Lonnie Starr looked at the box and then at her. “Didn’t you ever think that you could wreck the car and all this stuff would get lost that way?”
“I did once. Since I couldn’t do anything about it, I didn’t think of it anymore.”
Lonnie Starr chuckled at that as he peered into the box. He asked who Miss Edna was, but before Ruby Dee could answer, the sound of shouts drew their attention. They each looked in the direction of the voices, which appeared to come from an old white-gray shack up behind the house. The place looked like it could once have been part of a house—it had the long, skinny windows of an old house, and several of the glass panes showed their age, with air bubbles and ripples—but had long ago been relegated to a storage shed. The actual words were indistinct, but Ruby Dee thought she recognized one of the voices as being Will Starr’s, and boy, did he sound mad as could be.
“The chips have hit the fan,” Lonnie said. Nonchalantly, he lifted the bag she had indicated, as if whatever the shouting was about didn’t concern him... or as if he wasn’t going to let it concern him.
She didn’t think it polite to ask, but she certainly wondered what was going on, in the little shack as well as with Lonnie Starr. His merry hazel eyes had turned dark, rather like a dull mud puddle, even though his face remained as pleasant as ever.
“We’d better get your Miss Edna out of the sun,” he said and turned for the house.
But he hadn’t taken two steps when Will Starr hollered at them. In the doorway of the old shack, he motioned with his arm. It was obvious he meant come on the double.
Lonnie Starr murmured a curse and dropped the bag and Miss Edna back on the car seat and strode off toward his brother. Ruby Dee set her box of precious things beside the urn before running after him.
Will Starr and his daddy had argued and come to blows. Will Starr had a nasty puncture wound on his cheekbone, just below his eye. It would need stitches. He wiped the blood away with his sleeve, but succeeded only in smearing it.
His daddy, a stocky man with a shock of white hair, sat across the room, on the floor, his foot having gone through a rotten floorboard. Both men were white as starch, and as stiff, too, and the aura of hostility was thick as smoke from an oil fire.
Will Starr took his daddy beneath the arm on one side, and Lonnie grasped him on the other, and they got the older man up and out of the hole. The elder Starr immediately commanded his sons: “Leave be,” and shook them off as he would flies. The next instant he promptly about fell over, because the ankle that had gone through the floor gave way. Will Starr caught him. His daddy said he was fine and blamed his almost falling on Lonnie Starr letting go so quickly.
“Gimme my cane.”
But even with his cane, he couldn’t manage more than two shuffled steps. He couldn’t put weight on the foot that had gone through the floor, and he was awfully shaky, besides. His white face was now gray, with a red nose.
Will Starr said, “Dad, you’ve hurt that ankle. Don’t try to use it. Let’s get you over to the door, where you can sit in the fresh air.”
To which his daddy said, “Ever’thing on me’s hurt, and fresh air ain’t fixed it yet.”
Lonnie Starr didn’t say anything. He stepped through the door ahead of them, shoved his hands in his pockets and propped a boot and his back against the shack.
Will Starr got an old chair from the corner, set it just outside the doorway and helped his daddy into it. The older man braced himself hard on the arms of the chair, and Ruby Dee saw that his fingernails were long and unkempt, with blue showing underneath their yellowish color, and he was shaking like a leaf in a high wind. His blood-sugar level was no doubt soaring like a kite.
As he relaxed, he emitted a rush of breath. Ruby Dee was close enough to him to catch the hint of whiskey on it. Whiskey was poison for anyone with diabetes, not to mention an eighty-five year old man. Of course, it had been Ruby Dee’s observation that most anything a person enjoyed was poison to a body after about fifty years of age.
“Well, Mr. Starr, we’d best take a look at that ankle,” she said, crouching on the ground in front of him and reaching for the foot that had gone through the floor.
The man’s hand came flying, as if to swat her, and she ducked. She had quick reflexes—had to, in her work.
“All of ya’all get away from me.” The old man glared at her and then looked up at Will Starr. “Haven’t you done enough? Leave me be.” His tone was sharp as a knife blade.
Will Starr said tiredly, “We’re gonna have to get you to the hospital, Dad. Lon, go bring the truck."
“I ain’t goin’ to no hospital,” the elder Starr said.
“Of course not,” Ruby Dee said, which caused Will Starr to frown at her, and his daddy to eye her. At least she had gotten their attention.
She was still crouched there, in front of the elder Mr. Starr. She met his gaze but kept her expression casual as could be, saying, “We need to see if your ankle is broken. Then you might want to go to the hospital, although I wouldn’t advise touchin’ anything there. It’s been proven that a hospital is a very germy place. I might be able to tell if it’s broken— your ankle—and I really need to look at it, because I can’t just leave you here. You see, I’m a nurse, which means I am duty-bound to help hurt people. If word got out that I just left you—a patient in need—and didn’t try to do what I could, well, they just might take away my license. And then what would I do? I have bills to pay. Besides, if we don’t get this boot off your foot real quick, your foot or ankle might swell and the boot would have to be cut off, and you don’t want to ruin a good pair of boots. Well, these are pretty old, but they just get good then, don’t they? Nothin’ better than boots at least ten years old, I always say. It takes that long to get them to fit a body’s feet like a glove.”
The whole time she was talking, Ruby Dee was removing his boot. The old man gave a little “Oh!” and the boot was in her hand. He wasn’t wearing any socks. Quickly Ruby Dee felt for damage. His foot was puffy and warm, but she had expected that, what with his diabetes, and no socks, besides.
Almost spitting bullets, the old man jerked his foot away. “I ain’t a-goin’ to the hospital. You boys get me in the house.”
He reached for his boot, but Ruby Dee snatched it right out from under his grasp and straightened, saying, “You might as well just go on in and wait it out. Either it’ll get better, or you’ll be cryin’ for somebody to take you to the hospital, probably in the middle of the night.” She looked at Will Starr. “Y’all go on inside. I’ll get my things and be there directly.”
Will Starr looked like she had slapped him upside the head, but she paid him no attention. Pivoting, and carrying the old man’s boot with her, she strode away toward her trailer.
Will stared after her. She strode firmly, her lean legs outlined by her dress, the hem fluttering with each step. He wondered if she was really that callous, or if she simply knew that the old man’s condition wasn’t serious enough to warrant a trip to the hospital. And he wondered, too, at her gall in directing him.
The old man said, “She took my durn boot,” and that brought Will back to the situation.
“Let’s get you inside, Dad. Lonnie, take his other side.”
“Well, I ain’t a-goin’ to the hospital,” the old man said, as if unaware no one was arguing with him. “You boys get me in the house. Ouch! Dang it, Lonnie, you ain’t haulin’ a sack of feed grain. There’s nerves in that arm. I could’a managed to walk some, if I had my boot. You make sure you get my boot back, Will. That dadburn woman’s a thief.”
What Will would have said in that minute, had anyone asked, was that only one of Hardy Starr had ever been made. Here the old man had come close to cracking open the head of his own firstborn son and to crippling himself even more than he already was, and to a possible second stroke or a heart attack, but what concerned him most was the loss of a boot that looked as if it had been dragged behind a horse for a hundred miles. The old man always
had stood guard over his possessions and been tighter than a pig’s ass when it came to spending money.
By the time Will and Lonnie got the old man into his room and set down on his bed, he was breathing hard and not saying a word, never a good sign with him. He looked wrung out.
“You okay, Dad?” Will asked, feeling concerned.
“No, I ain’t okay, but I don’t see that talkin’ about it does any good. Now, hush up and get my other boot off. Lonnie, fix them pillows so I can lean back. And get me somethin’ to prop this dang foot on.”
Will figured the old man wasn’t going to keel over dead any minute—his meanness wouldn’t allow him to. He’d just die straight up.
They got him settled back against pillows, with his injured ankle resting on a rolled-up cotton blanket. Will suggested getting him out of his clothes, but his daddy said he hadn’t gotten out of his clothes in the middle of the day at home in his life, and he wasn’t about to start now. “Such is for hospital folks.”
Then he wanted his cane, even though he wasn’t going anywhere, and Lonnie, intent on disappearing, quickly said he would go get it. Will was left at the foot of the bed, staring at the old man’s shock of silver hair and remembering how that hair had swirled as the old man came at him with the cane. He felt sick.
Tenderly he fingered the cut on his cheekbone, felt the dried blood and the swelling flesh. No doubt it didn’t look good, but the old man hadn’t shown any concern about it. Not one word; not so much as a glance. The sick feeling turned to anger. An anger that frightened him and made him a stranger to himself.
Then Miss D’Angelo came sweeping through the door, with her fluttering earrings and swaying walk, bearing a tray in her hands. “I brought one of your pain pills, Mr. Starr, and an ice pack. It’ll help bring down that swellin’. I have some tomato juice, too. You seem like a tomato juice man."
The old man lifted his arm and pointed at the door. “Well, now, young lady, you can just get your wigglin’ bottom right back out of this house. You’ve caused enough trouble. This is still my place, and I say what stays or goes, and you’re goin’—you and your fancy bitch dog. Get on outta here!”
The last came out a roar that pushed the gal back a step.
The words echoed inside Will’s brain. They were equivalent to the firing of a gun, sending the racing horses of fury up and out of him.
Gripping the turned footboard of the dark old bed, Will leaned forward and locked eyes with his father. “Yes, sir, this is your place. By God, you sure do own it, but right now you can’t run it. Right now you can’t get out of that bed, so whether you like it or not, I’m in charge.” He poked his chest with his finger and then pointed at the old man. “And I’ve got two choices for you: you can let this woman take care of you, or you can go into a nursing home and be taken care of there. It don’t matter to me one iota which one you choose, either, but I damn sure know I’m not gonna be nursing you. And I’ll tell you something more—once you get out of that bed and on your feet again, you can just see to the runnin’ of every damn part of this place, and I’ll be out of here.”
Shoving himself away from the bed and the old man, he turned on the gal, saying, “You said you could handle him, Miss D’Angelo, so you just go ahead and have at it!”
Will stalked away from them and past Lonnie lurking in the hallway, the way he wished he could stalk away from his whole damn life.
As the echo of Will Starr’s boots died on the wooden floor, Ruby Dee wished heartily that she hadn’t witnessed what she had.
Her gaze met that of Lonnie Starr, who hesitated in the shadowy hallway, a pained expression on his face. Then she looked at the elderly Mr. Starr. The man’s white hair stood on end. His expression was cold and hard; the bitterness emanating from him was strong enough for Ruby Dee to taste it.
It scared her a little. She had the distinct impression that if he could have gotten his hands around her neck, he would have strangled the life out of her. And he appeared strong.
“I’ll just leave this for you,” she said, her voice breaking as tears threatened.
It seemed a little foolish to think he would actually choke her, but she stayed out of his reach as she found a place for the juice and the pill on the cluttered nightstand, then quickly dropped the blue ice pack on the bed near his hand.
He sat stony-faced. A man clinging to his pride and his misery. Her heart cracked open and poured out. She wanted badly to say something to ease him, but no doubt he would most appreciate being left alone. She had witnessed his humiliation by his son; now he would sooner die than speak with her.
As she passed through the door, the ice pack whizzed near her head and smashed into the door frame to her right, at eye level. It fell to the floor with a thud.
Ruby Dee whirled, fire leaping to her tongue. But when she saw the elderly man’s hand raise the glass of tomato juice, she grabbed the door. Just as she brought it closed, the glass crashed against it on the other side.
For a moment, trembling, Ruby Dee stood with her hand on the doorknob. Sally was cowering against the wall and gazing questioningly up at her. When she turned, she found Lonnie Starr standing in the dining room entry, his expression much the same as Sally’s.
“Should I get back to bringing your things in?” he asked, raising an eyebrow and looking hopeful.
Ruby Dee thought about that, while he continued to look at her and wait.
Then she breathed deeply and said, “Yes. And start with the things in my refrigerator, so I can begin makin’ supper.”
There was nothing better than a good meal to soothe ragged tempers.
Chapter 7
Lonnie had never been bothered much by a woman’s tears. Tears were simply a part of a woman, and he loved everything about women. Generally he was confronted by a woman’s tears when he was leaving her, and he had learned how to handle that. He was so comforting that he always left a woman smiling through her tears.
But Lonnie had never seen a woman tune up and cry at a news blurb on the television, which was what Ruby Dee D’Angelo did. All she needed to hear was the announcement made at the commercial break during Wheel of Fortune — “Three people are known killed when a tornado touched down in a trailer park south of Wichita, Kansas”—and she had tears coming down her cheeks.
“Oh, my...oh, my.” With a dish and a towel in hand, she sank down in the chair across the table from Lonnie. They had been watching the little television on the kitchen table. Mostly Lonnie had been watching Ruby Dee.
She wiped her cheeks. “I’m sorry... but I was in a tornado once. Have you ever been?”
“No. I’ve seen more than one but haven’t ever been in any.”
“Well, I was, when I was ten. Me and five other kids huddled in a room. The adults were in the closet, but there wasn’t room for us kids, so they left us in that room. The tornado took the whole house— it wasn’t very big—all except that room. When the tornado got done, we were still in a huddle, with the floor under us and no walls, and the closet blown to bits, too.” She shut her mouth, got up and went to the sink.
Lonnie wondered whether the adults in the closet had lived, whether they had been her parents, and if they had been, how they had left her out in the room. But he didn’t think she wanted to talk about it, and he really didn’t, either. He’d had enough disturbance for one day. When the news was about to come on, he changed the channel to the Andy Griffith Show, which was on a channel without any news at all.
Lonnie was unsettled as it was, being caught between his natural aversion to contention and his natural attraction to females. Ruby Dee fascinated him.
She wore a June Cleaver apron and a brightly printed silk scarf wrapped in a turban around her head, saying it kept hair out of the food and cooking smoke out of her hair. None of it matched—the turban, the apron, the dress or the boots—but on her it all seemed to go together. She was the most exotic sight Lonnie had ever seen.
“Your daddy may be too angry to talk to me, b
ut he’s not too angry to eat my food,” she said, coming into the kitchen with the old man’s empty supper tray. Her little dog was right at her heels. It wasn’t ever far from her.
“You did threaten him,” Lonnie reminded her, although he was surprised the threat had worked. He figured that the old man had simply been more overcome by the good food than by the threat.
“Oh, he wasn’t bothered by that. He knows he’s got to eat if he’s gonna stay out of a home—and if he’s gonna drink that whiskey he’s got hidden under his pillow.”
“He’s drinkin’?” That fact and the casual way she mentioned it threw Lonnie into confusion. “Shouldn’t we get it away from him?”
She looked at him for a second, her eyes dark and quiet, and shook her head. “I don’t think he has much left in that bottle, anyway.” She bent over to load the dishwasher. “He’s been drinking for many years, you know...and you can understand it when you see how stiff he is. He probably aches all the time.”
She put a hand on her hip. “Besides, he’s not a child or a fool. We are to care for him, but we are not to keep him. God does that.”
Lonnie thought about that. Whether the old man was a fool or not was open to question, as was just how much God kept him. What wasn’t open for question was Lonnie going in there and taking the bottle away from the old man—he wasn’t going to do it.
“Do you think your brother would really put him in a home?” Ruby Dee asked, leaning back against the counter. She held a cherry tomato to her mouth and sucked on it.
“I don’t know.” Lonnie didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t think he should tell her that he thought the old man ought to go into a home. He watched her eat another cherry tomato and wondered if she knew how sexy she looked doing it.
Then she said, “You better go see if he needs to go to the bathroom now. I add whole wheat flour to my cornbread, which gives it twice as much fiber, and I doubt he’s used to that. And he sure needs to get washed and changed.”
The Loves of Ruby Dee Page 5
