the sheep parting before him like the Red Sea in front of Moses.
He didn’t turn around to say good-bye until I leaned out the window and yelled, “I’ll be back, Grandpa. Take care of my livestock.”
He stopped then and wheeled around, waving.
The car swayed and bounced through the ruts from the Caterpillar tractors. But Aunty Rose still stayed ahead of the rain.
When we got to Grandmother and Grandfather Clark’s, Aunt Belle came running to the car and threw her arms around my daddy before he could hardly get out the door. Grandfather Clark hung back, sucking his pipe, beaming. Grandmother Clark, tears trickling over her cheeks, squeezed Daddy’s arms and stood studying him. Then she hugged him to her.
I got out and stood beside the car.
“And here’s our Willa Mae come to visit,” Grandmother Clark said, squeezing my shoulders with both hands.
Only when we were turning toward the house did she remember Aunty Rose. “Can you come in, Rose?” she asked. “Until the storm passes?”
“Mom’s expecting me right back,” Aunty Rose said. “But thanks anyway.”
I held the cake box and my pink pajamas until the old Packard disappeared around the curve.