The Forgiving Kind

by Donna Everhart

  Mr. Fowler said, “We got a shitload of work to do around here. Them fields need cultivating, and all the while, here y’all are wasting time.”

  Ross made a dismissive gesture and trudged toward the barn, and Mr. Fowler said, “Get back here!”

  His breath came heavy and his voice had gone hoarse. Daniel and I didn’t dare walk away like Ross. Mr. Fowler grabbed his pack of Camels out of his shirt pocket, tapped another one out, and lit it. His hand shook, and he wiped his forehead.

  “Ungrateful little bastard,” he said as he pulled hard on the cigarette.

  I don’t know why I spoke up right then.

  I said, “What if I try and find water?”

  Mr. Fowler rolled his eyes and said, “That’s supposed to be the answer. Like your daddy, Mr. Know-It-All?”

  “It worked for you.”

  “How do you know? What if I said them pumps done ran dry? What if I said I paid all that money and barely a drop come out of ’em this year?”

  Quiet as can be, Mama said, “Good heavens, Frank, what are you going on about?”

  Grateful, I looked over my shoulder. She was holding a bowl filled with tomatoes, their red color matching the high color of her face. Mr. Fowler put his hands up, spread flat and wide, showing her his palms like he was surrendering.

  His voice, his whole demeanor changed, going soft and persuasive. “I guess I’m a little riled up. It’s different nowadays, ain’t it? I mean, hell, taken half a day off for joyriding like these kids did here, it ain’t something I’m used to.”

  Mama frowned. “Joyriding?”

  It was amusing to watch Frank rethink his words. His mouth opened and closed, like bream in the water.

  He rubbed his arm, picking at something there, then he said, “I only want to do right, you know? I want it to be a good crop so you don’t have to worry, and I’ve been working real hard to make it so. Don’t you see?”

  The rigidness in Mama’s posture relaxed some.

  She said, “Of course. We all want that, Frank. These kids were taught responsibility.” She sort of laughed and said, “Shoot. Their daddy preached it every morning at breakfast during cotton-growing season.”

  Frank said, “I’m worried is all. This weather don’t break soon, we’re gonna be in a real fix.”

  Mama set the bowl on the railing and shielded her eyes. She looked across the backyard toward the fields, and even from where we stood, it was easy to see the wilting cotton plants struggling under the harsh sun.

  She said, “I know.”

  I spoke up again. “I could try to find water. That’s what I was telling Mr. Fowler.”

  She turned to me and gave me a little smile. “That would be wonderful, wouldn’t it, Sonny?”

  I nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  There was a mumbled “Jesus,” from Mr. Fowler, but Mama didn’t appear to notice.

  She said, “What do you think, Frank? Lloyd always said she was good as him. I’ve seen her do it. It’s amazing, really. Irrigating might be the answer. Lloyd always wanted to do it . . .”

  Mama had herself a weak moment then and she wiped her eyes. Seeing her upset made my own eyes hurt as I held back tears, and wished with all my might Daddy was still here. Mr. Fowler rubbed the back of his neck hard, like she’d made him uncomfortable.

  He said, “It’s gonna take some doing.”

  Mama cleared her throat, and went on like she was thinking out loud. “Course, I guess we could just go right on along like we have been. Wait and see what the weather does. Seems silly not to try and do what we can though.”

  Just like that, she flipped the tables on Mr. Fowler.

  He stopped and said, “Fine, fine. Let her try. Jesus. I just don’t like the idea of spending a bunch of money on the whims of a twelve-year-old.”

  “Lloyd said Sonny was accurate most every time.”

  At the mention of Daddy’s name for the third time, Mr. Fowler quit talking while Mama kept on about how good we’d been at finding water. Meanwhile he’d puffed so hard on the cigarette, it was already smoked down to a nub. He tossed that one on the ground as well, and Mama shot him a look while he sent smoldering looks at Daniel, as if he was somehow to blame. Then he turned his attention to the floundering cotton plants, their pitiful droopy leaves looking like they were begging us to get on with it.

  Finally, he gave her a response, more like a bark. “Fine.”

  Mama said, “You seem upset, Frank. If you’re worried about money, then say so.”

  His tone sharp, he said, “It ain’t that.”

  Mama spoke quietly. “It’s not such an outlandish idea. You did it.”

  Mr. Fowler softened his tone, and said, “I’ll do whatever you want.”

  Mama smiled like she’d won a prize. It was the first time I noticed their interactions resembled hers and Daddy’s whenever they hadn’t agreed with one another. I knew right then I had to find water. I had to so that cotton would grow as high as the sky, and we’d get at least five bales per acre. We’d make enough money to pay him off, and be done with him interfering in our lives. Daniel had gone from being red-faced and hot to looking a little pale. He never had liked arguing of any sort. Mama reached out and smoothed down a few stray hairs hanging loose from my ponytail. She placed a cool hand along my hot cheek before adjusting the straw hat on my head. Mr. Fowler lit another cigarette and moved to stand under the oak tree. He wore an aggravated look.

  She said, “What you reckon, hey, Sonny? Go on, get that willow branch of yours,” as she turned to Daniel and said, “Honey, how you doing?”

  I hurried into the house, hope and fear making my heart thump such that I could hear it in my head. In my room the window was open and a whisper of a breeze came in. I stood there a moment to calm down before I picked up my willow branch and ran my fingers along the wood, while sending a little prayer up. Maybe what I’d experienced last time, my sense this ability was growing weaker had been only a temporary. I went back outside where Mama and Daniel waited and Mr. Fowler scowled at the sky and headed for the closest field. As I passed under the sugar maple, a low whistle came from overhead. I glanced up and there was Trent, resting among the branches, appearing to have enjoyed the showdown from a perch on the lowest limb. He dropped down to the ground and fell into step beside me.

  Mama and Daniel, caught up in conversation, walked slower, so no one heard Trent. “It ain’t gonna work. I bet it ain’t never worked, you just acted like it did so you could think you were special.”

  I ignored him, while repeating Daddy, help me, over and over in my head. Ross was hooking up the cultivator at the back of the barn. When he spotted what I held, he stopped and fell into step beside me, opposite of Trent.

  Trent started to repeat what he’d said, and Ross said, “Shut up for once, Trent.”

  I tried to only think about a strong flow of clear, cold liquid slipping by beneath our feet, rushing over that porous rock, and me sensing it. I pictured the moment it would happen, how it would feel. I bent down and collected a few small sticks in anticipation of placing them where the branch pointed. The soft whispery sounds made as we walked through dead grass and weeds along the tractor path sounded like someone shushing us, but no one was talking anyway.

  Chapter 12

  I couldn’t make up my mind where I should start. Daddy would walk around, stand for a moment, and then he’d begin. I normally did the same thing ’cause there was some instinctual awareness, but with everyone counting on something to happen, except maybe Trent and Mr. Fowler, I hesitated, trying to figure out how I should go about it. I stared across at all that wilting green. I pictured the roots running here and there, desperately searching for the slightest amount of dampness. I imagined how they were shriveling up, drawing into themselves, unable to find the moisture they needed to channel to the stems and leaves, no different than the necessity of the life-giving blood flowing within my own body.

  The cotton plants waved and flickered with the slight breez
e, as if they were restless, like they were waiting on me, wanting me to hurry up and save them. I glanced at Mama standing quietly and smoking a cigarette. She looked calm, unworried.

  She met my gaze and said, “It’ll be fine, sugar. Even if you don’t find water.”

  Had Mama lost faith in me too? Ross stepped into the field and walked along the rows, bending to lightly touch the tops of the plants, shaking his head now and then at their pitiful appearance. They weren’t as tall as they should’ve been by now. Daniel was closest to me, with his arms crossed over his chest, and I felt better since he was here. I didn’t dare look at Trent, knowing he’d give me some spiteful look.

  Mr. Fowler was impatient. “What’re we doing? Having a prayer meeting? Let’s get it going.”

  Mama said, “Oh, Frank, you’re so impatient. Give her time.”

  I moved past Mama into the field, the gentle brush of her fingers touching my shoulder as I went by. I had a moment of calm that quickly left when Mr. Fowler mumbled something. With my back to them, the Y setting in my palms, wrists up, I quickly glanced up at the sky where a relentless sun bore down, burning the skin of my arms and the top of my head. It was as if it had grown hotter, just in the past few minutes. Daddy. Help me.

  The thought stayed as I began, focusing on the ground in front of me. After I went about thirty feet or so in one direction, I changed to the right, moving deeper into the field. I went along for a few seconds. Nothing. I looked back over my shoulder and Mr. Fowler leaned toward Mama, gesturing. She kept her eyes on me. My heart went nuts again, and my palms grew slick. Sweat gathered along my forehead and temple, trailed down my jawbone and off my chin while a hard knot formed in my throat. It ached like I’d swallowed a cantaloupe. I felt vulnerable, like I was standing naked in front of everyone, and that strange prickliness, like what happens when you know everyone’s watching every move you make, crawled up and down my spine.

  It didn’t take long to know where I was at was no good. I came out of the field. I looked toward the pond, still hidden from sight and heard Daddy’s voice in my head. It’s fed by an underground stream. With the Y held tight, the long end in the general direction of the pond, I set off again. I hoped for a miracle, but the closer I got, the more I paid attention to the fact I still didn’t feel a thing. I was close now, and without even a hint of a vibration. I knew then, “it” was gone, like Daddy. If anything was going to happen, it would have by now. I let go of one end of the branch.There was no need to continue, with everyone anticipating a signal from me, one that was never coming. I stood with the willow branch hanging by my side, tapping lightly against my calf. I held onto my tears, saving them for when I was alone and no one would see. There was a rustling noise behind me, but I stayed facing the pond, my composure as fragile as the wispy strands of a spider’s web.

  Sounding disappointed, Ross said, “It ain’t gonna work this time, is it?”

  I shook my head while my dream of healthy cotton dissipated as fast as a drop of rain hitting the bone-dry ground.

  I looked over to Mama and said, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

  She came to my side and gave me a hug. “Oh, honey, it ain’t the end of the world. Least you tried.”

  That wasn’t good enough, not when everything counted on it. I stared at the divining branch with a sense of betrayal. I had a sudden surge of anger, bad enough I wanted to snap it in two. I actually heard a tiny crack as I pressed the Y ends as if to join them. If it hadn’t been for Daniel coming over and giving me a quick hug like Mama, I think I would have broken it. Embarrassed, he stepped back, and when I looked at him, he returned my gaze with open sincerity, like he still believed in me. He gave me hope ’cause the warmth in his eyes was gentle, kind. As if I couldn’t ever make a mistake. As if it was something else wrong, something not of my own doing. I took a deep breath and let it out.

  Mama said, “Come on, let’s go have us some dinner.”

  She started back to the house and everyone was strangely silent, even Mr. Fowler.

  Ross and Trent followed Mama, but Trent paused long enough to lean down and hiss in my ear, “Told you so,” before he hurried to catch up to Ross.

  I waited for Mr. Fowler to say something, only Mama looked over her shoulder, and without a word, he hurried to walk with her. I lagged behind, my disappointment enormous over the loss of something special. It troubled me like nothing had before.

  Daniel said, “Wait till you’re alone. You can’t do nothing like that with everyone breathing down your neck. It’s just like performing. You got to have the right atmosphere.”

  “I guess, but everything’s changed. Something ain’t right. Last few times . . . nothing happened.”

  Daniel said, “What do you mean?”

  I said, “When it works, it’s . . . different. It’s hard to explain, but sometimes even before I start walking, I can tell I’m going to find water. It’s a feeling of fullness.”

  Once we got to the backyard, Mama went into the house along with Ross and Trent. Mr. Fowler stayed outside by the oak tree, watching me and Daniel approach. He had his hands on his hips like he was just waiting on me to explain myself enough so he could give me an earful.

  I went by him, and he yelled out, “Hey! Wait just minute.”

  I stopped and oddly, in that moment, I realized he’d never said my name. He’d never addressed any of us, me, Ross, or Trent by name, only Mama, and by the special one he’d given her.

  Daniel said, “Sumbitch,” under his breath.

  Mr. Fowler came close and said, “You ain’t so smart now are you? Bet you ain’t feeling so full of yourself.”

  It wasn’t that I was full of myself at all. I only wanted to help Mama, figure out a way for us to help ourselves, and when it came time, to be able to give him what we owed him. Mr. Fowler spit on the ground.

  “Answer me what you think that was?”

  We stood before him wide-eyed, and I was starting to feel a bit afraid.

  “I was . . . trying to find water. That’s all.”

  “Showing off is more like it. Wasting everybody’s time. As if I’m gonna spend more money for you to point here, there, or wherever. Hell no, it don’t work like that, not with me.”

  He stomped off toward the house mumbling under his breath.

  Once he was out of earshot, I said, “I honestly can’t stand him.”

  Daniel shook his head and said, “Me neither.”

  “He acts like he owns the place.”

  “He sure does.”

  “He’s pure tee evil is what he is.”

  “Yeah. Worse than the devil hisself.”

  Mama came to the door as Mr. Fowler went up the steps.

  She held it wide for him, and when Daniel and I stayed where we were, she said, “Well, ain’t y’all gonna come on in? The food’s getting cold.”

  I called out, “Yes, ma’am,” and then I mumbled to Daniel, “You watch. He’ll be sweet around her, won’t be no fussing and nitpicking about this or that.”

  Daniel said, “I’m telling you. He’s got plans for your mama.”

  “Gah, don’t say that!” I pinched his arm, and he said, “Ow!”

  The smell of chicken pastry, and Mama’s cornbread met us at the screen door, and my stomach flopped. Mr. Fowler was already seated, no sign he was mad, or upset about a thing. He talked to Mama good-naturedly about getting a pump to irrigate by using the pond water. It couldn’t reach all the cotton, but it would reach some, he said. We went in and sat down. I set my willow branch on the floor beside my chair, and debated on whether or not I’d be able to eat even a bite.

  Mama was saying, “Maybe rain will come.”

  He said, “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “Your crops doing good?”

  “Oh, sure, sure. Everything’s looking just fine.”

  I nudged Daniel. That right there proved he’d told us a flat-out lie. Mama gestured at Daniel to serve himself. Much as I loved her chicken pastry, the sight of slick, glop
py looking dough, and chicken meat floating in thick gravy was enough to roll my stomach again. We said a quick blessing and then everyone started eating like there was no tomorrow while I tried not to watch. The sight of food entering their mouths, and the smell made me stand up quick, my chair scraping along the floor.

  Mama said, “Sonny, you all right? You look plumb washed out.”

  I said, “I’ll be right back.”

  Mr. Fowler waved his fork around and repeated himself, “I keep saying girls ain’t supposed to be traipsing around a farm doing a man’s work. They got delicate constitutions. They should be in and around the house tending to the garden, cooking, and such.”

  Like he cared. He’d have me chopping cotton an hour from now. My belly tightened until it felt like I couldn’t breathe. I hurried to the bathroom, certain I might throw up. I closed the door and leaned against it, and stared at the mirror. Mama was right. I was looking just about the color of them pastry strips, all pasty white. My green eyes stood out in vivid contrast, and my upper lip and forehead shined with sweat. I went to the sink, bent over, and splashed my face with cold water. I kept my forehead against the cool porcelain.

  Daddy, why didn’t you show me where?

  The curtains flapped in the hot breeze, and the sound of cicadas revving up in the sugar maples and oak tree only made it seem all that much hotter. My stomach settled, and I rinsed my face again. I felt better, but now I was only killing time so I wouldn’t have to eat, but I didn’t want Daniel to think I wasn’t coming back and leave before we’d had a chance to even visit. When I went into the kitchen, they were finishing up, drinking their last swallows of sweet tea while Mama looked at me, worried. She got up from her chair, wiped a hand down her apron, and put it on my forehead.

  She said, “You ain’t hot. You want me to set you a plate aside for later?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Mr. Fowler said, “Well, that was real good as always. I think we’ve wasted enough of the day on that other mess, time to get back to the real work.”