Aunt Bernie came up and poked her head in. “Ray’s here . . . and he has . . .” Her words dried up, her eyes darting away from mine. “Come on down. Your breakfast is getting cold.”
I threw on a Sunday dress, one of Aunt Bernie’s ladylike and appropriate-for-church numbers, clean white knee socks, and my shoes—still muddy around the edges from the pond.
As I started down, another voice halted me on the steps. “I can’t wait to meet Dulcie.”
A woman’s voice. Ray hadn’t come alone.
I grabbed the banister hard.
I didn’t want to go down there, Mama.
Aunt Bernie fluttered at the bottom of the stairs like a loose bird in the house. She found me there, halfway up and partway down.
She trilled in her for-company-only voice, “Well, there you are. Come on down. Ray is here.” Each step brought me closer to whatever it was I didn’t want to know.
Ray leaned against the counter, sipping a cup of coffee. He looked at me, his gaze soft and steady. “Hey, Dulce.” He had on a white shirt and some slacks, and his hair was combed. His shoes were even shiny.
He seemed crisp and solid. Real. I couldn’t believe he was standing in Aunt Bernie’s kitchen. We didn’t hug or anything. That hadn’t changed about him, Mama.
A woman sat at the kitchen table. Her white-blond hair glowed—color from a bottle, and her eyelids were the shade of robin eggs. Everything about her seemed a little too bright, like staring into a light bulb. I almost had to squint to look at her. She wore an orange polyester dress that was shorter than Aunt Bernie would have said was decent.
Ray said, “Dulcie, this is Trixie.”
Well, here it was, Mama.
Trixie. The thing I didn’t want to know about had a name.
Suddenly I was transported to my bed in the trailer at Lilac Court, trying to sleep, unable to block out the sound of your voice shouting, “What’s her name, Ray? I’m gonna call there right now!”
Trixie stood up and teetered over to me on long tan legs. Like a giraffe, she leaned down to me from what seemed an impossible height. She threw her arms around me and hugged me tight until I gasped for air like a drowning person.
She cooed in a baby voice, “Dul-cieeee, I am so happy to meet you.”
She looked me up and down from under long eyelashes, thick with mascara. “Aren’t you the sweetest thing? Oh, Ray, you were right. She’s just darling. Ray has told me so much about you.”
I imagined myself saying, “Well, he hasn’t mentioned a thing about you, Trixie-bell. Not a word.”
Who has a name like “Trixie,” Mama? Except maybe a horse.
I looked at Ray, and he glanced away, so I couldn’t tell if my suspicions were correct—that this was what all your shouting had been about.
Trixie.
Aunt Bernie made a sound as if she might be choking on a chicken bone. “I’d best go on ahead to church to set things up. Miss Trixie, lovely to meet you. Ray, I’ll go ahead in my car, and you all can bring Dulcie along with you.”
I blinked hard, trying to imagine Trixie traipsing into Redeemer Baptist. There were likely to be heart attacks. Not many like her came down the pike around there.
Aunt Bernie picked up her pocketbook and was gone, leaving me with Ray—man of few words—and Trixie, who hadn’t stopped talking.
“Well, you finish up your breakfast and we’ll wait for you. We’re looking forward to seeing the church where you’ve been spending so much of your time. Isn’t that right, Ray?”
Ray winced like he had something to say but thought better of it. He picked up the Sunday paper, ignoring her altogether. He sat down and opened the pages, forming a curtain cutting himself off into his own Ray world, leaving Trixie and me to ourselves.
I sat, took a drink of juice, and fiddled with the eggs and sausage on my plate. Aunt Bernie had made a feast for forty.
Trixie picked up a sausage with her long pink nails. She bit into it and munched, smacking her lips. “Oh my goodness, that sure is good. We haven’t had anything all morning.” She poked Ray in the paper. “Come on out of there.” She smiled like a beauty contestant. “He’s checking gas prices.”
Ray put the paper down. Trixie nodded at me. “Why don’t you ask Dulcie how she’s been doing, Ray?”
He took a gulp of coffee. “Christ, let it rest, will ya? She’s doing fine.”
Trixie put down the sausage and wiped her fingers on a paper napkin. “I’ll bet it’s a surprise—me being here with Ray. He offered to drive me down this way so I could visit my brother and his kids on the way back.” She smiled with a sticky smile, smooth as maple syrup. “Isn’t that right, Ray?”
I didn’t feel like eating, Mama. I took my plate and milk glass to the sink. Ray looked at his watch and pushed back his chair.
“Better go see what the Holy Rollers have in store for us.”
When we got to Shirleen’s station wagon, Trixie and me silently tangled over who would sit where. She grinned and slid in next to Ray, forcing me to sit in the back. I slammed the door closed—as hard as I could. Neither of them said a word.
We cruised down Victory Road, looking like any other family in Shepherdsville on their way to church. Well, except for Trixie. Nobody would mistake her for a churchgoer in that git-up.
I stared at the back of Ray’s head, burning holes into his skull. The gall of him to show up after dumping me here, never coming to see me, and when he does, he’s got a floozy in tow.
Ray picked up speed until the speedometer on Shirleen’s old rattletrap read seventy miles an hour. I rolled my window down, hoping the wind would whip Trixie’s hair into a whirl. She just laughed and rolled her window down too, holding her hair to one side to keep it from getting into her mouth. Trixie probably hadn’t lived more than a minute of her life without making a sound. We hadn’t gone far before she turned on the radio.
A song came on that was all deep tones and throbbing guitar—some guy singing about lighting his fire.
Trixie warbled along, her voice quavery and light. She was trying so hard to be likable, I almost felt sorry for her. I was trapped inside a cage with an exotic parrot who couldn’t shut up.
Just as I was wishing to God she’d be struck mute too, Shirleen’s old wagon sputtered, coughed, and died.
That’s right, Mama.
We ran out of gas right next to a cornfield—too far to walk to church or back to Aunt Bernie’s. Ray let out a flurry of swear words.
Trixie turned off the radio and gave him a mournful look, like she was as sorry as pie that he was going to get a piece of her feeble mind. She talked to him like a third-grade teacher. “Silly boy, I told you not to wait.”
She looked over the seat at me. “He thought gas would be cheaper down here.” She slapped him playfully on the leg. “Didn’t have the patience to wait in line back in Columbus.”
Ray sat, staring out at the road beyond.
“Well, what the heck are we supposed to do now?” Trixie stuck out her lips and pouted.
I knew one thing. We weren’t going to make it to the church on time.
Hallelujah.
I was so happy at the thought of missing church, I spurted out a sound, air popping through my lips like bubbles. I clamped my hand over my mouth, I was so surprised to have made a noise. Trixie looked at me, alarmed, then snorted and laughed like a hyena when she realized I wasn’t unhappy about missing church.
Ray looked at us like we were both crazy.
“Well, son of a gun.” He got out of the car and stood in the middle of the road, hands on his hips, helpless. His shirt was wrinkled from the car seat. The junk he’d smeared in his hair gleamed in the sunshine. I suddenly realized he even had on a tie. That made me hate him a little less, that he’d dressed up for me, to come to church.
Trixie watched him through the windshield. “Ray don’t laugh much.”
We waited while he stood out on the road, kicking stones, his armpits getting stained from the heat.
Finally he relented and got back into the car. “Somebody will be along sooner or later, I guess.”
We sat and watched the corn grow. Even Trixie was quiet.
After what seemed a month of Sundays, we heard a vehicle behind us.
It was the Burdines’ truck barreling down the road, Otis at the wheel. Ray waved both his arms above his head, signaling them to stop. Otis slowed and pulled alongside Shirleen’s station wagon. Jason and his mother were in the front, next to Otis, and old Marlow was in his usual spot in the back.
Ray got out and talked to them for a minute. Jason, who was on our side of the truck, fixed his gaze on Trixie. He’d probably never seen anything like her in his whole life. Jason stared and stared, glued to the sight of her.
Leaning in the driver’s window of the station wagon, Ray gave us the news.
“This fella is going to take his family to church and then head on into Shepherdsville. He’ll take me to the filling station there to get a gallon or two. Just sit tight. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Ray hoisted himself into the back of their truck, making room for himself next to Marlow. I wanted to yell out, “Ray, don’t you dare. Don’t you dare leave me here alone in a cornfield with Trixie.”
But he did.
21
s-y-m-p-a-t-h-y
sympathy (n.)
sameness of feeling; affinity between persons
The sun beat down, turning the car into a hotbox. We baked, even with all the windows down, the cornfield buzzing in our ears. Trixie took off her high heels, peeled off her panty hose, and stuck them into an oversize plastic egg in her purse. She stretched out her legs and propped them up on the dashboard. What Ray saw in her, I couldn’t tell you, Mama. She wasn’t anything like you.
As if Trixie had read my thoughts, she shifted in her seat and looked at me, her big blue eyes like giant marbles.
“You must be wondering about Ray and me, huh? Maybe you’ve been thinking I’m trying to put my nose in where it don’t belong?” She paused. “Well, I wouldn’t blame you.”
I turned away from her and concentrated on the telephone pole across the road.
“I mean, if it was me, I’d be worried about somebody coming in to take my mother’s place.”
“Trixie,” I wanted to scream, “just cram it into your piehole.” I continued to stare hard at the telephone pole, hoping it would fall over on her.
“Well, I don’t want you to worry about that. We’re just friends, is all. He comes into where I work sometimes—the Crystal Pistol on Highway 70? He’s going through a rough patch, just like you. He comes in a lot, sits at the bar, and I listen.”
I’ll just bet.
Trixie dug around in her purse and brought out some lipstick and a compact. She reapplied the tangerine color to her lips, then patted herself on the nose and around her face with powder.
“Oh, God, it’s sizzling. I’m practically melted.” She stowed all her paraphernalia away, and without warning, crawled right over the front seat into the back with me.
Trixie stretched out her long legs again and propped her feet up, wiggling her toes in the air. “He talks about your mother all the time, you know, and about you, too. That man loves you to pieces, like you were his very own.” She patted my knee. “I know he has a hard time showing it, but he’s afraid of losing you, too. If he shows how much he cares, he’ll bust into tiny little pieces. Just give him time.” She ran her hand alongside my head, gently. I jerked away.
She took a brush out of her purse. “Here, let me brush through those snarls.” She turned me around and tried to comb through the mess the wind had made of my hair. It was no use fighting her. She was determined.
“I’m real sorry about what happened to your mama. Sorry for you, and for Ray, too.”
She continued to brush, and I relaxed against her. “I didn’t know your mama, but I talked to her a few times. She would call up to the Crystal Pistol looking for Ray. We’d get to talking late at night, about this and that while she waited for Ray to show up. She was funny as all get-out, your mama. She made me just pee my pants sometimes. And she always said the same thing when we got off the phone. ‘Gotta go check on my kid. I like to watch her sleep, always have, ever since she was a baby.’ ”
Right then, it was as if Trixie had the key to a locked door that needed to open, and when it was unlocked, everything trapped inside me came rushing out.
Then I let Trixie, of all people, hold me while I let go of what I’d been holding on to all those weeks—what you used to call an Ugly Party, streamers of snot and cups of tears.
• • •
When I was done, she gave me a lace hanky from her purse. I blew my nose, sat up, and smoothed my skirt.
“Here, let’s fix you up a bit,” Trixie said.
She finished brushing my hair, then got out her compact and patted my nose and cheeks with pale powder.
“Better?” she asked. I gave her a signal that I was closer to fine. I wasn’t even embarrassed.
I don’t know how Trixie did it, but all of a sudden she was the kind of person I imagined I could talk to. I could even see why Ray might seek her company, or how you would’ve confided in her, Mama. She had that effect on people; it was her special talent, instead of, say, pie baking or piano playing.
Right then I wished the words would come back so that I could really talk to Trixie about you, Mama. But the lump in my throat wouldn’t have let me, even if I could tell her all of it—how I wished I hadn’t gone off to win a stupid spelling bee, how it was my fault you turned on that oven.
Before long the Burdines’ truck rumbled down the road and pulled up next to us.
“Well, hallelujah!” Trixie shouted out the window. She got out and repositioned herself in the passenger seat in front. “The Lord is with us.”
She turned around and winked at me.
Ray hopped out of the truck. On the way back to the car, he patted Marlow on the head. Then he tipped gas into the tank from a beat-up gallon can, popped into the driver’s seat, started the car, and waved Otis Burdine on.
We drove to church. Trixie turned the radio back on and sang along. This time I didn’t mind as much.
Ray pulled into the parking lot. Otis Burdine finished tying Marlow up to his truck, then proceeded with his usual routine of sitting in the truck, sipping something out of a brown bottle, before he joined his family for the Sunday service.
Through the open church windows I could hear voices rising—praise God from whom all blessings flow—rising from the rafters.
Ray decided he and Trixie should go back to Shepherdsville—return the fuel can to Bean at the filling station and then gas up the station wagon. They promised to meet me after services at the social hour downstairs.
Ray opened my door. “Your aunt Bernie is having a conniption right about now, so you best get in there.”
I crept into the back of the church. I’d missed Reverend Love’s sermon, which was fine with me, as he was apt to be long-winded. Mrs. Wheeler, the organist, played a hymn as the collection plate was being passed. Evangeline and the choir members who had decided to show up sat in their places up front.
Jason Burdine and his mother were settled midway up the church aisle at the end of a pew. I spied Faith sitting kitty-corner in the opposite row. I tried to make my way over to her without drawing attention to myself, but that was impossible. Disgruntled folks stared with disapproval at my late arrival.
I scooched in at the far end of the same row as Faith, her on one end, me on the other. The Swinsons were across the aisle in front of the Burdines. I watched Mr. Swinson make a big deal of taking out his money clip. With a flourish he dropped a twenty-dollar bill into the collection plate, and passed it on.
That was when I wished I’d never made it to Sunday service at all.
I’d gotten to church just in time to see Faith holding the collection plate after she’d received it. She let it sit in her lap before it got picked u
p by the collection takers. She didn’t notice anybody watching her.
But at least two people were watching.
Jason. And me.
Faith didn’t see our eyes meet.
We both had seen the same thing.
Faith had stolen Mr. Swinson’s twenty right out of the collection plate.
22
b-e-n-e-d-i-c-t-i-o-n
benediction (n.)
an invocation of divine blessing
The service ended, and I bolted out the back, avoiding any contact with Faith. My heart was beating the same thing over and over. Why did she do such a stupid thing? What would Reverend Love do if he found out she was stealing from the church?
The day was hot and breezy, like devil’s breath. People clustered outside to speak to Reverend Love, wiping hair out of their eyes or holding on to their hats. Some headed to cars for home, hurrying off to hunker down in front of an air conditioner—no matter what President Carter said. Some braved the heat and descended into the basement for refreshments and a sure case of food poisoning, with all those salads left out.
I sidled away from the line of well-wishers and headed for the tree line past the cemetery. Evangeline was at the far end of the graveyard with a basket, standing among the gravestones. She waved me over.
“Sugar, your aunt Bernice was worried as a toad under a harrow about you.”
I had no idea what a harrow was, Mama, but it didn’t sound good.
She patted my arm and gave it a squeeze. “You best let her know you’re here. Ready to call the sheriff, I reckon. Thought you’d run off with that Ray fella without telling her.”
Evangeline squinted at me. “You look plumb frazzled, child. Let’s get you a cool drink.” She guided me alongside her as we walked back toward the church.
“I come out here sometimes and pull the wildflowers and weeds away from the stones—clear off the names, so people can see ’em.”
Evangeline stooped and brushed off the top of a tottering old gravestone, her fingers brushing it lightly as if it were a precious thing. “Somebody loved each and every one of these souls. Seems a shame for them to not have visitors, so I come and let them know they aren’t forgotten.” She handed me the basket of wildflowers—little blossoms of yellow and purple. “You carry these for me. We’ll put them in water.” She pulled one last bunch of wild stalks away from a grave marker.
Rising Above Shepherdsville Page 12
