my story. Someone who would claim they had not seen me on Clear Lake Road just before the storm. Or someone who had been on the train and knew she had not. Suddenly, my home and community did not seem so transparent. My heart pounded every time she held out her hand to a new person and announced herself: “Addie Hardin.” I followed with the announcement that she was the daughter of my daddy’s half-sister, Doris. There was the moment of hesitation while everyone took in the similarity between us. I am sure that there must have been some speculation about our situation and who Addie’s father might be, but I heard none of it. In fact, the only person, besides Momma, to bring up Addie’s mother was Miss Biddy.
Addie’s first time off the farm was the Sunday after she met Momma and Daddy. She and I finished the morning chores, dressed in our Sunday clothes, and walked down to the mill-village church. It was a cold, bright morning, the ground still soggy from the days of rain. Addie beamed—at the trees and the houses, at each person we passed on the way to church, then, at church, the whole congregation. Every set of eyes we met bounced swiftly back and forth between us. But I’m sure the differences were apparent immediately that day. She was the quiet one with the smile and the ready handshake. I was the anxious, chatty one. I was sweating under my coat by the time we sat down on our pew in the sanctuary. I kept thinking of the day she met Crandall Lay and wondering what sound might burst out of her, but she produced only words, handshakes, and her infectious smile.
For the sermon, she sat between me and Rita. She gave the preacher her full attention, looking at me occasionally, her eyes wide with questions. When we opened the hymnal and began to sing, she did not join us until the repeat of the chorus. Her voice was strong and, to my ears, richer than my own. She glanced at me between verses, a question on her face. I did not understand, at first. I ran my finger along the hymnal words, but she shook her head. That’s when I realized she couldn’t read. She had picked up some of the books on the farm. I had assumed she could read them. But my assumption suddenly seemed foolish. She had arrived knowing nothing, why should she know how to read?
Outside, after the sermon, Rita gazed up and asked her, “How come you didn’t sing all the songs, Addie?”
Addie took her hand and gave her that smile. “I couldn’t. I don’t know all the words yet.”
“Why not, you ain’t been to church?” Rita smiled back. “Or they didn’t sing in your church?” Normally very reserved, Rita swung Addie’s hand now, and peered up at her almost flirtatiously.
I didn’t wait for Addie’s truthful answer. Instead, I took Rita’s other arm and turned her toward Momma. “Scoot,” I told her and turned my attention to the gauntlet of introductions as everyone filed out of the church. There was a ripple of attention from the older women. The younger men eyed us from across the churchyard. Addie took the attention well.
She and I lingered longer than usual outside the church. My family had gone on ahead. I was trying to explain the sermon to Addie as we walked toward Momma’s house when Miss Biddy stopped us.
Miss Biddy wasn’t her real name, but that’s what half the town called her. She had a long, unpronounceable Polish name that started with a B. She was a tiny woman and had a birdlike way of tilting her head side-to-side. Something of the Pole remained in her speech and made a peculiar blend with her Southern accent. She and her husband had a laundry and, later, a dry-cleaning service downtown.
She plucked at my elbow, and, squinting up at us, waited for her introduction to Addie. “I just wanted to tell you girls how happy I am to see you in church. Especially you.” She tilted her chin at Addie. “I knew your mother. She was a sweet girl, quiet and a little sad sometimes. But good. A good girl regardless of what anyone says. She ironed for me. She was always neat, a good worker. I was sorry when she left.”
“Thank you,” Addie replied and held out her hand. “Thank you for telling me that about her.”
Miss Biddy opened her