made it sound like a party every day.
Momma laughs. “Not really,” she says. “It just seemed that way because I was so small. Everything looks big to a little kid.”
“Was it as big as the Matlock house?” I grab my side of the flat sheet and tuck it under the mattress without looking up, act like this question came right off the top of my head from nowhere.
“Oh no,” Momma says. “The Matlocks were rich people.”
“How did they get rich in Mercy Hill?”
“Coal,” she says. “That’s the only way anybody’s ever gotten rich here.” She slaps Uncle Lu’s pillow and fluffs it up just so.
“Mr. Matlock was a miner?”
Momma laughs again, but it sounds like a put-on laugh this time. “I doubt that man ever went down in a mine,” she says.
“Then how—”
“We’re about done here,” she says. “I need to get supper started.”
“But why can’t we talk about—”
Momma shakes her head. “Chileda, sometimes it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie.”
“What does that mean?”
“Leave the old stories alone. Let them be done with.”
“But—”
“Besides,” Momma says. “I was a little girl back then, so I wasn’t bothered by all that coal business.”
She takes up the dust mop and runs it hard across the floor. I wish I hadn’t gotten her mind off Grandma Sudie’s house. I like to hear her talk about living there, about all her brothers and sisters and cats and dogs, about being poor and rich at the same time.
“What did you like best about Grandma Sudie’s house?” I ask now.
“Your
home.”
She picks up the rest of Uncle Lu’s clothes and stands looking out the attic window with the view all the way to the river. “Maybe the way the light fell through the kitchen window,” she says. “I liked to stand in that patch of light in the early morning and just dream.”
I start to ask about her dreams, but somehow this doesn’t feel like the right time.
“Your grandma always said that you had to take hold of the moments that don’t last long,” she says. “That patch of light never stayed but a few minutes.”
Momma stands now in the late light falling throughthe attic window and I try to imagine her as a young girl standing in the bright morning sunlight of Grandma’s kitchen. She starts to smile but doesn’t look my way. She’s smiling to herself. If I had a camera, I’d take her picture.
M ay Day Parade …
Melody Reece won the May Day princess contest. She jumped up and down when Principal Goodman announced it, hugging all the popular girls and acting like she was surprised to death. The rest of us sat there and watched. Ginny and Priscilla joined all the hugging even though they lost to Melody. They’d do anything under the sun to be in that group of girls. She deserved it, they said. I wanted to ask why but didn’t. If you have money jars sitting all over town, it’s hard to lose.
Then disaster struck at the May Day Eve queen’s-court dinner. Priscilla walked in wearing the same pink dress as Melody Reece, and Melody’s momma almost had to be carried out on a stretcher. These are my momma’s exact words. Her garden club sponsored the dinner, so she had a front-row view of the whole thing. Everybody thoughtMrs. Reece had a right to be upset. After all, she was the first May Day queen back in 1955. Her lilac-colored dress was one of a kind. It’s still displayed in a glass frame at the Mercy Hill museum room in the public library.
Thank goodness Priscilla and Melody are on different floats today. Melody is riding with the other members of royalty, and Priscilla’s on a float stuffed with the losers. Every year the royalty float goes at the end of the parade, but after the gown problem, Mrs. Reece insisted the winners go first. Momma says it’s to make sure everybody sees Melody in that pink dress before they see Priscilla in hers. Melody’s dress cost eighty-five dollars at the Great Gowns Emporium up in Louisville, but Priscilla’s was just
Momma laughs. “Not really,” she says. “It just seemed that way because I was so small. Everything looks big to a little kid.”
“Was it as big as the Matlock house?” I grab my side of the flat sheet and tuck it under the mattress without looking up, act like this question came right off the top of my head from nowhere.
“Oh no,” Momma says. “The Matlocks were rich people.”
“How did they get rich in Mercy Hill?”
“Coal,” she says. “That’s the only way anybody’s ever gotten rich here.” She slaps Uncle Lu’s pillow and fluffs it up just so.
“Mr. Matlock was a miner?”
Momma laughs again, but it sounds like a put-on laugh this time. “I doubt that man ever went down in a mine,” she says.
“Then how—”
“We’re about done here,” she says. “I need to get supper started.”
“But why can’t we talk about—”
Momma shakes her head. “Chileda, sometimes it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie.”
“What does that mean?”
“Leave the old stories alone. Let them be done with.”
“But—”
“Besides,” Momma says. “I was a little girl back then, so I wasn’t bothered by all that coal business.”
She takes up the dust mop and runs it hard across the floor. I wish I hadn’t gotten her mind off Grandma Sudie’s house. I like to hear her talk about living there, about all her brothers and sisters and cats and dogs, about being poor and rich at the same time.
“What did you like best about Grandma Sudie’s house?” I ask now.
“Your
home.”
She picks up the rest of Uncle Lu’s clothes and stands looking out the attic window with the view all the way to the river. “Maybe the way the light fell through the kitchen window,” she says. “I liked to stand in that patch of light in the early morning and just dream.”
I start to ask about her dreams, but somehow this doesn’t feel like the right time.
“Your grandma always said that you had to take hold of the moments that don’t last long,” she says. “That patch of light never stayed but a few minutes.”
Momma stands now in the late light falling throughthe attic window and I try to imagine her as a young girl standing in the bright morning sunlight of Grandma’s kitchen. She starts to smile but doesn’t look my way. She’s smiling to herself. If I had a camera, I’d take her picture.
M ay Day Parade …
Melody Reece won the May Day princess contest. She jumped up and down when Principal Goodman announced it, hugging all the popular girls and acting like she was surprised to death. The rest of us sat there and watched. Ginny and Priscilla joined all the hugging even though they lost to Melody. They’d do anything under the sun to be in that group of girls. She deserved it, they said. I wanted to ask why but didn’t. If you have money jars sitting all over town, it’s hard to lose.
Then disaster struck at the May Day Eve queen’s-court dinner. Priscilla walked in wearing the same pink dress as Melody Reece, and Melody’s momma almost had to be carried out on a stretcher. These are my momma’s exact words. Her garden club sponsored the dinner, so she had a front-row view of the whole thing. Everybody thoughtMrs. Reece had a right to be upset. After all, she was the first May Day queen back in 1955. Her lilac-colored dress was one of a kind. It’s still displayed in a glass frame at the Mercy Hill museum room in the public library.
Thank goodness Priscilla and Melody are on different floats today. Melody is riding with the other members of royalty, and Priscilla’s on a float stuffed with the losers. Every year the royalty float goes at the end of the parade, but after the gown problem, Mrs. Reece insisted the winners go first. Momma says it’s to make sure everybody sees Melody in that pink dress before they see Priscilla in hers. Melody’s dress cost eighty-five dollars at the Great Gowns Emporium up in Louisville, but Priscilla’s was just
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