man. “No, no, you dear child. The Cricket Club is … well a country club for—”
Obviously the humor was lost on Aunt Sapphire. “I get it. High society folk and all. You mean it’s a club for snobs.” I wanted to push the words back inside my mouth, but I didn’t. I really didn’t mean it to be sassy.
“We are not snobs, young lady. But you are correct about one thing. We are not … ordinary.”
She clicked her beak and turned her face away with a huff, and I figured I had just pretty much sealed the deal with Aunt Sapphire. There was no way now I was going to get her to like me.
And that was that. Sapphire stood and indicated to me to help her with her dead foxes. Once I did she sashayed out of the house, down the walk, and into her fancy car. I saw a man with a funny hat sitting behind the wheel.
“Look at him,” I said. “He must be one of them chauffeurs. Imagine having someone drive you all over the place like that. Why, Daddy would have a conniption fit if anyone tried to drive for him.”
Ruby Day stood in the cold air on the porch hugging herself and crying.
“Come on inside, Ruby Day. It’s too cold out here. And why are you crying?”
She shook her head and kept on shaking like a dog after a good soaking. I tried to pull her inside, butRuby Day could get mighty strong. It was like she had glued herself to that spot, and there she stood for a good fifteen or more minutes shaking and crying and shivering.
The coming of Aunt Sapphire was not good news.
CHAPTER 11
O ne of the things I learned from Mason was that when Ruby Day got into one of her stubborn jags, it was best to let her be until she worked it out. Mason told me that sometimes she would stand on the porch or in the kitchen or in her garden for more than an hour crying and shaking. I sincerely hoped that this was not one of those occasions.
I sat down on the porch swing and rocked slowly back and forth, back and forth, and that brought back a flood of memories that I wished I didn’t have. Mason and I used to sit on the swing and listen to his jazz records. He would turn it up loud inside the house so we could hear it on the porch.
“Now this,” he said one night, “is Charlie Parker.” He called him a genius on the saxophone. I likedCharlie Parker well enough. I liked the way the music would jiggle and bebop through the air and tickle my ears. But mostly I liked sitting with Mason. He told me all sorts of things about jazz and music. But never in all the time I knew him did Mason mention Aunt Sapphire.
It was nearly lunchtime before Ruby Day finally sobbed herself dry and went into the house. She plunked down on the sofa, exhausted. She took Mason’s picture from the side table and hugged it to her chest.
“I won’t be going,” she said. “I won’t be leaving Mason, and I won’t be leaving you, Luna. You’re like my daughter now.” It was the clearest I ever heard her explain what was sitting so heavy on her heart.
I sat next to her and patted her knee. She wore a flowery housedress on account of it was Saturday, and that was what she wore every Saturday to watch cartoons.
“Why, Ruby Day, that’s the nicest thing anyone ever said about me. I like having two mamas.”
She set the picture back on the table and then gave me a bear hug that nearly popped the stuffing out of me. But Ruby Day was like that. Sometimes she didn’t know her own strength.
She tugged on a stray thread in the hem of her dress and twirled it around her index finger until it turned the color of an overripe plum. “I’m supposed to be out of my dress by now and in my garden clothes.”
“I know, Ruby Day. You can still get changed and work in the garden.” “Don’t want to, Luna.”
I turned off the television and sat back down. It was obvious that she had some explaining to do about Aunt Sapphire. But expecting Ruby Day to explain anything was a little like listening to Pastor Davis explain the Trinity. It just left you with
Obviously the humor was lost on Aunt Sapphire. “I get it. High society folk and all. You mean it’s a club for snobs.” I wanted to push the words back inside my mouth, but I didn’t. I really didn’t mean it to be sassy.
“We are not snobs, young lady. But you are correct about one thing. We are not … ordinary.”
She clicked her beak and turned her face away with a huff, and I figured I had just pretty much sealed the deal with Aunt Sapphire. There was no way now I was going to get her to like me.
And that was that. Sapphire stood and indicated to me to help her with her dead foxes. Once I did she sashayed out of the house, down the walk, and into her fancy car. I saw a man with a funny hat sitting behind the wheel.
“Look at him,” I said. “He must be one of them chauffeurs. Imagine having someone drive you all over the place like that. Why, Daddy would have a conniption fit if anyone tried to drive for him.”
Ruby Day stood in the cold air on the porch hugging herself and crying.
“Come on inside, Ruby Day. It’s too cold out here. And why are you crying?”
She shook her head and kept on shaking like a dog after a good soaking. I tried to pull her inside, butRuby Day could get mighty strong. It was like she had glued herself to that spot, and there she stood for a good fifteen or more minutes shaking and crying and shivering.
The coming of Aunt Sapphire was not good news.
CHAPTER 11
O ne of the things I learned from Mason was that when Ruby Day got into one of her stubborn jags, it was best to let her be until she worked it out. Mason told me that sometimes she would stand on the porch or in the kitchen or in her garden for more than an hour crying and shaking. I sincerely hoped that this was not one of those occasions.
I sat down on the porch swing and rocked slowly back and forth, back and forth, and that brought back a flood of memories that I wished I didn’t have. Mason and I used to sit on the swing and listen to his jazz records. He would turn it up loud inside the house so we could hear it on the porch.
“Now this,” he said one night, “is Charlie Parker.” He called him a genius on the saxophone. I likedCharlie Parker well enough. I liked the way the music would jiggle and bebop through the air and tickle my ears. But mostly I liked sitting with Mason. He told me all sorts of things about jazz and music. But never in all the time I knew him did Mason mention Aunt Sapphire.
It was nearly lunchtime before Ruby Day finally sobbed herself dry and went into the house. She plunked down on the sofa, exhausted. She took Mason’s picture from the side table and hugged it to her chest.
“I won’t be going,” she said. “I won’t be leaving Mason, and I won’t be leaving you, Luna. You’re like my daughter now.” It was the clearest I ever heard her explain what was sitting so heavy on her heart.
I sat next to her and patted her knee. She wore a flowery housedress on account of it was Saturday, and that was what she wore every Saturday to watch cartoons.
“Why, Ruby Day, that’s the nicest thing anyone ever said about me. I like having two mamas.”
She set the picture back on the table and then gave me a bear hug that nearly popped the stuffing out of me. But Ruby Day was like that. Sometimes she didn’t know her own strength.
She tugged on a stray thread in the hem of her dress and twirled it around her index finger until it turned the color of an overripe plum. “I’m supposed to be out of my dress by now and in my garden clothes.”
“I know, Ruby Day. You can still get changed and work in the garden.” “Don’t want to, Luna.”
I turned off the television and sat back down. It was obvious that she had some explaining to do about Aunt Sapphire. But expecting Ruby Day to explain anything was a little like listening to Pastor Davis explain the Trinity. It just left you with
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