Songbird (27 page)

“House hunting?”

“Yes. Harlan's taking a church here in Mount Oak.”

“He's taking a church?”

“Yes. Are you not hearing what I’m saying the first time around?”

“It's just a shock, Char. I mean, you get so much exposure at those things.”

“But the crusades aren't about my exposure, MaryAnna.”

“Well they should be!”

Here we go again. MaryAnna and I have this conversation at least twice a year. “No. It's about ministry. I don't know why you can't get that into your thick head. Maybe if you actually came to one you'd understand.”

She laughs with scorn. “I wouldn't be caught dead in a church.”

“I know, I know, I know. Why did you take me on in the first place then?”

She hesitates. “I needed a client.”

“A
client?”

“You heard me.”

“You mean you didn't have
any
other clients when I hired you on? You
lied
to me?”

She hesitates again.

“Oh, come on, MaryAnna, you're halfway into the confession, and after all this time, you might as well go all the way.”

“No. I had no other clients.”

“Why not?”

“None of your business. You're doing fine. We've turned into quite a team these past few years. So now don't start nosing around into my personal life.”

“Oh, my lands, MaryAnna, you take yourself way too seriously.”

“You don't know what it's like to be me.”

“Boo-hoo. Did your mother abandon you when you were eleven?”

“Well, no.”

“So stop the pity party.” Watch, her skeletons include cancer recovery, spousal abuse, and a runaway child.

I hate myself just then. I don't know why it is that some people touch my heart to its core, and others leave it cold. And what right do I have to differentiate from one person to the other? It's hardly something Jesus would do.

“I’d better let you go find that house.”

“It's a home, MaryAnna. I’m finally going to be able to go home.”

Her voice warms as she says, “I know, Char. I’m not sure what I was thinking.”

“Me, either.” I laugh. “You can be really difficult sometimes. You know that? I mean, I’m the artist. I’m supposed to be the temperamental one and I’m the one fighting to be heard.”

“You're right.”

“No wonder I’m your only client.”

“Well, you're not anymore, you know.”

“At least there's that, then.”

“I’ll try to be a little nicer.”

“Good. ‘Cause I’ve completed my three years with you, you know and we've never signed anything officially that I have to keep you on.”

“You're coming through loud and clear, Char. You don't have to beat me over the head with it!”

It was as close to an apology as she had ever come. “Don't worry about it. Hey, why don't you come to Mount Oak when we're all moved in?”

“I may just do that.”

As if that would really ever happen. “MaryAnna, I don't know what your problems are, and I’m sorry for making light of them like I did.”

“No, it's okay. I’m a wallower. I’ll be okay.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’ve lasted this long haven't I?”

“You don't sound sure.”

“Okay, Charmaine! Let it go!”

“I just want you to know my ears are good at listening.”

We say our good-byes and I turn to Tanzel. She shakes her head in disbelief. “Remind me not to cross you unduly.”

I wave my hand. “Oh, that! That's just the way MaryAnna and I communicate. If I didn't do that she'd walk all over me!”

“She that type?”

“She's more than that type. She's the prototype of that type!”

She puts her reading glasses back up on her nose. “So I’m right about her, then.”

“Probably.” I lean over and rub her upper arm. “I’m so glad you're down here now, Miss Tanzel.”

“Me, too. Hey, why don't you all come over to my place for dinner tonight after you've looked at houses? We can go over the flyers together and I can tell you what to look out for.”

“Okay. That will be nice.”

“You go on now. How about six o'clock?”

“We'll be there.”

“Anything your kids hate to eat?”

“Everything. If you make a side of macaroni and cheese, they'll be all set.”

“Do you spoil them?”

“I guess I do.”

I guess I have to, if only to prove things to myself.

We only have so much money and it isn't much, so we're limited as to what the real estate agent will show us. I don't want to see anything even a few thousand dollars above our price range. See, any old thing will do right now, and I want to keep it that way. I don't want to get the yearns before I’ve stepped even one foot over the threshold of my very own home.

I’ve blamed so much of who I am on my lack of roots, so I am feeling a bit of trepidation. What if we move in and a few months later, it's not enough?

The agent, a stick-bug of a woman named Gina Kraft, pulls her car up to a brick rancher. It's long and unadorned.

“Are you sure this is in our price range?” I ask.

I look down at the sheet describing the property. They called it a “handyman's special.” I know that's the cute way of saying “this thing needs work.”

2

I
t took me all of August to convince Grandma Min that the school system of Suffolk doesn't need her there but that Port of Peace kindergarten and preschool sure does! She's due to pull in the drive in her little navy blue escort this afternoon. Harlan will be following her in a U-Haul truck. She said, “I’ve got to bring my antiques with me, sweetie. That's not something I’ll even negotiate on.”

Needless to say, we have no furniture to speak of so I said, “Sure, Grandma! That would be great.”

Oh, the house, the house! I just love my new house. My check from Gospelganza provided us the downpayment we needed. The prices in Mount Oak are so low! So we moved at the end of August into that first ranch I viewed, four small bedrooms, a living room and a country kitchen with this little den area off to the side. It's kind of plain looking right now. No shutters, not much shrubbery, a chain-link fence around the backyard, but I’ve got plans!

“God will take care of you!”

Just like the song says.

The yard's big, though, with a little swing set the old owner left up because their kids outgrew it and they were just as glad not to have to dismantle it before they moved.

But Melvin offered his services and Miss Tanzel says she's handy with a paint brush, so between the two of them, with Harlan and I taking orders and doing what they say, we'll have this place in shape in no time. Already it's looking better and the plumbing works, too!

And it's mine. This little place is mine.

So stick that in your pipe, Vicki Miller, and smoke it! I’m no longer boarding house trash.

My favorite part of the house is the little alcove in the living room. Perfect for piano. Maybe I’ll find a secondhand one like Mrs. Evans used to have.

The first room we've painted is Grandma Min's room. It's actually the master bedroom, but I figure she's come from having a house all to herself, whereas we're coming from an RV so one of the lesser bedrooms feels palatial to Harlan and me. I can't wait to see what she thinks. Her bedroom is the color of freshly bloomed wisteria and Miss Tanzel and I pasted up a border with cascading wisteria blossoms. I found a white eyelet bedspread at Walt's Mart and curtains to match.

Walt's Mart.

That never ceases to tickle me. Mount Oak isn't big enough for the real thing, I guess, so this fellow that goes across the street to the Baptists, opened up a store about a quarter the size of the real thing. But it's all we've got at this point and I do love the bedspread.

I peer out in between Grandma Min's curtains and see Hope and Leo playing in the yard. Still no biological baby of our own, so I’m figuring God's completed our little family with-out our help. It seems mental illness runs in the family, so why perpetuate a weakness like that into yet another generation? I don't blame Him for nipping it in the bud with me. I mean, all things work together for good, don't they?

I grieve over this in secret. I so wanted a baby from my own body, and yes, I do look on Leo and Hope as my own, but I’d be lying if I said I’m disappointed Harlan and I are barren.

Why is this? Why do people who have no business bearing children get pregnant at the flick of an eyelash, and good people with loads of love to give inside the walls of a good home, can't conceive?

That's one of those God ways I can't even pretend to understand.

And yet those barren couples, with their desire for children, are sometimes blessed to make a home for any old child. Any old child will do. And any old child will be loved as much as anyone.

Isn't that wonderful?

Too bad Mrs. Evans died. Too bad Mama didn't give me up for adoption and so have given me the chance for a normal life.

Grace calls a couple of times a year and refuses to tell me her whereabouts. She's proud that Leo's doing so well and I always say, “You should see him for yourself, Grace. You should let him know you're still there.”

Believe me, I of all people know how Leo must feel. But at least he was young when Grace left. “He calls me ‘Mama’ now, Grace,” I said during our last call.

“He does? And you let him?”

“What else was I supposed to do? It's better for him that he feels that connection with
somebody.
” It's hard not to get mad at Grace during times like these. I’ve never met a more selfish person in my entire life.

“I’ll come back someday, Charmaine. I really will.”

Now I don't know much about much, but I do know that Grace won't ever be back for Leo. And I don't know how much longer I can go on lying to Grace's parents. And for that matter, I don't know why Grace's parents are so willing to go all these years without talking to their daughter. No wonder she's like she is.

Unless, of course, they are like Grandma Min. But that can't be because Grace at least cares enough about them to let them know she's alive.

Poor Leo. They don't even
know
about him!

Lord, when you next see Mrs. Evans, tell her I’m trying hard. This is the way I can tell her that I loved her, to try and be just like her. At least God sent me Mrs. Evans to offset some of the damage Mama did. And if I’m not thankful for that, then shame on me.

“Grandma Min!” Hope yells and runs over to her as she climbs out of her Escort. Harlan's already pulling in and climbing out of the U-Haul truck.

“Hope!”

Grandma leans down and hugs her. Grandma's not the type to scoop up kids and whirl them around. Grandma's not so showy like I am. I’m an amusement park of affection. Grandma Min's more of a beanbag chair.

Hope tugs on her plaid skirt and drags her back toward the swing set. Grandma rolls her eyes in my direction and says, “Well, at least I know who's the boss around here.”

Harlan pulls Grandma's trunk out of her backseat. “That sure is the truth.”

I grab the two remaining satchels and head into the house behind him. We set Grandma's things on her bedroom floor. It's hardwood. Don't ask me from what kind of tree. We haven't done it over so it looks kind of like some giant took a bath in our house and left the soap scum behind.

“Harlan?”

“Yeah, Shug?”

“Just let me hug you.”

“Okay. I’m all for hugs.”

“I missed you last night.”

I love the feel of my husband. He's tall so my head rests right on his breastbone, and I hear his heart. And I know his heart and his knows mine. “Thanks for letting her come live with us.”

“Are you kidding? We've got us a built-in baby-sitter! Not to mention some furniture to sit on.”

“Well, I’m going to make a pitcher of iced tea.”

“How about that icebox cake you told me about last night? You think it's ready yet?”

“Uh-huh.”

I am still on my dessert quest. The icebox cake is the family favorite by far because I don't have to turn a single dial on the oven or the stove, nothing flames, and there isn't a single ingredient capable of sloshing over the side of the mixing bowl.

“I love that cake, Shug. You sure are a fine cook.”

We laugh and laugh.

Now I don't want it to be mistaken that I think Harlan's perfect. He's not. He can be a bit hardcrusted when it comes to his views. I’ll be honest, I’m really not so sure about what he says in his “What's
Really
Eating at You” sermons. I’ve read up a little on mental suffering, due to Grace and Mama. I know some people just have wild streaks and there isn't anything you can do about it, but I also know there's more to it than I’ll ever realize. I’m not some smart medical type, but I’m trying to understand, even if it's just a little.

Having achieved what I’d longed for all my life, I can honestly say I’m not disappointed. Waking up in my bedroom thrills me every morning.

We sit at the kitchen table. Well, Grandma Min's kitchen table, actually. The cloth, an orange-and-white checked goodie, is another special from Walt's Mart. Two-ninety-nine with matching cloth napkins in a brown check for fifty cents a piece! It's looking like autumn around my home.

My home.

Thank you, Jesus.

Oh, and the china she brought! I feel like I am living high off the hog these days. From RV, particle-board furnishings straight to fine antiques. The inside of this place is quickly becoming the home I always dreamed about. Elegant and fine.

The kids are down for the night. They haven't wanted to sleep in their own room and who can blame them after those years of sleeping together on the dinette of the RV? So I put both twin mattresses in Leo's room as his is a tad larger. I plan on checking out yard sales and buying lots of toys cheap and we'll make Hope's room the playroom. I just checked on them and they looked like angels. Worn out like me. I felt too tired to give them a bath and they were just as glad. I think they would have fallen asleep in the tub!

“Anybody want a cup of tea?” I ask.

“That would be lovely.” Grandma looks up from a teacher's magazine that holds pictures of some of the cutest bulletin boards I’ve ever seen. Grandma's all moved in, her things put away, and life has settled into what I guess it will be for years, saving for those little shifts we all experience now and again.