When Ratboy Lived Next Door (8 page)

Saturday morning I found Nanna taking clothes down from the clothesline. I knew she was using it as an excuse to talk to Mrs. Merrill, since taking down the laundry was my job. I sneaked out the back porch and crouched in my hiding place behind the steps so I could listen.

“I do laundry every Monday and Thursday, and I do sheets on Saturday. You can use the clothesline on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, or Fridays.”

“Oh, I don't know. I get along all right without one,” Mrs. Merrill said, not meeting Nanna's eye.

“You'd have one if Violet Ogle hadn't been so proud of her fancy umbrella-style clothesline and taken it with her.” Nanna snapped the last pillowcase in the air. “A person can do without a fancy washing machine. All they need is water, soap, and elbow grease. But there's nothing like the smell of clothes after the sun's warmed them, is there? And there's no sense in your husband putting up a clothesline when I have a perfectly good one right here.”

Folding the pillowcase, Nanna placed it on top of the basket. Then she took off her apron and handed it to Mrs. Merrill. “Here you go. The clothespins are in the pocket. You might as well go ahead and use it tomorrow. I never do wash on Sunday. After you take your clothes down, just hang the apron on a peg on my back porch.”

Nanna gave her a huge smile as if it had all been settled. Mrs. Merrill finally gave in and reached for the apron. She looked beaten. Nanna could do that to a person.

Then, without looking my way, Nanna said, “Lydia, you can bring the clothes basket in now,” and walked right past me into the kitchen. Nanna always told me she had eyes in the back of her head. I had every reason to believe her.

I lugged that clothes basket into the kitchen and dropped it with a thud. “I don't know why you offered them our clothesline,” I said to Nanna. “She's had that same sorry green dress on since she moved in. It's probably so dirty it could stand up by itself.”

Crack!
Nanna brought a wooden spoon down hard on the counter. “Lydia Carson, you shame me. How is she supposed to clean their clothes? She has no washing machine and probably no money for the Laundromat. Sometimes folks just need a helping hand. That's a lesson you should remember.”

“Yes'm,” I said, but mostly I thought the lesson I'd remember was not to get too sassy while Nanna had a wooden spoon within reach.

*   *   *

That night the grown-ups had coffee on our front porch after supper. Since I didn't have anything better to do, I sat with them.

Suddenly Mr. Merrill's truck came screeching around the corner. He pulled up in front of his house a little too fast and parked the truck with its front wheel in the grass. He got out, staggered, and then walked a little unsteadily into the house.

“Why, he's drunk!” Nanna said.

“It does look like it,” Daddy answered.

“Land sakes, no wonder Carolyn acts scared all the time.”

“And what, pray tell, does this have to do with us?” Mother asked.

“Oh, nothing. I've just been wondering why Carolyn acts so peculiar. This explains it.”

“Coming home a little drunk one night doesn't make him an alcoholic,” Mother said. “Maybe Carolyn is peculiar all by herself.”

“I don't think so…” Nanna murmured as she stared at the Merrills' house. Nanna had that look she got when she couldn't keep her nose out of other people's business. I could tell by Mother's face that she saw it, too.

I didn't want to hear them bickering, so I went into the kitchen. I reached for the handle on the Frigidaire and tried not to look at the door. Nanna had stuck the church bulletin on with a magnet. She'd circled the date of the mother-daughter banquet in bright red: Sunday, May 27. That was tomorrow. I cringed every time I saw that bulletin. It did a better job of keeping me out of the refrigerator than Nanna's “You'll spoil your supper” ever did.

I dreaded the banquet. I might have looked forward to it if Mother had wanted me to go, but the celebration was all for Nanna. It made me feel that Mother and I were both Nanna's daughters and reminded me of how distant Mother and I were.

Nanna and Mother brought their coffee cups into the kitchen while I sat there brooding about the banquet. When Nanna asked what dress I wanted to wear to it, the words exploded from my mouth. “Oh, Nanna, why do I have to go? Mother's going. Isn't one daughter enough for you? Do you have to have two?”

Mother got that steely look in her eyes. “You don't have to go to the banquet.”

“What?” Nanna looked shocked.

“It
is
a mother-daughter banquet, is it not? Lydia is
my
daughter. I do have these facts straight, don't I?” she asked Nanna.

“Well, yes, but—”

“Fine. I'm telling her she can skip it.”

I looked from Mother to Nanna. I didn't feel good that I'd pitted them against each other. Still, I didn't have to go, so I can't say I felt
all
bad.

*   *   *

When Mother and Nanna headed for the banquet Sunday evening, Daddy said, “It's not every day I get to have supper with a beautiful girl. How about you and I go to the Oasis tonight?”

“Great!”

And it was great. I even got a root beer float with my supper. As we walked back to the house, Daddy said, “That grass is so tall I'll have to either mow it tonight or bale it. What are you going to do, girl?”

“Just take out the trash, I guess.”

“I'll do that. I don't like you being around that burn barrel.”

Everyone in Maywood had a barrel for burning their trash. While Daddy was outside lighting the fire, the phone rang. Someone had a flat tire and needed Daddy to open up the station and patch it.

“I'm sorry but duty calls, Ladybug.” Daddy gave me a crooked smile. “Will you be all right here, or do you want to come along?”

Then it hit me. With everyone gone, this would be a perfect time to play my little trick on Willis. “I'll be fine, Daddy. I'll mosey over if I get bored.”

After Daddy left, I sat on the back porch until I heard that clicking noise that could only be Zorro. I climbed up my tree house with the jar of peanut butter.

I had a clear view of Willis with Zorro on his back. I opened the peanut butter jar and, sure enough, Zorro leaped off Willis's back and came at a dead run to my tree house. Oh, it was as beautiful as any ballet. He ran up the side of the tree and sat next to me to get that peanut butter, just the way we'd practiced.

I took special pleasure in watching the expressions cross Willis's face. There were so many of them! Then he started that clicking sound he made to call Zorro—which Zorro ignored. From the ground Willis couldn't see I was feeding his raccoon.

“Well, ain't that a hoot! Looks like Zorro's my new friend,” I said. Then I talked baby talk to Zorro. “Isn't that right, Zorro? We're friends, aren't we?”

“You— What the—” Willis sputtered. I remembered when Willis got mad at the Free Show what a hard time he'd had finding words. It was as if they flew right out of his head and left him sputtering. Now he was doing it again.

We heard a bang as Beth ran out the screen door. “Hi, Lydia! Willis, look! Zorro is with Lydia!” She raised her doll's hand and said, “Wave to Zorro and Lydia, Elizabeth!”

The other thing I remembered about Willis was how cruel he could be when he was mad.

Beth was standing next to Willis. She smiled and waved her doll's arm. Willis turned to her.

My brain registered that she was too close to him. That she should run. But my mouth wasn't able to form the words fast enough.

In his white-hot anger, Willis reached out. He grabbed the first thing his hand landed on. He yanked Elizabeth out of Beth's arms and flung the doll away. It landed in the burn barrel.

Almost immediately Elizabeth's face caved in on itself and her hair burst into flames. I don't remember climbing out of that tree, but there I was, holding Beth's tiny, shaking body so she couldn't see her only toy in the world burning up.

I knew as I held her that it wasn't just Willis's fault. If I hadn't goaded him, he wouldn't have gotten so mad. I would have shared the blame with him, but he didn't stay long enough to apologize. He ran like the chickenhearted goon that he was.

When Beth's shaking sobs stopped, I said to her, “I'll be right back.”

I tore through my closet, my tears making everything look wobbly. I yanked down the hatbox from my closet shelf. Inside I found my Betsy McCall and Ginny dolls and a pile of doll clothes.

I picked out a crocheted white dress with red tatting because it was the prettiest doll dress I had, a green satin traveling suit because it was probably what Mrs. Merrill's sad jacket and skirt had looked like new, and a frilly pink bridesmaid dress with a matching veil and a little bouquet of plastic flowers. I threw them all into an old Buster Brown shoebox and laid Betsy McCall on top. Ginny was my favorite, with glossy brown hair and eyes, but I knew Betsy was the doll that was needed today. I was halfway down the stairs when I really looked at the Buster Brown shoebox. It looked so plain, so … used.

I ran back upstairs and dumped everything out of a beautiful carved wooden chest that sat on my dresser and put the clothes and doll in it. She looked real pretty in the chest.

Beth wasn't outside, so I went around front. I was relieved to see Mr. Merrill and Elliot climb into the truck and pull away. Mr. Merrill didn't sit right with me and I didn't want to go there when he was home. I knocked on the Merrills' door.

When Mrs. Merrill answered, I said, “Hello, Miz Merrill. Could Beth come outside?”

Mrs. Merrill looked as if she'd been crying, too. “Beth isn't feeling well right now, Lydia. Maybe you should come back tomorrow.”

“Miz Merrill, I know about her doll. I'd really like to see her.”

Beth's little face peeked around her mama's skirt.

“Do you want to see Lydia, honey?”

Beth nodded and came outside. She sat on the porch step. I waited until Mrs. Merrill went back inside.

“Hey, Beth,” I said gently, sitting beside her. “I'm so glad to see you. I have someone I'd like you to meet.”

Beth's pale face was streaked from crying. When she saw that carved chest, her eyes grew twice their size.

I carefully set the box down between us, lifted the lid, and took out the doll. “Isn't she pretty?”

Beth nodded.

“She has such nice clothes to wear. Just look at this beautiful jacket and skirt.”

“It looks like Mama's!” Beth said.

“Well, what do you know? It sure does! Would you like to hold her?”

Beth nodded and I laid the doll in her arms. She held it carefully, like a real baby.

“There's a sad story about this doll. She doesn't have anybody who wants to play with her anymore. There's nothing sadder than a doll that has to stay by herself in a box all day long.” I stared off into space for a minute to let the words soak in.

“I was wondering if maybe you'd like to play with her.”

Beth's face lit up and she nodded hard.

“There's only one catch. If she gets used to playing with you, she'll be just miserable if she has to play with anybody else. That kind of means you'd have to keep her forever. Think you could do that?”

“Ohhh. Yes!”

“Whew, that's a relief. I think she'll really like being your forever doll. Did I tell you her name?”

“No.”

“It's Betsy McCall.”

“Betsy,” Beth said as she looked at her.

“I like that name Betsy. Have you ever heard it before?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Did you know that Betsy is another nickname for Elizabeth, like Beth?”

Beth looked at me with a face that showed so much love and joy that I just wanted to die. I hadn't thrown her doll into the fire. And I couldn't have known things would get so out of hand. But the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach reminded me that Willis had done it because of me.

7

There's a saying in Indiana that if you don't like the weather, stick around: it'll change. The night Beth's doll burned, the heat gave way to a cold snap and driving rain.

On Monday, school was a little more bearable with the stickiness gone, but the rain meant indoor recess, which was darn near intolerable. We sat in huddles, trading theories about what became of Willis every school day. I remembered Elliot saying that some schools held him back a year or two, but we saw the fourth and fifth graders playing at recess. Willis wasn't among them.

We saw him come to school, but the front door was like a mouth that swallowed him whole.

The rain would keep Elliot out of the gardens, but I'd brought an umbrella with me so we could still walk home together. Being taller, he held the umbrella up over me. The rain washed down around us as if we were in our own little cocoon, and I never wanted that walk to end.

I couldn't get up the courage to ask Elliot about Willis again.

Nosy Bobby Wayans tried his best to find out, though. He said he hung around the lunchroom on Monday, thinking Willis
had
to eat, but never saw him. So Tuesday, Bobby came to school early and skulked by the front door. Willis marched right by, even though Bobby called out to him, and went straight to the school office.

Wednesday was Memorial Day, a national holiday. I knew it was supposed to be a somber day, spent decorating the graves of soldiers and other loved ones who had passed on. But how could it be somber when it meant no school?

Nanna let me sleep in, probably because Mother was home and was always real quiet on that day. We knew it was because Robert's grave was in Ohio and too far away for her to visit, but no one ever said a word about that.

Daddy, Nanna, and I took fresh flowers to the graves of Daddy's parents, who'd died before I was born. Then Daddy took Mother for a long drive. He called it a special “date,” but Nanna and I knew he was just trying to cheer her up.