Child of the Mountains - By Marilyn Sue Shank Page 0,3
Uncle William’s room, and a dining room beside the kitchen.
When all them rooms was done, Gran said, “It sure would be nice to have this whole entire house painted. You know, so it could blend into the sky.” Gramps knowed that meant she wanted it painted blue, her favorite color. So sure enough, Gran got herself a blue house.
Gramps died when I was only three years old. I don’t recollect much about him, just him tickling me with his long white beard. And I have a foggy recollection of him carrying me outside on his arm. He pointed out birds and twittered their calls. He smelled a little musty, but I have a warm, soft feeling when I think about him. Mama told me Gramps called me Sparrow on account of my brown hair and freckles. I like that.
After Gramps died, Daddy said we would move in with Gran to help her out. When I think on it now, I wonder iffen Daddy moved us there to help him out. Him and Mama had been renting a tiny house in Raymond City.
Gran was getting too old to climb them rickety stairs, so she took Uncle William’s old room. Mama and Daddy slept in the upstairs bedroom. Mama fixed up Gran’s old sewing room for BJ. She mixed up some paste and wallpapered the room with the Sunday funnies that Uncle William saved up from the Gazette.
I slept in Mama’s old bedroom. It was painted a light peach color. My bed was covered with the quilt Gran made for Mama when she was a little girl. She used all different colors of floral materials to make a Sunbonnet Sue pattern. The quilt smelled like Gran and Mama close together, and I always felt safe tucked in under it.
I loved the tin roof that Gramps put on that little room when he created it. I liked to listen to the rain tinkling and pattering. Ain’t no better song than that to lull a body to sleep.
Sometimes BJ and me spent time sitting on his bed looking at the hills and sky out his upstairs bedroom window. Ain’t no better picture for a wall than that ’cause God Hisself painted our picture, and it changed ever day.
When I think about Gramps’ make-do house, I always recollect the smells. Gran’s room always smelled of lavender. Daddy and Mama’s room smelled of whatever fresh flowers and herbs was a-growing in the woods. And the kitchen always smelled of yummy surprises when I walked in from school. Chicken and dumplings, my favorite. Pinto beans and corn bread. Ham and fried apples. Meat loaf with ramps and fried taters. Buttermilk biscuits. Oatmeal and molasses cookies.
It weren’t no fancy mansion like a lot of city folks have. But there ain’t no better house in the world than Gramps’ make-do house on account of that house being home.
I don’t think Uncle William’s house will ever feel like home. Mama always said Uncle William is the strong, silent type. He’s sort of scary, I think. He has blue eyes, but they look hard like steel, not soft and glittery like BJ’s and Mama’s. He wears his light brown hair cut short and sticking up on top like he’s still in the army fighting the Nazis. He would pat me on the head sometimes when I was little, but I always thought it was best to stay out of his way as much as I could.
Aunt Ethel Mae has hazel eyes and black hair that she tries to fix like some of them movie stars by using bobby pins to push it in a roll around her face. Then it falls smooth and curls under in another roll at her shoulders. She wears bright red lipstick and uses a eyebrow pencil to paint a mole aside her mouth. I don’t like the mole I have on my arm. I can’t figure why anybody would want a fake one, but she calls it her beauty mark.
Aunt Ethel Mae’s real slender, almost skinny, and she’s taller than Mama. My aunt smells sugary sweet with some cigarette smoke mixed in. She’s always grinning and laughing real loud when she’s with other people. But when she’s in this house, her face looks tight and kind of sad.
Moving in with Uncle William and leaving Mama, my house, my old school and friends hurt bad enough. But the very worst part was not being able to leave them secrets about Mama and BJ behind, too.