Rose & Thorn Journal - Winter 2011
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Brenda Wilson Wooley’s work has appeared in The Birmingham Arts Journal, Kentucky Monthly Magazine, Etchings Literary Journal, Existere: A Journal of Arts & Literature, The Mayo Review, and other print and online literary journals. She makes her home in Paducah, Kentucky, where she is working on a novel and a collection of short stories. Visit her at onekentuckywriter.
Brenda Wilson Wooley
After Jackson phones with news that his mother is coming for a visit, Ellie hurries to the kitchen and grabs the paring knife. She drops into a dining chair, caressing the smooth, worn handle, running her finger up and down the thin, sharp blade, already seeing those flashing blue spots behind her eyeballs.
She has a migraine each time her mother-in-law visits.
Grace is the perfect homemaker and housekeeper, the perfect cook. Her roast beef is tender and juicy, mashed potatoes creamy and smooth. Her yeast rolls are light and flaky, and her apple pie is the best; the crust melts in your mouth, apples just tart enough, just sweet enough. She uses only Granny Smith apples, chopping them in tiny, uniform squares with her paring knife.
But that was before her knife disappeared.
Ellie first spotted it about a year ago when she was drying dishes for Grace. Smooth and worn from years of use, it had been sharpened so many times that the blade was less than a quarter-inch wide at the tip.
"Odd looking little thing, isn’t it?" Grace said, "It’s my favorite knife."
Ellie places the knife back in the drawer, making a mental note to hide it before Grace arrives. Her nerves couldn't stand another close call. On one visit, Ellie had forgotten to take it out of the drawer and thought of it just seconds before Grace offered to set the table. On her last visit, she was actually peeling potatoes with the knife when Grace arrived. She has got to be more careful!
Oh, well, she'll worry about that later. Right now, there is work to be done.
First, she must clean the house from top to bottom. And then she must clean out the kitchen cupboards. During her last visit, Grace opened one. “Oh dear,” she said, a look of horror crossing her face, “Would you like me to clean this for you?”
After Jackson retires for the night, Ellie dusts everything in the house, including light fixtures, and then she tackles the guest room, stripping the bed, taking down the curtains. When everything is washed, dried and ironed, curtains put back up and bed made, she mops the living room floor and waxes it on her hands and knees. Then she heads to the kitchen.
As she is waxing the kitchen floor, Ellie suddenly feels uneasy. She hesitates, glances over her shoulder, and looks at the clock. It is midnight. Goosebumps rush up and down her back as she crawls to the window, pulls back the curtains and gazes into the misty darkness.
It reminds her of the night she took the paring knife.
Jackson was visiting a friend and Grace had gone to a business meeting at her church. Although it was the first time Ellie had been alone in the big farm house, she felt comfortable. But when twilight descended, uneasiness crept over her. She eased herself into Grace's recliner, trying to relax, but as she gazed through the thin curtains into the gathering darkness, she suddenly realized anyone could look right in and see her. Plain as day!
She hurried to the kitchen and yanked down the window shade, and then she dropped into a dining chair, telling herself there was no reason to worry; Jackson and Grace would be back any minute.
Suddenly, she heard a noise at the back door.
She jumped up, scanning the kitchen for a weapon, and then she ran to the silverware drawer and grabbed the first sharp instrument she could find: the paring knife. She was afraid to go to the back door to investigate, so she rushed into the bedroom and locked the door.
When she heard the front door open and Grace's familiar footsteps, her body sagged with relief. She started to open the bedroom door when she realized she was still holding Grace’s paring knife.
"Ellie?" Grace called.
She stood, dead still, eyes darting around the room. She spotted her suitcase open and lying on the bed, so she tossed the knife on top of their clothes and snapped it shut.
She took a deep breath and opened the door.
They left the next morning, so Ellie forgot about the knife. Until they got home. As she was preparing to unpack, there it lay.
On Thanksgiving, she planned to take it back and put it in Grace's silverware drawer before she discovered it missing. But it slipped her mind. She vowed to take it back during their Christmas visit. It slipped her mind again. By the time Easter rolled around, she realized she couldn’t. Grace cleaned every nook and cranny, and she knew where everything in her house was, so she was sure to know Ellie had stolen it and brought it back. She considered confessing, but she could just imagine how appalled Grace would be. She might think she was a kleptomaniac. Or worse yet, a low-down, rotten thief!
Grace never mentioned the knife when they were there, even when she was peeling vegetables with a brand new paring knife. And Ellie found that very strange. Grace knew her favorite knife was missing; that is why she bought the new one! Ellie considered telling Jackson, but she knew he would tell Grace. He told her everything. And she knew Grace had not told Jackson about her suspicions; if she had, Jackson would chew her out and make her take it back.
Since it was there, Ellie saw no reason why she shouldn’t put the knife to use. So she began using it to peel her vegetables. Soon she was looking for excuses to use the knife, often peeling an apple or a pear just for the sheer pleasure of holding it. The smooth, worn handle felt as if it were made for her hand, the blade so thin, delicate. So sharp.
Ellie moves away from the window and drops her head in her hands. She wishes she never had to lay eyes on Grace again as long as she lives!
After she finishes waxing the floor, she falls into bed. She is exhausted, but it is a long time before she sinks into a restless sleep.
She is jolted awake by Jackson’s voice. "You better get up! You’ve got a lot to do, with Momma coming and all."
Ellie barely has enough energy to get out of bed, but she feels better as she is taking a shower. She loves the scent of her new Avon shampoo. It reminds her of the huge lilac bushes in her aunt's yard where she hid as a child to escape her aunt's constant condemnation. She was raised by her aunt, a spinster school teacher, after her parents were killed in an automobile accident. Aunt Hazel acted just like Grace; she even looked like Grace. Small, neat, disapproving.
A scene when she was five often flashes through her mind: She is coming into the house after playing all afternoon when Aunt Hazel grabs her and slaps her across the face. "Just look at you!" she screams, You are dirty, dirty, dirty!" She puts Ellie in the bath tub and scrubs her until she is raw, then she makes her clean the tub. "There better not be one speck in that tub when you’re finished!"
After Jackson leaves for work, Ellie goes through the house, checking for scuff marks on the hardwood floors and smudges on the walls and doors. There is a smudge on the living room window, so she cleans it with Windex, and then she checks all windows for smudges and fingerprints. Afterward, she rearranges all of the drawers in the house. Grace might look in them.
When Jackson gets home from work on Friday evening, Ellie is browning ground round for Grace’s favorite dish: stuffed green peppers.
He walks into the kitchen and squats. "What’s that?" he says, staring at a speck on the floor. "That’ll be the first thing Momma sees when she walks in this kitchen!"
Ellie kneels to inspect the spot. It looks like the remains of a squashed fly. She wipes it up with a paper towel, and then she dampens another paper towel and wipes the spot. It leaves a smudge on the shining floor, so she drags out the floor polisher and buffs the spot. Since that spot looks shinier than the rest of the floor, she buffs the whole kitchen. By the time she finishes, her blouse is wet with perspiration, so she takes another shower and dons another blouse.
When Grace arrives, Ellie is coring the green peppers. She stops and accompanies Jackson to the door.
"How’s my boy?" Grace says, relinquishing her cashmere blazer to Ellie and hugging Jackson. "You look pale, honey. Have you been eating right?"
They are following Ellie into the kitchen when she realizes she has forgotten the paring knife! She cringes, eyes darting here and there, and then she spots it protruding from one of the green peppers. For all the world to see! She backs toward the counter, trying to block Grace's view. "The stuffed green peppers will be ready soon, Grace," she says. "I know they’re your favorite."
Grace purses her tiny lips and raises her eyebrows, gazing at the air-conditioner vent where a cobweb waves joyfully in the air.
Ellie grabs the knife, jams it into her pocket and gasps, shock waves of pain racing up and down her leg. She stands, gritting her teeth, until Grace and Jackson leave the kitchen, and then she sprints to the bathroom. She jerks down her jeans and plops on the stool, watching the blood trickle down her leg. She blots the wound with a towel and cleans it with alcohol, and then she takes a deep breath, slaps on a band-aid, and rushes back to her green peppers.
That night, Ellie cleans the cobweb from the vent and scrubs it with Clorox, and then she scrubs every other vent in the house, praying they are clean in the room where Grace is sleeping.
As she is undressing for bed, the knife clatters to the floor. She freezes, staring at Jackson’s face. When he groans and turns over, she slips carefully between the covers and pushes the knife under her pillow. She closes her eyes and tries to count sheep: One, two, three. The sheep will not cooperate; they just stand there. Finally, one starts to jump but turns and tries to slink away. The others attack Ellie, ripping the flesh from her bones in pink, quivering chunks. She dies a bloody and ghastly death.
She wakes with a pounding migraine, body trembling. She hardly sleeps the rest of the night.
"My allergies are acting up," Grace says the next morning. "There must be a lot of dust in my bedroom." She turns to Jackson. "Honey, could you take me to the mall?"
"We’ll all go," Jackson says. "Ellie loves shopping at the mall.”
"Oh, I’m sure Ellie has things to do here."
After they leave, Ellie dusts Grace's bedroom again and strips her bed. She washes and irons the sheets, and then she takes the curtains down and washes and irons them. When everything is back in place, she stands back and gazes around the room: Nothing is clean, not in Grace’s room, not in the whole house! I'm filthy, too! I've got to take another shower!
She is draped on the sofa, hair still wet, when they return.
"I’m so proud of my boy," Grace says. "He walked all over that mall with me and didn’t even complain." She glances at Ellie. "I hope your wife appreciates you the way I do."
After Jackson and Grace have gone to bed, Ellie slips into the bedroom and retrieves the knife from under her pillow. She heads for the kitchen, where she begins chopping ham, onions and red peppers for the omelets she plans to serve the next morning for breakfast.
She stops every now and then, stroking the worn little handle, caressing the smooth, sharp blade. She chops faster and faster, trying not to think about Grace, as a sudden jolt of pain ripples through her finger. She gazes at the bright red blood seeping from the cut, unable to pull her eyes away, and then she tears off a piece of paper towel and wraps it around her finger. She leans against the counter, weak and shaky, before gathering the strength to continue.
After finishing, she washes the knife in hot, sudsy water, dries it thoroughly, and heads back to the bedroom where she tucks it under her pillow and buries herself deep within the covers. It is a long time before she goes to sleep.
She wakes with a start, head and leg throbbing, gown soaked with perspiration. What woke her?
She grabs the knife and slips out of bed, silence ringing in her ears.
Suddenly, Grace coughs.
Ellie cocks her head and hesitates, and then she creeps down the hall to Grace's bedroom, carefully opening the door and peering inside.
Grace lies on her back, snoring softly. Her perfect hairdo is covered by a pink hairnet, moisturized face gleaming in the moonlight filtering through the half-closed blinds. Her tiny, fuzzy house shoes sit on the floor next to the bed, and on the chair is her outfit for tomorrow: sharply creased gray slacks and a gray silk blouse with a bow at the neck.
Ellie grips the knife with slippery hands and creeps to the bed, looking down at Grace. A vein throbs in her saggy neck. Up and down. Up and down. She moves closer, watching the throbbing vein and gazing at Grace’s tiny face.
In the semi-darkness, she resembles Aunt Hazel.
She moves closer. The face is altering, like a movie she once saw where a man slowly changed into a werewolf. Hair rises on the back of her neck as she clutches the knife in her perspiring hand, studying Grace’s face from first one angle and then the other. Sometimes it looks as if it’s changing; other times it’s the Aunt Hazel she remembers. Or is it Grace?
She stops for a few seconds, gazing around the room, and then she looks down at Grace again.
When Jackson enters the kitchen the next morning, Ellie is humming.
"Good morning, dear!" she says, removing an omelet from the skillet and pouring more eggs in. "Did you sleep well?"
"Wonder why Momma’s not up?" he says, heading down the hall. "I'd better check on her."
Ellie opens the back door and steps out onto the dew-covered grass. "What a beautiful morning!" she says, strolling into the yard. "Amazing!"
Suddenly, she remembers her favorite gospel song. She throws her head back: “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me . . . .” She has not sung in a long, long time. It feels good! Her gait picks up and she is loping now, voice loud and piercing: “I once was lost, but now I’m found . . . .”
She stops and squats, and then she plunges her hands into the cold, moist ground and begins digging. How good it feels to put her hands in pure old dirt. She digs faster and faster, laughing aloud: If Aunt Hazel caught me, she'd beat the fuck out of me!
She stands and wipes her hands on her robe, and then she pulls the paring knife from her pocket and turns it this way and that, stroking the worn handle, the thin, tiny tip. She pushes her finger into the sharp blade, watching it sink deep into her skin, red droplets oozing out and trickling down her arm and onto her hand. She presses the wound and watches it pulsate, ripples of pleasure washing over her body, and then she grabs the hem of her robe and begins rubbing the blade of the tiny knife, buffing it, polishing it to a high gloss.
She drops to the ground, still polishing it. It must be immaculate; there must be nothing on it. Nothing at all. She gazes at it once more, gleaming in the light of the morning sun, and drops it into the hole.
She rises, blood-soaked hands lifted toward the sky.“Was blind, but now I see!”
She kneels and begins throwing dirt over the knife: more dirt, more, more, more! When it is covered, she squashes the dirt with her feet, looking down at her beat-up house shoes: Old house shoes, nothing like Aunt Hazel’s tiny, fuzzy ones! She pounds first with one foot and then the other, stomping and stomping, packing down each clump, each bump, slinging her house shoes high in the air, bare feet slapping the cool, clammy dirt. It is flat now, but not quite flat enough. She must get it completely flat, nice and smooth. As smooth as can be. Perfectly smooth.
Jackson is yelling. He’s yelling real loud. He’s probably fighting mad about those omelets. I must get back to them. They’re cold by now. I'll have to heat them in the microwave. No, that might make them tough. I'll have to make more. Yes, that’s what I’ll do! I’ll make fresh ones!
That’s what Grace would do.
Amazing Grace
After Jackson phones with news that his mother is coming for a visit, Ellie hurries to the kitchen and grabs the paring knife. She drops into a dining chair, caressing the smooth, worn handle, running her finger up and down the thin, sharp blade, already seeing those flashing blue spots behind her eyeballs.
She has a migraine each time her mother-in-law visits.
Grace is the perfect homemaker and housekeeper, the perfect cook. Her roast beef is tender and juicy, mashed potatoes creamy and smooth. Her yeast rolls are light and flaky, and her apple pie is the best; the crust melts in your mouth, apples just tart enough, just sweet enough. She uses only Granny Smith apples, chopping them in tiny, uniform squares with her paring knife.
But that was before her knife disappeared.
Ellie first spotted it about a year ago when she was drying dishes for Grace. Smooth and worn from years of use, it had been sharpened so many times that the blade was less than a quarter-inch wide at the tip.
"Odd looking little thing, isn’t it?" Grace said, "It’s my favorite knife."
Ellie places the knife back in the drawer, making a mental note to hide it before Grace arrives. Her nerves couldn't stand another close call. On one visit, Ellie had forgotten to take it out of the drawer and thought of it just seconds before Grace offered to set the table. On her last visit, she was actually peeling potatoes with the knife when Grace arrived. She has got to be more careful!
Oh, well, she'll worry about that later. Right now, there is work to be done.
First, she must clean the house from top to bottom. And then she must clean out the kitchen cupboards. During her last visit, Grace opened one. “Oh dear,” she said, a look of horror crossing her face, “Would you like me to clean this for you?”
After Jackson retires for the night, Ellie dusts everything in the house, including light fixtures, and then she tackles the guest room, stripping the bed, taking down the curtains. When everything is washed, dried and ironed, curtains put back up and bed made, she mops the living room floor and waxes it on her hands and knees. Then she heads to the kitchen.
As she is waxing the kitchen floor, Ellie suddenly feels uneasy. She hesitates, glances over her shoulder, and looks at the clock. It is midnight. Goosebumps rush up and down her back as she crawls to the window, pulls back the curtains and gazes into the misty darkness.
It reminds her of the night she took the paring knife.
Jackson was visiting a friend and Grace had gone to a business meeting at her church. Although it was the first time Ellie had been alone in the big farm house, she felt comfortable. But when twilight descended, uneasiness crept over her. She eased herself into Grace's recliner, trying to relax, but as she gazed through the thin curtains into the gathering darkness, she suddenly realized anyone could look right in and see her. Plain as day!
She hurried to the kitchen and yanked down the window shade, and then she dropped into a dining chair, telling herself there was no reason to worry; Jackson and Grace would be back any minute.
Suddenly, she heard a noise at the back door.
She jumped up, scanning the kitchen for a weapon, and then she ran to the silverware drawer and grabbed the first sharp instrument she could find: the paring knife. She was afraid to go to the back door to investigate, so she rushed into the bedroom and locked the door.
When she heard the front door open and Grace's familiar footsteps, her body sagged with relief. She started to open the bedroom door when she realized she was still holding Grace’s paring knife.
"Ellie?" Grace called.
She stood, dead still, eyes darting around the room. She spotted her suitcase open and lying on the bed, so she tossed the knife on top of their clothes and snapped it shut.
She took a deep breath and opened the door.
They left the next morning, so Ellie forgot about the knife. Until they got home. As she was preparing to unpack, there it lay.
On Thanksgiving, she planned to take it back and put it in Grace's silverware drawer before she discovered it missing. But it slipped her mind. She vowed to take it back during their Christmas visit. It slipped her mind again. By the time Easter rolled around, she realized she couldn’t. Grace cleaned every nook and cranny, and she knew where everything in her house was, so she was sure to know Ellie had stolen it and brought it back. She considered confessing, but she could just imagine how appalled Grace would be. She might think she was a kleptomaniac. Or worse yet, a low-down, rotten thief!
Grace never mentioned the knife when they were there, even when she was peeling vegetables with a brand new paring knife. And Ellie found that very strange. Grace knew her favorite knife was missing; that is why she bought the new one! Ellie considered telling Jackson, but she knew he would tell Grace. He told her everything. And she knew Grace had not told Jackson about her suspicions; if she had, Jackson would chew her out and make her take it back.
Since it was there, Ellie saw no reason why she shouldn’t put the knife to use. So she began using it to peel her vegetables. Soon she was looking for excuses to use the knife, often peeling an apple or a pear just for the sheer pleasure of holding it. The smooth, worn handle felt as if it were made for her hand, the blade so thin, delicate. So sharp.
Ellie moves away from the window and drops her head in her hands. She wishes she never had to lay eyes on Grace again as long as she lives!
After she finishes waxing the floor, she falls into bed. She is exhausted, but it is a long time before she sinks into a restless sleep.
She is jolted awake by Jackson’s voice. "You better get up! You’ve got a lot to do, with Momma coming and all."
Ellie barely has enough energy to get out of bed, but she feels better as she is taking a shower. She loves the scent of her new Avon shampoo. It reminds her of the huge lilac bushes in her aunt's yard where she hid as a child to escape her aunt's constant condemnation. She was raised by her aunt, a spinster school teacher, after her parents were killed in an automobile accident. Aunt Hazel acted just like Grace; she even looked like Grace. Small, neat, disapproving.
A scene when she was five often flashes through her mind: She is coming into the house after playing all afternoon when Aunt Hazel grabs her and slaps her across the face. "Just look at you!" she screams, You are dirty, dirty, dirty!" She puts Ellie in the bath tub and scrubs her until she is raw, then she makes her clean the tub. "There better not be one speck in that tub when you’re finished!"
After Jackson leaves for work, Ellie goes through the house, checking for scuff marks on the hardwood floors and smudges on the walls and doors. There is a smudge on the living room window, so she cleans it with Windex, and then she checks all windows for smudges and fingerprints. Afterward, she rearranges all of the drawers in the house. Grace might look in them.
When Jackson gets home from work on Friday evening, Ellie is browning ground round for Grace’s favorite dish: stuffed green peppers.
He walks into the kitchen and squats. "What’s that?" he says, staring at a speck on the floor. "That’ll be the first thing Momma sees when she walks in this kitchen!"
Ellie kneels to inspect the spot. It looks like the remains of a squashed fly. She wipes it up with a paper towel, and then she dampens another paper towel and wipes the spot. It leaves a smudge on the shining floor, so she drags out the floor polisher and buffs the spot. Since that spot looks shinier than the rest of the floor, she buffs the whole kitchen. By the time she finishes, her blouse is wet with perspiration, so she takes another shower and dons another blouse.
When Grace arrives, Ellie is coring the green peppers. She stops and accompanies Jackson to the door.
"How’s my boy?" Grace says, relinquishing her cashmere blazer to Ellie and hugging Jackson. "You look pale, honey. Have you been eating right?"
They are following Ellie into the kitchen when she realizes she has forgotten the paring knife! She cringes, eyes darting here and there, and then she spots it protruding from one of the green peppers. For all the world to see! She backs toward the counter, trying to block Grace's view. "The stuffed green peppers will be ready soon, Grace," she says. "I know they’re your favorite."
Grace purses her tiny lips and raises her eyebrows, gazing at the air-conditioner vent where a cobweb waves joyfully in the air.
Ellie grabs the knife, jams it into her pocket and gasps, shock waves of pain racing up and down her leg. She stands, gritting her teeth, until Grace and Jackson leave the kitchen, and then she sprints to the bathroom. She jerks down her jeans and plops on the stool, watching the blood trickle down her leg. She blots the wound with a towel and cleans it with alcohol, and then she takes a deep breath, slaps on a band-aid, and rushes back to her green peppers.
That night, Ellie cleans the cobweb from the vent and scrubs it with Clorox, and then she scrubs every other vent in the house, praying they are clean in the room where Grace is sleeping.
As she is undressing for bed, the knife clatters to the floor. She freezes, staring at Jackson’s face. When he groans and turns over, she slips carefully between the covers and pushes the knife under her pillow. She closes her eyes and tries to count sheep: One, two, three. The sheep will not cooperate; they just stand there. Finally, one starts to jump but turns and tries to slink away. The others attack Ellie, ripping the flesh from her bones in pink, quivering chunks. She dies a bloody and ghastly death.
She wakes with a pounding migraine, body trembling. She hardly sleeps the rest of the night.
"My allergies are acting up," Grace says the next morning. "There must be a lot of dust in my bedroom." She turns to Jackson. "Honey, could you take me to the mall?"
"We’ll all go," Jackson says. "Ellie loves shopping at the mall.”
"Oh, I’m sure Ellie has things to do here."
After they leave, Ellie dusts Grace's bedroom again and strips her bed. She washes and irons the sheets, and then she takes the curtains down and washes and irons them. When everything is back in place, she stands back and gazes around the room: Nothing is clean, not in Grace’s room, not in the whole house! I'm filthy, too! I've got to take another shower!
She is draped on the sofa, hair still wet, when they return.
"I’m so proud of my boy," Grace says. "He walked all over that mall with me and didn’t even complain." She glances at Ellie. "I hope your wife appreciates you the way I do."
After Jackson and Grace have gone to bed, Ellie slips into the bedroom and retrieves the knife from under her pillow. She heads for the kitchen, where she begins chopping ham, onions and red peppers for the omelets she plans to serve the next morning for breakfast.
She stops every now and then, stroking the worn little handle, caressing the smooth, sharp blade. She chops faster and faster, trying not to think about Grace, as a sudden jolt of pain ripples through her finger. She gazes at the bright red blood seeping from the cut, unable to pull her eyes away, and then she tears off a piece of paper towel and wraps it around her finger. She leans against the counter, weak and shaky, before gathering the strength to continue.
After finishing, she washes the knife in hot, sudsy water, dries it thoroughly, and heads back to the bedroom where she tucks it under her pillow and buries herself deep within the covers. It is a long time before she goes to sleep.
She wakes with a start, head and leg throbbing, gown soaked with perspiration. What woke her?
She grabs the knife and slips out of bed, silence ringing in her ears.
Suddenly, Grace coughs.
Ellie cocks her head and hesitates, and then she creeps down the hall to Grace's bedroom, carefully opening the door and peering inside.
Grace lies on her back, snoring softly. Her perfect hairdo is covered by a pink hairnet, moisturized face gleaming in the moonlight filtering through the half-closed blinds. Her tiny, fuzzy house shoes sit on the floor next to the bed, and on the chair is her outfit for tomorrow: sharply creased gray slacks and a gray silk blouse with a bow at the neck.
Ellie grips the knife with slippery hands and creeps to the bed, looking down at Grace. A vein throbs in her saggy neck. Up and down. Up and down. She moves closer, watching the throbbing vein and gazing at Grace’s tiny face.
In the semi-darkness, she resembles Aunt Hazel.
She moves closer. The face is altering, like a movie she once saw where a man slowly changed into a werewolf. Hair rises on the back of her neck as she clutches the knife in her perspiring hand, studying Grace’s face from first one angle and then the other. Sometimes it looks as if it’s changing; other times it’s the Aunt Hazel she remembers. Or is it Grace?
She stops for a few seconds, gazing around the room, and then she looks down at Grace again.
When Jackson enters the kitchen the next morning, Ellie is humming.
"Good morning, dear!" she says, removing an omelet from the skillet and pouring more eggs in. "Did you sleep well?"
"Wonder why Momma’s not up?" he says, heading down the hall. "I'd better check on her."
Ellie opens the back door and steps out onto the dew-covered grass. "What a beautiful morning!" she says, strolling into the yard. "Amazing!"
Suddenly, she remembers her favorite gospel song. She throws her head back: “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me . . . .” She has not sung in a long, long time. It feels good! Her gait picks up and she is loping now, voice loud and piercing: “I once was lost, but now I’m found . . . .”
She stops and squats, and then she plunges her hands into the cold, moist ground and begins digging. How good it feels to put her hands in pure old dirt. She digs faster and faster, laughing aloud: If Aunt Hazel caught me, she'd beat the fuck out of me!
She stands and wipes her hands on her robe, and then she pulls the paring knife from her pocket and turns it this way and that, stroking the worn handle, the thin, tiny tip. She pushes her finger into the sharp blade, watching it sink deep into her skin, red droplets oozing out and trickling down her arm and onto her hand. She presses the wound and watches it pulsate, ripples of pleasure washing over her body, and then she grabs the hem of her robe and begins rubbing the blade of the tiny knife, buffing it, polishing it to a high gloss.
She drops to the ground, still polishing it. It must be immaculate; there must be nothing on it. Nothing at all. She gazes at it once more, gleaming in the light of the morning sun, and drops it into the hole.
She rises, blood-soaked hands lifted toward the sky.“Was blind, but now I see!”
She kneels and begins throwing dirt over the knife: more dirt, more, more, more! When it is covered, she squashes the dirt with her feet, looking down at her beat-up house shoes: Old house shoes, nothing like Aunt Hazel’s tiny, fuzzy ones! She pounds first with one foot and then the other, stomping and stomping, packing down each clump, each bump, slinging her house shoes high in the air, bare feet slapping the cool, clammy dirt. It is flat now, but not quite flat enough. She must get it completely flat, nice and smooth. As smooth as can be. Perfectly smooth.
Jackson is yelling. He’s yelling real loud. He’s probably fighting mad about those omelets. I must get back to them. They’re cold by now. I'll have to heat them in the microwave. No, that might make them tough. I'll have to make more. Yes, that’s what I’ll do! I’ll make fresh ones!
That’s what Grace would do.
