Alter - Mattie

by

Smashwords Edition

Copyright Judy Alter 1988

First published by Doubleday, New York,1988

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All of the characters in this book

are fictitious, and any resemblance

to actual persons, living or dead,

is purely coincidental

Authors Note

Readers familiar with Nebraska history andthe story of pioneer doctor Georgia Arbuckle-Fix will recognizesome elements of her story in this novel. Dr. Arbuckle-Fixs lifeand dedication did indeed inspire me to explore the personality ofa woman who stayed on the prairie when easier ways of life offeredthemselves, but Mattie Armstrong is wholly imaginary and isintended in no way to reflect particular actions or beliefs of Dr.Arbuckle-Fix. All other characters are purely imaginary, and anyresemblance to real individuals, living or dead, is purelycoincidental.

My mother was an unmarried mother, fallenwoman, they called her back in Princeton, Missouri. They called herthat and a lot worse names, most of which I didnt understand atthe time, thank goodness. It wasnt just that Mama made onemistakemebut I had a little brother, Will Henry, and neither ofus had a father that we knew about. Will Henry was seven yearsyounger than me, and youd think Id remember a man being aroundthe house about that time to account for my brothers appearance,but I didnt. I used to wonder if Mama had somehow gotten caught inthe great war just passed or if my father had fought in that war.For much of my growing-up years, Mama never told us if we had thesame father or not. When either of us asked, Mama became flusteredand impatient and usually just said, I dont want to talk aboutit. There would be tears in her eyes that made me feel guilty andcruel, so I would abandon the subject.

But Mamas status caused both of us a lot ofgrief. I can still remember trips to the store for whatever smallbit of staples Mama could afford. Other kids would tease, Wheresyour father? Aint you heard? She aint got none. You know whatthat makes her mama. I never did learn to ignore those taunts. Idturn bright red and feel myself tense up as I headed for homeinstead of completing my errand. Sometimes Mama sent me to collectironing. Taking in ironing was one way she made a little money forus, and I can still see her heating that sad iron over the stove,then struggling to press its weight down just right on some sheerand wonderful dress that belonged to a rich lady in town.

We lived in a two-room wooden shack, tworooms only because Mama hung a frayed blanket kind of in the middleto separate the cooking area from the sleeping area, and we threeslept in the same bed, all the time until I left home at the age offourteen. But thats getting ahead of my story.

Mama also took in sewing, and thats how Imet the Canary family. One day I had to go with Mama to fit a dresson Mary Jane, the daughter, who was just about my age. Will Henrywas a toddler then, and Mama left him with someone else; heavenonly knows at this point who it might have been. But she dressed meup the best she could, even ironing my patched cotton dress, andtaking great care with her own appearance, wearing a worn flanneldress in subdued gray. She had cleverly redone it to hide the worstspots and had even added a small white ruffle at the neck. If youdidnt look too closely, she seemed as well dressed as the nextgrand lady.

Least the patches are neat, Mattie. We wantthem to know that I sew a fine seam and that I have some taste inclothes, dont we?

Yes, Mama. I was always ready to agreewith her when Mama was happy, like she was that day.

La, child, this may be the beginning of abetter life for us. The Canarys may take a liking to my work andmaybe to you, and that would... well, it might make thingseasier. She laughed and tied her bonnet in a flourishing bow.Being less than ten, I believed Mama that it could all be true. Ihadnt yet learned to be skeptical about Mamas new beginnings andsearch for my own.

We were both in high spirits as we set out.Mama was still a beautiful woman, with pale brown hair and highcheekbones that maybe came from a not too remote Indian ancestor,but she was beginning already to look tired and worn out. I guessshe must have been near thirty then. Still, tired or not, she drewlooks as we walked down the dirt road and crossed the tracks to theright side of town.

On the other hand, I must have resembled myunknown father, or at the least that Indian ancestor, for I hadnone of Mamas prettiness. Tall for my age and skinny, I was anawkward, angular child with coarse dark hair which I wore pulledback so that it emphasized my high cheekbones and dark eyes. I usedto dream about that unknown Indian in the family background andimagine that my Indian looks were mysterious.

Little kids didnt tease me when I was withMama, but they were only slightly more discreet about theircuriosity. I saw them pointing and staring, but there was no way Icould run and hide, so I marched right along beside Mama, wishingthe earth would open and swallow me.

Isnt it a grand day, Mattie?

Yes, Mama, it sure is.

What would you most like to do today?

Well, maybe mend that doll of mine ...

Oh, fiddle, Mattie, let your imaginationgo. Choose something that we probably cant do.

I didnt hesitate at all. Id like to hitchup a horse and buggy and leave here... forever!

Mama looked alarmed. Mattie, why? This isour home now.

Now? Wasnt it always?

Ever since you can remember, baby. But notalways for me. She had a wistful look on her face, and I wonderedagain about Mama, where she had come from, who her own mama was andall those questions she never would answer. In a way, I was cut offfrom my own roots, for we had no relatives in Princeton, Missouri,not even any friends. Somewhere, I guessed, Mama had a family, butthere was no contact between them, and if it bothered Mama, sherarely let on.

Because of the lilt in her voice and hergenteel ways, I thought Mama came from the South, and that made methink of the war again. Mama, I asked hesitantly, where are ... well, where did you come from?

Not here, child, she said, laughing,certainly not here. But it was a long way away and a long timeago. I dont want to talk about it.

I could guess that Mamas family must havebeen pretty rich, because my own piddling amount of schooling bythen had shown me that Mama had had a lot of education. She had oneor two booksa copy of Shakespeare and some books of poems that sheread aloud to me sometimes. Mostly then, I didnt understand them,but I listened because it seemed important to Mama and seemedsomehow to calm and soothe her to read those big words about thingsthat were beyond me. I was, you might say, a tractable child.

And somewhere Mama surely had learned to sewa fine seam. Her handwork was as neat and tiny as any Ive seen tothis day, and she had an eye for good lace, fine materials andwell-cut dresses.

That, of course, was what had brought us outthat day. We arrived at the Canary home, which looked like amansion to me, big and white and neat and clean, with bloomingflowers in the front and a white picket fence, freshly painted allthe way around. It was a two-story house with a gabled roof, lotsof windows and even a balcony with a railing below and gingerbreaddecoration at the top. From outside, you could see heavy drapespulled back for the day at every window.