The Mighty Miss Malone

  At home I put in my essay:

  My most annoying trait is that some of the time I might talk a little too much, I can be very verbose. I also exaggerate but that is because I come from a family of great storytellers which is not the same as great liars.

  My most endearing trait, and being as modest as I am I had to ask my brother Jimmie for this, is that I have the heart of a champion, am steady as a rock and can be counted on to do what is required. Jimmie also said I am the smartest kid he has ever met, but my all-encompassing and pervasive humility prevents me from putting that on this list.

  My first pet peeve is when people don’t pronounce my name right. They’ll say Dee-za instead of Dez-uh, just like the first syllable of a desert, like the Sahara, which is geologically a arid, huge part of Africa. And they do it on purpose. My second pet peeve is that the Gary Iron-Head Dogs, the best baseball team in the world, have been cursed and will never win the Negro Leagues championship.

  My dream is to read every book in the Gary Public Library and to be a teacher who has the reputation for being tough but fair. Just like Mrs. Needham.

  I had the perfect ending for the essay.

  In summation and conclusion, the Malone family has four members who are very bright, very good-looking and uniquely talented, just not all in one person at the same time. We are the only family in the world, in my ken, that has a motto of our own! That motto is “We are a family on a journey to a place called Wonderful.”

  I can’t wait until we get there!

  Chapter Two

  The Pie Thief

  Jimmie said, “So, what’s for dessert, Ma?”

  We had just finished supper and Chiefs’ and Children’s Chow Chat, something Father had made up where we told each other what our day had been like.

  Mother’s eyes locked on Jimmie’s. She saw he was serious. “Well, Master Malone, this evening the chef has prepared for your dessert a lovely stack of dishes which Deza will wash and you will dry.”

  Jimmie said, “How ’bout tonight we just let those dishes drip themselves dry?”

  Mother said, “How ’bout tonight, just like every other night, we let ’em be dried by a little drip?”

  Jimmie was still smiling. Most times if any of us forgot and called him anything that had the word “little” in it he’d get pouty and would quit talking.

  “Can I be excused for a second?”

  Mother nodded and Jimmie went into the living room.

  Father said, “Dessert? Where did that come from?”

  From the porch Jimmie yelled, “Hey!”

  He walked back through the dining room and into the kitchen holding something behind his back.

  A second later he came back smiling like a Cheshire cat, still with his hands behind his back.

  He said, “Ma, I’ma give you one more chance. What would have to happen for me to take a month or two off from drying the dishes?”

  Mother said, “What’s this all about, Jimmie? You can get a couple of months off doing the dishes if lightning strikes either one of us.”

  Jimmie put his hand to his ear. “Wait! Was that the roll of thunder I just heard? Ta-da!” He showed us a pie tin holding a half a gorgeous apple pie!

  It was thicker and bigger than any pie I’d ever seen. The crust was the same light-brown goldy color as the wood floor in the kitchen. There were strips of dough on it in a criss-cross way and some of the juices had bubbled up and oozed out.

  Father said, “Where did you get that pie?”

  Jimmie said, “You don’t know, and you don’t want to know.”

  I had to shake my head. Jimmie loves talking about rocket ships and outer space and I figure that’s because he comes from a different planet than the rest of the Malones.

  And most other people who live on Earth too.

  He was smiling and making his eyebrows go up and down. He was hopping from one foot to the other. All he needed was a green hat and some pointy shoes with big silver buckles to look like a little brown leprechaun holding on to a pot of gold.

  I shook my head. Jimmie had broken our deal.

  Our deal was that if I was going to do anything that wasn’t about school or books or studying, stuff he calls “regular living,” I’d ask him for his advice. I said I’d do it if he promised when he made plans that were about anything more than breathing, he’d ask for my advice.

  I would’ve told him that popping up in front of us with this pie for dessert was a terrible idea.

  Mother is a pretty good baker and she couldn’t ever make a pie like this one. And we all knew there was no way the Malones could afford such a pie. It was something you’d think the Carsdales would eat.

  Mother said, “Where … did … you … get … that?”

  Jimmie looked at Mother and Father.

  I had to stop him before he lied. “Jimmie! Tell the truth. Just tell the truth.”

  “Uh … I kind of took it off of a lady’s windowsill. But I paid her for it.”

  Father pushed his chair back and stood up. “OK, let’s go.”

  “Go? Where?”

  “You’re returning this pie. Who ate the rest of it with you?”

  Jimmie looked to the side, a sure sign that what he was going to say wasn’t all the way true.

  “No one, Pa. It was like that when I found it.”

  Father said, “Found? James Malone, you stole that pie.”

  When Mother is upset her face gives a warning. The skin between her eyebrows folds and you can tell how much trouble you’re in by counting the lines that pop up there. If it looks like a 1, you’re OK. If it looks like 1-1-1-1-1, watch out!

  She was at 1-1-1. “Hold on, Roscoe. Jimmie, this is extremely important—did you steal that pie from a white neighborhood?”

  “No, ma’am. I got it over by the park.”

  She dropped down to 1. “Thank God.”

  Father said, “Let’s go.”

  Jimmie got nervous. And that was strange.

  Living on Earth had made Jimmie very tough, and something like returning a pie shouldn’t bother him this much. Then I saw what it was. He’d be humiliated to death if any of his criminal friends saw him being dragged down the street by his father like a five-year-old kid.

  Father’s tone changed. “Move it. Now.”

  Jimmie’s eyes went from Father to the front door. He was going to make a break for it!

  I stood up, took the pie and said, “I’ll take him back. We’ll return the woman’s pie. Jimmie, promise them right now you’ll come and won’t give me any lip and will do everything I say.”

  Jimmie’s eyes went from me to the door. I stamped my foot. “You apologize right now! Tell them you’ll work for the woman for as long as she wants until the pie’s paid off. Do it!”

  Jimmie waited a heartbeat. “I’m sorry. I’ll do everything Deza says.”

  Father wasn’t buying it. “Too late. Let’s go.”

  I caught Mother’s eye and she said, “Hold on, Roscoe. Come into the kitchen for a minute.”

  Father told Jimmie, “Don’t you move.”

  They left us standing there.

  I slapped Jimmie’s arm. “We had a deal! You’re supposed to come to me before you do anything like this.”

  Jimmie looked down. “Aw, sis, I’m sorry. I feel like I’m the only one not pulling his weight around here. I wasn’t looking to steal nothing, all I wanted to do was help.”

  “What are you talking about? You help all the time. You don’t get in as much trouble as you used to, you always bring something for supper, you sing for us whenever we ask—that helps.”

  “But I wanted to do something special. I only wanted you all to be proud of me.”

  “By stealing?”

  “It wasn’t stealing, I left the woman some money.”

  “Jimmie, you only make things worse by lying all the—”

  Mother and Father came back.

  Father had the kitchen clock in his hand. “How far off does this woman l
ive?”

  Jimmie said, “Just past the park.”

  Father set the clock on the table. “Deza, you’ve got forty-five minutes.”

  “We’ll be back in time.”

  I got a clean dishrag to cover the pie and we left.

  When we walked Jimmie tried to trick me into getting in a conversation, but I kept strong and scowled.

  It was a good thing it was me walking with Jimmie instead of Father. Every friend Jimmie ever had was sitting on their porches or walking down Gary’s streets.

  Jimmie started that funny walk he and his friends do. He put the thumb of his right hand in his front belt loop and swung his left arm far out in front, then far out behind. He dragged one of his legs and hopped more than walked. Mother thinks this is a scream. She says it’s just a nonsense walk some young men use to draw attention to themselves. Rooster-strutting, she calls it.

  “Jim-Jim,” one rooster-strutter yelled, “what’s shaking?”

  “Ain’t nothing going on but the rent, baby.”

  “Where you headed, pops?”

  “Just taking baby sis over to the park to lay this pie on some po’ folks.”

  “We po’, baby.”

  Jimmie laughed. “Ain’t that the truth! Catch y’all later.”

  I could tell we were close to the woman’s house. Jimmie started walking like a normal person and the nervous look came back to his face.

  He stopped. “Sis, I gotta tell you the truth about something.”

  “You don’t have to say a word, I know you didn’t pay anybody for this pie.”

  “I did pay! But it was a whole pie when I first got it. I hid it under a porch chair before I brought it in and when I got outside a rotten stray dog was chomping on it like a old bone. He ran off the porch with it in his mouth but dropped it on the sidewalk and—”

  “Jimmie! You were going to let us eat a pie that a dog had dropped out of its mouth? On the ground?”

  “Deza! Stop interrupting, please. I cut the chewed-on parts off and wiped the dog’s slob off the rest. I said, ‘God kissed it, devil missed it,’ and it wasn’t on the ground long enough to pick up any germs.”

  He pointed at a beautiful house across the street. “It was that place there. Is there any way you and me could eat the rest and let Ma and Pa think we give it back? We could leave the tin on the porch.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “I had to give it a try. Come on, let’s get this over with.”

  “We’re not going to give that poor woman a pie that was dropped on the ground and that a dog has been licking! We’ve got to get rid of it.”

  He said, “I’ll drop it in the sewer. I bet the rats won’t mind a little dog slob.”

  I started to hand the pie to Jimmie, then stopped.

  What he said made me think.

  It was such a beautiful pie that it did seem a shame to waste. But there was no way me and Jimmie would eat it. The Malones shouldn’t get anything good from something that Jimmie stole.

  I pulled the tin back. “No. Come on.”

  Some poor people do live in the park. They sleep in huts and tents in the woods. We should give human beings first choice to see if they wanted this pie.

  Except for the big baseball diamond and stands, the park isn’t really much of a park. It’s just four swing sets and three or four picnic benches next to some woods.

  As me and Jimmie walked between the trees we could see three saggy, sad little wood and cardboard huts with a group of women and children sitting in front of each one.

  I walked over to the hut with the most children.

  A woman looked up. “Hello, dear.”

  “Hello, ma’am. My name is Deza Malone and my brother made a mistake and took a pie from someone and we were going to return it to the woman but I found out at the last minute that half of the pie had got chewed on by a dog. Jimmie cut all the doggy parts off of the pie and wiped the dog’s spit from the rest. It’s the most beautiful pie I’ve ever seen and I thought it would be a shame to throw it away. I was wondering if you and your kids might like to have it instead?”

  I took the dishrag off and the woman said, “Now, that’s a pie! Sweetheart, thank you very much! We’d love to have it.”

  She laughed. “A little dog slob could never ruin a fine pie like this. Besides, do you know how many times we’ve had to fight dogs off of something we were gonna eat?”

  She dipped her finger in the juices and closed her eyes. “My, my, my! Whoever baked this knew what she was doing.”

  She pulled a piece of apple out of the pie and reached it to me.

  She said, “I think if you ate one little bit it wouldn’t hurt. We won’t let the thief have any if that makes you feel better.”

  Jimmie said, “I paid her some money.”

  The woman said, “Boy, hush!”

  It’s rude to refuse food if someone offers it. Even if it tastes terrible and makes you want to gag, you still have to tell them how much you appreciate it.

  “Thank you, ma’am.” I put the piece of apple in my mouth.

  Eating this pie must be what it feels like to read the greatest book ever at the same time you’re sitting in a bathtub full of soapy bubbles like a rich white woman in a magazine!

  The woman called out, “Roslyn, Coleen, come here and bring a sharp knife. This child has gone to heaven and brought a little piece back for us.”

  She said, “Can y’all stay for supper? The men should be back with some catfish.”

  “Thank you, ma’am, but we have to get this pie tin back.”

  She slid the pie onto a piece of cardboard and looked at Jimmie. “Son, you’re so young, you need to learn not to thieve folks’ food, cut it out.”

  Jimmie said, “I’m fifteen.”

  She looked surprised. “I don’t care how old you are. What kind of example you setting for this here girl?”

  Jimmie said, “I know it was a mistake. I said I was gonna ’pologize.”

  “Fine, but before you do, could the two of you do me a favor? Whilst you’re at the pie lady’s house could you distract her so the thief here could stuff a couple of ’em under his shirt for me?”

  Even Jimmie laughed. I said, “Thank you, ma’am, we’ve got to be going.”

  She said, “No, sweetheart, thank you!” I wiped the tin with the dishrag as we headed toward the house of the best baker in the world.

  Chapter Three

  The Pie Lady’s Revenge

  We stepped onto the porch. Jimmie grabbed my arm before I could knock.

  “This was my fault, Deza, there ain’t no shame or blame in your game. Give me the tin.”

  I rolled my eyes. This was more of Jimmie’s jazz-musician talk.

  “Besides,” he said, “what if she comes out shooting?”

  He knocked.

  A very pretty, very tall and distinctive-looking woman with a glorious mane of pulled-back silver-and-black hair and tiny glasses on her nose opened the door.

  “Hello, may I help you?”

  “Excuse me, ma’am. My name is Jimmie Malone and it was me who took your pie.”

  The woman looked over her little glasses and put her hand on her hip. “Oh, really?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I come to apologize, give you your tin back, and see what I gotta do to make it up to you.”

  She came out on the porch. She was dressed like a rich lady in a very nice blue dress and a lovely pair of brown sandals.

  “What do you propose?”

  Jimmie said, “I can do all kinds of odd jobs until you tell me to stop, ma’am.”

  The woman looked at me. “You’re his big sister?”

  Oh, boy.

  “No, ma’am, Jimmie’s my older brother. I’m kind of big for my age.”

  She said, “You two ate that whole pie all by yourselves?”

  Jimmie said, “No, ma’am, she didn’t have nothing to do with it. A rotten mutt ate half the pie and I was gonna bring the other half back but Deza told me giving you
a pie that a dog had been licking on wasn’t right, so we give it to some folks in the park who are down on their luck.”

  “Oh, I see. You steal from the rich and give to the poor.”

  Jimmie thought for a second, then smiled. “Yeah. That’s what I did. I took from the rich and gave to the poor.” He said it like he was very humble and proud at the same time.

  “Only problem with your epiphany is I don’t believe there’s a rich person within ten miles of here. All right, Robin Hood, how much did you eat?”

  I’d have to look “epiphany” up in my dictionary.

  Jimmie said, “I just ate the scraps I cut off that the dog didn’t finish.”

  She said, “How was it?”

  Jimmie said, “Ma’am, the parts I ate had some dog slob on ’em and were a little crunchy from the dirt but it still was the best thing I ever ate.”

  She looked at me. “Did you eat any?”

  “Well, ma’am, Mother tells us it’s a grand and kind gesture when someone offers you food and it’s the height of rudeness to turn them down. The lady in the park handed me some so I ate one slice of apple.”

  “What did you think?”

  “It was heavenly.”

  She pointed at Jimmie. “Robin Hood, sit on that top step. Miss Malone, come inside with me.”

  Jimmie sat and I said, “Ma’am, we’re not allowed to go into strangers’ houses.”

  She smiled. “Good girl. Make sure the thief doesn’t take it on the lam. I’ll be right back.”

  I pulled up all the sarcasm I had. “Thanks a bunch, Jimmie. I don’t know if I’ll ever speak to you again. You better not ever steal another thing in your life.”

  “I know, I know.”

  The woman came back with a tray and two glasses rimming with milk and two pieces of apple pie!

  She set it on a table between two porch chairs.

  “What was your name again, young lady?”

  “Deza. Deza Malone, ma’am.”

  “My name is Dr. Bracy. Please join me for some pie. And I know you won’t turn me down, because I’m making the sort of grand gesture which, as your mother has taught you, is rude to refuse.”