Ask Anybody (12 page)

Rowena's mother shrugged off my offers of help and insisted on carrying her burden into Nell's yard, right up to the porch. She laid it down, smiled at us, and removed the cover slowly.

“Now,” she said, “if someone could fetch me a hanger.”

As if she'd been listening at the front door, Nell appeared, rubbing her eyes. “I just woke up,” she said.

I looked at her hard. “You did not,” I said. “I saw you at the window fifteen minutes ago. Lots of people been here already and gone. Probably won't come back. I was here all alone. I could've used some help.”

“If I could have a hanger upon which to hang my coat,” Rowena's mother said snootily, speaking to the sky, “it would be most appreciated.”

“I'll see if we got an old one we can spare,” Nell said in a loud voice. “A real old one.” She went back into the house, and Rowena and I spent some time setting up her card table. Nell returned with an old wire hanger, and Rowena's mother made a ceremony out of removing her fur coat from the box and arranging it on its hanger with loving, gentle hands. So as not to bruise the fur, I guess.

“Where is the best place,” she inquired in her company voice, “for us to display the merchandise?”

Nell snatched the coat from her. “Here,” she said, leaping, agile as a cat, onto the porch railing and hanging the coat from a large hook suspended from the ceiling. “There,” Nell said, brushing the palms of her hands together, “that's good. Nothing can happen to it up there. Everyone'll see that old coat right when they pull up. They can't miss seeing it.”

Rowena's mother, torn between pleasure at the high visibility of her prize and dismay at hearing it referred to as “that old coat,” seemed unsure what to do now.

“Why don't you go on home?” Rowena suggested with a bright smile. “It'll be a while yet before business starts to boom.”

“I believe I will. I will return, however, to help in any way I can,” she said, and we watched her leave.

Nell's brothers appeared, large and looming, the way good yard sale guards should look, and stood, arms folded across their chests, ready to do battle with any thieves. Even Fast Eddie, suited up for the occasion in what were obviously hand-me-down clothes, too large, too billowing for his small frame, stood, wispy and unafraid and glowering. It was a good family turnout.

I finally got to see Nell's mother. She passed by in the car. Uncle Joe was driving. She was looking at herself in a little mirror, fixing her hair, patting it. She looked up just for a second, right at me. She didn't smile. I didn't think she looked
that
much like Dolly Parton. I mean, I don't think I would've asked her for her autograph the way Nell said the man in the diner had. She was blond, very blond, but that was about it. Of course, I didn't hear her sing. But Dolly has a sweet face. From what I could see of Nell's mother, her face wasn't sweet. It was sort of hard.

Nell said importantly, “She has a nine o'clock perm plus a manicure.” I wished I'd had a better look at her.

Mrs. Sykes woke up and hopped out of her car, and when she caught sight of Rowena's mother's fur coat dangling from its hook, swaying in the wind, she demanded to try it on. Anyone could see that Mrs. Sykes would swim in that coat. Still, she insisted, so Nell took it down from its ceiling hook.

When Mrs. Sykes put it on, it looked as if she'd draped a bear rug over herself. No one was rude enough or had courage enough to laugh, but she was a comical sight in that coat.

“Name your price,” Mrs. Sykes said, plainly pleased with herself. When Rowena said, in a timid voice, “Eight dollars and fifty cents,” Mrs. Sykes yelped like a scalded cat and let out a roar that could be heard for a mile. “Eight dollars and fifty cents!” she hollered. “Not mink, is it? Looks like good old raccoon to me. By gory, you folks are bandits, pure and simple. Nothing but bandits! I'll give you two dollars for it. Not a penny more. All it's worth is two dollars. Tops. That's my top price.”

We told her Rowena's mother wouldn't take a cent less. Mrs. Sykes then refused to take off the coat and wandered around, getting the feel of it, as she said. Betty's mother and father arrived with their laden-down station wagon, carrying all of Betty's grandmother's hats plus other stuff from her attic. They added a great deal to the yard sale, I will say. We stood around and watched as the hats were taken out of their boxes and displayed. There were a number of black hats that looked like platters and/or coal scuttles. Then there was a bright green one that Betty's mother said her mother had worn every St. Patrick's Day, although she didn't have a drop of Irish blood in her. There were hats with feathers and hats without. But Mrs. Sykes found her heart's desire in a purple plush hat that was too big for her, like the fur coat, and fell down around her head and ears, obscuring most of her face.

She was a picture.

Cars kept arriving, pulling up in the muddy road, disgorging passengers. Several people got as far as the front door of Nell's house and were stopped, hands on the doorknob, looking for genuine antiques that might be hidden inside. Either that or the bathroom. Or food. Coffee and doughnuts were what they wanted. We sent them down to the village for that, to their dismay. Business was brisk, prices low. I sold my stuff in half an hour. Several offers were made on the fur coat after Mrs. Sykes took it off. The highest bid was four seventy-five. Rowena's mother heard that and almost fainted. Betty had a ball telling the plots of all her best-sellers. One woman leaned her elbow on the table and kept saying, “And then what happened?”

Mrs. Sykes bought the purple hat, plus a baby blue one. We let her have both for a dollar, and that set her up some. Business was so good we decided to hold the sale over one day. Everyone agreed to run home and see what else they could get from their attics. The minister's wife's fat dishes went to a young couple who told us they were about to be married. We let them have them for a song.

Nell kept all the money in an old cigar box. We handed in our receipts at the end of the day and sat around counting it. There was a total of twenty-five dollars and ten cents. No one knew where the odd ten cents came from. My mother brought the boys over and let them each buy one thing. Tad bought a bag full of marbles for a nickel, and Sidney chose a used baseball bat and glove for a dime. They went away, satisfied.

Having a yard sale is exhausting. That I know. At the end of the day we were all tired. But it had been worth it. Tomorrow would be better. Nell said she'd keep Rowena's mother's coat in a safe place for the night Rowena's mother came sniffing around and said she thought Mrs. Sykes had worn her coat. But she wanted to hold out for the eight fifty. She kept saying how much that coat meant to her. I guess it did mean a lot. More than two dollars, anyway.

22

Tad's second tooth is hanging by a thread. He's guarding it with his life. He walks around with his hand over his mouth so Sidney won't see how loose it is. Sidney wrote a letter to the tooth fairy. I helped him with the spelling. The note says, “
KEEP OUT.
” Sidney says he's going to tape the note to the bedroom door so the tooth fairy will see it. Tad says if Sidney does that, he's going to get it.

My mother said she'd set up a cot in her room, and Sidney can sleep there until the tooth falls out and Tad collects from the tooth fairy. Sidney says O.K. That suits him. He still wants to put the note on the door, but we won't let him.

My mother brought us all African bush hats for presents. They are very soft and wide-brimmed, and they have a chin strap to keep them on. I think they're elegant I could tell the boys were disappointed that they didn't get what they asked for, but she said she wasn't able to bring out live animals or animal tusks, that the customs officials said it was against the law. My mother says she doesn't think she'll be going back to Africa for a long time. She says she's going up to northern Maine to shoot some pictures of moose for a magazine. Moose are unique animals, as unique in their own way as rhinos and hippos. She plans to stick around for a long time, she says.

“The boys'll be glad,” I told her. “So will I. And so will Dad. We missed you something awful.”

“Sky,” she said, laughing, “you never quit, do you?”

I told my mother about finding the old chair up in the attic and how I'd wanted to have it for the yard sale and Dad wouldn't let me. I repeated the story he'd told us about the history of the chair and why he wanted to keep it. She listened intently, her face flushed. When I'd finished, she didn't say anything. Once or twice she ran her hand over her hair to smooth it. After, I was glad I'd told her that story. It might make a difference. It was a tender, touching story, a story any woman would like to hear, it seemed to me.

“Speaking of the yard sale, how'd it go today?” she asked me. “Did you make a lot of money?”

“It was very successful. We made twenty-five dollars and ten cents. As a matter of fact,” I said, “it was so successful we put up more signs and we're going to have it again tomorrow. Do you have anything else you could give me to sell?”

“I might have. I'll see. Did you sell the fur coat?”

“Not yet. Rowena's mother's holding out for eight dollars and fifty cents. Mrs. Sykes wants it for two dollars, and another lady offered four dollars and seventy-five cents.”

“Well, maybe they can reach a compromise,” my mother said.

“She's very sentimental about that coat,” I said.

“Yes,” my mother said solemnly. “I can see that.”

Next day I overslept. I could tell by the way the light hit the foot of my bed that it was late, probably past eight. I better hotfoot it over to Nell's to arrange the goods, set out the costume jewelry my mother had given me last night. It was extremely nice costume jewelry and should bring a good price. There was a necklace with green and red stones in it and matching earrings. Plus an almost silver bracelet. It wasn't sterling silver, but if you didn't look close, you couldn't tell. I pulled on my old clothes and grabbed a handful of cold cereal and a piece of bread to eat on my way.

The place looked deserted. The old pickup truck was gone, I noticed, and when I finally knocked on the door, there was no sound from inside. I looked in the windows at last and could see no people. I knocked again, really hard this time, and waited for someone to fling open the door. Maybe they'd all overslept too.

I went around to the back. There were lots of tire marks left in the soft ground, and a couple of boxes filled with paper and cans and bottles. I tried the back door and, to my amazement, it swung open. I stepped in and hollered, “Anybody here?”

The house rang with silence. You know how you can tell there's nobody in a house? There's a certain stillness to it I thought Nell and her brothers might be pulling a joke, might be hiding behind the door to jump out at me. I closed the back door with a big crash so if somebody was upstairs they'd know I was there.

“Hey!” I cried, “it's me, Schuyler Sweet. It's almost time for the sale to start.” If Nell's mother was upstairs, she'd never met me and she'd think I was a burglar. I walked into the hall and called again. There were some chairs and a table or two in the living room. Not much furniture. It belonged to Mr. Johnson, Nell had told me. They'd brought some things of their own, but most of the furniture was his. The place was very messy. In the kitchen were dirty plates and an overturned can of beer. I opened the refrigerator—I don't know why, but I did. Inside was a bottle of sour milk and a half-used bottle of club soda. That was all.

I couldn't figure out where they were. Suddenly a terrible thought struck me. Maybe they'd been murdered. The whole family wiped out I'm always reading stories in the newspapers about whole families being murdered. A cold hand ran down my spine. I inched my way toward the back door. Slowly, quietly, so if the murderer was still upstairs, he wouldn't hear me. I was frightened. The only thought in my head was to get out of there. And fast. I ran to my house and told my father, and he came back with me to Nell's house.

He and I went inside and I followed him upstairs. The rooms were empty. I kept my eyes half closed so that if there were bodies and blood I wouldn't see everything. My father called and hollered and still nobody came.

“They've gone,” my father said. “They've skinned out, it would seem.”

“Skinned out?” I said. “What do you mean? We're having the yard sale today. How could they have skinned out?”

“I don't know,” he said. “But that's the way it looks. Unless they're all at church.”

“That's a possibility,” I said. “I didn't think they went to church, but we better wait. If they're there, they'll be home soon.”

We went back home to wait. I sat by our kitchen window, from which I could just see Nell's driveway and the front porch. If they came, I could see them drive up. But no one came. Until Rowena and Betty arrived. I ran out and called to them, and they came over and climbed the fence that separated our yards.

When I told them the house was empty and we were waiting to see if the Foster family came home from church or wherever they'd been, Rowena asked in a sharp voice, “Where's my mother's fur coat?”

“Oh, my gosh,” I said. “I don't know.”

“If it's gone,” Rowena said, “she'll kill me.”

“Why would it be gone?” I said. “What a ridiculous idea. It can't be gone.”

“Then where is it? You said you went through the house, and it wasn't there. Did you check the closets?”

“No,” I said. “I didn't.” We waited some more. Several cars pulled up and people got out. We could see them walking around the house, wondering where the yard sale was. We didn't go over. My father said it'd be better if we sat tight for a while. There was probably some simple explanation, he told us, for their whereabouts.