she got her customers to buy the crummy stuff she pulled off her truck. I was astounded to find that nothing in her shop was crummy.
On the day Madge changed my life, I wandered slowly to the curb so I could see what else she had brought home. When she pulled three wooden Coke crates off the truck, I couldn’t keep quiet anymore.
“Do people actually buy empty wooden boxes, Mrs. Crosson?” I called across to her. I knew Mom and Nan wouldn’t give such things house room. They were both anti-old stuff, one of the few things on which they agreed.
She grinned at me, and I could see a dirt smudge on her cheek.“Wooden boxes are choice items, Libby, especially vintage Coke ones.”
“They are?” To whom? I always thought it was the stuff
in
the boxes that people wanted, and the Cokes once there were long gone.
“People collect them.”
“I guess people collect most anything, don’t they?”
Stupid people
.
“Would you like to see my workroom?” Madge asked. “I could show you what I do with all these wonderful things.”
I tried to look nonchalant, but inside I was both nervous and bubbling. A mystery was about to be solved, but it meant going into the fanatic’s house.
“She just thinks she’s so holy,” Mom said disparagingly of Madge. “All she wants is to convert us. Make us holy rollers.”
“Don’t get too near her, girls,” Nan warned us when we were younger, “or she’ll make you pray and read the Bible before she lets you go. She’ll drag you into her cult.”
Every time Nan said that, I wondered what was so bad about praying, and even as a kid I knew that Madge would never stay in business if she made people read the Bible in order to get out of the store. Since the arrests, Mom’s and Nan’s attacks on Madge had increased, especially after she stopped at the house with a pan of homemade cinnamon buns and an invitation to go to a women’s Bible study.
“Maybe you’ll find God can help you through hard times,” she’d said with a smile.
They’d taken the food but turned down the invitation with something like horror. Since then I’d heard real meanness and jealousy in Mom’s and Nan’s catty comments.
“She thinks she’s so much better than us.”
“She probably asks God to strike us dead and clean up the neighborhood.”
“Did you see her? She was laughing at me when she waved!”
She was smiling. That was all. I knew because I was with Mom when Madge waved.
But Madge had a husband who came home every night and who stood on the front porch with his arm around her as they waved good-bye to company. She had a husband who had made their garage into a shop for her and who held her hand when they walked around the block for exercise. She had a husband who played with their little boys and who took them all on vacations down the shore.
Mom and Nan had husbands who had gotten fifteen to twenty.
“Come on over,” Madge invited again as I stood on the curb, unaware that I was about to make the most significant decision of my life.
I glanced guiltily toward home but took a step into the street toward Madge. “Sure. I guess.”
“You’re Libby, right?”
I looked at her animated face and warm smile. “How do you know? Most people can’t tell us apart.”
“Ah. You are the one who always watches. You’re the sweet one.”
The sweet one? My stomach rolled. If she only knew.
She took me around back and into their basement by a sliding glass door. Half the large space was filled to the rafters with the junk she brought in her truck every week. The other half was a workshop filled with tools and supplies. A small table stood under the light on a spread of newspapers covered with dark brown stains.
“Look around while I make a phone call,” Madge said, and I began wandering about the room. The stuff might be old and useless,but there was something about it all that made my pulse beat faster—which was ridiculous. I liked new stuff.
I picked up an old picture of
On the day Madge changed my life, I wandered slowly to the curb so I could see what else she had brought home. When she pulled three wooden Coke crates off the truck, I couldn’t keep quiet anymore.
“Do people actually buy empty wooden boxes, Mrs. Crosson?” I called across to her. I knew Mom and Nan wouldn’t give such things house room. They were both anti-old stuff, one of the few things on which they agreed.
She grinned at me, and I could see a dirt smudge on her cheek.“Wooden boxes are choice items, Libby, especially vintage Coke ones.”
“They are?” To whom? I always thought it was the stuff
in
the boxes that people wanted, and the Cokes once there were long gone.
“People collect them.”
“I guess people collect most anything, don’t they?”
Stupid people
.
“Would you like to see my workroom?” Madge asked. “I could show you what I do with all these wonderful things.”
I tried to look nonchalant, but inside I was both nervous and bubbling. A mystery was about to be solved, but it meant going into the fanatic’s house.
“She just thinks she’s so holy,” Mom said disparagingly of Madge. “All she wants is to convert us. Make us holy rollers.”
“Don’t get too near her, girls,” Nan warned us when we were younger, “or she’ll make you pray and read the Bible before she lets you go. She’ll drag you into her cult.”
Every time Nan said that, I wondered what was so bad about praying, and even as a kid I knew that Madge would never stay in business if she made people read the Bible in order to get out of the store. Since the arrests, Mom’s and Nan’s attacks on Madge had increased, especially after she stopped at the house with a pan of homemade cinnamon buns and an invitation to go to a women’s Bible study.
“Maybe you’ll find God can help you through hard times,” she’d said with a smile.
They’d taken the food but turned down the invitation with something like horror. Since then I’d heard real meanness and jealousy in Mom’s and Nan’s catty comments.
“She thinks she’s so much better than us.”
“She probably asks God to strike us dead and clean up the neighborhood.”
“Did you see her? She was laughing at me when she waved!”
She was smiling. That was all. I knew because I was with Mom when Madge waved.
But Madge had a husband who came home every night and who stood on the front porch with his arm around her as they waved good-bye to company. She had a husband who had made their garage into a shop for her and who held her hand when they walked around the block for exercise. She had a husband who played with their little boys and who took them all on vacations down the shore.
Mom and Nan had husbands who had gotten fifteen to twenty.
“Come on over,” Madge invited again as I stood on the curb, unaware that I was about to make the most significant decision of my life.
I glanced guiltily toward home but took a step into the street toward Madge. “Sure. I guess.”
“You’re Libby, right?”
I looked at her animated face and warm smile. “How do you know? Most people can’t tell us apart.”
“Ah. You are the one who always watches. You’re the sweet one.”
The sweet one? My stomach rolled. If she only knew.
She took me around back and into their basement by a sliding glass door. Half the large space was filled to the rafters with the junk she brought in her truck every week. The other half was a workshop filled with tools and supplies. A small table stood under the light on a spread of newspapers covered with dark brown stains.
“Look around while I make a phone call,” Madge said, and I began wandering about the room. The stuff might be old and useless,but there was something about it all that made my pulse beat faster—which was ridiculous. I liked new stuff.
I picked up an old picture of
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