At the center of the bridge, at the spot she guessed to be the span’s exact center, Laura Mae stopped. She looked back; Momma and Stewie were way behind still. The little girl propped her elbows on the railing and tucked her feet, encased by the new, white patent leather shoes, close together, to get a good look at them.
She frowned. Plainly, the shoes were not new. They had been polished and cleaned, but deep, dark scuff marks were still visible on the toes and heels, and the bottoms showed hard wear.
Still, Momma’s eyes shone as she presented them to her daughter.
“Look, Laura Mae,” Momma had said. “Aren’t these beautiful? Just like those princesses in England have, don’t you think?”
Laura’s nose wrinkled but she took them, dropped them on the floor, and slipped her bare feet into them. The shoes were too big.
Momma still smiled. “Well, we’ll stuff the toes and they’ll be fine.”
So Laura Mae took them off and went over to the church ladies, who were waiting for their reward.
“Thank you,” Laura Mae said, dropping a small curtsy. “I really like them.”
The pair of ladies did not smile but nodded their pinched faces in acknowledgment. They looked on, their noses slightly tilted in the air as Momma squealed with delight over the bags of goods they had brought.
Laura knew the overalls they had brought for Stewie were too big. The knees were gone too. Yet Momma oohhhed and ahhhed over them, turning them this way and that, declaring that these would wear like iron once she patched them here and there. Laura Mae didn’t understand why Momma didn’t toss the clothes at these sour-looking women and order them out of the house. Momma should have told them that they didn’t need their things, that the three of them were just fine as they were.
Yes, the shoes once had been beautiful, but Laura Mae didn’t want to have to imagine them to be so still. Yet it seemed to make Momma happy that she have them, so the two stuffed the toes of the shoes with the now useless pages of the Sears catalog.
Stewie made everyone so slow. At three, his little legs couldn’t cover the ground as Laura’s long ones did, and he weighted Momma down when he was carried. So Laura made off for the bridge, where she had seen that little calico kitten just last evening, before the storm. It had been horrendous, the thunder crashing and the rain hurling itself against the tin roof of her home. And now, under her feet, the normally peaceful river was all muddy and mad, carrying bits of trees and shrubs, old rotten boards, and even shreds of paper.
Laura Mae told Momma about the kitty last night at supper.
“She looked sorrowful, Momma.” Laura Mae had said. “She musta lost her momma. She looked like she needed food and someplace safe.”
“You can take come scraps if you’d like.” Momma said. So after she slipped into her now-fitting shoes, Laura Mae ran right out. She saw it in the fading light but couldn’t coax it over to her for all the world.
Today she scanned the banks for the cat but couldn’t see anything through the bright sun, shining as if to make up for the tempest the night before. She determined to walk both banks, but before she had retraced her steps, she heard her bothersome little brother and her mother’s soft voice in response.
Laura Mae had hoped that Momma didn’t see that the new shoes were on her feet. She didn’t want Momma to think she was careless in wearing them. After all, Momma seemed so pleased that Laura Mae had received them from the church ladies yesterday. Laura Mae hadn’t seen Momma’s eyes sparkle in a long time the way that they glistened when she pulled those shoes out of the crumpled grocery sack.
“Why, Laura Mae. Just look at these!” she had said, holding the shoes aloft. “Why, I bet those princesses in England have nothing finer!”
From across the room, the shoes looked elegant. Laura Mae had bounded to Momma to get a closer look at them, while the two church ladies watched every move.
She had reached up, and Momma put both shoes in Laura Mae’s outstretched hands.
But Laura Mae’s heart sank when she saw the gleam was gone, the toes with deep, dark scratch marks, the heels worn, and looked too big for even Laura Mae’s growing feet.
Momma must have noticed her disdain because she said, “A little shoe polish will do a great deal to pretty them up. And, we can use some paper from the Sears catalog to stuff the toes. They are really precious, Laura Mae. Don’t you think?”
Laura Mae gulped and felt her face grow hot. She looked up at Momma, whose eyes shone as they hadn’t since Poppa left. Laura Mae could also feel the glare of the church ladies sear into the back of her neck.
Laura Mae cleared her throat. She said, “Yes, ma’am, they are pretty.” Momma motioned with her eyes toward the two ladies behind Laura Mae, Mrs. Pickard and Mrs. Worth. They visited from time to time, usually to drop off their laundry for Momma to do, but also to bring bags of badly needed items for so many of the families in Teasdale; canned milk, beans, rice, old clothes, and maybe some toys for the children at Christmas. Laura Mae had noticed that the overalls they gave Stewie were far too big and the knees already worn, and the garment they gave Momma had a big splotch of bleach on it that had erased some of the lovely little white flowers from the pink dress.
The ladies always received effusive thanks, but to Laura Mae, it didn’t seem as if the payment satisfied them. They usually sat with their hands grasping their purses, eyebrows raised, fine feathered hats atop their silvery hair, and in clothes that Momma and Laura Mae and even little Stewie had washed and dried and pressed many times.
Momma would say the money came in handy and they brought other business to her, enough to make it seem as if they stood in wet clothes and soap suds and clothes baskets all day, every day.
Whenever she sensed her daughter was about to complain, Momma would stand with her hands on her hips and her eyes as stern as they could be: “Never look a gift horse in the mouth, Laura Mae Eldridge. Those women are doing a great deal of good when they don’t really need to lift a finger to help us. All these clothes keep us dry and safe, and their business means we can eat until Poppa gets back home.”
Poppa left about a year ago to find work. His garage went under, and he told Momma he’d heard of factory work up north. He said he’d write and send for them as soon as he was able.
Laura remembered when he left. Momma was crying though trying not to. Poppa shaking Stewie’s hand and saying he was the boss. Giving Laura Mae a kiss on the cheek, telling her to mind Momma. Then he left, though Momma followed him out the door to the porch and closed the door. Laura Mae and Stewie pulled aside the curtain to watch but closed the drapes as soon and Momma and Poppa embraced and started to kiss.
For a time, it seemed Momma was always getting a letter. Her face lit up as she clutched the envelope. She would read parts of it to the children, then she would fall silent but keep reading. One day Laura Mae found a letter and started reading all that talk from Poppa. But she stopped once it got to parts that sounded as if her parents were kissing and threw the letter down in disgust. But as she walked away she knew Poppa still loved them all and would be home any day.
After a while the letters didn’t come as often and then stopped. Momma would come out of the post office with a big smile and eyes that looked funny. She’d laugh and say, “Daddy must be making so much money he can’t take time to write. Well, it won’t be long now!”
Then they’d walk home, Momma chattering away at the two of them about something she’d read in the paper or some story about her girlhood in Chicago.
Momma’s mother was born in Teasdale, but fell in love with a man from up North, whose daddy had fought for the Yankees. Poppa was from outside of Teasdale, and worked in his family’s service station. He was a top-notch mechanic, Momma would say, and they had met because of just that.
Momma was with Grandma Grace for a family reunion when Grandma’s clunker “done clunked out,” as Poppa would say as he told the story. He said he saw Momma pouting in the car while her Mama argued with his Daddy. So he thought he’d get a better look at the grouchy-looking girl in the pink hat that had road dirt all over it. He said — and Momma would agree that he did — “My name is Jim Eldridge and I’m going to marry you one day.”
Poppa would bow and said, “See? I was right.”
Then Momma would usually say, “Yes, and he became King of the Grease Monkeys!”
Laura Mae and Stewie would laugh as Poppa got down monkey-like and made monkey noises. “And you’re the Queen,” he’d say to Momma, and then chase her around the room as the children howled. Momma never seemed to run too fast, Laura Mae thought. Then Laura Mae would roll her eyes and take Stewie by the hand. “Time to go play in our room, Stewie,” she’d say, and leave until the royal couple stopped kissing and started acting like parents again.
At this spot on the bridge, without the burden of her little brother and the mounds of wet clothes and heavy smells of bleach and soap, Laura Mae felt her father’s absence but worried much more about her mother. Laura Mae, though barely 11, could sense her mother’s sorrow but knew she shouldn’t let her mother know. Laura Mae could hear her mother weep at night after the house was still. Laura Mae saw Momma hold her head while she worked the figures for their household. She heard Momma down in the cellar at the big wringer washer late at night.
But after supper on summer nights, she and Momma and Stewie would sit on the swing huddled together despite the stifling heat. Sometimes Momma would read to them about kings and queens and princesses from long ago. Sometimes they talked about Momma’s childhood in Chicago, and Momma would talk about her kitty named Bessie, who, Momma would say, would always make her happy whenever she felt sad.
But more often than not, the two would just sit together, sweaty and sticky but sweetly so. Momma made the swing move slowly to and fro, stirring up a breeze or two. Laura Mae always wanted to be last to close her eyes, just because she wanted more of those precious moments alone with Momma.
Laura Mae, Stewie, and Momma could rightly tell Poppa when he came home that the three of them pulled together, like the Three Musketeers, though Laura Mae always wondered why there were four of them. Laura Mae helped her mother run the clothes through the big wringer washer and put them in baskets. Momma would let her add the detergent to their own wash, but said she wanted to do it for the paying people in case something went wrong, because then she could rightly take all the blame.
Laura Mae loved to look into the tub when the soap built up to mounds of bubbles and suds, but the machine’s agitator burst those fragile bubbles and turned them into white streaks in the otherwise gray and dirty water.
Laura Mae shook her head to get the thoughts away, her dirty blonde braids slapping against her bare shoulders. Her tummy was growling; it was later than she thought. Had she missed the kitten?
She shaded her eyes and looked up ahead, scanning the banks. Then she turned and walked to the other side, her white patent leather shoes clomping as she walked. She shaded her eyes and looked up and down the other side. Still, she saw no sign of the kitten. The banks were overrun with water, but there was still a narrow little strip that ran up and down both sides. Some debris had washed up and clustered on the strips; wood, cardboard, and things she just couldn’t figure out what they were or what they had been.
She walked down the bridge to the edge to get a better look, then walked the other way. She huffed and put her hands to her hips against her blue cotton dress.
“Here kitty, kitty,” she called. Then she waited and called again. She sighed. She was hungry and it was getting late. Momma might be angry by now anyway.
She walked back the center of the bridge and scanned the banks again.
Suddenly, she heard a ruckus below amid the debris at the bank, and saw a kitten’s head pop out from under the cardboard. It was frightened; The rushing water was eating at the solid ground.
Laura kicked off her shoes and peeled off her socks, stuffing them in her shoes. She started running down the bridge again when approaching voices stopped her as she reached the end of the span. Mrs. Pickard and Mrs. Worth were chatting with each other and were going to come across the bridge.
Laura Mae didn’t know what to do. The kitten was in trouble but she couldn’t ignore the ladies. She looked up again and hoped they were too deep into their conversation. She slowly walked off the bridge and hit the path.
The sun had baked most of the rain out of the soil, and Laura Mae judged that the strip of earth running along the bank would hold. The kitten was mewing; she could barely hear it. She needed to get there fast, but she didn’t want to attract the women’s attention and didn’t want to frighten the kitten. She’d name it Bessie, she thought suddenly. And after she got the animal home, she’d hide it somehow. Then she’d put it in Momma’s bed, where the big empty spot was.
The women’s voices were getting closer, but they were still only paying attention to what each other was saying. She could hear snippets of conversation. Did they say Eldridge?
Laura Mae pushed through the brush as she stepped off the trail and onto the bank. The soil was sloppy; some muck oozed between her toes. She pressed on, keeping her eyes on the piece of cardboard just ahead and the kitten crouching under it.
“Hello, there. You, girl!”
A sharp voice cut through the air. Laura Mae stopped, her shoulders frozen, her arms poised in midair. She turned.
Cora Pickard was the tall skinny one. Laura Mae noticed she always wore a red shade of lipstick on her thin lips and usually the color strayed a bit. June Worth was a short woman, but also skinny with bright eyes that almost seemed kind. The two were at each other’s side constantly, their heads together sharing some tidy bit of gossip or airing their opinions on the sad shape of the nation. Momma was always telling Laura Mae and Stewie that these ladies were the kindest, gentlest souls in the county, and Laura Mae tried to believe her.
Mrs. Pickard spoke. “Aren’t you the Eldridge girl?”
“Yes’m,” Laura Mae answered.
“And why are you on that bank when the water’s so high? You’ll fall in.”
“I’m careful, ma’am. There’s this kitten…”
Mrs. Pickard harrumphed. “It makes no never mind to me,” she continued. “Is your momma at home?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m sure she is. I mean…”
“Well, you be careful, that’s all.” Mrs. Pickard waved a hand. Mrs. Worth nodded. “Yes, be careful,” she echoed.
Before Laura Mae could reassure them, they were locked together in conversation and strode off the bridge.
Laura Mae knew she had to hurry. If the ladies told Momma that she was doing something dangerous, she would be in for it. She looked back up to make sure those shoes were safe, then she turned her attention to the kitty cowering under the cardboard.
She was within reach now, but the ground was getting muckier with every step, and water was starting to lap at her toes.
She crouched down and held her hands out, making shushing sounds and speaking gently to the animal, who at first backed away. The kitten then froze. Laura Mae gently removed the cardboard and knelt down in the soupy mud.
She reached out for the cat, but it backed away again. Laura sprawled on the ground, her arms outstretched and grasping.
“Bessie,” she called out.
•
Mrs. Pickard fumbled at the shiny silver watch pinned on her crisp white linen dress, now free of the lipstick smudge that had spotted her collar and threatened to ruin the whole look.
“We’d best hurry, dear,” she told her companion. “We’re going to be late. Those girls in the kitchen don’t know what they’re doing. They’ll ruin the entire church dinner.
Mrs. Worth picked up the pace. The main road was much better than the path they had just been on through the woods. Luckily, the ground, though rutted with mud here and there, was drying but not dusty.
It would have ruined Mrs. Pickard’s white dress.
“That Eldridge girl,” Mrs. Pickard sighed. “She is a little headstrong, don’t you think?”
“Yes, indeed,” Mrs. Worth said, nodding. “You know, I sometimes think that family doesn’t appreciate all we do for them.”
“I know it,” Mrs. Pickard said. “Mabel Eldridge was high and mighty when she came here from Chicago, wasn’t she?”
“She doesn’t know our ways, Cora,” Mrs. Worth said, nodding. “Some people just never fit in. But as for the girl, you warned her.”
“I did, indeed,” Mrs. Pickard said. “It isn’t our job to mind her and it isn’t any of our business, anyway.
Mrs. Worth stopped and put her hand on her friend’s arm.
“Cora, did you hear that?”
Mrs. Pickard was silent for a moment, then shook her head.
“No, June, I did not. Anyway, as I said, it isn’t any of our business.”
Mrs. Worth began to protest but changed her mind. “You’re right, Cora. It isn’t any of our business. But did you know? Jim Eldridge was on the 1 o’clock train?”
Heather Denniss has been a journalist for more than 25 years and is now trying to make her mark in fiction. This is her second published short story as well as the second one for Hypertext.
