Stripped of her wet clothes, Shenandoah was so pale she looked as if she had just crawled out from under a rock. Her swimsuit was a white terrycloth bikini that exposed quite a lot of her slim figure. Bobby’s mouth gaped open, and he said, “My, God, Shenandoah. You’re practically naked, girl. It’s a good thing we’re out here by ourselves. You wear that in public?”
“It’s called a bikini, Bobby. They’re quite the rage now. Started in France.”
“I’m not complaining, mind you. It’s just I’ve never seen such a skimpy bathing suit. You’re whiter than I am. You’d better put some of this on. But first, cover my back.”
Rubbing lotion on Bobby’s bare, hot-to-the-touch skin put a chill down Shenandoah’s -spine. By the time he applied some to Shenandoah’s back, she felt consumed by lust. They lay side by side on the towel, the hot sun beaming down on them, and Shenandoah fantasized that they were in bed. Get a grip, girl. You can’t do this. Back off—now.
After about thirty minutes, Bobby rolled over and blew into Shenandoah’s ear. Shenandoah sat bolt upright. Bobby laughed. “Let’s go for a swim. Wally’s down for the count.”
Shenandoah followed Bobby into the water and began to shiver. In seconds, her teeth chattered. Then she swam out about thirty feet and did a surface dive. Bobby stood there and waited for her to come back up.
A full minute went by and Bobby walked farther out, his eyes darting back and forth across the water. Suddenly, Shenandoah’s head popped out, and she swam back toward the beach. When she was an arm’s length away, she splashed water in Bobby’s face. He splashed back. They had an old-fashioned water fight that exhausted them both. Bobby raised his arms in surrender and then pulled her to him. He held her in a tight embrace and asked, “What were you doing out there? You stayed under at least a minute.”
“Looking around,” she replied. “The water’s clear, and I could see a few fish. Go take a peek.”
“No, thanks. The only thing I want to look at is you.”
Shenandoah’s tilted her head back and looked him in the eye. “You’re a real smooth talker, aren’t you? When are you going to get in it in your head that this isn’t going to work?”
He leaned over and kissed her on the mouth. His lips felt soft and she responded. He squeezed her closer and said, “We can make it work. I’m crazy about you.”
She pulled from his grasp and shook her head. “Slow down. You’re moving too fast for me. I need to catch my breath.”
“Daddy! Daddy!”
They looked up the small hill and saw Wally wandering around confused, looking for his father.
Bobby yelled, “We’re here, son. Come down and swim.”
Wally ran to the water and did a dog paddle to where Bobby and Shenandoah stood. His teeth were chattering by the time he reached them. Bobby swept him into his arms, and Wally put his hands around his father’s neck.
The three of them splashed and played in the water for another fifteen minutes. By the time they stepped onto the beach, their skin was a mass of wrinkles.
As they walked up the hill, Wally showed Shenandoah his left hand and said, “Wally wart here.”
Bobby laughed. “I’ve been meaning to take care of that, but I just haven’t had time.”
“You going to take him to Dr. Compton in Livingston?”
“No, there’s an ex-slave over in Celina who takes warts off with magic.”
“Come on, Bobby. Don’t be silly.”
“No, sure enough. He’s over a hundred, and he can remember the Civil War.”
“Why haven’t you taken Wally to Dr. Kate or Dr. Compton?”
“Dr. Kate’s tried three times to get rid of it. She put all kinds of salves and ointments on it, but it just won’t go away. She even cut it out last time, but it came back in two weeks. She’s the one who told me to take him to the old slave. She said that there’re some things science can’t explain and that she’d gone to him herself when she was a little girl. I think she sends people to see him a lot.”
Shenandoah picked Wally up and stuck him on her hip as they continued up the hill. When they reached the chairs, Shenandoah picked up her watch and said, “It’s only three. Let’s take him now.”
Their swimming suits were wet, so they picked up their clothes along with the chairs and picnic basket and carried them to Bobby’s truck. They stored everything, and Bobby slipped behind the steering wheel. Shenandoah held Wally in her lap. Wally didn’t squirm around on Shenandoah as he had on Bobby, but he babbled continuously. He commented on the dry fields, pointed out cows and horses, and asked Shenandoah a hundred questions. “Where Miss Shena live? What’s that? Where Daddy going?”
As Bobby took them around one hairpin curve after another, Wally and Shenandoah swung from side to side like the clapper in a giant bell. On the rare straight stretches, Shenandoah would place the child on her knees and count Wally’s ribs one at a time, producing giggles.
“Any idea how to find this old guy?” Shenandoah asked.
“No, but I’ll stop somewhere and ask.”
When they reached Celina, they drove around the square, but it being Sunday the stores were all closed and there were no whittlers in the courthouse yard. At Thelma’s Café, Bobby pulled the truck into a parking spot.
He swung out of his seat. “It looks like the café’s open. Y’all wait while I ask Thelma. I’ve known her since I was a kid.”
Standing next to the truck, Bobby slipped his T-shirt and shorts over his now dry swimsuit and went into the café.
Shenandoah bounced Wally on her knees while Bobby was inside. A few minutes later, he came through the door with two Dixie cups filled with chocolate ice cream. Wally screamed with delight. Bobby handed Shenandoah the ice cream, and then ate his while they drove to the old man’s house, holding the steering wheel with his other hand. Shenandoah shared her ice cream with Wally.
“Thelma said the old man’s name is Jacob,” Bobby explained, “and he lives with his great-granddaughter somewhere on Back Street, in the colored part of town.”
“Back Street?”
“Its real name is Spring Street. It’s just called Back Street, I guess, because it’s where the coloreds live.”
Bobby wound through the streets of Celina until Shenandoah spotted the street sign. “There it is. What’s the number?”
“Don’t know. She said his great-granddaughter runs a beauty parlor called Justine’s.”
They turned onto Spring Street and about halfway down the block saw a rusty sign hanging askew from a metal post. The small yard had a white picket fence with bare wood showing through in patches. Two whitewashed old tires filled with periwinkles sat on either side of the cracked sidewalk.
They got out of the truck, and Shenandoah slipped her clothes on over her now dry bikini while Bobby dressed Wally. Then Bobby removed a small paper sack from the canvas bag and placed the empty Dixie Cups in it. He took a damp washcloth from some rolled-up wax paper and wiped chocolate ice cream from Wally’s face and hands. He used his fingers to brush Wally’s hair out of his eyes. “Must look presentable to go calling on Sunday,” he said as he worked.
The gate was stuck and hard to open because the hinges were loose. Shenandoah lifted up on it and swung it toward the house. Shenandoah knocked on the front door, but there was no answer. She tried three more times but still got no response. “I guess they’re not here.”
As they headed toward the truck, the door opened, and Shenandoah glanced back to see a portly black woman standing in the doorway. “What you white children want?” she asked.
“We’ve come to see Jacob,” Bobby said. “Is he here?”
The woman laughed, deep dimples forming in her smooth, dark cheeks, and said, “Old Jacob always here. He don’t never go nowhere.”
“May we come in?” Shenandoah asked.
“He lives out back by hisself. You can come through if you want.”
Justine opened the door wider and stepped back to let them pass. She lea
ned over to pat Wally’s head as they walked by. “What a precious child,” she said. Her two front teeth had gold caps with small stars cut into them.
“You Justine?” Shenandoah asked.
“Yes, ma’am, that’s me. Old Jacob be my great-granddaddy.”
The three visitors passed through the beauty parlor. The walls were bare except for a picture of a youthful Jesus. A solitary light bulb hung from the ceiling, and the linoleum-covered floor looked not unlike that in Dr. Kate’s clinic. There were two chairs with hair dryers attached to their backs that looked like beehives and a table with various nail polishes and instruments for manicures.
Wally hung onto his father’s leg as they passed through the room. They walked down a long hallway and came to an outside door that looked onto a small yard. At the door, Shenandoah turned to Justine and asked, “How old is Jacob? Can he really remember the Civil War?”
“Ain’t nobody sure how old Jacob be. Over a hundred for sure. Don’t none of us kinfolk know when he born. Some days he remember stuff and some he don’t. I ain’t seen him today, so I can’t say one way or the other.”
As they stepped through the door, Shenandoah saw a small shack on the far side of the yard next to a gravel alley. A line of flagstone stepping-stones led to the shack, and a large maple tree shaded the whole area.
When they reached the small building, Shenandoah climbed the wooden steps to the screen door while Bobby and Wally waited on the path. Shenandoah placed her forehead to the screen and covered the sides of her face with both hands so she could see into the small, dimly lit room. It had a rough wood floor, bare walls, a lone overhead light with a pull string, a cot, and a rocking chair. On the floor next to the cot lay a large coonhound, the loose skin of his forehead hanging over his eyes like window shades. She could see the form of a man lying on the cot, so she tapped against the doorframe. The old man rolled over and asked, “Justine, that you?”
“No, Jacob. My name’s Shenandoah, and I’ve got a friend with me. We want to talk to you for a minute.”
“Fine by me, missy. Ole Spike can sleep through thunder.”
They went inside, and Jacob sat on the side of the bed. The odor of stale perspiration and ammonia hung over the room. In the subdued light, Wally stumbled over a rusty fruit-juice can, the source of the smell. Wally clung to Bobby and said, “Smell bad, Daddy.”
Bobby put his finger to his lips. “Quiet, Wally. Don’t talk now.”
Telling Wally not to talk was like asking a lion not to roar, and soon he was on the bed with Jacob, babbling away.
“This is my friend Bobby and his son,” Shenandoah interrupted. “Dr. Kate over in Round Rock told Bobby you could get rid of Wally’s wart. Can you do that?”
Jacob’s lips formed a toothless grin. “Yes, ma’am, old Jacob can do that. How be Missy Kate? I ain’t seen her in a heap of Sundays.”
“She’s fine,” Bobby said quickly, giving Shenandoah a warning look.
“Now where be that wart?”
Wally jumped at the opportunity. “Here,” he said, showing the old man.
Jacob placed Wally on his knees and rubbed the wart with his slender, long fingers. Then he brought Wally’s hand up to his mouth and mumbled under his breath. Shenandoah could not understand what the man said. Pronouncing magic words, most likely. Would Jacob bite the wart? Would it fall off from the rubbing? Would it disappear later after the spell had taken effect? Wally for his part enjoyed the attention and kept unusually quiet.
Bobby sat in the rocking chair, closely observing everything the old man did. He quietly stroked the hound dog’s ears, the skin of his head sliding back and forth over his hooded eyes. The dog moaned softly but didn’t awaken.
After about a minute of rubbing, Jacob set Wally on the floor. “That wart be gone tomorrow, sure for sure.”
Shenandoah asked, “What do we owe you, Jacob?”
“Why, the Lord done give old Jacob that power. A man can’t take money for the Lord’s work. No, ma’am, ain’t fitting.”
Bobby stood and picked Wally off the bare wood floor. “Thank you, Jacob. We really appreciate your help.”
He started for the door, but Shenandoah touched his arm and said, “Hold up a minute. I want to ask Jacob a couple of questions.”
Bobby shrugged. “Wally’s going to get restless. We’ll wait in the truck.”
As Bobby and Wally walked out the door, Jacob got up from the bed. He stood nearly seven feet tall and towered over Shenandoah. Remembering a newsreel she had seen during the war about the Watusi tribe in Africa, Shenandoah wondered if Jacob’s ancestors could have originated there.
Jacob said, “It be right hot in here, Miss Shenandoah. Let’s sit out there under the tree. Might be a little breeze blowing by now.”
Jacob held the door for Shenandoah as he stepped outside. Spike shuffled past Shenandoah and turned to wait for his master.
The old man walked over to an overturned bucket and sat down, his legs bent double, and then motioned for Shenandoah to take the single wooden chair.
“You sit in the chair, Jacob,” Shenandoah said.
“No, ma’am. Jacob be fine.”
“You have any idea how old you are?”
Jacob shook his head. “No, ma’am. I ain’t got no idea.”
“How far back can you remember?”
“Don’t rightly know.”
“Do you remember the Civil War?”
“Sometimes I remembers things and sometimes I don’t. I remembers a lot of noise and men running, but I ain’t rightly sure where that was.”
“Where’d you live?”
“I growed up on Mr. Marshall farm. Work there all my life ‘til I get old and then I come live with Justine.”
Shenandoah thought the old man might fall asleep in midsentence. Standing, she said, “Thanks for talking to me, Jacob. Anything I can do for you, maybe bring you?”
“No, ma’am. I be fine, jest waiting my time. Sometimes I thinks the Lord done forgot old Jacob, done forgot to call him home, but other times I thinks it won’t be long now.”
Shenandoah took the old man’s hand in hers and shook it. “Thanks, Jacob,” she said.
She walked around the house to the front yard where Bobby waited with Wally in the pickup. They arrived at Bobby’s house in Round Rock at around five o’clock. Wally slept soundly in Shenandoah’s lap, snoring with gurgling sounds. Bobby said, “Dr. Kate says Wally needs his adenoids out. I just don’t know when I’ll get time. I don’t want anyone but Dr. Kate to do it.”
Shenandoah took Wally inside and placed him on his bed. The child never woke up. After Bobby and Shenandoah unloaded the pickup, he introduced her to his mother, a fine-boned woman in her early fifties. Mrs. Johnson’s dark auburn hair was streaked with gray, and her eyes were the same blue color as Bobby’s. Shenandoah had never heard Bobby mention his father, so she didn’t broach the subject.
At her car, Shenandoah said, “The trial starts tomorrow. Are you going to be there?”
“We’ve got a bunch of cars in the shop. I’ll be under the hood of most of them this whole week. Maybe you can keep me posted.”
“Sure. And thanks, Bobby—I had a great time today.”
“Wally likes you. That’s good, I guess. Go home, Shenandoah. Call me tomorrow night and let me know how the first day went.”
Then he pulled her to him and kissed her softly on her lips. She felt a shudder down her spine, looked him in the eye, shook her head, and settled into the driver’s seat. As she drove away, Bobby blew her a kiss.
Chapter 10
At breakfast Monday morning, Hattie Mae and Mr. Applebee were in rare form. Hattie Mae was wearing a new rayon dress and had combed her hair. She’d applied bright red lipstick to her thin lips, and Mr. Applebee wore a matching red ribbon around his neck.
“My goodness,” Shenandoah said, “what’s going on?”
Hattie Mae passed the scrambled egg platter to Shenandoah. “Mr. Applebee and me are going to
the courthouse. Wouldn’t miss this for nothing.”
Shenandoah took a big helping of eggs. “They’ll let Mr. Applebee in the courtroom?” she asked.
“Well, yes, he’s well behaved. Everyone knows that.”
Shenandoah broke off a piece of bacon and flung it to the beast. The dog caught it, spirals of saliva, as usual, dripping from the corners of his mouth. He placed a front paw on the table and gave a low growl.
“What time will the trial start?” Shenandoah asked.
“Oh, they’ll get started right at nine. Judge Grant don’t fool around.”
“He’s the regular circuit judge?”
“Yes—tough as nails.”
After they’d eaten, Shenandoah picked up her plate and the serving platter and headed for the kitchen. Hattie Mae and Mr. Apple-bee followed. At the sink, she said, “Well, I guess by this time next week we’ll know if Jake Watson is a good lawyer. You and Mr. Applebee want a ride?”
Hattie Mae laughed and said, “Honey, you ain’t gonna find a place to park any closer than this house. You might as well walk with me and Mr. Applebee.”
“Somehow Mr. Watson talked Jasper Kingman into parking spots for the press,” Shenandoah said.
“Well, we’ll walk anyway. We need the exercise, don’t we, Mr. Applebee?”
Shenandoah had promised Kate that she would pop in to see her at eight o’clock before she went to the courtroom. When she arrived at the square, it looked like a Saturday instead of a Monday. Cars filled all the spaces on the street, and hundreds of people were milling around, giving the whole place a carnival air. The sheriff had placed a small “Reserved for the Press” sign on a stake in front of four parking spaces. Shenandoah wondered how many people from the news media would attend the trial.
She glanced up the road to see Mr. Applebee and Hattie Mae walking toward the courthouse. They stepped in unison like a drill team, Mr. Applebee keeping perfect time with Hattie Mae.
When Shenandoah walked into the holding room, Dr. Kate was pacing back and forth. Seeing Shenandoah, she said, “I don’t know if I can go through this.”
The Trial of Dr. Kate Page 17
