The Forgiving Kind

by Donna Everhart

  What she said was, “We got to have us a little settling in time, is all. We got to get used to one another, and soon, we’ll be fine. I know he’s a little more hot tempered than your daddy. It ain’t like I hadn’t noticed, but I see him trying. Don’t you see it, Sonny?”

  I said, “I guess.”

  What I saw was pure meanness, but Mama was trying so hard. For her, I too would keep trying.

  She patted my hair, the weight of it laying warm against my back. “There. Better?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She gave me a wistful smile and said, “Good night, sleep tight.”

  “Night, Mama.”

  She drifted from my room, looking a bit like a child, the tall ceilings and doorway dwarfing her.

  The day after Thanksgiving was sunny, and cold. I came downstairs slow, listening for voices. I hesitated outside of the kitchen, waiting to see if he was in there. It was quiet, only the sound of frying, and then the oven door opening. I sighed with relief and entered the kitchen, noticing how the sun coming up threw warm yellow beams at a slant across the tiles. Under other circumstances, I maybe could have liked the kitchen, out of all the rooms in this big, dark house. Mama smiled as I plopped into a chair at the kitchen table, while setting a big, hot, fluffy biscuit filled with crisp, salty ham in front of me.

  She urged me to, “Eat, eat,” as if feeding me would somehow make up for what happened, and what I was really missing.

  It was like being hungry, I suppose, only in a different way ’cause there wasn’t any kind of food that was going to make this particular emptiness in the middle of me disappear.

  I looked at Mama and noticed her eyes were a bit red, and she looked sad when she said, “Just so you know. He said last night he would apologize.”

  I took the biscuit, and bit into it, waiting to see what else she would say.

  She only lit up a cigarette and studied her nails. Well, I could hold onto the hope Mama’s words from the night before would come true, and an apology might be a start.

  “Where is everybody?” I asked.

  “Ross went out looking for another job, thinking maybe Mr. Slater might hire him on for the Christmas season. They sell lots of hams, sweet potatoes, and pecans this time of year. People buying gifts and all. Frank and Trent are dove hunting.” She gave me a peculiar smile and said, “Guilt.”

  As if on cue came the distant sound of a gun. I nibbled at the ham biscuit, my eyes on the time. Noon couldn’t come soon enough.

  Like Mama was reading my mind, she said, “What’s Daniel been up to lately?”

  I’d not talked much about him these days. She didn’t even know about Sarah running away from home.

  I mumbled, “Doing what he always does, I reckon. Sarah’s done run off with some man, gone clear down to Georgia somewheres.”

  Mama shook her head. “Oh my. What’s his mama doing about it?”

  “He said his mama said, ‘She made her bed, now she’s got to lie in it.’”

  “Sarah was always a bit too grown-up acting for her age. I bet that makes him sad. Do you think he’d like to come visit?”

  Cautious, I said, “What about Mr. Fowler?”

  Mama sounded a bit put out when she said, “Sonny.”

  Puzzled at the sudden shift in her tone, I said, “What?”

  “Can’t you find it in you to call him Daddy Frank? It would go a long way in smoothing things over between you two. He’s very sensitive about this.”

  I frowned at my biscuit, unable to believe Mr. Fowler could be sensitive about a thing.

  Obstinate, I shook my head. “It doesn’t feel right.”

  “Well, can’t you at least call him Frank? Please, for me?”

  I sighed and said, “I reckon.”

  She came over and hugged me.

  She said, “Good.”

  She seemed to have forgot about Daniel.

  “Mama?”

  “Hm?”

  “Can boys like boys? Like the way they would like a girl?”

  Mama poked at the ham with a fork, and responded hesitantly. “I’ve heard of it, why?”

  A little too quick, I said, “Some kids at school were talking about it.”

  Mama quit fiddling with the ham in the skillet and turned the burner off.

  Casually, she said, “Oh? Is there someone they think is like that?” while giving me a steady look.

  I played it safe and said, “I don’t know. It was in the lunchroom, so I couldn’t really hear it all.”

  Mama said, “People might would say those kinds of people ain’t right in the head somehow. Maybe call them unstable. Folks can form their own opinion about such, I reckon, but if I know a person, and I get along with them, what does it matter?”

  Mr. Fowler made sure it mattered.

  She went on, “Ain’t nobody’s business, is my opinion.”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  Mama gave me a direct gaze.

  “Yeah,” she repeated after me, the way Daniel would.

  She said, “I’m starting to decorate for Christmas. You want to help?”

  I nodded, feeling like we’d talked about him without saying his name. For the next couple of hours, we brought boxes down from an upstairs closet. We wiped ornaments, and laid them out, ready for a tree. Mama swiped at her eyes time and again. By the time we finished, it was dinnertime, and I felt anxious about Daniel, afraid he was already at the pond, and might leave if I didn’t show up soon. I went in the kitchen and hurried to make a bologna sandwich.

  On my way out the back door, I said, “Mama, I’m gonna go over to the pond for a little bit.”

  Distracted by the display of memories, she waved a hand. A last minute thought came and I ran back upstairs and got my old dowsing stick. It was time to try again ’cause I was needing a sign from Daddy, now more than ever before. Down the long driveway I ran, hoping I wouldn’t encounter Trent or Mr. Fowler, wherever they were. I got lucky. I didn’t see neither one, and I slowed to a walk as I entered the woods. Winding my way through the scrub and undergrowth, our old house appeared through the bare trees after I’d only gone a couple hundred feet. I came out on the other side and hurried to the pond. My heart gave a little gallop at the sight of Daniel pacing on the wood dock. He was wearing cuffed blue jeans, a flannel shirt, and a red wool hat pulled down to cover his ears. His hair stuck out from the bottom of it, looking like a thick brown fringe.

  “Hey, Daniel!”

  He pointed to his bike and said, “Come on, I got something to show you.”

  “What is it?”

  “Here. Wear my hat.”

  Mystified, I pulled the hat on, still warm from his head, and breathed in the scent of his shampoo while I did so. I handed him my dowsing stick, and he stuck it in the saddlebag on the back, half of it poking out. He held the bike steady while I climbed on, awkward as usual.

  “Where’re we going?”

  “It’s a surprise. You’ll see.”

  My rear end on the handlebars, I propped my feet on the hub of the front tire. I’d ridden the handlebars this way before, for short distances here and there. He pushed off, and we wobbled this way and that a bit at first, but once he got going, it smoothed out.

  My job was to yell, “Pothole!” whenever a one came up, which on some of the roads was as frequent as seeing the carcass of possums that didn’t make it.

  And though it was chilly, I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else, my back within inches of his chest, his hands near my hips. I hoped wherever it was we were heading, it would take a while to get there. He peered over my left shoulder at the road ahead, and every now and then I would glance back at him, noticing how his hair glinted with sparks of gold.

  I kept doing that until he finally said, “Quit it.”

  I grinned, and held on tight. It felt like I was flying. Down Turtle Pond Road he pedaled, his enthusiasm for this adventure evident in the small smile he’d allowed, even though he sounded annoyed at my attention. A
fter a turn here and there, we ended up on a narrow dirt strip, the weeds on either side occasionally brushing our arms and legs. We were way out in the boonies, as Trent would have said. A few minutes later he took a delicate turn down another dirt path and that was when I guessed where we were going.

  The tall silvery tank, which I’d only seen from a distance, showed a big red circle painted in the middle and the words, Lucky Strike painted in black, the cigarettes Daddy smoked. I’d never considered the coincidence of this before, and my breath caught. Water tank. The brand of cigarette. The connection almost made me lose my grip on the handlebars. Daniel brought the bike to a stop, and planted his feet so I could slide off.

  Looking around, I said, “This is great!”

  “I’ve been coming here lately.”

  “You have?”

  He stared up at the tower and said, “I like to sit up there. I can see your house. Plus, I can see all of Flatland, Trenton, and beyond. Come on, let’s climb up.”

  I hesitated. “You sure? What if we get caught?”

  “Ain’t nobody coming out here.”

  I hesitated. “It’s pretty high, ain’t it?”

  Daniel ignored my question and pointed at my dowsing stick. “You want me to bring this?”

  I said, “I guess.”

  He stuck it in his back pocket, and started for the narrow steps near one of the huge steel legs and said, “I’ll go first and show you.”

  He grabbed onto the ladder, and after he’d climbed several rungs, he looked down to see if I was following. Nervous, I gripped the first rung. It was easy at first, but when we got halfway, I was clinging to the steel, and my legs were shaking.

  I said, “Wait.”

  “It’s worth it, I promise.”

  My voice was weak. “Okay.”

  “Think of it like climbing a tree.”

  “Ha. I don’t do that much, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “Just don’t look up. And definitely don’t look down.”

  We started again, and the higher we went, the more panicked I got.

  I stopped again after a few seconds, and squeaked out, “Daniel.”

  I was shallow breathing, my damp hands slick and untrustworthy. I felt as if I was swaying. I hung on as stiff and unyielding as the steel I was squeezing so hard. I was certain I was leaving handprints. There was a slight breeze and even that scared me. Like it would blow me off, even though it was barely brushing across my face. Although it was cold, I was sweating under my clothes. The thought of continuing made me want to throw up. The thought of going down produced the same feeling.

  Daniel’s voice came from above. “Almost there. You’re gonna be glad you did it. I was afraid the first time too. It gets easier.”

  I panted with fear, but knowing we were so close kept me moving.

  I said, “Go!” my anxiety making me short-tempered.

  I mumbled words of encouragement to myself.

  “One step at a time. It’s gonna be over with soon.”

  Seconds later, Daniel said, “We have to go across this. We can’t go through the hatch.”

  “What?”

  I gave a quick glance up, my arms wrapped tight around the ladder to see Daniel walking, walking, across a section that looked like a ladder laying on the ground, except we had to be at least a hundred or more feet in the air. After that, we’d be at the base, the part with a rounded, bulging end, where a circular platform went around it. The platform was the goal. I shut my eyes.

  I whispered, “Dear Lord, dear Lord.”

  I finished the last part, then lay flat along the section he’d walked, my belly and legs against the steel, inching forward. My breath came in short gasps, like I wasn’t getting enough air. I stopped.

  Daniel’s voice came from directly over me. “You ain’t but about four feet from the last part. Come on.”

  “I can’t do it.”

  “You can too.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Come on!”

  I licked my lips, which were dry as a clump of cotton and inched forward again. Inch. Inch. Inch. Like one of them little green caterpillars. I did it with my eyes shut.

  Daniel said, “You’re there. You ain’t got but five more feet, and you’re done.”

  Encouraged, I reached for the short ladder and crawled onto the platform where he was, only to lay flat again. I huffed some more and it was a minute or so before I could sit up.

  Daniel said, “Gee whiz. You ain’t ever said you were afraid of heights.”

  “You ain’t ever asked.”

  He sat at the edge, his feet hanging over, arms resting on the safety rail. I shut my eyes to fight the dizziness. Slowly, I grew accustomed, and eventually I was able to ease my legs over the edge to sit beside him. I gripped the rail so tight it hurt.

  He advised, “Look straight, off into the distance. Don’t look down. Least not yet.”

  I did as he said and took in the scenery around me, and if I wasn’t already feeling winded from fright, it would have taken my breath. Here I could see a view of the land as never before. I stared and stared. We studied the earth’s browns, greens, and the creamy white of sandy areas, all of it cut into the square precision of fields, with clusters of trees breaking that perfection. I could see a slim sliver of blue off to our east, maybe the Atlantic Ocean, or maybe just the sky meeting earth.

  I finally said, “Wow.”

  “It’s great, ain’t it?”

  “It is. How long you been coming here?”

  “Since Sarah left. I’ve come at night sometimes, when Brenda has company.”

  “At night? You must be nuts.”

  “Nah.”

  “But, it would be pitch black.”

  “I bring a flashlight. I’ve done it so much, I almost prefer it. I can see the lights of houses all around. I can see the light on in your bedroom window at his place.”

  I said, “You can?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you spying on me?”

  He started to give me a friendly bump.

  I grabbed the rail and said, “Don’t!”

  He said, “Scaredy pants. How’re you gonna use this if you’re too afraid to move?”

  He reached over and got the dowsing stick from where he’d laid it. I took it and put it beside me.

  I said, “I need a minute.”

  “Yeah. I needed more than that my first time up here. How’re things with him?”

  If there was one way to get my mind off of the breathtaking height, it was to tell Daniel about Mr. Fowler. I told him about his rules, what he’d done to me at Thanksgiving, and what happened when Ross lost his job. I told him about finding the hood, and him being part of the Klan. About the scratch and Mama’s neck. The more I talked, the worse it sounded. Daniel shook his head here and there. I finally had told all there was.

  He said, “Geez. What’re y’all gonna do?”

  I lifted my shoulders. “Mama says it’ll get better.”

  “That’s hard to believe.”

  “She says I got to give him a chance. That we just need a settling in time.”

  “He’s a real sumbitch, but who knew he’d be a crazy sumbitch.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah.”

  Daniel stood up, and walked the narrow platform to the other side of the tower without seeming to care he was a hundred and fifty feet in the air. Without him beside me, I felt exposed, vulnerable.

  After a few seconds, I called out, “Daniel?”

  He came back and said, “If you move around, it helps. Wanna try?”

  “It’s too soon.”

  “You’ll have to move eventually.”

  The thought brought back that queasy sensation, but I slowly got on my knees, and then my feet. I stood hunched over, clutching the rail while the idea of standing straight gave me a mental image of me toppling over it. I grew dizzy again. Maybe this hadn’t been a good idea.

  Daniel put out his hand, and I sa
id, “No!”

  “I was only going to help you. You’re shaking like you’re ninety years old!”

  “It ain’t funny!”

  I sat back down quick. For comfort, I picked up my dowsing stick, gripping it in both hands, attempting to hide the tremor.

  “If you could’ve seen yourself. All hunched over like an old woman.”

  “Ain’t nobody up here but you, so who cares!”

  My aggravation and nerves almost hid a different kind of tremor. I’d felt something. Was it . . . ? Was that . . . ?

  Daniel said, “Sonny?”

  “Sh!”

  I don’t know why I was telling him to be quiet. I shivered, but not from cold.

  “You look funny.”

  “Wait, Daniel.”

  I let go of one end of my dowsing stick, and the sensation disappeared. I rose to my knees. Somehow got to my feet. My attention was no longer on where I was, or how high, or anything else except that distinctive awareness. I held it in both hands again, and felt a pull, as if it would turn me toward the tower. I faced the tank, staring down at the vibrating stick in my hands. Opposite of sensing water in the ground, here the flush of warm went along my arms first, then shot down into my legs, and the stick, instead of pointing toward the ground, flew up so fast even Daniel took a step back. It pointed at the tank.

  “Sonny?” he said again, amazement in his voice.

  It’s back. I looked at Daniel and spoke that thought. “It’s back. I got it back!”

  Daniel said, “I ain’t ever thought you’d lost it. You only needed the right place, the right time.”

  I held it properly again, wanting to be sure. The vibration started as soon as the ends touched my palms. I stared up at the huge letters spelling out Lucky Strike. If Daddy was finally sending me a sign, it couldn’t have been any clearer.

  Daniel said, “Ain’t you glad you came now?”

  I was breathing fast. I was more than glad. Suddenly, I wanted to try it again, at home, my real home.

  I said, “I want to go try at my old house.”

  Daniel said, “Yeah, okay.”

  I would test it where it meant the most, on the land where I’d learned of it to begin with, near to the person who’d taught me. I waited for Daniel to lead the way. He drifted back to the rail and stared off into the distance again. When he finally started for the ladder, his expression sent a different sort of tremor along my spine. His eyes were lackluster, as dull as all of the browns of the dormant land below us. I realized he’d not talked of the things he usually did, his scenes, new movies, or any mention of being onstage at all. Given what I saw, I had the distinct impression Daniel no longer dreamed his big dreams, his eyes didn’t shine with possibilities.