CHAPTER 26

While Granddaddy and Daddy went to the hospital, Grandma thought it’d be good for me to stay busy. I’m not sure why so many of the things that are good for me are not at all fun for me.

But since my perfect day was already ruined, it seemed only fitting to have to sort through buckets of potatoes that smelled like dirt, finding the ones ready for planting. My job—and Betsy’s job, too, since she’d been tagging along with Ricky more and more—was to find the potatoes just starting to sprout eyes and throw away the ones that were starting to go bad.

“Ew,” Betsy squealed as her finger poked through a rotten one. She pulled it out and flung the mushy potato across the table. If I hadn’t been so mad about everything, I might have laughed at the sour look on her face.

“Do you do this every year?” she asked, wiping her hand on her overalls.

“Sure do,” Grandma answered.

Betsy stretched her neck to look over Grandma’s shoulder. “What do you do with those pieces that aren’t rotten?”

“These here will dry for twenty-four hours,” Grandma said. “Then, they’ll get planted on Saint Paddy’s Day, and from the eyes, new potato plants will grow.”

“What’s special about that day?”

Grandma paused from her chopping for a minute and looked up, like she was enjoying the memory. “Just a family tradition, I guess. Probably has more to do with the timing in the month of March—but my daddy always planted potatoes on that day, so we’ve always done it too.”

I laid the last of the not-rotten potatoes on the table for Grandma, thinking about traditions. I wished things would stop changing so much around here so that we could have more traditions—and people—to hold on to.

I mumbled, “I really wanted to see Charlotte today.”

“I know ya did, Pru.” Grandma’s voice was soft.

“Seems strange to me—a hospital telling sick people to stay away,” I said, starting to complain again, but just then Ricky came in from the barn, and Betsy jumped up to give him a hug as if she hadn’t just seen him an hour earlier.

Ricky hugged her back. “You been a good girl in here, Betsy?”

“I’m helping go through the stinky potatoes to find the ones with eyes to plant on Saint . . . Saint . . . Potatoes’ Day?”

“Saint Paddy’s Day,” Grandma said.

Ricky smiled at his sister and then turned to Grandma. “I’m all done today, Mrs. Johnston. Noticed Horse’s been shifting his weight off one of his hind feet—might need a new shoein’ soon. Thought I’d mention it.”

“Thanks, Ricky. I’ll be sure to pass that along. Wanna come sit for a spell? Maybe talk to this young lady to keep her from traipsin’ to Indianapolis to demand the hospital let her in,” Grandma said, winking at me.

“Thank you—but me and Betsy better be getting home.”

Grandma patted his shoulder. “How’s your mama today?”

“She’s . . . um . . .” He glanced at Betsy, who was back poking around the bucket of bad potatoes. “I think she’ll be right fine real soon. She’s just . . . tired.” He cleared his throat like there was something stuck there.

Ricky told me last week his mama had been staying in bed a lot recently. A few ladies from church had started taking turns checking on her and bringing food.

But Ricky didn’t like to talk about it much.

“I bet you’re right,” Grandma said. “Your mama’ll be back to feeling like her old self soon. Meanwhile, I got some leftover ham I’d like you to take home with you.”

“Thank you, ma’am. That’s real nice.” Ricky tried to smile at Grandma. “Ma said when she’s feeling better, she’s gonna have to bake from here to the end of days to pay back all the kind folks who’ve helped us out.”

“That’s what neighbors are for.” Grandma wrapped up the ham as she talked. “Tell your mama her only worry needs to be to rest up and feel better.”

“I sure will,” Ricky said.

After hugs for each of us from Betsy, they both headed home while we cleaned up the potato mess.

“How much time you think his mama will need?” I asked.

“Can’t rightly say. Sometimes the pain we can’t see is the deepest pain of all. We’ll help her till she’s ready to help herself—and her youngins.”

“I’m surprised Betsy seems happy all the time.”

Grandma’s face pinched up a bit before she answered. “I imagine she feels more than she lets on. Things have gotten hard over there—an aunt from Cincinnati wanted to get Betsy and Ricky to come stay with her, but Ethel didn’t want to leave in case one of the men returns. She says they can manage just fine, with Ricky being such a help.”

I thought of Bill’s letter to Ricky, and my heart hurt for Ricky and his family.

“He’s a nice boy,” Grandma said, but she didn’t have to tell me that.

Then, gathering up all the potato pieces, she said, “Tell you what—since we’re done with these here potatoes, let’s take ’em down to the cellar, where you’ll see I’m fixing to finish making the butter. The milk’s been sittin’ in the milk cooler for three days now, so there’ll be some cream on top that somebody could have if they wanted.”

With each step down the cellar stairs, I thought about Ricky and Betsy and how they must be missing their old traditions and family members too. And still, they just kept getting up each morning, hoping each new day would be better than the one before.

Maybe that’s what Granddaddy would call “pushing on.”