At last Miss Casey signals to me and my classmates, and says quietly, “It’s time to begin.”
She leads us out of the auditorium and backstage while Miss Carner’s class finishes reciting “The Night Before Christmas.” As we put on our costumes, I hear applause, and then Mrs. Portman announces something called the P. S. de resistance, which I am not sure what she’s talking about, but the next thing I know, the auditorium is absolutely silent, so it must be time to begin. Me and Stephen arrange ourselves with our donkey, Tinsley, between us so’s Stephen doesn’t have to stand too close to me.
Clarice steps in front of the curtain. She begins to tell the story of the Nativity. Our pageant has begun.
As far as I can tell, nothing goes wrong. Nobody seems to notice HRH’s ballet slippers. I don’t think anyone can tell that my husband, Joseph, thinks I have girl cooties. At just the right moment I lift Clarice’s old Tiny Tina doll, who is supposed to be our Baby Jesus, out of the manger and I do not drop her. Most important, nothing happens when the Three Kings walk onto the stage. I do not hear one boo or hiss. But also, I do not see Little Boss under one of the gold crowns. Little Boss would have liked to walk onto the stage wearing a crown, even if Big Boss did not come to see him.
When the pageant ends, it is time for Miss Casey to run down the list of who played who. After she reads each name I hear a big round of applause, with especially loud clapping from the family of the person whose name has just been read. Like for Clarice — clap, clap, clap, clap from the audience with CLAP, CLAP, CLAP, CLAP from her parents. For me — clap, clap, clap, clap from the audience with CLAP, CLAP, CLAP, CLAP from Mama and Gran. But for Darryl all I hear is a little clapping, which is probably his parents and Winnie’s and Terrence’s, a few teachers, and Mama and Gran and Mr. and Mrs. Baker. Otherwise silence. No booing, but no big roar of clapping. It reminds me of Darryl’s first day in school, when he introduced himself and then no one wanted to ask him any questions.
After the last name has been read and Mrs. Portman has thanked everyone for coming and our guests are making their way into the cafeteria, me and my classmates charge backstage and change out of our costumes. We are shouting and laughing and excited about the feast and Christmas and the snow. That’s when I spot HRH silently slipping her costume back into its bag. She’s off by herself. All morning I have been waiting for her to say something to me — something mean, anything at all — but she has been so quiet. She reminds me of Little Boss on the day he told me the truth about Darryl. I walk right by her carrying my Mary costume, and still she says nothing.
Me and Clarice, we hurry into the cafeteria and first thing, I search the crowd for Mama and Gran. There they are. Then I scan the tables for our fruitcakes. And there they are.
The next few minutes are taken up with showing our own personal guests where to get plates and forks and so on. I give Gran and Mama a tour of the food. The fudge and biscuits and pies and chicken. “And those,” I say at last, “are the French lace cookies Vanessa’s mother made.”
I look around for Vanessa and see her standing with a little boy and a man in a fancy suit, her brother and her daddy, I guess.
“Come on. Let’s get plates,” I say.
It is at this point that I notice a small commotion over at the dessert table. This one lady, her hand to her mouth, which is all pursed-like, is pointing to something and saying, “Why, there’s enough liquor in those to . . . well, a person could become inebriated.”
“What’s ‘inebriated’?” I ask Mama.
She doesn’t answer.
Another lady says, “Don’t let any of the children near them.”
I push my way to the table. Whatever they are talking about, I want one.
“Clarice, Clarice, what is it?” I whisper loudly.
Clarice, who has been watching the commotion at close range, says, “Belle Teal, it’s your fruitcakes. Do you put liquor in them?”
I feel the ground wobble beneath my feet. “They soak in bourbon,” I reply.
“How much?”
I am about to say, “Not that much,” when I remember the day after Thanksgiving and how the ingredients didn’t come out even like usual. I feel my face begin to flush.
The fruitcakes are whisked off the table and carried out of the cafeteria.
Belle Teal?” I hear Mama’s voice behind me.
I whirl around to face her and Gran, ready to give Gran what for.
And then I notice Gran’s vacant face. Where is she? Not here with us.
I start to say something anyway when Gran looks at Mama. “You better go count that church money now, Lyman. The people are going to need it soon.”
Mama leans over and says quietly to me, “You just go and enjoy yourself, Belle Teal. I’ll take care of Gran.”
“But the fruitcakes —”
“And the fruitcakes. Don’t worry. Go on. This is your special day.”
Not anymore, I think. I shoot arrows at Gran with my eyes because I hear an awful lot of laughter from the direction of the dessert table. Then I turn and stalk away.
And bump directly into Vanessa.
We look at each other for a few seconds, then HRH, she lowers her eyes.
“Well, go ahead. Say something,” I tell her. “About what?”
“The fruitcakes.”
Vanessa, her eyes are filling with tears, and I am not sure why. Here is the perfect opportunity for her to humiliate me. She’s been snickering about the fruitcakes since the first moment I mentioned them.
“Well, I guess I better go have one of your mother’s French lace cookies,” I say. “I’m sure they’re much better than our fruitcakes. Did you try a piece yet? Oh, that’s right. You can’t. Me and my gran made a mistake with the recipe and they took our fruitcakes away. So you win, Vanessa. Everything about you is better than me. That’s what you’ve been saying all along, isn’t it? I’m a mess and dirt poor and I hang out with a colored boy and me and Gran and Mama are just white trash. You’re rich and pretty and have perfect clothes and go to Europe and your mother bakes French lace cookies. Why don’t you introduce me to your mother? That way you can make yourself feel even more special.”
I have hardly noticed that now HRH is full-out crying.
I am not sure what to do, or what, exactly, I said that made her cry. “Where is your mama?” I ask.
Vanessa shakes her head.
“Didn’t she come today?”
“No.”
“Why not? Is she sick or something?”
Vanessa shakes her head again. “No. She’s dead. I don’t have a mother.”
I am stunned. I stand there with my mouth hanging open. At first all I can think to say is, “Well, who made the French lace cookies, then?”
“My father and I. We made them last night. They’re not as good as my mother’s.” Vanessa dabs her eyes with a Kleenex.
“Well . . . well . . . I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say. Questions are flying through my head, but it doesn’t seem polite to ask them. I want to know why Vanessa talks about her mother like she’s alive, and I want to know about that Halloween costume of hers, along with a number of other things.
Vanessa’s tears won’t stop falling, and I look around helplessly. Thank the good Lord that Miss Casey and Mr. Mathers appear then. Mr. Mathers puts his arm around Vanessa and leads her off. I look at Miss Casey. “I don’t understand,” I say.
Miss Casey, somehow she knows what’s going on. “Vanessa’s mother died this summer, Belle Teal,” she explains. “And Vanessa is having a difficult time.”
Mrs. Portman taps Miss Casey on the shoulder then and says she needs to speak to her. I am left standing in a corner of the cafeteria, by a chair with a crumpled napkin on it.
I hear Miss Casey’s words again.
“Vanessa’s mother died this summer.”
That means her mother died just before Vanessa started coming to Coker Creek Elementary. The Matherses probably left Mechanicsville to get
away from their old house and its memories. I have heard of such things, and I sort of understand, even though I think I would want the memories. No wonder Vanessa is so upset. She knew that today everybody would find out she has lied about her beautiful, perfect mother; that there is no mother at all. Vanessa kept this a secret all fall. But she must have realized that on the day of the Christmas program, when absolutely every parent shows up at school, her secret would come out.
I have to sit down for a moment.
I am slumped in one of the plastic cafeteria chairs when Clarice and Darryl find me. I know they think I am sitting alone because of the fruitcakes, and they aren’t sure what to say to me.
So finally I say, “Everyone’s been eating your cookies, Darryl. They’re almost gone.”
“Yeah,” says Clarice. “Nobody thought to ask which food on the table is yours.”
“And nobody did anything when Miss Casey read out your name at the end of the pageant,” I point out.
Darryl considers this. “Yeah,” he says. Then he adds, “I think my parents are having a good time. They’re over there talking to your mom, Belle Teal. And to your parents, Clarice.”
“To Mama? Where’s Gran?” I exclaim.
“Talking to Winnie’s parents. It’s okay.”
I look around the cafeteria and spot Gran holding a cup of punch and talking to Winnie’s parents. For a moment I wish for my old predictable Gran, the one who would realize she’s in a school cafeteria and not in church; the one who would know how to follow a recipe so’s not to make inebriating fruitcake. Instead, I see my new Gran, the one who’s wearing two sweaters and has no true idea where she is. But she looks happy enough, so maybe she’s all right.
My mind returns to its new piece of information.
“You know why Vanessa’s mother isn’t here?” I say.
“Why?” ask Clarice and Darryl together.
“Because she’s dead.”
Clarice and Darryl, they look as stunned as I felt. I tell them what happened.
“Huh,” says Darryl. “I guess you never know about people.”
I realize that this is true. There’s a lot we don’t know about what goes on underneath people’s skins. Or inside their brains. Vanessa. Gran. Little Boss. Big Boss.
Outside, the snow starts to fall harder, and some of the parents round up their kids and say the goinghome things: time to put on your boots, find your book. Where is your sister, your costume? Remember to say good-bye to Miss Greene. Run and get our baking tin.
Mama comes looking for me then. “We’ll never get our car up the hill if we don’t leave now,” she says. “You better say your good-byes.”
“Where are the fruitcakes?” I ask her.
“Packed up.”
“Are they really ruined?”
“Well, they are pretty strong, precious, but I don’t think they’re all that bad. Get your costume and your coat now.”
Mama goes off to find Gran, and I look at Darryl and Clarice. “I guess I’ll see you after Christmas,” I say. “Seems like a long time from now.”
“When school starts up we can work on City Lights again,” says Darryl, and he grins at me.
We all say, “Merry Christmas!” and I tell Miss Casey good-bye until next year, and soon I am walking out of school with Mama and Gran, into the snow and the gray light of winter, the fruitcake tins in a bag carried by Mama.
I wait for a wave of awful feelings to wash over me. Disgrace over the fruitcakes. Shame for the things I said to Vanessa. Fear for Gran, for Little Boss, for Darryl. I remember Darryl on that first day of school, remember the look on his face when he shook Miss Casey’s hand and told her good morning. Then I remember the look on Big Boss’s face as he slouched in the doorway at the Halloween party, and on Little Boss’s face when he told me the truth about Darryl and the hunting rifle. I remember Little Boss’s bruises, think how I actually believed he was clumsy enough to fall off his porch more than once. The awful feelings do wash over me then, just like they do first thing most mornings now.
My stomach jumps like it has been kicked. I try my fairy tale banishing trick, but it doesn’t work. So finally I tell myself that if I can’t eliminate the negative, at least I can accentuate the positive. I think of the first time Darryl gave me his smile, and of being an honorary Baker over at Clarice’s; of Miss Casey, and of Mama with a secretarial job.
I slip one hand into Mama’s and the other into Gran’s and realize something: Gran’s strength long ago flowed into Mama and me. We can take care of each other. And Mama and I will be able to take care of Gran. For the moment, I concentrate on feeling only the strength of this family of women, my family.
About the Author
Here are 25 fun facts about Ann M. Martin and her life:
1. Ann was born on August 12, 1955, in Princeton, New Jersey, during Hurricane Connie. She was the biggest baby in the hospital.
2. When Ann was little, she thought foxes lived under her bed. Since she didn’t think this was a good thing, she kept the overhead light on in her room all night.
3. When the Mayflower landed at Plymouth Rock in 1620, Ann’s ancestors (on her mother’s side) were on it!
4. When Ann was eleven years old, she fell off of a ladder while climbing down from her treehouse, and had to have her spleen removed. (The spleen is a small organ that helps to clean the blood — luckily, you can live without it!) She had to stay in the hospital for a week.
5. Ann became pen pals with one of the first readers ever to send her a fan letter, Kathy Ames. It was because of Kathy that Ann and Paula Danziger met. Paula and Ann became great friends and writing partners (P.S. Longer Later Later and Snail Mail No More).
6. Ann loves scary books, and Stephen King is one of her favorite authors.
7. Ann still gets very, very nervous when she has to talk in front of a crowd, even though she’s been doing it for years!
8. When Ann was just learning to sew, one of her first projects was a set of white, blue, and red curtains for her father’s art studio. They hung in his studio for years until he retired.
9. Until a couple of years ago, Ann wrote every one of her manuscripts in longhand. Now she’s very comfortable working on her computer.
10. At one time when Ann was growing up, the Martin family had nine cats! (Five of them were family cats, and then one had kittens.)
11. Sadie, Ann’s beagle mix/golden retriever puppy, is the first dog she has ever had.
12. Ann’s father is a well-known cartoonist whose works were published in The New Yorker (a famous literary magazine).
13. When Ann was little, she had a special blanket that she named Mommy Blanket. All these years later, she still has it (although she swears she can fall asleep without it!).
14. Ann and her best friend, Beth, loved to play a game called Secret Agents. They’d spy on people and pretend to be talking on walkie-talkie sets.
15. On a train trip to California as a teenager, Ann read Harriet the Spy. She and her sister spied on the other passengers and took notes in a secret notebook.
16. One summer, Ann and her friends set up a library in Ann’s room with lots of books for the kids on her street to check out. They had due dates and late fines, too.
17. Ann has always been an early riser. Her parents had to make a rule that she couldn’t wake them up before 6:30 A.M.
18. Ann never went to sleep-away camp. She got all her story ideas about camp from listening to her more adventurous friends!
19. Ann spent many of her teenage summers vacationing on the Jersey shore with her friend Beth and their families. The girls swam, sunbathed, took walks, flirted with the lifeguards, and ate doughnuts at the jetty on the beach.
20. Ann’s favorite classes in junior high and high school were English and French. Her least favorite class was math. She always uses a calculator, and if she has to, she’ll count on her fingers!
21. Ann hates to wear lipstick. She says it feels funny on her lips, and that it sme
lls bad!
22. Ann’s favorite old-time movies are The Wizard of Oz and To Kill a Mockingbird.
23. One summer during college, Ann and a friend drove to Kentucky in a huge Chrysler named Quasimodo. Ann was so nervous driving this monster car, and she was very happy when they arrived home safe and sound!
24. One of Ann’s favorite childhood memories is watching The Wizard of Oz on her friend’s color television set. These were very rare, so it was a real treat to see everything turn to color when Dorothy lands in Oz.
25. Besides the famous Baby-sitters Club series, Ann is the author of a Newbery Honor Award-winning novel, A Corner of the Universe, as well as the novels Belle Teal, Here Today, and Squirrel: The Autobiography of a Dog.
Q&A with Ann M. Martin
Q: What inspired you to write Belle Teal?
A: Belle Teal started as a challenge by a former college professor to write a short story for a collection she was putting together. At the same time, I was asked by an editor at Scholastic to write an updated version of the fable “The Lion and the Mouse” for another story collection. The short story, the fable (the collection, by the way, was never published), and some family history finally came together as Belle Teal.
Q: Were there any deleted sections, or did you ever consider an alternate ending?
A: I never considered an alternate ending. I very much liked the one with Belle Teal and her “family of women” walking out of the school in the snow, Belle Teal changed by her new insights into Vanessa. And while I did a fair amount of editing of Belle Teal, no sections were deleted; in fact, some were added to expand certain sections near the end of the book, in particular, those involving Little Boss and his father.
Q: Belle Teal’s family is made up of all women. Why did you decide to have Belle Teal grow up without her father?
A: When I think of it, I never considered a family with a father for Belle Teal. I liked the idea of the three generations of women forming a family of their own, and of Belle Teal finding strength in this family, even though it was different from other families she knew.