Thoroughly flustered, Dorothy said, “No of course not, you’re our guest. We want you to be happy.”
As the three of them followed behind Betty Raye like a small parade all over the house from room to room, Dorothy glanced over at her daughter and threw her hands up and shook her head, as if to say silently, “I don’t know what she’s doing, do you?” But Anna Lee was suddenly enjoying this strange turn of events and did not respond. Instead, she just looked up in the air and innocently batted her eyes with an attitude that translated as “Don’t look at me, you’re the one who invited her.” And at that moment Dorothy could have pinched her head off.
Betty Raye had almost gone through the entire house when she opened the door to the little sewing room off the sunporch. She looked in and pointed to the daybed that was against the wall, covered with old scraps of material and patterns. “Can I stay here?”
Dorothy, crushed, said, “Why yes, I suppose you can . . . but it’s just a little hole in the wall no bigger than a closet. There’s not even a place to hang your clothes. Wouldn’t you really feel better having a nice big bedroom with your own bathroom?”
But Betty Raye said, “No, ma’am, this will be fine.”
Dorothy tried to be cheerful. “Well, all right, we want you to be happy while you are here. Anna Lee, help me get all this stuff off the bed, and let’s fold up the ironing board.”
That night at dinner Betty Raye hardly ate a thing. She spoke only when spoken to and even that was minimal.
Doc had just gotten home in time for dinner and tried to chat with her. He asked pleasantly, “So, Betty Raye, how do you like your room?”
Bobby piped up. “She didn’t like it. She’s sleeping in the sewing room.”
Doc looked at Dorothy. “Why is she sleeping in the sewing room? I thought she was going to stay in Anna Lee’s.” There was a pause you could have driven a truck through as Dorothy tried to come up with a tactful answer. But Bobby, oblivious to the awkwardness of the moment, noticed that their visitor did not have much of an appetite and took this opportunity to inquire, “If she doesn’t want her dessert, can I have it?”
After dinner, without saying a word, Betty Raye went to the kitchen and stood by the sink, ready to help wash dishes. When Dorothy realized what she was doing she said, “Oh no, dear, you are a guest. You run on and enjoy yourself. Mother Smith and I will take care of this.” Betty Raye seemed surprised but went straight to her room and closed the door. When Anna Lee, who had been dragging games out of the closet so they could play, came in and asked where she was, Dorothy said, “I’m not sure but I think she’s already gone to bed.”
“But it’s only seven o’clock.”
“Maybe she’s tired from her trip, honey,” Dorothy said.
“Well,” said Anna Lee, “I guess we won’t be playing Monopoly, will we?”
Later, before Dorothy had joined them on the front porch, Mother Smith confided to Doc, “She’s an odd little person, isn’t she?”
Is It Any Wonder?
THAT FIRST NIGHT Mother Smith had thought Betty Raye was odd, but the next morning, after having encountered the entire Oatman clan in all its glory, including mystery man Uncle Floyd Oatman, complete with his Scripture-quoting ventriloquist’s dummy named Chester, who wore a cowboy hat and proceeded to sing “Jesus Put a Yodel in My Heart,” she changed her mind. Once she had seen the rest of the Oatman family, she quickly realized that Betty Raye was the best of the lot.
After they left and Betty Raye went back to her room, Mother Smith whispered to Dorothy, “Good God, no wonder she’s a little peculiar. Who can blame her?”
At exactly 9:15 they had all piled out of the car and banged into the house like an invading army, and had eaten every one of the six dozen cookies in the entrance hall in less than ten seconds. During their segment on the show Minnie took over Mother Smith’s organ and almost pumped it to death. After the group had done three songs, Chester the dummy announced in his high squeaky voice, “Don’t forget, folks, starting tonight we’re all gonna be at the Highway 78 Church of Christ annual dinner on the ground and tent revival all week—there’s gonna be a whole lot of good singing . . . good eats . . . and soul saving, so come on out!” And then they all piled back in the car and left. The rest of the living room audience that day had thoroughly enjoyed their singing, particularly Beatrice Woods, the Little Blind Songbird, who had loved every song they sang and had clapped her hands in delight when Chester the dummy had yodeled. Mother Smith, not quite so enthralled, was glad to get her organ back in one piece. The fact that Betty Raye wore homemade clothes or was a gospel singer didn’t make a bit of difference to Bobby. He was delighted to have another person in the house.
It gave him someone new to show off in front of. The second morning he waited until he saw Betty Raye go into the kitchen for breakfast. Just as she sat down at the table with Dorothy and Mother Smith, they heard a strange eerie whistle coming from down the hall. Then, wearing his father’s long overcoat with the collar turned up over his ears and a big gray felt hat pulled down over his eyes, Bobby appeared in the doorway and in an odd voice announced to the room, “I am the Whistler and I know many things, for I walk by night. I know many strange tales hidden in the hearts of men and women who have stepped into the shadows. Yes . . . I know the nameless terrors of which they do not speak!” And then he disappeared as suddenly as he had appeared, laughing maniacally all the way down the hall.
Betty Raye had been somewhat startled by this odd behavior but everyone else at the table just kept eating. The only thing Dorothy said, as she buttered a piece of toast, was “If he would spend as much time with his schoolwork as he does listening to his radio shows he’d be a genius.” Betty Raye glanced out the window and saw a woman in sunglasses holding on to a clothesline coming across the backyard and up the back steps as a frazzled woman in pin curls wearing a hairnet ran in the front door to the kitchen and asked, “Have you seen Momma?”
Dorothy looked alarmed. “No, she hasn’t been here. Is she missing again?”
“Yes . . . I turned my back for five seconds and off she goes. If you see her, grab her.”
After the woman left Mother Smith said, “Poor Tot, that’s the second time this week.”
Dorothy shook her head. “Poor Tot.”
Mother Smith turned to speak to Betty Raye, but she had disappeared, leaving most of her breakfast uneaten. A second later they heard the lock on her door click shut. The two women looked at each other in surprise.
“Well,” said Mother Smith.
“Well,” said Dorothy. “I don’t know what to think, do you?”
“No.”
Anna Lee came in for breakfast. “Is she up yet?”
“Yes, been here and gone. You missed her.”
Betty Raye never came back out of her room until it was time to go to the revival and then she slipped out the front door without anyone hearing her and stood on the sidewalk and waited to be picked up by the family. Later, when Dorothy knocked on her door and there was no answer, she went into the room to see if Betty Raye was all right but she was gone. She didn’t mean to pry but she could not help but notice that the dress Betty Raye had arrived in was on the bed and the open suitcase on the floor was empty. Dear God, she thought, that little girl only has two dresses to her name.
Her first impulse was to run downtown and buy her an entire new wardrobe. That night she talked it over with Doc. Throughout the years they had both quietly supplied people with clothes and food or sent them money anonymously when they needed it. But Betty Raye was a different situation. She was a guest in their home. How could they do it without seeming to regard her as a charity case and maybe take a chance on hurting her feelings?