Otherwise Known as Possum Read online

  I figured Tully’d gone plumb loony. I sighed and squared my shoulders. Being as he was my best friend and might have a fever to boot, I reckoned I’d do my best to humor Tully. But if I was going to lose anything else I held dear, I’d see to it he did too. I felt a plan building in my head like autumn storm clouds.

  “Why don’t you give her something special, Tully? Something you really care about.” All I knew was it should not be that green cat’s-eye marble. I did not say this aloud, but I thought it real hard.

  “You mean, like a present?”

  “That’s right, Tully, a present.” I saw him furrow his forehead and let him stew on that for a while. “I know!” I said. “The rattler!”

  That was one mighty fine snakeskin. I’d wished it mine plenty. It was a beauty. That’s how I knew Tully was truly touched. Why else would he be willing to give up a two-footer?

  “Guess I’ll give it to Mary Grace at school Monday,” he said. “Think she’ll like it, Possum, really?”

  This was not the Tully I knew. I wondered where the real one’d got to. My Tully could field-skin a rabbit quicker than a person could pick up chiggers. He was almost perfect. But giving up his prize snakeskin?

  Tully mistook my quiet.

  “It’s the best I got, Possum,” he whined. “ ’Cept for my green cat’s—”

  “I reckon it’ll do fine,” I said quickly.

  He didn’t say anything.

  I repeated, “I reckon it’ll do.”

  He stared. I knew then that wasn’t all he wanted. I considered my options. I didn’t seem to have any. Finally, I bit. “What?” I asked. “Ya want something else, don’cha?”

  Tully chewed on saw grass awhile. “I reckon this is asking a lot—”

  I knew whatever it was, it would be. Church-truth, I was tired of his babble, and I reckon it showed, ’cause just then he blurted, “Would’ja give it to her for me?”

  That did it.

  “I believe, Tully, that girl’s got you soft in the head.”

  Like GrandNam always said, Eyes never know what God sees.

  “Possum, puh-lease?”

  It was not pretty to see a boy the size of Tully beg like a baby bird. I would have liked to be anywhere except with that boy at that second. I’d heard about others acting the fool over women, but this was Tully. Usually, he was first to pitch jibes when others pitched woo.

  Then he went one tick too far for scratching. “Well,” he said, “if you’re afraid … ”

  Huh! “Am not scared, Tully Spencer, so just take that back. ’Sides, I didn’t say I wouldn’t.” Thinking, thinking. Aha! “I just wonder what you’re gonna give me for it, is all.”

  Sometimes words jump out of my mouth like bullfrogs, without warning.

  I almost felt sorry for him, about to give up two of his best treasures on the same day.

  “Hand it over.”

  It’s not that I wanted to take Tully’s cat’s-eye from him when he was plain feverish. I knew I’d win it from him soon enough.

  “You know what I want.”

  He fished it out of his pocket, and I simply accepted it as just payment for this fool’s errand on account of it seemed to make him feel better for me to take it. All along I figured, once Tully came to his senses, I could return the cat’s-eye to him out of pity, then win it from him fair and square.

  “Now leave me be. I need to get to Miss Eulah’s and home.”

  “Possum!”

  “Tully! This is an emergency with Daddy. I’ll take care of your fool’s errand tomorrow. I reckon that’s soon enough to throw your life away. Just leave it at the place.”

  Tully nodded once and left his gaze on his feet. I tore off for Miss Eulah’s. First Daddy, now Tully. Was there no stopping the changes once the first rotten apple had toppled off the barrel?

  I APPROACHED MISS EULAH’S FROM the south and was glad to see Conrad Harris’s daddy had mown the meadow, which would have slowed me another five minutes. I didn’t see Miss Eulah at first, as she was hunkered down working the dirt, her dress and skin and hat all about the same color as the rich soil. ’Course, I wasn’t surprised when she lifted her head and said, “That Noralee’s girl?”

  “Yes’m, Miss Eulah,” I said, grateful I hadn’t startled her, for who knows what a shock could do to someone her age.

  She nodded and looked at the sky, although I am sure she could not tell how dark it was. “ ’Spected you be here by now. We best hurry.” She lifted herself to a standing position that was still more comma than exclamation mark. “Fetch me a cup of water,” she said, and I dutifully went to fetch her a cup of cool pump water.

  The first push of the pump was the hardest, and nothing came out. Miss Eulah smacked her broke-up lips and walked toward me in those tiny steps of hers. I pumped and pulled again, and a stream of rusty water came out in a rush into the trough below. I pumped-pulled a third time, and the water came out fast and clear, cascading in the last light.

  Quick as a hummingbird, Miss Eulah grabbed the dented tin can from on top of the pump and filled it brimful without spilling a drop. She drank deep and then smacked her lips again and smiled as best she could with what teeth she had. She carelessly returned the empty tin to on top of the pump without any effort, and it remained balanced there improbably, like a waterbird on one foot on a green branch over a fast creek.

  Then she nodded toward the steps to her porch. “See them flowers there?”

  “The purple ones, Miss Eulah?” I didn’t want to be rude, but it was getting late, and I hadn’t come to chat about gardening.

  “Ay, the purp. Look in one.”

  “Inside the flower? You mean inside the purple bud part?”

  “Ay. See the snowflake inside there? Inside the purp?” she asked.

  Amazingly, for they were so tiny, I did, once she told me what to look for. Maybe twenty “snowflakes” ringed the inside of each purple bloom.

  “And see inside the white, the yeller?” she asked as she climbed the porch steps. Dusty lowed quietly.

  “I don’t—wait, yes! I see the yellow. So tiny. That’s amazing, Miss Eulah, but what I came about … ”

  She held up one wavery hand. “I know, I know. Here’s what you need to do. You get them white flowers, only the white. Count them twenty times three. Drink in hot water the next three days. That fix you right up.”

  I stared at her. “But, Miss Eulah, it isn’t me who’s si—who needs help. It’s Daddy.”

  She settled on her stool below the deepening-rose-colored udders. “Ay, child. You think you want a potion to help your daddy to keep things the way they were, but things are never the way they were the second they happen. The way we keep alive the people we love is by holding ’em inside. You fear you startin’ to forget Noralee, sound of her, smell of those lavender sachets she put near everywhere. When you have love, you have memory, and when you have memory you have all the room you need for all the change you’re gonna get.”

  “Yes, I—”

  I chewed my lip to hold back my frustration. Miss Eulah had a cure for everything. Why wouldn’t she help me and Daddy? “Sometimes talking is the best cure, child. Me ’n’ Dusty listen if you got something to say.”

  I hesitated but then, as the twilight wound itself around the three of us, I spilled every seed of sorrow I’d been saving like it was grit ’n’ grain for chickens.

  I tore one of the precious purple buds at the neck, but Miss Eulah didn’t say anything.

  “Me and Daddy have about got so we know what the other is thinking. Don’t need much talk, which is good, cuz Daddy isn’t one for much.”

  I checked the bib pocket of my coveralls to see how many petals I had. I’d sort of lost count, but it was too dark to see for sure, so I kept plucking and talking.

  “Sometimes I see him watch the sun dip behind the hills, like Momma used to do, and I know not to bother him, because that’s his time to remember all the good we lost. Yet I swear at times he has nearly forgotten
we ever even had a momma. He can be so cold. Though one time he called me Noralee, and I don’t think he even noticed.”

  I wasn’t sure how long I had been crying, or what I was crying for, but I could just hear the crickets and the squirch, squirch of milk on milk, and Miss Eulah humming something soothing, and at last I said the final terrible truth:

  “I feel like every time he looks at me, Daddy sees Momma.

  “I’d wish myself gone if he could have her back.”

  Next day, having been to see Miss Eulah and drunk the first of my nasty cure, I knew I had to do my duty for Tully’s sake and tried to make the best of it. As I whistled my way along the road into town, fingering the cat’s-eye, I recalled all the times I’d walked that route when Scottie owned the store.

  Scottie was sweet on GrandNam and gave me candy whenever we went shopping or a’callin’, as GrandNam was like to call it. Turned out, though, Scottie was owed too much, on account of his heart let folks buy on credit when they had no money for his hand. That’s what Daddy said.

  So Scottie lost the store, and Mary Grace Newcomb’s daddy took it over. I don’t believe folks cared much for him, as he never gave credit or candy and seemed sweet on no one, not even Mary Grace, that part of which I can frankly understand.

  Nope, nothin’ was as good as it used to be.

  I climbed the raised walkway that ran in front of the store and kept the mud from coming over the threshold whenever we had a storm that made the creeks run their banks. Worn smooth from so many customer feet over the years, I wasn’t likely to get a splinter, and the planks, dark in afternoon shade, felt cool against my feet after the unseasonable hot dust of the road.

  I walked in and blinked into the half-light, looking around like a noontime owl. “Halloo? Halloo?” Wasn’t I about sounding like an owl too?

  But no one seemed to be in the store, and since I didn’t have any money, I didn’t dawdle looking around. Having been there plenty when Scottie owned the place, I went around back, to where the Newcombs lived, behind and above the store.

  Knock, knock. Nothing. I tried again.

  “Come in,” I heard faintly. Didn’t sound like Mister Newcomb. “Is that you, Eleanor?”

  I knew I was in the parlor, but the room was dark with night creeping into the corners, and I had to fix my eyes before I could make out a rocker by the cold fireplace.

  Someone—or some thing—was in it.

  If I were the fearful type, I reckon I would’ve thought it a spirit, she sitting there all pale and weird, dressed like in white frosting, rocking. I’m not scared of a thing, but that made me pucker up a bit.

  Her gloved hands near her lap kept in motion all the time, like spring butterflies. “Eleanor?”

  I stepped forward and swallowed. “No, ma’am. It’s Possum Porter? Lem Porter’s girl?” I figured this was Miz Newcomb, mother of Mary Grace and not one flea’s ear’s worth of what I expected. I could not take my eyes off her head, where a hat bloomed like wedding cake. Giant cabbage roses waved as I stepped closer. Finally, I tore my eyes away to look at her face. Her eyes were big as toadstools. “I’m sorry to trouble you, ma’am. Were you just now fixin’ to go out? Because I can come back another … ”

  “Oh, no,” she whispered. “I don’t go out.” She looked around the silent, dusty room, which was filled with too much furniture, all of it looking uncomfortable. Was this how Yankees lived? “They would never let me.”

  A couple of faded petals floated off the hat and settled around the hem of her skirts. I looked again at the hat, which she patted. “You admirin’ my chapeau?” she asked.

  I had no idea what a shapo was.

  Miz Newcomb leaned in and lowered her voice. “Mrs. Roosevelt is coming to tea. But my hair, I never know what to do with it. Thank goodness for Paris fashion, n’est pass?”

  I shifted my feet trying to think of something polite to say.

  “Have you heard from Eleanor?” Miz Newcomb asked.

  Going on gut, that toad hopping from my throat again, I spouted. “No, but did you know Miz Roosevelt was the teacher of our own teacher, Miss Arthington?”

  “ ‘No one can know all there is to know in the world.’ ” Her eyes and voice drifted like dandelion seeds before she noticed me again. “I wish I had shiny hair like yours!”

  I was pretty sure my hair had at least a few foxtail stickers wove into it.

  Her hands resumed their fluttering, and it came to me what it was. They moved like she was shelling; only you couldn’t see peas, which seemed to be going into a bowl, only you couldn’t see that either. Shelling peas for ghosts.

  I shifted my feet, and my ears felt fuzzy. I never been around many spirits or crazy folk, so I wasn’t sure how to act. I tried to remember if GrandNam had a rule for it, as she had a rule for most everything I ever knew plus a lot I hadn’t gotten to when God called her.

  Then I remembered the business I’d come for.

  I held out the snakeskin. “This is for Mary Grace.”

  Miz Newcomb squinted confusion, then put back her polite face. “Aren’t you sweet? What is it?”

  That’s when I thought maybe something had made her go simple. How else to explain not recognizing a rattleskin you’re looking right at?

  “Won’t you stay? I’m sure Mrs. Roosevelt will be here shortly. Of course, it’s a busy time for her. Franklin, Governor Roosevelt, is going to be president, you know.”

  Sure, I knew the election was coming November 8th. Teacher told us. I knew that Roosevelt fellow was governor of New York, where Teacher was from. I knew he wanted the three Rs—not “reading, ’riting, and ’rithmatic” but “relief, recovery, and reform.” And I knew folks were tired of Mister President Hoover saying all the time that the worst was over, when each day seemed darker than the one before. Why, even Daddy was known to read the newspapers whenever he had call to be near one.

  What I did not know is why one lady sitting in a rocker in the dark thought the wife of the next president of the United States might waltz in anytime for a cup of tea. Nothing Mary Grace had ever said about her momma made me picture this.

  Before the flesh on the back of my neck had finished pickling, I had dropped the skin into her lap, and was out the screen door rounding the porch when I ran smack-plumb into Mary Grace. I believe it was the first time neither of us could find our tongues. I recovered mine first. “I was just leaving.”

  From inside the house came yelling. “Eleanor, thank you so much for bringing me such a sweet little gift. I shall name it Sunshine. I’ll be so happy to celebrate your husband’s election. You must bring him next time.”

  Mary Grace sputtered, “I can explain, I … she’s … ” I remembered who’d gotten me into this. Much as I wanted to dunk Tully in swamp water, I had promised my best friend and been duly paid for my task.

  “Brotchoosumpin,” I blurted. “From Tully.” Then I took off. I wanted to see Scary Face’s reaction but not as much as I wanted to be anywhere else.

  Off a faint and narrow trail above the home place grew a perfect old tree that, about three feet off the ground, bent even with it, making a perfect throne.

  “TRAV’ler!” I whistled for him to keep up.

  From my perch, I could see all my world, the little valley and its costume changes, from bright spring green to golden summer to coppery fall. From that height, the world didn’t even appear to be crumbling the way it felt. The air was crisp and clear and sparkled and glowed, brittle with weak sunlight but full of possibilities, of beginnings. Soon we’d know if we had a new president to take us all in a new direction. But even Mister Roosevelt wouldn’t be able to fix the mess I was in. I’d been in school for near a month, and couldn’t see an end in sight. I shivered. Might be some rain in the air too.

  Momma loved the rain. She’d look toward the sky but shut her eyes, sniff, and say, “There’s a change in the wind,” and sure enough it would soon be raining. First rain after a dry spell was best. Momma would sit on the porch ro
cker and watch the drops bounce off the ground in a kind of wild dance. Sometimes she’d close her eyes and listen to the music with a Sunday-church face of joy and contentment.

  “Change in the wind,” I told Traveler, who joined me on the throne. “It’s marchin’ brisk and lively.” Marchin’ around me for sure. Maybe marchin’ all the way to Washington. Wish it would stay up there and away from me.

  I watched leaves dance and spin, and I wanted to go where they were going. I felt restless. If I sat too long, I got ideas I didn’t want and thoughts I couldn’t understand. Had to keep movin’.

  Sure enough, before I was home, the rains came. I did my best to stay ahead of them, or at least dance between the drops. A fool’s errand, as GrandNam might have said.

  For the rest of Saturday, the rain fell in oceans; winds howled like dogs locked up during turkey dinner. The wet Sunday after I was certain I had ruined Tully’s future with Mary Grace, he left a message for me. It was three rocks laid like a triangle, with a fourth balanced on top, and left in a certain place we both knew to check. That signal said to meet at our secret place the soonest I was able.

  I FIGURED TULLY WAS ABOUT to tell me he’d gotten over his crazy business and back to his regular old Tully self. My heart filled to bursting with the thought we’d soon again be friends made right. I even told Trav to stay where he was in front of the stove and keep dry, figurin’ I could do without him for a few hours long as I had Tully.

  I followed the fat, happy creek along, watching water jump to catch sunlight, wrapping its babble around twigs and rocks. I imagined the water boasted it was going places they—or I—never would. But I knew I would someday go places too, like the women Miss Arthington told us about, women like Clara Barton and Miz Eleanor Roosevelt and even Miss Arthington, who brought her Yankee self all the way here from New York just to teach the likes of us about the likes of them.

  The creek might dry up to near nothing during the hottest days of summer and leave a rocky sand path past our tree, Tully’s and mine. But now it was fall, the tree near-bare and the water rushing. I figured I’d find Tully on the big sturdy limb, about halfway up, holding the string to a trap we’d built. The string was tied to a stick that propped open the door. What we did was lay out bait, and when a muskrat wandered into the box, we pulled the string.