I’ve been writing in a journal, too, mostly poems. I’ll put one of my poems at the bottom of this letter. I know you won’t believe it, but I miss going to school and having homework. I even miss chores and that rotten old hen! Bet even you would miss her if you were in here.
Nurse Margie tells me I’m getting stronger. She even lets me go see the little babies that have polio. I hold them and sing songs I remember Mama singing to us. It’s nice to have little ones to take care of, but it would be nicer if they didn’t have polio too.
One little girl, Nancy, is two years old. Sometimes she won’t stop crying for anyone but me. Yesterday, I gave her a ride on my wheelchair. I spun us around as fast as I could go, and she clung so tight to my neck I could hardly breathe. But we had fun!
Guess I’d better close this letter now. Be sure to write me everything that’s happening at school and home. I miss you so much, but I know I’ll be home soon, the good Lord willing and the creek don’t rise.
Love,
Charlotte
My Poem
Starched white sheets remind me
Of answers I’ll never know
Sadness now sits on your bed
Constantly asking, “Where’d you go?”
And sitting there on Charlotte’s bare bunk, I read her poem again, wondering how my sissy peeked into my heart and wrote down words I didn’t realize were stuck there.
I was still reading it when Granddaddy came to the door. “Look what I got here,” he said as he held out a bone from the chicken. “Remember, whoever gets the bigger half of the wishbone gets their wish. Wanna give it a try?”
We both pulled on that old bone till it popped. Hard to say if Granddaddy’s half was bigger or if it was mine that won. But it didn’t matter. We both knew we’d wished for the same thing.
CHAPTER 12
Seemed like the Thanksgiving dishes were barely washed, dried, and put away before people started planning for Christmas. The first Sunday of Advent, the preacher man began talking about needing volunteers for the Christmas Eve Nativity pageant. When Grandma nodded at me like I knew what she was thinking, I nodded back, since for once she wasn’t shaking her head at me like she usually does in church.
But I shook my head after the service, when I found out what she was thinking. “I don’t want to be in any stupid Nativity show!”
“Now watch your tone, young lady,” Grandma warned me. “It’s good to volunteer for the church. And it’s not good for you to have no friends your own age. This is a chance to meet more people.”
I wanted to tell Grandma that me not having friends was good for everybody. Get close to me, and you’ll regret it. But before I thought of any reason I could share with Grandma as to why I shouldn’t be in the Christmas program, she stopped my words with more of her own. “Plus, you have a lovely singing voice.”
Well, butter my biscuit! This was a surprise since Grandma rarely hands out compliments. But when I thanked her for her nice words, she mistook it for me agreeing to be in the Nativity program. She hollered, “Got another volunteer for you!” and pulled me over to a group of kids gathered in the back of the church.
As the crowd parted to let me in, my eyes landed on Betsy, who waved like we were old friends. She was with her brother Ricky, and standing as close to him as possible was Big-Mouth Berta.
Guess the grocery business was better than most businesses during the war, ’cause Berta always had the best dresses. Her pigtails were two perfect sausage curls, tied with ribbons that matched her dress. She always looked nice—and then she’d open her mouth to ruin it all.
I turned to walk away, but that’s when the lady who plays the piano at church called over the crowd, “Welcome! Prudence, isn’t it?”
That’s the thing about small towns. If you want to, you can get to know everyone. And if you don’t want to, too bad.
Betsy weaved her way through the crowd of people to stand next to me. “Last year, I was too little to be in the Christmas pageant—but I’m bigger this year.”
When she said that, she stood as tall as possible, so I had to agree. “I can see you’re definitely bigger,” I said.
The piano lady began. “I am Mrs. Evans. I know most of you participated in the Nativity last year, so you already know me and what we’ll be doing. To you new folks, we are going to be acting out the story of Mary and Joseph and the birth of baby Jesus. We’ll have costumes and some lines to remember, as well as a few songs we will sing together.”
“I’d be happy to sing a solo,” said Big-Mouth Berta, as if she was doing Mrs. Evans a big favor.
Mrs. Evans smiled at her—with a smile that I didn’t think was too sincere. “Thank you, Berta. You do have a pretty voice, but there aren’t any solos in the Nativity pageant. Just group singing.”
“Can I be the angel, then?” Big-Mouth Berta asked, persisting. “My daddy can get new material for a costume. I remember last year the angel looked dingy yellow instead of pretty white.”
I looked around the crowd to see if last year’s angel might be there, taking offense at being called a dirty angel, but since I didn’t know who that would have been, I didn’t notice anything but a few rolling eyes.
Mrs. Evans really did smile this time. “Oh, new material would be lovely . . . It’s been so many years . . . I guess that would be okay. Yes, Berta, you can be the angel this year.”
That made Big-Mouth Berta beam from ear to ear, right up till me and Ricky both got assigned the parts of shepherds. The sour look on her face at that news made me grin.
I might’ve still been grinning in the car heading home from church. Grandma and Granddaddy were having a conversation, but the motor was so loud and their words were so soft, I only heard bits and pieces and it didn’t make much sense.
“Ethel . . . those children . . . boy in the war . . . daddy gone . . . Ricky . . .”
While I didn’t hear that very well, I did hear Granddaddy the next day when he announced, “That young friend of yours, Ricky, he’s gonna be helping out around the farm every day for a bit.”
“He’s not really my friend,” I blurted out.
Granddaddy’s eyebrows scrunched up, letting me know that wasn’t the response he’d wanted.
“Now, Pixie.” He squinted to make sure I was paying attention. “Our neighbors are going through a hard time. Their pa left to go find work last year and hasn’t been heard from since. The older boy is fighting in the war. Maybe we don’t have much, but what we do have, we gotta share.”