Page 89

"Cal didn't help ya none?"

"Yes, Mother, he told me not to prepare starchy foods, and he helped me with the salad."

"Ya washed yer hands in Lysol water first?" "Yes, Mother."

"Okay." She studied Cal's expressionless face. "Well, clean up, girl; then let's all go t'bed afta our baths."

"She's sleeping down here from now on," Cal said, steel in his voice as he turned cold eyes her way. "Next week we are going shopping and we are going to buy new furniture and replace all that clutter in our second bedroom. We will leave the potter's wheel and what you have locked in the cabinets, but we're adding a twin bed, a chair, a desk, and a dresser."

It scared me the way she looked at him, at me, it really did.

Still, she agreed. I really was going to have a room of my own, a real bedroom--as Fanny had with Reverend Wise.

Days of school and hard work followed. Up early, late to bed, I had to clean up after Kitty's dinner, even if she came home at midnight. I found out that Cal liked me by his side when he watched television. Every evening he and I prepared dinner, and ate it together if Kitty wasn't there. I was adjusting to the busy school schedule, and making a few friends in school who didn't think I talked strange, though they never said what they thought of my too-large, cheap clothes, or my horrible clunky shoes.

Finally it was Saturday, and I could sleep late, and Kitty had given her permission for Cal and me to shop for furniture that would be mine alone to use.

And because of this shopping trip that loomed up bright and promising, all the early hours of Saturday I rushed about to finish the housework. Cal had half the day off and would be home by noon, expecting to eat lunch. What did city folks eat for lunch when they ate home? So far I'd eaten lunch only in school. Poor Miss Deale had tried so many times to share the contents of her lunch bag with an entire class of underfed children. I had never eaten a sandwich before she forced one upon me. The ham, lettuce, and tomato was my favorite, though Tom and Keith had liked peanut butter and jelly well enough-- and, more than any other kind, tuna fish.

Almost I could hear Tom saying: "That's why she brings six, you know. How could a petite lady like Miss Deale eat six sandwiches? So we really do help her out, don't we, when we eat up?"

I sighed, sad to think I'd left without saying thank you to Miss Deale, and sighed again when I thought of Logan, who had not yet answered my first letter.

Thoughts of yesterdays slowed me down, so I had to rush about to check over downstairs, the living and dining roomiagain, before I finished upstairs. I kept hoping to find shelves of books, or books put away in cabinets, but I didn't find even one book. There wasn't even a Bible. There were plenty of magazines, confession stories that Kitty hid in table drawers, and pretty house magazines she put on top of the coffee table in a neat stack. But not one book.

In the small room Kitty had converted into a home ceramic hobby room, the one that was going to be mine, shelves lined the wall, and on those shelves were tiny animals and miniature people, all small enough to fit inside her little kiln. There were also cabinets lining one entire wall, all locked. I stared at those locked doors, wondering what secrets they held.

Downstairs again, I carefully stacked the dirty dishes in the washer, filled the compartments with detergent, then stood back and fearfully waited for the thing to blow up, or discharge the dishes like bullets. But the darn thing still worked after almost a week of hill-scum handling. I felt strangely exhilarated, as if in learning to push the right buttons I had gained control over city living.

Scrubbing the floor was nothing new, except this one had to be waxed, and that required more reading of directions on the bottle. I watered the many live green plants, and found that some of Kitty's plants were silk, not real at all. Lord God above, don't let her see I watered a few before I knew they weren't real.

Noon came before I'd finished doing even one quarter of what was listed on those cards. It took so much time to figure out how to operate all the machines, and wrap the cords back like they'd been, and put the attachments on, and take them off, and put them away in neat order. Oh, gosh, at home all this had been done with one old broom.

I was tangled up in vacuum cord when the door from the garage banged and Cal appeared in the back hall, staring at me in a strange, intense way, as if trying to see what I was really feeling. "Hey, kid," he said after his survey, his eyes sort of unhappy, "there's no need to work like a slave. She's not here to see. Slow down."

"But I haven't cleaned the windows yet, and I haven't washed the bric-a-brac, and I haven't--"

"Sit down. Take a breather. Let me fix our lunch, and then we'll go shopping for the furniture you need--and how about a movie for a treat? Now, tell me what you want for lunch."

"Anything will suit me fine," I said guiltily. "But I should finish the housework . . ."

He smiled bitterly, still eyeing me in that odd way. "She won't be home until ten or eleven tonight, and there is a special movie I think you need to see. Do you good to have some fun for a change. I presume you haven't had much. All life in mountain country isn't unpleasant, Heaven. Some mountains can deliver beauty, graceful living, peace, and even wonderful music . . ."

Why, I knew that.

It hadn't all been bad. We'd had our fun, running and laughing, swimming in the river, playing games we made up, chasing each other. Bad times came when Pa was home. Or when hunger took over.

I shook my head again to clear it of memories that could make me sad. I couldn't believe he'd want to take me to the movies, not when . . . "But you have ten TV sets, two and three in some rooms."

Again he smiled. He was twice as handsome when he smiled, though his smiles never lasted long enough to make him seem truly happy. "They don't all work. They're just used as pedestals to hold Kitty's works of art." He grinned ironically when he said that, as if he didn't admire his wife's artistic endeavors nearly as much as he should. "Any

way, a television is not like a movie theater, where the screen is huge, and the sound is better, and there are real people there to share your pleasure."

My eyes locked with his a moment, then lowered. Why was he challenging me with his eyes? "Cal, I've never been to a movie, not even once."

He reached to caress my cheek, his eyes soft and warm. "Then it's time you did go, so run on up and get ready, and I'll throw together a couple of sandwiches. Wear that pretty blue dress I bought for you--the one that's going to fit."

It did fit.