Chapter Three #3
That was Aunt Ruby. Mazelle’s piano lessons were “banging.” Her tap lessons were “shuffling.” Her voice lessons were “screeching.” The closest Aunt Ruby came to a compliment was to purse her lips and nod as if it pained her to approve, usually only if Mother or Daddy was passing through the room.
But although she apparently hated Mazelle’s Saturday lessons almost as much as Mazelle did, she never let a Saturday pass without them—and they never were a minute less than three hour-long blocks, with a break for lunch before the third hour.
If you’ve got any talent, we’re gonna dig down deep to find it, Aunt Ruby said.
The sameness of her Saturday schedule made Mazelle want to scream.
And Scout knew it. Now he was pacing in front of the door.
Mazelle rushed to sit at the piano bench so she and Scout wouldn’t have to listen to Aunt Ruby’s insults; so his pacing would stop.
Scout held his temper—their temper—pretty well, and he’d never done more than growl low from the base of his throat, but instinct told Mazelle that it was best to keep him calm. To keep them both calm.
Aunt Ruby turned on the metronome on the piano with its incessant click-click-click.
“Begin,” Aunt Ruby said.
Mazelle began playing her scale, her cramping fingers following the march of the metronome. If she lost her concentration or the note didn’t play, even though she’d pressed a sticky key, Aunt Ruby snapped, “Play it right! Again!”
Mazelle hated Aunt Ruby. The feeling didn’t sit well with her because she had never hated anyone, not even close.
But while she played, she couldn’t help thinking of all the things about Aunt Ruby she hated so much that she wished Aunt Ruby would disappear in a hole in the ground.
She hated Aunt Ruby’s breath, which smelled like coffee and rotten teeth.
She hated her voice, which sounded like a buzzard’s.
She hated her face the worst: too-small eyes, a wide brow, and that awful sneer she pretended was a smile.
With each new scale, Mazelle thought of a new thing she hated about Aunt Ruby—who wasn’t even a blood aunt.
Mazelle only stopped counting her grievances when she heard Scout whimpering on the sunporch, asking to be let in.
Scout only whimpered to come inside when Mazelle was feeling hateful.
Mazelle was trying so hard to stop hating Aunt Ruby that her fingers stumbled and she played F instead of F-sharp in the G scale.
“I said play it right!” Aunt Ruby said. With the black hairbrush, she hit the meat of Mazelle’s forearm with a thump of fiery pain. “Again!”
“Ow!” Mazelle said, cupping her shoulder with her palm. Aunt Ruby leaned over to hit Mazelle’s other forearm with a sharp snapping motion that hurt even more, as if Mazelle had cussed at her instead of crying out. Aunt Ruby was biting her bottom lip, her face a mask of fury.
Scout barked and snarled. He stood on his hind legs, paws pressed to the mesh. The screen door rattled beneath his weight. Mazelle remembered the banging sound against the door that had followed her from her dream.
“That dog needs a few good whacks too,” Aunt Ruby said in a vicious whisper as she tugged on Mazelle’s earlobe. Her breath was hot against her face. “If he takes a bite out of somebody, you better believe the law will put him down. That’ll be in all the papers too.”
That was the first time Mazelle understood: Aunt Ruby was jealous of her. She thought she had more talent than Mazelle and she should have been in the papers. She might have paddled Mother too, but she probably never hit her with so much envy driving her hand.
Tears pooled in Mazelle’s eyes. She wished Scout would break that door down and—
“Mazelle, make him be quiet,” Dottie’s voice said from the stairs.
Mazelle didn’t know how long her sister had been watching, but she must have been able to see how Aunt Ruby was poised over her like a dragon.
Aunt Ruby stepped away from the piano bench, wearing her best smile.
She moved her hairbrush behind her back, as if she hoped Dottie wouldn’t see it.
Scout growled.
“Scout, hush,” Mazelle said. “Sit.”
Scout dropped back down to all fours and sat, not making a peep.
“Will you watch me play?” Mazelle asked Dottie, turning so her sister could see her tears. Doris would only have called her a crybaby, but Dottie gave her a supportive smile.
“Yes, I’ll watch—for a while,” Dottie said. “Everyone makes mistakes. Okay?”
Mazelle nodded, accepting Dottie’s comfort.
Mazelle wished Dottie would tell Aunt Ruby never to hit her again.
Or that Mother wouldn’t stay shut in her room during her lessons, or would ask her about the bruises just once, even if Aunt Ruby was careful only to hit her in places that weren’t easy to spot.
Mostly, she wished she could find her other talents faster, so she could have longevity and stop taking lessons from Aunt Ruby.
But she already knew those wishes wouldn’t come true.
Mazelle’s only magic was Scout.