“Reuben, get up. We got to get out.” He reached over to shake Reuben and then felt for the seat belt he had fastened not five minutes before. He jerked it free with his left hand. “Get up, get up!” He kept shouting at the dark lump that was Reuben. He was struggling—on his knees now—to pull Reuben out of his seat. He couldn’t stand. There were obstructions all around and above him. He remembered pulling Reuben’s body over on his back and holding one of his arms with his hand, then crawling forward toward the place where he felt the rain pouring in.
He had crawled out on the side opposite the flames, glancing back and seeing them licking the underside of the wing and growing stronger as he scooted backward away from it, pulling Reuben along between his legs, holding the collar of his coat with one hand and pulling with the other arm over a mulch of soggy, rotting pine needles.
The burning wing was behind the cockpit, probably sheared off by trees as they had skidded to a landing. An explosion was inevitable. He pulled back several more yards in among the trees, dragging Reuben with him, not wanting to look. And when he did, when he finally did, Reuben’s face—reflected in the light of the burning wing—held the same expression it had before takeoff.
“Reuben,” over and over, “damn it, Reuben,” repeated and repeated, as he reached down, patting Reuben’s chest and straightening Reuben’s coat collar and realizing then that the whole evening—watching him give his report, having supper with him, and berating him for not being on time—he hadn’t noticed: Reuben was wearing his wretched party tie.
It was an explosion so dazzling, it seemed to coat them, so strong that it created its own wind, blowing their hair, flinging pine needles and leaves past them. For a moment, there was light that obliterated the shadows. And then, as if asking forgiveness, it retreated back into a warm glow, remnants of their hopes lingering in midair—shimmering small pieces of debris, silently drifting back down through the trees, in among the raindrops—luminous, sparkling stars falling on Alabama, consecrating this place that had put an end to their dreams.
CHAPTER 41
The Road Home
THE BUICK HADN’T BEEN DRIVEN in weeks. Dust swirled off the hood as they pulled away from Highlander, Eugenia and Tab in the front seat. Tina, in the back, was still not speaking. Turning down off the mountain, road signs popped up at them: LUCKY STRIKE MEANS FINE TOBACCO. YOU’LL WONDER WHERE THE YELLOW WENT WHEN YOU BRUSH YOUR TEETH WITH PEPSODENT. Sliding back into the familiar old roads, the old signs—maybe even the old life. In just that long, Tab felt a million miles removed from the mountaintop.
When they came to a split in the highway, Eugenia stayed west on 64 instead of turning to go south to Alabama. Tab was so weary, she didn’t want to ask. She closed her eyes and let her head rest against the window. The side vent blew air in her face. Tina was furiously flipping through a Seventeen, the same one she had left in the backseat the day they first came into Highlander. “Gravy, I can’t afford these clothes. What do they expect me to wear this fall?”
Maybe Aunt Eugenia was afraid to go home. Maybe she couldn’t think of a way to ease them back into the old life unannounced. Maybe that was the problem. Tab’s head was still up against the window and her eyes were still closed. “What we can do is tell them that we told Miss Bebe to call them and say we were coming home early, only Miss Bebe forgot to call.”
Aunt Eugenia didn’t say anything.
“What do you think about that? They’ll never know, and we won’t tell, honest.”
Eugenia kept driving.
Tab sighed, “Okay, Aunt Eugenia, where are we going?” She reached up to tap the cloth stitching just above her head. Dust from Highlander sprinkled down over them.
“We need to go to Pulaski. There’s one last little thing I need to do before I can go back to California in peace.” She pressed down on the accelerator.
The pages of Seventeen stopped flipping in the backseat. “What one last little thing?”
“We’ll just take some small nonviolent action to show our displeasure. Then we’ll move on, that’s all.” She twitched her shoulders, still gripping the wheel. “Not being invited to sit-in in Nashville, at least I can make some statement on my own.”
“Our displeasure?” Tina pitched the Seventeen and tried to get Aunt Eugenia’s attention in the rearview mirror. “See me? You are looking at a person who does not have any displeasure. I am happy—aren’t we, Tab?”
“Oh yeah, happy, happy. And no, not one bit of displeasure do I have. I am done with making people mad,” and to add emphasis, “Aunt Eugenia, did Granddaddy ever tell you about the lynching he went to up here in Tennessee when he was a boy? They don’t take kindly to outsiders up here, Aunt Eugenia.”
Eugenia said nothing.
“And you’re about as outsider as they come.”
Tab tried again. “Aunt Eugenia, people don’t care about the plaque. All they want is to eat at Woolworth’s, to go swimming in the heat, things like that. I never heard anybody say they were mad about the plaque, not Dominique, not Eloise.” She began to think of Dominique. She would love this. She would love doing whatever it was they were getting ready to do. Tab couldn’t suppress a grin.
Tina flopped back against the backseat, hands hugging her waist, “Jeez, I’ve had such a hard day. I don’t need this. You know I’m not like the others. I didn’t go on the bus trip,” She sneered Tab’s way. “Even though I was asked.”
“You weren’t. Who asked you? And what do you mean, saying, ‘Jeez’?”
“Who do you think asked me? But I have more sense than some people.”
They drove on down off the mountain, passing perfectly normal-looking farmhouses and pastures and farmers driving tractors in the fields. It seemed to be a perfectly normal day—for those people.
The ends of Eugenia’s scarf caught the breeze and fluttered out the window. “There is a dark side to our family history we mustn’t forget,” she said.
“Oh no, Aunt Eugenia. You got that wrong.” They both began shaking their heads too much in unison, hoping this would discourage her, since they seldom agreed with each other. “Our family,” Tab said, “it’s got a perfectly good history. We go to church. We’re nice people. Uncle Arla, he died in the war, fighting the Nazis. Mama, she’s president of the Red Cross auxiliary, for heaven sakes. Pop, he’s president of the Rotary.”
“The plaque, it’s just some old piece of metal,” Tina said, “put up there because the men were saving southern womanhood.” Eugenia turned to look at Tina, reaching up to lower her glasses and get a clearer picture. Tab put a hand on the steering wheel, swerving to avoid a possum. “I know all about it,” Tina said. “Don’t look at me like I don’t know all about it. Grandmother told us the whole story.”
“We’re not supposed to talk about that,” Tab said. “Grandmother told us never to talk about that.”
“Oh really.” Aunt Eugenia was momentarily diverted. “I’m sure I’ve already heard it, but what did she tell you, just to refresh my memory?”
“She told us the story of Cousin Annie Sue Harden, her mama’s first cousin. You remember her talking about Cousin Annie Sue?”
“I remember seeing her. She was an old lady when I was a child, but she died when I was little, so I don’t remember much. What about her?”
“You better not tell that story,” Tab said. “Grandmother cried when she told us that story. You’re gonna get in trouble.”
“You can tell me, Tina.”
“It was about that time she was out in the cotton fields, after the war, trying to make a garden because there was nothing to eat and they needed food ’cause her husband had been killed in the war and she had two little children to feed, and along came a gang of freed slaves, and they took cousin Annie Sue down to the creek and . . . and they made her take off all her clothes and . . . and she was horrified. That’s what Grandmother said. Cousin Annie Sue Harden was horrified to tell, but she went into town and told the Yankee general that was in charge, and
after she told him, he just laughed and said it served her right. And then she had to go to Texas for a whole year to have the baby.” Tina stopped to take a breath and Tab took it up, because the cat was out of the bag by then, and besides, she did feel for Cousin Annie Sue Harden, she really did.
“And so Cousin John Lester and the rest had to do something about it, ’cause if they hadn’t, it woulda happened all over the place.”
Aunt Eugenia drove on. It was a two-laner and she decided to pass a tractor that was pulling a hay baler, with a truck coming in the opposite direction. Tab slid down in the seat and closed her eyes. After a minute or two, when they weren’t dead, she sat up and looked out.
“She never told me that story, her own daughter.”
“Well, it’s true,” Tina said.
“It’s just an old wives’ tale,” Aunt Eugenia said. “The family is full of old wives’ tales.”
“How do you know that?” Tina had her arms over the front seat, watching Aunt Eugenia’s face in the rearview mirror.
“I saw a picture of Cousin Annie Sue Harden. Grandmother showed it to me,” Tab said. “She said she had to leave her baby in Texas with some Mexican family ’cause it was so dark.” Her mind wandered for a moment, thinking about that baby and what had ever happened to it and if Cousin Annie Sue was like Dominique’s mother. Did she ever wonder about Dominique? She had never before considered Cousin Annie Sue’s baby and what had happened to it, only Cousin Annie Sue.
“Your grandmother would not tell you a tale like that. I know it.”
“We were sitting right there on the porch. I remember it because it was when Great-Uncle Colton was visiting from Georgia and brought her the peach wine he’d made. We were sitting there, just the three of us, and she was sipping and rocking. Every time I smell peaches, I think of that night,” Tina said.
“It couldn’t be true,” Eugenia said again.
“How do you know?” Tab asked.
Aunt Eugenia ordered tea and butter beans. “I’ll have butter beans, cream corn, string beans, sweet potatoes, fried chicken, corn bread, sweet tea, and pecan pie for dessert.” Tab handed the menu to Tina.
They had passed the sign advertising Aunt Joleen’s Kountry Kitchen just outside of Pulaski. That’s when Tab remembered she could say she was hungry, since it was already past dinnertime. Aunt Eugenia would have to stop, even though she was anxious to get on with it. It would slow things up a bit. Tab needed time to think about this. Maybe her father wouldn’t like it. She knew for sure Dominique would. Granddaddy would not. Grandmother would not. Why was she taking a vote? The twins and Charles Junior wouldn’t care. Uncle Tom would hate them doing this—whatever it was they were going to do.
Tab dawdled over her green beans and the pecan pie. She struck up a conversation with the waitress. “Miss Cora”—her name was right there above the purple lace handkerchief blooming out of her breast pocket—“mighty good pecan pie. This y’all’s specialty?”
“That and the peach cobbler,” Miss Cora looked at the rest of the table. “Anybody wanta try the peach cobbler?”
“I do.”
“Aw honey, you can’t do that,” said Miss Cora. “You’ve already ’bout busted a gut with what you done et so far.” She stood there, with pencil and pad, adding up the bill. “Y’all on your way to Memphis?”
“Directly, but first we gotta look round a little more.” Tab was bad to go along with the local talk. Aunt Eugenia only wished she could, it having been completely washed out of her, probably someplace in India.
They watched Miss Cora still adding up the bill. Miss Cora was not a fast adder. “Lordy, I was wonderin’,” Aunt Eugenia said, trying to affect a country air and it not coming off at all. “Do y’all got any idea of something of historical interest round these here parts that we might lay eyes on?”
Cora looked sideways at Aunt Eugenia, like she had just run her fingernails across a blackboard. Then she rolled her eyes at Tab.
“What she means is,” Tab said, “how do you get to the Ku Klux Klan plaque from here?”
Tina folded her arms around her waist and looked down at the floor.
“Oh that. You take Second Street for a couple of blocks and then turn left on Jefferson. Go past the courthouse and it’s down there on your left. You can’t miss it. Lawyer offices now. George is away for the week fishing, but you don’t need to get in. Right there on the outside of the building.”
Aunt Eugenia was opening her purse to get out money and her cat’s-eye sunglasses. “That’s very kind of you. We’re truly much obliged.” She snapped her purse shut. “And by the way, where is the nearest hardware store?” Tina put her elbows on the table, rested her head in her hands, and groaned. Miss Cora gave them a funny look, but told them.
When they left, Miss Cora was standing at the next table. She was taking the orders of the three men sitting there. Once, she pointed her pencil in Aunt Eugenia’s direction.
After she picked up the paint and a brush at the hardware store—Aunt Eugenia said she had chosen white for purity—they headed to the plaque.
Tab caught Tina glaring at her from the backseat, as if she was some kind of traitor just because she was sitting up front and somehow couldn’t keep the grin off her face. She was thinking of Dominique: I’ll have something to write to you about soon, mon amie.
“I am not taking part in anything unlawful,” from the backseat.
“That’s what I used to say.”
“I am not breaking the law.”
“This is nothing compared to the other. I’m getting used to this.” Tab did notice, out of the rearview mirror, as they left the hardware store, that there was a blue Dodge following them, about a ’56, like the one that had been parked next to them at the Kountry Kitchen. It had disappeared by the time they pulled up to park in front of the plaque.
“You may come or not,” Eugenia said. “It’s up to your individual conscience.” Tab opened her door.
“What are you doing? Egad, do you know what you’re doing, Tab? You could get arrested. What would Mother say?”
“I am going, Tina, to look at the plaque. That’s all I got in mind—to look at the plaque.” Tab closed the door and talked through the window. “I am not the one carrying the gallon of paint. I am not the one with the paintbrush. You can see that plain as day, can’t you? Besides, there’s nobody around. They’ve all gone home to dinner.”
When Aunt Eugenia said she couldn’t get the top off the paint can, Tab did go back to the car and get a screwdriver out of the glove compartment.
“I’m telling. I don’t care what you say.” Tina flopped down in the backseat, covering her face with the Seventeen.
A few minutes later, they opened the back doors of the car, dropped some things on the floorboard, slammed the doors, hopped in the front, and drove away.
Tina lifted the Seventeen. “Just wait ’til we get home.”
“I”—Tab was leaning over the backseat, smiling—“I did not have a hand in opening the paint. That was all Aunt Eugenia, and you can’t tell on her. She’s an adult.”
Aunt Eugenia was in a state of euphoric shock, white knuckles gripping the wheel, a silly grin on her face, mumbling, “I can’t believe . . . after all these years,” followed by giddy laughter.
“And when she wrote the word shame in big letters across the building and put an arrow pointing to the plaque,” Tab said, “I did nothing but stand back and say that I thought an exclamation point would be in order.”
“Oh gravy.”
“The next part, where she accidentally brushed up against the plaque and realized that it was loose in its bolts, so then she took the screwdriver out of her pocket and began to pry the plaque off the wall . . .” Tina sat up slowly, staring at her. Tab shrugged her shoulders. “I had nothing to do with that. I don’t know why I was grinning when she did it. I just was. I was just caught up in the moment or something.”
Tina didn’t move, but her eyes shifted to the floorboar
d.
“I did pick up the paint can and the brush—no fingerprints left behind. Looks like you could be happy about that.” Tina moved to the corner opposite the plaque, huddling up, like it might strike out at her.
They were not even out of the city limits when Tab noticed the blue Dodge several cars behind them. She decided to break the news slowly. Tina was not used to the protest life. “You know how you feel, Tina, just before you get to the top of the first hill on a roller coaster? You know, like you should take a deep breath ’cause pretty soon you won’t be able to take a breath at all?”
“What are you mumbling about, and at a time like this? We could all go to jail.”
“Oh nothing.” She thought better of it and turned to Aunt Eugenia. “Aunt Eugenia?” Both of her aunt’s hands were gripping the wheel. There wasn’t much paint at all on her fingers. “Aunt Eugenia?” She had a glazed look on her face and it was blushing red. “Aunt Eugenia, did you notice that car back there? I think it was the same one as at the Kountry Kitchen. If I was a betting person, I’d say Miss Cora tattled.”
“I knew it,” said Tina, not daring to turn around and look. “I knew it. I knew it.”
“Can’t you say something useful,” Tab said, “like ‘Where is the nearest police station?’” Then after a moment’s consideration, “Never mind, we couldn’t go there.”
Tina turned slowly and looked out the rear window, catching glimpses of the blue Dodge several cars back. “How much gas have we got?” It was time to face up to things. “How much?” she said.
The Summer We Got Saved Page 29
