Chapter 11
Standing together in the small hallway between the kitchen and the back porch, Celia straightens Arthur’s collar and centers his newly polished belt buckle.
“That should do it,” she says, patting his chest with both hands.
“Do I have to go?”
Celia lifts up on her bare toes, kisses him once, but he pulls her back, and starts the kiss over. He smells like soap and the aftershave Celia insisted he splash on after she made him shave.
“Yes, you have to go,” she says, wiping away the pink smudge on his upper lip and giving him one more quick kiss before ducking and slipping from between his arms.
“I shouldn’t be leaving all of you alone.” Arthur looks into the living room where Ruth and Evie are thumbing through a photo album, a table lamp throwing a warm circle of light on them. “Where’s Daniel? He should be in here.”
“He’s outside,” Celia says. “Watering Olivia like you told him to. We’ll be fine, Arthur. Everything will be just fine.”
In the week since Celia told Arthur that Ruth is pregnant, he has begun locking doors, something he didn’t bother with once they left Detroit and the smell of burnt rubber behind. He comes home every day now over his lunch break, has fixed the locks on two windows, and has started barking at everyone in the house, except Ruth, about things like scooting in chairs and shutting off lights.
Celia takes his wool coat from the hook near the back door, and in a whisper that won’t carry to the living room, she says, “You go have fun. It’ll be nice that you and Jonathon spend some time together.”
“I see the boy damn near every day.”
“That may be, but you’re going all the same. Enjoy. You always fare well in poker. We’ll all be fine, just fine.”
“You lock up after I leave?”
“Good enough,” Celia says, kisses him one last time on the cheek and locks the door behind him.
Evie runs a hand over the patchwork quilt lying across her legs as Aunt Ruth points to a pink satin square.
“This was your Aunt Eve’s first Sunday dress,” she says. “And this piece is from your father’s favorite pair of jeans. He wore them until his belly was bursting through the buttons.”
Evie snuggles into Aunt Ruth, laughing at the thought of Daddy having such a big belly and searching for another quilt square that might belong to Aunt Eve. “What about this?” she asks, tracing a line around a lavender calico patch.
Aunt Ruth shakes her head. “That was mine. An apron from a doll I once had.”
Next, Evie points to a green velvet square, and as Aunt Ruth nods and smiles, Evie leans forward and brushes one cheek against the soft fabric. It doesn’t smell like Aunt Eve should smell, sweet like a flower, but instead like Grandma Reesa’s basement.
“Eve’s favorite Christmas dress,” Aunt Ruth says. “She tried to wear it to school once. Mother caught her at the back door because the hem stuck out from under her overcoat. My goodness, Mother was angry.” Aunt Ruth pulls a red leather photo album back onto her lap and flips through the early pages. “Here. Yes, here is a picture of that dress.”
Evie wraps the quilt around her shoulders like a cape and presses closer to Aunt Ruth’s side. “Do you think she looks like me?” Evie asks, staring down on a little girl standing on the steps of St. Anthony’s, the same steps where Evie plays every Sunday morning while Daddy and Mama say their hellos.
Touching the little girl’s picture, Aunt Ruth smiles through closed lips, nods but doesn’t answer.
“Did Aunt Eve love the green dress as much as she loves the dresses in her closet?”
“Yes, I’m sure she did.”
“Why does she have all of them?”
Aunt Ruth flips to the next page, and pointing out another picture of Aunt Eve, this one of a little girl sitting alone on Grandma Reesa’s back porch, Aunt Ruth says, “They were to be for her wedding.”
“Aunt Eve is getting married?” Evie pops up on her knees and pulls the quilt to her chin.
“Not now, sweet pea. A long time ago. She wanted each brides-maid to have her own special dress.”
“So she made all of them?”
“We all did. She and I and Mary Robison. Mrs. Robison was, is, a wonderful seamstress.” Aunt Ruth flips to another page in the album. A picture pops loose as she lets the new page fall open. “Here we are,” Aunt Ruth says, tucking the picture back into the white corner tabs. “All three of us. Your Aunt Eve wanted to work with Mary one day, to be as good a seamstress.”
Evie leans forward and squints into the face of Mrs. Robison. The picture was taken long before she grew up and had Julianne, long before Julianne disappeared. The kids at school say that since Julianne is gone, maybe the Robisons will take Evie in trade. Maybe since Julianne was the same age as Evie and had the same white braids, the Robisons will make Evie move in with them. That very Tuesday at recess, Jonah Bucher said he was going to change Evie’s name to Julianne. He said everyone liked Julianne better than Evie anyway. Every other kid said the same and they called Evie by her new name all through recess until Miss Olson made them stop or else she’d call every mother and father of every kid in school.
“What about you, Aunt Ruth? Did you want to sew, too?”
Aunt Ruth pokes both of her thumbs into the air. “I’m all thumbs. Never as handy as those two.”
“Which dress were you going to wear?”
“I hadn’t decided. Whichever Eve chose for me, I suppose. But she was young when we made those dresses. Only dreaming of a wedding. Someday.”
“And did she get older and get married?”
Aunt Ruth closes the photo album, patting the top cover three times and resting her palm there. “Sometimes things don’t work out like we plan.” She smiles down at Evie.
“Well, I think they’re the most beautiful dresses. Maybe I’ll use them when I get married one day.”
“That would make Eve very happy.”
In the kitchen, Mama is making cooking noises-pots and pans rattle and the gas stove goes click, click, click as Mama turns on the back burner that doesn’t work so well. Elaine is off with Jonathon’s mama, learning how to make piecrusts. Evie wonders if Mama’s feelings are hurt because Elaine would rather learn about pies from someone else’s mama. Smelling pot roast and roasted new potatoes, Evie lays her head on Aunt Ruth’s shoulder. The radiator kicks on, making her think of old Mrs. Murray, but only until she remembers that Mama said Mrs. Murray died in a hospital bed. Mama said no one was cooked up on that radiator or any other. Evie closes her eyes and lays her right hand on Aunt Ruth’s stomach.
“Too soon,” Aunt Ruth says. “In a few weeks, maybe.”
Pressing her face into Aunt Ruth’s arm where her nose and lips will warm, Evie knows the baby is too tiny to feel. Mama says it’s like a bean now, like a lima bean, not a pinto bean. She says everyone has to take care of Aunt Ruth so her baby will have strong lungs and a healthy heart. Mama says when the baby comes, Aunt Ruth will move into Elaine’s room and Elaine will move in with Evie, so Aunt Ruth and her baby can have a room all to themselves. Evie wants to ask Aunt Ruth if she will have a blue baby and will Daddy put it in the oven like they did Ian’s baby sister. When Ian’s dad first thought the baby was dead, he put her in the oven until the doctor could come. That’s what Ian said. And then when they opened the door, she was kicking and breathing and all the way alive again. Instead of asking Aunt Ruth if her baby will be blue, Evie closes her eyes and imagines she is like the princess and the pea, except she will feel the lima bean in Aunt Ruth’s stomach.
“Who was Aunt Eve going to marry?” Evie asks, thinking that she probably isn’t a princess because she can’t feel anything except the buttons on Aunt Ruth’s dress.