CHAPTER 33
“Easy now.” Granddaddy was showing Betsy how to milk Molly—and Ricky and I were having fun watching. When he asked us to go bring in Horse and the plow, I figured he was just tired of having us as an audience—till he added, “It’s fixin’ to rain.”
There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, but I was learning not to doubt Granddaddy’s forecasts.
Ricky wasn’t as sure. “How do ya know, Mr. Johnston?”
“Well, it don’t rightly smell like rain yet, but it will. This morning, both Horse and Molly here was stretchin’ their necks up high and sniffin’ the air. They say when horses and cows do that, it’ll rain. And I can’t think of a time when it wasn’t proved true.”
’Course in no time at all, it rained. With the animals safe in the barn, and Betsy and Ricky likewise safe back home, I sat on the porch listening to the rain ping-ping-pinging on the tin roof over my head. The animals weren’t the only ones who could smell the rain now. I breathed it into my lungs as I shut my eyes.
The hum of the music coming from the radio competed with the sound of rain. I shut my eyes to the sweet sound till I heard the music stop, interrupted by a voice. I couldn’t hear what the voice had said, but I plain as day heard Granddaddy holler, “Thelma!”
Even though he didn’t call me, I went running just the same.
The voice on the radio continued to speak. “The Press Association has just announced that President Roosevelt is dead. The president died of a cerebral hemorrhage. All we know so far is that the president died in Warm Springs, in Georgia.”
“Oh my,” Grandma gasped, with her hand clutching her chest.
Granddaddy shook his head. “A good man. A real good man . . . It’s a pity . . . what with the end of the war in sight.”
The voice on the radio kept talking, but I wasn’t really hearing. I stood there feeling bad that my first thought when I heard my president died was that he had the same polio that my sissy had.
That’s when I heard Daddy’s car coming down the lane.
More than ever, I needed to know Charlotte was okay. I ran to the front door, but before I put my hand around the doorknob, Grandma stopped me. “Don’t even think about going out in this pouring rain.”
Daddy stepped onto the porch and shook the rain off himself like a dog. I tried to be patient, but that was never easy for me. Especially when it had to do with my sister. “How is she?” I said. “Did she read my letter? Did she give you one for me?”
Daddy brushed the rain off his shirt. “Well, hello to you too, Pru.”
“Sorry. Hi, Daddy. How is she?”
“Let your daddy get fully out of the rain before you start raining your questions on him.” Grandma shook her head.
Daddy winked at me. “Let’s go sit in the living room by the stove, and I’ll dry off and tell y’all about it.”
Once Daddy got comfortable, kneeling by the woodstove, and Granddaddy filled him in on the president’s passing, I sat down on Granddaddy’s lap to wait for Daddy to speak. Grandma sat down too.
“Well, that’s a shame about President Roosevelt.” Daddy spoke in a sad voice.
I meant no disrespect for our dead president, but I had to ask again. “Daddy, how is Charlotte?”
“Charlotte is definitely improvin’,” he told us. “She’s walkin’—with help—up to five steps at a time now. That’s good. That’s real good.”
Daddy was saying a lot of good things, but something still worried me. “Daddy, do you think Charlotte might die now, since the president died with polio?”
“Oh, honey—no,” Daddy was quick to answer. “And it sounds like the president died due to something else. I’m not thinking that at all—and you shouldn’t either.”
But I wasn’t convinced. So when Daddy finally gave me Charlotte’s letter and I went to my usual spot in our room, I couldn’t open it right away. I sat there for a spell, trying to get the thought out of my mind that somebody had just died who had the exact same disease as my sissy.
Dear Pixie,
How’s Buster? I can’t wait to meet him. I’m doing better and really hope I’ll be home soon. Can’t believe I missed almost an entire school year. Thank goodness Miss Beany keeps sending work for me so I don’t forget everything.
Little Nancy went home. I’m happy for her but miss having her here. Since I got polio, each day feels like I’m losing a little bit more of my life.
I miss you and Daddy and Grandma and Granddaddy, on top of missing Mama all the time. I miss her so much. I’ve written her lots of poems lately. Found out the hospital was named after a famous poet—so maybe that’s inspiring me. But mostly I suspect missing people is what’s inspiring me the most to write all my poems. That’s what inspired this one:
How can I miss you
when you’re in all that I do?
Every tear that I cry
I know you’re crying too.
When I feel such sadness
I know you feel it too.
So how can I miss you?
But, Mama, I do.
Daddy’s coming soon, and I can’t wait to read your next letter. But what I really can’t wait for is getting home. And I will be home soon, the good Lord willing and the creek don’t rise.
Love,
Charlotte
More than ever, I missed having Charlotte home, and more than ever, I could tell she was hurting with all her missing too. I leaned against the wooden frame of her empty bed and cried and cried for us both.