Son of her second husband. Did that mean my momma had been married to him too? All the time marryin somebody! I closed my eyes and thought about Malcolm, who was long gone in his grave. Rock, rock, rock went her chair. Thud, thud, thud went the dirt on my grave. Dark now. Smothery. Cramped and cold. Heaven . . . where was Heaven?
"Bart, your eyes are glassy."
"Tired, Grandmother, so tired."
"Soon you will have your heart's desire."
Money, wanted money, piles and piles of greenbacks. At that moment someone banged on the front door. I jumped off her lap and quickly hid.
Jory ran in ahead of John Amos, who had admitted him. "Where is my brother?" he asked, looking around the room. "I don't like what's happening to him and I think it has something to do with coming over here--"
"Jory," said my grandmother, putting out her hand with all the sparkling, jeweled fingers. "Don't glare at me. I don't harm him I only give him a little ice cream after his meals. Sit down and talk for awhile. I'll send for refreshments."
Ignoring her, with the nose of a bloodhound Jory raced straight to me and yanked me out from behind the potted palms. "No thank you, lady," he said coldly.
"My mom gives me all I need to eat--and what you're doing over here is changing him, so please don't let him come again."
Her barely visible lips clamped together and I saw tears in her eyes as I was pulled away. Jory shook me in our back yard. "Don't you ever go back there again, Bart Sheffield! She is not your grandmother! You look at her as if you like her more than Mom!"
There were some who said Bart Winslow Scott Sheffield was not as tall as other boys at nine. But I knew as soon as I hit ten I'd shoot up like a weed in the summertime. Soon as I was in Disneyland again, I'd be inspired enough to grow as tall as a giant.
"Why are you looking so solemn, darling?" asked Grandmother when I was snuggled on her lap again the next day. The pony still hadn't come.
"Not coming to see you no more," I said grumpily. "Daddy will give me a pony for my birthday when I tell him again I want one. Won't need yours."
"Bart, you haven't told your parents about me, have you?"
"No, ma'am."
"If you lie God will punish you."
Sure, why not? Everybody else did. "Never tell nobody nothing," I mumbled. "Momma and Daddy don't like me noway. They got Jory. Now they got Cindy too. That's enough for them."
She took a quick glance around, paying special attention to the pocket doors that were closed and latched tight. She whispered: "Bart, I've seen you talking to John. I've asked you to stay away from him. He's an evil old man who can be very cruel. Keep that in mind."
Gee, who could I trust? He said the same thing about her. Once I'd thought everyone in my family could be trusted. Now I was learning people weren't always what they seemed to be on the surface. Weren't loving, never cared enough, especially when it came to me. Maybe it was only Grandmother who really cared--and John Amos. Then I was bewildered again. Was John Amos my true friend? If he was, then my grandmother couldn't be. Had to choose. Which to choose? How did I made big decisions like that? Then, when Grandmother had her arms about me, my face held to her soft breast, I knew, she was the one who loved me best. She was my own true-for-a-fact grandmother.
But . . .
what if she wasn't?
I'd seen my grandmother a dozen or more times. John Amos had been my friend only for a few days. Maybe if he waited for me seven times in a row that would tell me he was lucky and good for me. Seven times of anything meant good luck. Five times of talking to me in his spooky place had taught me already that women were sneaky and devious.
"Bart, my darling," whispered my granny, putting her dry lips on my cheek near my ear. "Don't look so afraid, just leave John Amos alone, and don't believe anything he tells you." She stroked my face, then I felt her smile. "Now, if you run down to the barn and take a look inside, you will find something any boy would love to have, and those who don't will envy you."
She started to say something else, but I jumped from ner lap and raced from her room and ran all the way to the barn. Oh gosh, oh gee, every day I carried an apple in my pocket, just hoping. Every day I carried lumps of Momma's sugar, just hoping. Prayed every night for that pony I just had to have. This pony was going to love me more than anybody! I ran to the barn and didn't fall once. Then I pulled up short and stared. THAT wasn't a pony!
It was only a dog. A big hairy dog who stood with his tail waggin, and his eyes lookin at me adoringly already, and I hadn't done one thing to win his love. I wanted to cry. It was leashed and tied by a rope to a stump in the barn dirt floor. The dog wiggled all over, as if happy to see me--and I hated that dog.
Behind me she came runnin up, all breathless and pantin. "Bart, darling, don't be disappointed. I really wanted to give you a pony, but as I told you, if I did, you would go home reeking of horses, and Jory and your parents would find out, and never let you come back to visit me."
I sank down on my knees and bowed my head. I wanted to die. I'd eaten all that ice cream, suffered through all those kisses and hugs . . . and still she hadn't given me a pony. "You lied to me." I choked, with tears in my eyes. "You've made me waste all my days visitin you when I could have done somethin better." And there I went, dropping my G's again. Not so grown up after all.
"Bart, darling, you don't understand about St. Bernards at all!" she said, gathering me up in her arms. "This dog is still just a puppy, and see how big he is. He will grow up to be as big as a pony. You can saddle him and ride him around. And did you know in the mountains they use this breed of dog to rescue people who have been lost in the snow? A keg of brandy is tied around the dog's neck, and all by himself, a dog like this can find a lost man and save his life. A St. Bernard is the world's most heroic dog."
I didn't believe her. Still, I had to stare at the puppy with more interest--that was a puppy? He strained at his leash, trying to get at me, and I liked him a little more for doing that. "Will he really grow up to be as big as a pony?"
"Bart, he's only six months old, and already he's almost as big as some ponies!" She laughed and caught my hand and pulled me inside the barn. "See," she said, pointing to a red saddle with bit and bridle, and then to a little two-wheeled red cart. "You can ride him, or hitch him to the cart--and have an allpurpose dog or pony, whatever you want. All you have to do is use your imagination."