Rainbow Mittens | Lea Pounds
One chilly fall morning long ago, Mama woke me before sunrise. She told me I was going to visit Gran. She and Papa would come as soon as he got back from the war. She packed clothes into my old school backpack while I dressed. When she wasn’t looking, I snuck in my favorite doll and two of my early reader books. I put on my coat and hat, but I’d lost my mittens. Mama sighed and said we didn’t have time to look. She promised that she’d knit me another pair. She held my hand as we walked to the road where the man who smuggled things waited in his truck. I climbed in beside him. She shut the door.
I wanted her to get in too. But the look on her face said don’t make a fuss. We drove north up the mountain into the woods. I turned to watch between the trees. A truck pulled into our yard. A soldier from the other side got out. Mama stood, hands raised high.
Best not to look back, the man said. I hugged my backpack and pretended she’d been waving to me.
He handed me a cookie wrapped in a paper napkin. My wife makes them, he said. I thanked him and put it in my pocket. We hadn’t driven very far when he pulled to the side of the road. He said now it gets tricky because you have to hide and not make a sound. He opened a panel beneath the seat. I slid into the opening. The space smelled like the restroom at school after the soldiers came for the janitor. When they came for the teachers, we didn’t have school anymore.
Don’t make a sound, the man said and closed the panel. We drove a while and stopped. I heard the man talking in the language of the soldiers on the other side. We started again. My stomach rumbled so I nibbled the cookie. We drove a little farther and stopped again. The man got out. I heard him open the back of the truck. Men laughed, the coarse sound they make when they’re talking about things children aren’t supposed to know. I smelled cigarette smoke and he said something in the strange language.
We drove on. After a while he stopped again and opened the panel. I crawled out. Good job, not a peep out of you he said. I thanked him and brushed the dirt from my coat. We drove for a long time after that on rutted roads deep in the forest. I slept leaning against the door. When I woke, we were winding our way into a valley toward a car at the side of the road. There’s your granny, he said. Gran, wearing a bright yellow scarf, waited by the car.
I hadn’t seen her since the war started. When I climbed out of the truck, she hugged me tight. She was a trooper, the man said. Gran handed him an envelope, then drove us to her creaky old house at the edge of the village.
She helped me get undressed and into a tub of warm water. I scrubbed away the smell of the truck and the sound of strange men talking. For supper we had chicken stew with dumplings. Afterwards we sat on the porch and watched the stars. When her old hound dog climbed on the seat and put his head on my lap, I scratched his ears.
I helped Gran tend the garden and care for the chickens. Sometimes before dawn we’d walk to the river and catch fish. I went to school again where there were other children who’d come over the mountain to visit relatives or family friends.
The war crept north but here there was enough. Enough to eat. Enough to stay warm. Enough to sleep soundly at night. Time passed, one season to the next.
In the spring the man who smuggles things came to Gran’s house. She frowned when she opened the door. Because she was not pleased to see him, neither was I until he pulled a package from his pocket. This is for you from your mother, he said. Wrapped in pages torn from a math school book were a pair of mittens knitted with different colors of yarn.
That was all her effects he said to Gran. She swallowed hard and blinked her eyes fast before she said, well those are pretty like a rainbow aren’t they. I thanked the man. That night I wore the mittens to bed and imagined Mama knitting after supper like she used to before Papa went away. I imagined her wanting to bring the package to me herself, but she couldn’t travel because of the worsening war. I imagined her handing the package to the man and saying, for my girl.
Eventually the fighting ended. Papa came to Gran’s but the war had stolen his mind. One day he went for a walk and never came back. After that, when Gran hugged me tight at bedtime she would say in a strange quiet voice, it’s you and me sweetie.
The war has long been over and Gran lies in the graveyard beside the church. Now I help my own girl into her coat. Boots scrape on the porch and her father says, come and see the daffodils blooming. At the bottom of the basket where we keep the winter things, she sees the rainbow mittens. The frayed and unraveled places are mended with white thread. Look how pretty mama, she says as she slips the too big mittens on her hands. Yes, they’re pretty like a rainbow I say.
My mother’s ghost walks with us as we step out into the bright morning light.
More about the author:
Lea Pounds holds an MFA from the University of Nebraska. She loves to explore brief interactions that tell a deeper story. As an avid people watcher, Lea gets her best ideas by eavesdropping on snippets of other people’s lives. She’s published in Sand Hills Literary Magazine, Novice Writer, and After Dinner Conversations. Lea lives in Omaha, Nebraska, and can be found online at leapounds.com.