Day 116
(This is Part VI of the story The Scent of Lilacs. The story originally posted on day 108 … and continues on days 109, 110, 111, and 115.)
Today’s sandwich is a surprise. Cream cheese and butter with grape jelly on white bread. One of my favorites – but I don’t get it often. I wonder if Aunt Grace has bad news for me when she gets home and is tryin’ to make me feel better beforehand. Not that that would be like her. I never know where she goes during the days she’s gone. She tells me it’s none of my business. She comes home tired and cooks us a little supper and goes to bed. The days she’s home are in some ways worse than the days she’s gone because even when she’s home I still feel alone. She ignores me or sends me glances. I don’t know if she knows I see her, but I do – and she doesn’t talk to me as much as she talks at me. The days when she is here, she’s busy cleaning or gardening – in that pathetic, dried-out, anemic garden; or she’s knitting or sewing, cooking, reading, canning or complaining. She complains loudly and often – about everything. So, even though the days are long when I’m by myself – there are some other days that seem to go on forever. And then there are the days when I get a cream cheese and jelly sandwich. God works in mysterious ways.
It’s hot. I’m guessing it’s about 2:00 … I’ve been crocheting a place mat. Aunt Grace said she’ll sell whatever I make at the church bazaar this summer and whatever money I make, less the cost of the yarn, will be mine. I think that is mighty kindly of her. I’ve never had my own money before and the thought makes my head all dizzy and fuzzy. We never had much money, our family; and there are days that I still wonder, how on Earth did Mama afford those yellow shoes and matching purse?
The slight breeze from this morning is gone and it makes me wonder if Miss Hattie might come by. With the clothes hanging limply on the lines and spread out on the bushes, there’d be little chance of them blowing away … maybe.
Aunt Grace’s house sits oddly on her property which is mostly dirt and scrub bushes. There is a small garden – but it doesn’t produce much except rock-like turnips, which I refuse to eat – even if it’s the only thing we’re having for supper. And mint – it’s about the only thing that grows around this house – probably because when Aunt Grace finishes washing the dishes she carries the pail outside and tosses the water onto that little patch of herbs. But I don’t think it takes a real gardener to grow mint – and even though I think it could grow just about anywhere that has water, I’m glad it grows here ’cause I like it in my lemonade. There are many acres of land, but I’ve never been able to figure out how big an acre is; all I know is as far as I can see, it’s scrub bushes and brown hills and it’s all Aunt Grace’s. No other houses, no trees, just emptiness. My guess is that nobody else wanted it ’cause there’s not much you can do with it. Horses would starve out there, cattle too. A little to the left of the house there used to be a big orchard; but all that’s left now are a few stumps of the old trees. The front porch faces west and a bit north, but not far enough north to actually see eastward. I often think that the house would be happier facing a different direction.
I’ve been told that the house was quite pretty in its day. Wisteria vines flowered and bloomed all over the (then whitewashed) porch railings. Uncle Lester planted fruit and nut trees in with the existing apple trees and there was a large, abundant garden with a variety of vegetables. Aunt Grace even had a little stand, by the road, to sell her extras. There were chickens for eggs and stews and frying, and an occasional hog. Aunt Grace and Uncle Lester never had any children. I don’t know why not – I’ve asked, but have always been told to, “Hush up.”. I guess it was too private or too painful … or maybe God realized that she didn’t really like people much, children especially, and that she’d be better off without any. I doubt that but it makes me think that Uncle Lester got cheated. Surely he would have wanted help for the farm and heirs for the land.
Hard times fell on Uncle Lester and Aunt Grace; then drought came and the garden and the trees died and the vines withered – and so did Aunt Grace. Or so I’ve gathered. I figured she had to be in her late 50’s now (it wasn’t proper to ask a lady her age; nor was it proper for a lady to tell it). Or maybe she was younger and just looked older? Funny, I never knew how old Mama was either.
What I did know was that there were nineteen years between Mama and Aunt Grace. There were five children in their family, three boys, Aunt Grace and then nineteen years later – Mama. I don’t understand how that could happen but I always felt sorry for Grandma having a baby when she was so old. I didn’t know her either; she died shortly after Mama was born. I always assumed she died from complications from childbirth, since Mama was born at home. But once, I heard Uncle Troy’s lady-friend whisper that Grandma died of a broken heart. (Uncle Troy is Aunt Grace’s “no-good”, next-in-line older brother who only shows up when he needs something. Or so says Aunt Grace.) It seems there is some kind of secret about how or why Grandma died. I don’t understand family secrets and even being curious, I’ve never felt it was my place to ask. Aunt Grace doesn’t take too kindly to me as it is and I know when to keep my mouth shut. She doesn’t take kindly to questions, either. She’s said, more than once, that prying is the work of the Devil.
When Grandma died, Aunt Grace, being the only girl, was left to care for Mama – and the rest of the family – until Uncle Lester came along and married her. Uncle Lester was much, much older than Aunt Grace. My guess was that he was her way out of that life and she grabbed the opportunity. I heard it said it was a loveless marriage – maybe that’s why Aunt Grace is so dried up?
(Watch for Part VII.)