The Nearly Complete Works, Volume 3

by Donald Harington

  Do you think there’s any chance you and Vaughn might bring Sonora and come back to Stay More for a day or two? There’s plenty of room, and I’m a much better cook than I was when I lived with you.

  Your sister,

  Latha

  P.S. If you’re thinking of reporting my whereabouts to the Lunatic Asylum, I’ll save you the trouble. The statute of limitations has expired.

  On Monday she bought a postage stamp from herself and mailed this letter, and then she began to wait anxiously for an answer, wondering if she should have tried to be more friendly. She knew that it took only two days to get mail to and from Little Rock, and after the fifth day she began to fret. After a week she began to wonder if the sheriff might show up and arrest her. Two more dreadful weeks went by before finally she got an answer:

  Sister dear,

  You can bet I was surprised. So was Vaughn. So was Fannie Mae, who has been told about her Aunt Barbara and her Aunt Latha, but never laid eyes on either of them. Barb is somewheres out in California and sends us Xmas cards but that’s it. When you busted out of the nuthouse, it was in all the papers but we never showed it to Fannie Mae, who wasn’t old enough to read at that time anyhow.

  Me and Vaughn figured you’d head for SM, but we didn’t think it would take you all that much time to get there. What have you been up to? How’s everything in SM? Is the old homeplace still standing?

  Fannie Mae has turned into a real looker. People say she looks more like me than Vaughn, although she’s got red hair. I don’t think she looks the least bit like you except for being so pretty, so maybe she takes after whoever that guy was that raped you. We’ve never told her anything about any of that.

  I am sorry but I don’t have any feelings toward visiting SM again. Vaughn says he wouldn’t mind visiting some of his folks up around Parthenon, but he doesn’t want Fannie Mae to see you. I feel the same way.

  Your sister,

  Mandy

  Latha spent a long time thinking about this letter but since she couldn’t bring herself to answer it she finally managed to put it out of her mind. The only way to handle life’s disappointments is to forget them. The last thought she remembered having about the matter was that it was a great pity the upbringing of her daughter had fallen upon such a stupid and mean couple, and that probably Sonora had turned out just as bad.

  One day months later she got an interesting letter on printed stationery from the secretary to the director of the Arkansas State Hospital, as it had been renamed. The letter said that the topic of Latha’s escape was still in circulation among the staff and the patients, and while Latha should rest assured that no one any longer had any interest in recapturing her, everyone would simply like to know how in the world she had managed to escape, since she was the only patient who had ever escaped from E Ward. If Latha didn’t mind, could she kindly satisfy everyone’s curiosity about this matter? Latha made sure that her reply was thoroughly sane and as intelligent as she could compose it. She said that she had no idea on earth just how she had managed to make the escape, that the last thing she remembered was something in D Ward, not E Ward, and the next thing she knew she was in a hotel in Nashville, Tennessee. The secretary replied to this thanking her for her answer and regretting that no light could be shed upon the escape.

  Latha had managed to keep some memories of the asylum (she thought “state hospital” was a joke) and sometimes when she was fishing, or just sitting in her rocker on the front porch of the store, she would remember the nurses, “Turnkey” and Shedd and Richter and Auel and Bertram. She would remember the doctors, Meddler and Silverstein and Kaplan. She would remember her friends, Mary Jane Hines and Flora Bohannon and Betty Betty Chapman and her best friend of all, Rachel Rafferty, who, Dr. Kaplan had tried to convince her, existed purely in her imagination.

  Sometimes she wondered what had become of them, and whether any more of them, like Susie the Imbecile, had died. She remembered how horrible the food had been, and how unspeakably vile the toilets. She wished she had mentioned some of this to the director’s secretary, whose query she had answered. Whenever she remembered the asylum, all she had to do was to look around at the woods and hills of Stay More to realize how lucky she was.

  One Sunday evening after she’d finished her supper of catfish and asparagus and was sitting in her rocker on the front porch of the store, watching for the first lightning bugs, she heard music, which she identified as a violin, or fiddle. She hadn’t heard that sound since Isaac Ingledew played his fiddle. Isaac was the giant who had rescued Latha as a child from the Ike Whitter gang at the general store. He had been a great fiddler but had last played his instrument when his grandson Raymond went off to war. That had been “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” but what Latha was hearing now was unfamiliar, perhaps improvised, something soft and slow, maybe even classical. The sound was enough to touch off a flash of memory of her lost time in the E Ward, of an albino girl Latha would hum with, but it was only a quick flash of memory and quickly dissipated before Latha could fully recapture any of it. Now the fiddler—or violinist—came into view, and she recognized Dan! He kept playing as he climbed the steps to the store porch and then sat down in the porch swing near her. When he finished playing, Latha applauded for a few moments, and he made a little bow.

  “I never knew you could do that!” she exclaimed.

  “Never had anything to do it with,” Dan said, “until I did a lick of work for Bevis Ingledew, and he paid me with this violin, which used to belong to his granddaddy, Isaac.”

  “Yes, I heard that violin several times when I was young,” she said.

  “You’re still young,” Dan said.

  “Where’s Annie?” she asked.

  “Sleeping, I reckon,” he said. “She’s getting old enough to look after herself.”

  They visited for a while and she told him about the exchange of letters with her sister, and also the letter from the secretary at the asylum.

  Dan said, “If you’ll keep Annie while I’m gone, I’ll go down to Little Rock and kidnap Sonora for you.”

  “Don’t say that,” she said.

  “I’m serious.”

  “I know you are, and it scares me.”

  They dropped the subject, and soon Dan left. Sometimes at night, when the evening breeze was blowing west, she thought she could hear the sound of Dan’s fiddle, and sometimes this gave her another flash or two of her humming with the albino, but she could not even remember the girl’s name. For a long time she thought that she was just imagining the sound of the fiddle, since Dan lived a good mile or more the other side of Dinsmore Hill. But apparently other people had heard the fiddle too, and the men who loafed and gabbed on Latha’s store porch began to talk about trying to get Dan to play for some square dances. But Dan never would.

  June was Latha’s favorite month. The next time it rolled around, one morning before going across the road to her garden, Latha happened to notice that the mullein stalk she’d named after Sonora and then bent down was actually standing tall like a soldier! She had to look closely at it to be sure it was the same mullein she’d bent down. After the mail truck came, and she’d finished putting mail in the boxes and most of the customers had gone home, a black Ford coupe drove up and parked at the store, and Latha’s heart jumped into her throat when she recognized the driver as Vaughn Twichell. Then the passenger door opened and out stepped her sister Mandy, who was obese and middle-aged. There was a third person in the back seat. Mandy waddled up onto the porch. Latha didn’t know whether to get out of her rocker and give her sister a hug, or not.

  “Listen, Latha,” Mandy said in a low voice, “we can’t stay too long. But before I introduce you to your niece, you have to promise me, on your sacred honor or whatever, that you will not say a word to my daughter to give her any idee that you’re her mom. Can you do that?”

  “Of course,” Latha said. She wished she had visited the out-house, because she was about to wet her panties.

 
; “Okay,” Mandy said. “And please remember, her name is Fannie Mae.” Then Mandy returned to the car, opened the door, and the girl climbed out of the back seat. When she stood, she was taller than Mandy. Or Vaughn. She looked up at the store, and her eyes settled on Latha. She really was very pretty, and was wearing a nice dress not of the type you go for country drives in. Her hair was the color of cinnamon, and her eyes were the blue of robin’s eggs. Mandy took her arm and led her up the porch steps and it was all that Latha could do to keep from giving her a big hug.

  “Fannie Mae, this here is your Aint Latha that I’ve told you about,” Mandy said. “And this is her store.”

  It was ridiculous, but they shook hands. That’s all. Just to touch her hand thrilled Latha. This moment had been rehearsed thoroughly again and again in Latha’s mind, but now she blew all her lines.

  “Hi, Aunt Latha,” Sonora said.

  “It’s wonderful to meet you at last,” Latha said, with a little too much enthusiasm, which put a frown on Mandy’s face. “You’uns all have a seat. I’ll fetch some lemonade.” She could hardly tear herself away long enough to do it, but she went to the kitchen and made a pitcher of lemonade, chipped some chunks of ice out of the ice-box, and served the drinks.

  “What is the world coming to?” Mandy remarked. “How do you get ice?”

  “The mail truck brings it, in blocks,” Latha said. “I’ve also got a cooler in the store filled with soda pop.” She spoke to her daughter. “Would you rather have a Dr. Pepper, Orange Crush, Nehi Root Beer, or…?” She stopped short of giving Sonora an inventory of the whole store.

  “Lemonade’s fine,” Sonora said.

  They sat and drank and visited. There was something about Sonora that reminded Latha of—she realized she hadn’t even thought of his name for a long, long time—Sonora’s father, Every Dill. But Every had been homely, and Sonora wasn’t at all.

  “What grade are you in, hon?” Latha asked.

  “Eighth, next fall,” Sonora said.

  “She’s going to West Side,” Mandy said.

  Latha didn’t know what West Side was, but she nodded and said, “That’s nice.”

  “This here town sure has changed a lot,” Vaughn observed. “I’d hardly know it. But Parthenon is all run-down too. Everybody’s going to California.”

  “That’s the truth,” Latha said.

  One of her tomcats jumped into Sonora’s lap and snuggled up and she began stroking him. “What’s his name?” Sonora asked.

  “Melvin,” Latha said. “I named him after a candy drummer.”

  “What’s a candy drummer?”

  “The man who brings the candy I sell in the store,” Latha said. “Would you like to see my candy showcase? I’ll treat you to whatever you want.” She stood up, to lead Sonora into the store. They all went inside the store, and were suitably impressed with Latha’s collection of candy. The weather wasn’t hot enough yet that she’d have to start keeping the chocolate in the soda pop cooler so it wouldn’t melt. “Just help yourselves,” Latha said to them. “Just point at whichever ones you want.”

  “We’ll spoil our dinner,” Mandy said, but she pointed at a Baby Ruth bar and Latha got it out for her. Vaughn also had one, a Butterfinger, and Sonora chose a Powerhouse.

  “What do you say, Fan?” Mandy prompted.

  “Thank you,” Sonora said.

  They wandered around the store, looking at all the merchandise. Latha said, “Anything you want, just take it.”

  Chapter thirty

  That’s my mother! I don’t mean to intrude in this story I’ve been telling with such objectivity that there is no room for myself, but I can’t help remarking on the fact that this house where I live, this porch where I often sit, these steps which I daily climb, was the setting for the first meeting of Gran with her daughter, my mother, or at least the first since Mom as a baby had been stolen away from Gran. This is the same porch where my brother Vernon announced that he intended to run for governor, the same porch where my mother first laid eyes on my father, and the same porch where Gran first laid eyes on Gramps after seventeen years, which is about to happen soon. I plan to go on living in this house the rest of my days—where Gran had her post office boxes and showcases is now where I have my living room furniture—but after I’m gone somebody ought to put up a bronze plaque declaring this humble house-that-was-once-a-store-and-post-office a historic monument.

  Latha, as I’ve chosen to call Gran for the sake of the story, could not let her visitors leave, and it was not merely a matter of the polite Ozark exchange of invitations and counter-invitations reflected in the name of the town itself, “Stay More,” but a refusal of Latha to accept any counter-invitations, excuses, or alibis, so that when Vaughn said “Thank ye kindly but we’d best be getting on down the road,” Latha countered with “Not before dinner you won’t,” and when after a big dinner Mandy said “This here’s a great pie but we’ve really got to go,” Latha said, “Not before I take you to meet a fine gentleman named Dan.”

  And Latha got into their car, into the back seat with her daughter, and showed them how to drive to the nearly hidden turn-off to Dan’s place, and to drive into it and up to the yellow house. A ferocious dog accosted them, but Latha knew Conan and spoke to him by name and gave him her hand to sniff.

  Dan said, “I’ve sort of been expecting you folks. Latha has told me all about you, and your lovely daughter, and I’m so proud to know Latha has had a chance to meet her niece at long last.”

  They sat on the porch of Dan’s frilly yellow house, which clearly enchanted Sonora. Dan’s daughter Annie, who was about seven now, came out and was introduced, but was extremely shy.

  Dan spoke to his daughter, “Show Sonora your tree-house.”

  Mandy said, “Her name is Fannie Mae.”

  “My mistake,” Dan said.

  Annie took Sonora’s hand and led her around the corner of the house and out of sight. Latha was sorry to see her go. Dan offered Chism’s Dew to his guests, and Vaughn was happy to have a glass, although Mandy declined, saying, “I may have to drive.” Latha wanted Dan to play his fiddle for them, not something by Chopin or Liszt but the good old mountain music he had learned in North Carolina. They didn’t have to wait long for the return of Annie and Sonora, hand in hand, and at Latha’s request Dan got out his fiddle. He played “Barbra Allen” and “The Three Drowned Sisters” and the spirited “Johnny the Sailor” and other ballads, or “ballits” as it was pronounced. He really was a master of the bow and strings, and even Mandy and Vaughn were so entertained that they forgot what time it was, and Vaughn had so much Chism’s Dew that Mandy wouldn’t let him drive.

  When they got back in the car, Sonora said to Latha, “Annie showed me her gardens, her flower garden and her vegetable garden, and she said she got the seeds from your store.”

  “Why, yes,” Latha said. “I carry all of the Shumway seeds.”

  “Why don’t you have a garden?”

  “I do,” Latha said. “You just didn’t see it. It’s across the road from my place. I’ll show it to you.”

  So when the moment came for Vaughn to say “Thank ye kindly, but we’ve got to rush on,” Sonora could protest that she had to see Latha’s garden too, and Latha hoped she might have some moments alone with her daughter, but as it turned out Mandy insisted on accompanying them out into Latha’s garden patch, where Mandy expressed astonishment at the variety and size of her horticulture.

  Several of the cats preferred to sojourn in the garden, where they made themselves useful by catching voles, moles, and mice. “My goodness,” Sonora said, “How many cats do you have?”

  “I don’t have any cats,” Latha said. “There are a great number of cats around here who believe that they have me.”

  Sonora laughed. Mandy did not. Mandy said, “Well, it’s been nice visiting you, but we’ve really got to be getting on.”

  It was late in the afternoon. “Stay more,” Latha said, “and have supper with me.�
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  “Yes!” said Sonora, but Mandy poked her in the ribs.

  Mandy said, “I’ve got to drive us as far as Vaughn’s mother’s place in Parthenon, where we’re spending the night.”

  “No need of that,” Latha invited. “Just stay all night with me. There’s plenty of room.”

  There followed several minutes of the usual ritual of leave-taking, Latha insisting that they stay, Mandy reiterating that they had to leave.

  “Aw, Mom…” Sonora complained, and for a moment Latha thought she was being addressed.

  “Get in the car, Fannie Mae!” Mandy said. “I mean it.”

  Sonora rushed into Latha’s arms and gave her a big hug, and whispered, “I really do want to stay more.”

  “Come back when you can,” Latha said to her.

  Vaughn said, “Let me get a couple pitchers of you’uns,” and he took his Kodak and shot Sonora standing between Latha and Mandy.

  When they were gone, Latha had to rush into her house and get her handkerchief. And for weeks after they were gone, Latha kept remembering things she wished she’d shown Sonora or said to her. Several weeks later Mandy mailed her three snapshots that Vaughn had taken, with a note, “Sure was a nice visit, but we can’t get Fannie Mae to shut up about it.” Latha examined the photos carefully, which made even clearer how much Sonora resembled her true mother. She took a pair of scissors and cut Mandy out of the photos, which she posted, one behind the post office boxes, the other beside her bed.

  At Christmas she sent a card to Sonora, saying, “You are in my thoughts,” and for March 29th she sent Sonora a birthday card and a package of Shumway nasturtium seeds, with a note, “Happiest of fifteenth birthdays.”

  Sonora did not reply to the Christmas card but she sent a note in April saying, “Dear Aunt Latha. Thank you so much for the card and the seeds. I don’t have any place to plant them, so I’ll just have to imagine them. Fan.”