Grandma determined one or the other of us would have to play both parts.
Vonnie backed out, but I was getting a little taste of show business and liked it. Every evening I plunked and plinked until I got a barely recognizable rendition of “Amazing Grace” going. Grandma managed to hit a good note every now and again, and Grandpa did his best to sing bass, but truth be told, they sounded awful. And while we’re truth-telling, so did I.
Before we took the show on the road, Grandma decided to hold a rehearsal. Sister Wood was at the house visiting, and so was Sissy, and we recruited Mother and Aunt Lila and Vonnie from the kitchen where they were making crepe-paper flowers to take to the cemetery for Decoration Day. Red bandanas tied around their heads Rosie the Riveter style, Mother and Aunt Lila came in and sat cross-legged on the floor, still rubbing at crepe-paper stains on their fingers. Vonnie tagged along behind, wearing a bandana like theirs.
We had our audience.
We managed to start pretty even, me playing and grinning and Grandma opening wide and warbling toward the ceiling. As for Grandpa, he had his mouth twisted peculiar, trying to reach the bass notes. It didn’t matter, me and Grandma drowned him out anyway. I expect Grandma thought we’d get better as the rehearsal went on, but I was tired and had slowed down like a music box needing a wind-up.
“Well now, wasn’t that something?” Sister Wood asked.
Mother and Aunt Lila agreed that yes, it most certainly was. Vonnie and Sissy had enough sense to keep quiet, that is, until Grandma made the mistake of asking them how they thought we did.
Sissy smiled and nodded and got away without saying.
But Vonnie didn’t hold back.
“I’ll tell you one thing right now,” she blurted. “I’m not setting a foot in that church again if y’all get up there doing that in front of God and everybody else that knows us.”
Grandma said she expected it didn’t sound that bad, but when nobody came to her defense, she said of course everybody knew this was just a rehearsal and all. We practiced a couple more times, but soon Grandma stopped mentioning it and switched to a project she was good at—making quilts for the missionaries in Africa.
But I wasn’t ready to call it quits. Mr. Pursley’s next recital was scheduled for the following month, and I was counting on redeeming myself.
When he came up with the idea of me and Vonnie playing a duet, I could not be talked into it. This was my moment, and I wasn’t about to share it. I finally decided on “Leibestraum,” which was a good bit harder than anything I’d tried before. I was determined to shine, so I practiced that song until everybody at home was sick to death of it.
By the day of the concert, I was ready.
My taffeta skirt rustled as I went wringing and twisting up the steps, crossed over to the piano and flashed my toothiest movie-star smile at my audience. I sat down, arranged the taffeta around me, and played “Leibestraum” through to the end. After I took my bow, I walked off the stage just a little slower than necessary. Like the last square of Hershey’s chocolate on your tongue, some things are meant to be savored.
Although I never played in public again, I had done what I set out to do. By this time Vonnie and I were bored with the piano, so we talked Mother into letting us quit taking lessons. Still, anytime I hear the opening movement of a Tchaikovsky concerto, Mr. Pursley is playing piano in his parlor, and I am sipping tea from china I could crush in my hand like a Dixie Cup.
24
The River Ran Cold
I watched the top half of Vonnie streak by the window. Mother, waving a cherry-tree switch in her hand, sprinted a few steps behind. By the time they came around again, I could tell Mother was gaining on her. I figured it would take a couple more laps before Vonnie got caught.
“Save me, Grandpa, save me!” she hollered, but he was off somewhere out of earshot.
Grandma didn’t even look up. “What must the neighbors think?” she muttered, darning away at a sizable hole in a thin black sock, more than likely one Grandpa needed for church.
Vonnie had settled in on pitching fits to get her way—and Mother had settled in on not letting her. It all started when Mother hung her new stockings out to dry after rinsing them in vinegar water, which was supposed to make them last longer, although I don’t know if it did.
“Vonnie, run quick and get my hose off the line before it rains,” she directed.
Though the sky was cloudless, thunder rumbled under its breath nearby. Just as Vonnie got to the clothesline, rain began to plop on the ground. She yanked the stockings off and ran for the house.
And Mother saw her do it.
She lit in about those being brand-new stockings bought special to go with the suit she was wearing that very night and she’d be unlikely to find that color again, not to mention how she’d ever afford to buy another pair even if she did. Why Vonnie had snatched them off the line and ruined them was a complete mystery. It wasn’t because she didn’t know better, because she certainly did, and there was no need to say she didn’t.
Mother examined the stockings toe to thigh, sticking her hand up each
