The Wonder of Charlie Anne Read online

  “Did it taste different?”

  “No, you silly. Water is water.”

  Phoebe stops to scratch Big Pumpkin Face some more.

  “We kept opening the school every day, and I had the job of ringing the bell, but I was ringing it to no one but the trees. Then we’d shut the door, and Mama and Rosalyn would read to me and I would read to them. That’s how I got to be such a good reader. They paid all their attention to me.

  “One day, when we were walking home, a big cart comes flying up the road, and a man is yelling for Mama to get out of the way of his horses, that no one wants her teaching in this town, but she doesn’t get out of the way, she doesn’t budge, and Rosalyn pushes me out of the way just in time, and that was the last time I saw my mama alive.”

  Phoebe starts shaking and I hold her and she cries for a long time and my head is hurting from the whole painful story.

  “Now that we’ve told each other our sad stories, we’re best-friend sisters,” I tell Phoebe as we start putting the hay bales back to hide Big Pumpkin Face.

  “I know another way,” Phoebe says, standing up. “We can be real blood sisters. We just have to prick our fingers.”

  I give her my what-are-you-talking-about look. I have never heard of such a thing.

  “My mama and Rosalyn did it when they were our age. Come here, I’ll show you.” She walks over to the window so she can see better. She pulls a pin off the waistband around her trousers. “Here, like this.”

  I watch as Phoebe gives her finger a tiny prick and see a little drop of blood coming up.

  “Now you do it.”

  She hands the pin to me.

  The thought of being sisters with Phoebe is pretty nice, especially when I have a sister as bad as Ivy. But I’m not so sure about pricking myself.

  “Come on, it doesn’t hurt.” She holds the pin closer.

  I look at it. I look at the drop of blood sitting on her finger and I think about how much pricking yourself hurts. I feel myself getting woozy and take a step back.

  Phoebe is starting to laugh. “Are you mousey?” She pushes the pin closer to my finger.

  “What does that mean, are you mousey?”

  “What, you don’t say that up here?”

  “No, we don’t. We are nice to people who are about to bleed to death.”

  Phoebe is laughing now. “Mousey means scaredy-cat,” she says.

  “Oh,” I say, and I look at the pin and how it is coming closer to my finger and I think about the blood sitting on her finger and how pretty soon there will be blood sitting on my finger and how everything is getting all dark and I start falling backward and I can’t tell if she’s pricking my finger or not.

  When I wake up, Phoebe is looking all worried, then she hits me. “What are you doing, scaring me like that?”

  I am feeling very confused. “Why are you hitting me?”

  “You fainted!” Then Phoebe starts laughing again. “I never saw anyone faint before over a drop of blood. You sure are mousey.”

  “I am not,” I say, standing up and giving her my most terrible mad look, the one I give only to Anna May when she kicks over the milk bucket, and to Papa when he is about to leave for a long, long time.

  “I am not mousey. And I don’t like to be laughed at. That’s rule number one, if we’re going to be best-friend sisters.” I am glaring at her. She stops laughing.

  “Blood sisters,” she says, holding up her finger. “We’re blood sisters.”

  * * *

  Phoebe goes home after that and I go down by Anna May and Belle and suck on my finger and while I am down there Mama is whispering how she told me things would be better after my nap, now didn’t she.

  CHAPTER

  31

  Phoebe starts lighting a candle in her window every night. I light one right back to say yes, yes, I will meet you tomorrow as soon as I can get away from Mirabel, and I blow it out quick because I hear Ivy coming up the stairs.

  Mirabel doesn’t have time to check up on me much because after the ragman came with his wagon filled with hand-me-downs, screaming, “Rags! Rags!” she is getting clothes ready for us for the winter. She is knitting hats and mittens and socks after unwinding someone’s old sweaters and she’s making over a new dress for each of us. This means she pulls apart some old lady’s dress and cuts it smaller and sews the whole thing up again.

  I like trousers better, I tell her when she makes me try on a dress, and she is so mad she spits the pins in her mouth out on the floor.

  She makes Ivy sit right beside her and take out all the seams and hem everything, and Birdie is clipping the threads. “You two are really good at sewing,” she tells them. I give Ivy my smirking look. She throws the pincushion at me.

  “They’re better homemakers,” Mirabel tells me, shooing me to take out the compost and milk Anna May and collect the eggs.

  Thank God, I think.

  “Just be sure to stay away from that colored girl.”

  I keep my secret to myself, that we are already blood sisters, and nothing can keep us apart.

  Nothing? asks Belle when I get down by the butternut tree.

  Nothing, says Anna May.

  “You’ve got that right.” I kiss Belle and Anna May on the nose. “Nothing can keep blood sisters apart.” They look at me all warmhearted, and then Anna May licks my cheek with her sandpaper tongue. “How can Mirabel know so little when you know so much?” I look into Anna May’s eyes and press my face deep into her neck, smelling her sweet warm cow smell. Belle takes time to scratch her head slowly on the big rock beside us. That’s the thing about cows. They know when it’s time to relax.

  It is only a quick hop and a quick jump over the stone wall and across the road. I don’t have to knock anymore, Rosalyn tells me, so I don’t, and when I open the door, there is Phoebe sitting on the kitchen table with her feet swinging over the side. Old Mr. Jolly is standing right beside her, combing out her hair, and Rosalyn is holding all sorts of creams and lotions and new ribbons made from the red pepper red cloth. They are fussing over Phoebe the way mamas and papas like to do.

  “I taught them how,” Phoebe says, holding up a mirror to make sure they don’t make any mistakes.

  I sit sipping sweet raspberry tea and watching Old Mr. Jolly comb one teeny bit of hair at a time. Mama keeps whispering that she misses me, and I sigh for a minute, just watching Phoebe getting loved like that, and forgetting all my troubles, but then I remember how Peter is gone and I tell Mama to go away.

  Old Mr. Jolly tugs too hard and Phoebe cries out and then Old Mr. Jolly asks Rosalyn to sing something tender so he will be gentle with the combing.

  Rosalyn, in that soft buttercup voice of hers, starts off:

  Butterfly wings, butterfly wings, my baby has butterfly wings.

  She is so special, she is so fine, my Phoebe has butterfly wings.

  Mmmmmm, I think as I watch Rosalyn divide Phoebe’s hair and then twist it into braids that aren’t quite so every which way as before. In fact, they are better than mine.

  When they are done, Phoebe looks in the mirror for a long time. Then she grins and I can tell her heart is doing hallelujahs, over and over again.

  CHAPTER

  32

  Rosalyn hasn’t given up on our church, even though Mr. and Mrs. Aldrich, Birdie and I are the only ones who ever eat from her sharing plate.

  “Some of them might not have the sense that God gave geese, but that doesn’t mean they won’t get new feathers. God’s good that way,” Rosalyn says as she finishes up a batch of raspberry heart sugar cookies.

  Mirabel tells Ivy she can go and sit in the back balcony of the church with Becky Ellis. Even I know this is a very bad idea. Ivy tells me with her eyes that I better not say anything or I’ll be sorry, and I wonder why Mirabel can’t see what is right in front of her nose—a disaster waiting to happen.

  The door opens and I stop paying attention to Ivy because Rosalyn, Phoebe and Old Mr. Jolly walk in. There is w
hispering (mostly from Mrs. Ellis), and some warm friendly smiles (mostly from me and Birdie and Mr. and Mrs. Aldrich). Then the preacher comes in and looks down at us over his thick glasses and then he begins another sermon on sinning and this time he is waving his arms quite a bit and saying that only the righteous are going to get seats at the heavenly banquet and I’m pretty sure I don’t even want to go, not if Becky and Mrs. Ellis get seats.

  I look out the window and wonder where the mockingbird is and if she’s heard one sermon too many and knows to stay away on Sunday mornings. Just as the preacher starts winding down, a pumpkin seed hits me on the back of the neck, and when I turn around, Ivy and Becky are trying to keep from falling off the balcony, they are laughing so hard.

  The organ starts getting us ready for “Amazing Grace,” and I am so happy to be done hearing about the pit for the wicked that I sing really loud to get myself in a better mood and maybe to make Phoebe giggle, and then Mirabel takes my arm and pulls me to her and whispers in my ear that young ladies do not need to be so noisy.

  Then it is announcement time. The preacher starts things off by saying the church will be having its annual fall cleanup and that everyone must come and help rake the yard and cover the roses and wash the windows and paint the things that need painting.

  Then Becky stands up in the balcony. “Tryouts will begin after church next Sunday for our Christmas play. Anyone who wants a part has to come.”

  We’ll just see about that. We do the same play every year, and every year I tell them how I want to be the angel, but since Becky is the only one who actually owns a pair of gossamer wings, she gets the part. Last year they made me be the donkey.

  Becky sits down, and I am glad when Mrs. Aldrich raises her hand next.

  “Mrs. Morrell has been sick with the influenza for a week. Perhaps we could take turns helping. I’m afraid those girls will run out of food if we don’t do something.”

  Mrs. Aldrich says Mrs. Thatcher has been sick with the influenza, too, and that maybe we could help them out as well, and I am halfway standing up to say that we should not, we should not be helping those Thatchers, but Mirabel grabs hold of my arm and pulls me back down.

  Then Rosalyn stands up. “Perhaps getting the children of some of these families into school would be a good thing to do while the mothers are recuperating.”

  I am so proud of her. She reminds me of a good fence post, the way she stands up so straight.

  “I would like to open your school and apply for the job of teacher. I received my teacher training in Mississippi and have taught children of all ages, from the youngest to the oldest.” She looks down at Phoebe and then up to all the faces watching her. “I would consider it an honor to teach your children.”

  She sits down. Two more pumpkin seeds come flying overhead. I’m surprised the preacher doesn’t see, but he’s taken off his glasses, and I don’t think he can see very well even when he has them on.

  Rosalyn squeezes Phoebe’s shoulder and stands up again. “I shall have Phoebe as my assistant. Her reading ability is extraordinary, which Charlie Anne can attest to.” Rosalyn looks over at me and winks, and I feel Mirabel’s eyes pinning me to my seat. “Phoebe will assist me with the younger children so I can give more attention to the older students,” Rosalyn says, and sits back down.

  Mrs. Ellis gasps. Another pumpkin seed comes flying and lands on the floor in front of me. I scoop it up and wait until I have a chance to pelt it back. There is a bunch more whispering, then another pumpkin seed comes flying.

  Finally, Mrs. Ellis raises her hand. “The Ladies’ Club was going to announce plans to look for a teacher in Boston.”

  No one says anything. Then Old Mr. Jolly stands up. “We don’t need a teacher from Boston. We have a teacher right here.” He is getting red about the ears. He holds on to Rosalyn’s shoulder.

  The whispers start flying around the back of the church. I hear Zella behind me. “A colored girl, teaching? Not in my town.”

  “To think she even suggested it,” says Mrs. Reilly.

  Old Mr. Jolly squeezes Rosalyn’s shoulder and he sits down. My face is burning. I am holding the pumpkin seed so tightly my fingers are numb. Phoebe starts slumping into Rosalyn. I think maybe she is losing her light. No wonder. Who could take all that whispering and still sit up straight?

  I hear Mama calling me. I’m not talking to you, I tell her.

  Charlie Anne, stand up.

  What?

  Stand up.

  No.

  You can’t let them hurt your friend.

  I’m not standing up.

  If you don’t do anything, who will?

  You, Mama. You could do something, just like you could have done something for Peter.

  Mrs. Ellis stands up. “I want to improve my daughter’s situation, not make it worse. With all respect, ma’am,” she says, nodding to Rosalyn, “we need a teacher from Boston, one who’s been properly educated and who can lead us in the right direction.”

  Rosalyn pops back up. “I know how to teach.”

  Mrs. Ellis pulls out her fan and starts waving it in front of her face. “You are not the biggest problem, Mrs. Jolly,” she says, looking right at Phoebe.

  I suck in my breath so fast it shoots down to my toes.

  The preacher stands up. He is searching for his glasses. “Perhaps we could settle this with a committee,” he says, finally.

  Old Mr. Jolly stands. “We don’t need a committee. We have an educated woman right here willing to do the job.”

  “Our town is backwater enough,” says Mrs. Ellis, snickering behind her fan.

  Charlie Anne, stand up.

  No.

  Charlie Anne, maybe the time for me doing something is over. But maybe the time for you doing something is now.

  There is a bunch of whispering behind me. My mouth is so dry. I turn and give Zella and Mrs. Ellis and Becky and Ivy and all the others my most terrible mad look. And then I stand up.

  Good girl.

  It seems I should say something when I am just standing here, but I do not know what to say. I look at Phoebe and how she is slumping. I take a deep breath.

  “You cannot love someone when you do not know someone,” I tell everybody. “And you have somebody here you do not know.”

  Phoebe is looking at me like why am I standing up like this in church, and then I say excuse me to the preacher, because I do know something about manners now, and I hurry over to my friend.

  I try and pull Phoebe and she does not budge, so I stand there and look at everyone. “There’s a light inside of her. I thought you might like to know.”

  Another pumpkin seed comes flying past me and hits Mrs. Aldrich, and she swipes at her neck, thinking she has been bitten by something. There is some muffled laughing from the balcony, and Phoebe is telling me with her eyes to sit down. Rosalyn is looking all surprised at what I am doing, and Old Mr. Jolly is looking like he is wishing he were back clearing out the brier patch.

  I clear my throat. Then very softly, in my usual croak, I begin:

  Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,

  That saved a soul like me …

  Most of the people around me are sitting with their mouths hanging straight open. The preacher is turning red.

  I sing even louder:

  I once was lost but now am found,

  Becky has found the old donkey costume in the balcony and is waving it at me. Ivy is bent over, holding her stomach, laughing.

  Was blind, but now I see.

  Phoebe is just sitting there, looking like a moth trying to escape. It’s too late to stop now, I’ve already gone and started something, and even though I feel Mirabel’s iron-hot eyes on me, and the room is full of gasps and astonishment that I am standing up and singing a hymn we’ve already sung and making a mess of church services, I get the next part out:

  ’Twas Grace that taught my heart to fear,

  And Grace my fears relieved.

  And then I realize that Rosa
lyn’s soft-as-buttercups voice is sounding right beside me, and even though Mirabel is frowning a huge frown, Rosalyn makes me feel like I might as well really belt things, and I do:

  How precious did that Grace appear

  The hour I first believed.

  Then—and here’s the thing I’m not expecting—Old Mr. Jolly starts joining in, and before he hardly opens his mouth, Mr. and Mrs. Aldrich pop up and they are singing with big grins on their faces.

  And then we are done and the church is quiet.

  “Well,” says Mrs. Ellis.

  Rosalyn holds her hand out to Phoebe, and Phoebe takes it and stands up, and Old Mr. Jolly takes her other hand, and together they walk to the door. Phoebe stops and looks at it all shut for a minute, and then she turns around. I see the ironing board down her back again. Then finally, finally, in a voice so soft that only a few of us can hear, she whispers, “Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound.”

  And then she takes a deep breath and starts over, and she’s singing the first verse again, the one about the blind seeing and the lost getting found, and it is like a bell sounding all through our town, and I, for one, am glad to hear it ringing. You can see folks looking amazed, because they never heard an angel sing before.

  “Imagine that,” I hear Old Mr. Jolly say as he opens the door and walks his new family outside.

  Yes, I tell Mama. Imagine that.

  CHAPTER

  33

  “You’ve really done it this time, Charlie Anne,” says Ivy, laughing as we all get out of church.

  I am looking for Phoebe, but there are so many people crowding on the steps that I can’t get through.

  “What were you thinking, child?” asks Zella when I finally make it a little way out the door.

  “Shame on you, stirring things up like that,” says Mrs. Ellis. “You must know it can’t come to any good. We can’t have a colored girl teaching in this town.”