Rush Home Road (39 page)

The bodies of Addy's husband and daughter were never recovered. She imagined them, especially in those first few weeks, walking on the bottom of some silty lake or pond, meeting up with L'il Leam and Chester Monk, saying what a coincidence it was they all lost their lives to the water. Or she'd imagine Mose and Chick racing each other up the stairs to their apartment, drenched like they got caught in a spring rain, not caring they were soaked, thinking it was funny everyone believed them drowned. They'd be with her always, Mose and Chick. Not like some of the others, but steady and quiet and small, sitting alongside her, coupled like train coaches, connected by that invisible cord.

 

Myrtle And Box

THE DELIVERY MAN HAD COME
and gone before Addy thought to check the box. The eggs were in there, and the apples, though they were a sorry-looking dozen and not the tart kind that worked best. Why hadn't she done this in the fall like she'd planned, when the apples were crisp and sour? She knew before she set the water on the stove it wouldn't be the best batch she'd made. Apples in April been sitting in cellars too long or they come from other countries, she thought, sniffing a core. She remembered her mother used to garnish with myrtle or box and she'd told the man on the phone, “It's a shrub. Used to be called whortleberry too. And box is an evergreen. You have something like that in your garnishes section?” But the man had misunderstood and just put her groceries in a box instead of bags.

It was a beautiful spring day, the kind that fooled a person into thinking summer'd be along shortly. Truth was there'd be another snowstorm before the fresh leaves unfurled and, like almost every year, the daffodils would get buried, their short pretty lives blighted by white. After that
there'd be the days of rain and Addy'd be reminded why hers was called mud lane.

Sharla'd been outside playing with Lionel and Nedda and was annoyed to be called into the trailer. “We're playing though, Mum.”

“You're not going near them cows back there, are you?”

“No,” Sharla lied.

“You're not throwing stones at them cows?”

Sharla wondered how her Mum Addy could have seen when not one window in the whole trailer faced the pasture. “We won't.”

“No you won't.”

“Can I go back out?”

“Later you can go out. Right now me and you are gonna make something.”

“Make what?”

“A special dessert.”

Sharla smiled and warmed to the notion of staying inside. “What special dessert?”

“It's a dessert my Mama taught me how to make and her mother taught her how to make it and her mother taught her.”

“Is that a great-grandmother?”

“That's a great-
great
-grandmother and I bet it goes back even farther than that.”

“Is it cake?”

“No it's not cake, Honey. It's more special than cake,”
Addy said as she checked the stove. “It's a dessert made with apples.”

Sharla tilted her head. “Apple snow?”

Addy turned from the stove, trying not to appear startled. “How do you know about apple snow?”

“You made that for Poppa. 'Cause of no teeth.”

Addy cleared her throat and set the big strainer in the sink. “'Member what I told you about waking me up when I get to talking like that?”

Sharla nodded. “You were awake though. You were sitting right there,” she said, pointing to the kitchen table.

“I was awake?”

Sharla's chin bobbed up and down. “Mmm-hmm.”

Addy's stomach dropped as she wondered what else she'd said. “I was awake and I was talking about Poppa?”

“Poppa wasn't your Daddy though.”

“No he weren't.”

“And you did
not
want to get married to him.”

Addy cleared her throat again but she couldn't relieve her panic. “If I was talking about Poppa like that, I was not awake, Sharla. I want you to wake me up when I get talking like that. Shake me a little. Or pinch me hard. Don't let me go on, Sharla.”

“I did, Mum. I said, ‘Wake up, Mum Addy.' And you said, ‘I
am
awake, Child. I'm just remembering Poppa is all.'”

The apples in the pot were rolling with the boil. They wanted to be soft but not mushy. Addy watched them carefully, confident she'd know by the look of the fruit
the precise time to take them out. “I say anything about Riley, Honey?”

“You said Riley like to walk around with money in his pocket acting like a rich, rich man.”

Addy nodded and was glad she hadn't spoken more intimately about Riley Rippey. She even smiled, thinking that was true about him acting rich. She wondered where Riley was now, if he was in this world or the next.

“And you said that Camille Bishop had herself some nerve.”

Addy caught her breath. She could remember none of it. She'd been preoccupied lately, thinking about her life, her past, but she could not remember talking out loud, especially not with Sharla in the room. She knew she should go see Dr. Zimmer just as she knew she couldn't. He'd tell her she was losing her mind, for what else could it be? They'd take Sharla away and then what? Addy wondered if she ought to try to collect her strength and make her way over to Krystal Trochaud's trailer and ask if she'd heard from Collette. She thought she might try Reggie Depuis again and see if the past year brought on any change of heart. She even wondered if Warren and Peggy Souchuck were having trouble conceiving and might love a child that was not their own. Addy tested the softness of the apples and prayed to keep her mind.

The apples were done. Addy found her burned-up old oven mitts and began to heft the pot of boiling water to the strainer at the sink. It surprised her and made her wonder
how long it'd been since she made the dish, when she had not the strength to lift it.

“What's wrong, Mum Addy?”

Addy used a slotted spoon to lift the apples from the water and set them in her big bowl. “Just a little heavy is all,” she said, and brought the bowl to the table.

“Does the skin stay on?”

“No. That's the next thing to do. Once you got the apples boiled soft. Be careful 'cause it's hot. Prick that flesh with your fork and feel how it feels. Soft, but not too soft.”

“Soft but not mushy.”

“That's right. That apple doesn't want to cook down to juice. It wants to stay meaty enough you're gonna taste the fruit when it's said and done. Now I like to run them under cold water just a minute so they're not so hot to peel and core. My Mama never did that, but she had so many calluses on her fingers she could use her bare hands to stoke the fire.”

Sharla's little tongue found its place on her lower lip when Addy set half the apples in front of her and said, “Now you just pull the skin off like this. See. Just like that. Good girl. That's right. You got a knack for it.”

“What's a knack?”

“Means you got a special skill at doing something. Means you take to something fast. Now after you get all the skin off, you cut it in half. Not you, Honey, me. You're too young to use a big knife. See, you cut it in half and you take that spoon there and you just scoop out the core.”

“Like that?”

“That's right. Like scooping seeds out a muskmelon.”

“I hate muskmelon.”

“Get all the seeds out, Honey. All the seeds and all the core bits.”

“Like this.”

“That's it. Now set it down in the bowl there.”

When they'd finished peeling and coring the rest of the apples, Addy clapped her hands. “I should have taught you this recipe years ago, Baby. Should have made it in the fall though. These apples been in the cellar too long. Your Daddy's gonna be so pleased when he gets home. Don't get a special dish like this on the train. 'Specially not one made by his good girl.”

Sharla said nothing as she watched the stiff hands measure the sugar and pour it over the apples. She knew Mum Addy was confusing her with her own little daughter, Chick. It was happening more often, and though Sharla'd been frightened the first few times, now she just pretended along. Chick had a Daddy and three Uncles who loved her and was a good person to pretend to be. Sharla was confused by the pretending though, and knew it was not a game. She also knew her Mum was not sleeping like she claimed to be later, for she was standing and moving and talking too. Times like this, Sharla could do nothing but wait until her Mum Addy came back from wherever it was she went.

“Now,” Mum continued, “I remember Claire Williams
used to shake her head when she saw Mama like to beat the egg whites
before
she beat the apples and sugar but that's how I like to do it too. I don't believe it affect the flavour too much if you like to do it backwards, but that's for each person to decide. Now watch this, Chick. Are you watching? Watch, because you'll do the next one. You crack the egg on the side of this clean bowl. Not the one with the apples in it because you can't beat them all together at once. Might as well throw the whole of it out if you try. I did that once by accident and my mother make me set a whole new batch in cold water over the fire.”

Sharla watched her Mum Addy crack the egg on the side of the large bowl and open it carefully, not letting anything but the clear Jell-O-y part spill out.

“Just back and forth like this and the yolk will separate from the white. You don't want to let any yellow in the bowl. Not even a drop. Not even a speck.”

“Why though?” Sharla asked.

“Because you won't get a good whip,” Mum answered, not looking up. “You just want the whites, Chicken.”

“Why they call it whites when it's see-through?”

“When you cook it or whip it, it goes white. That's why. Now it's your turn.”

Sharla took the egg in her hand and cracked it open. She was relieved not a speck of yellow leaked out as she poured the raw egg back and forth from half shell to half shell. She thought it was a miracle how the yolk stayed whole and separated from the clear part. Sharla begged to
do all the eggs, for she enjoyed the cracking and coddling and thought she had a knack, but Mum Addy said it would take too long and “Daddy be back shortly and we want to have it ready to surprise him.”

When all the whites were in the bowl, Addy found the whisk and gave the eggs a good stiff beat. Sharla marvelled at the speed and strength of the frail, thin arms which just moments ago couldn't lift the pot off the stove.

Addy drew the whisk up and made a high stiff peak in the egg whites. She was nearly out of breath from whipping. “See? Look, Chick. See how that stands up? If it can't do that you likely haven't beat long enough. That's just right. Like that is just right.” Addy took a few deep breaths before setting the whisk in the apples and sugar, then she beat that mixture until it was firm. “Here, now, Baby. You do the last few minutes just so you get an idea how the whisk feels and how the apples should be just so. That's right,” she encouraged, as Sharla whirled the thing around and around. “Little faster though, so it fluff up right and look just like real snow.”

Sharla spun the whisk faster and perspired for her efforts. She wondered if Mum Addy knew about them plug-in whippers she'd seen Krystal use to make Fawn's mash potatoes. Finally the apples were whipped enough and the egg whites standing proudly in the bowl. Addy lifted a spatula full of egg whites and said, “Watch now, you want to fold this in. Just this little bit, then another little bit, then another, then the rest.”

“Why not all at once?” Sharla asked, watching the fluffy egg blending into the creamy apple.

“You don't want to dump the whole of one bowl into the other right off, Chick. You want to say, ‘Eggs, I like you to meet apples, you two gonna be good friends.'”

Sharla giggled. “Can I do it now?”

Addy handed the spatula to Sharla and watched intently as the little hand worked the mixtures together. “Fold, don't stir. Fold means you're taking something from the bottom and moving it to the top. That's good. That's very good.”

“I got a knack, don't I…” Sharla looked up and ventured shyly, “Mama?”

“Yes you do, Chicken. You got a knack.”

There was a sudden loud pounding at the door. Sharla figured it was either Lionel or Nedda coming to get her and she said a couple of curse words in her head, for she knew, and she was right, that whatever spell Addy'd been under would be broken now. Addy went to the door and saw Lionel standing there, head bent, swinging his arms like he always did when there were adults around. She smiled at him. “Hello, Lionel. You want to come in and try some dessert Sharla just made?”

Lionel shrugged and stepped in the trailer and saw the fluffy stuff in the bowl. “You make that?” he asked Sharla, then took a seat beside her.

“Yes. Mum Addy did the cutting and whipping though.”

Lionel grinned when Addy set a bowl of the dessert in front of them and presented the pair with spoons, saying, “This here's called apple snow, Lionel. You tell me if you like it.”

Lionel took a too-big spoonful and shovelled it into his mouth. “I do like it,” he said through the fluff.

Addy nodded and watched the children eat, then covered the bowl and set the mixture in the fridge. “My mother liked to garnish with myrtle or box,” she said to herself.

“Can we go out after, Mum?” Sharla asked.

“Mmm-hmm. Just don't go bothering them cows.”