“Oh, that woman don’t know what she’s doen half the time,” he said. “On the way up the hill she saw a patch of them black-eyed Susans, if that’s what you call them, and nothen would do but she’s got to haul herself over the fence and pick a mess of them to decorate the church. I told her she was goen to break a leg, old woman like her climben fences, but you know your mama, won’t listen to a word of reason.”
“You let Miss Ida be, Mr. Homer,” said Eliza. “God never put a better woman on earth than Ida Italiano.”
“I reckon you got no argument there, Miss Eliza,” said Homer. “How you? You’re looken right pert.”
“I’m doen right good for an old woman,” answered Eliza gaily.
“Story’s goen around that Virgil’s comen home today and there’s talk he’s bringen a girl of the Jewish faith with him,” said Homer.
“We’re holden judgment till we see her,” said Eliza sensibly. “As long as she ain’t no heathen I’m glad Virgil’s got somebody he wants to marry.”
“A lot of ’em been comen to me and asken how the family felt about a Jew in the family. I hadn’t heard anybody express an opinion, but I said as long as she’s Virgil’s girl everybody’s goen to make her feel right at home.”
Clay, who had eaten four fried eggs, six biscuits, three thick slices of ham and three giant cups of black coffee, rose from the table and put on his blue denim working cap.
“Where do you think you’re goen?” inquired Olivia.
“I thought I’d run up to the mountain and get as much done on the house as I could before Virgil gets here,” said Clay.
“How’s the house comen along, Clay?” asked Homer.
“She’s comen, Mr. Homer,” said Clay. “I got just about half the foundation put in. I figure by this time next year that house is goen to be ready.”
“I’d be proud to see that, Clay,” said Homer. “You’ve got yourself a good house right here. Not a thing wrong with it, but you never know when the company’s goen to come along and tell you to move somewhere else.”
Homer was feeling bitter toward the company because the house in which he and Ida had spent their married life was soon to be demolished. This was a frequent occurrence in New Dominion since quarries had to be opened along the vein taken underground by the soapstone. Actually, Homer’s house was already hanging on the brink of a quarry and the company waited only to find a vacant house for Homer and Ida to move into before tearing their house down.
“That’s one reason I’m builden my own place, Mr. Homer,” said Clay. “As long as that house is mine no son-of-a-seahorse is ever goen to have the right to come along and move me and my babies to some place we don’t want to go.”
Wakened by the loud voice of their grandfather, the children began arriving for their breakfast. Clay departed for the mountain and the old folks moved to the front porch while Olivia fed fresh sticks, of wood to the old cooking range and took up a position where for the next half-hour she fried two more pounds of ham and one egg after another until the entire brood was fed.
As soon as all the children had eaten she began getting the older ones ready for Sunday school. They were already clean from their Saturday-night bath so they had only to be dressed, have their hair combed, and proper shoes found for everybody. This was usually the hardest chore, because each pair of shoes was handed down from one child to another so that with repeated half-solings by Clay, every boy in the family might have worn the same pair of shoes at one time or another. Sometimes it was hard to know who had ownership rights at a particular moment.
Once the children were off to Sunday school, Olivia returned to the kitchen to clean up the breakfast dishes and start preparing her Sunday dinner. This was something of a challenge because after church every Sunday of the year relatives on both sides of the family would stop by the house. Everyone who stopped would be asked to stay to dinner, and it was not unusual for Olivia to set the table four or five times at midday on Sunday. Since she never knew exactly how many would actually stay for dinner it was a miracle that she was never short of food.
Olivia sighed with annoyance when a knock sounded at the kitchen door. There was much work to be done and she did not welcome the interruption.
“House was so quiet I didn’t think anybody was home,” said Eunice Crittenbarger.
“That’s because all the kids are at Sunday school,” said Olivia. “Come on in, Eunice.”
“I thought about goen to Sunday school myself this morning,” said Eunice, “and then I said to myself it would be just as Christian to go over there and give Livy Spencer a hand what with all that company she’s got comen in.” Eunice plunged her hands into the pan of sudsy dishes Olivia had been washing and set to work briskly.
“Any of ’em here yet?” she asked.
“We aren’t expecten ’em before eleven,” said Olivia, picking up a towel and beginning to dry the dishes Eunice was washing.
“You reckon Virgil is goen to marry that Jewish girl?” inquired Eunice.
“He said in the first letter he was thinken about it. That’s all we know,” replied Olivia.
“You think he’ll still take Clay-Boy in if he does marry her?” asked Eunice.
“How did you know about him taken in Clay-Boy?” asked Olivia.
“It’s not a secret or anything, is it?” asked Eunice. “Everybody in New Dominion knows he’s up to get a scholarship and that you and Clay are counten on Virgil to give him his room and board while he’s getten his education.”
“I vow,” said Olivia. “You can’t keep a thing to yourself around here any more.”
“I wouldn’t of brought it up if I’d known you were so sensitive about it, Livy.”
“I’m not sensitive about it. It’s just that we don’t want Clay-Boy to get his hopes built up too high. It’s a big thing for him to take on. He’s counten on it something awful. I just hate to think how he’d take it if it didn’t come through.”
“Listen, Livy, you haven’t got a thing to worry about with Clay-Boy Spencer. That boy is smart as a cricket. Don’t you remember that Valedictorian Speech he gave when he graduated? A boy that can write a speech like that can be President of the United States if he takes his mind to it. Remember, I printed that whole speech in the Charlottesville Daily Citizen.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival at the front gate of Clay’s brother Anse and his wife and children. Following Anse came Luke and his family. Olivia returned to the kitchen just in time to see cars arriving at the back gate as members of the clan began coming in from that direction. Soon the house was buzzing with the sounds of conversation and laughter. On the front porch the Spencer brothers and their wives joined their parents and Homer Italiano. As soon as all the chairs were taken they began arranging themselves on the steps leading down from the porch, and when even more relatives arrived those who could not find seats spilled over into the yard.
Olivia was working alone in the kitchen. Eunice had deserted her as soon as the company began arriving and was now on the front porch gathering and exchanging gossip. The talk and the laughter had grown so loud that when it stopped quite suddenly Olivia walked through the house to the front door and looked out. She arrived just in time to see Virgil get out of his car, come around and hold the door open for someone to get out.
The girl who stepped out of the car was tall and dark and slight. She gave Virgil a nervous smile and then looked up at the crammed front porch and yard where the Spencer clan awaited their first look at her.
All the Spencers, the children included, fell silent as Virgil led the girl up the walk. At the foot of the front steps he looked around and exclaimed, “What the hell’s wrong with everybody? Didn’t you ever see a pretty girl before?”
“Bring her up here where I can get a look at her,” called Eliza as the crowd parted to make way for Virgil and his girl.
“Mama,” said Virgil, “this is Lisa. We got married yesterday.”
“You’re welcom
e here, child,” said Eliza. She took the girl by the hand and pulled her down to kiss her on the cheek.
“And this is my daddy,” said Virgil.
Old Zebulon was growing feeble. Some time ago the sons had taken his gun away from him and would allow him to hunt no longer. Lately they also refused to lend him their cars—which was even more irksome to Zebulon, for his two dearest friends, Miss Emma and Miss Etta Peabody, lived at such a distance that he could only get to see them if one of the boys would drive him there. When Virgil presented his bride, Zebulon rose with the aid of his cane and before Lisa knew what he was going to do, he embraced her warmly and kissed her full on the lips through his long handlebar mustache.
“You’re about the prettiest little thing I ever laid eyes on,” said Zebulon. “Sit down here beside me.” He waved one of his sons aside and cleared a chair for Lisa.
“Thank you,” the girl said weakly. She looked up at the sea of faces all looking back at her in friendly curiosity. She attempted to smile, but her lips trembled. She looked to Virgil for reassurance, but she saw that he had turned away and was talking to Olivia.
“Where’s Clay?” he asked.
“Up yonder on the mountain worken on that house, same as he always is,” said Olivia. “He said he would be back here before you came, but you know how he is once he gets to worken on the house.”
“Let’s run up and get him,” said Virgil.
His brothers agreed and together they rose and left the porch. Virgil turned to Lisa and said, “You stay here and get acquainted. Livy, you tell her who everybody is,” and then he was gone down the walk with his brothers. The eight of them piled into one of the cars, and then they were gone up the road toward the mountain.
Alone now with the women and children, Lisa seemed to be looking for a place to hide. All the faces were subjecting her to the closest scrutiny. Looking down at her open-toed shoes, she wished she had followed an earlier instinct not to paint her toenails; Virgil had told her that most of New Dominion was Baptist and not given to frivolity.
Watching the girl, Olivia remembered her own induction into the Spencer clan and recognized the cause of her nervousness.
“What do you think of all these Spencers?” Olivia asked in an effort to put the girl at ease.
“There sure are a lot of them,” said Lisa.
“Well,” said Olivia. “It’ll take you years to get them all straight, but I’ll just introduce you around anyway.”
Olivia went the rounds of the porch, introducing Lisa to all the women, telling which woman was the wife of which particular Spencer man and pointing out their children in the crowd of cousins who were having a noisy reunion down in the yard.
Lisa responded to each introduction with a polite greeting. She was greatly distracted by the number of people who were passing on the road. Virgil had told her that the little village was practically deserted on Sunday, but whenever she looked down on the road she could see that it was heavily traveled by people on foot and in cars. Invariably the cars slowed to a crawl while curious faces peered up to the porch where she sat.
She discovered the reason for the unusual amount of traffic when a muddy old beat-up farm car slowed down to a stop and a woman leaned out to call up to the porch, “Virgil and that girl get here yet?”
“Shore did,” Zebulon called back. “Here she is and just as pretty as a picture.”
“Leave it to Virgil to pick a pretty one,” the woman laughed. “You all come over to see us,” she called, drew back in the car, and proceeded on down the road.
The Baptist church service was over now and more and more people were walking by on the road. Not one passed without stopping to peer up at the porch and each time Lisa seemed to shrink more and more into herself.
Sensing her discomfort, Olivia said, “Honey, why don’t you come on inside and I’ll show you around?”
“You can have her later, Livy,” said Zebulon. “First I’m goen to take her around and show her New Dominion.”
Lisa looked at Olivia as if to ask her permission, but the old man was already halfway down the steps and waiting for her to follow.
“Excuse me,” Lisa said to the other women and followed Zebulon down the walk.
“I reckon we’ll use Virgil’s car,” said the old man as they walked out to where the cars were parked.
Lisa obediently got in the front seat and Zebulon climbed in the driver’s seat and turned on the ignition.
“Old man, what do you think you’re doen?” called Eliza from the porch.
Her answer was a roar from the engine and a jerky start as the car took off with all the speed it was capable of, turned the corner, and disappeared down the hill.
“Oh my God!” cried Eliza. “That old man hasn’t driven a car in years, and he can’t see the nose in front of his face!”
Lisa could not hear her but she had already come to the same conclusion by the time the car had reached the foot of the hill and Zebulon guided it in a wide screeching arc around the curve. Coming out of the turn he gunned the motor again just in time to arrive at another sharper curve at the corner of the mill. This one he took on two wheels. Neither did he slow down for the narrow little bridge over the creek or the railroad crossing. This brought them to the center of the little group of buildings which made up the business district of New Dominion, but instead of stopping here as Lisa supposed he might, he zoomed through the village square in a swirl of dust and headed up the long hill that led to open country.
“I thought you were going to show me New Dominion, Mr. Spencer,” said Lisa, half fearing to speak lest she distract him from his driving.
“That’s all there is to it back there,” said Zebulon. “Just a lot of shanties and mill dust. I decided to show you the only folks around here worth the gunpowder it’d take to blow ’em to hell.”
“Who is that?” asked Lisa, already dreading that she would have to go on display again.
“You’ll see,” he promised.
They had come out of the hilly section of the country and there lay before them a long stretch of straight highway. Lisa began to breathe a little easier until she noticed a car coming toward them in the distance and even though the old man seemed to see it clearly he made no move to get the car out of the center and into the right lane of the road.
Somehow the other car managed to swerve around them just in time to prevent a head-on collision.
“That feller wasn’t watchen where he was goen,” growled Zebulon.
“Mr. Spencer,” asked Lisa, “wouldn’t you like me to drive the rest of the way?”
“Thanks all the same, daughter,” replied Zebulon, “but I plumb enjoy it.”
“Well, then would you please go a little slower so I can get a look at this pretty countryside?” pleaded Lisa.
Zebulon slowed down to about forty miles an hour, and while they still weren’t going as slowly or as carefully as Lisa would have wished she began to breathe again and realized for the first time that her clenched hand against the door handle had begun to hurt from holding on, and she let go.
Almost immediately she grasped the door handle again, for without any warning and hardly slowing down at all Zebulon had wheeled off the highway onto a little wooded dirt road. He was forced to slow down now because the road was an old one, filled with mud puddles and sudden bumps and depressions.
“Hold on, daughter,” he shouted. “It’s just around the bend.”
As they came out of the turn, Lisa saw ahead a driveway. It was bordered with ancient boxwood leading up to four graceful, ruined Grecian columns—all that remained of what had once been a charming old Confederate mansion. Zebulon brought the car to a screeching halt in front of the columns, pressed the horn furiously three times and got out of the car.
Followed by Lisa, Zebulon made his way through the decaying columns out into a cleared space where there stood a smaller replica of the original house. The front door was open and two elderly ladies in overalls were waiting j
ust inside the screen door. Recognizing Zebulon, they hurried to meet him.
“Look here, Etta, who’s come to see us!” said the older and stouter of the two women. “Isn’t this a treat!”
“It’s been a long time, Mr. Spencer,” said the younger woman. “I was saying to Emma just the other day how we missed you and wondered when you’d make it down to see us again.”
“It ain’t every day I get hold of a car,” explained Zebulon, “else I’d be down here every day.”
“I wish I’d known you were coming. Sister and I would have put on something nice instead of having you find us looking like two ragamuffins,” said Etta.
“Ladies, I want to introduce my new daughter-in-law. This here is Virgil’s girl and her name is Lisa.”
“Virgil’s girl, now!” exclaimed Emma. “Let me look at you.”
Miss Emma looked at Lisa admiringly, turned to her sister and said, “Did you ever in your life see anything so pretty, Etta?”
Etta nodded pleasantly. “We’re right fond of Virgil, honey,” she said. “Virgil never goes up to New Dominion that he doesn’t stop off to see us on his way back to Richmond.”
“You-all come on in and make yourselves comfortable,” said Miss Emma, leading the way into the house. “In honor of the company we’ll sit in the living room. Etta, open some windows and let some air in there.”
“Kitchen will do for us, Miss Emma,” said Zebulon. “This gal ain’t company. She’s family.”
“Whatever you say, Mr. Spencer. Please don’t look at the house, Lisa-Honey, we’re just two old-maid sisters here and don’t have the help there used to be in the old days.”
“It’s a very pretty house,” ventured Lisa.
“It’s really what Grandpa used to call a garçonierrie,” explained Miss Emma. “You see, he had so many sons he decided to build quarters for them away from the main house so he built this one exactly like it. The main house just fell in one day, so Sister and I moved on over here. We ought to keep it up more but we’re so busy maken the recipe we hardly have time for anything else.”
Spencer's Mountain Page 15
