CHAPTER 8
After a hard frost in late October, I hitched the wagon and pulled corn. Being out in the field let me talk loud and not worry about anybody hearing. “Sally Mule, Grandma ain’t none too happy with me right now.” I walked beside the wagon yanking ears of corn off dry stalks and tossing them in the wagon. “She’s real disappointed I’m not going back to school, and it makes me feel bad. It’s the first time I ever went against her wishes. What do you think?” Sally lifted her tail and farted three or four times, meaning either she didn’t care, or she was trying to choke me to death.
On Thanksgiving morning, Grandma asked me to build a fire under the black iron wash pot in the backyard while she went to get a chicken for our dinner. Gray clouds rushed across the sky like they had a storm to get to. She came back holding one by the legs, the chicken squawking to beat the band, pretty sure nothing good was fixing to happen. The hen figured right; one whack from Grandma’s hatchet left her head on the chopping block while her legs ran in circles until she flopped over. “How the heck you think a chicken can keep running around without its head? Seems like you’d need a brain to know where you were going.”
Grandma laughed, picked up the bird by the feet, and dunked its body in the steaming hot water.
“Whew,” I said. “That stink could spoil a buzzard’s appetite.” We sat on a couple of weathered hickory wood stools and pulled feathers, trying to ignore the nasty odor. I watched Grandma’s practiced hands. “How many chickens you reckon you’ve plucked?”
That got a grin. “Let’s say I could stuff a lot of pillows.” She glanced at the darkening sky. “I remember the first time Momma made me help, must have been six or seven. I’d named all the biddies and played with them from the time they were little, especially a favorite hen I called Big Red. She wasn’t nothing but a pet. One Christmas Big Red was the one Momma picked to eat, made me sit while she chopped off her head and plucked her. Reckon she did it to show me that on a farm, animals were just food. I cried so bad over Big Red it was pitiful, and wouldn’t eat a bite.”
Grandma stopped and looked out across the field. In spite of the story, I wondered if maybe she’d been happier then. Like mine, her childhood seemed to have started out good, but things hadn’t worked out the way she expected. I felt the same loneliness in her that I did in myself. We could both maybe identify with that headless chicken.
In the middle of December, we took the truck to Apex to buy fertilizer, tobacco seeds, and other supplies we would need for spring planting. All the store windows on the street had decorations, some with angels or a Santa Claus, and the streetlight posts had big stars on top. The sound of Christmas music played every time one of the shop doors opened, happy tunes like “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town” or “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.” People crowded the sidewalk, laughing and talking and shopping.
Over the summer I’d saved up seventeen dollars, and was determined to get Grandma something for Christmas. A little ways down the block was Miss Adam’s Dress Shoppe, and I spotted a pretty blue Sunday frock in the window. The walls inside were painted in bright blues and whites, and it smelled of fresh pine from a decorated Christmas tree. The lady working behind the counter looked up. “Good morning, young man. Can I help you?”
I pointed to the window. “Wanted to ask how much that dress might cost; looking to buy something for my grandma.”
She walked over to lift the price tag. “Who’s your grandma?” The lady was dressed like she’d stepped out of a hatbox, prim and proper, not a working woman at all, and still had her good looks.
“Mrs. Rosa Belle Hurley.”
The lady’s shoulder-length brown hair fell across her face in a way that reminded me of my mother. She had a bright smile outlined with red lipstick, and fingernails painted to match. “Oh, I know Miss Rosa Belle. Is she doing well? Real sorry to hear when your granddaddy passed. I’m sure it’s been hard on y’all trying to farm shorthanded.”
“Yes’um. We’re getting along pretty good.”
“Let’s see.” She studied the tag. “Says here this dress is ten dollars even.”
I stepped to get a closer look and rubbed a sleeve against my cheek. “Since you know her, do you think this might be something she would like?”
“I believe she would be real pleased.” She gave me a big smile and a pat on the shoulder. “And, unless she’s changed a lot, should be about the right size.”
“Okay, I’d like to buy it then.”
“Let me wrap it for you.” She folded the dress and put red-and-white-striped paper all around the box, then added a green bow. I started imagining the look on Grandma’s face when she opened the present.
It was a day to let my troubles go. I hadn’t been to the drugstore since the lady wouldn’t sell Fancy an ice cream cone. I ignored the lady behind the counter. They had lots of perfumes and lotions, and I sniffed several. One smelled like vanilla and that stirred another memory of my momma.
Momma had always been happy at Christmas, but then she’d been happy at birthdays or Easter, or when we would enjoy a quiet morning sitting together on the porch steps watching a bright sky and feeling a gentle breeze. Momma’s blue eyes would get that particular sparkle and a person couldn’t help but feel better. I remembered one day she was playing the radio loud while she cleaned the house, and when I walked in from outside, she grabbed my hand. “Come on, Junebug, let’s dance!” We laughed, jumping around and making fools of ourselves, until we had to sit down on the floor. Her happiness would flow out like a circling wind and wrap me up, pulling me into her joy, letting me know it was okay to be alive and be silly. Daddy was the only one I ever saw who could make Momma’s eyes water. I think he would sometimes be mean to her on purpose just to show us life was serious and hard, and not to be wasted being childish. My momma was too gentle to die.
On a shelf in the back I spotted a silver cross and chain in a nice box. The label said three dollars, and I thought it would suit Fancy. After picking out ten comic books, I carried everything to the lady in the front.
“You know, for a quarter more, I can engrave a name on the cross,” she said.
I could spare a quarter. “That would be good.”
“What name would you like?”
“Fancy.” I stared right at her. I knew she knew, but if she made one bad remark, I’d let her have it. She didn’t have any comment, just used her machine and added the name. “Could you wrap it for me, please?” The lady refused to look at me until it was finished.
Grandma was waiting on the sidewalk. “Gracious, Junebug. You’ve been spending money.”
“Had a little bit saved.” She had a couple of big bags herself. “Looks like you bought stuff too.”
“Just things we might need.” She hooked her arm through my elbow. “You ready to go?”
“Yep. Wanna let me drive?”
“I’m old, not dumb. You’ll get your chance next year.”
A few days before Christmas, Grandma cooked a big ham, a whopping bowl of collards, a plate full of hot-water corn bread, and three pies. We took them to church on Christmas Eve to share in a community get-together to celebrate the Lord’s birthday.
I woke up before sunrise Christmas Day, and shivered in the cold like I was wearing iron underwear. I added more wood to the potbelly. A couple of wrapped packages were on the couch. I got Grandma’s dress and laid it beside the others before going to do my chores. A crisp cap of frost lay over the grass, and when I breathed, the frigid air made it look like my mouth was on fire. The morning horizon was bright, colored that deep blue you only see in winter. I opened the gates so Sally Mule and the cow could get to pasture, fed the pigs, and promised the chickens nobody would lose their head today so they should rest easy. Since it was a Saturday I wondered if Fancy would show up tonight.
When I got back to the house, Grandma was dressed in her wool sleeping gown and standing at the stove. “Looks like Santa Claus did find us out here in the sticks.” She hugged me, her silver hair falling down around her shoulders. “Merry Christmas, Junebug.” The smell of biscuits, ham, and bacon cooking made my stomach growl.
After breakfast, Grandma washed and I dried before we went to sit in the living room. The oak wood burning in the stove gave off just the right comfort. “You go ahead and open yours,” said Grandma. She pulled up her favorite rocking chair, the same one she’d rocked me in the night Momma and Daddy died.
In the first box were two pairs of Roebuck jeans, a new pair of bib overalls, and a flannel shirt. I held them up. “Thanks, Grandma, these clothes will look real good.”
“Well, I hope they work with what’s in that other box.” She leaned forward in her chair.
I tore off the Christmas paper. Inside was a new pair of brown brogans with thick soles and treads on the bottom. “Gosh, Grandma, you spent too much money.” I ran my hands over the leather shoes, quickly pulling off my old ones that had two holes in the toe. “You shouldn’t have done all this.”
“Glad you like them. Should be one more thing in there.” I turned the box upside down. Something plunked on the floor. It was a big buck knife. Each pull made a strong click when I popped the blade up and down. Every working man needed one. It fit comfortable in my pocket. “Grandma, I don’t know what to say. Thank you, thank you.” I got up and squeezed her around the neck.
“You’re welcome. Should last you a long time if you don’t lose it.”
“Don’t worry about that.” I picked up the last box. “This is for you.” My hands were shaky. It was the first present I’d ever bought with my own money.
She looked surprised. “You ought not to have done this.” Grandma carefully removed the paper. “I can save this pretty wrapping for next year.” She lifted the dress out. “Oh, Junebug, it’s so beautiful. This is the first store-bought dress I’ve had in years.” She stood to measure the size to the front of herself. “It looks like it will fit just fine.” Her grin was wide as a river. “Reckon what I’ll be wearing to church tomorrow?”
“The lady at Miss Adam’s Dress Shoppe said to tell you hello.”
“I’ll stop in and visit Susan the next time we go to town.” Grandma searched around in her bedroom bureau until she found the old Brownie camera, and took some pictures of me. “Merry Christmas, Junebug; this is one of the best I can remember.”
I leaned my head into her shoulder and wrapped my arms around her back. “Wasn’t for you, I’d be in an orphanage somewhere. You should know how much I appreciate everything you do for me.”
She held me. “Don’t you fret, we’re going to have lots of Christmases together.”
Later in the afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson stopped by to visit. Right after they got there, Mr. and Mrs. Jackson came for a few minutes and brought Grandma the prettiest poinsettia I’d ever seen. It made the house really feel like Christmas. After that, the preacher and his family visited, and we had a houseful of folks. They stayed and talked for a couple of hours.
It had been a wonderful day, and I was tired by the time everyone left. “Grandma, I’m going to lay down.”
“Junebug, you better get up and see what Santa Claus brought you.” I heard my daddy’s voice and knew I was dreaming, but I couldn’t, and didn’t want to wake up.