Life Can Be Puzzling

The tale I am about to unfold speaks to many things. Ivy was eight years old and not very smart. I was ten and dumber yet.  Arville at six and Diane just two might be excused.  Of course by all that’s right and holy Ivy and I ought not be judged too harshly. The grown-ups in the family were not as forthcoming about important things as they could or should have been.

Here is the tale.

It was midday of a cool November day when we were piled in the truck and taken to Grandma Neely’s house. We had barely arrived when Daddy put us back in the truck—all crammed in the front seat with him—and we set out for home. Without  Mommie.  “Why’s Mommie not coming home?” Arville whined more than asked.

“She’s staying with Grandma,” Daddy answered.

“Why?”  Ivy asked.

“Cause.” Daddy said tersely.

“Why cause?” I asked

“Just cause she is. Now stop your pestering ”

Further questions evoked harsher answers. So we stopped asking—but not wondering.

After we  finished the evening chores Daddy heated up leftovers for supper. Ivy and I pondered together what was going on. Grandma was not sick; she did not need Mommie to take care of her. Long after Arville and Diane were asleep Ivy and I lay side by side in our bed whispering possible reasons why things were happening as they were.

After morning chores we found ourselves back in the truck and on the way to Grandma’s house again.  Jumping from the truck we bounded toward the house to be stopped at the door by Grandma and Aunt Stashie. “Where’s Mommie?’ Ivy asked.

“In the back room.” Grandma said.  “Now you youngens keep down the noise when you go in there.”

“Is Mommie sick?” I asked.

“Not sick, but she’s all wore out.  She ain’t had enough sleep.”

Grandma shepherded us into the room where Mommie lay in the bed.  In her arms she cradled a tiny baby.  A total and complete surprise to the four of us.  And not a particularly happy one for Diane whose new brother had just pushed her out of her place as baby.  Nor for me who had not wanted Diane two years ago.  Ivy and Arville were more accepting of baby brother James Barton.  Or so they seemed.