Weeping Willow

by Ruth White

  “Oh, I’ll go, too,” she said quickly. “He came to see Bobby Lynn.”

  She gave the key to Rosemary.

  “Be back directly,” she called to Bobby Lynn and her daddy.

  They were coming across the yard with their arms around each other.

  “There’s iced tea in the Frigidaire,” she continued, and waved.

  Mr. Clevinger looked at us, and smiled, but Bobby Lynn didn’t seem to see or hear a thing, except her daddy.

  “Come in the house, Daddy,” she said.

  Mrs. Clevinger climbed in the back seat and looked away toward the courthouse steeple. Rosemary got in the driver’s seat with me beside her. We headed out of town and down the river toward Kentucky. I was excited to be in the Henry J. I kept looking for somebody we knew from school so we could stop and show off our car.

  “I know everybody’s blaming me,” Mrs. Clevinger said suddenly after we had been driving for about five minutes.

  Rosemary and I exchanged glances.

  “For what, Miz Clevinger?” I said.

  “For breaking up the family,” she said. “They’re all talking about me.”

  “I don’t think so,” Rosemary said.

  “Oh yeah, they are. But I didn’t want to be married anymore. I couldn’t stand it no more.”

  “Why not?” I said and turned around to look at her.

  She appeared very childish sitting there gazing out the window with one hand hanging out. She watched the passing hills.

  “Well, if you could stay in love, it wouldn’t be so bad,” she said. “But you don’t stay in love, you know. Nobody does.”

  That puzzled me, but I didn’t say anything out loud. I was thinking, Of course people stay in love. I knew Jesse and I would always be in love. And what about Roy and Rosemary?

  But to my surprise Rosemary said, “I know what you mean, Miz Clevinger.”

  “Do you, Rosemary? Slim and me, we were your age, you know—kids. And we were so love-sick we didn’t know beans!”

  Ahead of us there was a crowd of people gathered by the river at the mouth of Bull Creek. Rosemary slowed down so we could see what was going on. It was the Holy Rollers gathered for a baptism.

  “Oh, let’s stop and watch,” I said.

  I liked to see them carrying on when they came out of the water. Rosemary pulled off the road and parked.

  “Everybody says a woman can’t be happy without a man,” Mrs. Clevinger went on. “But I’ll swaney, I’m happier now than I ever was married to Slim.”

  The Holy Rollers were singing:

  Yes, we’ll gather at the river,

  The beautiful, the beautiful river,

  Gather with the saints at the river

  That flows by the throne of God.

  About a dozen people were draped in white robes and lined up to be ducked by the preacher.

  “I wish I didn’t feel so guilty about Bobby Lynn. She’s embarrassed, and she misses her daddy,” Mrs. Clevinger said.

  “Let’s walk down to the water,” Rosemary said.

  So we got out of the car and walked down through the weeds, which were coated with coal dust, and our legs got dirty. Mrs. Clevinger lifted her frock above her knees.

  We watched the preacher and his helper baptize the people one by one “in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.” Then they came out of the water shouting.

  “He worshed away my sins,” an old woman said as she hugged us all.

  “Git shed of thy guilt, sinner!” the preacher was crying. “Git shed of it all today!”

  “I will!” Mrs. Clevinger said loudly. Startled, we turned to look at her. “I want to be baptized.”

  “Haven’t you been baptized?” Rosemary whispered to her, obviously embarrassed.

  “Not like this. I want to be baptized in the river!” she announced.

  “Come on, sister, come with me,” a woman said, placing her arm around Mrs. Clevinger, and leading her away.

  “Oh boy …” Rosemary mumbled.

  “Won’t you join your mother, young’uns?” an old man said to us.

  “Our mother? Oh … no. No thanks,” I said.

  Everybody was looking at us, and we were selfconscious. We watched the huddle of women where Mrs. Clevinger had disappeared. Very soon she reappeared wearing one of the white robes. She had her arms folded neatly across her chest in the form of an X. The women led her to the river, and when she waded out in the water to join the preacher, the robe ballooned out around her and floated on top of the water. The sun was shining on the water, throwing rainbows and halos all around the people in the water, including Mrs. Clevinger with her blond hair a-flutter and her robe floating around her. Why, she looked like an angelic little girl.

  “I don’t believe my dad-burned eyes,” Rosemary said.

  “Me neither.” I stifled a giggle as the whole thing suddenly struck me as funny. I choked.

  “Shut up!” Rosemary punched me.

  “I baptize you, Violet Clevinger, in the name of the Father …”

  And he ducked her.

  The people started singing and clapping their hands.

  Oh, Beulah Land! Sweet Beulah Land!

  As on the highest mount 1 stand,

  I look away across the sea

  Where mansions are prepared for me

  And view the shining glory shore,

  My heaven, my home forevermore.

  Some shouted, others spoke in tongues, and still others lay down and rolled around on the riverbank in religious ecstasy. It was this ceremony that earned them the name of Holy Rollers.

  Mrs. Clevinger came up gasping. The cold water had knocked the breath out of her. I remembered that some of the holler families channeled their sewage into the river, but I quickly pushed that thought away.

  Her hair looked dark now and clung tightly to her head and neck. The women hurried her back into the huddle, and shortly she emerged again in her own clothes.

  She came back to us then, waving and smiling at the crowd. They were clapping for her like she was a celebrity, and she was acting like one!

  “I’m ready to go now,” she said to us.

  So we went to the Henry J. Rosemary turned us around and we headed for Black Gap.

  “I’m just not cut out to be a wife,” Mrs. Clevinger went on as if our conversation had not been interrupted at all. “Not everybody is.”

  That did it.

  I had the giggles.

  Rosemary slapped me on the thigh.

  “Shut up!”

  But it was too late.

  “We only got married because we thought we had to,” Mrs. Clevinger confessed, unaware that I was in the throes of a fit. “And then it turned out to be a false alarm.”

  Rosemary smiled then, and I thought, Oh no, here it comes. She’s going to get tickled, too.

  “I don’t know how it happened,” Mrs. Clevinger went on. “I just woke up one morning and realized I was an old married woman and I didn’t like it. I remember thinking, How did I get here? What hit me?

  “I felt like I had been … well … hypnotized or something. And I was just coming out of it. That night I looked at Slim and I thought, ‘Who is he? That’s not the cute boy I married. This man’s feet stink, and he belches, and sometimes he pees in the back yard!’”

  That’s when Rosemary and I both sputtered all over the dashboard, and Mrs. Clevinger caught it, too.

  Thus we entered a season of laughter—the summer of 1959.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Jesse graduated from high school and went to work for his daddy in Big Lick. Cecil and Roy got summer jobs helping to build a church. But on weekends the six of us still got together. Lots of times we went to the drive-in show down at the mouth of Glory. We took our blankets and spread them out on the ground under the stars where we ate popcorn and drank pop while watching Rock Hudson in Magnificent Obsession or Debbie Reynolds as Tammy or Charlton Heston as Moses, or Doris Day as Julie. We liked scary pictures, too,
like Donovan’s Brain. That was a good one. We watched Lana Turner and Sandra Dee in Imitation of Life about seven times, and Rosemary, Bobby Lynn, and I cried every single time. The boys would act like they were puking.

  Then all of a sudden Bobby Lynn started dating Richard Sutherland and Cecil started dating Judy Thornbury, but they stayed good friends and our crowd grew to eight. I thought that was really odd because I knew doggone good and well if Jesse and I broke up (which would never happen, of course), one of us would have to leave the crowd, and it would not be me. I said so, but Jesse didn’t say anything.

  Sometimes on Saturday or Sunday afternoon we all drove over to the Breaks of the Cumberland or to Hungry Mother park and cooked hot dogs or hamburgers outside. We also skated a lot at the new roller rink in Black Gap, and cruised the CAR-feteria.

  Rosemary taught me and Bobby Lynn how to drive. And did we drive! We got our licenses. We followed dirt roads and gravel roads and paved roads up every little creek and holler and ridge and branch in southwest Virginia. It was a golden summer, and we were three seventeen-year-old girls with a car. We each took turns keeping it for a week at a time. We were just full of ourselves. We went lots to the new county pool, where we learned to swim and dive and bake our bodies like city girls.

  We hiked up Ruby Mountain and picnicked by the spring. On the few rainy days we hung around the Sweet Shop in Black Gap, eating enormous gobs of repulsive stuff.

  But most of all, we laughed. We laughed the summer away, and did nothing naughtier than discuss the three times Roy and Rosemary did it.

  When September rolled around, we began our senior year. We got more heys in the mornings than anybody else in school. Rosemary, Bobby Lynn, and I even set some of the trends, like plucking our eyebrows and wearing dimes in our penny loafers. I figure we were absolutely the cockiest bunch of seniors ever to go through Black Gap High School.

  About that time, Jesse stopped coming around so much. He said his job kept him busy and tired. But I started wondering about him when he didn’t come to any of our football games. I didn’t think anything could stop him from coming to watch Roy, Cecil, and Richard, who were big stars that year, play football. Somebody told me they saw him at a Big Lick game one Friday night, but he told me he had stayed home that night. Well, I thought, it’s not important.

  One weekend he said he wanted to “borrow” his class ring back from me to have it cleaned. The following weekend he said he couldn’t see me Friday or Saturday night, and I really began to wonder. On Saturday night I called Bobby Lynn.

  “Do you think Jesse’s mad at me about something, Bobby Lynn?” I said.

  “I don’t know. Why don’t you dump him, Tiny?”

  “Dump him? What brought that on?”

  “Cecil says Jesse doesn’t deserve you, Tiny. I feel the same way.”

  “Cecil? What’s going on, Bobby Lynn? I feel like everybody knows something I don’t know.”

  “Did you know Cecil and Judy broke up last night?” She changed the subject quickly.

  “No, how come?” I said.

  “I don’t know the details, but I bet it was on account of you.”

  “Me? What’re you talking about?”

  “Judy’s always been jealous of you because Cecil talks about you all the time.”

  “Oh, he does not! Me and Cecil are like brother and sister. Judy knows that. I’m in love with Jesse.”

  “I know, I know,” she said, sighing.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing. Listen, Tiny, I gotta go. Richard’s coming over.”

  “No! Something’s going on. Tell me!”

  Bobby Lynn was quiet, and I found my heart was pounding wildly. Somewhere deep inside, I knew what was coming.

  “Tell me, Bobby Lynn.”

  “You sure you want to hear what.I got to say about Jesse Compton?”

  There were ice particles in my blood veins, tinkling against each other, and I found myself shivering.

  “Tell me,” I croaked.

  “Well, Tiny, Jesse has a girl in Honaker. He’s been seeing her off and on for a month. Now I think it’s more on than off.”

  No, no, no, no …

  Jesse loved me. Why would Bobby Lynn tell me such lies? Jesse would never hurt me like that.

  “Tiny, you okay?”

  “Yeah. Bobby Lynn, who told you that?”

  “Everybody knows it, Tiny. I wanted to tell you before, but nobody would let me.”

  Everybody knows it. Everybody. Everybody but Tiny. Blind, stupid Tiny. Tiny who believed that people stay in love forever. But no, it’s a lie. No, no, no …

  “Say something, Tiny.”

  “I don’t believe you, Bobby Lynn. Why are you doing this?”

  “Tiny, come down to earth! It’s true!”

  “No, it’s a lie.”

  And I hung up. I sleep-walked upstairs and lay down on my bed, numb and oh, so cold. I wrapped myself up in a quilt and looked out at the gray sky.

  Jesse had said he was helping his daddy tonight. Why not call him?

  It was starting to rain, just a drizzle. And the hills were barely tinged with red and gold. Soon winter would be coming and my world would be gray and bleak …

  No, Jesse, no …

  I lay there, in shock, in denial as the evening light failed me and darkness clutched me in its black, cold fingers.

  It would be so easy to call him. Then I would know for sure.

  It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. If he knew how hurt I was, he would come to me, beg my forgiveness, hold me …

  Yes, I would call. And I would tell him what Bobby Lynn said. Of course he would tell me it was all a pack of lies, and I would never speak to Bobby Lynn again.

  It was 8:30 p.m. I went downstairs and dialed his number with shaking fingers.

  “Mrs. Compton, is Jesse there?”

  “Oh, hi, Tiny. No, Jesse’s gone out.”

  “Oh … oh, where to, Mrs. Compton? Do you know where he’s gone to?”

  She hesitated.

  “I’m not sure, Tiny, but I think I heard him say he was going to Honaker.”

  “Honaker?”

  I was stunned, devastated, terrified.

  “Yeah, that’s where he went—Honaker.”

  “Oh” was all I could say. Just “Oh.”

  “Can I give him a message, Tiny?”

  “Yeah. Tell him to call me when he comes in.”

  “Tonight, you mean? It’ll be late, Tiny.”

  “That’s okay. Tell him to call me no matter what time it is.”

  “Well, okay.”

  I stood by the telephone, frozen.

  On the television I could hear the Perry Como Show song requesting letters from viewers.

  Yes, that’s what I would do. I would write Jesse a letter just like I used to write to Mr. Gillespie.

  Dear Jesse:

  Maybe it’s true and maybe it’s a lie what they are saying about you. If it’s true, I don’t want to know. I don’t care. If you will come back to me I will do anything you want me to do. I will not ever mention the girl in Honaker. I will forgive you. I just want things to be like they used to be. I love you so much.

  Love, Tiny

  XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

  I kissed the letter and sealed it and put it under my pillow. Then I lay awake in a kind of stupor for hours, waiting for him to call. But he didn’t call. Not that night. Not the next day, which was Sunday, nor Sunday night. And the truth began to eat away around the edges of my blind hope. Late Sunday night I tore up the letter and flushed it. No, I would not beg. Not that I was above it. No, I was afraid Jesse would be ashamed of me. Somehow, somehow I had to keep my head up even when it hurt so bad I couldn’t stand it.

  At school on Monday I managed to act almost normal. Bobby Lynn had the good sense not to mention our conversation. Twice I caught Cecil watching me, studying my face, and when I looked into his eyes he turned away. Everybody knew. And now I knew, too.

  T
hat night I called Jesse.

  “Oh, hi, Tiny,” he said. “What’s up?”

  “Hi, Jesse. Did you get my message?”

  “Oh … yeah. I got it.”

  “Well, you didn’t call. Anything wrong?”

  My hands were sweating on the phone.

  “No, I’ve been busy, that’s all.”

  “Bobby Lynn told me something about you, Jesse. I just wonder if it’s true.”

  “What’d she say?”

  “She said you have a girl in Honaker.”

  Jesse didn’t say a word.

  “Is it true, Jesse?”

  “Yeah, Tiny. I didn’t know how to tell you.”

  The silence between us was awful to hear, and it went on and on.

  “Well,” I said at last, “what now?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll call you, Tiny, okay?”

  I couldn’t speak.

  “Okay, Tiny? I’ll call you?”

  “Okay, Jesse. Call me.”

  “Take it easy, Tiny.”

  “Yeah.”

  And my world came to an end.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Jesse didn’t call again. It took only a week for Vern to figure out what had happened.

  “Where’s lover boy?” he asked at supper the next Saturday night.

  I didn’t answer.

  “Flew the coop, huh?” He laughed.

  This is what he had been hoping for.

  “Did y’all bust up?” Mama said.

  I didn’t answer her either. The pain was raw, like an open wound, and maybe they saw it in my face because they didn’t say anything else.

  Of course, it was Aunt Evie who I spilled my guts to. If it hadn’t been for her I think I would have died. With her I cried out loud and poured all my misery upon her shoulders. Because I knew if anybody would understand, she would. And I was not disappointed. She comforted me like no one else could. Every tear I shed was wiped away by a loving word or touch. But nothing could make the pain go away, and I thought I would feel like this forever. Look at Aunt Evie. It was fifty years ago that Ward jilted her, and still she suffered.