Tumbleweed Skies Page 9

  After Uncle Roger and I had finished eating, Grandma sent me to bring in a line of clothes that she'd hung out earlier. She did the dishes by herself. Then she said I should go to my room and be quiet for a change.

  I felt bad for Uncle Roger because I knew he wanted things to be one way, only they were another way altogether. There wasn't a thing I could do to change that, either. I might have started to understand why Grandma acted the way she did, but it wasn't in my power to do anything about it.

  ***

  In spite of what Grandma had told him, Uncle Roger did bring ice back from town the next time he went. Fact is, I think he made up an excuse to go, just so he could get that ice and prove to me that my grandmother cared for me enough to make me ice cream.

  Except, she didn't.

  Uncle Roger made a point of telling Grandma to be sure to let him know when she wanted him to grate and chip the ice for her so she could go ahead and make the ice cream. But that never happened. The ice just sat there and melted, slowly making a trail of wet that trickled away. And everything went on just as it had been, chores to do and nothing in the air between my grandma and me except prairie dust and heat and silence.

  But then, one night…

  I'd been getting ready for bed when a tap came on my door. I went to open it with an uneasy feeling, since no one ever came to say goodnight or read me a story like Daddy does at bedtime at home.

  I was surprised to see Grandma standing there, with something yellow draped over her hands.

  "You can have this," she said, pushing it toward me, "for your dolls."

  "Thank you, Grandma," I said. I was too surprised to say anything else and we just stood there for a moment. Then Grandma turned and went down the hall and into her room. She closed the door without looking back at me.

  I closed my door too, and took the blanket to the bed, where I unfolded it. It was a pretty yellow quilt covered with hand-stitched daisies. Then I opened it to its full size and saw that it was a little bit too big for a doll blanket. And there was something familiar about it, too.

  I stared at it for a moment and then I remembered the quilt Grandma had made for Marcy's aunt when she had a baby. "I start one whenever I hear news that there will be a new baby," Grandma had told me that day.

  My breath caught as a thought came to me. Could Grandma have made this little quilt…for me, before I was ever born?

  I was sure of it, and I tried several ways to ask Grandma about it. But her answers were as cold and stiff as she was, and they gave away nothing.

  ***

  Uncle Roger never stopped trying to make things seem cheerful, or at least normal, whenever he was around, which was mostly just at mealtimes. As the crops grew he worked longer and longer days. Lots of times he still hadn't come back to the house before I'd gone to bed at night.

  I'd lie there after my prayers were said and think about Daddy coming to get me. Sometimes I could picture it just perfectly, and my heart would be beating with happiness just as if it was really happening. Other times, I couldn't get past knowing it was only in my head, and then I couldn't stop the tears from coming.

  But in the daytime, when the sun beat down and made the air shimmer in a way that I could almost see his car coming, it started to feel like I was hoping for nothing and he was never going to come back for me.

  Now and then panic would rise up in me and squeeze me until I could hardly breathe. One time I tried to recite the Twenty-third Psalm, like Daddy said I should do if I was ever troubled deep inside, but I couldn't seem to get it all out. I started out fine with, "The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want…," but by the time I got to the still waters my thoughts had drifted and I had to go back to the beginning and try again.

  ***

  And then, there he was! Only, after all the ways I'd pictured seeing him come down that driveway, I was in the outhouse when it happened.

  I didn't even hear the car's familiar rumble—I guess I must have been daydreaming—so it was a huge surprise when I went to wash my hands and heard voices out in front of the house.

  I ran, drying my hands on my shirt as I went. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst.

  I rounded the corner and sure enough, there he was! Daddy! He was talking to Grandma, only looking all around as he spoke. I knew right off he was looking for me!

  He was already reaching down for me as I got to him, and he swung me up and held me against his chest like he used to when I was smaller. His face went kind of crumply for a second, then he took a deep breath and smiled.

  "Did you behave yourself for your grandmother?" he asked.

  I was about to say I had (because I thought I had) but I couldn't—not with her standing right there. So, instead, I told him I'd done my best but sometimes I forgot and made noise.

  "I'm sorry, Grandma," I said after confessing.

  "Never mind," she said. "Just go get your things."

  She didn't need to say it twice! I was so excited packing that I almost forgot about the presents I had for Uncle Roger and Grandma. As soon as I had my things all tucked safely in my bag I hurried downstairs.

  "Grandma," I said, suddenly feeling shy, "I bought this for you."

  Grandma looked at the fan like she'd never seen one before. Her wizened old hand shook ever so slightly as she reached out for it. She opened it and fanned herself.

  "Thank you, Elizabeth," she said. "This is a very useful gift." Then she folded the fan back up and sat it gently on the hall table.

  "You're welcome, Grandma," I said. "And thank you for having me and taking care of me all summer."

  "Yes. Thank you, Mother Acklebee," Daddy said. "We sure are obliged to you, me and Ellie. And I mean to send you something for your trouble when I go back to work at the mill.

  "No," she said, in just the same tone she'd used when she first said I couldn't stay. It didn't leave any room for discussion.

  "Well, I sure do appreciate all you've done for us," Daddy said. "I can't thank you enough for taking care of Ellie."

  Then we went and got into the car. I thought Grandma would go back inside the house, but she stood there on the front step, her face just as stiff as always. We stopped by the field where Uncle Roger was working, and I hopped out of the car.

  "Don't you be a stranger, now, Ellie," he said.

  "I won't, Uncle Roger. And I have something for you." I held the book out to him. His face looked surprised and then his mouth kind of trembled and smiled all at the same time. He dropped down on one knee and gave me a big squeeze. Then he cleared his throat a couple of times and said, "Thank you, Ellie. I sure will enjoy this."

  Daddy and Uncle Roger shook hands then, and we started out for home.

  We had to go past the farm again after saying goodbye to Uncle Roger and I was surprised, looking in, to see Grandma still there on the step.

  The sight of her, standing there, like she was frozen in the doorway, made something strange start up inside me. On the happiest day I'd had since I first came to Weybolt, I suddenly felt very much as if I was about to cry.

  "Go back!" I said. Daddy turned to me all startled and I realized I'd yelled. I calmed my voice down and then explained. "I have to tell Grandma something."

  He didn't ask why. He just turned the car around, drove back to the house, and let me out.

  I ran to her and put my arms around her. "I'll write to you and Uncle Roger, Grandma," I said. "I hope you'll write me back."

  She didn't answer, but just before I let go and went back to the car and Daddy, I felt her hand barely touch the top of my head.

  It rested there for just a second but I could still feel it much later as Daddy and I headed south, a tail of dust rising up behind the car.

  Acknowledgements

  I am indebted to the following people, whose support for and confidence in Tumbleweed Skies helped make this book a reality:

  Gail Winskill, who selected and signed the story, and whose forthrightness and integrity made the bus
iness end of our dealings painless. Thank you, Gail.

  Ann Featherstone, whose skillful editorial hand gently and lovingly guided the words and story into its present form. I am in awe. Thank you, Ann.

  Christie Harkin, who was terrific to work with as she managed the home stretch. Thank you, Christie.

  And artist David Jardine, whose beautifully rendered cover image is so perfectly suited to the story's voice.

  Thank you, David.