their smiles were suspended together for all time. Lou often wished she could remember something of that day.
Oz came into the room and Lou slipped the photograph back into her bag. As usual, her brother looked worried.
“Can I stay in your room?” he asked.
“What’s wrong with yours?”
“It’s next to hers.”
“Who, Louisa?” Oz answered yes very solemnly, as though he was testifying in court. “Well, what’s wrong with that?”
“She scares me,” he said. “She really does, Lou.”
“She let us come live with her.”
“And I’m right glad you did come.”
Louisa came forward from the doorway. “Sorry I was short with you. I was thinking ’bout your mother.” She stared at Lou. “And her needs.”
“That’s okay,” Oz said, as he flitted next to his sister. “I think you spooked my sister a little, but she’s all right now.”
Lou studied the woman’s features, seeing if there was any of her father there. She concluded that there wasn’t.
“We didn’t have anyone else,” Lou said.
“Y’all always have me,” Louisa Mae answered back. She moved in closer, and Lou suddenly saw fragments of her father there. She also now understood why the woman’s mouth drooped. There were only a few teeth there, all of them yellowed or darkened.
“Sorry as I can be I ain’t made the funeral. News comes slowly here when it bothers to come a’tall.” She looked down for a moment, as though gripped by something Lou couldn’t see. “You’re Oz. And you’re Lou.” Louisa pointed to them as she said the names.
Lou said, “The people who arranged our coming, I guess they told you.”
“I knew long afore that. Y’all call me Louisa. They’s chores to be done each day. We make or grow ’bout all we need. Breakfast’s at five. Supper when the sun falls.”
“Five o’clock in the morning!” exclaimed Oz.
“What about school?” asked Lou.
“Called Big Spruce. No more’n couple miles off. Eugene take you in the wagon first day, and then y’all walk after that. Or take the mare. Ain’t spare the mules, for they do the pulling round here. But the nag will do.”
Oz paled. “We don’t know how to ride a horse.”
“Y’all will. Horse and mule bestest way to get by up here, other than two good feet.”
“What about the car?” asked Lou.
Louisa shook her head. “T’ain’t practical. Take money we surely ain’t got. Eugene know how it works and built a little lean-to for it. He start it up every now and agin, ’cause he say he have to so it run when we need it. Wouldn’t have that durn thing, ’cept William and Jane Giles on down the road give it to us when they moved on. Can’t drive it, no plans to ever learn.”
“Is Big Spruce the same school my dad went to?” asked Lou.
“Yes, only the schoolhouse he went to ain’t there no more. ’Bout as old as me, it fall down. But you got the same teacher. Change, like news, comes slowly here. You hungry?”
“We ate on the train,” said Lou, unable to draw her gaze from the woman’s face.
“Fine. Your momma settled in. Y’all g’on see her.”
Lou said, “I’d like to stay here and look around some.”
Louisa held the door open for them. Her voice was gentle but firm. “See your momma first.”
The room was comfortable—good light, window open. Homespun curtains, curled by the damp and bleached by the sun, were lightly flapping in the breeze. As Lou looked around, she knew it had probably taken some effort to make this into what amounted to a sickroom. Some of the furniture looked worked on, the floor freshly scrubbed, the smell of paint still lingering; a chipped rocking chair sat in one corner with a thick blanket across it.
On the walls were ancient ferrotypes of men, women, and children, all dressed in what was probably their finest clothing: stiff white-collared shirts and bowler hats for the men; long skirts and bonnets for the women; lace frills for the young girls; and small suits and string
Oz came into the room and Lou slipped the photograph back into her bag. As usual, her brother looked worried.
“Can I stay in your room?” he asked.
“What’s wrong with yours?”
“It’s next to hers.”
“Who, Louisa?” Oz answered yes very solemnly, as though he was testifying in court. “Well, what’s wrong with that?”
“She scares me,” he said. “She really does, Lou.”
“She let us come live with her.”
“And I’m right glad you did come.”
Louisa came forward from the doorway. “Sorry I was short with you. I was thinking ’bout your mother.” She stared at Lou. “And her needs.”
“That’s okay,” Oz said, as he flitted next to his sister. “I think you spooked my sister a little, but she’s all right now.”
Lou studied the woman’s features, seeing if there was any of her father there. She concluded that there wasn’t.
“We didn’t have anyone else,” Lou said.
“Y’all always have me,” Louisa Mae answered back. She moved in closer, and Lou suddenly saw fragments of her father there. She also now understood why the woman’s mouth drooped. There were only a few teeth there, all of them yellowed or darkened.
“Sorry as I can be I ain’t made the funeral. News comes slowly here when it bothers to come a’tall.” She looked down for a moment, as though gripped by something Lou couldn’t see. “You’re Oz. And you’re Lou.” Louisa pointed to them as she said the names.
Lou said, “The people who arranged our coming, I guess they told you.”
“I knew long afore that. Y’all call me Louisa. They’s chores to be done each day. We make or grow ’bout all we need. Breakfast’s at five. Supper when the sun falls.”
“Five o’clock in the morning!” exclaimed Oz.
“What about school?” asked Lou.
“Called Big Spruce. No more’n couple miles off. Eugene take you in the wagon first day, and then y’all walk after that. Or take the mare. Ain’t spare the mules, for they do the pulling round here. But the nag will do.”
Oz paled. “We don’t know how to ride a horse.”
“Y’all will. Horse and mule bestest way to get by up here, other than two good feet.”
“What about the car?” asked Lou.
Louisa shook her head. “T’ain’t practical. Take money we surely ain’t got. Eugene know how it works and built a little lean-to for it. He start it up every now and agin, ’cause he say he have to so it run when we need it. Wouldn’t have that durn thing, ’cept William and Jane Giles on down the road give it to us when they moved on. Can’t drive it, no plans to ever learn.”
“Is Big Spruce the same school my dad went to?” asked Lou.
“Yes, only the schoolhouse he went to ain’t there no more. ’Bout as old as me, it fall down. But you got the same teacher. Change, like news, comes slowly here. You hungry?”
“We ate on the train,” said Lou, unable to draw her gaze from the woman’s face.
“Fine. Your momma settled in. Y’all g’on see her.”
Lou said, “I’d like to stay here and look around some.”
Louisa held the door open for them. Her voice was gentle but firm. “See your momma first.”
The room was comfortable—good light, window open. Homespun curtains, curled by the damp and bleached by the sun, were lightly flapping in the breeze. As Lou looked around, she knew it had probably taken some effort to make this into what amounted to a sickroom. Some of the furniture looked worked on, the floor freshly scrubbed, the smell of paint still lingering; a chipped rocking chair sat in one corner with a thick blanket across it.
On the walls were ancient ferrotypes of men, women, and children, all dressed in what was probably their finest clothing: stiff white-collared shirts and bowler hats for the men; long skirts and bonnets for the women; lace frills for the young girls; and small suits and string
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