Part of Me Read online

  The best part of the morning was at the library, choosing the books to load onto the bookmobile. The librarians picked most of the titles, but they let me make some choices, too. I included books I’d read and loved and books I planned to read.

  Marlene chose books while she chatted about her sister Irene’s trip to New Orleans and about her zillion uncles. I was amazed at how she could select books while talking about something entirely different. “Now my uncle Rene, he likes tall skinny women. He’s the only man in Little Caillou that I know that—” She stopped and held up a book. “Oh, this is a good one. A young girl in love makes the wrong decision and leaves her true love, they get another chance, but in the end they never get together.” Well, that just plain ruined the story for me.

  The bookmobile was a truck that had been converted to include outside shelves. They held 360 books. We placed the adult books on the right, books for the children and high school students on the left. After we loaded the bookmobile, we lowered the doors that covered each side like shades slipping down a window. Then we latched them. I got in the driver’s seat and silently prayed to Saint Jude, patron of hopeless cases. For that’s how I surely saw myself behind a steering wheel. At first I thought I had an instant answer to my prayer because the engine started purring. But then I couldn’t remember what to do next.

  Marlene winked at me. “Come on, baby. It’s time to go.”

  I shifted and we were off with a jerky start, moving down the road like a prancing rooster, thrusting its neck back and forth.

  Marlene braced herself, holding on to the dashboard. “Is something wrong with the bookmobile? It’s brand-new. What do you think could be wrong?”

  She kept shooting out questions and I kept ignoring them, trying to find the right gear to ease us into a smooth rhythm. My heart beat fast.

  Finally Marlene grew quiet. I glanced over at her. She held her stomach and her face took on a pale shade of green. “Stop, please!” she cried.

  I swerved to the side of the road and braked.

  Marlene opened her door, leaned way over, gripping the handle, and vomited.

  I felt awful. I dug inside my purse and found a handkerchief. Offering it to her, I said, “I’m so sorry.”

  After she cleaned herself up and reapplied her lipstick, she asked, “Baby, you do know how to drive, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’ve just never driven a bookmobile before.”

  We jiggled along as I desperately moved the stick shift. Maybe St. Jude thought I’d suffered enough because a minute later I found the right gear. After that, something clicked with my head, my hands, and my feet, and it was as if I’d been driving all my life. Then the only bumps we felt were caused by potholes in the dirt roads.

  Marlene recovered quickly and said, “Let’s start at the school in Bayou du Large, then head on to Little Caillou.”

  As worn out as I was from Marlene’s talking, I was grateful she was with me, serving as my compass.

  At the school in Bayou du Large, Possum acted as if he didn’t know me, checking out a book quickly, then racing back inside the building. But Pie jumped off the seesaw and came running, then clung to my waist.

  “This is my big sister,” she told her teacher and the other children.

  I was embarrassed because I was supposed to be working and it was hard to work with a nine-year-old attached. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t shake her off. Then I looked down at my little sister, smiling up at me, and a warmth spread through my body. Pie thought I was special because I drove a bookmobile. She wasn’t shamed by the fact that I was a high school dropout. I hugged her.

  “Tighter,” she said.

  I squeezed her, this time breathing in her sweaty playground smell. Finally she released her hold on me, satisfied.

  The children were so excited about the books. Pie chose The Hidden Staircase, a Nancy Drew mystery, then gave me a quick hug before returning to the school with her classmates. Watching them leave with books in their hands made me feel like I was part of something important.

  In Montegut, we waited twenty minutes before anyone came. We thought about leaving, but then I saw the handsome man from the barbershop pushing his little boy in a wooden wheelbarrow toward the bookmobile. The man’s shirt was wrinkled like he’d put it on straight from the clothesline. I hated ironing, but suddenly a vision of me, pressing every crease out of his shirt, flashed in my mind.

  “It’s Luther Harp,” whispered Marlene. And those words came out of her mouth as light as a feather.

  I tried them on for size. “Luther Harp,” I whispered just as he reached us.

  “Hello, Luther,” Marlene said. “Hey there, little Gordie.”

  Marlene offered Gordie a lollipop we’d bought at the store when we stopped for lunch. Gordie’s chubby fingers let go of the wheelbarrow and aimed toward the candy.

  “How’s Cecilia?” Marlene asked.

  “Doing poorly,” Luther said, studying me. I guess he thought he recognized me, but I didn’t want to remind him that I was the girl gawking through the barbershop window. He picked up Riders of the Purple Sage, then he asked, “Anything here for Gordie?”

  I quickly grabbed Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel. “He might like this one.”

  Luther took the book from me, holding his gaze a little too long. “Thank you.”

  My face grew warm. Luther Harp was the prettiest man I’d ever seen.

  “This is Rose McGee,” Marlene told him. “Her grandpa is Antoine Marcel.”

  “The oyster man?”

  “Yes,” I said. For once, I was grateful for my grandfather’s familiar connection with people.

  “She just moved here from Amarillo.”

  “Texas, huh?” Luther nodded like that explained everything.

  “Luther’s not from here either. He’s from up around Alexandria.”

  “Forest Hill,” Luther said. “Thanks for the books.” He put them in the wheelbarrow with Gordie, then picked up the handles and ran along the side of the road.

  “Wheee!” Gordie cried as they raced away. Luther’s long body moved with grace and ease.

  We watched them awhile, then Marlene seemed to awake from her daze and hollered, “Wait, Luther. We need to check out the books first.”

  That’s the way it had been all day. People in Houma weren’t used to a library or a bookmobile. “We have to teach them the process,” Marlene said, like it was the most important mission on this earth.

  As we left Montegut, Marlene explained, “Luther’s wife is real sick. She has been for a month. Thank goodness her people live here, or he’d have to stop fishing to take care of their baby. It’s the most pitiful thing.”

  “How old is she?” I asked.

  “Cecilia is about my age, twenty-one. I think Luther is twenty-five.”

  * * *

  The narrow road to our last stop, Pointe-Aux-Chenes, traveled between skinny strips of land bordering the water. It seemed like the end of the world. And when I told Marlene that, she laughed and said, “Oh, baby, it is. When it rains hard, children here don’t go to school because they can’t get there. The water hides the road and blends into the bay. My uncle Thomas is a teacher and he says their families take them out of school during trapping season. They miss so much school, it’s hard for them to catch up.”

  “That doesn’t seem fair.” I said it for them and me.

  “Baby, they’ve got to eat.”

  We parked across from the general store and waited twenty minutes. A few people passed by us on the way to the general store and gave the bookmobile a long looking-over, but they didn’t stop.

  Marlene sighed. “They just don’t know what to think of us.”

  Then she said, “You stay here. I’ll be right back.” She hurried across the road and went inside the general store, letting the screen door slam behind her. Two minutes later, she came out with a woman wearing a blue scarf tied around her head, and carrying a bag of groceries in her arms. Marlene w
as walking and talking fast, and her arms moved like they were propelling her across the street. The woman glanced around, following reluctantly. I knew right as rain that Marlene had recruited her to be the first person in Pointe-Aux-Chenes to check a book out of our bookmobile.

  Marlene appeared so proud of her catch. “This is Julia.”

  Julia stared at the ground.

  “Hi,” I said.

  The woman peered up at me, shyly. She looked to the right and then to the left like she was planning an escape route.

  “She’s Antoine Marcel’s granddaughter,” Marlene said, as if she was introducing her to a royal duchess.

  Julia nodded, her lips forming a small smile. “He’s got dem good oysters.”

  I walked to the adult side and selected The Good Earth. I would never forget those characters or the story. I held out the book to her.

  Marlene seemed taken aback and shook her head. “Oh, I don’t know if she’d like that one.”

  Julia took the book from me. “I’ll try dis.”

  “Why, of course,” said Marlene. “Of course you can read that.”

  But when we drove away, Marlene said, “I don’t think she can read that book. I don’t think she’s had much schooling.”

  My face burned like a furnace. Suddenly my good deed seemed foolish.

  Marlene smiled and said, “You never know, though.”

  I wondered what Marlene would think if she knew I hadn’t finished school either. But Marlene just jabbered away about a movie she’d seen last weekend. “Have you seen it?” she asked me. “Well, it was good all the way until the ending. And then the main character just up and died.”

  * * *

  Back at the library, we unloaded the books and shelved them. Then I drove over to the Boudreaux Oyster Company to pick up Momma. I waited in the truck, watching people leave. Most were women. Even though their faces were young, they walked out looking old. Their shoulders slumped and their heads looked at the ground like they were searching for a lost coin.

  Twenty minutes later, I decided to go inside to find Momma, thinking that she’d just forgotten the time. I passed the hills of empty oyster shells piled outside and opened the heavy door to the factory. A clacking noise filled the building, and there was an overwhelming salty smell of the sea. Momma stood behind a long table with eight other women. They each held knives, opening the shells to their own rhythm.

  “Momma,” I said.

  She looked up, slowed her pace a bit, and shook her head. A deep line had etched its way across her forehead. “I can’t go home. We got a big order to fill.”

  “Do you want me to pick you up later?”

  “No. I get a ride. Go home.” She swept at the air as if to push me away quickly.

  I left, walking back to the truck, thinking how Momma really had been looking out for me. She’d steered me toward a job that was a million miles away from shucking oysters at the Boudreaux Oyster Company.

  * * *

  We’d been living with my grandfather for over two weeks, and Pie had somehow found a hole inside his cold heart. She was trying like the dickens to squeeze inside that hole and make him like her. It pained me to see her try so hard, but he actually let her ride with him down the bayou on his pirogue today. He acted as if he was allowing Pie to tag along just to stop her from pestering him about it. When they returned she talked as if she’d rode on a float in a parade. In a way, I guess she had.

  “You should have seen it, Rose,” she said. “He knows how to play all kinds of songs on his fiddle, and that’s how everyone knows he’s coming with the oysters. They meet him on the docks and they wave at me until we get there. And Charlie showed me how he steers the boat.” We’d recently discovered that Charlie was the colored boy who guided the pirogue while Antoine played his songs.

  When Momma came home that night, Pie met her at the door and told her about her adventure, then she ran off to play with Radio. Momma’s eyes grew soft as she looked at my grandfather sitting at the table, waxing his fiddle strings. I thought for a moment something had broken through between them. But when he noticed her looking at him, he frowned. “Why you don’t tell me you name her after your mama? Why you call her dat stupid name, Pie?” And just like glass, that fragile moment shattered into a thousand pieces.

  * * *

  Marlene had been right about the book I’d chosen for Julia. She brought it back the next week, claiming, “I don’t t’ink dat was a very good book.” Well, it took everything inside me not to defend it, but then I realized she probably hadn’t even read past the first page. She was the only person in Pointe-Aux-Chenes who stopped by today. And I think she only came to return the book. When she noticed The General Foods Cookbook, though, she checked it out. I was determined to find her a story she’d love.

  With the exception of Pointe-Aux-Chenes, the other stops started to grow. We even became friends with some of the people. Mrs. Bergeron asked us into her home for lunch. We ate a bowl of hot shrimp gumbo and crusty bread. Then we admired the photos of her children that now live in Monroe.

  It was exciting to discover people happy to see us pull in. Many of them were waiting when we arrived. Two families even rode in pirogues across the bayou to meet us. We stood near the water, ready to help them out of their boats. The little Arceneaux girl waved at me the entire way. While they paddled toward us, I couldn’t help wondering if we had the most well-traveled books in Louisiana. If I’d really been seventeen and finished with school, I think I would have loved my job.

  The next week I felt giddy with anticipation. That morning when we loaded up the bookmobile I chose a few books from the children’s side and placed them on the adult side—two Nancy Drew books and one by Bess Streeter Aldrich that all the high school girls were fussing over called Spring Came on Forever. I was prepared to explain to Marlene why I moved them, but she didn’t notice.

  In Montegut, a group of people were waiting when we arrived, though I didn’t see Luther or Gordie. I tried to ignore the hollow feeling inside me when we pulled away.

  Julia wasn’t at our stop in Pointe-Aux-Chenes. That powerful eagerness I’d felt all day sank like the Titanic. But a couple of minutes before it was time to pull out, Julia showed up with the cookbook in hand. “I hope dat was okay if I copied dos recipes.”

  “Of course,” Marlene said. “How about another cookbook?”

  “You got some more?”

  Marlene showed her two and she settled on the one about desserts.

  “Julia, can I help you find another book?” I asked.

  She stared at me.

  I pulled out Spring Came on Forever. Marlene looked confused, her gaze retracing the adult section.

  Julia shook her head. “No, I get dis book.” She hugged the cookbook close to her chest.

  “You can check out more than one book,” I told her.

  “Yes, Julia,” said Marlene. “You sure may. And this is a good book.”

  Julia frowned and accepted the book as if she’d been forced into it. She seemed most happy with the cookbook.

  A few minutes later, we headed back to the library. Marlene smiled at me. “I know what you did back there, Rose. You should think about going to college and becoming a librarian.”

  How could I tell her that thinking about it was all I was able to do?

  * * *

  A week later we had left Little Caillou and were on our way to Montegut when Marlene hollered, “Stop!”

  What I thought was a huge log was about three yards ahead of us, blocking our way. When I looked closer I saw the short legs on the greenish black body. It was an alligator. I’d heard they were in the swamps around here, but I’d never seen one. His body stretched across the narrow road, leaving no room for us to get around him. His eyes were shut and I could see a few of his teeth even though his mouth was closed.

  “Is he dead?” I asked.

  “No, he’s sunning.” Marlene sighed. “Honk your horn.” She acted like she was an expert on mov
ing alligators across the road.

  I honked and honked, but it was no use. He didn’t even open his eyes. “Maybe we should back up and turn around.”

  Marlene settled back in her seat. “Let’s stay a little bit longer. We have people waiting on us and this is the only road into town.” A moment later she asked, “You don’t have alligators in your part of Texas, do you?”

  “No.”

  “What kind of varmints are out there?”

  “Coyotes. They’ve been known to carry an entire litter of puppies away. That’s how Possum found Radio.”

  “Radio?”

  “Our dog. Possum was in the woods and this helpless little puppy had been left out there. Possum said the coyote had probably gotten the rest of the litter and was sure he’d have come back for the last one if Possum hadn’t rescued him.”

  “Possum, Pie, Radio. Your family sure has some interesting names.”

  Time drags when you’re waiting for an alligator to wake up and move. I thought of a song I taught Pie to sing when she jumped rope. And out there in the middle of nowhere, I started to sing, “Mumps, said the doctor. Measles, said the nurse. Vote, said the lady with the alligator purse!”

  Marlene stared at me all bug-eyed. I guess I couldn’t blame her. She’d never seen me act silly. By the second time around, though, she was singing with me. We sang louder and louder and darn if that old alligator didn’t finally open his eyes. When he did, we screamed and clung to each other, then burst out laughing. The alligator started slowly moving across the road, dragging his long tail behind him. After he had cleared enough road that I could get around him, I held my breath and took off with a chug-chug and pressed down on the accelerator. My heart beat so hard I heard it pounding in my ears. When we had gone a safe distance, we exhaled together and laughed again.

  “Rose, I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but when I first met you, you reminded me of someone who had just gotten a good long whiff of cow manure blowing her way.”

  “I did?”

  “Mmm-hmm. Your nose was so high in the air, if it had rained, I thought you’d surely drown.” She winked, as if to soften her words.