The Wonder of Charlie Anne Read online

“Look at that,” says Papa, standing up. “I think your mama is telling us that it will be okay.”

  I stamp my foot. “No, she is not. She is saying she wants you to stay here. This is home. This is where the bluebirds are.”

  I do not even have to ask what his plan is, about who will take care of us. “You can’t leave us with Mirabel. You know we hate her.”

  Papa sighs. “I need you to be brave, Charlie Anne. I need you to help Mirabel.”

  “I do not want to help Mirabel. I do not want to do so many chores all the time and I do not want her to teach me to be a young lady and I do not want you to go.”

  I think for a minute. “And how about Thomas? Mama would be really mad if she knew you were taking Thomas.”

  “Aren’t you really mad, Mama?” I say, turning to her stone.

  “Charlie Anne …,” says my papa. “Charlie Anne.” He reaches for me, and for just a moment, I let him pull me so close I can smell the soap he uses to lather his face. But then I yank myself away, madder than the thundering river.

  “Charlie Anne,” he says again, but I turn away and cross my arms and will not look at him anymore.

  I know he is waiting for me to rush toward him and let him hug me. But I stand right where I am. I won’t look at him, either. After a long while, he sighs and starts walking away from me, toward the house. I turn and watch him go, and then I flop on the ground by Mama and cry so hard I cannot hear if she is saying anything to me or not.

  CHAPTER

  4

  Papa is yelling at Mirabel in the kitchen when I get back.

  “I already told you, not Eleanor.” He stomps out on the porch and slams the door. I feel my stomach start balling up.

  Mirabel follows him outside. “And I keep telling you, it’s the only way.”

  Papa kicks the compost bucket again. A whole bunch of coffee grounds and eggshells and potato peels go flying, and I think my papa better stop doing this. It clangs and flies off the porch and onto the front yard and rolls up next to me. I do not dare take another step.

  Papa watches the bucket stop right beside my feet. Minnie and Olympia and Bea rush right over, and Olympia pecks Minnie and Bea out of the way to get to the oatmeal first.

  Papa’s lips are in that straight line. He turns back to Mirabel. “Not Eleanor. I will send money soon.”

  “A few dollars a month,” says Mirabel. “What’s that going to get us?”

  Papa gives her one of his terrific bad looks, the kind he gives only to Anna May when she kicks the milk pail over, and then he storms back in the house. I hear him holler to Thomas to get moving. I am left wondering what they mean about my aunt Eleanor. I don’t like her at all.

  “Where have you been?” says Mirabel as soon as she sees me standing beside the compost pail. She is carrying a basket of wet clothes. “You and your father, taking off like that, on a morning like this, when we have so much to do to get ready for tomorrow. Why, I just don’t understand you at all.”

  I think the barn is calling me, right now while I am looking at Mirabel and her big frown.

  “What are you doing just standing there like that?”

  I look down at all the compost all over the ground. There is leftover vegetable soup on my foot. I wipe it on the grass.

  I built myself a secret place in the barn, high in the loft, and I want to go there now. I made it out of a stack of hay bales, and there is a secret opening against the wall so nobody can find me, and it is peaceful inside. I am glad just to be there. I made little window places for the sun to jump inside. I spread Mama’s poppy-colored quilt on the floor, and when I lie down, I feel her hugging me. Also, I keep her hairbrush under the quilt. Sometimes I pull it out and brush my hair, and after about one thousand brushes, I begin to feel better about things.

  “Charlie Anne, are you listening?” says Mirabel.

  I jump a little and nod my head.

  “Well, pick up that pail and clean up that mess and then come and help me hang up your father’s clothes. We have to get everything hung up right quick if we want them to dry in time. I want to get a big picnic packed. Your father and Thomas are going to be on the road for a long while.”

  As I start cleaning up the potato peels, Mirabel lifts up the laundry basket and heads off to the clothesline, and I hear her shoes snap when she walks, even in the wet grass. They are so loud that I almost don’t hear the clothesline start whimpering when she walks near.

  Mirabel tells me I have to make Papa his favorite lunch. She tells me she doesn’t care if I am mad at him or not. She has all this mending to do for Papa and Thomas, so I need to make lunch. I load up the cookstove with wood and let the coals get hot. Then I make eggs scrambled with browned onions, biscuits as high as I can make them, fried potatoes and pickled beets.

  I make a vinegar pie for dessert, because it is Papa’s favorite, and Mirabel tells me, “Don’t forget the vinegar pie.” I mix half a cup of butter with a cup and a quarter of sugar until it is light and fluffy, and then I add three eggs, two big tablespoons of cider vinegar and a teaspoon of vanilla. I pour it all into a pie crust and bake it in a warm oven for forty-five minutes until when I stick a knife in, the knife comes out clean.

  Ivy crinkles her face when I put the pie on the table. I tell her I hope her nose gets stuck that way. I say this before Papa sits down. He would make me eat by myself. Treat others the way you want to be treated, he says all the time, over and over. I am pretty sure this is very easy if you do not have a sister like Ivy.

  Papa comes to the table and then Thomas comes in from the barn and we all sit down and Papa bows his head and then we all have to fold our hands on our laps and then he says, “Bless this family.” Then we have silent time that Papa says we should use to think about the good things in our lives, the things to be grateful about. Ivy usually rolls her eyes at this part and Birdie says, “Are we done yet?”

  I don’t tell Papa, but right now I am thinking about how my life isn’t so good, how it isn’t turning out the way I wanted, not at all. How Mama is still gone, even though every night I tell her couldn’t she please be hugging me awake in the morning, but there’s always only Peter rolling on top of me and Big Pumpkin Face curled up against my shoulder and Birdie crying out from her dreams and Ivy with her head under the pillow. That’s all there ever is.

  CHAPTER

  5

  Papa tells Thomas he must take Peter out to the barn and make sure he knows every last thing there is to know about taking care of Anna May and Minnie and Olympia and Bea. “But I already know how to do everything,” I say, taking a bite of pie so big my cheeks push out like an old hornpout fish. It is very good and does not taste like a hard-times pie at all. Ivy looks at me and rolls her eyes.

  “Charlie Anne,” says Papa, giving me that stern look because Mirabel is looking straight at him. “You’re going to have to keep doing all the inside chores with Ivy and Mirabel.”

  “Ah, come on, Pa,” says Thomas. “Charlie Anne can show Peter.” Thomas is already on his second piece of pie. Food must run right through his belly, because he eats more than anyone and looks like a hickory stick. “I have to go get those traps.”

  Thomas and our neighbors, the Thatcher boys, trap on a spot upriver where I am not allowed to go. They trap otter and beaver, and I hate them for all the suffering.

  “Show Peter,” Papa tells Thomas, “and you can get the traps tomorrow before we go.”

  “And, Peter, I want you to keep a chart while I’m gone. Measure the corn and watch how high it is getting, week by week. I’ll be interested to see that when I get home. And also how much milk Anna May is giving. I want you to keep track, okay?”

  I look over at Papa. “But I do not want to do all the cooking and washing and ironing and everything. I hate inside chores. I know Anna May better than anyone. She’d give us more milk if I milked her.”

  Ivy giggles. Mirabel clears her throat. Her frown is very big. Papa keeps running his hand through his hair. He is look
ing all worn out. “Only until I get back,” he says softly.

  I give him my most terrible mad look. We’ll just see about that.

  After breakfast the next morning, Ivy gets up from the table and says she has to go to the privy awful bad. She said this after lunch yesterday and the day before.

  “You get back here,” I tell her.

  “Shush,” Papa says.

  “But she never helps or anything,” I tell him. “How many times does one person have to pee?”

  “Charlie Anne,” he says, “today is not the day for fighting.”

  I turn and face him. “You cannot leave me with her. I hate her, I really do.”

  “Charlie Anne,” says Papa, his voice getting all sharp. “Ivy is missing Mama, too. It is hard on everyone. You are not the only one.” He gives me his most exasperated-with-Charlie Anne look, and I give him the one I save for only Ivy. Then he walks away and goes out to the barn to check on Thomas and Peter, and I shove my hands into the dishpan and hurry before the soap starts to sting.

  When I am done, Mirabel says it is time to pack the lunch for Papa and Thomas. I go get the big basket Mama used to bring on picnics, where she would bring Huckleberry Finn and read to us while we ate cucumber sandwiches. Even Ivy was happy then. I would try and follow Mama’s finger along while she read, but the letters would muddle together, and she would say it was all right, everything takes time.

  I fill up the basket with biscuits and pie and baked potatoes and things that will keep overnight. When I go out to the barn to get the last of the apples from the apple barrel, Thomas is coming down the hill with the traps.

  “You better not put them where Birdie can get them,” I say.

  He rolls his eyes. “What do you think, Charlie Anne, I don’t have any sense at all?”

  Then he dumps the traps in his wooden box, and they clang so loud Anna May jumps. Thomas hooks the latch shut and I watch to make sure he snaps it tight.

  * * *

  I give Anna May a real good look. She is lonely. I named her newest calf Belle, and now that calf is almost grown and living with Old Mr. Jolly across the road. I keep an eye on his fields to make sure he is treating her right, see if she’s getting too skinny. Sometimes I go over and ask Old Mr. Jolly if he is treating her right. He tells me, “She is a cow, Charlie Anne.” I tell him, “She is a good cow and her name is Belle and you better take good care of her, or else.” He tells me I better mind my manners and stop telling him what to do or he will tell my papa that I am not respecting my elders.

  We’ll just see about that. I tell on Old Mr. Jolly.

  Papa says Old Mr. Jolly has been lonely since his wife died all those years ago. But maybe he’ll cheer up because he is getting a new wife, a cousin of the wife he buried. She is from Mississippi. I tell Papa I do not care about a new wife. Old Mr. Jolly better be good to Belle or I am taking her back.

  “You can’t do that, Charlie Anne. You can’t get something back that’s already gone.”

  “We’ll just see about that,” I tell him.

  Anna May has been a real crab ever since Belle was sold to Old Mr. Jolly. I told Papa it was a very bad idea. He told me we needed the money. Mama was still with us then and I asked her what for, why did we need the money. Mama said we needed to buy new wire for fencing. I told her we did not need new wire. Anna May would stay put if I told her.

  “Oh, Charlie Anne,” Mama said. “Things are getting hard out in the world right now. We’re lucky, living on this farm, but it’s starting to get bad for us. We need some things. You could really use new boots, too.”

  I looked down at my boots. They were the ones Thomas used to wear, and I pushed cardboard down inside to cover the holes and stuffed them with rags to make them fit. “I would rather keep Belle.”

  Then my mama hugged me like she always did and she gave me a piece of pudding cake and some buttermilk and then I started feeling better. “Belle is only going next door to Mr. Jolly’s and you can watch her. I bet she’ll be happy over there with all those fields. Did you see all the buttercups growing?”

  Mama said that to get my mind off things. She knew I love buttercups.

  The thing about Old Mr. Jolly is he is not old. He is just one of those men who gets gray hair really early and he mostly keeps to himself, and since he does not have a wife to tell him to stand up straight, he started walking bent over like a willow twig way before he should have. That’s what Papa said. Wives are a good thing, he said, winking at my mama.

  Thinking about my mama makes even my toes feel sad, so I get the milk stool and the pail and set them down, being careful of Anna May’s kicking foot. “Peter is not going to steal my job away from me,” I tell Anna May.

  “Papa told me to show Peter all this, not you,” says Thomas, walking up behind me. I know he is saying this because I am a girl.

  “I know how to milk a cow,” I tell him. “And I know you’re supposed to do this first thing in the morning. How come you waited?”

  Anna May is giving me grumpy looks. “Oh, don’t you be looking at me that way,” I tell her, giving her some grain to keep her mind off things. “Blame Thomas.” I am very stern with her or else she will get too bossy and then she will think she can kick me the way she sometimes kicks Papa when he is thinking about Mama.

  I have to set the pail right or Anna May will kick it right out of the barn. I sit down on the stool and I tell her she better be good, or else. She just stands there chewing the way she always does, her eyes that same soft molasses color as Belle’s, and I look up at Thomas and show him, this is how you milk a cow.

  When I am nearly done and feeling all good about things, that’s when I start softening up, and Anna May must feel me not being stern with her anymore and that’s when she lets her kicking foot fly and she sends the milk bucket crashing against the wall. Milk spills all over me and Thomas hollers and I know Mirabel is going to be very mad. I give Anna May my most terrible mad look. She doesn’t act sorry at all.

  CHAPTER

  6

  Birdie does not understand things like sometimes when people go away, they really do come back, so I scoop her up and put her on my hip. “Where’s Papa going?” she keeps asking.

  “He’s going up north to build roads, Birdie.”

  She likes to stay in that faraway place pretty much all the time now, ever since Mama left us, so she does not really hear what I say.

  “Where’s Thomas going?” she asks.

  “He’s going to work with Papa.”

  “It won’t be for long,” Papa says, coming up and giving Birdie and me a big hug at the same time. I stiffen up like Mirabel’s sheets.

  “I’ll bring more of these when I come,” Papa tells Birdie, dropping a lemon drop in her hands, and she can hardly quit her giggling long enough to get it in her mouth.

  Then Papa turns to Peter. Peter stands up straight and sticks his chest out like a rooster. He shakes Papa’s hand. “Don’t forget, I want to know how that corn is growing, week by week,” Papa tells him.

  At the last minute, Papa remembers he wanted us to all trace our feet on paper so he could send back some new shoes as soon as he gets paid. He lays out paper on the ground and gives us a pencil, and since we are not wearing shoes, it only takes a minute.

  Ivy has her magazine in her pocket, and it falls out when she is tracing her feet. Mirabel brought it to get a head start on nice feelings with Ivy. I knew what she was up to.

  Before I know it, Papa is right up beside me. “I’m sorry, Charlie Anne, I really am,” he is saying, and I am already blocking my ears.

  “Mama’s really going to be mad,” I say, and I feel a little bit mean telling him this, and even more mean when I turn away and won’t let him hug me. He stands for a minute waiting for me to turn around and hug him, but I do not budge because I am the boulder in the middle of the river now, which nothing can move, not even Papa.

  Then he sighs and tells Thomas to hurry up with hugging Peter, and then it’s time
for them to get going and they start walking down the driveway, and every one of us is standing there waving, everyone but me. Papa turns around one last time and I know he is looking especially at me, but I am the boulder again. Then Peter sobs and flies after them and jumps up into Papa’s arms, and Papa lets him stay there for a minute before sending him back to Mirabel.

  Then they are off to Evangeline’s General Store, where they are going to get a ride with some other men from town who are heading north to build roads.

  “Mama is really mad,” I whisper as I watch Papa and Thomas walk away.

  Mirabel says enough waving, she needs some help. Thank God the garden’s in, and the peas are ready. She sends Ivy and Peter and Birdie to get the peas and hoe for a while. Me, I get more laundry. Yesterday Mirabel wanted me to read from her little manners book, but I kept mixing up the words and she pulled the book away and read it to me:

  To prepare herself rightly to fulfill

  all the duties that belong to the

  mistress of a home should be the

  one all-embracing aim of any

  young girl’s life …

  We’ll just see about that, I think as Mirabel gets a fire started out by the clothesline and I pull water up from the bucket in the well and dump it into the big kettle. While we wait for it to heat up, I carry more water for the rinsing.

  Here is how the job is done: You heat up the water until it is steaming and very hot, and then you dump the clothes in with plenty of soap and let them soak a good long while. Be careful not to get burned, you have to tell yourself over and over, and then you have to stir everything with the same paddle your great-grandmother used, because that is the way these chores are done, the same way, over and over, for a thousand years. Then when the clothes are cool enough to touch, you rub them against the washboard until your hands are red and raw, and then you put everything in the rinse bucket and stir some more until you get every last bit of soap out.