Anybody Shining (11 page)

There are many things about the songcatchers' way of thinking I don't quite understand. Tonight, after supper, James's friend Will Maycomb come for a visit, and he told us something that has troubled me considerably.

Will's sister Thelma is one of them who attends the settlement school during the day and then comes home at night, so the Maycombs know about as much as anybody as to what goes on down there. Miss Pittman is training Thelma to be a secretary, which is one who helps out in a business office typing letters. Many an afternoon Thelma works in Miss Pittman's office, helping her put papers in files and organizing her letters.

“Well, today, she was straightening out papers on Miss Pittman's desk when she come across a carbon copy of a letter that Miss Pittman wrote when she was starting the
school,” Will told me and James, the three of us sitting on the front porch steps. “Now, you'uns know Thelma and what a busybody she is, so of course she read it. Turns out, it was a letter asking someone off the mountain for money, and the whole thing was about how backwards folks are in these parts. Miss Pittman said she couldn't believe the condition folks lived in, that people lived in filth and ignorance. That was an exact quote from the letter—‘filth and ignorance.' ”

“Miss Pittman didn't write any such thing!” I cried. “Why, she's our friend!”

Will shrugged. “She might be your friend, but she sure don't think too highly of you.”

James leaned forward. “Maybe Miss Pittman was making things sound worse than they were so she could get more money. If she told 'em that we was all doing fine and didn't need much help at all, they probably wouldn't send her a dime.”

“Could be,” Will said, not sounding worried about it one way or another. “But my mama's
fixing to go down there and give her a piece of her mind. Told Thelma she weren't to go back in the morning, but Thelma says she's sewing on a dress she wants to finish before the next dance, so she's going back anyway.”

I thought maybe I'd go down and give Miss Pittman a piece of my mind myself. But just the thought of standing in front of her and crying out,
How could you?
set my lower lip to trembling. There are the Lucilles of this world, who put their hands on their hips and fuss and fight, and then there are the Arie Maes, who just store things up inside and never say a word. I wish I was the other, but I am myself and not good for making a scene. So I just sat on that porch and looked at my feet and felt the shame settle deep inside.

Well, pretty soon I just had to go inside and lay across my bed. Did Miss Pittman really think us ignorant and backward? Maybe James was right, and she had to say such things to get the money to run her school.
Still, I hated to think of people off the mountain believing we live in filth, when that's the furthest thing in the world from the truth. Why, Mama won't hardly let us go out of the house if we've got a speck of dirt under our fingernails.

Is that why you never have written me back, Cousin Caroline? Do you think I'm backward? I hope it ain't so. I hope you can find it in your heart to reconsider.

Signed,

Your Cousin,

Arie Mae Sparks

Dear Cousin Caroline,

I have terrible news. We have been invited to a picnic.

Now, usually I will jump up and down at the news of any kind of gathering where there is food and games and maybe a song or two. It is not uncommon to have church suppers on summer Sundays, and we children have the best time! We play Anty Over, where you have two teams, one on one side of the house, and one on the other side. One person tosses a ball over the roof, then runs fast as a deer to the other side to see if the
ball is caught. If not, he gets the ball back. If so, the catcher runs around to the thrower's side and tries to tag people with the ball. Another game we play is town ball, which Miss Sary says reminds her of baseball, only in town ball, you get runners out by throwing the ball directly at them. Miss Sary disapproves of that part of the game, but all she will say is, “Just don't throw that ball at me!”

So you would think that I would be happy to attend any picnic I was invited to. But this particular picnic invitation come from Miss Pittman, and I wish like anything I didn't have to go.

It was Ruth who brung the invitation. She come up yesterday morning with her little cousin named Mazie tagging along behind her. I was hoeing the garden to the side of the house when here come the two of them looking fresh and clean. Mazie is Lucille's age, and you can see she is training up to be just like Ruth when she gets older. She holds herself
straight and fine when she walks. They was both of them wearing blue dresses with white sailor collars, long white socks stretched up to their knees, and black patent leather shoes. Ruth was wearing a white ribbon in her hair, and I bet it was killing Mazie that she didn't have a ribbon herself.

“Good morning, Arie Mae!” Ruth called out when she saw me. Whenever Ruth says a word to me, her tone sounds halfway between making fun and nice. I can't quite figure her out. She's bossy, but she ain't quite as awful as some bossy girls I have knowed. Still, I don't ever feel at ease with her.

“Hey, Ruth!” I called back, brushing some dirt off the skirt of my dress and wishing like always when I saw Ruth that I had shoes on. “Lucille's gone with Mama to the dry goods store, but I reckon she'll be back soon enough.”

“We can't stay but a moment,” Ruth told me. “Mazie and I have slipped off from a sewing lesson, and we're expected back soon. But we were so excited, we just had to come tell you.
Miss Pittman and Mother have decided to have a picnic for the local children tomorrow, in the clearing by the creek behind the cabins. It's going to be such fun!”

My first feeling upon hearing this news was disappointment. Now Tom and I would have to put off our trip to find Aunt Jennie Odom! My next feeling was that I did not particularly care to spend time with Miss Pittman, even at a picnic. How would I even look her in the eye, knowing what she thought of us?

“Do we have to dress up for this picnic?” I asked Ruth, wishing I had a basketful of ribbons to put in my hair so I could impress Miss Pittman with how civilized I was, not filthy in the least.

“No one need dress up, especially as we'll be having games,” Ruth told me, Mazie nodding solemnly behind her. “You don't want to get your best dress dirty, now do you? Besides, Mother was concerned that if we asked people to dress for the picnic, some of the boys might not come.”

“She said most of you don't even have nice
clothes,” Mazie added. “And it would embarrass you to show up all plain and degradated. So we are to wear our plainest dresses to make you feel more at home.”

“Hush, Mazie!” Ruth hissed. “You'll make Arie Mae feel badly about the things she doesn't have.”

“That's all right,” I mumbled, feeling not even one inch tall. “I got nicer clothes than this. I just don't like to dress up to hoe.”

“That's exactly right,” Ruth said, nodding her approval. “Of course you wouldn't wear your Sunday best to work outside.”

“I got at least five dresses,” I lied. “Though one or two may be getting tight. I guess Mama will have to take me shopping over to Asheville soon enough.”

Well, I have never been to Asheville nor worn a store-bought dress in my life, but you will say all sorts of lies when you're feeling not even one inch tall.

“The best dresses are the ones the dressmaker makes,” Mazie informed me. “Mrs. Green on
Eager Street. Ready-made dresses seldom fit properly.”

“That's enough, Mazie,” Ruth said. “Not everyone can afford Mrs. Green.”

“Mother says—”

“Enough.” Ruth give Mazie an icy glare, and Mazie's mouth clamped shut.

“So, tomorrow then, Arie Mae,” Ruth said, turning to me. “Tell Lucille and James and Harlan we very much look forward to seeing them at noon. Mother and Miss Pittman have all sorts of treats planned. Be prepared for an afternoon of delights!”

I watched them two walk down the hill toward the road, and then I went and sat on the porch steps to recover from their visit. I was still setting there worrying about that picnic when Mama and Lucille got home from the store, where they had gone to fetch coffee and sugar and some nails for Daddy. I knowed my only hope was that Daddy would say no to Miss Pittman's invitation. But for all that he did not care for the settlement school, Daddy
thought it poor manners to turn down an offer of hospitality, and he might make us go.

“You finish up in that garden yet, Arie Mae?” Mama called when she saw me. “You got to get them weeds before they take over.”

“I'm almost done, Mama,” I replied. “But before I get back to it, I best tell you the news.”

This picnic Miss Pittman has planned is going to be as hard on Mama as it is on me. I only have myself to worry about, but Mama must add James, Harlan, and Lucille to her list. It's important to Mama that her children make a good show in the world. We may not have pretty ribbons or handsome suits, but we're to have the nicest manners and the cleanest faces and the best-combed hair. When she gets us ready for church on Sunday morning, it's like an army general preparing troops for battle. Fetch me that scrubber brush! she yells. Harlan, you best wash behind your ears, they's a garden growing back there! Arie Mae, your braid's coming undone and you look like a wild thing!

“Oh, Lordy,” Mama moaned when I told her of Miss Pittman's picnic. “She sure didn't give us much time to get ready. We'll wash clothes this afternoon and the children this evening. And we'll have to prepare some vittles for you'uns to take.”

“Ruth didn't say we needed to bring anything,” I told her. “I believe they're fixing all the food themselves.”

“But you still carry something with you, Arie Mae!” Mama exclaimed. “You can't just walk into somebody's place empty-handed. I know I raised you better'n that!”

Then she got to worrying about what she should fix. It had to be something that didn't need to be hot to taste good, and it had to be able to travel down the mountain to the songcatchers' school. “I'd have to use the last of our dried apples to do it, but an apple stack cake would be a nice treat to send,” Mama declared after pondering on it a few minutes. “I got a box saved you'uns could carry it in.”

“Yes, Mama, make an apple stack cake!”
Lucille exclaimed. “Yours is the nicest one anybody's ever had.”

And it's true, Mama's apple stack cake is well appreciated in these parts. She brings it to most every church supper, and folks clap their hands when they see it, it tastes so awfully good.

“Well, I will make it first thing tomorrow morning,” Mama said. “So it will be as fresh as can be for your party. Now, come on, girls. We need to go see about the clothes for you to wear.”

It was time to play my only card. “Daddy ain't gonna like this,” I told Mama as she hurried across the porch to the door. “He don't want us to have nothing to do with that school.”