Jane Smiley - Some Luck

AFTER THE UNION SUIT, Mama smoothed the socks she had knitted over his feet, sat him up, and lowered the shirt over his head, carefully avoiding his nose and ears. She buttoned the shirt. Then she straightened his knees and pushed his feet through the legs of his pants. The toes of his right foot were bent upward, and he gave a squawk. She pulled down the pant leg and pointed his toes. Soon she was buttoning the trousers to the shirt.

Frank felt strangely passive through all this. Once the pants were on, he went even more limp, so that she could barely slide him into his heavy, stiff snowsuit, first the legs again, and the suspenders, then, when she sat him up and he slumped forward. Papa said, “It’s going to take us an hour to get there, and it’s nearly five.” Frank felt Mama’s grip tighten around his shoulders. It was impossible to get his arms down the sleeves of the snowsuit, and when she did, they could no longer bend. She put on his mittens, then situated his cap around his head and tied the itchy straps beneath his chin. She slipped on his shoes and tied them. He began to whimper.

But they paid no attention to him. She folded the big flaps of the blanket he was lying on over his face and said, “Jake is hitched up and ready, right?”

“He’s got his own blanket over his haunches, and the buggy is full of blankets.”

“What’s Ragnar going to do for the evening?”

“Stay right here. He’s got tomorrow off.”

She put him, blinded by the blanket, into Papa’s arms and, probably, left the room. A moment later, that blast hit him, and he knew they were out the front door and onto the porch. He didn’t dare move, and he couldn’t move, anyway. Papa paused, then went down, then paused, then went down, then paused, then went down.

“Oh,” said Mama behind him. “Slippery.”

“Ran out of salt.”

“Be careful, then.”

“You be careful. You’ve got the pie.”

“I’m being careful. But there will be plenty of pie.”

“Hope so.”

“And Frankie’s birthday cake. My mother is making her angel food.”

“Mmm,” said Papa. Now he set Frank in the crook of his arm and gripped him tight around the ankle, and said, “Evening, Ragnar. I’ll put Jake away when we get back.” Then the door to the buggy opened, and Frank was out of the wind and in Mama’s lap again, but he still could not move his arms or his head. He could kick his legs a little. The constriction was strange, or maybe perplexing, in that it didn’t require him to make noise of any kind. He lay there and they went on, up and down and forward — he’d done this before and liked it — and he watched things pass on the other side of the pane, everything dark against dark, until he fell asleep.

Now he was propped against Mama’s shoulder, looking at Papa as Mama stepped upward. He was still immobilized inside his suit, and hot now, his arms stuck out straight to either side and his head not nestled into her neck, the way he liked it, but sticking up. Papa looked down and said, “Steep steps. Could you hold the rail?” And Mama said, “I’m okay now — the porch is clear.” Papa’s face was bright, and then they went through, into a bright, loud place, and he was pulled away from Mama, who said, “What a night!”

There was a person here who always said to him, “Here’s my darling! Give Granny a smile! That’s my boy. Smiles like my father, even without many teeth,” and someone else said, “Your father didn’t have many more teeth than this baby, Mary!” And then there was laughing, and he was kissed on the cheek, and Granny sat him on her lap and unwrapped him piece by piece.

Now he was sitting up on Granny’s knee — she had her hands around him, and he was bending and bouncing and shouting, because all of the light and the smiles were so exciting that he could hardly contain himself.

“One year old!” said Granny. “Hard to believe.”

“Just this time a year ago,” said Papa, “I looked at Dr. Gerritt and realized that he was drunk!”

“Oh, Walter,” said Mama.

“Well, he was. But, you know, he was like a horse that’s used to plowing the same field year after year, just did what he knew to do, and everything was fine.”

“That was a piece of luck, Walter,” said Granny. “But what would we do without some luck after all?”

One of the faces, one he’d never seen before, said, “My goodness, Mary, that is the most beautiful baby. Look at those big blue eyes! And already such hair. You don’t see that with blonds very often. My niece Lydia’s child is three, and her hair is still as fine as down.”

Granny leaned forward to kiss, but she didn’t say anything. He walked toward some legs in overalls, and the legs stepped backward. He followed them. Some skirts swished around, too. When he sat down with a thump, hands grabbed him under his arms and stood him up. He headed toward a low table.

Mama had now taken off her coat and carried her pie to the kitchen. She sat down on the sofa, just where he could see her, and said, “Really, he’s a New Year’s baby, not a New Year’s Eve baby. He wasn’t born until three a.m.” He sidestepped around the table, understanding perfectly well that he was making his way toward her — Frank had no problem with mapping. “Dr. Gerritt told me he came out and then went back in again. Must have been too cold for him. My boy!” She touched his cheek with the back of her finger.

A voice said, “You ask me, any winter baby is a miracle. My sister—” but Mama picked him up as he came toward her and smothered him with hugs and kisses. Another voice said, “Spring fever makes winter babies,” and Granny said, “Is that so? No one ever told me that.” Everyone laughed again.

It was a wonderful party. Faces leaned toward him and then retreated. Maybe he had never seen so many smiles. Smiles were good. In a rudimentary way, he grasped the concept of universal love. He was the only baby here. He was the only baby he had ever seen.

Now the couch was full of gravelly-voiced stiff ones, like Papa. One of them said, “Karl Lutz lost two cows down that ravine he has there. Break in the fence, and two of them shorthorn heifers went through before anyone realized. Fell over the edge, I guess.”

Papa made a noise; then one of the others made a noise. There was head shaking, not nodding. Frank turned around. He had to balance himself with his hand on that little table, but he did it. The women were softer and looked at him more. Right then, Frank generalized from what had been mere habit, and decided that looking at women was just more agreeable in every way than looking at men. He lifted his hand off the table and precipitated himself in the direction of the women. One of them had to catch him a few seconds later, as his body outran his feet, which were slowed by his awkward shoes. He fell into her arms. He had never seen her before.

Granny called, “Supper!” and all the skirts and legs straightened up and moved. Mama bent down and picked him up, seating him in the crook of her arm. He was glad to see her. He put his arm around her neck.

There was no high chair at Granny’s, so he sat on Papa’s lap, sort of pinned between Mama and Papa. His chin rose just above the edge of the table, and he enjoyed looking around at the bright-colored and flashing dishes — he knew they were dishes of some sort, because there was food on them, and whenever he threw his plate off the tray of his high chair, Mama said, “Frankie, no! Don’t throw your dish. That was very naughty.” However, sitting in Papa’s lap, he could not get his hands on a dish to save his life — Papa’s long arm was pinned around him, holding him away from the table. Mama put a green bean in his hand. He held it while she then put a spoon full of something to his lips. He hesitated, but then let it in. It was mush. He was hungry enough to take it.