“Is she okay?” I ask.
“Not really,” he says. “This will probably be the end of the sawmill. Your mama will lose all the money she’s put into it. She’ll lose her livelihood.”
Uncle Daniel drops his head as if a prayer is called for, but maybe he’s thinking about wringing necks, too.
“What about you?” I ask, knowing Mama pays him for keeping the books and that he and Jo count on that money.
“We’ll be fine,” he says. “We’ve got the farm, and I can always pick up something in Rocky Bluff if I have to. It’s your mama I’m worried about, and Bee,” he continues. “Mack Avery turned Bee away at the door when she went in to get papers to grade. Told her to pack her bags. To get out of town if she knew what was good for her.”
“This all happened this morning?” I ask.
He nods.
“How can people be so mean?” I say.
“Honest to God, Lily, I have no idea. These are supposedly Christian people. At least most of them.”
I wonder if I’ll ever be asked to sing at the church again, and then feel selfish to think of myself. Truth is, my singing career may be over before it got started.
“Did you know about Mama and Miss Blackstone?” I ask.
“I didn’t,” he says. “But in a way, I wasn’t surprised. Your mama has a lot of love to give, and she would need someone special.”
I should have known Uncle Daniel would never abandon Mama, even about something he may not understand.
“Jo’s having a hard time with it,” he says. “So are Meg and Amy.”
I wonder if all my cousins are overhearing what has happened. We made a game sometimes of snooping to hear what the grownups were talking about, and I imagine this is no exception.
“It’s more about it being such a surprise,” Daniel continues. “Your mother kept this huge secret from her entire family. I hate that she felt like she couldn’t confide in anybody.”
I remember the talk Mama and I had at the river where she was so honest about her feelings. “I think it’s because she’s ashamed, Uncle Daniel.”
He looks at me like this idea never occurred to him. “Your mama shouldn’t be ashamed of anything,” he says. “She’s the bravest person I’ve ever known.”
“I don’t think she feels brave about this,” I say.
We exchange looks, and I can see how much he loves her and also how he’s scared for her.
“Downright shame,” he says.
“What can I do?” I ask. “Should I go over there, Uncle Daniel?”
“Actually, she said she needs you here. She wants you to make sure your granny doesn’t hear about it before she can make it home and tell her herself,” he says.
“Granny’s not going to take this well,” I say.
“I don’t imagine she will,” he says. “But Nell has surprised me before.”
He turns and looks at me like he’s wondering if it’s okay to talk about my no-good father.
“It’s okay,” I say to him. “I’m getting used to knowing.”
“You were brave to want to know the truth,” he says. “You’re just like your mama in the courage department.”
“I don’t think I could ever do what she’s doing now, Uncle Daniel. How do you talk people into not hating you?”
Until recently, I never realized how strong Mama is. But now I’m realizing how much she’s been through, and how she’s always been there for me no matter what.
“How long have you known?” Uncle Daniel asks.
“Not long,” I say, not mentioning the kiss.
“Did anybody else know before all this happened?”
“The Sectors know,” I say. “Mama and Miss Blackstone go over there sometimes.”
“Should have known the Sectors would lead the way on how to be decent human beings,” he says.
I remember how Crow wants to stay in Katy’s Ridge forever. Would he still be interested in me if I didn’t sing anymore? He’s always said how much he loves my singing.
“Your mama will come home as soon as the phone stops ringing,” Uncle Daniel says, pulling me back into the current crisis. “There can’t be that many customers left.” He rubs his eyes like he’s feeling weary, too.
“Maybe you should go get Great Aunt Sadie and bring her over here,” I say. “Tell her what’s going on. She’ll want to support Mama. Granny will listen to her faster than she listens to anybody else. If she’s speaking reason, it may go over better.”
“Good idea,” he says, and stands. “If your mama gets back here before I do, tell her to hold off on telling Nell. Tell her Sadie’s on her way.”
“I will,” I say. “Until then, I’ll go spend time with Granny and try to soften her up.”
“Good luck,” he says, and we walk to the door. “We need to keep an eye on this weather, too,” he adds. “Looks like this storm may be a big one.”
Before he leaves, he gives me a hug. Because of his height, a hug with Uncle Daniel means a big stretch, even when he meets me halfway.
“Who was that? I heard voices,” Granny says, coming out of the kitchen.
“It was Uncle Daniel. He says bad weather might be coming in.”
“I wondered about that,” she says. “My arthritis is acting up.”
I follow her back into the kitchen and offer to help with supper. I imagine Granny as the Thanksgiving turkey that I am supposed to butter up. She can be hard on Mama sometimes, and I can’t imagine how this latest news will be taken any different.
Thirty minutes later, Great Aunt Sadie calls from the front porch needing help with getting off her boots. I find her sitting on the porch swing waiting for me to give them a pull. Yesterday the weather was sunny and almost warm. Yet today, the cold wind hits us from every direction.
“How’s it going in there?” she asks, as I pull the first boot off revealing a red wool sock.
Great Aunt Sadie is wearing her old fedora and a scarf around her neck and her big coat. Sticking out of one pocket is a bottle of her blackberry spirits. She looks worried, which isn’t like her.
“You thinking about Mama?” I ask.
She nods. “Some people get more than their fair share of suffering, and your mama hasn’t done one thing to deserve a lick of it.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” I say, tugging at the other boot. After it slides free, I wrap my arms around myself to capture warmth.
“I didn’t see your mama’s truck. She isn’t home yet?”
“Not yet,” I say.
“And Nell has no idea?”
“She’s too calm to know anything,” I say. “Right now she’s mainly worried about Mama making it home safe.”
“It’s not quite freezing yet, but it will be soon. If she comes home within the next thirty minutes or so, I think she’ll be okay.”
She leaves her winter things just inside the door and we go into the kitchen. Like old friends sometimes do, Granny and Great Aunt Sadie forego greetings, and Granny serves her a cup of coffee she’s heated up on the stove.
“How’s the weather?” Granny asks.
“It’s gearing up for something big,” she tells her. Then she pours blackberry spirits in her coffee and offers the same to Granny.
“What’s the occasion?” Granny asks her.
“No occasion at all,” she says, glancing in my direction.
The three of us sit in the kitchen, the clock over the stove clicking off the seconds as the storm brews and we wait for Mama’s return.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Wildflower
A slushy ice has accumulated on my windshield by the time I leave the mill. The temperature is hovering around freezing. Now if I can just make it home and up the hill before it freezes. It is already dusk. Our hill is almost impossible to climb in ice. Winter has caught me by surprise.
My business is ruined. The only accounts that weren’t closed are the Sectors and Sweeney’s store. Sweeney’s does little business now that the big grocery s
tore in Rocky Bluff opened, and the Sectors use even less lumber. When I anticipated the worst of what might happen if news of Bee and I got out, it wasn’t this bad. The biggest surprise was the coldness with which people closed their accounts. They told me that I should be ashamed and that I was going to hell, and that was before the name-calling started. This from people I’d grown up with. People my family had helped through hard times. People who practiced the golden rule, at least on Sundays.
Tears blur into the mess of old windshield wipers brushing away slushy ice. I feel tired down to my bones, but promised Bee I would come by. I pull in front of her house, momentarily grateful that I no longer have to hide my truck behind the biggest hedge. A handmade No Trespassing sign is sitting by the front door.
“I was worried about you,” she says, meeting me at the door.
To my surprise, Bee appears almost calm. Instead of her usual school clothes, she wears a pair of denim pants and a blouse with a bumblebee stitched onto the collar. It has been a day of surprises. A winter storm is coming, not even predicted in the Farmer’s Almanac. I’ve lost the sawmill. And now Bee, at a time when I imagined she’d be sobbing, is unruffled.
“I’m exhausted,” I say.
“How bad is it?” she asks.
“I’m officially out of business.”
“Well, I’m officially out of a job,” she counters. “It only took Mack Avery until noon to bring all my things from the school. He stood here in the doorway until I gave him the key to the building. I’m not to talk to any students or parents and never step foot on the school grounds again or he’s threatened to have me arrested.”
“Why don’t you look upset?” I ask.
“I cried a river after Mack left here, but now I’m angry.”
“I haven’t reached anger yet,” I say.
We move from the doorway and she takes my coat and hangs it on the coat rack. Bee leads us into the living room, not even closing the drapes. I never realized how much it bothered me that whenever we were alone we were concealing ourselves. The thought of not hiding behind thick curtains feels liberating, but also exposed, like two deer in a large meadow with hunters nearby.
“I’ve still got to go home and tell Mama,” I say. “It’s one of the few times I’ve been glad we don’t have a telephone. She won’t know yet, unless someone’s come to the house. Lily’s waiting there for me, and Daniel called the mill to tell me he went to pick up Aunt Sadie and took her to the house. At least I’ll have reinforcements.”
“How do you think she’ll react?” she asks.
“I don’t even want to think about it, Bee. But the first thing I’m doing when I get home is hiding her shotgun.”
I attempt a laugh. We sit on the couch, and Bee holds my hand in hers. “What do we do now?” she asks.
A mixture of rain and ice begins to hit the picture window.
“I’m not sure,” I say. “But I can’t stay long. I’ve got to get home. If it’s all right with you, I’ll come by as soon as I can get down the hill again and we’ll talk it through.”
I squeeze her hand to reassure her.
“It must have been Doc Lester who told,” she says.
“Who else?” I say.
My legs feel heavy as I go to the door and put on my coat again, so soon after I took it off.
“Good luck telling your mother,” Bee says, buttoning the top button of my coat.
“She won’t understand this,” I say. “Next time you see me I may be looking for a place to live.”
“You can always stay here,” she says.
“And risk someone burning the place down?” I ask. My mood doesn’t allow for a happy ending.
We say our goodbyes and a blast of cold air cuts through my coat as I make my way to the truck. A misty sleet has begun to fall. Chains still in the bed of the truck, I drive slow and pull off onto the side of the road instead of on the slight incline where I usually park. The slush is hardening to a light crunch. Two sets of footprints go up the hill before me, probably Daniel and Aunt Sadie. I hate to think how Daniel’s leg must have hurt him as he helped her up the hill. The wind rips across the mountain and the ice is in solid pellets now. I’m glad I thought to put Daddy’s old rain slicker over my winter coat. The ice hits it with dull pops.
I make my way home holding onto the branches of trees and bushes to keep me from sliding back down. The last fifteen years have, in some ways, felt like an uphill climb. Lily has helped me have no regrets, the reward of having her in my life has been so great. On my way up the steepest part of the hill, I wonder if telling Mama about Bee will break us apart forever.
When I get in sight of the house, every light is on. I remember the night when people came to pay their respects after Daddy died. The whole community of Katy’s Ridge showed up. Some of the same loving and caring people who called me today and told me they were never doing business with me again because I was now loathsome and disgusting.
On the front porch, I stomp the caked ice from my boots and call on whatever courage I have left for the next obstacle. I leave my boots next to Aunt Sadie’s, relieved that she will be with me as I face Mama.
Warm air greets me as I open the door. I am lucky to make it home. Aunt Sadie will probably be spending the night until this storm moves through.
Voices come from the kitchen and then laughter. The laughter is probably Lily’s doing. She knows how to tame Mama’s lion side. I go into the bedroom and change out of my work clothes. When I catch a quick glance in the mirror, dark circles are underneath my eyes. How is it possible that I look ten years older than I did this morning?
I sigh, wishing I could run away instead of tell Mama the truth. Then I go to her bedroom and take the shotgun from behind her door and slide it under my bed. Not that Mama would actually use it, but why take chances. I take a deep breath, wishing Daddy were here.
It’s twice as warm in the kitchen as it is in the rest of the house. Three people I love sit at the kitchen table, dirty supper dishes pushed to the side. Mama stands as I enter, as if her relief at seeing me safe and sound has pulled her tall.
“You made it,” she says.
“I made it,” I repeat.
“I’ve got your supper warming in the oven,” she says.
Of all the suppers we’ve had together in this kitchen, I wonder if this will be the last one.
“I’m actually not hungry, Mama,” I say.
“Since when are you not hungry?” Mama asks. She hands me a plate full of food anyway.
“Did you have trouble getting up the hill?” Aunt Sadie says. She beams courage in my direction. Tears threaten to come.
Lily stands and puts her arms around my neck. I want to thank her for not hating me and make every effort not to weep. Not every child would be so accepting. It occurs to me that as long as my family doesn’t desert me, I can take whatever the rest of the world says.
“Sit down,” Mama says. “You want a cup of coffee?”
I nod. It’s late, but I am tired enough to sleep tonight even after a dozen cups of coffee.
“Tell us about your day,” Mama says.
At that moment, I want to keep her unaware. I can’t bear her being disappointed in me like everybody else in Katy’s Ridge.
“I have something I need to tell you,” I say to her, wishing the strong coffee could give me more backbone.
Mama’s face turns from sunlight to dark clouds. “What is it?”
I take a bite of the pork chop on my plate to fortify me, followed by a bite each of mashed potatoes and collard greens. Mama’s country cooking could strengthen anyone.
“Something’s happened that you need to know about,” I say.
“Something bad?” she asks, her eyebrows raised.
“Something bad,” I repeat, thinking the only worse news I might deliver would be another death in the family. Although, it’s entirely possible that I will be dead to Mama after this, which is kind of the same thing.
Mama’s lips ti
ghten. She does not cater to bad news.
Aunt Sadie offers her more blackberry spirits, and Mama brushes the offer away, all the while keeping her eyes on me.
“Nell, it’s important to remember that nobody’s hurt and nobody’s dead,” Aunt Sadie says, like she’s been reading my thoughts.
“You know what’s coming then?” she asks Aunt Sadie, her voice low.
“I do,” Aunt Sadie says.
“You know what’s coming, too?” Mama turns to Lily.
Lily nods.
“It seems a conspiracy’s afoot,” Mama says, her look the opposite of pleased. She turns back to me. “Best to pull the bandage off real quick then,” she tells me.
I hesitate. The speech I’d practiced on the way up the hill disappears like the dove of a county fair magician.
“Mama—” I falter again.
“You’d best be saying something quick, Louisa May.” Her voice is louder and her eyes don’t leave mine.
I start talking, unrehearsed, and tell her everything: that Bee and I have been more than friends for years now and that we’ve been keeping it a secret all this time.
Mama’s expression doesn’t change.
“Trouble is, the word’s got out and everybody in Katy’s Ridge knows,” I say. “And today Bee got fired from teaching and nearly everybody we had business with at the sawmill has canceled their accounts.”
I pause long enough to hope the shotgun isn’t loaded that’s under my bed that Mama might find if she takes a notion to. “I’m very sorry if you’re ashamed of me,” I continue, “but I didn’t set out to hurt you or anybody else. Not at all.”
The clock over the stove is the only sound in the room, as if clicking down the seconds before Mama hits the roof.
Outside, the wind soars down the mountain behind the house and rattles the door and windows. Ice pierces the tin roof. Mama’s expression still hasn’t changed. Aunt Sadie and Lily seem as puzzled as I am by her silence.
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