“Do I need to get on my knees?” he interrupted. “I’ll be glad to.”
“No, sweetheart—”
He recoiled, his eyes wide. “Oh shit.”
“Oh shit?” she repeated, baffled.
“Are you going to turn me down?” He stared at her. “Is that what you’re about to do?”
“Emmett, please, will you let me get a word in?”
He winced, pressing his hand over his heart. “I was so happy. I’m a jackass, I was so happy—”
“Emmett!” Layla cried. “I’m not saying no!”
He looked up, still wincing. “You’re not?”
“No. Honestly.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll marry you, for heaven’s sake. I just want to know you before I do.”
“You’ll marry me?” he demanded. “Say it again.”
“I’ll marry you,” she repeated, “once I know you.”
“You know me plenty,” he said. After a second, he added, “What do you want to know?”
“Everything,” she said. “I want to know everything.”
“Everything?”
“Everything that ever happened to you. And what you thought about it.”
“That’ll take forever!” he roared. “We’ll both be dead before we’re done.”
“Then you’d better get started,” she said. “What’s your first memory?”
“Oh, for God’s sake. Jottie trying to stuff me into a doll buggy.”
Layla laughed. “That’s good. That’s exactly the kind of thing I want to know.”
“Why?” he groaned. “Why do you want to know that?”
“Because it made you,” she said. “And I love you.”
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. He reached across the seat to grip her hand.
56
People drove in from miles away for the sesquicentennial of Macedonia; I’m not sure why. It was a beautiful day, and I suppose that had something to do with it. The sky was bright blue, and for all the air was warm, you could feel fall on the other side of it. I liked fall. I guess everyone else did, too, because the crowd was tremendous. By ten-thirty in the morning, all the ladies were having conniption fits about not enough food, even though they were charging a quarter a plate. There were hundreds of people in Flick Park, surging around, eating on benches and rocks and the fenders of their cars. I saw Sonny Deal eating in a tree. He waved and pretended to throw a cookie at me, but he didn’t really. It was nice to know there were no hard feelings.
“Listen”—Jottie sounded tense—“if we get separated, and I don’t see how we won’t, I’ll just see you at home, all right? Do you hear me?” She peered into my face, and I nodded.
“I hear you,” said Bird, but she was already straining to get away. I think she saw Berdetta Ritts in the distance. “Can I have some money?”
Jottie unexpectedly pressed a quarter into each of our hands. “That’s supposed to be for lunch,” she said. “But do as you will.” Bird lunged off in pursuit of Berdetta. “You want to stick with me, Willa?” Jottie shouted as the Rotary band began to play. I nodded and held tight to her hand. Carleton Lewis had got his drum out of hock, and the noise was enough to wake the dead.
Jottie and I wandered over to watch the ladies at the long tables. Mrs. Fox and Mrs. Dews and the others looked like windmills, their arms pumping up and down to slap potato salad and fried chicken and pie on hundreds of plates. “Think I’ll eat when I get home,” Jottie said in my ear. I agreed. That pie looked a little careworn. Some of the country people had brought their own box lunches—probably they didn’t have a quarter to spend on food—and they looked content, munching on bread and apples with babies laid over laps and men squatting on the ground.
“Lord, what a crush!” said Mrs. Tapscott, grabbing hold of Jottie’s arm. “I’m about ready to faint dead away. Listen, Jottie, will you tell that girl I’m just wild about her book? I never would’ve thought an outsider could do it, but she did a real nice job. Real nice.”
“I’ll tell her, Inez,” said Jottie. “She’ll be pleased.”
“I’m going to send it to my cousin Cincy down in Romney.” Mrs. Tapscott giggled. “He never would believe Jackson stayed in Mother’s house. That book will just shut him right up.”
Jottie laughed, and Mrs. Tapscott blew away with the crowd. “Bye, honey!” she called to me as she went.
Jottie looked down at me sideways. “Guess we should have charged to get in that book, huh?” I nodded. “Let’s see if we can get us some ice cream,” she suggested. “Armine Statler said he was going to set up a booth somewhere.” She was under the impression that I didn’t know she was trying to feed me up. “That is the Lord’s own racket,” she muttered, heading away from the Rotary band.
“Jottie.” It was Mr. McKubin. He put his hand on her arm. “How’s this suit?”
He stood back a little ways so she could see.
“You’re a vision,” said Jottie. She poked my shoulder. “Isn’t he?” I nodded, even though he didn’t look any different than usual. “They won’t hear a word you say,” she added. “They’ll be so struck by your suit.”
Mr. McKubin had to make a speech and he didn’t want to. He’d practiced saying it on our porch the night before, and he’d made a lot of faces while he was doing it. The speech was called “Labor and Honor,” and it was about how working made you better, and the more you worked, the better you got. The strike was over. Mr. McKubin had decided that the workers could get up a union if they wanted to, and he threw them a big party to celebrate the fact. All the strikers came and ate cake, and everyone was happy until the TWOC sent in a man who said they should be getting more money. Mr. McKubin said there wasn’t any more money to get. He also said the whole damn thing was Emmett’s fault when you got right down to it and he couldn’t believe he was marrying into a hotbed of Communism. Then Emmett said he didn’t know which was better for the sock business, dying on your feet or living on your knees, and everyone laughed.
But Mr. McKubin wasn’t laughing now. He said, “I’d better go on up there.” He looked real glum. “Wish me luck.”
Jottie patted him on the arm. “You don’t need luck, Sol. You’ll do better than you think.”
That made him happy, I could tell. He was smiling as he turned to go.
“Come on, honey, let’s find Armine,” said Jottie. We started toward Prince Street, but a lady in a green hat blocked our way.
“Jottie,” she said, kind of haughty.
“Anna May,” said Jottie.
“I haven’t seen Felix in a while.” She didn’t look at Jottie’s face when she said it. She looked at the top of her head.
“No. He’s on an—an extended business trip,” said Jottie. She closed her mouth tight, looking a little haughty herself.
“Ah,” said the lady. “Well.” She turned and walked away without another word.
“Honest to God,” muttered Jottie.
I looked up at her and raised my eyebrows.
“Puh!” she said indignantly. “If you can’t be bothered to talk, you can’t expect to find everything out!”
I decided I didn’t care.
The crowd was getting thicker. Jottie ran into Harriet, and then Mrs. Sue came along, and pretty soon the knot of ladies was big enough to stop traffic. They didn’t notice, though. They were busy talking. I could see Geraldine far away, across Flick Park, stomping toward some blackberry canes that grew by the side of the creek. She looked important and busy, with her brothers and sisters scuttling after her. It seemed like a long time ago that we had played together.
I yawned. Jottie and her friends were talking about the price of hats. Jun Lloyd loped by. I wondered if he’d ever buried Neddie that day.
The knot of ladies unfurled itself into a straggling line of attention. Mayor Silver was about to give his sesquicentennial speech, and there were lots of preliminary squawks and blasts as Carl Inskeep adjusted the microphone on the stand. Someone’s magnified laugh washed over the park
, followed by a wave of laughter from the crowd. Mayor Silver climbed the stairs to the bandstand and smiled—he looked a little nervous. “Thank you,” he said, which reminded everyone that they should clap, so they did. “Thank you, thank you,” he cried.
I jerked on Jottie’s sleeve. “I’m going home,” I said.
She was so pleased to hear me say something that she nodded enthusiastically, as if she couldn’t wait to see me leave. “All right, honey. I’ll be along in a while. I think I saw Emmett with Layla, so there’s no one at the house. You don’t mind, do you?”
I shook my head and left. I didn’t want to hear Mr. Silver say thank you again. I didn’t want to hear him say anything.
That microphone had a terrible echo, but once I turned up Council Street, all the sounds fell away. Everyone was at Flick Park, and the rest of Macedonia was deserted, which suited me fine. I liked it peaceful.
I turned from Council to Kanawha Street.
“My God, you walk fast,” someone said behind me. “Nobody’s going to believe you’re sick when you walk that fast.”
My heart almost choked me and I stopped dead. I didn’t dare look around.
“Unless you have Saint Vitus Dance.”
“What’s that?” I asked very quietly.
“Saint Vitus Dance? It’s a disease. A dread disease that causes excessive movement of the limbs. I think it’s going to be a tough sell, though. You don’t look sick.”
I spun around then, and there he was, smiling at me.
“You look fine.” He opened his arms and I crashed into them. “Hey,” he said, rocking me back and forth. “Hey, Willa.”
“I missed you,” I choked out. “Something awful.”
Father nodded, holding tight to me. “I missed you, too, honey. Especially when I heard you were sick.”
“I’m just tired,” I said, but my face was pressed up against his shirt, so he couldn’t understand me.
He held me a little away. “What?”
“I’m—I was just tired. That’s all.”
He was looking all over my face. “Tired? Jottie let you stay home from school for that?”
I nodded. He looked pretty tired himself. His eyes were bloodshot.
He shook his head disapprovingly. “I had to fall down and practically knock my brains out before they’d let me stay home from school. Had to be almost dead. Jottie’s a patsy.”
“Will you come home?” I begged. “Please?”
“You know I can’t,” he said. “I seem to recall you were present at the hanging.” He tried to smile, but it didn’t turn out.
“Please.” I couldn’t stop begging him. “Please, just for a little. No one’ll know. They’re all down at Flick Park, all of them. And I won’t tell.”
One eyebrow shot up, and I remembered that he didn’t have any reason to trust me.
“I’m sorry!” I burst out, hiding my face in his shirt again for shame. “I’m sorry for telling—I couldn’t stand for Jottie to cry like that.”
“I know,” he said, stroking my hair. “Don’t fuss. It’s better she knows.”
“I didn’t mean to tell. If I’d had another minute, I would have thought of something else,” I mourned. “I should have figured out a way.”
He put his hand under my chin and lifted my face to look at his eyes. “I never figured out a way, and I worked on it a lot longer than you.” He patted my cheek. “You did fine.”
It was forgiveness, but it sounded like good-bye, too. I clapped my hand over my mouth to keep from sobbing.
His shoulders sagged a little. “Don’t, sweetheart. Don’t take it so hard.”
A wail escaped from under my hand. He was going to leave again.
“Oh God,” he breathed. “Tell you what.” He took my hand away from my mouth and wrapped it in his. “Let’s go sit on the roof. Just for a little bit. Just this last time.”
I clung tight to his hand. “Really?” I hiccuped. “I’ve never been on the roof.”
He was appalled. “What? You’ve never been on the roof?”
“Jottie said she’d skin us alive.”
He made a disgusted sound. “This is what comes of letting other people raise your children.”
“Jottie’s not other people.”
“Well, obviously she is. Don’t sit on the roof! She spent half her childhood on that roof. Roof’s the best part of the house.” We walked together along Academy Street, swinging our hands between us, and I tried not to think that it would end. When we got to the house, he moved right past the front path to the cellar door and pulled it open. “Come on,” he called to me.
“Why don’t you go in the front door?” I asked, even though I was already following him.
“You said there was no one home, but you don’t really know,” he explained. “You can’t be too careful.”
Inside the cellar, he fished himself an apple from the bin and then skimmed up the stairs and through the kitchen so fast I was hard put to catch up with him. “Wait,” I panted. “Wait for me.”
“I’m trying to stay on the right side of the law,” he said over his shoulder. “For once. Hurry up.”
“I’m hurrying,” I gasped. I caught up with him at the door to his room. “It’s all right in there,” I said, breathing hard. “Nothing’s changed.”
He nodded and moved across the room to the window, opening it wide. “Out you go,” he said, gesturing for me to go first.
“After you,” I said. I was a little nervous. Dex Lloyd had broken his arm, and that was only falling out of a tree.
Father laughed softly, the way I loved. “What nice manners you’ve got, honey.” He swung his legs over the sill and then helped me out, taking my hand so I wouldn’t be scared. There was an almost-flat part outside his window—it was the roof of the porch, really—and we sat down there, facing east so we could look along Academy Street. Some of the trees had yellow leaves already. He took off his coat and sighed in a contented way. “Ah, thank God. Home,” he said, stretching out and wadding his coat up under his head for a pillow. Then he glanced over at me. “You don’t have a coat.”
I shook my head.
He stood. “Just a minute.” The way he walked, he might have been on a sidewalk. He slipped through the window again and came back out with his own bedspread. He folded it into a neat pad and put it down for me. “There,” he said.
“Thanks.”
“Think nothing of it.”
I lay back and he did, too, and for a long time we didn’t say anything. Then I propped myself up to see if he was asleep, because if he was, I’d keep watch to make sure he didn’t roll off the roof. His eyes were closed, so I studied him. He looked kind of raggedy, not so spruce as he usually was. He had a stain on his pants. I wondered did he wash his own clothes. It hurt my heart to picture that. Without opening his eyes, he spoke. “Why’d you do it, Willa?”
“What?” I asked, even though I was pretty sure what he meant.
“You know.” He waved his fingers. “Tare’s basement. Looking in those cases.” His eyes opened and he stared at the sky. “Why?”
“I wanted”—I chased after the right words—“I wanted to know about you. I thought that if I knew what you were doing and where you were, I’d be part of you. Like we’d be working together, even if you didn’t know it.” I gulped a little. “When I went down to Mr. Russell’s basement, I thought I was going to find whiskey.”
“Jesus,” he breathed.
“I’m a bootlegger, too,” I confessed. I wanted him to know everything. “But I buy my whiskey from Mr. Houdyshell.”
He hitched around to look at me. “What the hell are you talking about?”
I explained about Mrs. Bucklew and Mrs. John and the basket and the Four Roses whiskey. While he was listening, he put his hands up to his face to shade it.
“So we’re both outlaws,” I finished.
Father lifted his hand away, and I saw that he was laughing. At me. He shook his head in wonder and said, �
��Who would have thought it? You, of all people. I would have put my money on Bird.”
I drew myself up. “I am a natural-born sneak. I did it all summer long, and I didn’t get caught.”
His smile disappeared. “And you think it’s fun?”
That gave me pause. “No,” I said slowly. “I’m just good at it.”
He nodded, and his face was grim. “Yeah, I know. I’m good at it, too. It’s a goddamn curse, how good I am at it.”
“Same here,” I said, thinking of my dream. If I’d gone to Minerva’s like I was supposed to, I would never have had to dream that awful dream. It was a curse.
“You should probably stop, then,” he said.
“I have,” I said with dignity. “I don’t want to know anything anymore.”
“You’re something fierce, Willa,” he said with a little smile.
“That’s because I’m like you,” I said. “I get it from you.”
“No,” he said quick. “Don’t wish for that.” He propped himself up on his elbows and looked out into the trees. “How’s Jottie?” he asked quietly.
“I think she misses you,” I said.
“I doubt it.” He let his breath out through his teeth. “She has Sol, the Honest Injun.”
“He’s honest,” I agreed. But I was thinking about Mr. McKubin sitting on our porch and how Jottie was when he was there. “I don’t think she’s going to marry him, though.” I listened to myself say the words and thought, She won’t.
He swiveled his head to look at me. “Says who?”
“Says me,” I said slowly, fitting my ideas together. “He likes everybody, Mr. McKubin does, and he’s nice, I guess, but that’s not what Jottie cares about, just being nice. Any old body can be nice.” I frowned. “And then, when he’s around, she’s quiet. Not the way she really is. It’s like she doesn’t want to talk, because he won’t understand what she means.” Father’s eyes narrowed. “The happiest I saw her since—you know—was when she got that coat.” I smiled to think of it. “She was like me: She didn’t know what it was at first, and then she knew. She remembered it. And she closed her eyes and was so happy. She was happier with Vause Hamilton’s coat than she is with Mr. McKubin.”
The Truth According to Us Page 46
