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  I gave her my meanest stare and made the dangerous decision not to let her have the last word. No, not today. I looked up at Frank, batted my eyes the way I’d seen Momma do, and in my most innocent voice asked, "Is that right, Daddy Frank? Is Momma the boss?"

  CHAPTER 3

  The next few weeks were hard on me. Momma and Donald found subtle ways of retaliating for what they perceived as my turning Frank against them. I tried not to be caught alone with either one of them, especially Donald. Frank told me to let him know if his son bothered me. I’m not normally a tattletale, but I made an exception in Donald’s case. He soon hated me as much as I hated him.

  The worse part of those weeks was getting up every morning and not finding Anna fixing my breakfast. I grieved for her as if she’d died. According to Momma, Anna and Johnny were dead to me.

  Momma’s friend, Betty Powell, hired Anna at twice the salary we’d paid her. My mother made up horrible lies about Anna and insisted she be fired. But Betty chose to find a new best friend rather than give up a reliable housekeeper who could cook. Momma said she never liked Betty anyway and decided a housekeeper was a waste of money. She told Frank that she and I would keep up the house and garden.

  My stepfather got more and more upset each time Momma whipped me. So she devised a new strategy and offered me a deal I dared not refused. My new assignment consisted of doing the housework in such a way that she got the credit. As long as Frank remained under the illusion that Momma was a great housekeeper and cook, I’d be safe.

  Preferring work to whippings, I accepted my secret mission with enthusiasm. Anna had taught me well. I had complete faith in my abilities as a maid and so did Momma. She actually complimented me on the way I ironed Frank’s shirts.

  Finding ways to see Johnny proved to be my biggest challenge. I attended the eighth grade at the junior high, and Johnny, a sophomore, went to Sugardale High. We communicated through his cousin, Emelda, who sat behind me in history class. She charged Johnny and me a nickel for every note we passed via her makeshift postal services. She soon became the richest kid in Sugardale Junior High.

  Two weeks before Christmas, Frank announced that Donald would be spending the holidays in Tallahassee with his maternal grandparents. I shouted, "Hallelujah." It was an embarrassing, but sincere reaction.

  Momma was disappointed. "This is our first Christmas together. How can you let him go, Frank?"

  "His grandparents are getting old and they haven’t seen Donald in a year," Frank said. "When my late wife, April, got cancer, I worked two jobs to pay the medical bills, plus took care of her. Her folks offered to let Donald live with them." He sighed. "I knew they’d spoil him, but what choice did I have?"

  In truth, I think Frank wanted Donald to go. My stepfather spent fourteen hours a day learning how to run Papa’s hardware and garden store and then played referee when he got home. I regretted my tattling added to his misery, but I was determined not to become Donald’s Pick too. I saw in him the ability to become a champion Picker, especially if tutored by Momma.

  At the bus station, Frank gave Donald some money and Momma told him to bring us all presents from Florida. She made me hug his neck.

  As I did, I whispered, "The best present you can get me is to not come back." I knew I’d pay for my comment, but it still felt good.

  *****

  Frank entered the greenhouse. He watched as I tied a green ribbon around the last pot of scarlet poinsettias. "You’ve done a fine job as usual, Becky."

  I smiled. I had a deep desire to please my stepfather, but not because I thought of him as a father figure. I didn’t. Paul Cooper was my papa. Frank understood that. We were friends, good friends.

  There were days when I think I would’ve died if Frank hadn’t come around to cheer me up. Despite the cold or his own weariness, he’d sit in the front porch swing or in the back yard glider and talk to me. We’d often sit on the back porch and just rock—he in Grandpa Eli’s rocker, me in Papa’s. We had lots of swings and rockers at our house, and we needed every one of them.

  Frank put the last of the poinsettias in the back of his Ranchero pickup. "Let’s drop these off at the store and go Christmas shopping, Ladybug."

  "Is Momma going?"

  "Helen’s going Christmas caroling with her Sunday school class."

  I clapped my hands. "Sounds great to me."

  Frank went to the garage, came back with the ax. "Let’s stop and cut us a Christmas tree."

  "Papa always got a tree from our nursery."

  He slipped the ax behind the seat. "Haven’t you ever been Christmas tree hunting?"

  "No, sir."

  "You don’t know what you’re missing." He gave my long hair a gentle tug. "A friend of mine owns property on Starview Mountain. We’ll stop on our way back from Kirbyville and get a tree."

  "We’re going to Kirbyville?"

  "Yep." Frank handed me a twenty-dollar bill. "You’ll need some spending money."

  I tried to give it back to him, but he wouldn’t take it.

  "All our employees are getting Christmas bonuses. No one works harder than you." Frank winked at me. "Besides, you might want to buy me a Christmas present."

  That was a true fact. I wanted to get a gift for Anna, Johnny, and despite my feelings, I’d have to get Momma and Donald some token gift too. It’d be bad manners not to, and Papa had always insisted I practice good manners.

  *****

  Kirbyville lay forty miles south of Sugardale and was three times as big. The Plaza Mall consisted of three-dozen stores. We headed for the biggest one. I bought Johnny a pair of leather gloves and chose a peach sweater for Anna. It had a beaded flower on the left shoulder. The saleslady picked out a green and burgundy paisley scarf for Momma. Frank suggested I get her a sweater to match.

  "Then I won’t have enough money to buy you and Donald a gift," I argued.

  Frank gave me another twenty dollars. "Let me know if you need more."

  Since it was Christmas—and because I no longer had an excuse not to—I bought Momma a green ribbed turtleneck with no beading. Frank recommended a record for Donald. I made sure my stepbrother’s gift came out of the extra dollars his daddy gave me, and not out of the money I’d earned.

  For Frank, I chose a long-sleeve shirt in baby blue to match his eyes. He had the prettiest eyes I’d ever seen on a man or a woman. When he laughed, his eyes danced.

  He offered to treat me to lunch. "You get a table while I put our packages in the truck."

  I walked into the café and there sitting at a table for four was Anna and Johnny. I joined them. When Frank returned, the three of us held our breath until he pulled out the chair next to Anna’s. At first, it felt a little awkward. But by the time we ordered, we were all laughing.

  Frank entertained us with stories about his adventures at learning to manage Papa’s hardware store after spending all his life working construction. After swearing us to secrecy, Anna told us things about Betty Powell that even Momma didn’t know. We couldn’t eat for laughing so hard. Through it all, Johnny held my hand under the table.

  I don’t know if it was my delight at being with the three people I loved most or if it was just the magic of Christmas, but I wanted to sit there forever. In my mind’s eye, I could see us four as a family. Frank’s dark hair and deeply tanned skin were only a shade lighter than Anna and Johnny’s. With my auburn hair and green eyes, I was the oddball. But according to my imagination, Frank and Anna could’ve adopted me. Then I wouldn’t have been blood kin to Johnny. Thus, the strange, non-brotherly feelings I had for him would’ve been okay. We’d been enjoying ourselves for an hour when Ethel Johnson walked up.

  "Fancy seeing you here, Frank. Hello, Becky." She ignored Anna and Johnny.

  Frank and I nodded. Her presence meant trouble for us.

  Mrs. Johnson cast Anna a hateful look. "Where’s your lovely wife, Frank?"

  "Helen’s out caroling. Becky and I thought we’d sneak over and buy her Christmas prese
nts." He pushed back his chair. "Don’t you tell her, Ethel. You’ll spoil our surprise."

  "I won’t," she said as she turned to leave.

  That biddy was lying through her teeth. I knew she’d phone Momma and tell her we were with Anna and Johnny. I wished Frank hadn’t used the term, "Sneak over."

  Like Momma, Ethel was the type to take such a phrase and run with it.

  *****

  Seeing Anna and Johnny was both an answered prayer and a resurrected heartache. Neither Frank nor I spoke during our trip home. I think he understood I needed time to brood over losing them again.

  A few miles out of Sugardale, my stepfather turned onto a dirt road.

  "Where are we going?" I asked.

  "Starview Mountain. We need a Christmas tree. Remember?"

  I shrugged.

  Frank drove to the top of the mountain. "Come on. I’ve got something to show you."

  I buttoned my coat and got out.

  He led me to the edge of a cliff. Below, a gorge split the rock walls as if God himself had thrown a lightning bolt from Heaven. "That’s Cascade Canyon down there."

  "How far can we see, Frank? Is that Tennessee?"

  "Maybe." He pointed to the left side of the canyon wall. "That’s how the canyon got its name."

  A large, triangular-shaped rock jutted out past the face of the stone cliff. A small river tumbled over it, throwing itself this way and that onto the boulders below, darkening each one it touched. Streamers of water framed by giant icicles snaked their way to the canyon floor. Some combined to create shallow pools, while others joined with Lazy Rock Creek as it meandered through the gorge.

  Frank put his arm around me. "It’s an awesome sight, isn’t it?"

  I smiled. Once more, he’d pulled me out of my misery.

  "Got something else to show you," he said.

  We walked down a dirt road, passed a line of cottonwoods, and came upon a stream. At one point, the stream widened to form an ice-covered pond. I put my foot on the ice.

  Frank jerked me back. "It’s still a little thin. We’ll come back in January and go ice skating."

  "I don’t know how."

  He squatted down in front of me. "You mean to tell me you’ve never chopped down a Christmas tree or gone ice skating?"

  I shook my head.

  "Your education is sorely lacking, Ladybug. It’s lucky I found you when I did."

  Frank’s words were truer than he realized.

  We chopped down a fine eight-foot tree. When we got in the truck, my stepfather handed me a present. "This is for you. Open it."

  I untied the ribbon, tore off the paper, and found a brown notebook filled with blank pages. "What’s this for?"

  "It’s a journal for writing things down."

  "What kind of things?"

  "Anything you want." Frank took the journal and flipped through the empty pages. "When my first wife, April, was dying, I kept my feelings locked up inside of me. I had to be strong for her." He ran his hand over the cover. "Some days, I thought I’d go crazy. A friend gave me a journal, and I started writing my feelings down."

  "Did it help?"

  "Yes. Writing my feelings down helped to get them off my mind. Don’t ask me why." Frank pushed back my hair. "The past six months have been rough on you, Becky. Losing your daddy, Anna, and Johnny. Plus, you’ve been saddled with Donald and me. Maybe writing things down will help you too."

  I didn’t speak until he started the pickup. "Can I give you a hug?"

  "I’d love a hug, Ladybug."

  We hugged a good long time and I realized Frank needed that hug as much as I did. It was our first hug, but it wouldn’t be the last.

  CHAPTER 4

  I was right about Ethel Johnson. Momma stormed out of the house as soon as we pulled into our driveway. She tried to blame everything on me, but Frank wouldn’t let her.

  "Becky was with me, Helen. If you’ve a problem with us having lunch with Anna and Johnny, you take it up with me."

  "You know I’ve forbidden her from seeing the Santos."

  Frank pulled the tree from the back of the Ranchero. "Anna worked for this family for thirteen years. You act like it never happened."

  "I don’t want Becky around them."

  He sighed. "How do like our Christmas tree?"

  Helen stomped her foot. "Don’t change the subject."

  My stepfather leaned the tree against the pickup. "What do you want from me, woman? Must I call you every time I eat lunch somewhere? If so, then we’ve got a problem."

  Momma backed off. I think she realized she’d pushed Frank too far. Since the day they married, she’d been trying to control him the way she had controlled Papa. But Frank’s independent nature presented quite a challenge to her.

  She never said another word about our lunch with Anna and Johnny, but every time I got near her, she’d pinch me. Next to whippings, Momma liked pinching her victims. I wore long sleeve shirts so Frank wouldn’t see the bruises. I worried that he would leave us if he and Momma had another fight over me. While the thought of being rid of Donald delighted me, the idea of life without Frank did not.

  *****

  Donald came back and school started up again. So did Emelda’s postal services. One Saturday in late March, I came in from the greenhouse and found Momma in the kitchen.

  "Go take a bath, Becky, before you get this clean floor dirty."

  "Yes, ma’am." I didn’t know why she was worried. I mopped the floors.

  Donald saw me heading for the bathroom and ran in there before me. He came out in a few minutes, smiling. I should’ve figured something was up. I’d been waiting months for him to repay me for my comment at the bus station.

  I filled the tub, got some towels, and started to undress when Momma came running into the bathroom.

  "Sandy called. She’s having a come-as-you-are party. I’ve got to bathe and wash my hair." She grabbed my towels. "Iron my pink blouse and gray slacks, Becky. Hurry or Sandy will think I’ve spruced up."

  I’d almost finished with Momma’s blouse when her scream ripped through the house. It scared me so much I dropped the iron. I ran upstairs and found her sobbing.

  "Look at my hair," she said. "Look at my beautiful hair."

  Momma’s hair was as stiff as my ironing board. She tried to comb it, but it was like trying to comb cement.

  "Did you do this, Becky Leigh?"

  "No, ma’am."

  She picked up the shampoo bottle, turned it over, and shook it. Nothing came out. "Someone put something in the shampoo."

  "Donald was in here before me."

  "Come here, Donald," Momma yelled.

  When he saw my mother’s hair, his face turned red with guilt. He ducked into his bedroom and managed to lock the door before she could get her hands around his neck.

  Momma pitched a blue ribbon hissy fit. She pounded on Donald’s door, cussed him out, and threatened to cut him up and use him as catfish bait. When she sent me to get the ax, I got halfway to the garage before turning back.

  It occurred to me that if Momma hacked up Donald, she’d go to prison. I’d be rid of both of them. But Donald’s death would hurt Frank something terrible. My good Cooper blood finally got the best of me. I telephoned my stepfather and suggested he get home before Momma decided to go get the ax herself.

  When he saw Momma’s hair, Frank threw a fit that rivaled hers. She and I huddled in her room while he went after his son. Donald blamed me, but Frank found an empty bottle of glue with a Tallahassee price sticker still on it. How stupid can one boy be?

  Momma, Frank, and I spent the afternoon at Monsieur Henri’s Hair Salon. Momma wore her curly blond hair touching her shoulders. To get out the glue, Monsieur Henri—Henry Nash—had to cut most of it off. Every snip of the scissors brought a flood of tears.

  Frank ended up buying her the most expensive wig in the place. In one way or another, he and I always got stuck paying for Momma and Donald’s meanness.

  Frank took
away his son’s car and all his privileges. Donald seldom came out of his room. When he did, Momma went after him like an alley cat after a mouse. Her devotion to making my stepbrother’s life miserable left her with little time to aggravate me and Frank.

  For a little while, we had some peace.

  *****

  Summer came and Johnny got a job at Ferrell’s Drugs, two doors down from our store, Cooper’s Hardware and Garden. Momma allowed me to work at our store as long as the housework didn’t suffer. I must have inherited her gene for chicanery. I thought of dozens of ways to accidentally run into Johnny.

  Donald planned to spend the summer visiting his cousins in Alabama, but Frank told him he was going to learn the hardware business. My stepbrother wanted to be a cashier, but his daddy had enough sense not to let the boy near the money.

  "You need to start at the bottom," Frank said and handed his son a broom.

  Donald had been a star football player and homecoming king. The role of janitor didn’t fit his image of himself. After three weeks on the job, he’d broken so much merchandise, he owed the store more money than it owed him.

  Reluctantly, Frank conceded defeat, called his sister, and told his son to pack. The highlight of my summer came when Dumb Donald—as I called him—boarded the bus for Alabama. Momma didn’t bother seeing him off. She stayed home, cut up his collection of sports magazines, and threw the pieces in the trash.

  In August, Donald moved to Athens to attend the University of Georgia. Momma bought a bottle of wine, poured me a quarter cup and we secretly toasted his leaving.

  Frank seemed relieved. Donald’s grades were bad, but he could play football. His Picker instincts served him well on the sports battlefield. The bully got a full athletic scholarship, which proved what I’d known all my life—there’s no justice in this world.

  *****

  The fall of ’64 and the following year were the closest we ever came to being a normal family. Donald preferred to spend his holidays with his new friends from college. Momma and Frank got along pretty well, and I bent over backwards to be nice to her. Most days, she acted pleasant enough, but occasionally her Picker ways got the best of her.