It wasn’t like I wanted to chat, but there was something eating away at me, so I had to ask, “Why is Rotten—I mean, why is Ricky still at school?”
Miss Meany-Beany smiled. Yes, she really did smile that time. “He helps with some of the janitorial work,” she said. “Washes the desks, cleans the floor, stuff like that.”
That sounded about as much fun as being stuck in that hot closet. “What’s he wanna do that for?”
The corners of her mouth turned downward, and she looked like she was studying the road for the answer. Grandma is always telling me I ask a lot of questions, and I figured that last question of mine was one too many. But before I could say anything else, Miss Meany-Beany decided to talk after all. “Working at the school helps his family. He works for his lunch and a little extra. Lots of people were hit hard during the Depression. Some never bounced back.”
She didn’t have to tell me that.
* * *
* * *
Daddy, Mama, Charlotte, and I didn’t use to live on the farm. We had our own little house in Kentucky, about two hours away from Grandma and Granddaddy. If people looked at our house, they might not think it was anything special. But they’d be wrong.
It was everything special.
There was only one bedroom, where we all slept until Mama got the cough. I had that blasted cough first, but I got better with Mama’s care. But when my poor mama got it, there was no rest for her, until she rested in peace forever.
That’s when I first suspected I was bad luck for the people I loved.
* * *
* * *
In our old town, Daddy was the undertaker, taking care of folks after they passed away. But after Mama died, Daddy said he just couldn’t do it anymore.
Grandma never liked the fact that we lived in that house. She was all the time pointing out it was drafty and one of us would catch our death of cold.
Guess she was right.
She told Daddy she didn’t like her daughter and granddaughters living as poor as a church mouse. But after Daddy quit his undertaking job, a person could argue that a church mouse had it better than we did.
I felt bad for Daddy. He said nobody wanted him. He couldn’t even fight in the war, what with him being responsible for Charlotte and me, and Mama being gone. Said he felt “less than”—but I never understood what he meant. Less than what?
I don’t remember there ever being an agreement about us moving to Grandma and Granddaddy’s farm, but one day last winter there was such a fierce storm and the wind was singing so loud, we could barely hear each other talk. Granddaddy came to our house, looked Daddy in the eye, and spoke like he’d been practicing it. “I’m not losing another.”
Me and Charlotte moved that night. Daddy came a week later, packing our few belongings in two old coffin boxes.
* * *
* * *
I concentrated on the thump-thump-thump sound of Miss Meany-Beany’s car until she cleared her throat and began speaking again. “I have to ask, why’d you go after him like that? And why’d you throw a spit wad at me today?”
And for some reason, right there, traveling down Elm Street, it all came pouring out of me—to a teacher! Starting with the spit wad aimed at me—the same spit wad not ever aimed at her. I told her everything.
By the time my telling was done, she was turning into the lane that leads to the farm. I heard the splatter of dirt and gravel being kicked up on her car before she spoke, her voice choking a bit. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I looked out the window. “Why didn’t you ask me?”
Daddy was in the field with the horse and cart, harvesting summer crops. Most farms used a tractor, but Granddaddy says if a horse and cart worked for his daddy, it would work for him.
We don’t get much company, so a car pulling into the lane might as well have been a parade coming down Main Street.
Before the car came to a stop, Grandma was walking out the back door, drying her hands on a dish towel, Granddaddy was peeking out of the barn, and Daddy was heading toward the car.
“How do you do, ma’am?” Daddy nodded as he removed his hat. Then his eyes met mine in the passenger seat. “Prudence Ann, mind telling me what’s going on?”
Fortunately, Miss Meany-Beany began to explain. “Hello, Mr. Davidson. Remember me, Adelaide Beany?”
“Of course I remember, Miss Beany. Nice of you to escort my daughter home from school today—but if she’s been any trouble, I promise to deal with it.”
I lowered my head.
“Oh, um . . .” Out the corner of my eye, I saw her turn toward me and then back to Daddy. “Prudence was just, um, getting some extra help today after school—to catch up from when she was absent. Since she missed the bus, I . . . I brought her home.”
Well, butter my biscuit! Right then, I’d be surprised if my eyes weren’t bugging out bigger than the headlights on Miss Meany-Beany’s car. A teacher fibbing? For me?
Daddy seemed surprised too. “Well, I’ll be. That’s good to hear. And I thank you kindly, Miss Beany, for both the extra help and for bringing her home.” And probably because I just sat there in the passenger seat, staring with my mouth open, Daddy turned to me next. “Well, Prudence, don’t make Miss Beany any later than you’ve made her already. Thank her and get on into the house. Your grandma’s waitin’ for you to do your chores.”
I opened the door and somehow managed to say, “Thank you . . . Miss . . . Beany.”
And I stood there watching her drive back down the long dirt lane, still not understanding why she did what she did, till the sound of dirt hitting her car was replaced with the sound of Grandma hollering that the eggs weren’t gonna gather themselves.
CHAPTER 5
Of all the chores on the farm, the one I hate the most is gathering eggs. I can deal with squawking hens flying in my face even though I don’t like it, but there’s one rotten hen that’s worse. She won’t move, and pecks if you try to get near her, as if she’s guarding gold.
Before Charlotte got sick, I used to trade her any chore she had in place of gathering those eggs. I’d even choose mucking out the stinky barn if it meant no more egg gathering. But with Charlotte gone, I have to take care of those chickens. Every day. I understand it’s fit punishment for what I’ve done, but that doesn’t make it any easier to take.
I stopped first at the water pump and cranked the lever a few times to get the water flowing. After trying to be as ladylike as Grandma tells me I should be by drinking from the tin cup that sits on top of the pump, I decided to forget about being a lady and stuck my whole head under the pump.