Something Old - Dianne L. Christner [90]
“Who are you?”
“Katy Yoder. A friend of Jake’s. All done. Let’s go.” Minnie took her hand, and they went outside. For an instant the older woman braced herself, confused and blinking at the sudden glare of sunlight. The sting of cold air nipped Katy’s face. “This way.”
She led the five-foot-two woman around the side of the house to the old ash tree. She helped Minnie onto the swing’s board seat, which was supported by two thick ropes. “Hold tight. I’ll push you.” Minnie pumped her legs and giggled. Her blue skirt billowed out, exposing thin, black-clad knees. Minnie was always barely over one hundred pounds, and now seemed more waiflike than ever, and as Katy stepped away to watch, a melancholy lump formed in her throat.
How many human generations would the old tree know? It was sad to see Minnie’s life end in confusion. It hurt to learn that even when you colored inside the lines, life was still not a safe place to inhabit.
“I can touch heaven,” Minnie said, pointing her toes. “God’s smiling at me.”
Katy swiped her coat sleeve across her eyes.
After they finished playing, Katy fixed Minnie the leftover chili that Ann had set aside for their lunch. Her face still aglow from the crisp cold, Minnie had the spoon to her mouth before Katy was even seated. With a smile, Katy said, “I’ll pray.”
She closed her eyes and, still feeling melancholy over Minnie’s condition, she waited for peace to settle over her before she started speaking. “Lord, I thank You for Minnie’s life, for her years of leadership and love to us. I pray that You will fill her heart with joy and peace. May she always feel Your presence. We thank You for this food. Amen.”
Katy opened her eyes and looked across the table. Her jaw dropped. Stunned, she stared at Minnie.
The Alzheimer’s victim had removed her prayer covering and placed it upside down in her bowl of chili. Her hair was partly unpinned, and she was struggling with its remaining pins.
Katy jumped up and fairly flew around the side of the table. She grabbed Minnie’s hand, but the older woman jerked it away and knocked over her water glass. With a yelp, Katy ran to the counter for a roll of paper towels. Minnie had jumped up now, too, and was holding her apron out, staring at a giant wet spot, her lower lip quivering. Her hair was as wild as a bag woman’s Katy had once observed on a Columbus street corner.
Dabbing at the puddle of water spreading across the tablecloth and dripping onto the floor, Katy soaked up as much as she could. Then she glanced at Minnie, still not believing the woman had stuck her covering in her chili bowl. But when their gazes met, Minnie must have felt her displeasure because she started to cry.
Katy set down the roll of towels and touched her shoulder. “It’s all right. Let’s just take off your apron and find a dry one.”
The woman whimpered and eyed Katy suspiciously. She tried to keep her voice soothing. “Why don’t you sit in this other dry chair?” Minnie eased into it like a frightened child. Katy smiled, pulling the woman’s bowl over. But Minnie beat her to the covering and whipped it out of the food, plopping it onto the table. Katy tightened her lips at the ugly orange stain on Ann’s white tablecloth. She snatched another paper towel and scooped up the covering, taking it to the kitchen sink along with the wet apron.
She quickly returned to the table and gave Minnie a weak smile, handing her a spoon. The woman clamped her hand around the spoon but didn’t eat. Remembering how Jake had gotten her to the table the other night, Katy started talking about how good the soup smelled. Minnie took the bait.
Katy wanted to push the woman’s hair back over her shoulder so it didn’t hang in her chili, but she didn’t want to frighten her again. Instead she returned to the sink and ran water through the covering, reverently patting it dry and trying to plump out its shape, setting it in a sunny spot.
Next she seated herself beside Minnie