Lost seeds, p.6
Lost Seeds, page 6
“Kids, the first day for lessons is Monday after next,” Loretta said, “so today, we will walk to Adelman’s General Store to shop for bathing suits.”
“I need my hair straightened,” Fran said. “And I’ve read enough magazines and watched and read enough Gidget movies and books to pick the suit I want. I must look as much like Cindy Carol as possible. She’s the actress who plays the girl.”
“No and yes. No, I won’t straighten your hair. And yes, I know who Cindy Carol is.”
“Well, Loretta, let’s ask what Granny thinks. She’d let me do it.”
“I’m your mother, not Mae Brisco. You have a hard time remembering that. Now go, please.”
As Fran ambled away, she whispered, “You didn’t raise me, Loretta.”
Loretta sewed most of the kids’ clothes, but her skills did not extend to making swimming suits, so she walked with the three children in tow to Adelman’s General Store. Saline had two downtowns, one for the Grove and one for Hickory Hill. Adelman’s capped the far end of an area called the Levee, a red-light district with taverns, speakeasies, and in earlier times, a brothel. Walking the ten minutes from the house through the Levee to the store provided adventure for the young Thompsons.
The Grove’s downtown consisted of several short blocks. A secondhand hardware store, clothing store, hair salon, barbershop, mortician, lawyer, dentist, and restaurant filled two blocks, and the Levee occupied the other.
None of the children walked through the Levee unless they had their parents’ permission. And on those occasions, they all held hands, faced straight ahead, moved with purpose, and did not peek inside the doorways. If they went to the general store without a parent, which rarely occurred, Fran led the way, and they took the long route to avoid the Levee.
As Loretta strode through the Levee with her three children dutifully following the rules, she noticed a new face out of the corner of her eye. A young man in his twenties, looking haggard, with deep-brown skin and bloodshot hazel eyes. He crouched outside Lou’s Tavern in dirt-caked clothes. She fixed her gaze on the man, who was staring at Rosie as they approached. She nudged the children closer to the street as they drew nearer to him. Her grip tightened on Rosie while the young man continued his blatant glare.
“Let’s go,” she said, jogging the kids off the curb to cross the road.
The young man nodded and said, “I got you.”
After arriving on the other side, all three kids craned their necks in the man’s direction. Loretta admonished the children to not look at the man.
The general store stocked everything from groceries to swimsuits. Upon arrival, Loretta walked around casually perusing the goods, finally making her way to the swimsuit racks.
“They don’t have the Gidget suit,” Fran said. “Not anything close to a Gidget-like cropped bottom and ruffled bra top. Mother, they have two choices for teens, a wild print and a solid blue one-piece, and they’re both too big for my waist.”
Rosie said, “I want something pink or orange.”
Jason pulled a pair of swimming trunks off the clothing rack, and handing them to his mother, said, “Take this. I’m going to find the Cracker Jacks.” He turned and walked off, ignoring her explanation of hemming the legs and lining to better contain his private parts.
“I’m not taking any of these ugly suits,” Fran said. “The Hickory Hill girls will never talk to me in one of these swimsuits. Mother, I bet if we shopped at the W. T. Grant store in Hickory Hill, I could find the Gidget suit.”
Loretta removed every suit from the rack near Fran’s size, holding them up for her to examine. Yet Fran rejected each one. Rolling her eyes in exhaustion, their mother returned to the first suit on the rack and placed the plain blue one-piece in the basket for Fran.
Fran stomped her foot while expressing for other shoppers to hear, “Granny would never allow me to walk around in something beneath our level and simple. She wants me to always be the best—”
“Mommy, I’m OK with this suit, since it is orange with green flowers,” Rosie said, tugging on Loretta’s belt and interrupting her sister’s rant.
Loretta sighed, turned away from Fran, and inspected Rosie’s garment. “Fran, go search the box of swimming caps on the shelf next to the small rack of swimsuits.”
Fran persisted. “Where’s the cap Gidget wore with flowers or ruffles? All they have are the ugly plain white rubber ones with a piece of elastic under the chin.”
Loretta bounded over to the container of swim caps, firmly moved Fran aside, and grabbed two packs and three goggles. With all three suits, caps, and goggles in her hands, Loretta walked with frustration to the checkout counter and laid them out. One at a time, she picked up a swimsuit, studied it, pulled and tugged on various parts, and placed it down.
Mr. Adelman, the store owner, ambled over to monitor Loretta. She regularly sought Mr. Adelman’s mentorship in sewing tasks. His wife, a professional seamstress, owned a tailoring shop in Hickory Hill.
“What type of thread should I use for altering these swimming suits?” Loretta said, breathing heavily. “I’m sure plain old cotton is not suitable for the chlorine in the water.”
“Oh, Mrs. Thompson. Good instinct. You’re much more self-sufficient than my wife’s customers in Hickory Hill. That’s why she does great business over there. You’ll need a polyester thread. I’ll run in the back and retrieve the proper colors.”
When Mr. Adelman disappeared, Jason sneaked a box of Cracker Jacks into his pants. Upon Mr. Adelman’s return, Loretta and the store owner chatted more about the adjustments to the swimsuits while she paid for the items.
***
Other than the turmoil about the swimming lessons, the Thompson children’s summer vacation got off to an uneventful start. As Loretta prepared the swimsuits, the children enjoyed leisurely days unwinding from the school year.
For outdoor activities, their neighborhood extended no farther than two doors down to Bernie’s house on the right, one house down to the corner on the left, and the alley in the back of the same houses. The neighbors knew Loretta’s kids and knew her play rules. If they found Jason, Fran, or Rosie venturing beyond the boundary, they asked, “Where are you going?” If Loretta was not within sight, the neighbors sent the children back home until she appeared or they saw her on the porch signaling that the kids had permission to go past the boundary.
She took them to the library often to check out books and participate in other activities. Rosie typically checked out fairy tales. On one visit, she brought home The Snow Queen, by Hans Christian Andersen. After breakfast, their mother required a reading hour.
Fran read the book to her sister with added drama. Upon finishing the book, Rosie said, “Let’s go outside, Claire. We’re going to make the backyard look like The Snow Queen story. My house is the castle. It’s large and blue, like the sky, with white. The silver around the bottom is the water floating in the palace moat. The backyard is the palace gardens filled with flowers and trees. Come on. Let’s sneak in here.”
The dog followed Rosie. She opened the trapdoor, and the two stuck their heads inside the small two-by-two-foot opening to the crawl space in the back of the house.
“Claire, here’s the entrance into the dungeon,” she said while the pup inserted her nose, then slowly backed away and stood behind Rosie.
Rosie scanned the darkness beneath the house. “This dungeon is dark and cold. It’s scary,” she said and retreated too.
Outside of his time playacting with Rosie, Jason rarely interacted with other children. If he went to visit a friend’s home, Fran accompanied him to assure his safe arrival. Jason’s dislike for team sports limited Loretta and Waylon’s ability to find constructive activities for him beyond reading and playing with his sisters. He mostly sequestered himself during the day, which involved visiting the crawl space under the house. Jason’s fortress beneath the house had several weapons, including ropes used to hang Rosie’s toys off the tree out of her reach. In his solitude, Jason had time to daydream and write thoughts on sheets of paper.
In the two weeks before swimming lessons, in the sanctity of the crawl space, he indulged his curiosity about the cigar box from Uncle Tim. With a small shovel, he exhumed the hidden container, sat it on top of the earth, and guided his fingers farther down into the stock of letters. Buried beneath all the paper, Kate’s decaying cigarette, holder, and lighter lay meticulously wrapped in a piece of white cloth.
Now this metal tube and lighter may come in handy, but I’ll toss the cigarette because I much prefer the smell of Dr. Tucker and his pipe, he thought. Jason sat mesmerized, rereading the papers while wearing Dr. Tucker’s gloves, particularly Tim’s “New Life Plan.” From the kitchen wastebasket, Jason had retrieved a small empty jelly jar. I can use this for the alcohol and take a washrag too, he thought. Each task on the list received a nod from Jason, affirming his commitment or accomplishment.
Fran’s summertime days involved reading library books and soliciting paid babysitting jobs from Loretta and Waylon, often settling for doing odd chores for Bernie instead of supervising her siblings for free.
“Mother, exactly what are my responsibilities for Jason and Rosie during the swimming lessons?” she said.
Loretta said, “Your job is to be nice to your brother and sister and others and keep Jason and Rosie away from trouble. You may meet some interesting young ladies too.”
“What if the Hickory Hill girls don’t want me there?”
“And why would they not if you’re polite to them? You’ve been asking me the same questions for days. Enough now.” Loretta walked away.
Fran sauntered up the block to visit her cousin Tina and found her sitting on the porch. Tina repeated the conversations between her parents and relayed their objection to her cousins being sent across town for swimming lessons when the Grove had a perfectly good pool. The girls ignited each other’s emotions with dire predictions of Hickory Hill kids beating, drowning, or taunting Fran.
The conversation soon turned to ways to spoil Waylon’s plans. First, Fran would pretend an illness. The girls soon rejected the idea because Loretta would give her castor oil or a spoon of Vicks VapoRub. Tina suggested that Fran fake having a period, but Fran nixed the idea because Loretta kept track of her cycle, and she’d just had a period merely two weeks ago. The only other viable idea was for Fran to fall from her bicycle and break a bone. Within seconds, both girls agreed a physical accident was too painful, leaving no solution but to attend the classes.
The time for swimming lessons grew closer. Rosie flipped through the illustrated pages of The Snow Queen twice, Jason found a little garden snake in the crawl space and placed it in the flower bed where Rosie and Claire frequently sat to read, and Fran never asked Loretta to call off the lessons.
Chapter 12
The First Day
June 14, 1965
The first day of lessons arrived. Rosie woke up reaching for the orange suit with green flowers that Loretta had carefully tailored to fit the petite five-year-old’s delicate frame. She modeled the swimsuit for Claire and placed the swimming cap and goggles on the dog to join in the fun.
Rosie walked into the kitchen, where her parents were stationed at the table, talking and eating a leisurely breakfast, dressed for the day. Claire dutifully followed behind, still wearing the goggles with the cap. As Waylon put the cup of coffee to his mouth, he stopped and stifled a laugh upon seeing the pair strut into the room. Big round eyes bulged into the goggles, and the cap, held only by the flaps of her ears tucked inside and the loose strap hanging beneath her head, slid to the side of Claire’s head. When Rosie posed at the table, the pup stood still, then sat on her hind legs like a statue.
Waylon reached out and gave his daughter a hug. Claire slowly walked up to the father and laid her head on his knee. He pulled the dog’s head into the embrace, smothering both Rosie and her pet, still chuckling.
Rosie skipped out of the kitchen and her dog trotted behind.
“Waylon, who are you going to speak to at the community pool building?” Loretta said.
Waylon had taken the morning off work to escort his family. “I just need to find whoever is in charge on site today. I’ll be careful and nonintimidating, regardless of who I talk to. I don’t want to give anyone an excuse to start a confrontation,” he said.
The crew piled into the Mercury and took the trip across town to Hickory Hill. When they arrived, he pulled the car into a parking spot in front of the building. They all sat and stared in silence; parents and children marched into the single-story brick structure with glass double doors.
Next to the sidewalk leading inside, a sign read “9 a.m. Swimming Class—Entrance,” and a red arrow pointed up the pavement. The top half of the private school emerged from behind Saline’s public building. The exclusive institution loomed above the plain government pool, with its tall bell tower creating a palatial view more refined than anything the Thompsons had ever seen.
“Oh no,” Fran said as young girls walked by in fashionable shorts and styled hair. “They do dress like Gidget.”
They carried small decorative cloth satchels and the boys clutched duffel bags.
“We brought paper bags for our stuff. What they have is so fancy. I’m so embarrassed,” Fran said. “Being with people that don’t want us here is one thing, but to stand out like paupers with a grocery bag is another. I refuse to go in the showers where the girls will laugh as my skin turns ashy from the chlorine and then I slap on lotion. Why are you doing this to me? You guys are doing this for your own selfish reasons.”
“I’ll defend myself if anyone comes close to me,” Jason said.
Rosie asked, “Why are we sitting in the car?”
The entire family exited the car and walked in together. Inside the doors, they encountered a short hallway lined with windows, and the light-blue water glistened on the other side of the glass. Waylon stopped at the table where a teenage boy and girl sat with lists in front of them. The girl busied herself searching the names of a family in line ahead of him, and the boy looked at the tall man without speaking, yet with raised eyebrows.
Waylon said to the boy, “I’m bringing my kids to the nine o’clock lesson. Their names are Francine, Jason, and Rosalyn Thompson. I registered them and paid at the administration building. They should be on the list.”
The boy paused, then finally alternated looking at each member of the Thompson family and down at the list to find their names. After checking the box to indicate their attendance, he told the parents where to take each child. Rosie was placed in a beginner’s class for young children in the shallow water, and Fran and Jason’s group for older, experienced children gathered at the deeper end.
Waylon asked to speak with an adult. Without looking at Waylon, the boy gave minimal direction, said the name “Mrs. Bixby,” and pointed the way with his pencil. Waylon walked in the direction instructed and the family followed. A woman exited an office door and jumped back lightly, placing her hand to her pearl necklace as she stumbled upon him.
Waylon stopped in front of her and said, “Excuse me, ma’am. I’m looking for a Mrs. Bixby to introduce my children and my wife. My wife, Loretta, will be here at nine o’clock each day.”
“I’m Mrs. Bixby,” the lady said, rubbing the front of her shirt and straightening her clothes nervously as she stood in the middle of the doorway, occasionally glancing back into her office.
He introduced himself and the family. He continued, “My little ones are excited to swim here, and their mother will also be here to assure that all goes well. Please tell me or my wife if you have any concerns or incur any problems.”
“Well, I’m glad you approached me with this, Mr. Thompson, because frankly we have an issue. Can you ask the children to sit on the bench over there so I can speak privately with you and your wife?” Mrs. Bixby said.
Waylon turned to the kids and pointed to the bench. Fran, Jason, and Rosie quietly complied.
“Uh, ma’am, I would prefer to speak here in the hallway as opposed to another room.”
She nodded and walked several feet down the hall in the opposite direction but kept the Thompson children in her line of sight.
“Mr. Thompson, I received a call from the main office about your registration. The address on your registration form indicated you live, ah, should I say, on the other side of town? Well, no doubt you signed up. Why not make this more convenient for your wife, and for you, and take your kids to the community center closer to your home. I assume you had to take time off work to bring them here. Do you not work?”
“I do work. I’m a teacher as a matter of fact. I teach summer school too. My wife and I want the children here, and understand that we have choices, and this is our choice.”
“Really?” She pinched her chin and bowed her head. Finally, looking at the father while folding her arms, she said, “Some parents, and instructors, take issue with your children’s registration. Sam Shaw, that Negro mortician over there by where you live, tried to register his kids, but it did not go through. I think they were late or something, or the registration information was incomplete.”
“Well, with all due respect, the office accepted our registration.”
“Hickory Hill’s parents are asking me how that happened. Just so we are clear, Mr. Thompson, the swimming class notices are posted in Hickory Hill weeks ahead of the announcements for people where you live. That allows children in this community plenty of time to take the slots near their homes. Now that’s only fair. If that means your kids aren’t assigned here, then so be it. There is no other way you could have properly registered, or someone made a bad mistake.”
