Dicey's Song (9 page)

“Is that why Gram's angry?” Sammy asked.

Dicey began to understand. She looked out the front windows, past the wide porch and down to where the driveway disappeared into the narrow stand of pines. Nothing except growing darkness. “She really is late.”

“I'm hungry,” Sammy said.

Dicey wandered back down to the kitchen. Worry was like the mist along the marsh, it rose up from the floors of the house.

“What time does she usually get in?” Dicey asked Gram.

“An hour and more,” Gram answered. “If you haven't got anything to do in here, why don't you just leave me alone.”

Dicey obeyed. She was halfway down the hall when she met James and Sammy coming at her, both running. “The car's here!” Sammy called, as if Dicey were miles away.

Maybeth had burst into the kitchen and was explaining. Gram had a smile on her face that didn't flash away the way her smiles usually did. Mr. Lingerle climbed heavily up the steps and waited in the doorway, with the darkness behind him. He had a bandage on his right hand.

“ . . . a flat tire,” Maybeth was saying.

“That's all right,” Gram said.

“And the jack slipped, and it caught his fingers, and somebody stopped to help us. We went to the Emergency Room.”

Gram looked up. “Come on in, what's this Maybeth's telling me?”

“I'm so sorry, Mrs. Tillerman, I know you must have been worried. I tried to call from the hospital — ”

“I don't have a phone,” Gram told him.

“It wasn't even that serious, only a couple of stitches,” he apologized.

“I don't have a phone and I should. With children in the house it's irresponsible not to have a phone,” Gram said angrily.

“It's all right, Gram,” Mavbeth said. Gram reached out and hugged Maybeth close. Then she let her go and took a deep breath.

“Yes, it is, and I'll get a phone put in. You'll stay for supper,” she asked. “We're having steak.”

“Gram,” Sammy protested.
“Gram.”

She ignored him and waited for Mr. Lingerle's answer. Dicey understood, just then, and wished she didn't, just what the Tillermans had done to Gram by coming to live with her. Because she did love them, and that meant not only the good parts, but also the worry and fear. Until the children came along, nothing could hurt Gram. And now . . . but Gram must have known that, she'd had children of her own, she must have known that when she said they could live with her. Dicey wished she didn't understand. She wished she could still be like Sammy, concerned only about whether or not he'd have as much steak as he wanted, already forgetting the worry since everything was all right again.

“Thank you, I'd enjoy that,” Mr. Lingerle said.

“Good,” Gram said, with a quick glance at Sammy.

Sammy looked up at Mr. Lingerie. “Are you still nervous when you eat here?” he asked. His eyes shone hopefully.

Mr. Lingerie burst out laughing, and the Tillermans joined him.

T
HE DAY that Gram had to go in for conferences was also Halloween, and a Wednesday, and the day Dicey's English paper was due. She hadn't told any of her family what she was doing; she wanted to astound them, when it was handed back. She was the only one going to school that day. Because of the conferences, the little kids had a day off and were staying home, under James's care. Dicey offered to stay home and look out for them, but Gram refused, saying it would only be for three hours or so. She looked like there was something else she wanted to say, so Dicey waited. But Gram didn't say anything. Dicey, too, didn't say what she was thinking, that she was worried about giving James all the responsibility.

When she got home after a day at school and an hour working with Millie on the distributor's order sheets, Gram was alone at the kitchen table. Dicey didn't hear any noise from anywhere.

“Where are they?” she asked.

“In their rooms,” Gram said. “James is riding his route.”

“What did their teachers say?” Dicey asked.

“We'll talk about it later.”

Dicey looked at her grandmother. Gram did not look back at her. Dicey shrugged, took a banana, and went out to the barn.

James's bike was gone but the others were there. She hoped Sammy would stay up in his room, that he wouldn't come hang around her. Now that they were back on Eastern Standard Time, she couldn't even get an hour's work in. And she was just getting to the end of the first half of the boat.

The Tillermans weren't celebrating Halloween. They never had, in fact. Their house in Provincetown was set way away, so no kids came to the door. Nobody ever came, anyway. That was lucky, Momma always said, because they couldn't afford to buy a bowl of candy. A couple of those years they had all, even Momma, gotten into costumes (sheets for ghosts, or paper-bag armor) and had their own party, making popcorn on the gas stove, bobbing for apples in the dishpan. They ended up, as they usually did, singing.

Dicey sighed — for what, she didn't know. Maybeth had been asked to a Halloween party, but she said she didn't want to go. Dicey hadn't asked her why not, because they couldn't have gone to get her when the party was over. The girl lived inland, not on the water, and too far away for a late bike ride.

James walked his bicycle into the barn and set it against the side of an empty stall. He stood behind Dicey, watching.

“Did she tell you?”

“Tell me what? Who?”

“We're in trouble.”

Dicey turned to look at him. “What do you mean? James, what happened?”

“We went up in the attic,” he told her, daring her to be angry with him.

“And?” What was the matter with going up in the attic?

“And she came home. Gram. She said we had no business. She sent us to our rooms. She only let me come out for my paper route.”

Dicey thought about that. “She's right, we hadn't asked.”

“I thought we lived here,” James complained.

“We do,” Dicey said, “but — ”

James waited for her to finish her sentence.

“That wasn't a very smart thing to do, James.”

“I know. I was just curious. We apologized and told her we wouldn't do it again. Maybeth cried. Sammy didn't.”

It all seemed fair enough to Dicey.

“We weren't even up there long enough to really look around,” James said. “There are boxes of stuff and trunks and a couple of old toys. And a cradle. Do you ever wonder, Dicey, why she doesn't have any pictures of her children?”

Dicey shook her head.

“And she doesn't talk about anything before,” James went on. “And we know where Momma is, and that Bullet is dead, but there was a third name, remember? Don't you wonder?”

“Nope,” Dicey said.

“I do,” James finished, unnecessarily. “I wonder about Momma, what she was like then. I promised we wouldn't go up there again, but I wish I hadn't. I bet there's an album up there.”

“Momma never had one,” Dicey argued.

“Gram could have afforded it,” James argued back. It was a stupid argument and Dicey didn't continue with it.

“Did you get your report on the pilgrims back?”

“He kept them to show the parents. But he said I got an A. The kids thought it was super, they said so.” James smiled at the memory.

Dicey envied him. But it was getting too dark to work any more, and her bare legs were chilly, and she was going to have to go inside and see if she could straighten out things between Gram and the little kids.

It turned out that Gram didn't think anything needed straightening out. She looked around the dinner table at the three subdued faces and the one wary one. “I believe in closing the book on things,” she announced.

“Does that mean you aren't angry any more?” Sammy asked.

Gram nodded.

Sammy smiled and looked relieved. “Good-o,” he said. “I didn't like being in trouble.”

“Neither did I,” Gram agreed.

“And if we do it again,” Sammy went on.

Gram interrupted. “If you do it again — I'll take your hands and sew them over your ears.”

Sammy giggled. “How could I eat?”

“We'll get you a dog dish,” Dicey offered. “We'll put it on the floor and your food will be all mushed together, so that you can get it out with your tongue.”

“Ugh,” Sammy said happily.

“What about the conferences?” James asked. Maybeth looked down at her plate.

Gram put down her fork and waited until they were all, even Maybeth, looking at her. “About the conferences,” she said. “I want to wait to talk about them until I've talked to Dicey.”

Dicey looked up, surprised. What was wrong now?

“When, tomorrow?” James insisted.

Gram shook her head. “I have a plan. This Saturday, Dicey and I are going to take a day away.”

“What about me?” asked Sammy.

“You and Maybeth and James are going to stay home. I called Mr. Lingerie, to give him our number.” The black telephone had been sitting on the living room desk for two days by then. Nobody had used it to call them, although the little kids had all dialed the weather and time. “And I asked him if he would come out to take care of you.”

The three faces went down to the three plates again. “We're sorry, Gram,” Maybeth said softly.

“I know you are and I know you won't do it again, but —” She hesitated, then went on. “There was a lesson for me in this. I'd forgotten that when you leave children alone they have a natural tendency to get into trouble.”

“Did your children do that?” James asked.

“I also spoke to Millie, who said you could take the morning off,” Gram said to Dicey.

“But —” Dicey said.

“No buts, girl,” Gram said. “Besides, it won't be much fun. We're going shopping. I don't know if you have noticed the cold coming on, but I have. While we've got the money from this welfare check, there are things you have to have, things I can't make myself. So Dicey and I will have a day off, after which we will talk about the conferences.”

“Were they bad?” Maybeth asked.

There were good things and bad things,” Gram acknowledged. “But there was nothing that made me regret you living here with me.” The children exchanged pleased glances, and Sammy's face (Dicey noticed) was flushed with pleasure. “I was proud to go in and say, I'm Sammy Tillerman's grandmother or Maybeth's or James's.”

Dicey bit on her lower lip. What Gram would say about Dicey's home ec grade — she was almost sorry she hadn't tried harder in the class, if it mattered to Gram.

“Is that all right with you, Dicey?” Gram said.

“Sure, if you want to,” Dicey said.

“We'll take the bus up to Salisbury, where there's a mall,” Gram said.

“I like bus rides,” Sammy volunteered.

“Well, I don't,” Gram said.

APPARENTLY, Dicey thought from her seat by the window that Saturday morning, Gram meant exactly what she said. Gram sat straight and stiff beside Dicey. She was wearing her blue suit and a white blouse, tucked in. She carried a purse and had put on her loafers, with stockings. Gram wasn't planning to enjoy herself. Dicey wore her shorts, as always. She thought about talking to her grandmother, but shrugged and looked out the window instead.

Because Dicey did like buses. She liked any means of transportation. She liked going places. They rode up a highway, past marshlands and farmlands. A brisk wind blew at the grasses and trees. For the first time, Dicey felt like it really was fall. The sky hung low and gray over fields. She could see smoke curling up out of chimneys in some of the houses they passed. It was one of those first fall days, that look colder than they really are.

But it really was cold. When they had stood waiting at the bus station, her legs got goose bumps from the wind. Mr. Lingerle drove them into town, and he said he'd come pick them up, too. Gram didn't want to take the ride, but he pointed out how large the waves would be under this wind, and that if they bought anything it would be soaked before they got home again. He said he liked to help.

Gram's chin went up when he said that, because she did
not
like to be helped. But he had insisted and insisted, saying that Saturday was usually a pretty long, lonely day for him, saying that he was going to try riding on Sammy's bike (Sammy bit his lip to keep from saying something about that), saying finally that he liked being welcome at their house, and he was only offering what family friends offered. So Gram gave in.

The bus entered the limits of the scraggly city. Dicey studied the shopping centers and the low office buildings, each surrounded by its own parking lot. Cars and trucks crowded the road. For a few minutes, Dicey found this exciting, all the people, all their different lives and faces. Then the grayness, the papers blowing on sidewalks, the sandy-colored sameness of the buildings diminished that excitement. Beside her, Gram stirred.

“Do you know where we're going?” Dicey asked.

“Yes,” Gram answered.

The mall had an arched gateway leading to acres of parking lots. The bus stopped before an entrance to the long building. Dicey and Gram climbed down the steps and went in.

Gram went straight to a list of stores in the mall and began reading down it. Dicey planned to enjoy herself, if she could. She listened to the voices of the crowds of Saturday shoppers, she stared at families and couples, at gangs of girls and boys. Some of the people were hurrying on, as if they had a lot to do and not much time. Others were meandering about, stopping at store windows, as if they had a whole day to kill.

Gram joined Dicey. “When I was a girl,” she said, looking about her, “Crisfield was the big town. The people from Salisbury came down to Crisfield.” She took a breath and her chin went up. “Let's get going, girl, we've got a lot to do.”

“But I thought we were going to talk,” Dicey said.

“That too,” Gram said, stepping briskly out.

Gram took Dicey first to a five-and-ten. They stood in front of a small table covered with wool, while Gram touched the skeins of yarn and made “hnm”sounds. At last she turned to Dicey. “You like any of these?”

Dicey studied the unnaturally bright colors, greens and reds and yellows. She tried to find one that wasn't as bad as the rest. “No,” she said.

“Neither do I.”

Gram marched out and on down the center walkway. When she found a little store with its windows crammed with pillows on which kittens had been embroidered, she entered. At the back of this store, there was a whole wall of wools. Gram started pulling down colors. Dicey looked around. There were a few women in the store, looking at instruction books or studying kits. The saleslady sat on a tall stool behind the counter, her hands busy with thread and canvas. She looked more like one of the summer residents of Provincetown than a saleslady in a mall, Dicey thought. She wore makeup on her eyes, lips, and skin. Her hair had every strand in a particular place. The woman looked up and caught Dicey's eye. “Can I help you?” she asked. Dicey shook her head and turned her attention back to Gram.

Gram had pulled down a dozen colors. She had spread them out on the table before her. Every now and then she would touch one and move it around to sit by itself.

“What are you doing?” Dicey asked.

“Sweaters,” Gram answered. “Is there a color you like?”

“You're going to make us sweaters?”

“It's either that or buy them,” Gram answered grimly.

“I didn't know you could knit.”

Gram shrugged. She put her hand on a yellow the color of daffodils. “This looks like Maybeth to me. And a good blue for Sammy, but brown for James, don't you think.”

“Isn't that an awful lot of work?”