A Dream for Addie Page 7

  “I don’t think you’re nothing,” I said, and I sat on the bed beside her. “I think you’re one of the most terrific people I ever met. The other day … when you acted for us … I never saw anyone do anything like that before. It gave me chills. I thought … if I could ever make anybody feel like that with one of my paintings … then I’d really be an artist.”

  She looked up at me.

  “I think you’re beautiful,” I said, and hugged her, and she put her arms around me and held me close.

  Chapter Seven

  The next day was Saturday, the day before Easter, and Dad and Grandma and I were sitting around the kitchen table finishing our breakfast. We hadn’t heard Constance stirring around and guessed she was still asleep. I was putting some last little touches on my drawing of her as I sat at the table.

  “What are you wearing to church tomorrow, Grandma?” I asked.

  “My good blue dress … like last Easter,” she replied. Grandma seldom got dressed up, so a “good” dress lasted her for years.

  “Oh, yeah,” I said. “I like that one. We’ll both be blue. Dad, what are you wearing?”

  “I’ll be blue too,” he said. “I’ve only got one good summer suit, and that’s blue.” He looked ominously toward his bedroom. “If I can get into my room to get it.”

  “Oh, Dad!” I said. “She’s only been here a few days!”

  He had been grumping around about Constance displacing him to the sofa, but I reminded him that he was the one who invited her, and Grandma kept telling him what a nice thing it had been for him to do. He seemed a little embarrassed by the fact that he had been so soft-hearted, but I think he was actually rather pleased with himself. Of course, he would never let anyone else know that. Grandma and I didn’t really take his complaining about Constance too seriously; it was just his nature to look on the dark side of everything. I think he figured that in case things didn’t work out, he would always be able to say that he had been the first one to suspect something was wrong.

  I put the last stroke to my drawing, looked at it for a moment, and then held it out to Grandma. “How’s this?” I asked.

  She came closer and adjusted her glasses to get a good look at it. “Oh, my, isn’t that good! Looks just like her.”

  I held it out to Dad. “Yeah, not bad,” he said. For him, that was lavish praise.

  “Can I see it too?”

  We all turned, and there was Constance standing in the doorway. It was the first time she had been up and around since she had come to stay with us. She was wearing a soft green silk blouse and green slacks and looked lovely.

  “You’re up!” I said, running over to her and showing her the drawing.

  She looked at it for a moment and then at me. “You’re really very good, Addie,” she said.

  She sat down at the table, and I got her some coffee.

  “You don’t want to overdo, now,” Grandma said to her. “You’ll have to take it easy.”

  “I don’t know how to thank all of you for everything you’ve done,” Constance said.

  “It’s little enough to do for a friend of the family,” Grandma said.

  “I’m going to have to think about getting back to New York,” Constance said.

  “I wish you wouldn’t go!” I said. “Why don’t you stay in Clear River for a while?”

  “Why would she want to stay here?” Dad asked, as though it were ridiculous.

  “She likes it here!” I said impatiently.

  “Well, at least I know New York, and I know people there,” said Constance. “It’s where my life is, I guess.”

  “Now, Constance,” said Grandma. “You know lots of people right here in Clear River too, and you have a house here, after all. I think Addie’s right … you ought to think of stayin’ on. You’d have some peace and quiet here and get rested up.”

  “Oh, I wish you’d stay here and teach dramatics!” I said. “We could use somebody artistic around here.”

  “You and your wild ideas,” Dad said.

  I made a face at him.

  “I think it’s a nice idea,” said Grandma. “Young folks would be glad to have help from someone like Constance.”

  Constance smiled. “I think it’s a little late in life for me to start something like that.”

  “Grandma says you’re never too old to change,” I said. “She started a new life when she was in her sixties. It’s lucky for me she didn’t think it was too late, or there’s no telling where I’d be now. I think you should stay.”

  “It’s a lovely daydream, Addie,” Constance said, shaking her head.

  “Well, at least you’ll be here tomorrow, won’t you?” I asked. “And you can come to Easter church services with us?”

  “I don’t think so,” she said.

  “Please!”

  “I’ve got nothing to wear,” she said, trying to put me off.

  “What’s the matter with that dress you wore over here to supper the other night?” Dad asked suddenly. He had just blurted it out and then looked embarrassed. I couldn’t believe he had said it! I had never heard him compliment any woman on how she looked. Grandma shot him a funny look over the top of her glasses.

  Dad tried to cover his embarrassment. “I mean … it looked pretty good to me …” he trailed off, not knowing how to get out of it.

  Constance went to his rescue and gave him a lovely smile.

  “Thank you, James,” she said. “That’s very nice of you to say so, but I doubt if I could show my face in this town now.”

  “You shouldn’t give a fig what folks think, Constance!” Grandma said. “You did the best you could, and if it didn’t all work out, so what? You tried, that’s all that’s important. Besides, this is your home.”

  Constance looked at Grandma thoughtfully and smiled.

  The next morning, Dad was up early and nagging us to get ready for church on time. Constance had finally agreed to go with us, and I had a feeling Dad wanted to get there early so we wouldn’t have to make an entrance in front of everybody with Constance.

  As a result, the four of us were almost the first ones there, and we sat in the hard pews of the First Baptist Church of Clear River for almost fifteen minutes waiting for services to begin. Finally, the church filled up around us, and I felt everyone looking over at us, astounded to see Constance at all, let alone with the three of us.

  Carla Mae’s family sat at the other end of our pew, and Carla Mae and I managed to slide over next to each other so we could harmonize on the hymns. She sang second soprano and I sang alto. As soon as we got into high school, we were going to join the church choir, and we wanted to be as well prepared as possible.

  There had been no chance to introduce Constance to anyone before the service, and as we all left the church and everyone stood around talking on the sidewalk outside, I planned to have her meet the other people. But everyone just nodded and walked on by us, and I suddenly realized that they had no intention of making her feel welcome.

  I tried to pretend that nothing had happened, but I could tell Constance was aware of what was going on. It must have been very painful for her, but she was too good an actress to show that her feelings were hurt. The four of us stood there alone, like a little island in the midst of all the other people passing by. I wanted to grab her hand and run away, and I could tell Dad was feeling uncomfortable too.

  Just then, Mrs. Coyne was coming our way. I thought she would pass us by too, especially after what had happened at the style show. But she came right up to us and said hello to Constance as though nothing had ever happened.

  I remembered what she had said about Constance being an old friend, and I thought they must have liked each other a lot for the friendship to have lasted all those years. I knew everyone was watching because Mrs. Coyne was one of the most influential ladies in the church. After she had said hello to Constance, she turned and called over several other people. At first they were hesitant, but Mrs. Coyne was insistent, and finally they approa
ched and she introduced them to Constance. Once the ice was broken, curiosity got the best of people, and more of them came over to say hello. Then the preacher, Reverend Barrett, came out, and Mrs. Coyne introduced him to Constance, too.

  Constance was suddenly besieged with people wanting to meet her. Dad and Grandma and I looked at each other with hopeful smiles on our faces. I wasn’t sure what everyone really thought of Constance or what they would say behind her back later, but she was gracious to them all, and I knew it was at least a beginning.

  Tanya, Carla Mae and Gloria gathered around, and I held my chin up high and stood proudly beside Constance in my blue rickrack dress.

  Epilogue

  Constance never did go back to New York; she decided to stay on in Clear River. Grandma had been right about everybody having a chance to start a new life.

  But it wasn’t easy for Constance. She never did exactly fit in. Of course, that’s what made her a special person … Constance did what was right for her, and she didn’t care what anybody thought. Once the town calmed down about her being there, she began teaching drama and piano to the children. Going to her classes became one of the high points of our lives.

  Constance enriched those years for us, and somehow I think we enriched her life too.

  I finally did go to New York to work as an artist, and when things were difficult, I would remember what Constance had said about not letting your dreams slip through your fingers. I held on to my dreams, and I was never afraid to go back to Clear River.

  Turn the page to continue reading from The Addie Mills Stories

  Chapter One

  We were milling around the seventh-grade classroom that morning, laughing and talking. For once, almost all of us had been early. It was the first day back in school after the Christmas-New Year’s holiday, and there was a lot of talk about what we all got for Christmas, and about the fantastic blizzards that had been smothering Nebraska that winter.

  The main topic of conversation, however, was speculation about the new teacher we would meet that morning. Miss Collins, who had started teaching our class that fall, had decided to get married over the holidays. All the other girls thought that was very romantic, but I just thought it was stupid. Lots of the kids in our class were starting to exchange rings and “go steady,” and I hated all that mush. The whole idea made me laugh. I planned to grow up and be an artist and never get married.

  I was sitting on top of my desk talking to my best friend, Carla Mae Carter. Carla Mae and her big family lived next door to my dad and grandmother and me, and we had been friends for years. My worst friend, Tanya Smithers, came hurrying through the door. Tanya had been my worst friend ever since I could remember. We annoyed each other a lot, but we continued to be a part of the same group. There were only 1,500 people in the town of Clear River, so sometimes you didn’t have a big choice of friends. Tanya planned to be a famous ballet dancer when she grew up, and she was always twirling around on her toes or striking some dramatic pose to remind us all of how talented she was.

  “Here comes Pavlova,” said Carla Mae when she saw Tanya coming toward us.

  “If she tells me one more time that she got new ballet shoes for Christmas, I’ll scream!” I said.

  “Addie! Carla Mae!” Tanya said to us breathlessly. “Guess what I just heard when I went by the principal’s office?”

  “The principal got new ballet shoes for Christmas?” I asked sarcastically.

  Carla Mae snickered.

  “No, you idiots!” said Tanya. “Listen to me! We’re getting a man teacher to replace Miss Collins!”

  “What?” said Carla Mae. “You’ve gotta be kidding!”

  “A man!” I said. “Yuck! That’s awful!”

  “We’ve never had a man teacher,” said Carla Mae. “There aren’t any in the whole school!”

  “I don’t believe it!” I said.

  “I’m telling you it’s true!” said Tanya, annoyed. “The principal says he’s going to be here in a few minutes.”

  The rumor spread around the room as others overheard our conversation.

  “Oh, ugh!” I said. “He’ll probably be an old grouch.”

  “Tanya, what does he look like?” Carla Mae asked.

  “I don’t know,” Tanya answered. “I didn’t see him. But I heard his name. It’s Davenport.”

  “Like the sofa?” asked Carla Mae.

  “He’s probably covered with horsehair,” I said, laughing. “He’s probably a million years old with a beard and warts!”

  I got up and hobbled around as though I were an old man with a cane, and everybody laughed.

  Suddenly Jimmy Walsh shot a paper airplane across the room at us and I grabbed it in midflight, making a spectacular catch. I was good at that sort of thing.

  “That’s Billy Wild’s New Year’s resolution!” Jimmy shouted to me.

  “It is not!” shouted Billy from across the room. “He made it up! It’s his!”

  Everybody was always teasing me about liking Billy Wild, and I always insisted I didn’t. I had to admit he was tall and handsome—with dark curly hair and blue eyes—and that he was one of the smartest boys in the class, and good at sports. But that didn’t mean I liked him any more than anyone else. He was forever strutting around in his cowboy boots, showing off. We had known each other for years and we still always seemed to be arguing about something, so I didn’t see how anyone could say I liked him.

  I unfolded the paper airplane and read it to myself, then burst out laughing.

  “OK, attention, everybody!” I shouted, running to the front of the classroom. “Here’s Billy Wild’s New Year’s resolution!”

  “It is not!” he shouted again.

  Everyone was laughing, and I climbed up on top of the teacher’s desk to read it aloud.

  “Dated January 1, 1949,” I read. “I, Billy Wild, resolve for 1949 to kiss every girl in the seventh-grade class.”

  Everyone screamed with laughter, and Billy’s face got bright red.

  “It’s not mine!” he shouted.

  “That’s one resolution you’ll never keep!” I shouted, and folded the airplane, then shot it back in his direction.

  Suddenly everyone stopped laughing and the room fell quiet. I couldn’t imagine what was happening; and then I realized that they were all looking at something behind me. I turned.

  There standing just inside the door was a tall, blond, handsome, young man. For a moment I thought I must have seen him in the movies; then I realized that he looked a bit like Alan Ladd. Of course he had to be the new teacher. And he had found me standing on his desk, flying paper airplanes!

  I stood there frozen. Miss Collins would have dragged me to the principal’s office. He just smiled. He had a wonderful smile and crinkly blue eyes. I thought he was the most handsome man I had ever seen. I suddenly realized I was still standing on top of his desk.

  “May I help you down?” he said to me.

  He extended his hand and helped me down as the class snickered behind me. I was numb with embarrassment, both at being found on top of his desk and at the way he looked. He was so attractive that I felt I should look away.

  “Won’t you have a seat?” he said, and I sheepishly went back to my desk. I knew I should say something to him, but I was tongue-tied. That was not at all like me.

  “My name is Douglas Davenport,” he said to the class, “and I’m your new teacher.” He turned to the board and wrote his name there.

  Carla Mae, who sat behind me, leaned forward and whispered to me.

  “Is he gorgeous? I don’t believe it!”

  I didn’t say anything. I was still speechless.

  Tanya leaned over to join in the conversation from her desk across the aisle.

  “He is an absolute doll!” she said.

  Mr. Davenport turned back to the class and noticed a watercolor hanging on the wall near his desk.

  “Did someone in the class do this painting?” he asked.

  I opened my mo
uth, but no sound came out.

  Carla Mae spoke up behind me.

  “Addie Mills did it,” she said, pointing to me. “She’s the best artist in the class.”

  “Oh, the paper airplane pilot,” Mr. Davenport said, smiling at me again.

  Everyone laughed, and my face burned.

  He was still smiling at me.

  “Well, Addie,” he said. “I can tell you’re very talented. Studying art is one of my hobbies. I’ll have to talk to you more about that.”

  Carla Mae swooned behind me and whispered, “You lucky dog!”

  I just sat there staring at Mr. Davenport and feeling strange.

  In the next few weeks we all got to know Mr. Davenport better, and it was soon clear that he was to be one of the most popular teachers our class had ever had.

  All the girls agreed that he was an absolute dish, and though the boys thought we were ridiculous for gushing about him, they liked him a lot, too. We discovered that he was only twenty-four years old, that he drove a tan Chevrolet convertible coupe with white sidewall tires, and that he wore neat, tweedy suits and incredible argyle socks, and smoked a pipe. We spent hours discussing these little details about him, and I collected this information more avidly than anyone, though I never let on.

  The strange feeling that had stricken me when I first saw Mr. Davenport still lingered whenever I would talk with him. I talked with him often. I felt I had much more in common with him than the other kids in the class. Somehow I was more grown-up than they were, and I was able to talk to him about all kinds of things that the others just weren’t interested in.

  I knew that I understood Mr. Davenport better than anyone in the class, because I was going to be an artist when I grew up and he was particularly interested in art. He had been in Paris at the end of the war and had brought back some French art books that he loaned me now and then. I couldn’t read the texts because they were in French, but I pored over the paintings for hours and tried to copy some of the artists’ styles with my own paints at home. Then I would discuss the paintings with Mr. Davenport, and he always seemed very pleased that he had somebody to talk to who understood art as well as he did. He encouraged me to continue my studies in art, and I knew there was a special bond between us, even if he was eleven years older than I.