If These Walls Had Ears by James Morgan Page B

Jessie borrowed money from the Prudential Insurance Company, and the work began immediately. Architect Ray
     Burks recommended adding a second level at the back of the house. Charlie wanted to add three bedrooms and a bath—and, by
     now, some good-size closets. As before, they didn’t stint: on details. The upper floor would be reached by the stairs that
     previously had gone to the attic. At the top of the stairs, you took a right and there was a small bedroom with casement windows
     on the east and south sides. That room was connected by French doors to a larger room with windows all across the south wall
     and two more on the west side. This room also had a huge walk-in cedar closet. The plan was for Charlie and Jessie to move
     up here, and Jane would take the small room adjoining. Across the hall was a nice-size bedroom for Charles. It had windows
     on the east and north walls, so that when you woke up in the morning, you felt as though you’d slept in a tree house. A door
     in Charles’s room led to a bath with a pedestal sink and a beautiful black-and-white tile shower. Charlie, Jessie, and Jane
     could also get to that bathroom by a door that opened to the hall. It was a well-thought-out floor plan. Carolee would need
     a place when she came home to visit, so she and Grandma Jackson would keep their rooms, and Grandmother Armor could have the
     middle one that Charlie and Jessie had been using. Until the new addition was finished, everybody would just have to make
     do.
    Elizabeth Armor arrived, as best can be determined, with the chill of autumn. It was a difficult fall, with all the dust and
     noise and the workmen tramping in and out. Then, too, there was this stranger in their midst. Jessie did her best to soothe
     frayed nerves. There was little entertaining because of the work, but she cooked up great steaming platters of comforting
     foods for the family. Grandmother Armor, with her mouth set hard and her hair bound in a bun, was not comforted. At suppertime,
     if Jessie served her something she didn’t like, instead of eating it graciously, she would take her index finger and slowly
     push the plate away. The children found her impossibly strict and unapproachable—as opposed to their Grandma Jackson, who
     fried them doughnuts and read to them and occasionally talked Jessie into letting them go to the picture show. Grandmother
     Armor had little use for anybody, much less children.

    Elizabeth Armor, Charlie’s mother.
    The Addition was finished by Christmas. That year, 1926, Uncle Ben, Grandma Jackson’s brother, came to spend the holidays
     in Little Rock. He was on his way to the Hawaiian Islands, just another in a long list of his exotic jaunts. The man travelled
     almost as much as he practiced medicine. Charles and Jane loved it when Uncle Ben would come. He was so funny when he talked
     about the places he’d been. The truth was, he was kind of a snob about travel. Once he had come to see them after a trip to
     Venice. All he could talk about was how bad the place had smelled.
    Grandma Jackson was overjoyed to see him. She wanted to show off her new radio, not to mention their new house. She was seventy-four
     that year, and her health wasn’t all that she wished. The asthma was getting worse—even though Jessie sent notes with the
     Christmas cards saying Grandma was “spry as a cricket.” Cynthia and Ben sat by the radio for hours that year, listening and
     talking, reminiscing. It was a wonderful Christmas. The new addition, made of stucco and painted white, sat atop the old structure
     like a big white cake from Jessie’s kitchen. On Christmas Day, the family posed outside in the yard—everyone but Carolee,
     who wasn’t there, and Charlie, who took the picture, and Grandmother Armor.

    Christmas Day 1926, Despite Uncle Ben's visit and the house renovations being completed, nobody in this picture seems to be
     having a happy holliday.
    Looking at that photograph, you’d never know