Promise?”
“I don’t need help! I’m a MacKenzie !”
He gently pushed her away and stood, but held one of her hands. She bit her lip and looked up at him tenaciously. “You will come back. You will Christ almighty goddamn.”
“Lily!” Mrs. MacKenzie said. Pulling her aside, she swatted her on the rump. “Where did you learn talk like that?”
“From him , the big shit.”
Mrs. MacKenzie gasped. “I’ll deal with you later, miss.”
“I love you all,” Artemas said gruffly. His voice cracked. He turned and stomped out of the house. Lily ran behind him and stood on the porch’s edge, gripping the rail as he went to the truck. “You will come back!” she called. “I’m the Old Brook Princess, and I say so!”
He turned and bowed to her. Mrs. MacKenzie came out and took her by the shoulders, holding her shaking, furious little body against her legs. “Take care, Artie,” Mrs. MacKenzie called, crying now herself.
He sat straight-backed on the truck’s passenger side and stared at nothing, his jaw clenched, as Mr. MacKenzie drove out of the yard.
“I don’t need your help, I don’t need your help,” Lily muttered brokenly, her voice trailing off to a defeated whimper. “Come back.”
The neat brown box arrived in the mail a month later. Lily stared with avid excitement as Mama put it on the scarred old kitchen table. Daddy sat down and pulled Lily onto his lap. She curled her fingers around his metal hook, playing absently with the wire tendons. Mama stood over the box, clipping its tape with her sewing shears. “It’s from Artemas.”
She pulled a bulky object wrapped in thick white paper out of the box, set it on the table, and unfolded the paper slowly. She covered her mouth and stared at a small, perfect teapot. “Oh, Artie.” She drew a trembling finger over the rich blue design on creamy white. “See this, Lily? It’s the Blue Willow pattern. The pattern came all the way from China. See the willow and the bridge, and the little sparrows kissing each other? See how clean and pretty the blue color is, and all the little details in the pictures? Nobody made Blue Willow china as pretty as the Colebrooks. That’s how they became famous.” Picking up the delicate lid, she saw a piece of paper inside. She laid the lid down reverently and unfolded it.
Clearing her throat, she read, “This is old. It’s worth a lot of money. I took it for you when I went home for a weekend. Grandmother knows. You can sell it.’ ”
Mama sank into a chair and put her head in her hands. Daddy sighed. “The boy means well.”
Lily scowled at the teapot, a horrible realization growing inside her. “He thinks we’re poor ? He thinks we’re trashy?”
“No, no, hush,” Mama said sternly.
Mortified, Lily was still stunned. Mama and Daddy looked upset, but they didn’t seem angry. “MacKenzies don’t take welfare ,” she chirped, mouthing the terrible word she’d heard her parents use often, with so much loathing.
“It’s not welfare, because we’re never going to sell it,” Daddy said. Mama nodded. But she pulled the teapot against her breasts and hugged it. “It’s a gift of friendship. Artie was only trying to show us how much we mean to him.”
That night, after Daddy had gone to bed and Grandma was snoring in her room, Mama took a pen and piece of notebook paper and called Lily into the parlor. They sat on the couch, Mama balancing the paper on one of the old encyclopedias that were stored in a glass-doored bookcase by the window. “What do you want to say to Artie?” she asked.
“That we’re not poor.”
“Don’t you want to write to him—nice things, not things that will only confuse him?”
Lily sighed, confused herself. “Say, ‘I’ll take care of the teapot for you. Come back.’ ”
Mama wrote diligently for several minutes, then placed the encyclopedia and its paper on Lily’s lap and handed her the pen. “Put your name at the bottom.”
Lily bit her lip
“I don’t need help! I’m a MacKenzie !”
He gently pushed her away and stood, but held one of her hands. She bit her lip and looked up at him tenaciously. “You will come back. You will Christ almighty goddamn.”
“Lily!” Mrs. MacKenzie said. Pulling her aside, she swatted her on the rump. “Where did you learn talk like that?”
“From him , the big shit.”
Mrs. MacKenzie gasped. “I’ll deal with you later, miss.”
“I love you all,” Artemas said gruffly. His voice cracked. He turned and stomped out of the house. Lily ran behind him and stood on the porch’s edge, gripping the rail as he went to the truck. “You will come back!” she called. “I’m the Old Brook Princess, and I say so!”
He turned and bowed to her. Mrs. MacKenzie came out and took her by the shoulders, holding her shaking, furious little body against her legs. “Take care, Artie,” Mrs. MacKenzie called, crying now herself.
He sat straight-backed on the truck’s passenger side and stared at nothing, his jaw clenched, as Mr. MacKenzie drove out of the yard.
“I don’t need your help, I don’t need your help,” Lily muttered brokenly, her voice trailing off to a defeated whimper. “Come back.”
The neat brown box arrived in the mail a month later. Lily stared with avid excitement as Mama put it on the scarred old kitchen table. Daddy sat down and pulled Lily onto his lap. She curled her fingers around his metal hook, playing absently with the wire tendons. Mama stood over the box, clipping its tape with her sewing shears. “It’s from Artemas.”
She pulled a bulky object wrapped in thick white paper out of the box, set it on the table, and unfolded the paper slowly. She covered her mouth and stared at a small, perfect teapot. “Oh, Artie.” She drew a trembling finger over the rich blue design on creamy white. “See this, Lily? It’s the Blue Willow pattern. The pattern came all the way from China. See the willow and the bridge, and the little sparrows kissing each other? See how clean and pretty the blue color is, and all the little details in the pictures? Nobody made Blue Willow china as pretty as the Colebrooks. That’s how they became famous.” Picking up the delicate lid, she saw a piece of paper inside. She laid the lid down reverently and unfolded it.
Clearing her throat, she read, “This is old. It’s worth a lot of money. I took it for you when I went home for a weekend. Grandmother knows. You can sell it.’ ”
Mama sank into a chair and put her head in her hands. Daddy sighed. “The boy means well.”
Lily scowled at the teapot, a horrible realization growing inside her. “He thinks we’re poor ? He thinks we’re trashy?”
“No, no, hush,” Mama said sternly.
Mortified, Lily was still stunned. Mama and Daddy looked upset, but they didn’t seem angry. “MacKenzies don’t take welfare ,” she chirped, mouthing the terrible word she’d heard her parents use often, with so much loathing.
“It’s not welfare, because we’re never going to sell it,” Daddy said. Mama nodded. But she pulled the teapot against her breasts and hugged it. “It’s a gift of friendship. Artie was only trying to show us how much we mean to him.”
That night, after Daddy had gone to bed and Grandma was snoring in her room, Mama took a pen and piece of notebook paper and called Lily into the parlor. They sat on the couch, Mama balancing the paper on one of the old encyclopedias that were stored in a glass-doored bookcase by the window. “What do you want to say to Artie?” she asked.
“That we’re not poor.”
“Don’t you want to write to him—nice things, not things that will only confuse him?”
Lily sighed, confused herself. “Say, ‘I’ll take care of the teapot for you. Come back.’ ”
Mama wrote diligently for several minutes, then placed the encyclopedia and its paper on Lily’s lap and handed her the pen. “Put your name at the bottom.”
Lily bit her lip
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