Fix Your Face
By Priscilla Bettis
Henrietta Armstrong sat her worn-out self in the old wicker chair on the porch. She squinted against the late afternoon sun and inhaled. The air smelled of wild bergamot that clutched the rusty mailbox post, the Snews’ maturing wheat, and the remaining sweet tea in the souvenir glass sitting on the windowsill. Her sister had bought the glass years ago. A painted image of a Ferris wheel and the words Coal County Fair decorated its side. Henrietta yawned. In the gutter of the porch roof, one of those pesky swallows scratched, chirped, then settled into silence as if it knew she needed the rest. She’d let blind Scully in his rattly mail truck wake her up.
Scully ought not to be driving at all. A dent marked the side of the mailbox where he hit it the first time. The second time he hit it, he left it cattywampus. Without leaving her seat, Henrietta appraised the box at the edge of the road. It was a mite funny looking, but the durn thing was still standing, so there was no use in replacing it.
Scully should be bringing the new Ladies Home Journal this week. Word had it that in this issue Angie Dickinson spilled the beans on JFK.
Closing her eyes, she yawned again. No nearby neighbors to pester her, no husband to pick up after, no siblings to—
“Mama, I’m hungry!”
The girl. For a moment, Henrietta had forgotten she no longer lived in the historic family farmhouse by herself. She pried her eyes open. “I’m on the porch,” Henrietta called through the window screen. “And I’m not your mother.”
Her niece’s footsteps clonked from inside the house, growing louder until the door opened and out tumbled Lacey.
“Your dress is dirty,” Henrietta said. She sat forward. “Is that my dress?”
The dimwitted girl spun, and the full-skirted shirtwaist dress flared like a flower blooming. “I found it in the trunk in the yellow room.”
The yellow bedroom, Henrietta’s room when she was young, when the dress fit her. Or almost fit her. Lacey filled it out better across the bust.
“What’d you spill on it?” Henrietta asked.
“Ketchup.”
The girl had spilled something on herself almost every day of the two months she’d been living with Henrietta. Seemed like a low IQ came with clumsiness.
“It’s still pretty, Mama. Can I keep it?”
Henrietta hauled herself out of the chair. “Yes, and any other clothes in that trunk that fit you.” It’d save Henrietta money not having to purchase clothes for the unexpected boarder. Lacey was going to eat her out of house and home if Henrietta didn’t marry her off. And right quick.
Lacey spun again. “It’s like buyin’ a new dress!”
“Don’t drop your g’s. Show a little class.” Class would attract the marrying sort of man. Henrietta shooed Lacey inside and followed after her. “Soak that dress in the utility sink in cold water with a little vinegar. Directly, now, before the stain sets.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“And I’m not your—”
Lacey had already disappeared down the hallway.
If Marla, Henrietta’s sister, hadn’t got the cancer, and if Marla’s no-good husband hadn’t run off in the first place just as soon as he realized his baby girl’s windmill was missing a few blades, Henrietta wouldn’t be stuck with the child.
Henrietta took inventory of the items in the icebox. They’d have to go to the grocery store. Lacey came into the kitchen wearing another dress Henrietta hadn’t seen in years. Its green calico set the girl’s brown eyes to glowing, but there was something askew about the bodice.
Henrietta leaned in, scrutinizing the placket. “You missed a button. Go fix your face, and we’ll shop for supper.”
A perfectly-shaped lower lip slipped forward in a pout. “George says there ain’t nothin’—notheeng—broken about my face.”
Henrietta rolled her eyes. The young handyman was proving a source of trouble when it came to Lacey, but he charged half of what anyone else would, so she couldn’t get rid of him.
Through the open windows came a hollow whistle from the pipe factory in town. It was quitting time. All the young men wanted to work at the factory, seeing how they paid more than the $2.10 minimum wage, but apparently you needed an in from a town councilman to get a job there.
“And Mizz New—”
“Mrs. Snew.” Henrietta corrected her niece.
“—says my beauty don’t come from the outside but comes from God’s beautiful spirit inside, and if folks could just take a peek in there, they’d see all the pretty I have.”
Those Bible-thumping Snews ought to keep to themselves. “I told you to fix your face.”
With her hands on her hips, Lacey stomped toward her room. Henrietta grabbed her purse and car keys, then stepped outside on the porch to cool off in the breeze while she waited for Lacey.
George rode up on his bicycle with the missing front fender.
“You already went home for the day,” Henrietta said to the high school dropout her sister had recommended before she died.
He’s had it tough, Marla had said. He just needs a break.
“No, ma’am,” George said. After lowering the kickstand, he wiped sweat off his face and neck with the bandana he kept in his back pocket. “I said I’d be back after I took care of some business with Doc. I need to hurry and get those repairs done on the storm shelter.”
Henrietta cocked her head. “Supposed to be clear all through the week. What’s the hurry?”
“You see, ma’am, Doc was—”
Just then, Lacey emerged from the house. She was wearing too much rouge, but otherwise, she had done a good job with her makeup. A smile jumped to George’s face, and Henrietta attempted to move between the two young people. Both of them were too fast, though, and before Henrietta knew it, they stood on the porch with nary daylight between them.
Lacey didn’t know any better about the two of them getting involved, but George should. He lived above old Doc’s single-car garage. Henrietta, being George’s employer, knew exactly how much he made, which was hardly enough to keep air in his bicycle tires. It was only supposed to be a temporary job. ’Til something else comes along, he kept saying. But it’d been over a year since Henrietta hired him, and he hadn’t found anything better. If the two young folk got hitched, they wouldn’t fit into Doc’s puny garage apartment. They’d both end up under Henrietta’s roof.
Henrietta couldn’t have that. Why, oh why did Marla make Henrietta promise not to put Lacey in an institution?
George took off his ball cap and smoothed his hair. “You’re looking mighty pretty, Lacey. New dress?”
What did he think he was doing, some kind of old-fashioned courting ritual?
Lacey stepped back then twirled once, the green calico rising and flashing her legs.
“I haven’t seen you at church in a while,” he said with his eyes looking like they wished for another twirl.
“My other mama died.”
Henrietta cursed at the sky, then snapped at Lacey. “Get inside and fix your… your hair.”
Lacey tugged on a lock. “There ain’t notheeng wrong with my hair. Besides, I just wanted to ask George about Doc.”
“Inside, Lacey. Directly!” Henrietta gripped her car keys so hard the flesh of her fingers screamed with pain.
After Lacey had gone inside, Henrietta pointed a key like a jagged finger in George’s direction. “The girl is not for you.”
He put his cap back on. “She’s old enough to make up her own mind.”
“She’s special.”
“Sure is.” He grinned.
Folding her arms, Henrietta said, “That’s not what I meant. She’s aiming to get herself a man, and I need you to get out of her way.”
George’s smile dropped. “You mean you’re aiming to get rid of her. You needn’t be in such a hurry. Any man would be pleased to have Lacey on his arm.”
“Now wait a minute.” She scowled. “I’ve seen the way you look at her. It wouldn’t be right to take advantage of a girl like Lacey. She’s only got one thing going for her. If she didn’t have her looks, you wouldn’t give her a second thought.”
His nostrils flared, and he stepped closer. “This is the way it is, Miss Armstrong. First, I’m a God-fearing gentleman and would never take advantage of a woman. Second, she’s got more going for her than all the women in town combined.”
Henrietta chuckled. “The girl—”
“She bakes a mean blackberry pie.” He raised one finger.
“She does?”
“She’s the only woman who can calm the Millers’ cranky baby in the church nursery.” He raised another finger. “She’s a better gardener than you, or have you noticed her beans and turnips popping up out back?” Another finger.
“How dare you.” Henrietta’s words emerged from between clenched teeth.
“She’s got Psalm 23, the first chapter of John, and all of Jude memorized.”
He was wrong. He had to be all wrong. Henrietta swallowed.
The screen door creaked open, and Lacey stepped out. “I’m ready,” she said. She walked delicately down the porch steps and toward the Oldsmobile.
Henrietta hugged her purse to her chest and, giving George a wide margin, hurried after her niece. Eyeing Lacey’s movements, Henrietta realized the graceful walking tips she’d been giving Lacey were paying off, and Henrietta purposely blocked George’s view of Lacey’s womanly stride.
“You’re fired,” Henrietta said over her shoulder. Hopefully there would be an eligible bachelor wandering the aisles of the grocery store.
Pings of rocks on metal announced the arrival of blind Scully and his mail truck. He sped past the mailbox in a plume of red dust. Henrietta huffed. Scully didn’t deliver her new Ladies’ Home Journal after all. There was only one more house, the Snews’ place, and then he’d come clattering back. Best not to start the Olds until he was out of the way.
Lacey broke into a run. “Mail’s here.”
Oh, for crying out loud. Henrietta watched the girl, too tired to run after her. She sighed, then yelled, “No, girl, Scully didn’t bring us anything. Now, get in the car.”
But Lacey was too far down the drive.
Scully’s truck was rattling its way back, throwing dust and noise into the air. Lacey yanked open the mailbox. She crouched and peered inside.
“Lacey!” George’s voice thundered. He sprinted past Henrietta. “The mail truck, watch out!”
Lacey stood to her full height and looked toward Scully’s truck. His side-view mirror was the same height as her head.
George’s legs pumped.
Henrietta screamed.
Lacey jerked away but not far enough. The sound of the mirror striking her face was like the sound of a ripe tomato hitting the kitchen floor. She collapsed.
Blind Scully and his mail truck continued on their way while Lacey’s blood quenched the thirsty dust of the road.
George knelt beside her and placed his hand on her shoulder. Lacey twitched. “She’s alive!” He scooped her up and carried her to the Oldsmobile. “Open the back door. We have to take her to the hospital.”
Henrietta stood motionless, gawping at Lacey’s once-beautiful face. Her cheek was slashed open, exposing teeth. Her eye was already swelling shut. The whole mess would leave terrible scars.
“The door, Miss Armstrong.” George’s words came out in a growl and startled Henrietta into motion. George eased Lacey into the car, then settled in beside her and cradled her head. He pressed his bandana against her cheek. Recoiling at the sight of all that blood, Henrietta closed the door, then hastened herself behind the wheel. On the way to town, she kept glancing back at her passengers.
George’s face was glowing with sweat and something else, too. “Does it hurt, Lacey?” His voice was tender.
“No, just when I talk.” Her words were wet and slurred.
“So don’t talk,” he said.
“But I can’t help it. I want to know if Doc came through for you.”
What was the girl talking about? Henrietta reached the juncture at the highway that led into town. They turned right, leaving the dusty road behind.
“He did, Lacey,” George said. “Just like he said he would.”
They drove in silence for a moment save for the hiss of the air conditioner and Lacey’s splattering breath.
“Ow,” Lacey said.
“What?” George’s voice sounded desperate. “What is it, darling?”
“It also hurts when I smile.”
George chuckled. “So don’t smile.”
“I can’t help it. I’m so happy.”
Henrietta nearly ran off the road. The blow must have damaged the girl’s brain, what little brain she had.
“It’s like Mizz New said,” Lacey continued. “My insides are showin’, so now everyone can see how pretty I am. Even Mama.”
George lifted her higher, hugging her to himself. “You’re right, Lacey. You’re even more pretty now. Even more.”
Henrietta brushed aside their childish words. She couldn’t help but think what a chore it was going to be to clean all that blood off the back seat.