BETO Beto stroked the soft fur over the kitten’s nose, and it nuzzled his hand. It lay curled into a ball of white and tan and gray in his lap. He turned the pages of the encyclopedia carefully so as not to disturb it.
Cari came into the kitchen and slid a finger down the length of the kitten’s spine. Its ear twitched, and it opened a wary eye. Cari frowned, and Beto knew she was trying to decide what to do with the feeling of not being the favorite.
Beto nudged her. “He needs a name.”
They’d gone back and forth for almost a week; it was time for the cat to be the somebody it was going to be.
“Sugar Man,” Cari said.
“Cats don’t even like sugar,” he protested. “That’s a name for a horse.”
“Or a sweet cat,” she said.
“Edgar,” Beto said. The kitten started to purr. “See? He didn’t purr for your name.”
“Ugh.” Cari rolled her eyes and tossed herself into one of the other kitchen chairs. She had tired almost instantly of the Poe poems they had read from Naomi’s English book, but Beto adored their “gloomy splendor.” That was what Miss Bell had said when he asked her what she thought of “The Raven.”
“Quoth the Raven, ‘Nevermore,’” Beto said. He grinned.
“Lord deliver me,” Cari said, but Beto knew she was planning something. She twirled a strand of hair slowly around her finger. “How bad do you want it to be ‘Edgar’?”
Beto tried to seem indifferent, but he couldn’t hide anything from her.
“You give me your dessert for two months, and you can name him,” she said.
“That’s nuts!” Beto bit his lip.
Cari shrugged. “I bet you anything that Daddy will like Sugar Man better than Edgar.”
“He might like my name,” Beto protested.
“If you want to risk it.”
“What do you think?” Beto scratched the cat under its chin and pressed his fingers gently against the soft pad of one small foot.
A truck pulled up the driveway. Cari ran to the screen. “It’s Daddy,” she said. “Last chance to get your name.”
“One month of treats,” Beto said.
The truck door opened. Henry’s boots thudded down on the gravel.
“Deal,” Cari squealed. She ran over to shake Beto’s hand. “Naomi and Muff are making pineapple upside-down cake,” she said with an evil grin. “I get your piece and mine, too.”
He ignored her. “Edgar,” he whispered to the kitten softly. “That’s your name now.”
Cari pushed the screen door open and clattered down the porch steps to meet Henry. “Daddy, we named the cat!” She came back into the kitchen a moment later carrying Henry’s hat.
“So what is it?” Henry asked as he walked into the kitchen.
“I picked the name,” Beto said, smiling up at him. “It’s Edgar.”
Henry rubbed at his jaw, leaving a smear of grease. “That cat’s a female.”
“But...” Beto hesitated, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. Edgar jumped down from his lap and stretched. Cari raised her eyebrows at Beto.
“Trust me, it’s a girl,” Henry went on. “There aren’t any male calico cats. What the hell kind of name is Edgar anyhow?”
“It’s the name of a famous poet. Edgar Allan Poe,” Cari said.
“Good grief,” Henry grumbled. “I should have gotten a tom. Could use another man around here.”
Beto blinked hard, suddenly deflated. It would be a disaster to cry, he knew. He glanced at Cari, but she just shrugged.
Henry picked up the percolator, sloshed around its contents, then set it back down on the stove. “Where’s Naomi?” he asked.
“Next door,” Cari said.
Henry began unbuttoning his shirt as he walked toward the bathroom. “One of y’all go over and get her. I want some coffee after I get cleaned up.”
“Yes, sir,” Beto said to Henry’s back.
When Henry was in the bathroom, Cari walked over and planted a kiss on Beto’s cheek. “Sorry about the bad news,” she said, “but no take-backs on the deal.”
Beto thought about it for a second. “Okay, but the name stays.”
“But Edgar’s no name for a girl. At least make it Annabelle,” she pleaded, “or Lee, like the other poem.”
“A deal’s a deal,” Beto said firmly. His eyes were fixed on the bathroom door, and he hoped Henry could hear him. “Now,” he reached for his jacket, “Edgar and I are going to find Naomi.”
NAOMI Naomi tilted her glass to free up the last sweet drops of lemonade at the bottom. Tommie pushed the mason jar toward her. “You finish it,” Tommie said. “We have more at home.”
“Thanks,” Naomi said. She cocked an eyebrow at Tommie, who was unusually quiet.
“About the dress,” Tommie said after a moment longer, “maybe we could go look at some styles in person, like you said might help.”
For home economics, all the senior girls had to sew themselves a proper dress. It was a big part of the class grade, and Tommie had been worrying about it since the day their teacher assigned it.
Naomi looked up from the catalog Tommie had brought with her. “Sure. When you find something you like, you look for a similar pattern. Or you can just use the dress to draw one.”
“Just!” Tommie scoffed. “You saw how my kettle cozy came out. Total disaster. And Mrs. Anderson said we have to actually wear the dress that we make.”
“You’ll do fine,” Naomi said with more confidence than she felt. Tommie had trouble concentrating long enough to sew a button on straight.
“I bet my uncle Ben would drive us over to Tyler one of these Saturdays coming up before Thanksgiving. We could go to Montgomery Ward, look at the latest styles. Maybe you can help me pick a pattern.”
“All the way to Tyler? You think he’d really take us?” Naomi’s enthusiasm surprised even her.
Tommie beamed at Naomi and leaned forward. “Sure he would, so long as we don’t mind Katie and Jean tagging along.”
“Could the twins come, too?” Naomi asked.
“Of course. Plenty of room for everybody in the back of the truck.”
“Okay, but check first,” Naomi said. “I don’t want to get their hopes up for nothing.”
◊ ◊ ◊
Tommie had just left when the screen door squeaked open and the twins shoved through the door.
“You two are home early,” Naomi said, looking up from her cutting board. There was still an hour before supper.
“We got cold,” Cari said. She and Beto ran to the heater and held out their hands to warm them before leaning in to heat their faces.
Naomi sighed. She’d hoped that Henry would notice that the twins’ jackets were too thin for East Texas, but two weeks had passed since the weather had turned really and truly cold. She’d have to bring it up.
“Not too close,” she warned. “Watch your hair, Cari.”
Beto broke away from the heater and pressed something small, light, and round into Naomi’s hand. “This is for you.”
She flashed a perfunctory smile. “Thanks,” she said, and shoved it into her apron pocket.
“Omi! You didn’t even look at it!” Cari protested.
“Sure I did. It’s a ... bird.”
“Yeah, but what kind?” Cari pressed, hands on her hips.
“A wooden one.” Naomi turned back to the turnips she was getting ready to boil.
Cari tugged on her elbow. “If you don’t like it, just give it back. We put a lot of work into that, you know.”
Naomi reached into her pocket and pulled the bird out again. It was made from a very small gourd with the pointed end of a twig sticking out from the narrow side and a fan-shaped bit of bark wedged into a slot on the opposite end. Two wings and slightly uneven black eyes had been painted on.
“You like it?” Cari asked.
“We did the painting,” Beto added.
“I do like it,” Naomi said. “Why don’t you two put it on top o
f the dresser until we find a place to hang it?”
Ever since the day he saw her burn, Wash had been sending little presents with the twins. Except for the salve, which she’d smeared on daily out of desperation, she pushed the gifts to the back of her drawer. Naomi reminded herself of what she’d seen at Wash’s house, how he’d made that girl laugh. She resolved anew not to be swayed by the presents; his guilty conscience was not her concern.
While the twins were in the bedroom, Naomi pressed her hand against the frosty chill of the window above the sink. There’d been so many cold nights now, more than she’d ever known in San Antonio. But it was easier here with a heater in every room and plenty of fuel thanks to the free gas from the oil companies. “We use it, or it goes to waste,” Muff had told her one night not long after they’d arrived. “See those flames there? That’s what they do with the rest of the bleed-off gas. They just flare it off.”
From where they had stood on Muff’s porch, the flares looked to be dancing in the woods, although in fact they were always fenced in a safe distance from the fall range of any of the trees. Naomi had found the gentle flicker of the flares entrancing, and Muff had smiled and squeezed her arm. “Some folks call oil country ugly, but I say it’s got its own kind of pretty,” she’d said. “You’ll see.”
From the back door, Naomi could see a flare close by in the woods. Two more flickered in the distance. She watched their bright dancing until the twins burst back into the kitchen.
“So are we having a turkey for Thanksgiving or not?” Cari asked. “Everybody at school is.”
Naomi bit her lip and glanced at Henry’s closed bedroom door. Tommie’s family had invited them for Thanksgiving, but she hadn’t asked Henry about it yet. She didn’t dare talk about it to the twins until he said it was okay.
“I’ll ask Daddy soon,” Naomi said. She tossed turnips into a pot.
“You said that yesterday,” Beto said. He settled at the table with one of Miss Bell’s encyclopedias.
“Mmm, remember Thanksgiving in San Antonio?” Naomi asked. Usually her grandparents kept the store open on Thanksgiving and prepared tamales to sell alongside clay mugs of steaming atole.
“We need a turkey,” Cari said. “That’s how they do it here.”
◊ ◊ ◊
Dinner was quick and mostly silent. Henry did not stop them at the beginning of the meal to pray. Beto glanced up when his father’s fork started moving. He opened his mouth, but Naomi caught his eye and shook her head. Beto bowed his head briefly and then began to eat.
When Henry finished, he wiped his mouth and pushed back from the table. “I’ve got an early shift tomorrow,” he said. He stood with his hands in his pockets and started toward the hall.
Cari and Beto looked at Naomi, widening their eyes.
“Daddy?” Naomi said abruptly when he was almost to the door of his bedroom.
He paused and turned, his face full of weariness and some emotion that Naomi couldn’t read. “What is it?” Henry sounded hoarse, and Naomi noticed that he had not shaved in a day or two.
She walked into the hall. “Do you have a minute?” Before he could answer, she turned to the twins. “Bundle up best you can and go feed Muff’s chickens, you hear?”
The twins scrambled into their jackets.
“Two things, real quick,” Naomi said once the screen door clattered shut behind them and their footsteps rang out on the steps. There was a hint of pleading in her voice that disgusted her, but she needed him to cooperate. “First thing is coats for the kids. It’s been so cold. Tommie said we could catch a ride with her uncle, maybe look over in Tyler—”
“Here,” he pulled out his money clip and handed her three five-dollar bills. “Whatever you think is best.”
He started to turn toward his room.
“The other thing is Thanksgiving...” she said to his back.
“Thanksgiving?” He sounded bewildered.
“It’s coming up.”
“We don’t need nothing special.” He reached for his doorknob. “Don’t worry about it.”
“How about eating with the Kinnebrews? Tommie’s mother invited us.”
Henry didn’t look at her, but his irritation was plain. “I don’t feel like dealing with church people every hour of the day. You and the kids go. I may even have to work.”
He turned the doorknob and shouldered the door to his room open. It closed behind him with a click.
NAOMI Naomi rode in the back of Ben’s truck with Tommie, the twins, and Tommie’s cousins Katie and Jean.
“Sorry we don’t get the cab,” Tommie shouted as they bounced down the highway toward Tyler. “I didn’t know my aunt was coming.”
“It’s fine,” Naomi called. She snuggled closer to Tommie under the afghan Deedee had given them when they got in. Across from them, the twins shared a giant quilt with Katie and Jean.
It had rained during the night, washing away any whiff of oil field sulfur stink. The air smelled clean and earthy, and everything looked crisp and glossed with sun. The pines along the road pointed up so straight and stark against the blue of the sky that it seemed like the clouds might catch on them.
The woods gave way to the outskirts of Tyler. Warehouses and work yards littered with battered and rusting equipment were mixed in with shotgun houses. Most of the homes were white with flaking paint, but a few were painted brightly.
“Coloreds!” Jean shouted and pointed at a couple of black children on one of the porches. They were eating out of a bowl held between them.
Tommie slapped Jean’s hand. “Don’t point,” she said loudly. “Poor folk don’t need you gawking at them.”
Naomi didn’t say that the bright colors of the house reminded her, briefly, of San Antonio. Not of the crowded corrals, but of the pretty West Side neighborhoods where wealthier Mexican families lived, their houses painted in yellows and oranges and pinks.
As they got farther into town, the houses got bigger and sat on yards carpeted with green and full of thick bushes and enormous shade trees. The New London oil camp houses seemed naked and homely by comparison.
“See those?” Tommie pointed to the bushes. “They’re called azaleas. In the spring that whole row will turn solid pink. Prettiest thing. I saw it last year when we visited Deedee and Ben before we moved over.”
After he parked downtown in front of the department stores, Ben rolled down his window and called back to Tommie. “I’ll be back for you all in a couple of hours. Katie, Jean, you girls mind Mama or else it’ll be your hide when we get home.”
“Yes, sir!” Katie and Jean called, already climbing down over the side of the truck and running for the sidewalk in front of Montgomery Ward. In the window, there were half a dozen evening gowns beaded with pearls and sequins.
Katie made a face. “Don’t see how you’d walk in those.”
“I sure couldn’t,” Tommie said. “But that don’t keep ’em from being pretty.”
Naomi herded the twins in front of her. “You two make sure that wherever we are, you can see me.” The sternness in her voice was halfhearted. The beautiful drive and the memories of San Antonio had lightened her mood. It could be a good day.
“How’s handsome Henry?” Deedee asked Naomi as they passed through the big glass doors into the store.
Naomi felt her own silence. She knew that, objectively, Henry was attractive; she’d seen women eye him during Sunday luncheons. “He’s fine,” she said quickly.
“Missed him at church,” Deedee said.
Naomi nodded, her eyes locked on a display of pots and pans as if it were an object of fascination. “Boss has him working lots of shifts right now.”
She wanted this topic to be finished, so she turned to Tommie. “Do you think we could look at the coats first? I have to get some heavier ones for the twins, maybe for me. Then we can take all the time we want looking at the dresses.”
◊ ◊ ◊
Not long after Naomi began looking through the enormous racks
of children’s coats, checking the prices, Cari and Beto tugged at her sleeve.
“We found the perfect ones,” Cari said. “Look.”
Naomi turned around. They had chosen well, she had to admit, at least as far as style and fit went. Cari had on a plaid cape-style coat with brown and blue nubby fabric and big pink buttons down the front. Beto wore a soft black leather zip-up with a bit of fleece around the collar.
Naomi examined the coats more closely. “They’re nice,” she said, “but I don’t think they’re warm enough.”
“Sure they are!” Cari said. “They’re twice as thick as our old jackets.”
“It could get even colder,” Naomi warned. “The weather’s not like back home.”
“These ones are on sale,” Cari pressed. “You can get a coat, too, and we’ll still have money for ice cream.”
Naomi caved. “Fine, but I’m getting a real coat. You’ll be sorry you don’t have one later.”
They followed her into the women’s coat section and helped her pick out a simple navy peacoat. “You look very pretty,” Cari said.
“Quit buttering me up,” Naomi said.
“She wasn’t,” protested Beto.
“All right then. Let’s go pay.”
◊ ◊ ◊
Naomi fingered the soft fabric of a gray dress with flared sleeves, a blousy top, and a skirt that flared out a bit from a belted waist. She glanced from the dress to Tommie, thinking hard about how the contours would match up with her body—and considering what she might change if she were making it from scratch.
“What do you think are your best features?” Naomi asked as she moved on to a deep maroon wool skirt with a matching jacket.
“My eyes and my ... bosom,” Tommie said. She had lowered her voice, but color still rushed to her cheeks.
“Somebody call the newspaper,” Naomi said, squeezing Tommie’s arm. “Tommie Kinnebrew just blushed for the first time!”
“You asked!” Tommie protested.
“I did. And we can pick a pattern that makes the most of both. What about a nice deep shade of purple to make those brown eyes sing? And ... something to put Dwayne Stark’s attention up here...” She gestured toward Tommie’s chest.
Out of Darkness (Fiction - Young Adult) Page 12
