Comfort Read online

  After we got back, Miss Pauline invited us in for milk and cookies and of course we accepted. But evidently she never expected Miss Dinah to bring Mr. Shoes inside. By the time she realized he was in, it was too late. He slipped between her feet and took off on a tour of their house. “Dear me!” said Miss Pauline. “How did he get inside?”

  “Ellie,” I said, “get that dog out of here. And put him in the car so we don’t lose him.”

  “Oh, no!” said Miss Dinah. “Poor little Shoesie would be lonely out there all by himself. Let him explore.”

  I thought Miss Pauline was going to start a squabble with her sister then. “Dinah, what are you thinking of? You know we have never allowed critters in this house.” The way she talked, you would’ve thought Mr. Shoes was a rat.

  But Miss Dinah just ignored her. “I’ll pour the milk,” she said.

  Ellie followed Mr. Shoes into one of the bedrooms. But when she came back she said, “He’s under the bed and he won’t come out.”

  “Oh, let him go,” said Miss Dinah. “If necessary, I’ll find some leftover ham. A bit of meat will bring him running.”

  Miss Pauline hustled us all into the bathroom to wash our hands, and she made sure her sister scrubbed up at the kitchen sink. Then Miss Dinah set out cookies on individual plates with a glass of milk beside each one.

  We were sitting around the kitchen table when Mr. Shoes came back with something in his mouth. Miss Pauline saw it first. “Where did he get that sock?” But then it moved and she squealed. “A rat!” And just like that, she picked up her feet and held them straight out in front of her. Mr. Shoes dropped it. It was only a mouse.

  It started to run, but he caught it again and tossed it in the air like a toy. Miss Pauline was really squealing now. “Oh, how dreadful! Stop it, you mean little dog!”

  Mr. Shoes put the mouse down and let it run across the shiny tile floor just a few feet and then caught it again. And threw it in the air a few more times.

  “Junior Bledsoe, do something!” said Miss Pauline.

  Junior called to Mr. Shoes, trying to lead him out the back door. But at that moment Mr. Shoes put the mouse down and it ran under the big iron radiator by the table.

  By then Ida and Ellie and Miss Dinah was standing on the chairs. I wasn’t scared of mice, but I didn’t want one running up my leg. So I lifted my feet too. My right leg, anyway. My left leg was just too hard to pick up with that heavy brace on it.

  Miss Dinah grabbed up one of my crutches and give it to Junior, who used it to scare the mouse out from under the radiator. Miss Pauline was screeching and the girls were laughing and squealing and everyone was giving Junior directions.

  Mr. Shoes caught the mouse again, and this time Junior opened the back door. Sure enough, our dog went outside with that mouse’s head hanging from one side of his mouth. And his tail and hind legs dangling from the other.

  Miss Pauline shuddered and run to shut the door. “I declare!” she said. “I don’t know how that critter got in, but I do not want it coming back.” She started gathering our dishes whether we was finished or not. So we drank the milk in a hurry and ate the cookies on the way out.

  We were fixing to climb in Junior’s car when Miss Dinah come running after us. She had a box camera in her hand. “Wait!” she called. “I want to take a picture.”

  So we lined ourselves up beside the car. Junior stood with his foot on the running board, and me and the girls stood beside him. Just when we thought Miss Dinah was done snapping pictures, she said, “Hold it right there. I want to get in the picture.” Then she went back in the house and come out with Miss Pauline.

  “Stand right here,” Miss Dinah ordered her sister. “And don’t snap it until I tell you to.” She scooped up Mr. Shoes, who was digging under her yellow bell bushes.

  Miss Dinah stood beside me with our dog in her arms, and Miss Pauline took the picture. She took three altogether because Miss Dinah wanted one for each of our families. “To remember this day by,” she said.

  Miss Pauline just shook her head. “I doubt that I shall ever forget it,” she said.

  12

  Georgia

  November 1945

  In November, Mamaw Honeycutt sent us a letter saying her and Papaw wanted us to come to Georgia for Thanksgiving. I heard Momma telling Daddy we couldn’t afford it. But that same evening Daddy picked me up and carried me out to the truck.

  “Where’re we going?” I asked.

  “To see your friend Peggy Sue. I need to use their telephone.”

  There were lights on in the colored church when we went by. I sure wished Daddy would stop and let me listen for a minute, but he was bent on getting to a telephone.

  We drove past the Hinkle sisters’ house. “Why don’t you just stop here?” I asked.

  He laughed and rolled down the window just a tad so he could flick the ashes off his cigarette. “I thought Miss Pauline might not want to share her telephone with us after the way our dog behaved at her house.”

  I knew that wasn’t true. So I figured Daddy would rather talk to Mr. Rhinehart than two old maids. Or maybe he wanted me and Peggy Sue to have some time together.

  When we got to Peggy Sue’s, Daddy carried me on his back and knocked.

  Mrs. Rhinehart opened the door. I think it made her feel uncomfortable to see Daddy carrying me like I was a child. Right away she said, “Please. Have a seat, Ann Fay.”

  Daddy set me in a chair by the door. I looked around and noticed that something was different. Their kitchen had a fresh coat of paint. And new curtains.

  Peggy Sue pulled out a chair for Daddy, and then her father came out of the living room and joined us at the table. Him and Daddy started talking. According to Mr. Rhinehart, the hosiery business would soon be picking up. “Nylon stockings will be more in demand than ever,” he said. “I have a job for you if you want it.”

  I crossed my fingers and said a quick prayer. But Daddy shook his head. “I work in wood,” he said. He looked at his rough hands. “I just can’t see me handling women’s nylons.”

  Mr. Rhinehart nodded like he understood. “But you can fix just about anything, can’t you? You’d be a natural to keep our machines running.”

  I thought I seen Daddy’s eyes brighten up just a tad when he said that. Mr. Rhinehart must’ve seen it too, because he slapped him on the shoulder and said, “Come by on Monday morning and take a look. I’d be proud to have you on my crew.”

  Daddy shrunk back in his chair a little. “I’ll think about that,” he said. Then he asked could he use the telephone, and Mr. Rhinehart led him into the front hall. I figured that was the end of that job prospect.

  “Want to see my room?” asked Peggy Sue. “I got a new bed this week.”

  “Sure,” I said. Then I remembered I didn’t have my crutches along. So I called for Daddy, and he come back and carried me to Peggy Sue’s room. If I was home, I would’ve just crawled. But not at the Rhineharts’, I wouldn’t. I could feel their embarrassment following me down the hall.

  Peggy Sue’s room was painted a bright pink, and her new bed had four tall posts and a pink and green canopy and bedspread. Just like a princess. Which is kind of how I always thought of her, anyway. It seemed like Peggy Sue lived a fairy-tale life compared to mine. Her daddy owned a hosiery mill. He didn’t have to serve in the war because he had a contract with the government to make socks for the army. From the changes in their house, I guessed it had paid off.

  Peggy Sue also had a dressing table with a green-striped skirt to match her new curtains. She showed me how it had little drawers for her hair barrettes and ribbons. On top was a handheld mirror and matching comb-and-brush set. And a tray with a neat little row of fingernail polish, rouge, and lipstick.

  To look at Peggy Sue’s room you would never know we had just come through a war. It never used to bother me that Peggy Sue was richer than me. I liked it on account of she shared what she had with me. But now, for some reason I felt annoyed by it.
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br />   I sat and looked in her mirror. My hair was a mess, so I started combing.

  “Here, let me,” said Peggy Sue. She pulled my hair to one side and started to part it with a comb.

  Looking at our two faces there in the mirror, I thought how easy it was to see that me and Peggy Sue was going our separate ways. I looked like a simple country girl with no makeup and no special style. And Peggy Sue was doing her best to look like the stars in her movie magazines.

  She fastened my hair with a barrette and added a yellow ribbon from her drawer. “You can keep the ribbon,” she said. “Yellow doesn’t show up on a blondie. There! What do you think? Maybe I could cut your hair. Make you look like a modern girl.”

  I had to admit I kind of liked what she did with my hair. Maybe I should let her cut it.

  “I can’t do anything with mine,” said Peggy Sue. It wasn’t true. Her thick hair was shiny and smooth and looked good even when it was messed up. She combed the front part of her hair into a pouf and fastened it. “What do you think?” she asked.

  “Beautiful!” I said.

  “Will Junior like it?”

  So it didn’t matter what I thought. Junior Bledsoe’s opinion was all that mattered. I shrugged. “Why not?”

  Then I heard Daddy coming down the hall and knew he’d made his phone call. And just like that, the visit was over.

  “Oh, dear,” said Peggy Sue. “Do you have to leave already? We were just getting started.”

  “I’m afraid so,” said Daddy. “But Ann Fay can come back another day.”

  “Yes,” said Mrs. Rhinehart. “Please do.”

  But I didn’t think Peggy Sue would invite me. It was starting to feel like we’d never get back to the way we were. While I was in the polio hospital she had gone from wading in creeks to drooling over boys.

  And me? I’d give anything to run through the woods and play in the creek again. Instead I wore a hideous brace on my leg and my daddy carried me around like I was a little girl. Either that or I had to crawl on the floor like a baby.

  For some reason just thinking about it give me the nerve to ask Daddy to stop in front of the colored church so we could listen to those people sing.

  Daddy slowed down. “Whatcha want to do that for?”

  “I just like the sound of it,” I said. “It’s different from how we sing. More meaningful or something. And besides, it reminds me of my colored friend.”

  “Hmm.” Daddy stopped his truck and I cranked down my window. He lit up a cigarette and rolled his down too. It was chilly outside, but I didn’t mind as long as I got to hear them people sing. But we didn’t hear music. Instead it sounded like the preacher was putting forth a powerful sermon.

  “Looks like we missed the singing,” said Daddy. He started up his truck again.

  I grabbed his arm. “Can’t you just finish your cigarette while we wait?”

  “No telling when the preacher will quit,” he said. But he turned the truck off.

  I leaned my head against the door frame and looked up at the stars. It was so clear that it seemed like every star in heaven was winking at us.

  “I wish you could take me to Greensboro,” I said. “To see Imogene Wilfong.”

  Daddy took a drag on his cigarette and held it out the window. He give it a little flick and the breeze carried the bright sparks out into the darkness. “What’s wrong with the friends you got?” he asked. “They’re a far sight closer than Greensboro. Didn’t you just have a good time with Peggy Sue?”

  “Peggy Sue didn’t have polio,” I said. “Or any other bad thing, for that matter. So she doesn’t understand. She’s got a fancy bed and a dressing table, and she’s wearing makeup. Would you let me wear lipstick?” I reckoned I knew the answer to that one.

  But Daddy surprised me. “Would it make you more comfortable around Peggy Sue?”

  I got the feeling if I said yes, he’d tell me to go ahead and wear makeup. As if that would make everything in my life just peachy keen.

  I took my little wooden Comfort from around my neck and held her out to Daddy. It was too dark for him to see her, so I put her in his hand. “Remember when I said the stick reminded me of a friend? I was talking about Imogene. She knows my suffering. And she knows how to make me feel better, too.”

  Daddy nodded. Then he give his head a little jerk in the direction of the church. “Listen,” he said. “They’re singing you a song.”

  And sure enough—the people in the church was going at it. Singing a song I hadn’t ever heard before. Something about Fix me, Jesus, fix me. It was real slow, with a pleading sound to it that made me want to get on my knees.

  But of course I just sat with Daddy and listened. While they was singing, Daddy reached across the seat and put Comfort into my hand. I folded my fingers around her and he wrapped his around mine and squeezed. It seemed like his hand was shaking a little—like he was taking that song real personal. Like he thought they was singing it for him too.

  We listened to the end and I sent up a quiet prayer for God to fix me and Daddy both. The people in the church started on another song, but Daddy pulled his hand away and cranked up the truck. We both left the windows down till we got to the house. As if closing them would break something.

  The song followed us home—Fix me… Fix me…

  Later I heard Daddy telling Momma about his talk with Papaw. “I invited them here for Thanksgiving,” he said. “But Pap insisted we should go there. He’s sending us money for the trip.”

  I saw Momma turn away and I knew she was embarrassed that Papaw was picking up Daddy’s responsibilities. But I also knew we were going to Georgia.

  The Wednesday before Thanksgiving we packed our one suitcase and some pasteboard boxes with our clothes onto the back of Daddy’s truck. He covered it with a tarp and we all climbed in up front. It was a tight fit, but we were used to it. I sat in the middle next to Daddy. Ida squeezed in between me and Momma. Ellie sat on Momma’s lap. Later, the twins would change places.

  We didn’t have room for Mr. Shoes to ride the whole way to Georgia, so we dropped him off at Junior and Bessie’s on the way out. When Junior seen how we was scrunched up in the truck, he said, “Why didn’t you ask to borrow my car?”

  “Oh, son,” said Daddy. “I couldn’t do that. This won’t be the first time we’ve squeezed us all in.”

  “But those girls aren’t little anymore,” said Junior. “As many times as I’ve borrowed your truck, you’re gonna have to take my car. I won’t hear tell of anything else.”

  Well, the girls begged and Momma looked real hopeful and then Junior and Daddy started untying that tarp and moving all our stuff and my crutches into the trunk of Junior’s car. Once the girls realized how much room they had in the back seat, they begged to take Mr. Shoes along.

  So next thing I knew, we were going over the river and through the woods with an excited dog bouncing in the back with Ida and Ellie. Momma and I sat up front with me by the window and her next to Daddy. He held her hand and she didn’t pull away.

  Daddy had actually took that job with Mr. Rhinehart. So after a week and a half of him working it seemed like everything was just swell. Not exactly like a fairy tale, but I felt almost rich knowing Daddy had a job and we was riding to Georgia in a car.

  It was late when we finally got to Mamaw and Papaw’s house. The girls was sound asleep. Daddy and Papaw carried them upstairs to the bedroom and Mr. Shoes went right up behind them.

  Mamaw had made a bed for me on the sofa. “You get the front room, Susie Q,” she said. “So you don’t have to mess with the stairs.” That’s her pet name for me—Susie Q. She gave me a glass of milk and an oatmeal cookie. While I ate, I stared at the pretty carnival glass in her corner cupboard. Especially the light brown and rainbow-colored vase that reminded me of my time in the hospital with Imogene. When Imogene and I decided on bottle colors for each other, this was the one I picked for her.

  Then I went into the bathroom and brushed my teeth and put on m
y pajamas. I thought again how nice it must be to have a bathroom right inside the house.

  It was lonely on the sofa and I couldn’t sleep on account of I was used to hearing my sisters breathe in the same room with me at night. And also because I never slept downstairs at Mamaw and Papaw’s.

  I wanted to lay in bed and listen to the voices of my grandparents coming through the heat grate from their room below. And when I woke up in the morning I wanted to look down on the yard with the birdbath and the hedge that went around their property.

  So finally I decided to go get what I wanted. I wasn’t afraid of that big stairway. I’d been up and down it on my behind many times playing Penny Penny with my sisters.

  I crawled to the steps and sat on the bottom one and pretended Ida was standing in front of me with her fists held out, saying, Penny, Penny, who’s got the penny? When I pretended to guess the right one I’d move backwards up one step.

  I took my time getting to the top because I liked being on that staircase making believe my sisters were with me and we’d never heard of polio.

  I crawled to the bedroom where I’d always slept. There were two beds, but Ida and Ellie were in the same one. So I crawled into the other one. I intended to keep my eyes open and take in the shadowy look of things, but that bed felt so much like home that I don’t remember seeing much at all. I slept so sound that when I woke up I couldn’t remember dreaming.

  Thanksgiving Day was pretty as a picture. Not just the look of it out the upstairs window but also the dinner table. It was covered with all the best cooking, and we ate so good I could almost forget that we’d been through a war and that food was scarce.

  On the Friday after Thanksgiving, Papaw’s newspaper showed a picture of the people over at the Georgia Warm Springs Foundation. It talked about how President Roosevelt was missed because he often used to eat Thanksgiving dinner with the polio patients.

  “I almost went there for therapy,” I said. “But then the president died, and now…I just don’t know.”

  Papaw surprised me then. “Well, I have a grand idea,” he said. “Why don’t we just drive over there and take a look at the place?”