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His voice was soft, barely above a whisper. I'd never heard a man with such a soft voice before. Was his an educated voice? It had to be, since all the uneducated roared and shouted, yelled and bellowed.
"Oh, Cal, ain't she jus darlin, jus darlin?" asked Kitty Dennison in a voice slightly on the shrill side. "Ain't it gonna be fun dressin her up an makin her look pretty, ain't it, though?"
I was breathing hard. Beside me Grandpa was quietly crying. Grandpa, Grandpa, you could have said something before--why wait until it's too late to show you care?
"An weren't it easy, Cal?" laughed Kitty, hugging and kissing him, and making Pa turn away as if revolted by her display. "Thought she might want them in their big, rich car an heavy, expensive coats, but it were easy, so easy."
Again I felt panic.
"Honey," Kitty Dennison said to me when she had finished playing with her man, "ya run along an put on yer coat, but don't ya botha t'pack any of yer clothes. Gonna buy ya everythin new, brand-new. Don't wanna carry no filthy germs inta my clean home . . ." She gave the cabin another look, this time clearly showing her repugnance. "Kin't wait t'get ya outa here."
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With lead in my legs, I pulled my old coat from the nail in the bedroom, put it on, and, daring her disapproval, I picked up the suitcase I'd swathed about with Granny's old shawls. I wasn't going to leave my mother's things here to rot, especially not that beautiful bride doll.
"Ya remember, now," called Kitty Dennison, "jus bring yerself, nothin else."
I strolled out of what we called the bedroom into full view, wearing my shabby old coat, lugging my unsightly bundle, and stared defiantly at Kitty Dennison. Her pale eyes glittered strangely. "Didn't I tell ya not t'bring anythin?" shrilled Kitty Dennison, irritation on her face. "Kin't take that filthy stuff inta my clean house, ya kin't."
"I can't leave here without what I hold dearest in the world," I said with determination. "My granny made these shawls, and they're clean. I just washed them."
"Ya'll have t'wash em again, then," said Kitty, somewhat placated but still looking angry.
I paused beside Grandpa, leaning to kiss the top of his balding head. "Take care, Grandpa. Don't fall and break your bones. I'll write often, and somebody can always . . ." And here I hesitated, not wanting those strangers to guess that Grandpa couldn't read or write. "Well, I'll write."
"Ya done been a good girl, t'best. Couldn't have wanted anyone betta." He sobbed, dabbed at his tears with a handful of his shirttail, and continued brokenly, "Ya go an ya be happy, ya hear?"
"Yes, I hear, and please do take care of yourself, Grandpa."
"Ya be good now, ya hear."
"I'll be good," I swore. I blinked back my own tears. "Good-bye, Grandpa."
"Bye . . ." said Grandpa. Then he picked up a new stick and began to shave off the bark.
When, if ever, has he really looked at me? I was going to cry, and I didn't want Pa to see me cry. I stared him straight in the eyes, and for a change his dark eyes locked with mine in silent combat. Hate you, Pa. Not saying good-bye to you and take care. I'm going and I don't care. Nobody needs me here. Nobody has ever needed me but Tom, Keith, and Our Jane . . . not Fanny, not Granny, not really, and certainly not Grandpa, who has his whittling.
"Now, don't ya cry, girl," Kitty said in a strong voice. "Ya've seen me before, an jus didn't know it. I've seen ya in church when I come t'visit my ma an pa who live in Winnerrow. There ya sits with all yer kinfolks, lookin like an angel, truly like an angel."
Pa's head jerked upward. His hard, dark eyes clashed with Kitty's. He didn't say a word, not a word, leaving me floundering again in uncertainty. There was something unspoken between them, something that hinted that they knew each other more than just casually. It terrified me that she was the kind of woman Pa went after--different from my real mother.
"Really did envy that red-haired ma of yers," Kitty gushed on, as if Pa didn't matter a hoot to her-- and that made me even more suspicious. "Since ya were knee-high onta a grasshopper, I've been watchin yer ma luggin all her brood t'church an back. Envied her then, really did. Wanted her kids so bad, cause they were all so pretty." Her loud, shrill voice turned dull and cold.
"Kin't have none of my own." Her strange eyes filled with bitterness and fixed on Pa in a hard, accusing way. Oh, oh, oh . . she did know him!
"There's some who might say that's my good luck, not to havd no kids of my own. . but I got me one now. . an she's an ANGEL, a real live angel; even if she don't have silvery-blond hair, she's still got t'angel face and t'angel-blue eyes . . . ain't that right, Cal?"
"Yeah," agreed Cal. "She's sure got the look of innocence, if that's what you mean."
I didn't know what either one was talking about. I feared the battle of unspoken recognition between Pa and Kitty. I'd never seen this woman before, and she wasn't the kind anyone would easily overlook. I glanced again at her husband, who was staring around the cabin. His pity showed when he looked at Grandpa sitting like a limp rag doll in his rocker. Eyes blank, his hands idle now. What was he thinking, if anything? Had Granny and Grandpa ever thought? Did minds close off as age came on? Did old ears go deaf just so they wouldn't have to hear what might make them miserable?
"First name is Kitty. Not a nickname. Wouldn't want to be no Katherine, or Katie, or Kate, or Nit. An, honey, ya kin call him Cal, like I does. Now, when yer livin with us yer gonna enjoy all t'big color TV sets we got. Ten of em." She flashed her eyes again at Pa, as if to show him just what kind of rich man she'd captured. Pa seemed indifferent.
Ten TV sets? I stared at her disbelievingly. Ten? Why have ten when one would be enough?
Shrilly Kitty laughed. She hadn't even heard my silent question. "Knew that would give ya a jolt. Cal here runs his own TV repair and sale shop, an some dummies turn in their old sets fer nothin or almost nothin, so he kin bring em home an fix em up good as new, an he sells em as new t'poor folks who don't know no different. Got me a smart man, a handsome, clever man, best kind of man t'have. Turns a tidy profit, too, don't ya, Cal?"
Cal looked embarrassed.
