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The Dream Bucket (Covington Chronicles) (Volume 3)

By Mary Lou Cheatham

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Chapter One

Spring 1909
Trudy Cameron climbed the stairs behind Papa. “Two more days.”
“You excited?” He raised the upstairs windows to let in the fresh air from the piney woods.
“I’ll miss school, but we’ll have fun.”
Trudy’s room was in front of her parents’ on the west side of the house, and Billy slept across the balcony from Trudy.
Heaped like fresh butter pressed from a mold on a saucer, the moon sat on the muntin bar of Trudy’s east window that opened onto the balcony, which was an upstairs porch enclosed on three sides.
The world was sweet, and it would be a good night to sleep. Nestled in her four-poster bed, Trudy closed her eyes and said her prayers. She planned to rest well so she’d enjoy the next-to-the-last day of school.
Deep in the night a word fight awakened her.
“Of all the men in the world, you are the most stubborn.” The vinegar in Mama’s voice spilled through Trudy’s open window. “It’s stupid to refuse to tell me this one thing.”
“They’re at it again,” Trudy whispered to Marcie, her stuffed monkey doll.
How could Trudy stand up to Mama on his behalf? Papa deserved better treatment, but she had to honor both of them.
“You don’t trust me, William.”
“Zoe.” Papa’s voice had a don’t-mess-with-me sound.
Mama said something else Trudy didn’t catch.
Whack!
Trudy’s hands went to her mouth. What was that? The noise couldn’t have been a slap. No, Papa wouldn’t hit Mama. Or would he?
Detecting the faint sound of weeping, Trudy strained her ears. With a fight raging between Mama and Papa, she had nobody to hold onto except Marcie. Trudy’s stomach hurt.
Mama, why do you have to be so hard to get along with? I need my sleep.
Oh, to have heard Papa’s strong snoring and the funny whistling noise Mama made through her nose. Instead, an argument about money assaulted the peace of the night. Assault—that was a spelling word. It described what went on in her parents’ bedroom when nobody was supposed to hear.
It seemed odd to fight about money when they had plenty. Except for the Benton twins, who lived nearby, none of her other schoolmates at Gravel Hill Elementary owned as many fancy things as the Camerons did.
“Let not the sun go down upon your wrath.” In last Sunday’s sermon, Reverend Black quoted that Bible verse. The dropping of the sun behind the woodpile was a signal for squabbles to end.
In the midst of harsh words and what sounded like objects hurling through the next room, Trudy took Marcie to the window seat, where the calmness of the night offered slight comfort.
As the hush fell, Trudy lingered by her window. “Marcie, it’s late.”
In the faint light of the night, the doll’s eyes accused her. Somehow the fight was Trudy’s fault. Maybe Mama found out Trudy didn’t always hang up her dresses. Was she too friendly to Papa and not enough to Mama? What was it?
The moon buried its face behind the roof of the carriage house beside her room.
The grandfather clock bonged three times. She couldn’t leave her window seat because they’d hear her.
When the moon sank lower, its golden light shone through the windows of the carriage house to the west of the big house. “It’s so late it isn’t the wee hours anymore.”
She couldn’t breathe out loud, they’d think she was listening, but she wasn’t snooping—it was impossible to sleep.
She squeezed Marcie. Somewhere an owl whooed not far from her window. Maybe what they fought about was so important they didn’t care who heard them. They didn’t love her and Brother as much as she thought—or hoped they did.
She needed to do something. It was up to her to make things right, even though she was just a kid. But what could she do? When they started talking again, they spoke in a softer tone.
“You’ve got all you need. Few women in these parts live in such nice houses,” Papa said.
Oh, Marcie. She twisted the doll’s eyes until they were loose.
Trudy waited in the silence.
“True.” Mama almost whispered.
Maybe she said, “Trudy.”
“You want information a wife doesn’t need concern herself about. Don’t I provide for you?”
Trudy stayed in the window seat. With a few more twists, Marcie’s eyes popped off. Smoothing her tea rose gown over her legs, she looked through the window. When she was small, Papa had put bars over her window so she couldn’t fall out.
The wind fluttered through the white Priscilla curtains. On the hardwood floor in her room was a big round Oriental rug with an intricate rose design. It had been her grandmother’s favorite. On her writing desk sat a pink lamp with crystals hanging from it. Most of her best things Papa had ordered for her from the Spiegel catalog.
“Here’s something for my princess,” he would say. She’d tear into the box that came in the mail.
“Why do you make me slap you? You have no right to know what I do with my money. I give you and the children everything you need. Nothing ever satisfies you.”
A long pause followed. Mama didn’t say anything.
“That’s it. You want all I’ve got.” When Papa spoke again, he raised his voice.
Marcie, nothing more than a pile of yarn and stuffing, now had no eyes. She lay limp in Trudy’s hand, but Trudy wished her monkey doll could say something, anything to help.
“I can’t take much more of this,” Trudy whispered. “This is a secret. If I didn’t have bars on my windows, I’d jump out about now and go be with Jesus.”
Would they ever move about again? When the coiled mattress springs squawked in their bedroom, she crept back to her bed. They couldn’t hear the floor creak while their bed was noisy.
###
Trudy felt jolted from a dark, peaceful place to the brightness of her bedroom with Papa shaking her shoulder. “Time to get ready for school, Trudy. Wake up, sleepy girl.”
As soon as she stood by her bed, he left her room.
She flung the doors of her armoire open. Underwear. Then a dress. She didn’t care which. The lavender one hung near the front. Pulling it over her head, she put it on backwards. When she snatched the dress off, she tore it.
The morning after a fight wasn’t a good time to tell Mama about the dress. Instead, Trudy rolled it into a ball and tucked it underneath a folded blanket stored below the other dresses. She yanked the next dress from its hanger.
At the breakfast table downstairs, Trudy stared at the flapjacks and sausage Papa put on her plate.
“You getting sick, Trude?” Mama asked.
“No’m, I’m fine.”
“Better eat.” Papa buttered the cakes, poured thick cane molasses on them, and cut a few pieces. “You seem tired this morning. You need your breakfast.”
Trudy forced a few bites.
“Drink your milk.” Why was Mama grouchy?
Most days Trudy beat Brother out the door, but today he walked ahead of her. On the way to school, he asked, “What’s got your mind wadded up?”
“Oh, nothing.” No need to tell Billy. Even though he was her older brother, he didn’t understand such things as fights. Besides, he wouldn’t believe her. Boys didn’t have as much sense as girls about heart matters.
The neighbors, six-year-old Buddy and Bailey Benton, waited for Trudy and Billy at the edge of the Bentons’ yard. Mr. Sam said, “Better move along. Y’all are late this morning.”
When they reached the schoolhouse, she slammed her lunch tin on the shelf in the cloakroom with a clang that brought Miss Eleanor Anne out of the classroom.
“What is this about, Trudy?”
“Good morning, Ma’am.” Trudy pushed her lips into a fake smile. “I just tripped and set my lunch down too hard. Everything’s fine.”
“It ain’t,” Billy said. “Sister’s in a fume today.”
Spelling drill. Math drill. Conjugations. What she’d loved all school year irritated Trudy.
Story period when Teacher read from a book to the pupils was Trudy’s favorite time.
“Today I’ll read the last chapter of The Little Lame Prince.”
Trudy rested her head on her desk. She didn’t know when she fell asleep, but she awakened to hear her schoolmates snicker.
Jeremy Smitherlin, the awful boy behind Trudy, poked her and caused her to jump. “Now, you’ll never know what happened at the end. I ain’t telling you neither.”
Teacher and all the Bentons were coming to her house for supper. Trudy pulled herself together and behaved so Miss Eleanor Anne would feel welcome. The day dragged on until it was time for the last bell. After gathering her lunch tin, books, and the Bailey twins, she walked fast so she could get away from Jeremy. Besides, Mama would need her help at home.
“What you going to wear tonight?” Bailey Benton asked Trudy on the way home.
“My best white blouse with my taffeta skirt.”
“And Mary Janes.” Bailey had excitement in her voice. “I’ll wear my outfit like yours.”
The Bentons’ house was up and down a steep hill. The four of them pranced along fast. “We’ll see you all at supper,” Billy told the twins. “We’s got to rush on home. Lots to do.”
“See you tonight, Mr. Sam.” Trudy jogged home behind Billy. They had chores.
In the kitchen Mama, brushing flour off the work table, handed Trudy a soft cloth. “Wipe the silverware.”
She didn’t ask Mama why her face was bruised. Without a word, Trudy went to work.
Mama arranged wild pink honeysuckles in a rose-colored vase. It was the fancy one with “Nippon” written on the bottom of it. “We’ll put them on the sideboard.”
The going-away supper for Miss Eleanor Anne was important. Trudy helped Mama make everything pretty. “Go get dressed now.”
“How about the milking?”
“Your papa milked early.”
Upstairs, Trudy changed clothes. On her wrists she daubed rosewater.
Walking down the curved stairs, she spotted her father in his new white shirt and pinstriped pants. She caught her breath. “Papa.”
“Hi, Trudy Beth. Come give your papa a hug.”
She stood on the third step from the bottom and put her hand on his neck. On his cheek, she planted a noisy kiss.
He secured his strong but gentle hands around her waist and gave her a whirl.
She held onto him until he stood her on the floor.
“You look good. Mmm. You smell nice.”
Mama had dusted on more powder than usual. Her rouge was too bright. In her new white lingerie dress with frothy gathered fabric lavished with lace, Mama floated from one place to another until Papa stopped her and held her in his arms.
Soon Miss Eleanor Anne would arrive for supper. She had moved to Hot Coffee from the Mississippi delta, where people acted sophisticated. Everything had to be perfect.
“Here they are,” Billy called from the front window. “Teacher’s hat looks stupid.” He laughed as he pointed.
“Stop it, Brother.”
Papa flung open the door. “Welcome.”
“Mr. Sam, did you comb your beard?” Trudy whispered while Miss Eleanor Anne was busy removing her enormous straw hat. On the brim it had pheasant feathers coming from a bird’s nest. She left it in the foyer.
“Yes, Trude.” Mr. Sam leaned over to speak into Trudy’s ear. “The skin underneath my beard is paining me something fierce.”
Trudy giggled. “I see you slicked your hair down with pomade.”
He patted his shaggy blond mop. “Does my hair look all right?”
“It looks neat.” A new barber had opened a shop in Taylorsburg, but reminding Mr. Sam would have been rude.
Without the floppy hat, Teacher didn’t look funny as she had when she first walked in holding onto Mr. Sam. Her white blouse with tucks all over it and her big gray trumpet skirt made her seem almost as pretty as Mama.
Trudy made polite conversation. “School has been good all year, Miss Eleanor Anne.”
“I believe learning should be fun.” Teacher smoothed her skirt.
Mama reached a stiff hand out to the teacher but didn’t look at her or say anything.
Teacher smiled into Mama’s stern face. “Thank you for having me come to supper.”
Trudy pulled Bailey’s arm, and the girls went to the kitchen. “My mother doesn’t think Miss Eleanor Anne is good enough for Mr. Sam.”
“But everybody has them matched up for a couple,” Bailey said.
“Come on, girls.” Mama sounded grouchy. “Be seated.”
Papa sat at the head of the table, and Mama sat at the other end. A whirl of conversation, laughter, and compliments to the cook kept the party moving along. Life was good again until Papa said, “Zoe, why are you wearing a house dress?”
Mama ran from the table.
Miss Eleanor Anne looked at Papa through fluttering eyelids.
The conversation fell into a flat silence. Trudy wanted to tell the folks that it wasn’t a house dress. She’d seen pictures of women wearing lingerie dresses in a journal Mama had received in the mail. The article underneath the pictures said these sweet-looking dresses were the latest fashion for parties. She didn’t say anything though because Mama forbade her to read grown-up women’s journals. Besides, she wanted to play nice in front of Teacher.
The tinkling of crystal goblets, knives laid on the plates, and forks scraping the food were the only sounds. Smoothing a fresh plain blue dress, Mama returned to her chair.
“Mama.” Brother started to say something.
Mama cut her eyes at him as if to say, “Don’t you dare speak now.”
With trembling hands, Trudy reached for her water goblet. It was impossible to avoid spilling it. When tension became the dominant emotion at the table, she always spilled her drink.
“Trudy, pay attention to what you are doing.” Mama rushed to dry the water with her napkin. Billy and Trudy contributed their napkins to the effort.
Thirsty, Trudy dared not ask to be excused to go to the kitchen and walk away in her wet clothing. Choking down spit, she felt her throat knock against her neck.
Will everyone please go home?
After the party Trudy told Billy, “No clowning while we wash the dishes.”
“I know. You think I ain’t got good sense, but I’m a whole lot smarter than you.”
Papa returned through the back door from taking out the garbage. “I’ll sweep.”
Mama scurried around. The fragrance of gardenias and wild honeysuckle blending with the smell of fried chicken lingered throughout the house.
“Son, take these scraps to King.” Papa handed Billy a pan of food.
While Billy was outside, Mama hissed at Papa. “Just because she flirted with you, you didn’t have to flirt back.”
Trudy didn’t hear him say anything. Teacher flirting with Papa—when?
Billy came back to help with the dishes.
“By now Mr. Sam and them have delivered Teacher at Widow Morrison’s house. Romantic,” Trudy told Billy.
“I bet Mr. Sam kissed Miss Eleanor Anne goodnight,” Billy said.
“Not in front of the twins, stupid Brother.”
Billy smacked his lips. “I think he’s sweet on her. She’s going away for three months.”
“They can kiss when he takes her to the train Saturday. She’s trying to shove him into matrimony. Girls know about such things.”
“Speaking of kissing, psst.” Billy yanked one of Trudy’s red braids.
In the dining room, Mama and Papa stood hugging as they shared a prolonged kiss.
“I think Mama and Papa made a baby,” Trudy said.
“Kissing don’t make babies, stupid girl.”
Trudy let it go. “Brother, what’s flirting?”
“What you and Jeremy do.”
“I hate him.”
“No, you’re sweet on him,” Brother said. “You want him to kiss you.”
“Not ever.”
Billy might know.
She decided to ask him. “How do grownups flirt?”
“That’s a silly question. When we grow up, we’ll know. Why do you ask?”

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