Granddaddy laughed. “Reckon Ricky suits ya better, son.”
“Thank you, Mr. Johnston. What ya got there?”
Granddaddy held the pie higher, making Mud jump and fall again. “Had this extra pumpkin pie just sitting over at the house. The missus wanted us to bring it over to see if you folks might kindly take it off her hands.”
Ricky’s eyes got bigger as he looked at the pie. He looked over his shoulder at his house before turning to speak again. “That’s mighty neighborly of you, but Ma says we can’t take charity.” He didn’t stop looking at the pie as he spoke.
“Well, I can certainly understand that, young man, but this here pie is gonna go to waste if you don’t take it. Or it might go to Mud here. Could you maybe take it to your ma and tell her she’d be doing us a favor by taking it off our hands?”
“Guess I could do that, Mr. Johnston.” Ricky reached for the pie like he was reaching for a first-place trophy. He turned around and started walking away before he remembered his manners. “Thank you, Mr. Johnston. And Prudence. Thanks. Happy Thanksgiving.”
With that, we turned to go. And somehow the way home wasn’t near as cold as the way there had been.
CHAPTER 11
By the time we got back home, the turkey—which turned out to just be a chicken this year—was ready. Granddaddy finished saying grace right as Daddy pulled in the lane. I jumped up to greet him after Grandma made a show of putting down her fork and said, “How nice your daddy got back early—we can wait for him and then have our meal together.”
The minute Daddy sat down at the table, Granddaddy asked the question we were all thinking. “Did you get to see Charlotte?”
“Sure did,” Daddy told us. “From the window again. But she looked . . . good.” He moved his head up and down.
I doubt if Grandma and Daddy knew I saw the look they gave each other after he said that—but I saw it, and I didn’t like it. Daddy’s mouth didn’t have to say what his eyes already did: Charlotte didn’t look good at all.
That took my appetite away.
Grandma noticed I wasn’t eating much and took it as a reflection on the meal not being as wonderful as past Thanksgivings. “Prudence, I know we’re doing without some things this year, but I think it’s worth eating, don’t you?”
“No, ma’am. I mean, yes, ma’am. It’s delicious. I’m just thinking of . . . Charlotte.”
And then Grandma said the strangest thing. “I know. I miss her too. Especially on days like today. I miss Charlotte being here, and I miss Katherine. So much . . .”
At the mention of my mama’s name, Grandma looked down, and I wasn’t sure what I would do if she started to cry. My eyes stung already.
Granddaddy’s face was sad, too, as he watched Grandma. “Thelma—remember Katherine’s first time of cooking a pie for Thanksgiving? If I recall, she forgot something she needed to put in it?”
“Sugar and flour.” Grandma looked up, smiling, her eyes glistening as she cleared her throat. “She mixed up the amount of sugar with the amount of flour for an apple pie she wanted to make.”
Granddaddy laughed. “And the apples were so tart that year! But she was so proud of that pie.”
“You ate it anyways?” I asked.
“’Course I did. My daughter made me an apple pie for Thanksgiving, and we all ate it—even if it wasn’t the easiest thing to get it down. We laughed about it with her a few years later.”
And the four of us laughed about it again. It wasn’t a big belly laugh kind of laugh, since it wasn’t that kind of day. But it felt good just the same.
* * *
* * *
Halfway through our own perfectly baked pumpkin pie, Daddy pulled what I’d been waiting for out of his pocket.
A letter.
I was hoping with all my hope I’d get another letter. I’d read Charlotte’s last letter so much I knew it by heart. And my heart needed another one to read and memorize.
“Did you give her my letter, Daddy?”
He nodded. “Gave it right to the nurse—your letter, Grandma’s letter, and a letter from Miss Beany. Nurse promised she’d take ’em right to her.”
I asked to be excused from the table as soon as my hand touched the new letter. Grandma started to say something about the dishes but stopped herself. “Go on,” she said. “But I want you back down here in twenty minutes to help.”
“Thank you, Grandma!” I jumped off the chair so fast it tottered backward.
“The letter’s not gonna disappear—no need to run.” Grandma tried to make her voice stern-like, but I saw her smile a little, and I walked as fast as I could walk without running to my room.
Our room.
Again, I climbed up to her top bunk and sat on the wood board where her mattress used to be.
I studied the envelope like it might start talking to me, telling me what my sissy was doing when she held it in her hands.
Closing my eyes, I tried to picture her, but the only picture that came to mind was Charlotte looking sad in her wheelchair the last time I saw her.
I didn’t want a sad Charlotte’s face in my mind while reading her words, so I shook my head like something was stuck in it and I wanted to loosen it.
I clenched shut my eyes and tried harder.
Then I pictured Charlotte in the henhouse reaching under Teacher to get her egg like it was nothing at all.
That was the strong face of Charlotte I wanted in my head.
I inhaled slow, hoping each breath might help me cement in my heart the words I was getting ready to read.
I exhaled.
Dear Pixie,
Happy Thanksgiving.
I’m sitting in my hospital room but pretending I’m home with you in our room, getting ready to walk downstairs and help Grandma make the pumpkin pies. If I shut my eyes and try really hard, I can almost smell the cinnamon and see Grandma’s good china dishes on the table. But then I open my eyes and the only smell is the alcohol they use to clean everything that touches us. And the only thing I see is an empty bed where a girl close to my age used to be.
She’s gone now. They won’t tell me what happened to her, but I know she’s not home celebrating Thanksgiving with her family either. I just know it.
I miss school. Nurse Margie brought me some books to read. Remember that one book I was supposed to get from the library before we moved, Little Women? That’s one of the books she let me borrow. I’m only a few chapters in, but it’s good. The sister named Jo reminds me of you, especially after I read your letter about almost getting into a fight at school with Ricky! Plus, Jo hates to wear dresses. I’d probably be Beth, since she always tries to be nice but is a little boring.