The Sitting Up

FICTION The Sitting Up Donna Morgan CAROLINE MARKED OUT ANOTHER DAY WITH A BRIGHT RED X on the funeral home calendar that she kept under her bed. Granny got her a calendar every year, and every year it had the same picture of the big white building that had blue and yellow colored windows and square green bushes along the stone path. Caroline had never seen square bushes. From the picture on the calendar, it looked like you could use those big flat bushes for a bed that was soft as a feather; or if you spread a tablecloth over them, they would make a fine picnic table. Caroline used the calendar to count days. She counted all kinds of days—days until Christmas, days until school began or ended, days until spring, days until Easter, days until the family reunion. Right now she was counting days until her tenth birthday on December 4, and there were only four days left until the end of November. The whole month was nearly full of red crayon X's that covered up the planting signs and moon pictures on each day. Granny knew all about the signs. Once during a barren, killing sign, Caroline had helped her bruise the stems of poison ivy that grew in the back yard. Sure enough, after about a week the poison ivy had wilted down and dried up, dead all the way down to the roots. Granny wouldn't plant or pick anything during the killing sign. It just wouldn't live, she said. Caroline heard Mama in the kitchen, finishing with the supper dishes. The clank of the iron skillet in the dish drainer told her Mama was nearly done and would be checking to see that she was asleep soon. After all, tomorrow was a school day. She put the calendar in her secret box under the bed and rummaged through her dresser drawer for some nightclothes. She pulled out her long flannel nightgown. She hadn't worn it since last winter, but the nights were getting cool now. The flannel was wrinkled and smelled a bit musty from being packed away, but the tiny purple and yellow flowers that peppered the gown still looked fresh and bright. Caroline wished she could wear the gown to school to show everyone. She felt like a princess all dressed in flowers and with a purple ribbon that tied at the neck. The gown was hard to put on, and when she had finally succeeded, the part of the sleeve that should have been at her wrist was halfway to her elbow. She frowned at herself in the mirror. The ruffled bottom 48 of the gown was up past her ankles, no longer sweeping the wooden floor as it had last winter. "Carrie-girl," she muttered, mimicking Mama's voice, "I don't know what I'll do with you, growin' like a weed and leavin' all your clothes too small." She shrugged, climbed into bed and lay listening to the sounds of the day's end. Caroline heard the sucking sound of the drain as Mama let out the dishwater, then the tap, tap, tap as she emptied the little food catcher that kept the drain from plugging up. The back door creaked open, and she could hear Daddy stomping his feet—smack, smack, smack—against the threshold to get the mud off his shoes. Then there was the dull clatter of freshly split wood being dumped into the wood box by the heat stove. She fell asleep to the murmur of their quiet conversation and the gentle swish of the broom as Mama swept up the bark and wood shavings that Daddy had tracked onto the floor despite all his stomping and kicking. Caroline awoke on her own the next morning. She wondered why Mama hadn't called her. Usually it was dark when she had to get up in winter, but now the pink sunlight of early morning colored the paintings of frost on her bedroom window. The outer fringes of each curly, fern-like wisp of frost were touched with gold. Caroline knew the sunlight that caused the icy strokes to come alive...