Runny03 - Loose Lips (41 page)

In her high heels Juts clicked down the aisle, grabbed her
angel, opened the door, and booted her into the vestibule. She closed the door behind her with a solid
click.

Donald stuck his long, elegant face out the door. “Juts, do you need a hand?”

“I need a paddle.”

He winked and closed the door again, plunging the congregation back into the blackness of Christ’s crucifixion.

“Don’t you ever do that again!” Juts fanned Nickel’s behind, her petticoats softening the blow.

“I don’t like the dark.”

“And I don’t like your attitude.” Juts batted her once more for good measure.

Nickel wrenched free, heading back toward the inner door.

Juts raced after her. “Oh no, you don’t.”

“Then I’ll go to Aunt Wheezie’s True Church.”

“You set one foot in St. Rose of Lima’s and I will fry your face,” Juts exploded. “Jesus never had a bad little girl like you.”

“Jesus didn’t have a little boy, either.” Nickel pouted, her red lip protruding. “Maybe he didn’t like children. Maybe he lied. He didn’t want us to come unto him.”

“Where in God’s name do you get these ideas?” Juts threw up her hands in despair. “Outside, young lady. You’ve ruined the service for me and for everyone else.”

“Did not.”

Julia unceremoniously yanked her out the front door into the cool, gray day. “You’ve made a spectacle of yourself and a fool out of me. I don’t know how I can show my face in there again.”

“No one can see it. The lights are out.” Like most children, she possessed a ruthless logic.

“It’s Good Friday, Nicky, I told you.”

“What’s good about it, Mommy? I didn’t like the dark, and the seat tickles.”

“What do you mean, the seat tickles?”

“It does. When Aunt Dimps plays the organ it tickles.”

Juts thought about this. “Well—I guess it does.”

“It makes me have to go to the bathroom.”

“Do you have to go right now?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Can you make it to Cadwalder’s? Because I don’t want to take you back in there. Actually, the Bon-Ton is closer. Can you make it?”

“Yes.”

They walked toward the big department store. Nickel asked, “Why did Jesus die? If he was the Son of God he shouldn’t die.”

“He died for your sins.”

“I don’t have any sins.” Nicky quickly defended herself.

“You most certainly do have sins and you chalked up a big one today.”

The Bon-Ton was closed. A sign on the double doors read, “Reopen 4:30.”

“Damn.”

“Momma, I have to go.”

Juts looked around. “Come on.”

She dragged her into the park and told her to hurry up and go to the bathroom under George Gordon Meade’s statue.

“Momma, there’s dog doo here.”

“Exactly. Now hurry up.”

She dropped her cotton panties, bending over so as not to soil them, and urinated.

“I need toilet paper.”

“Here, use a Kleenex.” Juts dug into her purse and handed her a tissue. “Hurry up. I don’t know who might see you.”

The child did as she was told. “Am I going to get in more trouble?”

“No, you’ve made up for your scene in church by peeing on George Gordon Meade. He was a Yankee.”

“Grandma Smith is a Yankee.”

“That she is.”

“Does Jesus love Yankees?”

“I suppose he has to, but we don’t.”

“Can God see everything we do?”

“Yes.”

“Then God saw me pee on George Gordon Meade.” Nickel furrowed her dark eyebrows. “I don’t like that.”

“I’m sure he was occupied by weightier matters.”

They walked back home in the chilly air. The cat and dog greeted them rapturously. Juts happily changed into a comfortable housedress.

“Why does Aunt Wheezie go to a different church?”

“Because she’s an idiot.” Juts pointed her in the direction of the stairs. “Bath time.”

“Z’at why Maizie left?”

“No, she left to go back to school.”

“When can I go?”

“This fall. You’ll start kindergarten and I’ll be very happy.” What Juts didn’t say was she’d get a little peace and quiet.

“Will it be like Sunday school?”

“Sort of, but you don’t have to pray and learn about the Bible. You’ll learn to read—”

“I can do that,” she bragged. “You’ll learn how to do it better.”

Juts had maneuvered her into the bathroom and was unbuttoning her dress. She turned on the faucets after sticking the rubber stopper in the tub. It hung around the nickel-plated faucet by a tiny ball and chain. Yoyo stayed out of the bathroom but Buster bravely walked in. He knew the bath wasn’t for him because he couldn’t smell the flea shampoo.

Nickel held the sides of the tub, then lifted one leg over, her toes testing the water. She hesitated, then brought the other leg over.

“Do I have to go to Sunday school?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“You said I ruined church.”

“Forgiveness is part of being a Christian.”

“I don’t like that part.”

“You have to practice all of it. You can’t just pick and choose.”

“You do. You take the parts you like.”

“Just a minute here.” Juts sternly smacked her with a bar of soap in her hand.

“You do. You don’t forgive Grandma Smith.”

This stopped Juts. “I’m trying, but it’s very, very hard.”

“She doesn’t like us.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Pure meanness, I guess. Anyway, that’s why you have to go to Sunday school, to be a better Christian than I am.” Juts cheerfully grabbed the tiller of the conversation, steering it in a calmer direction. “You like Sunday school.”

“Most times.” Nicky flattened her palms, then hit the water hard.

“That’s enough.”

“I’m tired of singing ‘Jesus Loves Me.’”

“What brought that on?” Juts dabbed at her.

“Sunday school.”

“Oh, right. Well, you like Ursie Vance and Franny.” Frances Finster’s granddaughter was named for her.

“I don’t like Ursie anymore.”

“Why is that?”

“She said if I don’t say my prayers I’ll go to the bad place when I die.”

“You say your prayers.”

“I leave out the die part. I don’t like that.”

At bedtime, Nickel refused to say, “And if I die before I wake.” She just would say, “I pray the Lord my soul to take.”

“Don’t worry.”

“And Ursie is always stopping the teacher when she’s telling Bible stories. She wanted to know what colors were in Joseph’s coat. I hope she looks behind her and turns into a pillar of salt.”

Juts wasn’t pleased about four-and five-year-olds learning about Sodom and Gomorrah.

“Tell me that story.”

Nickel sighed. How could her mother not know? “Lot and his wife ran away from bad people. And Lot’s wife wasn’t supposed to look back.” She paused, concentrating on the details, then happily finished her story. “Lot’s wife was a pillar of salt by day and a ball of fire by night.”

N
ineteen fifty was the year Wheezie discovered shocking pink. Festooned with shocking-pink plastic earrings, matching bracelet, and lipstick against a navy-blue sweater and skirt, she would occasionally offset this color scheme with lime green. She was also fond of pale pink and black. Julia retaliated by wearing yards of aqua and white.

Runnymedians, putting the war behind them as best they could, erupted in an explosion of music, building, big cars, and endless gossip. But then nothing could stop the gossip. If Hitler had won they would have gossiped about him and the German gauleiter sent to whip them into shape.

Nickel was in kindergarten and loved it. Chessy had reorganized the store and had hired an assistant. He had begun advertising too, and had bought the family a brand-new refrigerator because business was so good. He moved the icebox to the garage, using it for tool storage. Maizie’s future remained cloudy and once when Wheezie pressured her about it said, “Gobble, gobble, gobble.” Louise buttoned her lip.

Juts and Nickel continued their riding lessons. That and gardening were the two pastimes they shared, although it was not lost on Julia that Nickel preferred spending time with Chessy. She couldn’t understand why the child would defy her but do anything her father asked.

Louise, ever the maternal expert, declared that girls stuck with their fathers, boys with their mothers. Other people echoed the thought and it certainly seemed true, because Lillian Yost’s little boy screamed bloody murder when she took him to kindergarten for the first time. His eyes almost bugged out of his head, and his face went red, not a pretty sight, when it was time for his mother to leave.

Mrs. Miller, the teacher, told Lillian she had to leave … just leave, no matter how hard it would be. After all, the world does not shine on a mama’s boy. The junior Yost pounded on the door, he kicked, he peed. Nickel pulled him from the door. “Shut up, bawl-baby.” However much this sentiment endeared her to Mrs. Miller, it grated on Lillian Yost’s last nerve when she heard the story. She flew all over Juts, who surprised everyone by not losing her temper.

Nickel and Peepbean Huffstetler fought at the stable, at school, anywhere. Three years older than the curly-haired girl, he could whop her. She’d get even on horseback. She literally rode rings around him, thereby ensuring further attention from O.B. and further hatred from Peepbean.

Juts had taken Nickel to see a Walt Disney movie showing in York. The projectionist, possessor of two brain cells, ran a
newsreel that showed gangs of children foraging in the rubble of Dresden. A dead dog lay by the side of the road. The voice-over intoned about the suffering endured in the part of Germany controlled by Russia. Nickel sobbed over the dog and the children until Juts had to take her out of the theater. How could you explain to a five-year-old that other five-year-olds used to be the enemy? No matter how hard Juts tried on that cold January day, she couldn’t condemn anybody’s children, not even those of the Japanese, whom she still hated with all her heart.

She told Nickel that adults make wars and cause innocents to suffer. Nickel couldn’t understand. For weeks afterward she asked everyone if she would die. And if there was a war, could she save Buster and Yoyo? Juts would find her rummaging through old copies of
Life
magazine at Mother Smith’s; Josephine never threw out anything except kindness. Pictures of war fascinated Nickel.

Juts didn’t recall being so concerned as a child during the Great War, but she had understood, finally, that Nickel was not a carbon copy of herself.

Juts, on hands and knees one afternoon, scrubbed the kitchen floor. Yoyo, grown plump, lazed on the countertop. Buster watched from the hall. The radio played “I Love Those Dear Hearts and Gentle People.” Juts sang along, her soprano quite lovely.

Juts finished out the song: “‘ … that live and love in my hometown.’”

A light rap on the back window brought her to her feet. She walked on the balls of her feet to the back door.

“Rillma?”

Rillma Ryan, ravishingly beautiful now as she approached thirty, nodded.

“Hi, Juts.”

“Come on in.” When Juts opened the door, a rush of cold air followed. Buster barked at the visitor.

“I don’t want to step on your wet floor.”

“I’ll mop up the prints. I didn’t know you were coming home.”

“I hadn’t planned on it, but I earned a bonus at work so I thought I’d come see Mom and—the baby.”

Raw fear seared through Juts. She liked Rillma. Everyone liked Rillma. But what if blood proved thicker than water? What if Nickel somehow recognized her mother and abandoned Juts? Then again, how could she refuse Rillma the common courtesy of inviting her in? After all, she had given Juts her child.

“Can I get you something to eat or drink?”

“Oh no, thank you. Is Nickel at school?”

“Kindergarten. She’s only there a half day but I sure enjoy those three hours. Each week one of us takes turns walking the kids to school. It works out pretty good.”

“Mom says she runs on twelve cylinders.”

“That’s the truth. Come on, let’s go in the living room.”

“I should have called, Juts, but I was afraid you’d say no. You know I won’t do anything out of the way.”

“I hope not.”

“Mom said Louise is about to turn forty-nine and she’s having a hissy.”

Juts crossed one leg over the other as she sat in the deep chair. “She doesn’t even admit to forty.”

“I saw Mary briefly. She looks real good—a little tired, but good.”

“She’s happy.”

“How’s Chessy?”

“Same old guy. He loves Nicky. She’s the center of his world.” Julia paused. “I think he’s the happiest he’s been since I’ve known him, and that’s saying a lot with that battle-ax of a mother.”

“I know, Mom told me all about that, too. She said Cora marched right on down to Josephine’s house and had a set-to and Josephine wouldn’t see anyone or talk to anyone for days and then she snapped out of it.”

“She endures Nicky. Nicky hates going over there but I told her once that we had to do this for Daddy, that no matter how much we didn’t like Grandma, Daddy loved her. She was fine after that.”

The front door flew open. “Buster, Yoyo!” The animals rushed over to Nickel. “Hi, Momma.” She stopped hugging and kissing the cat and dog as she stared at the beautiful stranger.