"Says"

Against the backdrop of the Korean War and the segregated South, a young boy and his elderly neighbor find their losses uniting them in a unique friendship.

“Says” by Mary Crockford

“Y'know, you can stop starin', child. I don't bite.”

The old woman rocked slowly back and forth in her rocking chair, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Her hands worked a bundle of fabric squares that sat in her aproned lap. Her skin was as dark as the hot sun overhead was white, though the section of the porch she sat in was sheltered from its glare by a weathered gable overhang. “Seems to me you oughta be in school. Why ain'tcha in school?”

The boy took a couple tentative steps down the walk between the porch and a dented metal mailbox. Its splintered post leaned toward the house as if mesmerized by the rhythmic creak, creak of the rocker. He noticed a glass of lemonade sweating on the stool beside her, and blinked as an ice cube bobbed and clinked its way to the top of the glass. Today was hotter than usual, even for Atlanta in September, and the entire town seemed to move in slow motion as the heat wave crested its third day of temperatures over 100 degrees.

“They's a pipe busted at school,” the boy mumbled. “Whole buildin' smells bad. Ain't no water, neither. Teacher says we might be out all week if someone don't fix it fast.” He ground the toe of his sneaker into the walkway, decapitating a dandelion growing in one of the cracks. It bled a green stain onto the sun-baked cement as he smeared it beneath his heel.

“I see,” the old woman said. “You the boy that lives 'cross the street, right? The blue house with that fat little dog, one leg gone?”

“Yeah. That's Scooter.” The boy smiled shyly. “Papa named him that 'cause when he was born, he had to scoot hisself to his mama t'drink. Papa says if a pup with only three legs can drag his behind to the teat, just about nobody cain't earn their bellyful.”

The old lady laughed, her wide smile revealing snow-white teeth and a bright pink tongue in the middle of her dark face. The boy thought she looked tired, but her eyes were like twinkling brown beads beneath her bony brow. “Seems t'me your Papa was right about that.” She paused, putting down her fabric bundle. “I noticed me a coupl'a uniformed fellas was at your door a few weeks ago. I ain't seen your mama so much as open the door since. You wanna sit down and tell Addy about it?”

The boy shook his head. “No, ma'am. Mama says ever'body has them their own problems, and we ain't t'be botherin' em with ours. Says it's private stuff.”

The old woman nodded. “I understand, child.” Her glass was no longer sweating, its ice cubes having melted into a membrane of water at the top of the lemonade. She moved it to the porch floor beside her rocker, jarring the liquid into a thinner, paler mixture. She removed a handkerchief from her apron pocket and wiped the damp ring from the stool where the glass had sat. “You're welcome t'sit.”

The boy hesitated.

“Come,” she repeated, patting the stool again. “Like I says, I don't bite.” She clicked her mouth shut and then open again, so it looked like her teeth would pop out if she let them. She winked and whispered, “'Tween you and me, these ain't even my born teeth.”

He climbed the porch steps, heeding her warning to move to the left to avoid the split one at the bottom. He sat on the stool, looking at his feet and feeling suddenly embarrassed at the big toe that poked through one of them. The old woman's slippers were worn, too, and her ankles were puffy so that her dark legs reminded him of a circus elephant's.

“Whatcha makin'?” he asked, looking at the fabric pile nestled in her lap.

“A quilt,” she answered, her pink-palmed hands turning a few of the squares over. He could see their various patterns and colors. Some looked like they'd been cut from baby clothes. Others looked like they could have been pieces of old blankets, or trousers like the too-small ones he wore. Her voice was quiet. “I'm makin' my Vernon a quilt.”

“Who's Vernon?” the boy asked. His cheeks reddened as the old woman's eyes became tinged with sadness. “I'm sorry,” he stammered. “Mama says people don't need no kids askin' a bunch'a questions. Says they all got private stuff, too.”

“That's alright,” she said, patting the patched knee of his trousers. She again took the handkerchief out that she'd used to wipe the wet ring from the stool, and blew her nose. “Vernon's my boy.” She smiled softly, her eyes blinking back tears. One she missed rolled down her shiny, black cheek. The boy noticed bits of flour caked on some of her fingers, and that she smelled like ladies' cold cream up close.

“Men like them that was at your house was here last Christmas Eve,” she said. “Came to tell me my Vernon had been killed in the war.”

The boy sat staring at her face even as he felt he should look somewhere else. “I -- I'm sorry.” He looked at his feet again. They seemed to move of their own accord, banging together as he wondered what to say. The silence felt like it lasted for a few minutes, but she was still dabbing her eyes, so it must not have been that long. “Teacher says President Truman is tryin' t'end the war.”
She cleared her throat, taking a sip of lemonade. Her voice was low. “Presidents cain't end war, child, don't matter what people says. People always gonna have wars. They cain't get along, no how.” She cleared her throat again. “Seems t'me it's too late for my Vernon and your daddy anyhow, right?”

“Guess so, ma'am.” he whispered. He picked at the patch on his knee, noticing his fingernails were long and had dirt underneath them. Papa always clipped them before, and made him keep them scrubbed clean. It was easy to forget that now, especially since he also wasn't around to make him take a bath every day. The boy's stomach growled. He ignored it. Bein' hungry didn't matter as much as someone bein' sad.

“What's your name, child?”

He wiggled his feet, putting his hands on the stool and lifting himself off of it a couple of inches. “I should go. Mama says t'aint good to talk to strangers.” He looked again at the stack of squares on her lap. The steel scissors in her hand looked heavy, and he noticed that her long fingers all curved a little bit to the right. Her knuckles were swollen, like her ankles, but knobbier. “I'll leave ya t'your quiltin', ma'am. Mama says if I ain't home by four o'clock for dinner, Scooter'll get what's mine.”

The old woman chuckled. “Alright then, child. I'll be here t'morrow if your school's still closed. If it's okay with your mama, you can come by and say hi to old Addy.” Deep wrinkles squeezed the flesh around her eyes, but her smile wasn't as wide as before. “Then we wouldn't be strangers no more, right?”

“I suppose we wouldn't be, ma'am,” he said. “Bye now.”

The old woman nodded and went back to cutting her fabric squares. As the boy returned down the walk toward the mailbox, the creaking floorboards behind him signaled she'd returned to her rocking. He stepped over the smashed dandelion, moving aside to avoid the leaning mailbox, and headed for home.

*****

The boy stood by the mailbox and wondered if the old lady would notice that he was wearing the same tattered trousers as the day before. Or that the hole in his sneaker was now big enough that his second toe poked through, too. Mama had stayed in bed again that morning, though she had left a dollar on the kitchen table so that he could go to the store for bread and eggs. There was still a quarter of a bottle of milk in the icebox, and he'd begged the creamery man to leave a small block of ice that morning so it wouldn't go sour. Mama didn't have enough money for ice, not until Papa's last paycheck came, and even then there was rent, and she said he'd grown like a weed and needed new pants and shoes.

He walked to the bottom of the steps, craning his neck to see up over the porch through the screen door. The words of “Lily in the Valley” floated from inside, where the old woman's voice rose above the clanking of pots and pans. He turned to go, thinking better of disturbing her, when her voice came from the doorway. “Well hello, child. You came at just the right time, Addy's made a big pot a'stew. You're welcome t'join me if you're hungry.”

The boy's stomach growled. “I -- I was just on the way to the store, ma'am. Besides, Mama says...”

“Now let me guess, child. Your mama says it ain't polite to take food from other mouths, huh?” The old woman chuckled. Her laugh sounded to the boy as it had when she was singing moments before. Happy, or at least less sad. “I don't think your mama would mind me feeding her boy a little lunch. I 'spect she'd 'preciate it, actually, seein' how feedin' a growin' boy's like fertilizin' a weed!”

The boy couldn't believe the old woman had said almost the same thing Mama had. “Okay. I guess she probably wouldn't mind if I ate some lunch 'fore I went to the store. She ain't up yet, anyhow, so...”

“C'mon in,” she said, swinging the door open wide. “Besides, I already set a place for ya.”

As he walked through the door, he noted that the stack of fabric squares now rested in a basket on the kitchen table, and had doubled in size from the day before. He sat at the table and immediately devoured several mouthfuls of the stew she ladled into his bowl. Even though Mama said it was rude to do so, he tucked the tough piece of meat he was chewing into his cheek and spoke. “When you gonna start your Vernon's quilt?”

She sat down in the chair next to his, handing him a slice of white bread slathered in what looked like lard, and sliding a glass of lemonade toward him.

“Tonight,” she answered. She stood up again, not having taken a bite from her own bowl yet. “I wanna show you somethin'.” She disappeared into the next room, and the boy heard the sound of a closet door opening for a moment, then shutting again. She reappeared in the kitchen doorway, pausing for a moment as she looked down at a folded garment in her arms. She placed it on the table next to him. It was a brown tweed coat, long and and missing its top button. “This belonged to my James, Vernon's daddy. I was gonna have Vernon wear it, so he'd have somethin' of his daddy with him when they buried him, but the government had him in his uniform, so...” She cleared her throat. “I was thinkin' now maybe I'd use it in his quilt.”

“Ma'am?” The boy swallowed his current bite of stew and put his spoon down. “Why d'ya wanna make your Vernon a quilt? I mean...pardon me, ma'am, but he's...he's not gonna get to use it...right? I mean, I'm...I'm sorry ma'am. Mama says some things just ain't nobody else's business, and Papa'd prob'ly tan my hide for askin' ya that.”

She looked at him for a long moment. “I guess truth is, it's more for me than for my Vernon,” she said softly, reaching for the stack of fabric squares and laying them atop the refolded coat. “I cut these pieces from some'a his old clothes. Hard t'believe he was once all legs and knobbly knees like you.” She patted his knee again, her hand lingering for a moment as she looked at the frayed patch. Then she laughed, almost joyfully it seemed to the boy, and he realized how much he liked the way her pink tongue and dark skin looked when she did that. It reminded him of the sun shining through dark clouds when a bad storm lifted.

“You probably think I'm an old fool for holdin' onto these things, hm?”

“No, ma'am. I don't think that.” He returned her smile, nervously playing with the cloth napkin wadded in his hand. “I think it must feel a little bit like havin' your Vernon 'round again, huh?”

Her eyes brightened. “Yes, I reckon it's a little bit like that.”

“I better get to the store,” the boy said. He rose from his seat and dropped his spoon noisily in the bowl, setting the napkin on top and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “Mama's gonna be up sometime soon, and I'm gonna make her some bread puddin' to eat. She don't eat much right now since Papa...” He was unable to finish over the knot in his throat.

“You get to the store then, child. But first, you gonna drop this at home for your mama.” She ladled some of the still-warm stew into a chipped bowl, topped it with a slice of the larded bread and wrapped them in a floursack towel. “I don't need this bowl back, so take it. Seems t'me it's more important right now that we take care of that mama of yours, right? I made too much food anyway.” Her smile was so warm that the boy had to swallow hard not to cry. He just nodded, taking the food bundle and heading toward the front door.

“Thank you, ma'am.” He paused with his hand on the screen door handle. “I mean, Addy.”

The old woman beamed. “You're welcome, child.” The screen door creaked as she opened it for him, and as he descended the front porch he heard her return to her singing while she cleared dishes in the kitchen. He began to head in the direction of the store before he remembered the bundle in his hand, and turned for home instead.

****

“Addy?”

“Child!” The old woman's face shone as she looked up from her sewing and rose from her rocker. “Ain't seen you for days, you and your mama doin' alright?” She slid what she had been working on behind her chair and put the sturdy scissors into her apron, folding her hands in her lap.

“Yes, ma'am,” the boy answered. “She seems a little less tired, but she still cries lots. Still won't go nowhere. She ate your stew, though, every bite. Says it was real nice ya sent it.” He pulled the stool toward him, careful not to kick the glass of lemonade nearby. The heat wave had subsided, so today the glass wasn't sweating as it had days before. Just a faint, damp ring from the glass remained as he sat down. “We's back t'school. Pipe's been fixed. Teacher says it's a good thing, too, that more'n a couple days without learnin' turns kids' brains to mush.”

“I suppose that's true of anyone,” Addie said, laughing. “Too many grown-up folks got brains in their head they don't use, ain't just kids.”

The boy grinned. “No, ma'am.” He paused a long moment, then removed something from under his arm and handed it to her. “I thought maybe you could use this.”

“Oh, my,” Addie cooed. Her dark, gnarled fingers struggled to unfold the small, blue cotton shirt.

The boy rhythmically kicked the base of the stool. “I know it ain't Vernon's, so it's okay if ya don't want it for his quilt.”

“No, no, child. My Vernon wore a shirt just like it to church when he was your age. I know he'd be thankful that you was willin' to share it. But what would your mama " ”

“Mama says it's better to give than to receive,” he said. “She won't mind. I cain't wear it no more anyhow, sleeves is too short.”

“Thank ya, child.” Her eyes crinkled at the corners, and the boy noticed for the first time that both of them were partially obscured by a thin, bluish film.

“Would ya like t'stay for some dinner?” she asked. “I made biscuits and gravy. Real fatback in it,” she added proudly.

“Thank you, ma'am, but I gotta go. Mama needs help with the wash, and Papa's last check came today, so we gonna go get me some shoes 'fore dinner.” He wiggled his two exposed toes, revealing the hole he had finally worn through his socks as well. “We ain't got enough for pants, but Mama says we can at least get my feet lookin' respectable.”

Her smile was warm, and her eyes twinkled as she reached for the bundle behind the rocking chair. “You run along, then. You can come by and see Addy anytime. I get the launderin' done for the uptown folk early in the day, I'll be here if ya come by.”

“Okay, ma'am.” The boy turned to leave, turning back again as he reached the mailbox. He used one hand to shade his eyes from the late afternoon sun.

“James.”

“Pardon me?” The old woman said, sitting up in her chair as if startled.

“My name's James. Same's your husband's.” He hitched his trousers up. They were now well above his ankles, even before he pulled them up. “I wanted you t'know my name.”

“James, it's very nice to know you.” She nodded and winked. “We officially ain't strangers no more now.”

He worked his foot into the cement of the walkway and put his hands in his pockets. “I reckon not, ma'am.”

“Now you go fetch your mama and do somethin' about them shoes, ya hear?”

*****

“Look at all these,” Addy sighed. She was now separating the fabric squares into stacked rows, each by color so the grays and greens and browns were all separate from the brighter hues. Plaids were at the bottom of each stack, checks in the middle, and solids like the squares cut from his shirt were at the top. “Straight and handsome and all in order, just like soldiers. I reckon my Vernon's gonna have hisself a mighty fine quilt, don't you?”

“Yes, ma'am.” The boy spoke carefully so Addy wouldn't hear the lump in his throat. The stack of olive-drab squares reminded him of the picture of Papa, in his uniform, that Mama kept on the mantle. “I reckon he will, too.”

Addy set a plate of hot biscuits in front of the boy, along with a dish of plum jelly. “My sister's comin' to visit next week. Did Addy tell ya that?”
“No, ma'am. Didn't know ya had one a' them.” James reached for the plate at the center of the table and took a biscuit from underneath the towel that was keeping them warm. He spooned some of the jelly onto it and took a giant bite, swallowed it and then licked hard at the sticky smear it left on his lips. It seemed to him that Addy's biscuits and jelly were the best thing he'd ever tasted. “I ain't got me no sisters or brothers. Mama says I was enough of a handful as a young'un, and still a handful now. Where's she comin' t'visit from, anyhow?”

“De-troit,” Addy said, sounding out the first syllable like it had two e's in it. James thought that made it sound like an important place. “Now you eat as many of those as you want, child,” Addy said, patting his head. “I'll be sendin' some home for your mama, too. And I think,” she said winking, “I prob'ly got a scrap a'fatback for your little dog.”

“Thank ya, ma'am.” James grinned, his voice muffled by another bite of biscuit.

“He been kinda hungry lately. Mama says we gotta get ourselves up North. Says there ain't no work here, so nobody in our house gonna be eatin' nothin' pretty soon.”

Addy's lips drew into a small bow. “Where y'think you'll be goin', child?”

“Chicago, ma'am.” He gulped his lemonade and sighed. “Papa's folks moved up there a coupl'a years ago when Granddaddy retired. Granddaddy says we need to get outa Atlanta now, get where there's family and some opp -- opp,” he paused, trying hard to remember the word he'd heard but still couldn't quite spell. “Opp -- oppor -- tunity. Gramma says they gonna get me into a good school, and send Mama to secretarial college.”

Addy let out a sigh. “Well, that is mighty fine, child. Mighty fine. My James always said, ain't no shame in seekin' opportunity.” She leaned forward and put her hand on the boy's shoulder. She stood up from her chair, and he noticed she was breathing harder than usual. “I don't suppose you'd mind helpin' old Addy up the stairs 'fore ya go, would ya, child? I am tuckered out today!”

“No, Addy. I don't mind helpin' ya.” It was early, not even dinnertime at his house, so James wondered why she was so tired already. He stood and drew her arm around his narrow shoulders, letting her guide him toward the staircase. As they climbed up the stairs, he noticed for the first time several photographs of Vernon lining the stairway, including one in his Army uniform, and a wedding picture of a couple that must have been Addy and her husband, James. Addy had been thinner, but her wide smile and dark, laughing eyes were unmistakable.

She leaned on the bannister for added support until they reached the top of the stairs and went through the doorway of her tiny bedroom. A simple double bed covered with a large afghan, an old dresser, and a side table with a reading lamp were the room's only furnishings. A well-worn bible and a framed photo of a serious-looking black boy about his age, holding a puppy, rested beside the lamp. Addy sat heavily on the bed and turned the lamp on. James was surprised to find that black skin could be pale. He bent to remove the slippers from her swollen feet.

“Did I tell ya my baby sister's comin' to visit next week, child?”

“No, ma'am,” he replied, not wanting to tell her she'd already told him that. “That'll be real nice, Addy.”

“It's nonsense, really,” Addy protested with a chuckle. “She worries 'bout everythin'. I just mentioned I ain't been able to work for a coupl'a days on account a'some coughin', then 'fore I can hang up the telephone she was packin' a bag. Lawd, that woman can raise a fuss!”

“I'm sure she's just worried about'cha, Addy.” James patted her puffy hand and plumped up two pillows behind her. He eased her back onto the pillows, then pulled the afghan over her feet and lap. “Gramma says ever'body needs t'know somebody worries about 'em, somewhere.”

“That's sho'nuff true, child. She's a fine lady, my Myrtle. Sings like an angel, too. That's what took her to De-troit, James. She gots herself a fine singin' life up there.” She pointed a shaky finger toward the open door of the room. “Be a good child and fetch me my sewin' basket 'fore you go. I likes me a bit a' busy work 'fore I sleep.”

“Yes, Addy.”

James hurried downstairs for the basket, remembering he needed to tell her that he wouldn't be able to come by for a couple of days. Mama needed help packing and cleaning, and Teacher was keeping him after school to work on his arithmetic. He began to tell her as he reentered the room again, but saw she was already asleep. He set the basket on her side table, moving her bible out of the way and setting it beside her on the bed, in case she wanted to read it when she woke.

“G'night, Addy,” he whispered, noticing he had accidentally knocked over Vernon's photo when he'd set the basket down. He placed it upright and turned it so it would face her as she slept.

******

“Addy? It's me, James!”

The old house was quiet but for a faint cough from upstairs. It was strange not to hear the sounds of cooking and singing when he came inside, so he called out again.

“Up here, child,” Addy called. “I'm just doin' a little restin'. You c'mon in, now.”

The boy entered the small bedroom and walked around the side of the bed, sitting beside the old woman. He carefully moved aside a large fold of the quilt she was stitching. It was draped over her lap, and she had obviously spent much of the past few days sewing, because it looked like it was just a few squares away from being completed.

He fingered the even, tight stitches rimming the edges of one of the dark blue squares. “You sew real quick, Addy. Why, your Vernon's quilt is almost done!”

The old woman bit a piece of thread off that she'd just knotted at the corner of one of the squares. “Ain't much else I can be doin' just now, stuck in this bed half the day.” She smiled slyly. “Though I do agree it's mighty fine m'self.”

The boy nodded. “I'm sorry I ain't been by in coupl'a days, Addy. I been helpin' Mama pack and clean the house, and workin' real hard on my 'rithmetic. Teacher says I'm at grade level now, that I'll do real well up in Chicago.” He looked down at the quilt again and felt tears well up in his eyes. “I wish you could come with us there.”

“You're a sweet child.” She patted his hand. “But the doctor says no big trips for old Addy. 'Sides, this is you and your Mama's new start. A whole, brand new life full'a that opportunity you was tryin' so hard to pronounce the other day!”

The boy laughed. He'd been practicing the word all week and could finally say it properly, and spell it, too.

“But what're you gonna do, Addy? When you gonna get better, and get back to cookin' and launderin'?”

“I think my days of doin' them things for folks is over, James,” she said, coughing so hard that her lips turned a little gray.

Her words worried James. Soon he wouldn't be around to check on her anymore, or to make sure she was the one eating. “But who's gonna take care of you, Addy?”

“Now, don't you worry,” she said, laying the section of quilt she had just finished to the side. She stuck the needle with its scrap of thread into the side of her basket and patted the bible beside her. “Jesus says Addy's goin' where there ain't no sickness, no more tears neither. Says I'm gonna see my James and my Vernon real soon, too.”

James swallowed hard. “Don't be talkin' like that, Addy. Your Myrtle's comin', and me and Mama ain't leavin' for a few days, we'll take care of you. We'll all get you better, Addy.”

“I'm goin' home, child.” She leaned back on her pillows and closed her eyes. She began to sing softly: “I met my sister the other day, I asked her 'How do you do?' She says, I'm going well, and I thank God, too...”

James listened as she sang the chorus several times and grew quiet, then he turned the lamp off beside her so she could rest. He rose from the bed, thinking she'd fallen asleep, and walked quietly to the doorway. Her voice came faintly from the bed.

“You come by tomorrow if you can, child. You can meet my sister, and I'll be done with Vernon's quilt. I wants you t'see it all done and finished, alright?”

“I will, Addy. I'll be by, I promise.”

“You're a good boy, my James. A real good boy.”

*****

“You must be James.”

The boy looked up from his lap, where his hands were both still folded. An elegant woman, dressed in a slim gray dress, matching pillbox hat and pearls smiled down at him. Her lips were lined with red lipstick that was almost too bright against her dark skin. Her complexion was lighter than Addy's by a shade or two, and her cheekbones were higher, but there was no mistaking the resemblance between their wide, dimpled smiles and dark eyes. She had sung several hymns during the service, including Addy's favorite “Lily in the Valley,” in a clear voice that seemed to James to be filled with a joy out of place at a funeral. Alongside her elegance, he was glad Gramma had sent Mama money for groceries and new traveling clothes, so that today he wore pants and a jacket that fit, and a new pair of real leather shoes.

The woman reached a slim, jeweled hand toward him, and leaned in just as Addy often had. “I'm Addy's sister, Myrtle. She told me so much about you. Said you two had become quite good friends, James.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he replied, taking the outstretched hand and shaking it as firmly as he could. His voice sounded like a whisper to his own ears. His chest had felt like a stone sat on it for most of the past three days, since he'd gone to visit Addy and was told by a neighbor that the old woman had gone to sleep the night before and not woken up.

The woman looked at a large, darker man sitting beside James and nodded. The man stood up from the pew and kissed her cheek, handing her a large, paper-wrapped bundle tied with twine. The words “My James” were scrawled crudely in pencil on a section of the wrapping.

“Addy asked me to give you this. She said you'd understand.”

James hesitated, but the woman nodded and smiled so he began to untie the twine.

He carefully separated the string and paper from the package's contents, and held his breath for several moments as his hands came to rest atop Vernon's finished quilt. His right hand fingered a square cut from his old blue shirt, nestled between one from the old tweed coat with the missing button, and a checkered boy's jacket that would have belonged to Vernon. His eyes brimmed with tears, which soon streaked down his cheeks. He looked up into Myrtle's face, and could see her red-lipsticked smile even through the ripple of his tears. She sat beside him and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug.

“I want to thank you, James.”

“What for, ma'am?” he asked, sniffing hard.

“Oh, child,” she said softly, dabbing his cheeks with an expensive-looking lace handkerchief. “You kept my sister company till my Albert and I could get down here. You reminded her of her Vernon, and you let her be kind to you. Addy only wanted people to be kind to each other, James. Short, tall, fat, skinny, black or white -- didn't matter.” She laughed, a bright sound that made the heaviness in the boy's heart lift a little bit. “Addy had a heart to put most of ours to shame, James.”

“Yes, ma'am, I reckon she did,” James said.

Numbers of people were drawing close to Myrtle, and she rose from her seat beside him. “I want you to have yourself a fine life, James. It was ever so nice to have met you.”

“I will, ma'am. Myrtle. I promise I will.”

Myrtle nodded and was soon swallowed up in the gathering of sympathetic well-wishers. James rewrapped the quilt in the paper as well as he could, and hugged it close as he walked to the doorway of the church. He looked back from the vestibule at the busy gathering, then out toward the street as someone honked a car horn. It was Granddaddy's car, and Gramma waved from the front seat beside him. Mama was seated in the back, and smiled as she beckoned to him to get into the car. Suitcases were tied to the car roof, and the trunk had been filled that morning with several boxes of household goods and heirlooms that would follow the family to Chicago. He slid into the seat next to Mama, showing her the quilt that Addy had originally made for Vernon. He wondered when she had decided to give it to him instead, or if maybe she had intended to almost all along.

He looked at the quilt, then at Mama, whose eyes seemed to hold an expression of excitement and sadness at the same time, and he decided that hope was the sum of what he saw in them. Scooter stood in the front seat with his paws next to where Granddaddy's arm rested on the seat back. Granddaddy spoke over the polished walnut pipe that was almost always between his teeth. “You ready to go to Chicago, son? Map says we got 700 miles to beat, so let's get goin'.”

“Yes, sir.” James opened the quilt and covered himself and Mama with it in spite of the heat. She smiled down at him and kissed his head. James remembered Addy rocking in her chair on the porch the day he'd met her. He thought about her Vernon and James, her biscuits and plum jam, and was glad for the memories that blended into one another in his mind like the fabric blocks of Vernon's quilt. As Granddaddy's car pulled away, James looked back at the people streaming from the doorway of Addy's church, hugging and laughing and crying. Some of them were singing hymns again, and their voices faded as the car moved forward into the street. He saw Myrtle waving him goodbye, and waved back through the car's rear window.

“Goodbye, Addy,” he whispered.

Scooter leaped expertly from his spot on the front seat, in spite of his only three legs, and landed with a happy bark atop the quilt and James' lap. He licked the boy's cheek free of the tears that had once again started rolling down them.

Mama laughed. “Well, Scooter says there's good things comin', sweetheart.”

James patted the little dog's head and snuggled into Mama's arms, resting his head on her chest. As he drifted off to sleep to the sound of her heartbeat and the rhythmic thump, thump of the little dog's tail, he was certain Addy would say so, too.

Author's Note

I began this story shortly before the death of my sister. I finished it as a part of my grieving process, and as a tribute to her. My grieving continues, and in this life, it always will. There is more than a little bit of her, and of our younger sister and me, in Addy and Myrtle. James is who we all, deep down, hope we can continue to be.