The only person Jolene ever really listened to was my mother. Probably that was because Mother really listened to her, too. It was a puzzle why Mother was so patient with her. She was almost old enough to be Jolene’s mother, but she acted more like a sister to her. Even when we were in Indianapolis, Mother worried over Jo-lene. She sent her letters and coupons and gifts, and she tried to show Jolene how to be a mama.
One thing was certain, though—Jolene never learned to be a mama. But Reana Mae did have some family who loved her. Loreen fussed over her. Ray was quietly fond of her, letting Reana Mae spend her days at his store, reading to her from the National Geographic magazines he collected, and teaching her to read and write before she was even five.
And then, of course, I loved her. Between the two of us, we made a sisterhood of misfits that sustained us both for a long time.
6
A Time to Give Thanks
We tumbled out of the wood-paneled station wagon, cramped and tired from the eight-hour drive, and stared at the scene before us. The valley looked like a picture postcard—a soft-focus watercolor of rural Appalachia. The hills and trees and bushes, the cabins and outhouses, the pumps and split-rail fences were frosted white. I had never been to the river in winter before, and the landscape I knew as well as I knew my own name looked foreign, the familiar markers blanketed in snow. Even our cabin looked strange under a foot of snow. But someone had shoveled a path to the front door for us.
“Okay, girls, stop gaping and start carrying,” Daddy hollered, opening the tailgate. “No one uses the bathroom till the car’s unloaded!”
“Now, that’s some incentive you got goin’ there!”
We turned to see Bobby Lee in the open door of the cabin, laughing.
“I got you a fire goin’.” He grinned. “Figured you’d need it after the drive.”
Daddy strode onto the porch and shook Bobby Lee’s hand. Mother hugged him. “Thank you, Bobby Lee. How thoughtful of you. Is Jolene with you?”
“I’m here, Helen.” Jolene was just inside the door, a blue apron tied around her waist. The smell of fresh cinnamon rolls wafted from the cabin. Mother’s eyes widened in surprise—Jolene was not known for her domestic skills. But she smiled and hugged Jolene tight, then reached for Reana Mae, standing just behind her mother, clutching a wooden spoon. The front of her gray sweatshirt was dusted with flour, and she was smiling shyly.
“Come on, girls. Let’s get moving!” Daddy returned to the business of unloading the car. Bobby Lee and Reana Mae joined us, carrying the suitcases, boxes, and bags into the cabin. Mother and Jolene stayed inside, unpacking groceries in the kitchen. Bobby Lee and Jolene always opened the cabin for us when we came down, but never had they been such a welcome sight. The kerosene lamps and fire in the wood-burning stove made a small oasis of light and warmth in the frosty late afternoon, and as soon as we had brought in our luggage and made our hurried visits—clutching a roll of toilet paper—to the outhouse, we unwrapped ourselves from layers of coats and mufflers and hats, and gathered around the stove.
Mother made coffee for the grown-ups and cocoa for us. Jolene passed around cinnamon rolls warm from the oven. We were home for the holidays, spending Thanksgiving at the river. Best of all, Daddy was with us to stay for the whole week. I thought I would split my face open from grinning so wide.
Reana Mae was showing me the new dress and coat, with matching hat and muff, that Loreen had sewn for Essie, when we heard the tramp of boots on the back porch. The door swung open and the frame was filled with a bearlike shape, bundled head to toe in dark wool. The creature was carrying a huge armful of firewood. I shrank back into the couch behind Mother.
“Here’s more wood, Bobby,” said the bear, dropping the wood onto the pile by the stove. Now I could see it was a man—a big man pulling a dark brown ski mask off his head. Then, as he noted the crowd of people in the room, the man’s cheeks turned a dark red, and I realized it wasn’t even a man at all—it was a great big boy.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Didn’t know you all was here.”
Bobby Lee had risen and was standing beside the big boy. “Jim, Helen, you remember my little brother, Caleb?”
Daddy rose to shake the bear-boy’s hand. With his ski mask off, I could see that Caleb looked a bit like Bobby Lee—younger and not so handsome, but with the same dark brown eyes, the same straight nose, the same shock of black curly hair falling across his forehead. But where Bobby Lee carried the features with a confident, slightly macho grace, Caleb looked like a hulking bear—his eyes glancing kind of sideways at you, dark with suspicion.
“Caleb’s stayin’ with us for a piece, till Mama gets herself settled somewhere. He’s been a big help around the house, what with my schedule pickin’ up so. I don’t know what Jolene would do without him these days.” Bobby Lee flopped back down onto the picnic bench beside Jolene. “Ain’t that right, sugar?”
“Oh yeah.” Jolene smiled back at him. “He’s a great helper all right.”
Then she glanced at my mother, just for an instant, and I could see in that look she was lying. Her green cat-eyes were narrowed slightly, her mouth drawn into a tight line. Funny, when she looked that way, she seemed suddenly old—lines creasing her forehead, small crow’s feet around her eyes. Then she turned back to Bobby Lee, and she was herself again—pretty, plump Jolene. “I just wish your schedule would let up some, that’s all.”
Bobby Lee laughed, looking away from her. “If I’m gonna build you that loft you keep naggin’ about, I gotta be doin’ more long hauls to pay for it, now, don’t I?” He grinned at my father and shook his head. “Jolene says she’s gotta have a upstairs loft like you all got here, so Reana Mae can have her some privacy. With an extra body about, it’s gettin’ a might crowded at home.”
“Especially when the body’s so dang big,” Jolene added, glancing at Caleb, who was standing awkwardly by the cabin door, still wearing his coat.
Mother rose, offering her hand to Caleb. “Why don’t you sit down here, Caleb, and I’ll get you some cocoa.”
“No, thank ye, ma’am,” he mumbled. “I gotta get on back home. Got things to do, you know.”
With that, he fumbled for the handle of the door.
“We’ll be home shortly, Caleb,” Bobby Lee called after him. “Don’t be gettin’ yourself into any nonsense, you hear?”
Daddy turned inquiring eyes to him, and Bobby Lee grinned sheepishly. “He’s a handful, that one. Always into something or other, especially since Mama left. But he’s a good kid, Jimmy. He’s okay.”
Jolene had joined Mother in the kitchen, where a new batch of rolls was coming out of the oven. From the couch, I could see the two women talking, but their voices didn’t carry into the room. Jo-lene had that pained look again; Mother looked worried, too. I knew this was the trouble Jolene had not wanted in her house, and I wondered how Caleb had ended up with them. I’d always figured Jolene ruled the roost at home. Maybe she didn’t, after all.
Nancy and Melinda had climbed the ladder to their loft. I could hear them above, putting their room to order. Nancy was particular about where everything went, and they always took a long time, setting things up just so. Tracy sat at Daddy’s feet, listening to the men talk. She loved being part of the adult conversation, and she adored Bobby Lee. At home she would sometimes compare boys she knew at school to her grown-up cousin.
“Oh, he’s okay,” she would say about some pimply Romeo. “But he sure doesn’t carry himself like Bobby Lee.”
I knew she wouldn’t move unless Daddy ordered her to. So I pulled Reana Mae into our room, figuring now was the time to catch up in private. Summers, we had the whole outdoors to wander. Wintertime on the river, privacy didn’t come cheap.
I admired Essie’s new ensemble again, then asked about all the people I could think of. Harley Boy had won the spelling bee at school, beating out a sixth grader even. Cousin Lottie was saying real words now. Lottie’s older sister, Ruthann, had herself a real
boyfriend.
“But,” Reana whispered, grinning slyly, “she ain’t kissed him yet. She’s gonna make him wait till Christmas for that.”
Ruthann was in the fourth grade with Reana Mae at the grade school in town. They rode the school bus together, an hour each way every day—except when it snowed. Then the bus didn’t run and the kids along the river went to Ida Louise’s house for their lessons. All things considered, they preferred school to Ida Louise.
“How about you?” I asked, grinning at her. “You got a boyfriend yet?”
Her cheeks colored and she shook her head. “Who’d look at me?”
“I always thought Harley Boy looked at you kinda sweet,” I teased.
“Naw, Bethany,” she mumbled, her cheeks getting redder. “I know I ain’t pretty. Mama says she don’t know how she got a daughter like me, and I reckon she’s right. She figures I’ll probably stick with her always, ’cause won’t nobody else want me.”
“That’s not true, Reana Mae,” I said, holding her hand. “You’ve got your mama’s pretty eyes. And Mother says you’re going to be beautiful when you get older.”
It was true, Mother said that sometimes. I never understood how she could, seeing that Reana was certainly not pretty now. But Mother just smiled and said to wait, Reana Mae would surprise us all.
“Does she really? Does she say that?” Reana Mae’s eyes widened. Then she smiled shyly. “Caleb says I’m pretty, too,” she whispered.
I stared at her in amazement. What did that bear-boy know about pretty?
“What’s he like?”
“Caleb? Oh, he’s all right. He makes Mama mad a lot, ’cause he’s so big and clumsy, and he breaks things sometimes. And he gets into trouble, too, and won’t listen to Mama. Seems like only Daddy can make him mind, and Daddy ain’t home much these days.”
Reana Mae’s brow furrowed as she straightened Essie’s coat.
“He’s real nice to me, though.” She smiled. “He even bought me a scarf from the Woolworth in St. Albans, a pink woolly one for school. But Mama don’t like me to wear it.” She sighed unhappily.
“How long is he gonna live with you?” I asked.
“Well, Daddy says just for a while. Just till Mamaw gets a new place to live where Caleb can finish school. He’s sixteen, you know, so he’s supposed to go to school. And he don’t go here, ’cause he can’t get along with the teachers at the high school. He says they got it in for him ’cause he lived in the city before.”
She smiled sidelong at me, and just for a minute, she did look almost pretty. She was nine now and had rounded out a bit, looking less like a reed and more like a healthy girl. She’d also started braiding her dark blond hair back, so it wasn’t such a tangled mess.
“Anyway, Daddy says just for a while, but Mama thinks he’s here to stay. She says Mamaw don’t want Caleb with her ’cause she can’t make him mind her no more.” She laid the doll down and stretched. “I hope he does stay.”
“Why?” I asked. “He looks so mean.”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “He does look mean. And he’s got hisself a nasty temper, truth be told. Buttons is sore afraid of him, that’s for sure.” She laughed guiltily. Neither of us much liked Jolene’s ill-tempered poodle. Both of us had felt her sharp little teeth.
“But he’s kind mostly,” she continued. “And he talks to me and asks me things like he really wants to know what I think. I like him.”
Jolene appeared in the doorway to tell Reana it was time to go. We were going to Aunt Belle’s for supper, and they had to get back home and check on Caleb.
“Lord knows,” Jolene said with a sigh, “if we’re gone too long he’s like to burn the house down. Or worse.”
Bobby Lee laughed. “Aw now, Jolene, he’s just sowing him some oats. That’s what boys his age is supposed to do.” He winked at my daddy. “Boys is supposed to sow wild oats, ain’t that so, Jimmy? It’s in their nature, that’s all.”
Jolene turned away from him abruptly. “Reana Mae! What on God’s green earth is takin’ you so long?”
They bundled up and left, walking single-file down the tire tracks in the road. Mother and Daddy stood in the cabin doorway, watching them go.
“Lord have mercy.” Daddy sighed, his arm around Mother’s waist. “They sure have taken on a load.”
“It’s trouble,” Mother agreed, shaking her head, her lips in a tight, thin line. “Nothing but trouble.”
* * *
Aunt Belle’s house on Thanksgiving was filled with family and laughter and good smells. All the women had been there since sunup, stirring, kneading, tasting, and gossiping. All but my mother had been nipping from the bottle a bit as well. By the time we ate in the early afternoon, their cheeks were pink from kitchen heat and the good Kentucky bourbon Aunt Belle kept on hand.
When Tracy and I came in with Daddy from chopping firewood, the smells of corn bread, pecan pies, smoked ham, hot biscuits, sage, and cinnamon nearly knocked us back out the door. My mouth watered just thinking of all the food. Best of all, I knew out back in the spare kitchen, Belle’s housekeeper, Donna Jo, was roasting the biggest, juiciest turkey in the valley.
We sat down to tables spread with every good thing you could imagine. Loreen had made corn bread and sweet potatoes topped with sticky, melted marshmallows. Jolene brought candied carrots and green beans boiled to a pulp with bacon fat. Belle’s offering—made with her own two hands, as she proclaimed loudly—was a silver tray piled high with bourbon balls, sweet concoctions heavily soaked in liquor and rolled in powdered sugar.
Uncle Joe, Bobby Lee’s grandfather who had been married to my Great-Aunt Arathena before she died, had driven in from Tennessee, bringing boxed chocolates, bottles of Coca-Colas, and more bourbon. Nancy and Melinda had spent half the morning under Donna Jo’s direction, mashing potatoes with butter, warm cream, and pepper until not a lump survived. Mother had made her fancy sugar cream pies and a big pot of cooked cranberries. Aunt Vera and Uncle Hobie brought two enormous hams smoked in their own smokehouse and smothered with brown sugar and caramelized sweet onions. Donna Jo supplied the rest—huge lard biscuits, stuffing rich with sage, roasted turkey, creamed corn, strong coffee, and a sweet mix of canned fruits, dried coconut, and tiny colored marshmallows in a sour cream sauce. Heaven!
Even Belle’s big table wouldn’t hold all her clan, so Donna Jo had set up card tables in the living room. After she carried in the turkey—to a round of applause—Donna Jo sat down with the rest of us to eat. Her own husband was long dead and her children had moved from the valley years before. Her rough red hands spoke eloquently of the hard work she did for Belle, but at mealtimes she was just another woman at the table.
My daddy stood to ask the blessing. “Lord God in Heaven,” he intoned solemnly, “how grateful we are to be gathered together as a family today.”
I peeked around—I never could keep my eyes closed for prayers—and saw Caleb at the next table, staring at the empty seat he had saved for his mother. Cleda Rae had said she would be with us today, and she hadn’t even called Belle to say otherwise.
“We ask your blessings, Lord, upon those who are gathered here today, and upon those who could not be here with us … because of the snow or other circumstances we cannot know.”
Then I knew my daddy was worrying about Caleb and Bobby Lee, too.
“Bless this food to our bodies, and us to thy service, O Lord. Amen.”
“Amen,” we all echoed. I saw Bobby Lee reach over to clap his hand on Caleb’s shoulder.
Then we ate, and ate, and ate. And the grown-ups talked, and talked, and talked.
We didn’t have a children’s table at Aunt Belle’s. Everyone just sat where they happened to sit—except for Belle, of course, who always sat at the head of the big table, a decanter of bourbon beside her plate. I sat with Reana Mae, Uncle Joe, and Loreen. At the card table next to us were Caleb, Bobby Lee, and Aunt Vera, with Cousin Lottie in the high chair. Farther on, Ruthann was sitting
unhappily at a table with her daddy (my Uncle Hobie), Nancy, and Melinda. Ruthann was sulking because she had wanted to sit with Reana Mae and me, but by the time she got there, the table was full. Uncle Hobie was trying his best to involve Nancy and Melinda in a conversation, but they simply answered him as briefly as they could and then pointedly ignored him and Ruthann. Tracy, of course, had managed a seat at the big table between Mother and Daddy. Somehow, she always managed that. She sat next to Daddy, smiling sweetly, quiet as a church mouse—like she might just sprout a halo at any minute.
Cousin Lottie, when she had eaten all the sweet onions at her own table, toddled from table to table, begging for more. “Onon?” she burbled sweetly, and no one—not even her sister, Ruthann—could resist. I’m not sure Lottie ate much that day besides onions and sugar cream pie.
When we had eaten until we could not eat any more, Donna Jo brought out the pies and the bourbon balls and the fresh-whipped cream and the strong, black coffee, and we were persuaded to eat “just a mouthful” more. Aunt Belle was cutting the pies when the front door creaked open and Cleda Rae burst in, bundled from head to toe in some kind of dark purple fake fur and carrying a six-pack of beer. “Hey, ya’ll, here I am!” she called out.
Prayers and Lies Page 5