There was a snag in the foot of the second stocking.
Instead of keeping her mouth shut like any reasonable person would know to do, my sister talked back. The more Mother fussed and fumed, the more Vonnie sassed. She was bound and determined to get in the last word, but Mother wasn’t about to let her. That soon led to Vonnie being sent to break a switch off the cherry tree. Vonnie handed her the switch, then took off running.
I was almost rooting for her.
There’s things about a person you can’t help but admire.
The rain petered out after only a spit and a promise. I went out and sat on the porch steps so I’d have a ringside seat for the final round. Mother held Vonnie’s wrist with one hand, trying and mostly failing to land a swipe or two on her twisting legs. Knowing full well she wouldn’t get switched while she was down, Vonnie collapsed belly-up on the grass like Queenie did when she came upon a bad-tempered cur. She sucked in some air, arched her back, and screamed bloody murder.
Grandma had heard enough. She came out of the house, a cup in her hand, making a beeline for the middle of the fracas.
“Young lady, you’d best stop that racket by the time I count to three or I’ll douse you so fast it’ll make your head swim, and don’t you think for one minute I won’t.”
She lifted the cup higher. “One. Two. Three.”
Vonnie, still squalling, flashed her eyes at Grandma to determine if she was serious.
She determined wrong.
Before a heartbeat passed, Grandma dumped the cup of water on Vonnie, who sputtered and coughed and made a big show of it like she was strangling to death. Grandma didn’t fall for it. Without a word, she handed Vonnie the dishtowel she usually wore thrown over her shoulder. All the starch taken out of her, Vonnie sopped at her hair and tears and runny nose.
“Come on to the house now and get you some supper while it’s hot,” Grandma said, talking just as nice as you please. “It’s ten past the hour, so we’ll have to hurry a little.”
She held out her hand and Vonnie took it.
Miraculously, the fit was over.
Mother and Vonnie appeared to be past their fuss about the stockings, and dinner went off without a hitch. Grandma saw to that. Every meal we sat down together—breakfast at seven, dinner at noon, and supper at six, folding our white flour-sack napkins and placing them on our chairs after each meal. After supper Grandma collected them and put clean ones out before breakfast the next morning.
“Tuck that napkin in before you drip all over yourself,” Grandma scolded. “Your mother’s expecting company in a little bit and you need to be presentable.”
I picked up an ear of buttered corn, but not before I took the napkin off my lap and tucked it in the front of my dress.
Oh, we had rules up to the elbows we weren’t supposed to put on the table.
“Vonnie, Vonnie, if you’re able, get your elbows off the table,” I singsonged. Then she watched extra hard to try to catch me.
Grandma’d say things like: “Wait till Grandpa says grace.” “Don’t talk with your mouth full.” “Say, ‘Please pass the gravy,’ instead of doing a boardinghouse reach.” “Ask if you can be excused before you up and leave.” “Consider what’s fit to talk about at the table lest you go blurting something out.”
She looked straight at me when she said that blurting part.
“I think I’ve heard enough of that,” she’d say, drawing her eyebrows down and giving me a look.
I didn’t seem to have an ear for what was fit talk, but I could depend on Grandma to set me straight. David Stanley getting his nose bloodied wasn’t fit, although it wasn’t a fair fight since the other boy was way older. David, on the other hand, was wiry and tough and had stood his ground, so I was rooting for him until the very end. Nor was Sissy peeing her pants in class, making a perfect round puddle under her desk. She’d raised her hand like we were supposed to and the teacher paid her no mind at all so it wasn’t her fault. And Cora Hinkley coming to school with her hair chopped off because she had head lice couldn’t be talked about. The teacher forced her to wear a cap made from cutting off an old stocking. That just seemed wrong. I wanted to see if Grandma agreed with me, but she was hurrying us through a supper of macaroni and cheese, green beans with scrappy ham, apple dumplings, and cornbread left over from dinner. She was anxious to get the kitchen cleaned up before Mother’s company came at seven.
Mother had got a notion to take up the wool cabbage-rose carpet, uncovering oak floors dulled by time. She’d have the carpet cut and bound into throw rugs. Although she usually tackled such jobs herself, she decided the job was big enough to call in a professional. Ralph Matthews, listed in the Yellow Pages as owner and operator of the Tru Finish Floor Company, showed up.
After the job was done, he called our house several times. Grandma answered every time.
Had he left his hat there?
No, she was sure he hadn’t.
Had she come across that hat?
No, it was nowhere to be found.
Finally he called and Mother answered.
That’s when he asked her for a date.
Mother spent a long time getting herself ready, putting on the soft gray herringbone suit and white crepe blouse she’d pressed earlier. Dabbed with clear nail polish so it wouldn’t run, the snag in her taupe hose was covered by her black spike pumps. She clipped pearl earrings to her ears and finished the look off with a red hat topped by a tuft of feathers.
Ralph, a confirmed bachelor who lived a mile or so away with his mother, was blond and good-looking. I guess that
