Tammy out of Time

by Cid Ricketts Sumner

  “Oh, brother!” Ernie turned to the lady. “Good job. Now give me the bill and I’ll make you a check. But be quick....Her things? Oh, just put them in a box and we’ll throw them into the car.”

  Outside, Tammy walked slowly so she would not fall over her shoes, and held herself straight so her hat would not come down over her face. Ernie put her old clothes in the car, and they walked on down the street. People turned to look after her, but they did not look the same sort of looks they had looked before, when Ernie was taking her in. Ernie, walking close beside her, kept his hand on her arm, and he was looking, too.

  The walks were wet. Tammy stopped once and said, “Ernie, I’d better take off my shoes and stockings, hadn’t I? They’ll be ruint.”

  “No matter, sugar. Let them get wet. I’ll buy you more if need be. Holy smoke, don’t you realize we’re in the money now?” He turned the corner with her and they went in at a wide door, through a hallway hung with paintings like Miss Renie’s, only bigger, then to a big room where people sat at tables and men in white coats moved around with trays and dishes of food. There was music coming from somewhere and there were candles burning in tall candlesticks on every table. There were flowers, too.

  When they were seated, Tammy said, “Ernie, did it cost five dollars to get in here? I saw you give that man——”

  “It’ll cost more than that to get out, sugar.” He talked to the man in the white coat and gave him more money, and after a while he came back with a package that Ernie put in his pocket and took right out again. It smelled like corn liquor when he poured some into the glasses with ice in them.

  “There are ways,” Ernie said. “When you’ve got money, you can have anything. Here’s to misery!”

  Tammy took a sip and it stung and burned all the way down into her stomach, so she knew it was corn liquor or something akin and went slow on it. But Ernie kept filling up his glass. The music played, and people talked all around them, and strange dishes of food were brought them. Ernie ate and drank and Tammy ate. None of it seemed real. Pete and Barbara—they were far away, together, in another world. The ache stayed inside of Tammy but it was strange to her, like the dress and the hat and the undergarments that held her stiff and straight.

  When the dishes were gone and nothing left but cups of coffee, Ernie leaned toward her across the table. “Funny how a broken heart keeps right on beating, isn’t it?”

  Tammy nodded.

  He put one hand over hers where it lay on the white table cover. “Funny how you can still feel, isn’t it?”

  Again she nodded, her eyes fastened on him, gray and serious.

  “Nothing revolting about me, is there, baby?”

  “No, Ernie, no. Of course not.”

  His eyes brightened as his hand moved over her wrist along her arm. “Kind of like it, don’t you?”

  “Y-yes,” she said with wonder, looking down at his hand. “For a fact, it does pleasure me—after a fashion.”

  He drew back with a sullen look. “What do you mean, after a fashion?”

  “I mean——” She considered it for a moment, then her eyes looked past him, seeing the gray morning, the field and the broken tomato plants. She felt Pete’s arms around her, his body against hers. “There ain’t nothing...holy...about it.”

  Ernie filled his glass. “I’ve been asked to be lots of things to lots of women in my life, but, oh my aching back, nobody ever asked me to be holy!” He drained his glass. “Pete! I suppose he’s holy.” Tammy nodded, turning her head aside to hide the quiver of her lips.

  Ernie beat on the table with his fist. “What’s he got that I haven’t got?”

  Tammy shook her head. “I don’t know, Ernie.”

  “I’m a man, aren’t I?”

  “Far as I know, Ernie, you got members and parts like any other.”

  Ernie leaned back in his chair and laughed aloud. People at other tables turned their heads. A man in a white coat came hurrying over. Ernie straightened up. “Another one like the last,” he said to the man.

  “But, sir, I’m sorry, but——”

  “It’s all right. Take it with me.”

  “Yes, sir.” He went away and in a minute came back with a package that he helped Ernie put in his pocket.

  “That’s the stuff,” Ernie said. He lighted a cigarette. Then he leaned one elbow on the table and looked at Tammy. “Something mighty tantalizing about you, honey. That’s what I told the lady in the ladies’ ready-to-wear. Give me something discreet but tantalizing, I said. You know something, honey shild?” His liquor was beginning to mush up his tongue at the same time it loosened it. “I been thinking about you. Trouble with modern women——” He stopped and puffed on his cigarette. “Always get philo...philosophical this stage. Modern women, trouble is, they don’t tantalize. They give all, ‘fore you get round to asking.”

  Tammy leaned back in her chair, sadness coming over her. All her finery, all the sweet music and the flickering candles, the elegant silver and the gay company round about, became as dust and ashes.

  “Same thing’s true of modern litera...literashure. Tells all—‘srevolting.” He hiccupped. “Excuse me, ‘srevolting, I say.”

  “Yes, Ernie.” Tammy smothered a yawn.

  “Modern cour’ship all wrong. Miss half the fun.” He leaned his arms on the table to steady himself. “Now how’s about you and me getting married, honey?”

  Tammy’s mouth dropped open.

  “Don’t say ‘s so sudden. Been working up to it all evening, having won-wonderful time.” He gave himself a shake and said quite distinctly, “If you can’t have what you want, better take what you can get. Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

  Tammy nodded slowly. She reckoned it did. But...Ernie?

  “I got money to burn. Got a house...pay for it in the morning, now I got the dough. You’d love it. Push a button and it chews up the garbage. Push another and it puts the cat out. All this and Ernie, too—how can you hesitate, baby?”

  Tammy considered it gravely, seeing herself married to Ernie in fine clothes, pushing buttons, moving amid wonders. Then slowly she shook her head. Not even if the house was beamed with cedar and raftered with fir. “I don’t think Grandpa would like it, Ernie,” she said, thinking to ease his hopes down.

  “Goshsakes, I don’t want to marry Grandpa! Question is, would you like it?”

  All at once weariness came washing over her in a wave. Ernie was drunk and Pete was lost to her forever and she was sick of heart. “Please, Ernie. I just want to go to bed.”

  He nodded. “‘sail right with me, honey child.” He started to rise and sat again suddenly. “Get married in the morning.” Tammy said, “We can talk about it in the morning.”

  “Okay.” He beckoned to a waiter who came and helped him up. “But don’t ever say I didn’t ask you. Always do the right thing, that’s Ernie. This cover it?” he asked the man, giving him a handful of bills.

  Outside, it was deep dark, though lights were still burning on the streets. She had stayed out till after dark and then some, Tammy thought, but that didn’t matter any more. Nothing mattered. She took Ernie’s arm so he could walk straight and they went back to the car. He was a long time getting it unlocked because he couldn’t find where to put the key. “Gin you make it go, Ernie?”

  “Sure I can, sugar. Lemme just put my mind on it. Never get too stewed to run a car. Hotel isn’t far.”

  “We ain’t going to any hotel. We’re going to Grandpa.”

  “Funny,” Ernie said. “I thought it was a hotel. Must be the old brain’s weakening.”

  “Watch where you’re going, Ernie!”

  He turned the wheel and they missed the side of the little tunnel they were going through. There were not many cars now, so it did not matter if Ernie’s car did not go straight, in the place where it belonged to go. When they got away from the town, everything was dark and wet, with water still running across the road. Sadness stayed with Tammy, and her fine dress did not cheer her.
She did not want to talk, and Ernie was silent too, needing all his mind for the running of the car. They had gone a long way when they came to a place where there were boards across the road and he had to stop.

  “What does it say, baby?”

  Tammy read by the car’s light. “Bridge out, it says. D-e-t-o-u-r. What does that mean?”

  “It’s French. Means get off the road and go around.”

  The side road was bumpy, and water splashed. They met one truck and the man in it shouted something, but they couldn’t tell what. The car slipped and slid in water and mud. After a while there was nothing ahead but water, and Ernie slowed down to look at it. Then he rested his head on the wheel in front of him and slept till Tammy shook him awake. “It’s a river, come up,” Tammy said. “Can the car go in water?”

  “Sure it can. Just take it easy. This car can do anything. Anything. Watch it.” He started it up again and they plowed into the water. It was all around them now and by the lights of the car Tammy could see it, yellow and swirling before them.

  The engine sputtered, the car stopped. Ernie said, “Well, that’s that.” He leaned his head forward on his arms and slept. Tammy shook him, but he only muttered something and slept on.

  Goshamighty, Tammy thought, what am I going to do? It’s a flood, for sure. A flood? She remembered then. She had prayed the Lord to stop the rain for the Pilgrimage and she’d told Him to send a flood the next day, if He’d a mind to. Well, He’d done it all right. Here it was, a judgment on her, and no two ways about it. She studied the water moving across the road. It wasn’t stopping, it wasn’t going down. The little bush that quivered in the current off to the right—she thought to watch it and know by it, if the water was rising.

  The woods on both sides of the car were flooded. There was no sound anywhere, only Ernie’s breathing and the soft movement of the water. She tried again to wake him; then she sat still, her hands in her lap. Maybe another car would come and pull them out. But no car came.

  I got to do something, Tammy thought at last, seeing the bush was deeper in the water. And me in all this finery! She reached in back, close to the window, and got the box that held her old clothes. She took off hat and dress and slip and shoes and stockings, making a neat roll of them. She put on her old things. She reached down and got Ernie’s shoes off, and rolled up his pants legs as high as she could. He was limp as a dishrag, but she shook him and pulled him till he stirred. “We got to get out, Ernie. Wake up!”

  “Okay, baby, ‘s all right,” he said, not opening his eyes.

  Tammy was afraid to open his door lest he fall out. She had to get out and go around. The water was cold and dark but she held onto the side of the car and edged through. It was up to her knees, and swift. On Ernie’s side at last, she got the door open and jerked his feet out into the water. That woke him and he let out a yell.

  “Wha’s going on? Here, wait. Say, we gotta get outahere!”

  “Yes, yes, Ernie, come on.”

  “Gotta get car keys...somebody steal it.”

  Tammy took them from him and put them in his pocket. But if thieves were coming, she’d better take her new clothes. Holding him upright, she reached in and got the bundle. Then they struggled ahead through the water. It was slippery underfoot, but solid, and they went on by the car lights till they were out of the light and out of the flood and onto the muddy road. “We’ve got to find a house or something,” Tammy said, and urged him on. The cold water had wakened him enough so he could put one foot before the other, and so they staggered along the road. There were fields on each side, or open spaces, and back from the road at last the shape of a house.

  Tammy left Ernie on the steps and went up to the door, holding her new clothes cradled in her arms. She knocked and called till a light appeared, moving at the back of the house. After a little a man came to the door, holding the lamp in his hand. “Could you let us in?” Her teeth were chattering so the words had a hard time coming out. “The c-car’s stuck in the high water.”

  Then Ernie stood up, his hair falling over his forehead, his body rocking. Tammy ran back to catch him. “Wanna go to bed,” he said. “s cold out here. You got a drink on you, brother?”

  The man stood looking at them and at the bundle in Tammy’s arms. Tammy said, “I’d sure be much obliged, if you’d give me a place to put him and——”

  “Humph,” the man grunted. He had a disgusted look on his face. “Come on in. I can’t turn a woman out in the night, but I’d like to. Wonder he didn’t drown you both.” He led the way inside and back through the hall to a bedroom with a white iron bed and a clean pink spread. He set the lamp down on a table. “There,” he said. “Let him sleep it off. The curse of drink—I’m sorry for you, young woman. May the Lord help you.” He went out and closed the door.

  Ernie got to the bed and fell across it. Well, Tammy thought, looking round at the lamp, the bureau, the bed, this was what came of staying out after dark. She picked up Ernie’s feet and put them on the bed, and pulled him about properly. His sock feet made a muddy mark on the clean spread, but she couldn’t help that. Then she looked around the room again. There was one straight chair against the wall, so she went and sat down on it, her hands folded in her lap. She sat there a long time. Then gave herself a shake. It ain’t sensible, she thought and went to the far side of the bed. She opened up the covers, flinging what she could of one blanket over Ernie. She blew out the light and crawled in beside him.

  21.

  TAMMY stirred in her sleep. She tried to turn and there was no room. She was dreaming of Pete and she didn’t want to wake. She fought against waking, though his voice was cold and hard. “Of course it’s my business,” he said. Barbara came into the dream, too. “Take it easy, Pete. Be your age. After all——” She laughed.

  All at once Tammy was awake, her eyes open, seeing Pete in the doorway and Barbara behind him. She sat up. Ernie rolled over with a groan, and everything came back to her. “Goshamighty!” She sprang out of bed.

  Pete paid her no mind. He went to Ernie and shook him. “Get up! Get up, you——”

  Ernie sat up. His feet slid to the floor, and he caught his head in his hands. “Oh, my head!”

  “Stand up!” Pete said, so quick and sharp a dead man would have got to his feet.

  Ernie stood, blinking. “What’s the matter? Hi, Barb.”

  “Get ready!” Pete said. His clenched fist shot forward and caught Ernie on the chin.

  Ernie fell back on the bed. Barbara said, “Pete, stop it!”

  But Pete bent and pulled him up again. Ernie stood there rocking back and forth, one hand to his jaw. “For crying out loud, Pete——” He made a feeble gesture of striking out, and Pete knocked him down again. This time he fell with a crash to the floor and lay there.

  Barbara cried, “You brute!” and dropped down beside Ernie.

  “You’ve killed him!” She took Ernie’s head in her lap. “Ernie, darling——”

  “You can’t kill that kind,” Pete said. “Come on, Tammy.” He turned on his heel and went out without looking at her.

  Tammy stood rigid, staring after him. The man who had let her in the night before came to the door. “So that’s how it is,” he said with disgust. “You weren’t married to him.”

  Tammy shook her head.

  “Get out of my house. Might have known no decent woman would have been with that drunk. Get out now! Get going!” He went down the hall toward the porch muttering about folks that pretended, that made out they were married and weren’t.

  Tammy did not move.

  Barbara said, “That fool Pete. Couldn’t he see——Oh, Ernie, I just heard about your oil.”

  Ernie came to. “Hi, toots, what’s the rumpus?”

  “That darn fool Pete——”

  “Where’s Pete?”

  “He’s gone.” She turned to Tammy. “And you get out, too. I’m sick of you both.”

  Ernie said, his voice a wondering whisper, “You staying with
me, Barb?”

  “Of course I am, you dope, now and forever, if you want to know.” She turned to Tammy again. “Will you get out of here?”

  Tammy got. She went through the hall and out onto the porch. On the steps she halted. Pete was standing in the little path that led to the road, waiting for her. But he had heard her; he knew she was there. “Come on,” he said through his teeth.

  Tammy drew a deep breath, and fury went through her. “I’m not coming.”

  The man, sitting on the edge of the porch, just watching them, got to his feet now and came around beside her. “Don’t you hear him? Get out of here, you——” and he cursed her.

  Pete came back in a hurry. “Shut your mouth!” he said.

  The man laughed. “Well, you caught her, didn’t you, the dirty little——”

  Pete drew back his fist and knocked him sprawling. Then he turned to Tammy. “Come on!”

  Tammy flung up her head. “You ain’t got no right to think things. You——”

  Pete cut in on her, his eyes flashing with anger. “I don’t want to hear about it. Will you come or will I have to knock you out, too?”

  Tammy’s hands clenched at her sides. “I ain’t coming.”

  Pete caught her up from the ground and, holding her dangling against his hip, strode down the path.

  Tammy stopped struggling. “Let me down,” she said, her voice cold and hard as his had been, and quieter. He set her on her feet, and she stood there looking at him. “You’d ought to be ashamed,” she said, and walked ahead of him to the car.

  They drove without a word, Tammy sitting stiff and angry. When they came up the drive to Brenton Hall and he stopped the car, she turned and looked at him, a long furious look. Then she got out and slammed the car door behind her and walked with dignity across the brick garden path, up the ell steps, and so came at last to her room. She stood there looking round for a minute, lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling for a long time. She didn’t know how long she had been there when the door was flung open and Miss Renie burst in.

  “Oh, you here, Tammy?” She had on an apron streaked with yellow, and a lock of hair hung down crazily across one eye. She brushed it back with one yellow-stained hand and said, “Now where is that orange dye?”