84 Ribbons (20 page)

James got up without a word, unplugged the record player, and repositioned the narrow pine table it stood on. Shorty helped him slide the TV into the corner. They fastened on the metal rabbit-ear antenna and turned on the set to check the picture. The black and white images resembled a home movie, but instead of friends they saw the Boston Pops playing Christmas songs. The record player sat forgotten on the relocated table.

“Looks pretty good,” James said. “We can still play cards while the rest of you watch the tube.”

“Where did you hear it called ‘the tube’?” asked Shorty.

James shrugged his shoulders. “Cuz I’m quiet don’t mean I don’t know things.”

Lynne and Marta cleared away the last of the dishes. While Marta washed, Lynne leaned against the counter. “So, Marta, have you told Steve how you feel? It’s obvious he’s nuts about you.”

“Sorta. It’s hard to explain that I enjoy his company and all, but that I need to focus on my dancing.”

“Well, he’s busy with school, so I’m sure he’ll understand. But guys don’t like to feel like women are using them.”

“I’m not using him.”

“Right. He drives you everywhere, he buys you gifts, and he looks at you like a puppy dog. Did you think that maybe he’s cutting corners with his job or with classes to see you?”

“No. He wouldn’t do that, would he?”

“From the look on his face and the way he holds your hand, he might.” Lynne grabbed a flour sack towel and began drying the plates that stood in the dish rack. Then she rejoined the group without mentioning Steve again.

Marta put the dishes away and stood staring out the kitchen window. Lynne knew lots about boyfriend stuff. When they worked on the next article, she’d make time to talk things through with Steve. That gave her a week to decide how to explain dancing and how dating Steve fit into her schedule. Could be a complicated conversation.

Later than night, Marta sat with her mom in the common room, enjoying the quiet. “This would be perfect if Dad were here. I feel like I didn’t know him long enough. I mean, I remember him, but I expected he’d be around for Sunday picnics, teaching me to drive, and watching me dance.”

Her mom patted Marta’s hand. “It’s hard, isn’t it? I miss him every day.”

“Did you two talk about things like his work and you staying home to raise me?”

“Of course. You have to share your thoughts when you love someone. Even when you disagree, you need to share what you are thinking. Why do you ask?”

“I’m trying to figure out how to be a grownup. It’s more work than I imagined.” She toyed with a loose thread on the sofa. “What do you talk about with Robert?”

“Mostly day-to-day things like work, the news, movies, and our families. We’re both returning to dating after lots of years without being in a relationship, so we’re keeping it simple.”

Was keeping it simple when dating even possible? Marta had her doubts.

Mornings Marta and her mom ate breakfast together. After Marta practiced in the basement, they shared lunch and explored downtown Billings. One blustery afternoon, Mrs. B. and her mom sat in the common room drinking tea.

Marta busied herself making dinner rolls. As she put them in the oven and began cleaning up the work table, she heard her name mentioned. She stepped closer to the common room to listen.

“And it’s wonderful that you let her use the basement. Renting a practice room would be costly.”

“Marta is special to us all. We live for her baking. She adds a lightness to our mealtime conversations. You can be proud of her. Now we need to fatten her up. I’m afraid she’ll blow away with the first good storm.”

Marta froze in place. Eat? She ate. Her mom knew food didn’t interest her when she’d danced all day. Why didn’t she tell Mrs. B. that fact?

“I’ve worried about her staying healthy,” her mom said. “She works so hard. I wonder if she ever takes vitamins.”

Marta stepped into the room. “I’m fine. You two worry too much. Now that the tour is over, things at the ballet company will settle back down. We’ll move back into our old routines. I’ll get plenty of sleep, and you can count on Mrs. B. to keep me properly fed.”

Her mom reached out and touched Marta’s arm. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have talked about you. We’re just worried that’s all.”

“I know. But, you know how I get when I’m tired; I can’t eat.”

“I do. Mrs. B. says you still crave ginger ale and fruit cocktail.”

Marta smiled. “Yes. I know it’s strange, but it works.”

“Good. Let’s head to the grocery store before I leave tomorrow. We can see what looks appetizing to you.”

Saturday morning they stood together on the train landing. Mom’s suitcase sat next to their legs. “This time I’m the one leaving,” her mom said.

“I’m glad you came on the train.”

“After your bus adventure, I decided the extra money was worth it, especially this time of year.”

Marta handed her mother a flat package. “Open this now, Mom. It’s a copy of the newspaper’s group photo from the day I met Steve.”

Her mom’s hands trembled as she undid the wrapping. “Marta. It’s lovely. I’ll put it on my desk at the dance studio to inspire the students.”

“When you get home you’ll find another one waiting for you, plus a photo of me in my
Coppélia
peasant costume. If you want more, let me know.”

They hugged. Marta pulled back, feeling her mom’s body shake. Tears crowded her mom’s eyes. ”I’m sorry I’m crying. I‘m just so proud of your becoming a beautiful, responsible young woman.”

“Thanks. I’m glad you came. Having you here made Christmas and the
Nutcracker
special. You’re the one who made all this possible, Mom. You helped me live my dream.”

“I truly understand how ballet is magical for you. I can’t imagine you doing anything else with your life.”

Her mom boarded the train. When she appeared at a seat window, they continued their goodbyes: smiling, blowing kisses, and waving as the train slid away from the station.

Marta sat on the floor in the basement practice room, resting and imagining her mom’s location as the train moved through the Rockies. Their time together had raced by. Funny though, toward the end of her stay, long quiet times became more common. Had her mom changed, or had she?

After Marta turned off the overhead light, she reached for the basement door handle. It turned in her hand. She stepped back. A hand waved around for the light switch. Click!

Marta stood face to face with Carol.

“Oh!” Carol sprang back.

Marta backed up and leaned against a support beam near the door. “Can I help you?”

Carol’s face turned red as a Christmas bow. “No, I’m looking, ah, for ah, ah box.”

Marta brushed past her. “Turn off the light when you’re done looking.”

17

M
arta and Lynne drove to Steve’s cabin the evening before he and his friends were to arrive. The plan for the long New Year’s weekend included snowy walks, snowshoeing, and sledding, as well as cozy fires, board games, and Charades. Marta promised they’d make the cabin “warm and inviting,” if they didn’t take the train to Spokane to see the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo perform. A relaxing visit to the mountains beat out a snowy trip to the ballet.

As they drove to the cabin, Marta stewed about meeting college students. Steve had called it ”great fun.” Great fun? Maybe for Lynne, who found it easy to talk with strangers. Marta wanted time alone with Steve to try to explain her feelings and her goals as a dancer. She didn’t want to compete for his attention with brainy college girls.

When they pulled into the gravel driveway, Lynne hit the steering wheel with her fists. “Can you believe I forgot the chicken? You start a fire while I’ll go back to town. We’ll unpack later. Don’t get in any trouble while I’m gone.”

While Lynne backed out the curved driveway, Marta climbed the steps and slid across the icy porch toward the door. Slippery. She took the cabin key from its hiding place above the entry light, unlocked the door, put the key back, and stepped inside. She inhaled the icy air and repeated aloud, “This will be fun, this will be fun. I can do this.”

First things first. Bring in wood from the huge pile on the porch and start a fire. Marta stepped outside and closed the door behind her. The porch felt like an ice rink. She skidded across the wooden boards toward the wood pile. Her hand reached for the porch railing.

Crack. The railing splintered as if made of pickup sticks.

The sound confused her. Her balance shifted. She grabbed for the corner porch post, but missed. Her arms pinwheeled, seeking control.

She heard a scream, her scream, as she began to fall.

Is this how her dad died, twisting and arching like a high jumper, sailing through the air? Did he scream or fall silently?

Marta grabbed handfuls of the night sky, but she crashed onto cold, rock-strewn ground. Her outstretched chin knocked her head back with a violent punch.

When she opened her eyes, fireplace logs lay around and on top of her, crushing her like petals in a flower press. She shivered. Pain swept through her body in sickening waves. Her left ankle throbbed with a wild bass drum beat. Her left hand lay beneath her in a macabre position.

Lynne’s car was nowhere in sight. Should she call out? No. The nearest cabin was down the road and around the bend. Could she stand? No. She’d need to crawl to the steps.

Piece by piece, she pushed the logs off her body, no small feat with one hand. Shifting her weight onto her right elbow, she inched along the frozen ground where the overhang drip line created a bare trail around the cabin. Her fingers stiffened from the cold.

Halfway to the front of the cabin she rested her head on the ground. The pain she experienced far outweighed her incident in the stream. That meant this fall caused serious damage. Where was Lynne?

Rocks gouged her body in a hundred places as she continued to scoot forward. At the corner she rested again. She saw the steps down the long side of the cabin; a distance three times what she’d crawled so far.

What if Lynne didn’t come straight back? What if she had car trouble or stopped to flirt with a mountain man? What if a prowling coyote or cougar stalked the cabin? Marta closed her eyes.

The last section of her trek to the steps took every ounce of her energy. She’d lost the protection of the roofline and began crawling through snow. With each move forward, her right hand and right leg broke through sheets of shimmering icy crust.

She slowed. Shivers changed to a strange feeling of warmth. She craved sleep.

Marta pulled herself onto her right knee, turned, and sat on the bottom step, as exhausted as if she’d danced an entire ballet. One agonizing scoot at a time, she moved her bruised body up the steps, dragging her left leg like a foreign object tacked onto her body. At the top, she pushed against the door. Locked.

The door must have latched behind her. She stared at the entry light; she’d never be able to reach the key. She slumped against the door and cried.

Minutes slowed. Rhythmic throbbing and shivering cycled through her core. She held her injured hand against her body. It felt as cold as an ice pack. Hurry, Lynne.

“Marta? Marta?”

Shaking and shouting roused her. “Marta, what happened?”

She closed her eyes until a slap against her cheek roused her again.

“Marta. Wake up!”

Car lights blinded her, but she recognized Lynne’s voice through the fog of coldness that enveloped her.

“The railing... broke... my ankle...”

“Oh, no! Oh, Marta! We’re driving straight back to town.”

After considerable shoving and screams of pain, Marta sat hunched over in Lynne’s back seat, resting her bulbous left ankle on the back of the lowered front passenger seat. The awkward angle caused her to shelter her injured left hand against her chest. She shivered even with two blankets covering her.

Maybe her ankle wasn’t broken. Could be a strain that would heal in a few days. Deep down, however, she knew that wasn’t true. Heartache crushed her spirit like the fall crushed her body.

“How is it, Marta? Talk to me. Good thing you’re thin and light; I’d  never have been able to lift…”

Marta woke and slept as the drive to Billings stretched on. Every bump, every slip on the icy road exploded her pain. Three seconds on a porch gathering wood may have shattered her future as well as her bones
.

The garish blue neon emergency sign marked the hospital driveway. Lynne stopped abruptly and rushed away. Minutes later a nurse with two orderlies and a gurney pushed out the door with Lynne following close behind.

They helped Marta wriggle from the backseat and onto the gurney. Inside, they wheeled her into an emergency room cubicle. She drifted off, dreaming about her first desires to become a
pointe
dancer.

She’d walked with her mom to the studio, whirling and twirling down the sidewalk, chattering ninety miles an hour about
pointe
shoes and tutus. She’d reached the magical age of twelve, the first year
pointe
shoes were allowed. Today Miss Holland promised to hand out the coveted pink boxes.

Marta sat on the cool tiled floor beside the other girls sewing satin ribbons onto her first
pointe
shoes. She stitched from side to side, every stitch tiny and perfect like her mom had taught her. Her excitement grew with each stitch.

She stroked the perfect pink satin shoes, then struggled to slide her toes inside. They felt too snug. Her left foot ached as she pushed it into the shoe. A hand moved her hand away.

“Marta? Marta?”

She startled and opened her eyes to scan the colorless emergency room. A blanket covered her. She lay flat on her back. Lynne stood beside her.

“Lynne? What—”

“You were grabbing for your foot. An orthopedic doctor’s coming in. Once I told the emergency doc that you were a dancer, he didn’t want to touch your ankle. How do you feel?”

“Awful. Every part of my body aches, and I’m thirsty.” Marta moved her head from side to side, swallowing her last bit of saliva.