Shiloh and Other Stories

by Bobbie Ann Mason

  In the living room, Peggy jiggled her baby, Lisa, on her hip and said, “You need you one of these, Carolyn.”

  “Where can I get one?” said Carolyn, rather sharply.

  Peggy grinned. “At the gittin’ place, I reckon.”

  Peggy’s critical tone was familiar. She was the only sister who had had a real wedding. Her husband, Cecil, had a Gulf franchise, and they owned a motor cruiser, a pickup truck, a camper, a station wagon, and a new brick colonial home. Whenever Carolyn went to visit Peggy, she felt apologetic for not having a man who would buy her all these things, but she never seemed to be attracted to anyone steady or ambitious. She had been wondering how Kent would get along with the men of the family. Cecil and Ray were standing in a corner talking about gas mileage. Cecil, who was shorter than Peggy and was going bald, always worked on Dad’s truck for free, and Ray usually agreed with Dad on politics to avoid an argument. Ray had an impressive government job in Frankfort. He had coordinated a ribbon-cutting ceremony when the toll road opened. What would Kent have to say to them? She could imagine him insisting that everyone go outside later to watch the sunset. Her father would think that was ridiculous. No one ever did that on a farm, but it was the sort of thing Kent would think of. Yet she knew that spontaneity was what she liked in him.

  Deedee and Jonathan, who were ten and six, came inside then and immediately began shaking the presents under the tree. All the children were wearing new jeans and cowboy shirts, Carolyn noticed.

  “Why are y’all so quiet?” she asked. “I thought kids whooped and hollered on Christmas.”

  “They’ve been up since four,” said Iris. She took a cigarette from her purse and accepted a light from Cecil. Exhaling smoke, she said to Carolyn, “We heard Kent was coming.” Before Carolyn could reply, Iris scolded the children for shaking the packages. She seemed nervous.

  “He’s supposed to be here by noon,” said Carolyn.

  “There’s somebody now. I hear a car.”

  “It might be Dad, with Pappy.”

  It was Laura Jean, showing off Jim Walsh as though he were a splendid Christmas gift she had just received.

  “Let me kiss everybody!” she cried, as the women rushed toward her. Laura Jean had not been home in four months.

  “Merry Christmas!” Jim said in a booming, official-sounding voice, something like a TV announcer, Carolyn thought. He embraced all the women and then, with a theatrical gesture, he handed Mom a bottle of Rebel Yell bourbon and a carton of boiled custard which he took from a shopping bag. The bourbon was in a decorative Christmas box.

  Mom threw up her hands. “Oh, no, I’m afraid I’ll be a alky-holic.”

  “Oh, that’s ridiculous, Mom,” said Laura Jean, taking Jim’s coat. “A couple of drinks a day are good for your heart.”

  Jim insisted on getting coffee cups from a kitchen cabinet and mixing some boiled custard and bourbon. When he handed a cup to Mom, she puckered up her face.

  “Law, don’t let the preacher in,” she said, taking a sip. “Boy, that sends my blood pressure up.”

  Carolyn waved away the drink Jim offered her. “I don’t start this early in the day,” she said, feeling confused.

  Jim was a large, dark-haired man with a neat little beard, like a bird’s nest cupped on his chin. He had a Northern accent. When he hugged her, Carolyn caught a whiff of cologne, something sweet, like chocolate syrup. Last summer, when Laura Jean brought him home for the first time, she had made a point of kissing and hugging him in front of everyone. Dad had virtually ignored him. Now Carolyn saw that Jim was telling Cecil that he always bought Gulf gas. Red-faced, Ray accepted a cup of boiled custard. Carolyn fled to the kitchen and began grating cheese for potatoes au gratin. She dreaded Kent’s arrival.

  When Dad arrived with Pappy, Cecil and Jim helped set up the wheelchair in a corner. Afterward, Dad and Jim shook hands, and Dad refused Jim’s offer of bourbon. From the kitchen, Carolyn could see Dad hugging Laura Jean, not letting go. She went into the living room to greet her grandfather.

  “They roll me in this buggy too fast,” he said when she kissed his forehead.

  Carolyn hoped he wouldn’t notice the bottle of bourbon, but she knew he never missed anything. He was so deaf people had given up talking to him. Now the children tiptoed around him, looking at him with awe. Somehow, Carolyn expected the children to notice that she was alone, like Pappy.

  At ten minutes of one, the telephone rang. Peggy answered and handed the receiver to Carolyn. “It’s Kent,” she said.

  Kent had not left the lake yet. “I just got here an hour ago,” he told Carolyn. “I had to take my sister over to my mother’s.”

  “Is the boat O.K.?”

  “Yeah. Just a little scraped paint. I’ll be ready to go in a little while.” He hesitated, as though waiting for assurance that the invitation was real.

  “This whole gang’s ready to eat,” Carolyn said. “Can’t you hurry?” She should have remembered the way he tended to get sidetracked. Once it took them three hours to get to Paducah, because he kept stopping at antique shops.

  After she hung up the telephone, her mother asked, “Should I put the rolls in to brown yet?”

  “Wait just a little. He’s just now leaving the lake.”

  “When’s this Kent feller coming?” asked Dad impatiently, as he peered into the kitchen. “It’s time to eat.”

  “He’s on his way,” said Carolyn.

  “Did you tell him we don’t wait for stragglers?”

  “No.”

  “When the plate rattles, we eat.”

  “I know.”

  “Did you tell him that?”

  “No, I didn’t!” cried Carolyn, irritated.

  When they were alone in the kitchen, Carolyn’s mother said to her, “Your dad’s not his self today. He’s fit to be tied about Laura Jean bringing that guy down here again. And him bringing that whiskey.”

  “That was uncalled for,” Carolyn agreed. She had noticed that Mom had set her cup of boiled custard in the refrigerator.

  “Besides, he’s not too happy about that Kent Ballard you’re running around with.”

  “What’s it to him?”

  “You know how he always was. He don’t think anybody’s good enough for one of his little girls, and he’s afraid you’ll get mistreated again. He don’t think Kent’s very dependable.”

  “I guess Kent’s proving Dad’s point.”

  —

  Carolyn’s sister Iris had dark brown eyes, unique in the family. When Carolyn was small, she tried to say “Iris’s eyes” once and called them “Irish eyes,” confusing them with a song their mother sometimes sang, “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling.” Thereafter, they always teased Iris about her smiling Irish eyes. Today Iris was not smiling. Carolyn found her in a bedroom smoking, holding an ashtray in her hand.

  “I drew your name,” Carolyn told her. “I got you something I wanted myself.”

  “Well, if I don’t want it, I guess I’ll have to give it to you.”

  “What’s wrong with you today?”

  “Ray and me’s getting a separation,” said Iris.

  “Really?” Carolyn was startled by the note of glee in her response. Actually, she told herself later, it was because she was glad her sister, whom she saw infrequently, had confided in her.

  “The thing of it is, I had to beg him to come today, for Mom and Dad’s sake. It’ll kill them. Don’t let on, will you?”

  “I won’t. What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. He’s already moved out.”

  “Are you going to stay in Frankfort?”

  “I don’t know. I have to work things out.”

  Mom stuck her head in the door. “Well, is Kent coming or not?”

  “He said he’d be here,” said Carolyn.

  “Your dad’s about to have a duck with a rubber tail. He can’t stand to wait on a meal.”

  “Well, let’s go ahead, then. Kent can eat when he gets here.”
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br />   When Mom left, Iris said, “Aren’t you and Kent getting along?”

  “I don’t know. He said he’d come today, but I have a feeling he doesn’t really want to.”

  “To hell with men.” Iris laughed and stubbed out her cigarette. “Just look at us—didn’t we turn out awful? First your divorce. Now me. And Laura Jean bringing that guy down. Daddy can’t stand him. Did you see the look he gave him?”

  “Laura Jean’s got a lot more nerve than I’ve got,” said Carolyn, nodding. “I could wring Kent’s neck for being late. Well, none of us can do anything right—except Peggy.”

  “Daddy’s precious little angel,” said Iris mockingly. “Come on, we’d better get in there and help.”

  While Mom went to change her blouse and put on lipstick, the sisters brought the food into the dining room. Two tables had been put together. Peggy cut the ham with an electric knife, and Carolyn filled the iced tea glasses.

  “Pappy gets buttermilk and Stevie gets Coke,” Peggy directed her.

  “I know,” said Carolyn, almost snapping.

  As the family sat down, Carolyn realized that no one ever asked Pappy to “turn thanks” anymore at holiday dinners. He was sitting there expectantly, as if waiting to be asked. Mom cut up his ham into small bits. Carolyn waited for a car to drive up, the phone to ring. The TV was still on.

  “Y’all dig in,” said Mom. “Jim? Make sure you try some of these dressed eggs like I fix.”

  “I thought your new boyfriend was coming,” said Cecil to Carolyn.

  “So did I!” said Laura Jean. “That’s what you wrote me.”

  Everyone looked at Carolyn as she explained. She looked away.

  “You’re looking at that pitiful tree,” Mom said to her. “I just know it don’t show up good from the road.”

  “No, it looks fine.” No one had really noticed the tree. Carolyn seemed to be seeing it for the first time in years—broken red plastic reindeer, Styrofoam snowmen with crumbling top hats, silver walnuts which she remembered painting when she was about twelve.

  Dad began telling a joke about some monks who had taken a vow of silence. At each Christmas dinner, he said, one monk was allowed to speak.

  “Looks like your vocal cords would rust out,” said Cheryl.

  “Shut up, Cheryl. Granddaddy’s trying to tell something,” said Cecil.

  “So the first year it was the first monk’s turn to talk, and you know what he said? He said, ‘These taters is lumpy.’ ”

  When several people laughed, Stevie asked, “Is that the joke?”

  Carolyn was baffled. Her father had never told a joke at the table in his life. He sat at the head of the table, looking out past the family at the cornfield through the picture window.

  “Pay attention now,” he said. “The second year Christmas rolled around again and it was the second monk’s turn to say something. He said, ‘You know, I think you’re right. The taters is lumpy.’ ”

  Laura Jean and Jim laughed loudly.

  “Reach me some light-bread,” said Pappy. Mom passed the dish around the table to him.

  “And so the third year,” Dad continued, “the third monk got to say something. What he said”—Dad was suddenly overcome with mirth—“what he said was, ‘If y’all don’t shut up arguing about them taters, I’m going to leave this place!’ ”

  After the laughter died, Mom said, “Can you imagine anybody not a-talking all year long?”

  “That’s the way monks are, Mom,” said Laura Jean. “Monks are economical with everything. They’re not wasteful, not even with words.”

  “The Trappist Monks are really an outstanding group,” said Jim. “And they make excellent bread. No preservatives.”

  Cecil and Peggy stared at Jim.

  “You’re not eating, Dad,” said Carolyn. She was sitting between him and the place set for Kent. The effort at telling the joke seemed to have taken her father’s appetite.

  “He ruined his dinner on nigger toes,” said Mom.

  “Dottie Barlow got a Barbie doll for Christmas and it’s black,” Cheryl said.

  “Dottie Barlow ain’t black, is she?” asked Cecil.

  “No.”

  “That’s funny,” said Peggy. “Why would they give her a black Barbie doll?”

  “She just wanted it.”

  Abruptly, Dad left the table, pushing back his plate. He sat down in the recliner chair in front of the TV. The Blue-Gray game was beginning, and Cecil and Ray were hurriedly finishing in order to join him. Carolyn took out second helpings of ham and jello salad, feeling as though she were eating for Kent in his absence. Jim was taking seconds of everything, complimenting Mom. Mom apologized for not having fancy napkins. Then Laura Jean described a photography course she had taken. She had been photographing close-ups of car parts—fenders, headlights, mud flaps.

  “That sounds goofy,” said one of the children, Deedee.

  Suddenly Pappy spoke. “Use to, the menfolks would eat first, and the children separate. The womenfolks would eat last, in the kitchen.”

  “You know what I could do with you all, don’t you?” said Mom, shaking her fist at him. “I could set up a plank out in the field for y’all to eat on.” She laughed.

  “Times are different now, Pappy,” said Iris loudly. “We’re just as good as the men.”

  “She gets that from television,” said Ray, with an apologetic laugh.

  Carolyn noticed Ray’s glance at Iris. Just then Iris matter-of-factly plucked an eyelash from Ray’s cheek. It was as though she had momentarily forgotten about the separation.

  —

  Later, after the gifts were opened, Jim helped clear the tables. Kent still had not come. The baby slept, and Laura Jean, Jim, Peggy, and Mom played a Star Trek board game at the dining room table, while Carolyn and Iris played Battlestar Galactica with Cheryl and Deedee. The other men were quietly engrossed in the football game, a blur of sounds. No one had mentioned Kent’s absence, but after the children had distributed the gifts, Carolyn refused to tell them what was in the lone package left under the tree. It was the most extravagantly wrapped of all the presents, with an immense ribbon, not a stick-on bow. An icicle had dropped on it, and it reminded Carolyn of an abandoned float, like something from a parade.

  At a quarter to three, Kent telephoned. He was still at the lake. “The gas stations are all closed,” he said. “I couldn’t get any gas.”

  “We already ate and opened the presents,” said Carolyn.

  “Here I am, stranded. Not a thing I can do about it.”

  Kent’s voice was shaky and muffled, and Carolyn suspected he had been drinking. She did not know what to say, in front of the family. She chattered idly, while she played with a ribbon from a package. The baby was awake, turning dials and knobs on a Busy Box. On TV, the Blues picked up six yards on an end sweep. Carolyn fixed her eyes on the tilted star at the top of the tree. Kent was saying something about Santa Claus.

  “They wanted me to play Santy at Mama’s house for the littluns. I said—you know what I said? ‘Bah, humbug!’ Did I ever tell you what I’ve got against Christmas?”

  “Maybe not.” Carolyn’s back stiffened against the wall.

  “When I was little bitty, Santa Claus came to town. I was about five. I was all fired up to go see Santy, and Mama took me, but we were late, and he was about to leave. I had to run across the courthouse square to get to him. He was giving away suckers, so I ran as hard as I could. He was climbing up on the fire engine—are you listening?”

  “Unh-huh.” Carolyn was watching her mother, who was folding Christmas paper to save for next year.

  Kent said, “I reached up and pulled at his old red pants leg, and he looked down at me, and you know what he said?”

  “No—what?”

  “He said, ‘Piss off, kid.’ ”

  “Really?”

  “Would I lie to you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you want to hear the rest of my hard-luck story?
”

  “Not now.”

  “Oh, I forgot this was long distance. I’ll call you tomorrow. Maybe I’ll go paint the boat. That’s what I’ll do! I’ll go paint it right this minute.”

  After Carolyn hung up the telephone, her mother said, “I think my Oriental casserole was a failure. I used the wrong kind of mushroom soup. It called for cream of mushroom and I used golden mushroom.”

  “Won’t you ever learn, Mom?” cried Carolyn. “You always cook too much. You make such a big deal—”

  Mom said, “What happened with Kent this time?”

  “He couldn’t get gas. He forgot the gas stations were closed.”

  “Jim and Laura Jean didn’t have any trouble getting gas,” said Peggy, looking up from the game.

  “We tanked up yesterday,” said Laura Jean.

  “Of course you did,” said Carolyn distractedly. “You always think ahead.”

  “It’s your time,” Cheryl said, handing Carolyn the Battlestar Galactica toy. “I did lousy.”

  “Not as lousy as I did,” said Iris.

  Carolyn tried to concentrate on shooting enemy missiles, raining through space. Her sisters seemed far away, like the spaceships. She was aware of the men watching football, their hands in action as they followed an exciting play. Even though Pappy had fallen asleep, with his blanket in his lap he looked like a king on a throne. Carolyn thought of the quiet accommodation her father had made to his father-in-law, just as Cecil and Ray had done with Dad, and her ex-husband had tried to do once. But Cecil had bought his way in, and now Ray was getting out. Kent had stayed away. Jim, the newcomer, was with the women, playing Star Trek as if his life depended upon it. Carolyn was glad now that Kent had not come. The story he told made her angry, and his pity for his childhood made her think of something Pappy had often said: “Christmas is for children.” Earlier, she had listened in amazement while Cheryl listed on her fingers the gifts she had received that morning: a watch, a stereo, a nightgown, hot curls, perfume, candles, a sweater, a calculator, a jewelry box, a ring. Now Carolyn saw Kent’s boat as his toy, more important than the family obligations of the holiday.