Runny03 - Loose Lips (32 page)

T
he lilac bushes drooped low from the colorful masses of butterflies perched on the nourishing blossoms: red-spotted purples, their electric blue fanning over the black wingtips; yellow and black swallowtails, like elegant dancers swooping over the fragrant pale purple blooms; a huge Thaos swallowtail, a band of purest yellow horizontally slashed across the black wings from tip to tip. Angelwings, more subdued in color but not in conformation, hovered so close to Nickel’s tiny ears that the puffs of air from their wings tickled her. The air was alive with sulphur butterflies, blues of every hue, skippers, and cloudywings, hairstreaks, buckeyes, whites and marblewings, checkered wings, goatweeds, and tiny butterflies the color of milkweed.

Each time the two-year-old reached for a butterfly, with a flutter it eluded her grasp. Yoyo, by now rather fond of the two-legged intruder, sprawled on her side under the lilac bush. Too lazy to catch a butterfly, she enjoyed watching them swirl as the tip of her tail wagged as if in a breeze. A bold orange monarch zipped by her nose. Yoyo nonchalantly slapped at it and missed.

Yoyo and Buster were the child’s two best friends, with Louise’s Doodlebug a close third. She played with other toddlers: her cousin Oderuss, two years older; little Jackson Frost, two years older; Robert Marker, one year older; and Ursula Vance, also one year older.

Nickel walked at a very early age. Her coordination was extraordinary. However, she spoke little, which worried Juts so much she took the child to the doctor, who declared her throat and vocal cords were intact; her mental powers, for her age, appeared superior. He concluded that Nicole Smith didn’t have anything she wanted to say. In truth, she played so much with Yoyo and Buster that words were irrelevant.

She certainly mastered “No,” which she pronounced vigorously whenever Juts or Louise pushed her toward something that held no interest for her, such as dolls. Nor did she want to eat baby food from jars, offered for her gastronomic pleasure. To make matters worse the child loathed milk. Julia Ellen feared she would become dehydrated, because once they weaned her off her special formula she wouldn’t drink anything but water. So Juts put Coca-Cola in her baby bottle and Nickel gurgled with glee. While other mothers criticized Julia for her unorthodox methods, she replied, “Fine, you handle her.”

A few attempts at bending the baby’s will to their own quickly dissuaded Mary Miles Mundis, Frances Finster, Lillian Yost, and other professional mothers from fooling with the curly-haired girl. Lillian had lost her firstborn to a fever in 1943 but she bore a perfect little boy a year later, and she and Julia spent a lot of time watching their tots, so close in age, crawl around together. Millard junior, called Mill, was a sweet little baby with flaming red hair and more freckles than a pinto.

Although Nickel liked tiny ones her own age, she gravitated toward animals and occasionally adults. She had a disquieting way of sitting motionless and silent, her big brown eyes following every movement of the grown-ups.

She loved Cora but fussed at Hansford; his beard scratched. She adored Ramelle and would clap her hands together whenever the willowy gray-haired beauty appeared.

She ignored Mary and the now-rebellious Maizie but she toddled after Pearlie and Extra Billy. She smiled when Louise gave
her a dog biscuit. Nicky would flop on the floor and try to chew the biscuit like Buster or Doodlebug. She got Oderuss to eat a biscuit, too, which did not endear Nicky to Mary. Patiently, the dogs would wait for her to become bored with her trophy, or for Oderuss to drop the dog biscuit and leave it, and then one of the dogs would snatch it. If the baby cried, Buster, to everyone’s amazement, especially Yoyo’s, would drop the biscuit back at Nickel’s feet.

Aunt Dimps declared the child was going to grow up to be an animal trainer. Ramelle would carry Nickel into the stable, put her on a horse’s back, and hold her. Nickel showed no fear. Ramelle declared the child was going to be as good a rider as Celeste. Louise said Nickel would become a writer, which made everyone laugh, since Julia Ellen hated writing even a grocery list. The only book in the Smith house was the Bible, which Julia ignored. Cora told everyone that Nicole would be whatever she wanted to be. She had a mind of her own.

The one person who abstained from these prophecies was Mother Smith. She refused to see the baby, nor would she allow Chessy in her house with an illegitimate child. Rupert appeared to have no interest in this subject one way or another but he was smoking more than normal and slipping in a few extra scotches. Chester called upon his mother every Tuesday, dutiful as always, but he never visited the house at any other time despite her entreaties and occasional furies. Mother Smith grew increasingly embittered but since she had cultivated no true friends in this life, no one cared.

Two soldiers passing through Runnymede on leave in 1945 fell in love with the town. Pierre and Bob, as soon as they were mustered out of the service, bought the Curl ‘n’ Twirl from the Hunsenmeirs. Juts put her half of the money into savings bonds for Nickel, the only time in her life that she showed prudence. To everyone’s surprise, Louise splurged and bought her own automobile. Pearlie nearly died. When he rode in the passenger seat
he feared he truly would. Louise’s Buick coupe, a handsome British racing green, excited her as few things in life had.

Juts, tired from running after Nickel one afternoon, collapsed in the white deck chair. Louise pulled up in the driveway. She gave the twoey whistle.

“I’m in the backyard,” Juts replied to their childhood signal.

Buster rushed out to greet Doodlebug. Yoyo stayed put. No dog was worth that much effort.

Louise, purse over her arm, shoes, bag, gloves, and hat matching, traipsed into the backyard, exclaiming, “I’ve never seen anything like it,” as she beheld the cloud of butterflies.

“Me neither.”

“You’ve got to take a picture.”

“I’m too tired to get the Brownie.”

“I’ll get it.” Louise scurried into the pantry, where Juts kept the small black box camera. She returned to snap photos of Nickel reaching for butterflies and rolling on the grass with Buster and Doodlebug. In one picture, which she hoped would be good, the child was jumping in the air, the big zebra swallowtail just out of reach, its wings outstretched to the full as it headed for the papaw tree behind the lilac bush.

Juts clapped her hands in rhythm. “Dance, Nicky, dance for Aunt Wheezer.”

Nickel stopped chasing butterflies and turned to face the adults. She put her hands on her hips.

Louise, also cajoling, sang, “If I knew you were coming I’da baked a cake.” Juts sang along.

The child lifted her hands over her head and danced a little jig, Doodlebug and Buster yipping and yapping on either side of her.

Yoyo, disgusted at such display, remained immobile under the lilacs.

After her dance Nickel flung herself on the ground and cooed, “Kiddie cat.”

Yoyo yawned.

Nickel carefully crawled over to the cat and lay with her head on her hands in imitation of Yoyo, whose furry head rested on her front paws.

Louise snapped away. Then she, too, sat down, putting the camera on the low white wooden table. “The energy. Where do they get it?”

“I don’t know, but I could use some. If we didn’t have schedules—I mean, if we could follow what our bodies want to do—I bet we’d be more like they are.”

“I wonder.” Louise kicked her shoes off. “Maizie’s recital comes up the end of May. Now, you won’t forget it.”

“No.”

“She’s plenty full of herself, I can tell you. Maizie has, uh, focused on music now after that little incident at the convent school.” The little incident was that Maizie set fire to her room and got expelled. Louise chose not to dwell upon it. “Oh no. She wants to go to New York City now, and play in the symphony. With all those Yankees. I told her she’d be miserable and slink home by Weeping Cross.”

“They may be Yankees but they’re musical Yankees, so if she makes the grade, more power to her.”

“I don’t want my daughter that far away in a big loud city.”

“Well, Baltimore isn’t exactly dead quiet.”

“Baltimore is civilized. There are families there.”

What she really meant was that there were people with proper bloodlines going all the way back to Lord Baltimore, a claim Louise made herself. She neglected to mention the Hunsenmeir genealogy, which led directly to a Hessian soldier, a mercenary who, tired of King George, liked the look of Maryland and went AWOL.

“There are families in New York. After all, there’s the Colony Club, the Knickerbocker Club and—” Louise cut her off. “It’s not the same.”

“Sure it is.”

“No, it’s not. Many of those people made their money in mercantile pursuits.” Louise dressed up her vocabulary to enhance her own social standing. “And furthermore, many are descended from war profiteers even worse than the Rife rat pack.”

Juts waved her hand. “Whatever you say.”

“Don’t get like that. I hate it when you get like that. Bloodlines are important.” She sniffed. “And New York is full of Jews.”

“So?”

“Julia, what if Maizie took up with a person of the Hebrew faith? It just wouldn’t do.”

“Jesus was a Jew.”

“Oh, that’s poppycock. There is One True Faith, One True Church, and only One Way. Sooner or later you will repent the error of your ways. And Jesus wasn’t Jewish. He was a Christian.”

Juts sat upright now, tiredness vanishing in anger. “What’d you do, go to confession this morning? We go through this holier-than-thou shit once a week now. For about two hours you believe you are without sin.”

Louise folded her arms over her chest. “I’ll not discuss it.”

Juts smelled a rat. “Louise, what have you done?”

“Nothing?” Her voice lilted up in the air like one of the butterflies.

“Louise—” Juts dragged out her sister’s name. “Louise Alverta—I know you.”

“Nothing.” Louise shook her head, hugged herself tighter.

“An affair?” Juts hoped for something exciting.

“How could you even think such a thing?”

“They do happen.” Julia’s voice dropped, hope vanishing.

“You should know.”

“Hey, I didn’t do it!”

Wheezie considered that her comment was a low blow. “You’re right. But Julia, you have sex on the brain.”

“I do not. I like to hear about it. Doesn’t it fascinate you how people get mixed up with one another?”

“No,” Wheezie lied—a fat whopper, too. “Go on.”

“Certainly not.”

“Like you don’t care that Rob McGrail hangs out with Pierre and Bob all the time. One of the boys.”

“Just because they’re sister boys doesn’t mean they’re
that
way.”

“All right then, Mary Miles Mundis takes a tennis lesson every single day. Don’t you find that peculiar?”

“One a day?”

“That tennis pro is a helluva lot better looking than Harold, even if Harold does have more money than God.”

Louise leaned forward, dying for gossip, but realized her eagerness would prove Julia’s point. “I hardly ever think of such things. Your mind is in the gutter.”

“Oh la!”

“I’m going home.” But she didn’t move a muscle. “Why’d you come here?”

“To see my sister.”

“Yeah, sure.” Juts looked around. “Where’s Nickel?”

“She must have wandered behind the garage. She’s not here.”

“Well, she went in the house, then.”

“She’s too little to reach the doorknob.”

“Wherever she is, Buster and Doodlebug are with her.”

Wheezie got up and walked around the house as Juts looked over the neighboring backyards. She returned. “Juts, I don’t know where she is.”

“She couldn’t be far. Those little legs only go but so fast.” Julia ran to the front sidewalk and there in the middle of the street played Nickel. “Nicky,” she shouted, “stay right there,” and she tore off.

“Tell her to get out of the street!” Louise sprinted after her sister.

Juts reached the child and scooped her up in her arms as the dogs bounced around. “Nicky, don’t go without telling Mommy—and don’t ever go in the street.”

Louise, scared, face flushed, reached them. She wagged her finger. “Don’t you ever do that again!”

Nickel wagged her finger right back at her aunt.

“Juts, you’ve got to discipline this child
now.”

“Don’t defy Aunt Wheezie, kid.” Juts reached in her house-dress pocket for a cigarette. She lit one for herself and gave another one to Nicky to play with.

“No, Julia, you’ve got to smack her. I tell you like I tell Mary with Oderuss. Be strict. Be consistent. Nicky wandered off. She’s being defiant. She could have been killed!”

“I’m not going to smack her unless she does it a second time.”

“You’re raising a hellcat. You don’t know the first thing about mothering,” Louise, still shaken, complained as they walked back to the house. “But then what should I expect?”

“Just what does that mean?”

“Well, you didn’t carry the baby. It’s different when they grow inside of you.” Louise swung the cudgel she still possessed.

“Bullshit.”