Tammy out of Time

by Cid Ricketts Sumner

  With Shakespeare in her arms she started along the ell porch, but Mrs. Brent was still talking, so she set him on the table beside the railing and went down the steps to the garden. She got tired of the house sometimes. She had to get out where the sky was overhead and the sun was shining. Besides, she wanted to see Pete. She could not get along without seeing Pete now and then.

  Steve was by the side drive with a rug spread out, sweeping it with long slow sweeps of the broom. He gave her a startled look, the way he always did when she first came on him. “Mornin’, Miss Tammy,” he said, turning from her.

  Tammy stopped on the grass. “You don’t have to be afeard of me, Steve.”

  “No’m...I just...no’m, I reckon not.” He stood, looking down, as if embarrassed by her presence.

  “How is Karo?”

  “He’s just doin’ fine, ma’am. Getting fat. That goat’s milk sure done wonders.” Now he was at ease again.

  “And how’s Nan?”

  “She doin’ good, Miss Tammy. The chillen makes a pet of her. They’s crazy ‘bout that goat.”

  “I’m coming down to see her when I get time.” Tammy went on around toward the front of the house, looking for Pete. Old Prater was on his knees among the roses in the circle and she stopped to talk to him for a minute. He was a bent, slow Negro with a dark face, crisscrossed with lines. His eyes were pale and vague with age. His old felt hat had lost its band and around the crown there were perpendicular slits, as if he had cut them with a knife. When she had inquired about how his rheumatism was this morning, Tammy said, “Why do you have holes cut in your hat?”

  He sat back on his heels. “Well, ma’am, when you gits old, it do you good to air your brains. Seem like they circulate better when they ain’t so confined.”

  “I reckon that’s why Grandpa’s always pushing his hat back,” Tammy said. Then she caught sight of Pete coming from the other side of the house, and went to meet him. “I’m dusting the books,” she said.

  “Are you? Seems to me you’re out walking in the sunshine.”

  Tammy laughed. “What are you doing?”

  “Oh, I’m raking, tying up roses, odd jobs. It’s good to be doing something.” He looked excited and happy.

  “That’s what you need, I reckon, Pete—something to be working at, something to be working for—like the Pilgrimage right now.”

  Pete looked past her, his lips making a twisted line. “At least it keeps me from thinking. It’s a drug, all this activity. When it’s over—well, then I’ll have to settle things.” He gave himself a shake, waved one hand toward the front gallery where rose vines were all neatly tied in place, curling round the gray pillars. “See, it almost makes you not notice the house hasn’t seen a paintbrush in the last twenty years. How do you like it?”

  “It’s beautiful, Pete. Only I’m not quite broken in to seeing things all tied up and trim. It’s so different from the swamp and the river where it all goes free. Pete——”

  “What?”

  “You wouldn’t like being all tied up in an office, would you?”

  Pete looked at the trees and the lawn and all the blooming things. “No, I really wouldn’t. But what makes you——”

  Tammy smiled. “I just wanted to know.” She turned quickly and ran toward the front gallery. “Got to get back to my dusting,” she called with a wave of her hand.

  In the library Mrs. Brent was sitting on a low stool beside Professor Brent’s chair. “Mr. Bissle is a very important person,” she was saying. “He has this big advertising business in New York, and Louise says that he told her he needs another man to train for the Atlanta office. You’ve just got to exert yourself, Joel.”

  “Exert myself?” Professor Brent said, his eyes following Tammy as she crossed and mounted the ladder with Shakespeare in her arms.

  “Yes, yes, Joel. Talk about things he’s interested in and be entertaining—and tactful with Peter so he won’t get obstinate the way he’s been ever since he got back from that plane crash and the river. Joel, it means so much.”

  “Does it, my dear?” Professor Brent’s voice was gentle. “It’s just that I have this new course next term and my mind is on that.”

  “Well, get your mind off it, then. This is more important. It’s Peter’s whole life.”

  Professor Brent drew a long breath. “I can’t make him out since he got home from the Pacific. He seems to have lost all power of decision. It’s as if he were waiting for something to happen to drive him ahead—another war, maybe. I don’t know. It looks as if the whole world is just sitting waiting.”

  “Oh, Joel, don’t go talking about the world. I’ve got enough on my hands without that.”

  “That’s just the trouble. Nobody is taking the large view, the overall picture. This book——” He tapped the book open on the arm of his chair.

  “Joel, please stop thinking about your new course and put your mind on this. Peter has to be pushed in the right direction, that’s all.”

  “Right?” Professor Brent was leaning back in his chair staring up at the ceiling. “A relative term. What is right for one nation does not seem right to another. That’s the cause of all the confusion and conflict and——”

  “Listen Joel,” Mrs. Brent broke in, “we may not know the absolute right, but we know right enough to go by, and Peter——”

  Professor Brent sat up in his chair and looked at her over his glasses. Tammy thought he was fixing to shake her for sure because she wouldn’t let him say his say out. “Now that’s an idea. Right enough to go by—I must make note of that.” He began to write in the margin of his book. “No need to agree on the finer points, just find the common ground of what’s right enough to go by.”

  Mrs. Brent drew a long sigh. “If you’d only listen to me. These tomatoes now, that Peter’s thinking he’ll make a fortune on, gambling his last cent on them—oh, I get so impatient with him sometimes. He must go into something that’s certain and sure.”

  Tammy put a handful of books back on the shelf. “It beats me how everybody keeps looking for something sure. How can anything in the world be sure? I reckon even an office can close up.” Then as Mrs. Brent looked up, she added, “Besides, Pete doesn’t want to work in any office.”

  “What do you mean?” Her words came so sharp and quick that Tammy, coming down the ladder, almost tripped on the sound of them.

  “That’s what he said.”

  “Do you mean that you told him about Mr. Bissle and——”

  Tammy shook her head. “I didn’t tell him anything. I just asked him.”

  “Well, don’t ever repeat anything you hear, especially over the telephone.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry, Mrs. Brent. I won’t.” Looked like she was always having to say she was sorry.

  Mrs. Brent rose. “I must see that Osia finishes cleaning his room, gets out the linen. He’s coming after supper, Louise said. Now Joel, you will be nice to him.”

  “Yes, yes, of course, my dear.”

  “The other one, the artist, no matter about him. Besides, he won’t get here for several days, but he’s paying for the whole time of the Pilgrimage, so it doesn’t matter.”

  Tammy almost let a book fall, and her little gasp made Mrs. Brent pause in the doorway. “You mean they pay, like boarders?”

  “Certainly, Tammy.”

  “Then why don’t Pete make a business of boarders? Lots of folks would be wanting to board in such a place as this, and——”

  “Boarders!” Mrs. Brent dropped the word like she’d got hold of something dirty by mistake. “We’ve never done such a thing as that.”

  “Well, hell’s bells,” Tammy said under her breath as Mrs. Brent went on, “can’t anybody do anything but what they already done before?” She didn’t think Professor Brent heard her but after a little he spoke without looking up from his book.

  “There has to be a first time for everything, Tammy. You’re quite right. Though whether it’s the hen or the egg that starts it——�
� His voice trailed away into silence.

  Tammy went on with her dusting, not seeing what chickens had to do with it, except that they would be good to feed boarders on. Now and then she stopped to look inside a book and try to get an idea of what it was about. She could hear Mrs. Brent on the ell porch telling Miss Renie about the other roomer that was coming and Miss Renie saying his name over and over, “Fernan, coming here! Oh, my God, after all these years something is going to happen! Mahomet to the mountain——Fernan, here!”

  Tammy took out a large dark book and dusted it. Bacon, it said on the back. She opened it and turned the pages. A phrase caught her eye: “the idols of the market place.” She read a page or two, then put the book back and went on dusting. Too many long words—but the phrase stayed with her. What were the idols of the market place? Things bought and sold. That was the kind of barbarian Barbara was, worshiping the idols of the market place. Just as she had thought that day on the boat when Pete first told about her. “I was right all the time,” she said.

  Professor Brent looked up from his reading, but before he could speak, the telephone bell began to ring. Reluctantly he rose and went to the hall. Mrs. Brent called from somewhere at the back, “I’m coming,” and Professor Brent after a word or two at the phone called, “It’s not for you.” He came back to the library. “For you, Tammy, the phone.”

  Tammy dropped the dustcloth. “Must be Grandpa,” she whispered, beginning to tremble. “Must be he’s dead or something.”

  “He wouldn’t be calling if he were dead,” Professor Brent told her.

  “For all you know, there’s telephones in heaven,” Tammy said and went to the hall. The ear part hung down, swinging back and forth. She put it to her ear and listened, but there was no sound at all. As she stood there waiting, Barbara appeared in the front door, with a small satchel in her hand. She was a picture out of a book. She wore a wide black hat and a black-and-white striped dress with red buttons and shoes, red as her lips.

  “Hi, there, where’s everybody?” Then as Mrs. Brent came through the back hall door, she added, “I brought my costume for the Pilgrimage. Cousin Al here yet?”

  “Not yet.” Mrs. Brent gave Tammy a curious glance and went on, drawing Barbara into the library.

  Tammy wished the phone would say something, but there was still no sound. She could hear Mrs. Brent saying, “Well, just stay and have supper with us, Barbara. Peter can run you home later. Mr. Bissle will be here tonight and I’ve so much to talk over with you.”

  Then Pete came hurrying in the front door, not even noticing Tammy. “Hi, Barb, thought I heard you. Ernie bring you out?”

  “No,” Barbara said, “I picked up a ride with one of the boys from the office.”

  Tammy changed ears on the phone but there was still no sound. Only a faint far buzzing. She thought whoever was wanting to talk to her must be a long long way off, it was taking so long for his voice to reach her.

  Mrs. Brent came out of the library, pulling Professor Brent by the sleeve and saying something about fixing a screen. “You want me to fix a screen?”

  Mrs. Brent whispered, “No, but can’t you leave them alone in there? Don’t you see? Come on.”

  “What’s the matter, Tammy? Has the phone gone dead?” he stopped to ask.

  “It hasn’t spoken yet. Oh—now——” A voice in her ear was saying, “Tammy, Tammy, that you Tammy?”

  She nodded to Professor Brent. “It’s atalking now.”

  “Say, is that you, Tammy?” the voice said.

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  Professor Brent said, “You’d better turn around and speak into the phone.”

  “Damn it, I can’t hear you,” the voice shouted.

  “It says it can’t hear me,” Tammy told Professor Brent.

  Professor Brent turned her around and pushed her closer. “Try that, now.”

  “Hey, Tammy, this is Ernie.”

  “Oh,” Tammy breathed. “It ain’t Grandpa dead or alive. It’s Ernie.”

  Ernie said, “Say, who are you talking to? Who else is horning into this?”

  “Professor Brent.”

  “Yes, Tammy?” He turned in the back hall doorway. “Something I can do for you?”

  Ernie said, “Well, tell the old goat to leave you alone. I want your ear for a minute.”

  Tammy shook her head, looking at Professor Brent. “He isn’t an old goat. Hasn’t even got whiskers like Grandpa.”

  “Jeepers,” Ernie said, “I hope he didn’t hear that.”

  “No,” Tammy told him, “he’s going down the ell porch, talking about manners and this generation.”

  “Come closer, I can’t hear you.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m in town.”

  “Then I can’t, less’n I walk and I reckon it’s a right far piece.” Ernie laughed and the sound hit her ear so she nearly dropped the phone. “Say, sugar, how about it, will you be ready time I get there?”

  “Ready for what?”

  “To see the sights, paint the town, see the world.”

  “Oh—right now?”

  “Soon as I can get there.”

  “Oh, Ernie, that would be wonderful. I’ll be ready in a minute.”

  “Good. See you soon, ‘By.” There was a little click, then just a faint humming and no more talk.

  Tammy waited a moment, holding the phone to her ear. It was like being connected with all the world, being part of everything miles away, everywhere. Slowly she hung the receiver in place. Then it came over her—Ernie was going to take her to town! She ran to her room to brush her hair and put on her shoes and her new dress. But when she got it on and looked at herself in the looking glass, she saw that it wasn’t a good dress after all. Not like Barbara’s. It was tight in the wrong places, the seam was splitting at the side. She took it off with sadness and put on her old faded blue. It was baggy, it was shabby and old, but it made no pretense. Maybe a belt would help. She found a piece of string and tied it round her waist. That was better. But there wasn’t much use, she could never look as beautiful as Barbara. Then she went back to the library. She could finish dusting the books before Ernie got here if she hurried.

  Peter and Barbara were sitting on the far side of the library, Pete on the low stool, facing her. Barbara was saying, “Of course, Pete, for vacations and the Pilgrimage it’s wonderful. But for regular living—I think you’re crazy. I grew up with cows and chickens and nobody could hire me to go back to such.” She looked up. “Hi, Tammy.”

  Tammy said howdy. Her lips parted to tell them that she was going to town with Ernie, then she remembered Mrs. Brent had said don’t ever repeat anything you heard on the phone.

  Barbara lifted one shoulder as she turned back to Pete, and it was like someone closing a door. Tammy stood motionless. She was shut out, alone, and the way Pete was looking at Barbara as if he’d been hungering for the sight of her—that was what barred the door fast against her. She turned away, took up the dustcloths and got to work, feeling a weight in her breast like a heavy hand, pushing. Barbara hadn’t passed her over so at first. She had studied her aplenty whilst she was thinking there might have been something between her and Pete on the river. But now she had set her aside and forgotten her. That was worse than being looked down on. It made her into nothing.

  She went to the far shelves, away from them. She made a noise with her dusting, clapping books together to send the dust flying so she would not hear what they were saying. She could close a door as well as Barbara could. But once she heard Pete say, “Just how much have you been seeing of him, if you don’t mind saying?” and Barbara answered, “Oh, you know how he is—always underfoot.”

  Then after a little Barbara’s voice rose. “Sure, Pete, I know you could. Like my brother did one year on the Copiah place. But then the next three years he didn’t get his money back on the fertilizer. You can’t tell me anything about raising truck.”

  Tammy took a quick glance at Pete and the lo
ok on his face made her want to cry out against Barbara and what she was doing. She listened a minute longer and then she could stand it no more. “No, no,” she cried so sharp and quick they both turned startled faces. “You hadn’t ought to be doing that, discouraging the heart out of anybody that’s just trying this and that, to see. Most of all, anybody’s got to believe there’s a way. It’s not believing there’s a way that makes people afeard.”

  Barbara laughed. “You ought to show Tammy your ribbons some time, Pete. Then she would know you couldn’t be—‘afeard,’ as she says.”

  “Afeard is a good word,” Tammy said hotly. “Words are supposed to be to say things with, aren’t they? I reckon you know what I mean when I say it, don’t you?”

  Barbara gave her a cross look, but before she could speak, Pete said, “Sure, it’s a fine word. Good old English, like lots of Tammy’s expressions.” He rose. “Come on, Barb, I want you to take a look at my tomatoes.”

  Tammy saw her put out a hand to Pete, as if she couldn’t get up from the chair without help, and she knew all at once that it wasn’t a word she and Barbara had been fighting over, it was Pete. Barbara knew it, too, for all she made out that Tammy was nothing at all. They’d just been talking double talk, and she was tired of it. With her handful of books pressed close to her breast, her eyes flashing, she said, “There’s a sight of other things a body could do besides raising tomatoes on a fine place like this, if they just had a mind to. Like taking boarders, and raising cattle and milking the cows and—oh, no end of things.”

  “Boarders?” Barbara laughed as she let Pete pull her to her feet, and then kept hold of his hand longer than she needed. “I can see people coming to board where there’s no hot water, no plumbing, no heat——”

  “But there’s so much else,” Tammy broke in. “All these here books and the fine furniture and the electric lights and the refrigerator. Must be plenty of people would be able to see what an elegant place it is.”

  “Guess it’s all in the point view,” Pete said, giving her his slow smile.