Family Reminders (7 page)

“Doesn’t your father look handsome?” Mama asked, leaning down to give him a kiss.

I nodded my agreement. “Why are you dressed up, Daddy?” I asked.

Daddy took a hungry bite of toast and said, “I’m going to talk with the manager of the mine. I’m going to see if he can give me a job. I thought maybe they could use me in the office.”

“But, Daddy, why would you want to go back to the mine? There are a lot of other things you could do,” I said, remembering what Mr. Stewart had told me once about an injured miner:
“His luck has run out. That’s why he got injured. You surely don’t want someone like that around a load of dynamite, do you?”

I knew Daddy wasn’t bad luck. He wasn’t. But I also knew that he wasn’t going to like the answer they gave him at the mine.

“Mr. Brown said you are an artist, and no one can play the piano like you. People are always saying so.” Tears burned my eyes, but I blinked them back. More than anything, I didn’t want to see Daddy hurt again. Especially now, when he was feeling so much better, so much happier.

Daddy’s voice got firmer, and there was an angry edge to his words. “Mary, you said you wanted to stay here. That you didn’t want to move. Well, if we are going to stay, then I need to get a job. Don’t you understand? I need to start pulling my weight around here.”

“Now, Daniel,” Mama interrupted, “no need to get angry. Mary just wants what’s best for you.”

“You’re right, Liddie,” Daddy said, swallowing his anger along with his coffee. “Don’t worry about me, Mary. This is what’s best.” He pushed himself away from the table, heaved himself up to his crutches, and clumped out of the kitchen.

“But, Mama—,” I started to say as soon as he left the room.

“Hush, Mary. You know how stubborn your father is. I can’t tell him what to do. He has to figure things out for himself.”

But I understood better than Daddy did. He couldn’t go back to the mine. They wouldn’t let him. I knew that. Why didn’t he?

When I ran home up the long, steep hill
after school that afternoon, I saw Mama and Daddy sitting on the front porch. I could tell right away that something was wrong. Daddy wasn’t smiling anymore. His shoulders sagged, and he seemed to shrink in on himself. He looked like he had those first few weeks after the accident.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

”I didn’t get it,” Daddy said, without looking up. “The mine manager took one look at my missing leg and said no. Just like that. Without any discussion. Just no.” Daddy shook his head, his voice quiet. “I followed him around, practically begging him to give me a job. He wouldn’t reconsider. Said that it would make the other miners too nervous to see me without my leg.”

“But, Daniel,” Mama interrupted, “maybe you can go back later….”

“I can’t go back,” Daddy said firmly. “I know that now. I can never go back.”

Mama’s eyes filled with tears, and her forehead creased with worry. “This is just your first day of looking. You know you’ll find a job eventually.”

“I don’t know anything of the sort, Liddie. That’s just the problem. What if everyone feels the way they do at the mine? What then, Liddie?”

Mama shook her head. “We can move to Denver. Surely you can find work there,” Mama said, sounding as sad as Daddy.

After that Daddy didn’t go out anymore to look for a job. Instead, he settled back into his old routine of wandering aimlessly around the house. When he did sit down, it was with his hands folded and still in his lap and his mind far away. We ate dinner in silence, and as soon as we were done, Daddy took himself off to bed. Although late spring was warming up the valley, our house felt as cold as a winter snowstorm.

For the first few days I ignored Daddy’s sadness, thinking that it would go away. But it didn’t, and instead of feeling sorry for him, like I did right after the accident, I was angry. Really, really angry.

One evening as we were finishing up the last bit of Mama’s double-fudge chocolate cake, I caught Daddy off guard just as he was about to leave the table. I don’t know if I wanted to start a fight or just push him to talk, but I asked him defiantly, “Daddy, why don’t you play the piano anymore?”

Mama shot me a warning look from across the table, but I pretended not to see. Daddy looked surprised at the directness of the question.

“Well, I’m not exactly sure,” he said, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. After a pause he added softly, “I guess I feel like there isn’t any music left inside of me, Mary.”

“But, Daddy, don’t you remember how you told Aunt Hattie that the music came from your heart? Your heart hasn’t changed, has it?”

Daddy didn’t answer. I looked over and saw Mama bending intently over her plate, her lips quivering.

After a while I had an answer for him. “Well, Daddy, my heart hasn’t changed and neither has Mama’s. We’re still both here, missing you. Missing you and wishing you would come back to us. And I’m getting tired of waiting.” And before Daddy could leave us behind again, I got up and walked out of the room.

After school the next day
, I headed straight for Brown’s Emporium. When the bell on top of the door jingled, Mr. Brown looked up from his paper. “Well, hello, Mary. Don’t tell me that your daddy needs more tobacco?”

“No. I came because I have some business to discuss with you, Mr. Brown,” I answered, trying to sound as grown-up as possible.

Mr. Brown’s eyes widened in surprise. “This sounds serious, Mary. Why don’t we step into my office?” He motioned to the back of the store.

I followed him back. I had never been in his office before. It looked just like Mr. Brown—worn and comfortable. He pulled out a chair for me before seating himself in the cracked leather chair behind his desk. Leaning back, his hands folded across his large stomach, he said, “Well, young lady, what can I do for you?”

I gathered my thoughts for a minute, and then I said, “Mr. Brown, you said that you wanted to buy the carving my daddy made of me holding the raspberry pail. Do you remember?”

“Sure I do, Mary.”

“Well, I decided that I want to sell it to you. I brought a couple of other carvings that I thought you might want to buy, too.” I reached into my book bag, pulled out the three bundles, and lined them up on the desk, like three presents waiting to be opened.

”My, my,” Mr. Brown said under his breath as he carefully unwrapped each package and inspected the Reminder that he found inside. Meanwhile, I inspected his face, looking for a clue as to whether he liked what he saw.

After what seemed like a very long time, Mr. Brown put down the last Reminder. “These are mighty fine pieces of work, Mary. My offer still stands. I’d love to buy them, if you’re sure you want to sell them.”

I let out my breath in a huge sigh and nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, I’m sure,” I said.

“Let me ask you this, Mary. Does your daddy know you’re selling these?” he asked, peering at me gently over his glasses.

“These are
my
Reminders, Mr. Brown,” I said with feeling. “Daddy gave them to me, so I figure I can do what I want with them. I definitely want to sell them.”

“All right then,” Mr. Brown said, slapping his knee. “You’ve got yourself a deal, young lady. I can probably charge my customers six dollars for each figurine. So I think three dollars each is a fair price to offer you. Is that amount okay with you, Mary?”

“Y-y-y-y-yes,” I stammered, trying to sound calm while inside my stomach was doing somersaults and flips. “Three dollars sounds just right.”

Mr. Brown unlocked the safe behind his desk and pulled out a gray, metal cash box. “Let’s see,” he said, reaching in for the dollar bills. “That means I owe you nine dollars.”

He counted out nine one-dollar bills into my open palm. When he was done and I had rolled up the money and stuck it in my pocket, he gave me a piece of paper. “Show this receipt to your daddy, Mary. Make sure to tell him that if he has any questions to come and talk to me.” Mr. Brown pushed himself away from his desk and stood up. He gave a little bow. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, young lady,” he said as he reached over to shake my hand.

Together we walked out of the office into the cluttered, sweet-smelling store. I looked around, wondering where Mr. Brown would display Daddy’s Reminders. Three dollars apiece! I could hardly believe it.