Grandfather's Dance by Patricia MacLachlan Page B

pointing to his plate.
    “Doggie no beans,” said Jack, frowning.
    “They’re good, Jack,” said Justin.
    “No,” said Jack.
    Grandfather dropped his fork on the floor.
    “Drat,” he said.
    “I’d like you to eat some beans, Jack,” repeated Mama.
    Jack climbed down out of his chair.
    “Drat, drat, drat,” he yelled.
    Everyone was quiet.
    Grandfather finally spoke.
    “That sounded . . . a little bit . . . like . . .”
    “You, Boppa,” said Papa.
    Grandfather sighed and stood up.
    “I guess I’m the one who should take care of this,” he said.
    He took Jack’s hand and they went outside.
    Mama bit her lip. Papa stared at his plate. Suddenly, Mama began to laugh. We laughed, too.
    “Poor John,” said Mama. “This is a very hard job. Keeping Jack in line behind him.”
    “Huge,” said Anna.
    “Nearly impossible,” said Justin.
    And they began to laugh all over
again.
    A long time later, Grandfather and Jack came back. They were very quiet. They sat next to each other at the table where Mama and Papa and Anna and Justin were drinking coffee.
    Grandfather poked Jack gently.
    Jack looked up at Grandfather.
    “Doggie sorry,” said Jack.
    Grandfather poked Jack again.
    “Jack sorry,” said Jack, using his name for the first time.
    Grandfather sat back.
    “That’s very good,” he said, pleased with himself.
    “Drat,” whispered Jack.
     
    The aunts were coming by train. In seven days. Mama’s brother, William, would come after.
    “Two weeks of aunts,” said Papa. “That’s a lot of aunts.”
    “They’ll help,” said Mama.
    “Oh, I know that,” said Papa, laughing. “They may take over.”
    “I remember the aunts,” said Anna. “Papa made all of us leave here when the land dried up.”
    “He stayed here all alone, while we were in beautiful green Maine with the aunts,” said Mama. “By the ocean that stretched out like the prairie. Where it rained all the time, while Papa waited and waited for rain.”
    “How far does the ocean stretch out?” I asked.
    “As far as you can see.”
    “Just like the prairie here,” I said.
    “Just like here,” said Anna, smiling.
    “Then, when it finally rained, Papa came to surprise us. And the aunts loved him.”
    “And I loved the aunts, too,” said Papa.
    “And then we came home,” said Anna.
    “And I was born,” I said.
    “You were.”
    Anna put on the wedding veil that Mama had pressed. She looked at herself in the mirror.
    “You look beautiful,” said Mama.
    Anna turned.
    “I remember when you wore this, Sarah.”
    Mama smiled. “You were a little girl when I married your papa. And now look at you.”
    “Maybe I’ll wear the dress and veil when I marry my dog,” I said.
    Anna laughed and put the veil on my head.
    I stared at myself in the mirror. Anna saw my look.
    “There is something about a veil, Cassie. It is like a spell cast over you. It makes you beautiful no matter how young or old or plain you think you are.”
     
----
    My husband dog licks my cheek and whispers, “You have never been more beautiful. You’re more beautiful than a pot roast.”
----
     
    We washed the floors in Caleb’s and Anna’s rooms. We moved three beds into Caleb’s bedroom for the aunts. We straightened and dusted and painted a table and bookcase blue.
    “Blue looks nice in this room,” I said.
    “All this trouble for old girls,” said Grandfather.
    “You’d better be careful,” warned Papa. “Your small friend repeats everything.”
    Grandfather straightened and looked around, alarmed.
    “I have to watch myself all the time,” he muttered.
    “He loves you,” said Papa.
    “Well, I’ve had just about enough of his love,” Grandfather complained.
    Then he looked at Papa.
    “That’s not so.”
    “I know,” said Papa.

4
    A surprise. Papa had gone off to town early on Zeke, the dapple-gray horse. Mama and I were baking bread when we heard the sound of a motor outside. Mama looked out the window.
    “Oh my,” she said.