Runny03 - Loose Lips (49 page)

“You’re complaining, Louise, that means you’re fine.”

“You know, Juts, even black magic can’t change a chicken!” Louise sputtered in pure-D rage, leaving her sister and niece to ponder the deep meaning of this statement. She dusted herself off from the snowbank and then, perceiving that Juts might not wait since the horses were restive, sprinted to the sleigh.

Nickel, sodden, hoisted herself up as Juts allowed the horses to walk out.

“Honey, take off your clothes. Wheezie, help her.”

“I’ve twisted my ankle.”

“Will you help Nicky?”

Louise removed her expensive gloves and peeled the already-freezing layers off the child’s body. Nicky shivered and her skin was cherry red.

“Here.” Louise wrapped her in a blanket and put the hot-water bottle on her chest.

The child’s teeth chattered.

They rode in silence for half a mile, then Louise giggled. Juts followed. Finally Nickel, shivering uncontrollably, giggled too, but it sounded like a gurgle.

“‘Sleigh bells ring, are you listening—’” Juts started.

“‘In the lane, snow is glistening—’”

The three of them sang at the top of their lungs.

O.B. heard them and pushed open the big doors. Lillian pounding up the lane had alerted him to trouble ahead. Peepbean had joined him.

“Did you girls get in some trouble?”

“Just a tad.” Louise waved her muff as he took Monza’s bridle.

Peepbean watched as Louise lifted down Nicky to O.B. He put her on the ground.

“Fell off. Fell off,” Peepbean chanted.

“Shut up, Kirk, let her warm herself in front of the stove,” O.B. instructed his son.

“Go on, honey, I’ll be there in a minute. I’ve got to get your wet clothes out of the sleigh. Louise, don’t forget your purse.” Juts handed Louise her bag, then plucked out her own. She wanted to give O.B. a Christmas tip, realized she had no cash, reached in and pulled out her checkbook.

Peepbean placed Nickel by the stove. He pulled back the edges of the blanket, which she grabbed and wrapped around herself tightly.

“I won’t tell.”

“Peepbean, leave me alone.”

“I know you’ve got no clothes on. Come on, let me look.”

“No.”

He yanked at the blanket and she stood up. “If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll tell.”

He glowered. “I got something to tell you, snot. Your real momma is Rillma Ryan. Little bastard.”

“I don’t care.” Nickel absorbed the news but wasn’t about to react in front of him. She remembered Rillma Ryan. She was that nice lady who had come by to see them one day. “Doesn’t matter who my momma is—I’m still a better rider than you.”

“Fell off.”

“Yeah, but I’m not afraid to get back on. Chicken! Chicken! Chicken!”

He grabbed the blanket and fought with her. Louise walked in.

“That’s enough!”

Peepbean looked at her like a puppy caught stealing food off the table.

“We were just playing.”

“I’ve got no clothes on. He wants to see me.” Nickel told the plain, unvarnished truth.

“She’s crazy,” Peepbean lied.

“It’s Christmas. Do you want me to tell your father so he can give you a licking?”

“No.” Fear flickered on his face.

“Then my Christmas present to you is silence.” Louise pointed her finger at him. “But if you torment Nickel one more time you won’t sit down for a week because not only will your father hide you, I will, too!”

“Nickel!” Juts hollered.

“Yes, Momma.”

“Get out here this minute.”

Nickel shrugged and waddled out where her mother held open her crayon-enhanced checkbook. “Did you do this?”

“I’m gonna be rich,” Nickel declared.

“You’re going to be something, anyway. Did you write in my checkbook?”

“Yes.”

Louise peeked at the checkbook and burst out laughing.

“Don’t encourage her.” But Juts laughed, too.

Nickel grinned sheepishly but she was wondering about Rillma. If Rillma was really her mother, what was so bad about her that her mother had left her?

A
fearful apprehension seized Nicky. As each day edged her closer to Christmas she worried that Santa would put her presents under Rillma Ryan’s tree out in Portland, Oregon—that is, if Rillma Ryan was her mother.

She stared in the gilt-framed mirror in her bedroom. Did she look like Juts? What about Chessy?

Juts didn’t notice that Nicky was quieter than usual. Christmas turned Juts into a whirling dervish and besides, Juts wasn’t particularly sensitive to other people. Since most of her attention centered on herself she often missed what was going on with others.

Juts’s tree, a big Douglas fir, was festooned with huge, shiny balls of solid colors, tinsel, metallic gold garlands, and the occasional hand-carved wooden decoration from the old country.
Since the war was so recent in memory, no one identified which old country.

Spreading out the white sheet around the tree, Juts tugged this way and that but couldn’t satisfy her artistic impulses. The “snow” wouldn’t lie correctly. Irritated, she crawled under the tree, followed by Yoyo.

“Don’t you dare bat a ball off this tree.”

Yoyo rested on her haunches, watching Juts grunt and groan. Then Juts backed out. Still not right. She crawled under again. Flat on her belly, she wrinkled the sheet, forming hills and valleys. Then she again backed out and, tired, rested her head on her hands.

Yoyo stayed under the tree. Juts dozed for fifteen minutes, and when she opened her eyes she stared into the fireplace. A small downdraft had created a flutter. She rose, walked over, and leaned into the fireplace to close the flue. She had intended to leave the flue open but she got so busy she forgot to start a fire. When she reached into the fireplace she saw a tiny scrap of paper taped to the interior wall.

She removed it, careful to keep her sooty hand from her clothes.

In a childish scrawl the note read: “Santa I lif here. Nicky.” Ignoring the spelling and punctuation errors, she frowned and crumpled the note up, tossing it into the fireplace just as Nickel came down the stairs followed by Buster, who made more noise than she did.

“Momma!” Nickel raced for the fireplace to retrieve her note.

“What if I had started a fire?”

Nickel uncrumpled the paper.

Furious, Juts snatched it from her hand. “You don’t need a goddamned note! Santa knows where you live.”

“Just in case,” Nickel replied in a small voice. “He might get confused.”

“He’s not confused, you are.”

“I really want him to leave me a Roy Rogers holster.”

“Stop worrying about your presents. Christmas is more than presents.”

But not to a six-year-old. Had Juts been less upset she would have remembered that.

“I’ve been good and—”

“Oh, Nickel, Santa Claus is a white lie. Don’t worry about your presents. You’ll get your presents.”

Nickel stepped back, ashen-faced. “Mom, you told me Santa would find me.”

“There is no Santa Claus, goddammit. It’s a story people tell kids to shut them up. I’m Santa Claus, Daddy’s Santa Claus. There’s no one up there in the sky driving reindeer. Forget it.”

Nicky’s eyes misted over. “What about the Easter Bunny?”

“Have you ever seen a bunny bigger than a breadbasket? Another whopper. Don’t start bawling, Nicky. For God’s sake, they’re stories. You’ll get your presents. That’s all you care about.”

“That’s not all I care about!” Nickel screamed, surprising both Julia Ellen and herself.

Yoyo prudently climbed up the tree. Buster barked.

“I haven’t got time for this foolishness.” Juts turned and headed for the kitchen.

“You lied to me!” Nickel pointed her finger at Juts like an avenging angel.

Juts spun around. “Don’t talk to me like that, you spoiled brat. I’m your mother.”

“No, you’re not.”

That stopped Juts cold in her tracks. Even Buster closed his mouth.

“Rillma Ryan is my mother.” Nickel lowered her voice.

Shaking, Juts whispered, “Who told you that?”

“Peepbean Huffstetler.”

A long silence followed. Juts put her fingers to her temples. “Rillma Ryan gave you birth. She got in a jam and you were the
result. I wanted a baby so I took you. Why I wanted this grief, I don’t know. I should have had my head examined.” This casual cruelty slid right out of her lipsticked mouth. In fact, she was so mad and upset she didn’t even think about the effect on Nickel.

“If you’re not my mother you can’t tell me what to do.” Nickel put her hands on her hips as the tears rolled down her perfectly smooth face.

“Listen, brat. You’d be dead if I hadn’t gotten you out of that orphanage.” She conveniently neglected to mention Wheezie and Chessy had made the frozen trip to Pittsburgh. “I fed you, clothed you, and saw that you got to church on time. As long as you’re under my roof you’ll do as I say.”

Nickel turned her back on her and walked upstairs.

Juts went into the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee, but her hands were shaking so hard she couldn’t get it to her mouth. Furious, she poured the liquid down the sink and then smashed the cup against the wall.

A
light rap on the front door would have gone unnoticed except that Ramelle happened to be passing through the big hall.

“Nicky.” She opened the door to behold the child wearing everything she could think of and carrying her pencil box. “Come in, honey.”

“Mrs. Chalfonte, is G-Mom here?”

“Yes. Let’s take these clothes off and then we’ll find her. This is quite a wardrobe. I know it’s bitter out there, but, well—” Ramelle smiled and said no more about it. “There.”

She took Nicky by the hand, walking her back to the kitchen.

Cora was cutting out cookies. “Hi. What are you doing here?”

Nicky walked between the two women, her back to her grandmother, and faced Ramelle. “Mrs. Chalfonte, I want to work for you just like G-Mom does. I’m strong. I’m really strong and I’m learning to write. I can sweep and I can—”

Ramelle’s laughter rang out like silver bells. “Nickel, you are the most precious thing in the world.”

Nickel smiled. “I’ll start right now. I brought everything I need.”

“Where’s your mother?” Cora laughed. “In Portland, Oregon.”

That wiped the smile off both their faces. Cora rubbed her hands on her apron. She picked up some cookies off the platter. “Let’s sit over here.”

The three sat down in the nook, Ramelle bringing milk.

“First, why don’t you tell us why you wore so many clothes?” Ramelle asked in a gentle voice.

“I’m not going back to Momma. I can sleep at G-Mom’s and work here all day. I like to work.”

“You’re a good worker.” Ramelle praised her.

“These are good, if I do say so myself.” Cora ate a peanut-butter cookie and put her arm around Nickel. “What’s this about Portland, Oregon?”

“Peepbean told me my mother is Rillma Ryan and Momma said so, too. I don’t like Momma anymore.”

“Because she’s not your real mother?” Ramelle tried not to make her questions sound as vital as they were. “I mean, your natural mother. A real mother is the one that raises you.”

“Momma was ugly to me and I don’t like her.”

“What did she do?” Cora drummed the tabletop with her fingertips, then stopped. “We won’t tell. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Ramelle crossed her heart also.

“She told me there was no Santa Claus, no Easter Bunny, and she said I was a jam.”

“A jam?” Cora wondered what this meant.

Nickel nodded her head. “I was a jam and I made her head hurt. I don’t have to listen to her.”

“Uh—well, let’s worry about that later. Right now you eat up G-Mom’s cookies. I need to tidy up and I’ll be right back.” Ramelle left to phone Juts.

“She’s what?” came the gasp on the other end of the line. Juts didn’t know that Nickel had snuck out the back door. “I’ll be right over.”

“Julia, that might not be a good idea. Why don’t you tell me what happened, especially the jam part? Nickel says you told her she was a jam.”

“Oh—” A sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line was audible. “My nerves are raw and—”