The Sweetest Thing (7 page)

I tended to agree with Dobbs's father. Something about her was deeply spiritual. I thrust
Patches from the Sky
into her hands. “I can't keep this book. Hank's grandmother gave it to him, and he must have given it to you.”

“Yes. Yes, that's right.” Pain flittered right behind her black lashes. “Hank gave it to me when I was having a hard time. I found the poems, Scripture, and photographs somehow soothing.” She placed the volume back in my hands. “I thought you might too. I know Hank wouldn't mind my giving it to you. I don't want it back.”

I didn't argue at all. I was immensely relieved. Dobbs said the poems and Scriptures were soothing, and oh, how my soul needed to be soothed.

Dobbs

No one was expecting me at Washington Seminary—except perhaps Miss Emma, the school principal—so they didn't miss me when I did not show up that first week. And given the circumstances, no one expected Perri to attend school either. But by the next Monday, I was itching to start school, and I knew Perri needed to return to a semblance of routine. She'd spent the whole weekend looking over accounting books with her mother and Mr. Robinson, and I worried she'd slip into a depression if she didn't reintegrate into school life. Perri acquiesced, with her only request being that she and I ride to school together on my first day at Washington Seminary.

People grieve in different ways. Perri's way was stoicism. Her pale, pale face was expressionless as Jimmy let us out in front of Washington Seminary on that Monday morning in March.

I'd seen pictures of the building in the yearbook, but living color changed my perception. It looked like a governor's mansion with its white Corinthian columns—twelve of them—that gracefully curved in front of the redbrick building. Out front, dogwood trees were blooming in pink and white bursts of color, and hedges of flowering azaleas lined the entrance to the school. Just walking into the building, I felt completely out of place. Thank heavens I was wearing a uniform instead of my potato sack! Yet I also felt something else. I squared my shoulders and stood up a little straighter, and I literally felt a passion rush through me. It was my responsibility to educate the girls at Washington Seminary about how the rest of the world lived. My cause!

I thought about my high school in Chicago—the soot-covered brick building, the boys and girls dressed in the most nondescript clothes, all just crowded into the place with absolutely no distinction, and how half the teachers had been let go and the rest hadn't been paid in months. But here, in their crisp white uniforms with dark blue piping, the stylish skirts that fell just below the knee, these girls seemed set apart, elite, girls becoming women, girls who were perfectly aware that they came from somewhere and were headed somewhere else. Washington Seminary had a fresh, hopeful smell so unlike the odors from the streets of downtown Chicago that drifted into my high school.

Perri directed me to the principal's office, where I met briefly with Miss Emma, a thin, serious-looking woman with gray eyes and gray hair that she wore just below her ears. She welcomed me warmly, handed me the
Catalogue of Washington Seminary
, which listed my classes and other information, and encouraged me to come see her with any questions.

She explained that every school day started with chapel, and we walked together to a beautiful room with polished mahogany pews, a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and a stage with a thick velvety dark green curtain drawn across it. I found Perri waiting for me at the back.

“Hey, quit staring at everything like a little kid,” she whispered rather loudly. I followed her to where she slid into a row beside a group of girls who greeted her with outstretched hands, kisses on the cheek, and forlorn faces. A few minutes later, Miss Emma went up on the stage and stood behind a sturdy wooden podium.

“Girls, we are reading today from John 16:33. Jesus says, ‘These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.'

“We are thankful to have our dear Anne Perrin back with us today.” Miss Emma nodded to Perri. “Our prayers have been with her and her family during this very difficult and dark time. I encourage you all to be respectful of Anne Perrin's needs. And on behalf of the girls at Washington Seminary, we again want to offer you our deepest condolences.”

Then two teachers presented Perri with a beautiful bouquet of white lilies and roses. She stood up and awkwardly took the flowers with a thank-you that seemed stuck in her throat. I saw she was struggling hard not to cry.

Miss Emma allowed a time of silence before making her next announcement. “We're pleased to welcome a new student, Mary Dobbs Dillard. She comes to us from Chicago and is the niece of Josephine Chandler, whose daughters both attended Washington Seminary a few years back. Mary Dobbs, would you please stand up.”

Mortified, I obeyed.

“I want everyone to be sure to welcome Mary Dobbs,” Miss Emma added.

The girls gave polite applause as I sat back down, but I was pretty sure I read a familiar evaluation on their faces: disapproval.

Perri used me as her shield from the stares of her classmates. To avoid answering horrible questions about her father and her family, she shoved me in front of her and introduced me to every girl we met in the hallway. In each class she stood up and did the same, always emphasizing the Chandler name, as if my association with them gave me the necessary clout to attend Washington Seminary. And she introduced me as Mary Dobbs. I think Perri had decided that
Dobbs
was her name for me—a secret, a privilege, an honor no one else had yet earned. I went along with her. I figured it was part of her grieving.

Even though we all wore the same uniform, I stuck out for many reasons. First of all, the school was small enough that everyone knew everyone else. I was the newcomer. Also, I didn't sound one bit like the other girls, who spoke slowly and drew out their words, adding extra syllables in the oddest places. And then there was my long hair. No other girl at Washington Seminary had long hair. Every one of them wore her hair short; they looked fashionable, sassy, confident, at ease in their world.

I remembered Mother dabbing her eyes years ago when money got too tight for her to go to the beauty parlor. She had let her thick and shiny black hair grow long, and now it was streaked with gray. She wore it in a bun. Wouldn't she have loved these styles! Mother knew style, even if she couldn't follow it. She appreciated beauty.

At noon, Perri led me into the lunchroom and stopped in the doorway. She pointed to one of the round tables where the three girls she'd sat beside in chapel were already seated. “Voilà—my gang. We like to stick together.”

“That's Emily Bratton on the left, but everyone calls her Brat. Because she is.” Perri flashed me a smile. Brat had dark brown hair that she wore so short she could have been mistaken for a boy. She had a square frame—her face, wide shoulders, and arms that looked muscular even under the uniform. “She's our star basketball player and a great swimmer too. We've been friends practically since we were born. She's half crazy and not afraid of anything, and she tells the corniest jokes. I think you'll like her.

“Next to her is Mae Pearl McFadden.”

I wondered if Mae Pearl's parents had had a premonition of what a beauty she'd grow up to be. She had the face of a pearl—perfectly round and so very white, porcelain white, whiter than Perri's face, and glimmering, almost luminous, almost translucent. Her hair was almost white too, a platinum blond—perfectly natural, Perri assured me. She wore her hair slick and close to her head and had pale blue eyes.

“Her mother and mine have been in the Garden Club together for years—president and vice-president—and the Junior League too, of course,” Perri confided as we walked toward the table, “and they made their debuts together, and we've gone to the same church forever. She lives just down the street from me, so we do most things together. She dances beautifully and has the voice of an angel. We all think she could be a movie star or be in one of those musicals on Broadway, but she doesn't listen to a word we say.

“And that's Peggy Pender next to Mae Pearl. Oh, she's a stitch. She looks all prim and proper, but don't be fooled. She's got a mind of her own!”

I thought that Peggy looked very sophisticated, the way her dark brown hair curled slightly below her ears and several strands tickled her right eyebrow.

“Hi, y'all!” Perri called out as she pulled out a chair and gestured for me to sit next to her.

The girls waved, and each mumbled a “Hi, Mary Dobbs” to me.

We ate in what seemed much more like an elegant private dining room than a school cafeteria. The room was decorated with pretty pink wallpaper and fancy draperies, and it was filled with twenty or so round tables covered with white tablecloths. Our lunch—a hot lunch with meat and vegetables and rolls and dessert—was served to us on china plates, and the food was delicious. But every meal I ate in Atlanta, no matter what it was, reminded me of my family in Chicago, probably down on their knees praying for tomorrow's daily bread. So I chewed my food with a deep thankfulness in my heart, and a pang there too.

Brat and Mae Pearl and Peggy jabbered about a homework assignment that Perri had missed and about some tea party they had attended last week—also missed by Perri. I was only half listening when Mae Pearl turned and asked me, “Do you want to come with us to the Saturday matinee at the theater?”

“The Saturday matinee? What do you mean?”

“You don't know about the Saturday matinee? It's the best thing since ice cream. Everyone goes. We watch films like
Betty Boop
and
Tarzan
. It only costs a nickel for all morning long.” Then she added breathily when I didn't answer at once, “I don't think Perri's allowed to go on account of the grieving. But I'll come by and get you. We can just ride the streetcar down there.”

For all of my life, I'd grown up hearing Father talk about temptations that affected people. Things like alcohol and cigarettes and dancing. And movies. My parents never went to movies, and Frances, Coobie, and I were not allowed to either.

I'd never felt bad about it. But on that Monday afternoon, as Mae Pearl McFadden smiled at me with her porcelain face and her pale blue eyes and described it all, I wanted to go. I hesitated, just the slightest bit, shook my head, and said, “Thank you for the invitation, Mae Pearl. It really means a lot to me, but I won't be able to attend.”

Brat spoke up, “Why in the world not?”

“I don't go to movies.”

The girls stared at me as if I had spoken to them in Chinese. “Ever?” Perri choked out.

“Ever,” I said.

Mae Pearl creased her brow and shrugged. “Suit yourself, but it really is swell.”

“Americans are spending time going to movies and dances and all such things, and forgetting Bible reading and prayer. We're being sucked into the evils of entertainment,” I said, without thinking, and I realized I sounded just like Father. My voice trailed off. Mae Pearl looked like the picture of innocence, and I could not imagine the movies corrupting her.

Peggy sneered. “Well, if you think
Betty Boop
and
Tarzan
are evil, I say you've got a screw loose.”

Mae Pearl smiled sweetly again and said, “Oh, let's not argue. Everyone's got a right to her opinion.” She took a bite of chicken casserole and said, “Mary Dobbs, I just love your long hair. It's beautiful. I don't know another girl with long hair. You're so brave to go against the style.”

“I've never had much choice. We certainly couldn't afford to go to a beauty salon.”

Mae Pearl's white face got two little pink splotches on it. She recovered and said, “Well, I'd never thought of it that way. That must be hard. But you're very fortunate that long hair becomes you ever so well.”

Perri just stared at me, looking annoyed. We sat in strained silence for a moment until Perri found a safer topic. “Y'all, I missed out on who has been nominated to be the May Day Queen. What happened?” And they were off chattering about another event of which I had no idea.

By the end of the school day, I felt exhausted. Every girl had stared at me as if I were an alien they'd seen at a Saturday matinee. I escaped from the building without even telling Perri good-bye and was thankful to see Hosea waiting for me by the curb in the Pierce Arrow. He drove me home in silence, and I jumped out of the car, mumbling my thanks, and ran up the stairs before anyone could see me. I collapsed on the bed and burst into tears.

I missed my family. I missed reading in bed on Saturday mornings before Mother and I went to help serve a hot lunch to the many people in the streets. I missed the way Coobie braided my hair on Sunday mornings before church, her fingers almost always sticky from eating one of Mother's delicious cinnamon rolls. It became a joke, me admonishing her, “Coobie, for goodness' sake, wash your hands before you put them in my hair.” Mischievous as she was, I always felt surprised when she obeyed.

I thought fleetingly about going home—just getting on the next train to Chicago. Immediately I recalled Mother's argument from a few months ago convincing me to attend Washington Seminary. “There's forty percent unemployment in Chicago, Mary Dobbs. A hundred thousand families are on relief rolls. The board of education has fired fourteen hundred teachers. You can't get a good education here. Later, perhaps, but not now. You're bright, Mary Dobbs. Your father has got to put away bitterness and pride and take his sister's offer. That's all there is to it.”

I sat on my aunt's beautiful canopied bed, dressed in perfect white, and somehow felt dirty. Dirty amidst Atlanta's elite, and dirty for abandoning my family and my city. I went to the little desk and reached for a piece of stationery and a pen to write Hank all that was in my heart.