“And you must be Avis’s big sister. How nice to meet you, Idella.”
“Older and wiser,” Aunt Avis snickered.
“Well, I don’t know about that, Avis,” Mumma said. “Just two years.”
“A person can learn a lot in two years,” Fred said, sort of mysteriously, I thought.
“That is the truth,” Mumma answered vaguely. “You’re right about that, Fred.”
“Well, ladies,” Fred said, like a master of ceremonies, “are we ready for our little journey? I can promise you a smooth ride and cool breezes.” He took my elbow, like I was his date, and led me toward the car. “Do you like going for rides, Barbara?”
I nodded. The truth is, I hadn’t been all that keen on going for a ride in the country. I lived in the country. I went past farms any day I wanted to. It was being in Boston, a real city, that I liked. I wanted to go to a restaurant and walk the streets and see a movie at night, surrounded by people I’d never met or even seen before. That’s why I was wearing my polka-dot dress. We were going to a restaurant where Aunt Avis said I could order whatever I wanted, including an appetizer and dessert.
“What a nice car you have, Fred,” Mumma said as she walked up to it and ran her hand along the back fender. “It’s so far off the ground. The seats are so high. We’ll be looking down like the Queen of England.” Fred had opened the door for her first. She climbed into the back. “Look, Barbara, isn’t this something?” She beckoned me in. “Isn’t this the limit? It’s like sitting in a living room.” Mumma was outdoing herself.
“You make yourself comfortable, Idella.” Fred smiled broadly. Mumma was hitting her marks.
I climbed in next to her. It was grand. The seat was upholstered in soft leather, like a couch. My legs swooped up with the high curve and dangled over the edge, not even touching the carpeted floor.
“How long have you had this car?” Mumma asked as Aunt Avis and Fred settled into the front. Aunt Avis sat right up next to him.
“It’s factory fresh, Idella, the ’42 model,” Fred proclaimed, like an advertisement come to life.
Mumma gasped. “Why, it’s still only 1941.”
“That’s right.” Fred turned around to face her, his teeth showing more and more as he talked. “It rolled off the assembly line less than a month ago. I had certain features specially ordered—the seats, the paint—it’s a French red called
cerise
—and there are a few other features that are particular to the driving performance.”
“Oh, yes,” Mumma said, “horsepowers and all.” She sat back and played aloud with the word
cerise
. It tickled her to say a foreign word, especially a French one. “ ‘Saareeeze.’ Mmmm . . . it rhymes with ‘breeeeze.’”
“It also rhymes with ‘fleas.’” Avis grinned.
Fred was a natural guide. He pointed out buildings we drove past, details about their architecture. Then he pointed out historical sites—or where we were in relation to historical sites we weren’t going anywhere near. He described three statues we would never see, and one cannon. “This area brims with history.” Fred became so animated that Aunt Avis had to move over, to put a little space between them. “Now, if I were to take an alternate route—I wish I’d thought of it—we could go right past the Battle of Lexington, where they fired ‘the shot heard ’round the world.’”
“I don’t think we heard that up in Canada.” Avis turned and winked at me.
“No,” Mumma laughed. “I’m not too much on history. We didn’t get much but the basics for schooling.”
It was a relief when we hit the country. Mumma was tired, and she melted back against the seat. Now we could ride along more comfortably and watch trees roll by. Except that Fred kept it up. We were no sooner done with city architecture and historical sites than he was on to barns and grazing animals and the need for crop rotation. He was a fountain of information. Mumma was bordering on desperate. That’s why she lurched forward so and called out when she saw the sign for cider.
“Oh, look!” she cried. “A farm stand’s coming up—with cherry cider. Why, I haven’t had that in years.” A big hand-painted sign was nailed to a telephone pole with CHERRYCIDER1 MLE AHD lettered crudely on it. I wondered at the time if a child had painted it. I could have done a better job.
“Fred, honey, let’s get some cherry cider. It would be good to stretch our legs.” Aunt Avis cast her eyes back toward Mumma. “Do you like cherry cider, Fred, honey?” She reached over and pulled a little curl that was peeking out from under Fred’s hat. I hadn’t yet seen him without the hat. It slipped down onto the tops of his ears in a way that didn’t look just right.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever had it, Avis.” The car was slowing down. “I guess I’m about to find out.” He reached over and patted Aunt Avis’s knee the same way I pat my dog, Jigs, on top of his head.
Our arrival at the farm stand was an event. It felt like an ocean liner floating up to the dock, the way that car swooped into the moon-shaped curve of dirt road with the farm stand in the middle. People looked up.
“Oh, goody,” Mumma said when it finally stopped.
Avis was already opening her door.
We all drank the first bottle of cherry cider standing around the car. Fred eased the cork loose with his thumbs. It poked out the top of the bottle like Fred Astaire’s top hat, Avis said. We had little paper cups from the stand. Fred poured into them carefully, so as not to spill a drop.
“Well, my Lord,” Mumma exclaimed when she took her first sip. “It’s got some kick.”
Avis took her own sip. “Yep.” She took a longer drink. “This is hard cider. It’s turned.”
“Not a turn for the worse, I hope?”
“No, no, not at all.” Avis held up her cup as though to toast and then drank it down.
“I thought that farm-stand man winked at me.” Mumma giggled. “Could you pour me another, Fred? It sure hits the spot.”
“Me, too,” Avis cooed.
“Perhaps we should find something else for the little lady?” Fred was referring to me.
“Perhaps so,” Mumma said.
“Oh, let her have a cup of it, Idella,” Avis coaxed. “It won’t do her any harm. Edward’s not here. Let her have some fun.”
Mumma looked at me with her head cocked to one side, the way a bird looks. “Oh, all right.” She shrugged and smiled. “One cup won’t do her any harm, I guess.”
Fred poured some for me, a little reluctantly, I thought. The cider had fizz. It tickled my nose. Cool and sweet, it smelled earthy in a good way. I felt all grown up.
“Let’s get us another,” Mumma said excitedly, before we’d even finished.
“Let’s get more than another. We can bring some home,” Avis said. “What do you say, Freddie? I’ll buy. Me and Idella will buy.”
“Now, ladies. Is it wise? It tastes delightful, but perhaps we should be a bit cautious. It has turned.”
“We’ll bring some to your aunt,” Avis said. “Would she like that? It might do her good. It’s probably medicinal, don’t you think, Della?”
“Well,” Mumma said, “it’s good for what ails ya.” They both laughed.
Avis was at that curl again. “Come on, Freddie. Don’t be an old stick in the mud.”
“Here we are,” Mumma said, sweeping her arm toward the farm stand. “We might as well. It’ll never be as good.”
“And here’s Barbara wearing a cherry dress,” Fred said unexpectedly, and Aunt Avis and Mumma stopped and looked down at my flouncing red dots. He looked into my cup and saw that it was empty. He poured a little bit more, the end of the bottle, and smiled at me like we had a secret.
Avis laughed. “Well, they could pass for cherries, Freddie,” Avis said.
“Why, yes,” Mumma said, holding out my skirt a little farther than I liked. “It’s got a real cherry color to it.”
“With no stems.”
“And no pits.”
“Oh, no. No pits.” This sent the two of them into wild laughter.
“Come on, Idella. Fred, you stay here with Barbara.” Avis reached over and grabbed Mumma’s hand, and they pranced the few steps over to the farm stand, tossing their joined hands up and down.
“Very refreshing!” Avis spoke to the man first and handed him the empty bottle. “We thought you could use this again.” There were no other customers at the moment.
“Just what I needed, that cider.
So
refreshing on a hot day.”
“Why, thank you, ma’am. It’s been a good year for cherries.”
“I should say,” said Mumma.
“That cider is so good, I think we’ll have to buy some more. Don’t you think so, Della?”
“Oh, yes.” She giggled.
The farmer nodded and smiled. “How much would you like?”
“Well, now, that first bottle was
so
good—if you can promise me that it’ll be as good—you know, the good stuff—why, I think we’d like ten bottles!”
“Ten!” That was Mumma, sounding more like herself.
“Yes, Della, ten. Why the hell not? As you yourself were saying, here we are, and here it is. The time is ripe.”
“You mean the cider is ripe!” Mumma said. That set them off.
“Well, now, ladies,” the farmer said, coming in over their giggling, “if you promise not to drink it all in one place, I believe I can round up ten more bottles.” He glanced over in our direction. Fred nodded to him and touched his hat, like a detective in a movie.
“Would it be from the same batch? If you know what I mean?” Avis’s voice was lower than Mumma’s. They were all acting as if they were in a murder mystery.
“Yes, ma’am. I do know what you mean.” He winked at Avis and Mumma both. “If you ladies will excuse me for a moment.” He went out behind his stand and started bringing back bottles of the red cider. They were a lovely color, like ruby tenpins all lined up across his wooden counter. The sun shone through them as he held each bottle up to be inspected.
The way Aunt Avis ended up in the back is that we had to hold on to the bottles somehow, to keep them in place. They couldn’t very well roll around in the trunk. So Avis had the idea that if she got into the back seat with us, and if we sat right up against each other, then we could put the bottles between us and our bodies would be the cushions. Avis handed three bottles in to Mumma. Then I got in.
“Sit right next to her now, Barb, leg to leg. Use your skirt as a bumper.” We got three bottles snug between us. Then Aunt Avis handed in three more bottles, we lined them along my other side, and she climbed in next to me. Fred stood beside the open door, holding the four remaining bottles, not saying a thing. “Here, Fred, honey, hand them in. Della, you’ll have to sit holding two of these. Barb, honey, hand these over to your mother.”
“Jesus, Avis. Ten was too many.” Mumma took one of the bottles and put it on the floor between her feet. “There. Try that.”
Avis did the same and then glanced at me. “You doing all right there, Barbara? You look a little pale.”
I nodded. I had to keep my elbows close in and my hands in my lap. I could feel the smooth curves of the bottles wedged between us. The sun coming through the back windshield was hot on my neck. I would be glad to feel the breeze through open windows again.
“I guess we’re ready, Freddie.” Avis smiled out at him. Fred nodded and closed her door. Then he got into the front behind the wheel and started the engine.
“I promised you ladies a ride in the country,” Fred said, using the rearview to get a glimpse. “I feel like you ladies have been shortchanged.”
“Oh, I’ve had a lovely time.” Mumma spoke over his shoulder. “This has been plenty of country for me. Really.”
“And we promised Barbara we’d take her to a restaurant. Didn’t we, Barbie dear?” Avis reached over and squeezed my knee.
“Well, let me take you back by another route at least, rather than see the same old thing again.”
“Anything she wants on the menu. Right, kid?” Avis patted my knee. “I think the direct route is best, Fred.”
“Oh, yes, the direct route would be just fine,” Mumma added. “Just fine.”
But he had already turned off onto a different road and was picking up speed. Mumma and Avis rolled their eyes at each other. Avis shrugged. Mumma shrugged back. They started giggling. Fred’s eyes filled the mirror every now and then for a quick glance back.
“We’ll be coming up soon to one of my favorite barns. It’s so well situated off the road. And the animals are beautifully cared for. I stopped once and introduced myself. They showed me the barn. Beautiful horses. Very nice folks.”
“Why, Fred, I didn’t know that you were a gentleman farmer.” Avis was pointing at the bottle of cider in her hand, so we could see that the cork was loosened. Mumma slyly nodded her head.
“Oh, there’s a lot you don’t know about me, Avis.”
“Well, I guess that could be said for most of us.” Avis worked the cork from the bottle a smidge at a time. Just as she was easing it out, Mumma faked a sneeze.
“Bless you,” Avis said, giggling.
“Why, thank you, Avis.”
Fred’s eyes flicked across the rearview and back to the road. “Is that true for you, Barbara?” I could feel Avis leaning over to the side and taking a swig. I sat up a little higher, not daring to look at her.
“Excuse me?” I stammered.
“Are there things about you that other people don’t know?”
I immediately thought about the box of ice cream sitting in our freezer. I’d been opening it up and eating it from out of the bottom, so the top would look the same. Daddy must know about that by now.
“That’s a hard thing for a kid to answer, Fred.” Avis leaned up behind him. She slid a finger under his hat and tickled behind his ear, handing Mumma the cider bottle while she was doing it. “Is that a hawk way up there?” She leaned forward. Fred had picked up considerable speed on this more deserted road. Mumma took a sip.
“I think that’s a crow, Avis. You should know that, coming from up there in Canada. You must have seen a lot of crows on your farm.”
“We had a lot of bats up there.” Mumma leaned in a little, passing the bottle back.