The Lilac Bush Is Blooming Page 2

  “Hey, Luce,” I called as I delivered the loudest two-finger whistle that both of my fingers at the sides of my mouth could muster. Lucy turned around and waved, a little embarrassed by my decidedly masculine efforts to call attention to myself, but glad to see me nevertheless.

  “Hey, Annie May, how ‘bout joining us?”

  “Swell,” I returned. “I think I can win us a pixie doll at the rifle shoot or the basketball court.”

  “Great,” she answered, as she took stock of the many brothers and sisters younger than she was who she was responsible for. “Ma wants us to stick together, but I think I can convince Marcy to take over if I promise her half of my babysitting money from the Thompsons who have me lined up practically for the entire summer.”

  As Lucy and I took off for the rifle shoot by way of the cotton candy stand I spied Carrie mooning around with a new boy I never saw before. She was still with her friends, but she was staring into his eyes intently and he was showing a lot of interest in her. I could only hope he was the right type of boy Mama would pass on, because if he wasn’t, we were all in for a long, hot summer of fights and arguments, and many threats of grounding and suspending privileges. Mama could be fierce if she was scared for her kids.

  True to my promise, I won pixie dolls for both Lucy and me. I was even able to outfox old Caleb who ran the rifle shoot every year and to my knowledge fixed the gizmo that ran the clay ducks around so no one could actually hit them. I got him talking about the widow Carson who was known for her apple pies and her ability to tamp a good amount of tobacco into a smoke. When he started shading his eyes to see if she was there, I ran behind the stand and set the machine to run on an even keel, setting it at medium to give me a clear shot. I figured he owed me.

  As we left the rifle shoot booth, pixie dolls in hand, my mind racing to figure out where my prize would fit into my already cluttered room, the loud speaker began to announce the prizes for all the entries in every category for the entire county. Except for my quilt, which lost out to all the women of the town of Mayberry Quilting Bee, and Carrie’s pickles, which lost out to a Mennonite woman who had entered for the first time, we Parkers cleaned up, Georgie’s pig even coming in third against all the hog farmers in Onondaga County. Lucy’s family never entered, since her mother was too busy to supervise, and the townies never won anyway, given their penchant for store-bought goods unlike the farm families who relied on themselves for most of their own supplies. I challenged her to a game of horseshoes to get her mind off of it and let her win.

  “Annie May, what did you choose?” I swiveled my head to find Will grinning at me, his arms full of the prizes he and Georgie had won, most likely at the horseshoe pitch which he and Georgie were good at, and at the two-legged race which he and Georgie practiced every year during the down time in planting.

  My mind raced. I truly loved the carousel but that looked too feminine for words. So, I chose the Ferris wheel. “I’ll race you,” I shot over my shoulder to Will. I said goodbye to Lucy, promising her lots of girl time over the summer, shopping at the market on Saturdays and learning how to paint our nails during a rainy weekend.

  Will beat me to the circus grounds, his long legs passing me handily, his perfectly chiseled body carrying him quickly to the entrance gate. We laughed at the silliness of it all. We bought our tickets and passed Clayton Ashton at the end of the table counting his money and laying the wads of bills in a fair-sized green metal box. Then, we headed for the Ferris wheel.

  “After you,” said Will with a sweeping gesture as he ushered me in before him onto the leather seat for two that sat under the canvas top of the modern Ferris wheel that Clayton had purchased just two seasons ago, an imitation of the first Ferris wheel ever invented for the 1893 Chicago Expo. I felt grand as Will pulled himself in after me.

  As the attendant came around and secured the bar that held us in and Will handed him our tickets I decided to take stock of where we were. More carnival than circus the Ashton show was set up in the farthest field of the fairgrounds with the big tent set up at the edge, almost in the back field of the nearest farmer. There were few animals, but there were plenty of tumblers and high wire acts in glittery costumes and clowns who juggled and did funny tricks and came out of a small car with several other clowns all at the same time. There were women in beautiful costumes who danced and sang and arranged their costumes at the end to form an American flag. And, there was a seal who barked five times when asked for treats of fish and balanced balls on the end of his nose.

  The slight gentle spring breeze ruffled my hair even as we stood still. My jeans and checkered shirt stayed put. Mama had hoped I would dress more femininely but she had Carrie for that so she let my outfit go. In deference to her request, I took a length of my hair and wrapped a red bow around it.

  Will put his arm around me as the attendant locked us in and we took off. He had always been protective of Georgie and me but this felt different. I felt like a queen. I basked in the attention, raising my chin and letting the wind race through my hair as we took on speed.

  “Hey, freckle face, are you scared?”

  “Of course not!” I wrinkled up my nose for effect.

  “Okay, then put your money where your mouth is. If you make it through without screaming, I’ll give you my horseshoe set I won for beating old Asa Jensen three times in a row. He’s been the champion for three straight years.”

  “Deal. It’s as good as mine already.”

  We sat quiet for the next few minutes as we picked up speed and headed for the top and then down again. Will took in the vista and I could see him surveying the fields that were adjacent to the fairgrounds with what I thought was a great deal of pleasure and even humility. As for me, I felt like I was on top of the world.

  Suddenly, without any warning at all, our wheel, which had us thinking it would be spinning us forever, came to an abrupt halt, its mechanism noiseless, its riders struck noiseless as well as panic replaced the rude shock. I sat there frozen as I realized our car was stuck at the top.

  “Are you scared, Annie May?”

  “Course not, Will. You know me. I can chase cows faster than any boy. And, I didn’t scream.”

  “I know. Those horseshoes are as good as yours. Still, you look a little pale.”

  Will tightened his arm around me. I began to pray, not the church kind of prayer, but my own kind. “God, if we get out of this, I promise I won’t be a burden to Mama and I will work real hard to stop giggling in church with Carrie when Reverend Morton gives those boring sermons.” For good measure I crossed the fingers of both hands and put them behind my back.

  Since we were still stuck I ventured a peek to the ground. Little figures, almost like those small wooden ones Uncle John had carved to put in the miniature barn he had once given us for Christmas were plowing and spreading manure as if we weren’t stuck so far up in the sky we could likely see Heaven. People on the ground below us were buying cotton candy and entering the circus tent as if we didn’t exist.

  Just as I was wondering if I would ever see those swimming holes again I was so looking forward to cooling myself in for the summer the wheel started up with just a small lurch. The creaky hum of the motor began once again and we were rescued. Will loosened his hold on me and the attendant gave us extra spins to make up for it.

  As our car reached the bottom and we were helped out, I realized that I would have to keep those promises I had made to God. Will was relieved as well as our feet touched ground. We went straight for the fairgrounds. The sun was lowering in the sky and we knew Mama would be looking for us.

  As we drove back home, the sun readying for another beautiful sunset, we were all happy. Carrie had found a beau for the summer, Mama had remained the cherry pie champion, Georgie had won at the two-legged race and the horseshoe toss, and I had been let off at the ground of the Ferris wheel.

  I was looking forward to a long, hot, busy summer.

  Chapter Three

  The summer
of 1953 was a long, hot dusty summer as summers go, typical of the summers we face in the backwoods of the area known as the Finger Lakes, which is as far away from New York City as you could get for being in the same state of the USA. But, we never minded the heat, although we often sweltered in the 90 degree heat waves, because not only did we have a lot of swimming holes to cool us off, we got to look at the most beautiful scenery on earth, better than all the pictures I had ever seen in any of those glossy magazines Mama once got occasionally when she dreamed of exotic vacations with Papa. I had seen pictures of the Andes mountains and of beautiful green valleys in France and the wonderful seaside of northern Italy but none of them compared to the gorgeous hillsides and plains of the Finger Lakes with the beautiful trees and wildflowers that dotted them and the bluest of lakes that ran through them.

  The summer was also a big one for Carrie. It was that year that she met her match in boys. Jameson Sloan Taylor was a New Yorker whose folks summered in Mayberry. They had been at the fair to open their summer home and prepare it for their annual pilgrimage into the depths of upstate New York, leaving a housekeeper behind to tidy up and spruce up the old white frame farm house that sat not far from the edge of town. Behind it was an overgrown field with daisies and primroses and all the tall grasses that blew in with the spring winds. Behind that sat an old greenhouse, repaired by the Taylors and filled in the summer with the rare orchids they tended to make them forget their high-powered jobs in New York.

  Jamie, as he was called, had been smitten the moment he had seen Carrie. Her dark, good looks, her brown eyes as big as the proverbial saucers, and her tantalizing smile, made him forget all those sophisticated New Yorkers and the girls who had coming out parties with bands that had to be reserved for the occasion at least when they were in grade school.

  Jamie was pretty much a regular at our house that summer, all with Mama’s blessing. Georgie and I were dumbfounded, but neither Carrie or Mama seemed to notice. They were too busy thinking up things that Jamie would like, like a new recipe for an apple cobbler, or an old-fashioned chicken fricassee that smacked of country cooking the second it came out of the pot. In turn, Jamie charmed Mama with samples of his mother’s orchids all done up with a bow to match the speckles or striations.

  It was a hot summer evening when Carrie sat down at the foot of my bed. The stars were out and I could hear the crickets chirping through the screen on the open window. I knew there was something up because Carrie, being the oldest and enjoying that position, never sat on my bed even though it was exactly like hers and we had shared a room since I was born.

  “Annie May, what do you think of Jamie?”

  “Gosh, Carrie. I don’t know. I never get to see him much. You two are pretty exclusive. You’re always off somewhere.”

  “Aw, c’mon, Annie May, you know I share him with you and Georgie. He’s here for supper practically every night Mama will let him and his parents will spare him.”

  “Well, he is pretty cute. And, he’s polite.”

  “Gee whiz, Annie May. I mean more than that. Do you think I should write him when he leaves at the end of summer?”

  “What does Mama think?”

  “You know I don’t ask her those things. You know she doesn’t like to get into my personal business.”

  “I think he’s a good catch. None of the girls have a boy from New York whose parents are rich.”

  “His folks aren’t rich but they do have good jobs that make money and he’s an only child so he gets a lot of things. But, that’s not what it’s about. I think I actually like him, Annie May. I never felt this way about a boy before. He’s kind and gentle, and he cares about me.”

  Carrie’s sincerity touched me. I didn’t know what to tell her, but I knew it better be good.

  “Gee, Squirrel,” I said, using the nickname we rarely used since childhood, “I don’t see anything wrong with writing him. Mama likes him, and most important, you like him.”

  “I’ll think about it, Annie May. But, thanks for the advice.”

  Carrie almost leaned over and kissed me, so thankful for somebody hearing her out and most of all taking her seriously. But, she thought better of it and returned to her bed, fluffing the pillows and reaching for a fashion magazine to pore over before turning out the lights. We weren’t really a demonstrative family.

  But, for me, sleep was elusive after our little discussion. It was the first time anyone had to consider that Carrie might not be ours forever. Panic seized me. We wouldn’t be that tight threesome we formed even more strongly after Papa died. Why Carrie even knocked Lulu Eisenbury down for insulting the pigtails I so carefully braided in the morning before school for three straight years and was so proud of.

  I mulled all this over carefully because I wasn’t so keen on growing up. It was too much responsibility. Mama had had a hard life since Papa died and she was often sad.

  I turned out the light and tried to go to sleep but somehow it was more difficult than it had been before. The summer breeze drifted through the open window, the air now cooler and more refreshing than the heat of the hot and stifling early evening. Carrie was sound asleep and breathing deeply. I decided to count sheep.

  Chapter Four

  It was a warm summer’s day when I crept up to the attic. Summer had gone well and Will and Georgie and I had spent many scorchers navigating the woods and the ponds to cool off. We also had helped nurse Will’s latest acquisition to his ever-increasing number of dog friends, a husky-lab mix he got from the animal shelter in Syracuse that by all accounts had been the runt of the litter.

  We named him Jester, a name we all agreed on, because he had a cute little patch around his eye that made him look like a medieval clown. It was a while before he could live up to his name because he had obviously been neglected and been confined to the animal shelter for some time but Will helped him to feel at home and it wasn’t long before they bonded and Jester followed Will around almost everywhere. It took a while for Jester to trust us as well, but when he could, we all played ball and Frisbee and Jester chased sticks almost all the way down to the pond.

  I had only gone up to the attic to look over some of my old things I had tucked away for safekeeping. Somehow, I wanted to remember the old days, when Papa was here and when Carrie and I begged Mama for toothpicks to make dolls out of the hollyhocks we found growing along the back pasture.

  I didn’t want to admit it but I missed Carrie. I missed our giggling over the daisy petals we pulled to see who we would marry and the gossip we whispered together in the meadow on a lazy day when we were finished with chores. I missed the secrets we shared.

  It was time to curl up with the old raggedy dolls Mama had made clothes for and the wooden wagon Papa had made me to cart my dolls around. Sitting among my old things that were so much a part of my childhood always gave me peace. It made me remember when Mama was really happy and when Mama and Papa would dance together in the living room under the Christmas tree and gather us children to join in.

  I looked for the stick to prop open the only window. It was an eerie but pleasant feeling to be alone among everyone’s cast-offs filled with so many quiet memories. I almost always found a treasure hidden away. As I searched I spotted a pile of albums all tied up in a neat bundle sitting under Mama’s wedding dress. The note on top was addressed to Mama and Aunt Maybelle. Curiosity may have gotten the cat but I wasn’t going to let that old tale stop me. I quickly pulled the note from its rose colored envelope and pulled open the note inside.

  To my two darling daughters,

  We have nothing to leave you but these old journals. In them is the history of our family which is your heritage. I know we couldn’t provide you with all the things we wished for you but we tried to provide a happy home. Pa was always so proud of you girls. I know he didn’t let you know it often enough but he used to brag about you down at the Ag store whenever he could find anyone to listen. And, he used to chew old Jeb Mayer’s ear off about how fast you were growin
g and how Maybelle won the ice skating contest down at the old pond and how Marylee was turning out so pretty she would be the belle of the ball someday.

  When you open this we will be gone but know that we will be with you in spirit. We wish for you a life that brings you as much happiness as you can find.

  Your loving parents,

  Rosie and Clem Thompkins

  I stared at the beautiful script the note was written in which was Granny Rosie’s pride. Everyone in the county vied to get her to address their envelopes come Valentine’s Day or Christmas or very especially their wedding invitations.

  Looking at the note brought back memories of lazy Sunday afternoons when, after church, we went over to the Thompkins homestead for a leisurely family dinner. There were platters and platters of food, the chickens and ham all roasted in Granny’s big oven, the corn and the beans and the red potatoes all grown with Gramps’ own hand. We kids played outside after the feast while Gramps and Papa outdid themselves in the parlor with longer and longer fish tales, settled in the old stuffed chairs and tamped down the special tobacco in favorite pipes that Papa had brought to please Gramps, often falling asleep before they could finish. Mama and Aunt Maybelle went into the kitchen with Granny to wash up and exchange the gossip which they had hardly been able to keep to themselves.

  I opened the top journal and peeked in. It was labeled Great Uncle John in Granny’s writing with a beautiful magenta marker on a strip of adhesive tape. I began to read.

  January 1862—To My Dear Wife,

  It has been hard to enlist and leave you my dear wife and my dear children and for my mother to part with her only son. It was hard to leave my job as a mechanic in Springwater and to leave our small farm. I was uneasy of the horrors of war but it seemed to me that those states that had rebelled under a government like this must be wicked and treasonable people. I have enlisted to save my country from ruin.