All My Angels

Here's a short story I wrote, set in 1950s America. I interviewed my grandma for inspiration for my protagonist's daughter, Nora. :)

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“I made the angels happy today.”

The other squealing, laughing, fidgeting kids in the backseat almost drown out Nora’s voice from behind me. I turn my head to the side. “What’s that, sweetie?”

“I found a dime on the road and gave it to church at Bible school today.”

I can hear the grin in my nine-year-old daughter’s voice, but I find myself sighing.

The poor girl, I hope they teach that she can’t work her way to heaven. Growing up, I was taught that, and I learned that I’d never be good enough for anyone. It broke my soul.

“That was very kind of you, Nora,” I say.

She giggles and rejoins her younger siblings in the incessant chatter.

Nora says she likes Bible school, so it must not be too bad. She tells me all about it every day she comes home with her sisters, Susie and Janine.

I try to ignore the cacophony of my five children in the backseat of our station wagon, just like my husband is. I stare out at the passing farms, woods, and cornfields. Everett just continues to drive along these country back roads, windows down, not minding our screaming offspring.

He reaches over and takes my hand. Smiling, he glances over at me. “We’re almost at your parents’ house, Tillie. Hold on a little longer.”

“Each weekend we come seems to make it even more difficult to interact with Mom,” I murmur.

The chaos behind me, the enclosed space, and the soggy, summer air choke me, and I close my eyes against the sun, its persistent rays making my head throb.

I must have fallen asleep despite the migraine and noise because when I open my eyes, we’ve arrived at my parents’ farm. My mother watches my kids tumble out of our station wagon from her porch. Nora runs off with her two brothers to the barn, yelping and sending chickens fluttering about, and her seven-year-old twin sisters hurry behind.

Nora was right about making the angles happy. If the angels aren’t happy to know Nora, then they don’t deserve to know her. I smile to myself. I climb out of the car and smooth out my skirt.

Linking my arm around Everett’s, I try to walk as slowly as possible to the farmhouse without looking obvious. The sun beats down on my bare arms. I feel like I’m wrapped in a warm, wet blanket. Daunting clouds on the horizon creep closer, on the brink of drowning out the sun.

He rubs my arm. “We can leave whenever you want to.”

I paste on a tense smile and walk up the steps to stand in front of my mother.

Her eyes narrow slightly, scanning me up and down. “Matilda, you’re skinnier every time I see you.”

I wrap my arms around myself and stare at the chipped white porch boards. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hello.” She gazes at Everett. “Friedrich is with the cows.”

He and I exchange a glance, and I nod. He gives me a side hug then goes off in search of my dad. My husband might be a car mechanic, but he adores animals.

Mom leads me inside out of the humidity, but I stare after Everett. Without a word, she sets me to work in the kitchen, giving me a mound of vegetables to peel, chop, and slice. She fills me in on all the gossip from her church this past week, informs me that I need more practice cooking, and proceeds to show me the right way to peel a potato, all at the same time. I find my mind drifting further and further away.

Thunder cracks outside, and I jump. Moments later, my children come tramping into the kitchen, squealing and chattering about everything at once.

“Take your shoes off! Don’t track mud all over my floors.” My mother unsuccessfully herds my kids back into the entryway.

“Sorry, Grandma.” James wrenches his boots off and then bolts over to me. He holds his fist up to my face. “I got a frog!”

“That’s wonderful, sweetie.” I smile, stroking his wet, blond hair.

They all run to some other part of the house, and I am trapped in the kitchen again, staring out the window at the ominous, crackling clouds.

“Matilda!”

I cringe, scrunching my eyes shut.

“Were you listening? I said your husband often shows too much affection in public.” Mom scoops the pile of chopped carrots into the pot.

I step back. “That’s just who he is, and I like it. Leave him alone.” I turn away and look up. They say you won’t cry while looking up.

“It just seems so inappropriate in certain places.” I feel her eyes boring into me again. “Do you eat? You look so bony, Matilda. I told you that mechanic of yours couldn’t support a family.”

“I’m only twenty-eight and have five children. I don’t have time or the will to do much for myself!” I whirl around and run my fingers through my wild, curly hair. “Everett keeps me alive. He is my angel! When I feel like I can’t survive one more day with those kids, he keeps me going. They are all my angels, and I fear that I am their demon!” I remind myself to breathe, but when I do, I feel choked.

Mom just stands there, staring at me. She watches me swipe tears off my cheeks, her eyebrows furrowed. “You’ve always been the week one, struggling with extreme dependence on people.”

I collapse in a chair at the kitchen table, and I lean my head in my hands. I try to contain myself and to rein in whatever made me scream. The sky begins to dump buckets of water onto the earth.

“I’m sorry, Mom.” Even I can barely hear my quivering voice. I look up at her. “But I can’t go on like this with you. It has to stop. Stop doing this to me.”

“You’re the one yelling at me! You’re the crazy one who can’t control her own life.” She turns and starts chopping an onion.

Behind my dad, Everett clomps his way into the kitchen. Our eyes lock, and he immediately comes to my side.

He is sopping wet, and that messy, dark hair clings to his neck. “What happened?”

I shake my head.

He turns to my mom. “What did you say to Tillie?”

Dad freezes and slowly tries to back into the hallway. My kids have returned to the kitchen, and they’re running in circles around the table, and James and Henry are trying to catch that frog again after dropping it.

Mom shrugs. “We were talking, and then she overreacted to something I said, as usual.”

“It’s okay now, Everett.” I take his hand in mine.

He leads me out to a different room, away from the noise and movement. He holds both my hands. “I know you’re not okay.” He kisses my forehead and hugs me, still wet, but I don’t care.

“I just want to go home, Everett.” I press my face into his shirt and almost laugh. “I yelled at her for the first time in years.”

He plays with my hair. The front of my dress is absorbing the rainwater off of him. Thunder rolls and crackles and rain torrents assaults the farmhouse, but I feel safe in his arms.

Nora said she made the angels happy by giving. I have nothing to give. I’ve either given it all away already or never had it in the first place.

“I feel like I keep letting everyone down.” I sigh against his chest. “Will I ever be good enough?”

“Oh, Tillie, you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever known. You are mine, and no matter what, I love you, and God loves you. You don’t have to be good enough. You’re already wonderful.” Everett rests his chin on the top of my head.

 I close my eyes. “Thank you.”