The Mighty Miss Malone by Christopher Paul Curtis Read Free Book Online Page A

when someone else agrees, especially someone as wise as Mrs. Needham!”
    I told her about Mrs. Needham’s niece and the clothes. “Can I keep them?”
    Mother said, “Stand up again.”
    I stood up and something about the dress and shoes made me go right back into a spin.
    Mother laughed. “Deza Malone, that dress and those shoes were
meant
for you. The only time you’ve looked more beautiful was when they handed you to me on the day you were born.
    “Help me get these groceries into the kitchen, then we’ll both start working on our thank-you notes to that wonderful woman.”
    As I picked up the welfare food Jimmie said, “You lucked up.”
    I slapped his head. “No, Jimmie Malone, the truth is always the best way.”
    He said, “Not in real life, Deza. Let’s be
truthful
and admit it, you just lucked up. I gotta tell you, though, Ma was right, that getup was made for you. You’re one sharp bit of calico.”
    Me, the cheese, the milk and the ruined paper sack twirled into the kitchen.
    I couldn’t wait for Father to get home. Even if he hadn’t found work, this dress would cheer up the saddest person in the world!

Chapter Seven
The Mysterious Smile of the Man on the Quaker Oats Box

    The next morning I woke up and wiggled my toes.
    My feet felt heavy and horrible. Then I remembered. I’d worn Mrs. Needham’s niece’s shoes to bed.
    I took them off and got up and started getting ready for school.
    When I was dressed, I must have tried six times to go downstairs wearing my new shoes.
    Mrs. Needham said I shouldn’t save them, and Mother
had
told me it was OK to put them on, but something wouldn’t let me take more than two tappity-tap steps to head downstairs.
    I sat on the bed and picked up my old no-heel shoes. Since this was the last day of school, I could wear them one more time. And I could go barefoot all summer long. I put my regular shoes back on. I’d never noticed before how much they cramped up my toes.
    By the time I got downstairs my feet were back to being used to them.
    Father was on the couch reading a newspaper and Jimmie had his head on the arm of the couch and his feet tucked under Father’s legs.
    This is a bad habit Jimmie picked up from Mother. She’s always complaining that her feet are cold and when she’s laying on the couch reading she’ll ask me or Jimmie or Father to sit on her feet so they’ll warm up. She’s turned us into a bunch of brood hens.
    I gave each of them their good morning kiss, then went into the kitchen and kissed Mother.
    I reached into the cabinet and pulled out the big new box of oatmeal.
    Mother said, “Wait, Deza, there’s the open box, it must have something left.”
    What was I thinking? I put the new box back and got the open one. I turned the box until the strange-looking white man was smiling at me. The man was what Mother says we should call big-boned. He was wearing a black cowboy hat, had long gray hair like a very old white woman and must have been getting ready to eat his supper because he had stuffed a fluffy white napkin down into the front of his shirt.
    Father came into the kitchen.
    It’s funny how something can look so normal to you one day, and then all of a sudden it can look so strange. I wonder if that’s because as you get smarter and older you look at things with different eyes, even things you’ve seen a million times before.
    I stared at the man on the Quaker Oats box. “Mother, Father, who is this man?”
    Father took the box. “Well, Deza, I don’t think anyone knows. The way he’s skinning and grinning, though, he must’ve just heard some very good news.”
    “What do you think the news was?”
    Father looked at Mother. “Peg, what would good news for a Quaker be?”
    Mother said, “All I know is the Quakers have a reputation for being very honest. And they helped a lot of our people get North on the Underground Railroad during slavery.”
    Father clapped his hands. “There you go! Our happy Caucasian friend