I washed Granddaddy’s filthy spitting can and set it in a pasteboard box with other metal we were collecting for the war effort. He had ten empty Skoal tins and one half-full one. I put them in the box too.
Momma scrubbed my room down with pine oil and we pushed the bed to the opposite wall from where it was. She even pulled a different quilt out of her cedar chest and put it on my bed. The place looked and smelled like a whole new room. And something about that made me think I could have a new start on life.
I set the photograph of Gideon Bledsoe on the table by my bed and tried to imagine what he’d say if he was standing there in front of me. But maybe I didn’t need him to say a word. Maybe his kind eyes said it all—not to let hard times turn me mean.
I still had to get Leroy’s truck fixed, so I climbed on Grover and headed into Brookford. After talking to Jerm, I’d ride to the mill to tell Mr. Hefner I wanted the doffer job. Only thing was, I didn’t want it. My eyes burned just thinking about all that lint. I doubted I could live through one more day in that place, but I’d made a mess of things and fixing that mess was going to take money.
Jerm was flat on his back under a car. He shimmied out from under and sat up. “Junior. I’m real sorry to hear about Hammer’s passing. When is the service?”
“Whenever the aunts decide.”
Jerm chuckled. “You mean, whenever they can agree. That could take a while. Anything I can do?”
“Well, sir, I reckon I have a job for you.”
“How’s that?”
“I blew the engine in Leroy Honeycutt’s truck.”
Jerm let out a long whistle. “That ’35 Chevrolet?”
“I’ll work in the mill to pay for it. Could you start on it soon as possible?”
“You sure Leroy wants me to do it? How come he’s not the one asking?”
“He said he’d stop in after work. But first, I reckon he wanted me to confess my own sins.”
Jerm cocked his head and gave me a questioning look.
“He loaned me the truck and I was supposed to put oil in it. But I kind of got sidetracked.”
Jerm wiped his greasy hands on a rag. Then he flapped that rag toward my face in a friendly way. “Aren’t you Axel Bledsoe’s boy? And didn’t Axel have a block and tackle?”
“Yes, sir. It’s still there.”
Jerm clapped my shoulder. “You know Otis Hickey.” He pointed back up the road. “If I’m not mistaken, he has an engine in his scrapyard out back that’ll have some parts you need, likely some pistons and maybe some rods. You’ll save some money and do Axel Bledsoe proud at the same time.”
I never did make it to the mill to take that job. Jerm left that car he was repairing, and we headed up to see Otis, whose place was just about as junky in the front as it was around back. Jerm knocked on the door, and Otis came out squinting against the daylight.
“Morning, Otis,” said Jerm. He told him what we wanted, and Otis took us around to see the engine. Jerm did some bartering with him and said he’d come again later, after he took a look at Leroy’s truck. Then we headed back down the hill.
“I’ll have to order some of the parts,” said Jerm. “But first I need to see how Leroy feels about our plan.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
I spent the rest of the day working around the house, bending over backwards to please Momma. That evening, when I was cutting the grass, I looked up and there was a truck coming up the lane. It was Basil Whitener, who Leroy had been catching a ride with, and he was towing Leroy’s truck behind him.
I left my grass cutter in the front yard and headed around to the back. Leroy was unhooking the chain between the two trucks. “We stopped in at the garage,” he said. “Jerm told me what the two of you had cooked up.”
“You okay with that, Leroy?”
“Long as Jerm backs us up.”
Leroy was ready to start working. So we used Pop’s block and tackle to pull the engine and lower it onto a tarpaulin there in the yard. Basil stuck around to help that first night, and Jerm showed up the next day with parts, bringing Otis Hickey along with him.
“You’re looking at a soldier man,” said Otis, poking himself in the chest. “Uncle Sam has picked my number.”
And that right there made the war feel real close. It didn’t hit me the way it would if Leroy was leaving us. But still, Otis was the one who’d stood on that swinging bridge and told me things about Pop I would never know otherwise.
While we worked on that truck, he filled our ears with more stories—about him and Pop walking across the Brookford dam when they were boys. About Pop’s sisters being so frightened of that bridge they tried crossing it on their hands and knees. “But they still couldn’t do it,” he said. “Some people are just scared. Ain’t nothing going to convince them to cross over.”
I hated to see those fellows leave when it started getting dark of an evening. I wanted to stay under that oak tree, changing out pistons and adjusting spark plugs. Enjoying the sound of Jerm Foster’s laugh and Leroy putting in his two cents every once in a while. Having them there felt a little bit like having Pop back. Except nobody was singing “Amazing Grace” and I actually got my hands in the grease.
On Friday night, when it was all done, Leroy reached in his pocket and pulled out the key. “Put some oil in this truck and you can be the first to drive it.”
And if that right there wasn’t amazing, I didn’t know what was. I went into Pop’s shed and poked around on the shelves until I found the Quaker State motor oil. I could hear the men out there under the oak tree tossing wrenches into their toolboxes. I liked the sound of their deep voices, but I wasn’t in a hurry to leave the dusty, oily smells inside the shed.
“Pop,” I whispered. “I sure do miss you. Even if you were a wretch sometimes. At least you were a better wretch than Granddaddy was. And I aim to do better than you and him both. I’ve got Leroy and the others to keep me on the straight and narrow.”
43
TURN AROUND
May 1942
On Saturday morning I found Dudley at the river with his fishing pole and a string full of catfish dangling in the water.
“Where’s your pole?” he asked.
“I didn’t come to go fishing.”
“Suit yourself.”
“My granddaddy died.”
“Oh.” Dudley stared at the water like he was looking in there for something to say. Finally he said, “I’m sorry.”
I shrugged. “I got my bed back and it’s quiet in my room now. He was a cantankerous old cuss, you know that?”
Dudley nodded.
“His whole family was ornery, but I reckon he made ’em that way. His heart gave out. Just like my pop’s did.”
“Must run in the family,” said Dudley. And then it was like he realized what he’d just said. “Course that don’t mean it’ll happen to you.”
“Not if I can help it. I don’t know what makes a body’s heart give out. But I decided some things, Dudley, and I’m here to tell you about ’em.”
“Shoot.”
“I’m not going to be like them. Pop could be ornery too, and I reckon I don’t blame him on account of how Granddaddy treated him. He probably did the best he could. I know he aimed to be a better father than his daddy was. He did all right until he started drinking.”
I sat down on the bank beside Dudley. “I know one thing. I won’t be spending my life running to Hog Hill or some other dead-end place the way Pop did. I’m going to do something different. I’ll be upstanding, is what I’ll be. Just so you know, I won’t be stealing cars or letting you talk me into doing stupid things. You hear?”
“I’m listening.”
“Good. And another thing. You have to go see Miss Hinkle. And her sister, Miss Dinah. You owe them a big ‘I’m sorry.’”
Dudley frowned. And he said a few bad words.
“You can handle it. But don’t be surprised what kind of punishment they give you. Miss Hinkle roped me into taking nin
th grade all over again—at her kitchen table. So I can go on to tenth grade next year.”
“Yee haw!” said Dudley. He gave my shoulder a fistful of wallop.
“Hey! Just because we’re in the same grade don’t mean I’ll be talking with the likes of you. Not unless you make things right with them first. I’m done with troublemaking, you hear?”
“You said that one time already.”
“All right, then. Whatcha going to do about it?”
“Now? You want me to go now? What about my fish?”
“You can come back for them. Or, here’s a better idea. Take them to Miss Pauline. Tell her you’ll clean ’em for her.”
Dudley hefted himself off the riverbank and gathered up his pole and the string of fish, and we headed back toward my house. It was about a mile and a half away. We passed Garland Abernethy’s lane, and right about that time I saw something move in the side ditch. At first I thought it was a groundhog, but then I realized it was a dog.
“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.”
“What?”
“It looks like Ann Fay Honeycutt just got herself a dog.”
44
PETE
June 1942
I carried the little rat terrier in a cardboard box to the Honeycutts’. I went around to the back door, and sure enough, Leroy had the family working in the garden. Myrtle was tying up string beans, and Ann Fay was helping Leroy hoe weeds. Even the twins were dipping tin cans into a bucket and pouring water onto the tomato plants. The front of Ida’s dress was drenched, and Ellie was drinking from her can.
“Hey,” I said. “You don’t look like a tomato plant to me.”
Ellie giggled and poured the water on top of her head. It ran down past her ears and over her eyes. She blinked and the water splashed off her eyelashes.
I didn’t blame her for drenching herself. I was wet too—soaked with sweat. June was always hot and sticky, but this year seemed worse than usual.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ann Fay drop her hoe and come running. “Hey, Junior. What’s in that box?” She wiped at her face with her sleeve.
“It’s a surprise.” I carried the box over to the house and set it up on the porch floor. Bobby was there on a crazy quilt, sleeping with only his diaper on. “Are you ready?”
Ann Fay jumped up onto the porch and lifted one of the flaps on the box. “A dog?” She said it so quietly it sounded almost like she was whispering a prayer. Then she squealed. “It’s a dog. Where’d you get him, Junior?”
The pup scooted into the corner of the box and whimpered.
“Shh. You’re scaring him. He was in the side ditch. Someone dropped him off, I reckon.”
Ann Fay jumped off the porch and headed back to the garden. “Daddy! Come look what Junior brought.” She grabbed Leroy’s arm, which was moving back and forth because he was hoeing, but she hung on and didn’t give up. “Come, Daddy.”
Leroy loved his garden, that’s one thing for sure. But evidently he loved Ann Fay even more. He let her drag him toward the house, stepping over rows of beans and winding through the tomato plants. Myrtle straightened up from the beans and stood there rubbing the small of her back, groaning just a little. Then she left her bushel basket and followed Leroy and Ann Fay.
I had the pup in my arms by this time, and he was snuggled into me like that would protect him from these strangers. I scooted my backside up onto the edge of the porch. Ida plopped down beside me and held out her hands. “I want to hold it.”
“No. Let me hold it.” Ellie poked the dog’s belly with her finger.
Leroy took off his straw hat and slapped it against the porch post. Then he plopped it on Ann Fay’s head. She grinned and pulled it down over her ears.
“What you got there, Junior?” asked Leroy.
“Well, sir, it’s not a cat. And it’s not a cow. So it must be a dog.”
“Can we keep him, Daddy? Puhleaze.” Ann Fay tugged on Leroy’s arm.
The girl could learn a thing or two about giving a man a little peace and quiet. I wanted to tell her to hush and leave him alone or she’d ruin the whole thing.
Leroy frowned. “I don’t need another mouth to feed.”
“Poor stray needs a family,” I said. “And we have two dogs already.”
“Here, Junior. Let me hold him.” Ann Fay didn’t wait for me to hand him over. Just took him right out of my arms. But the first thing he did was leap onto the porch and run off. When he came to the crazy quilt he stopped and sniffed all around Bobby. Then he licked his fist.
Myrtle frowned and started to reach for her baby boy, but the dog curled right up next to him like somehow that young’un would protect him.
“Daddy, look,” said Ann Fay. “He likes the baby. Poor little puppy needs someone to love. We’ll take good care of him, Daddy. He’ll make me real happy, Daddy.”
Leroy sighed and shook his head. He looked at Ann Fay and I saw a little grin growing on his face. “Junior Bledsoe, what have you done to me?”
I knew then that he was giving in.
Ann Fay grabbed my elbow. “What’s his name?”
I shrugged her off. “Like I said, I found him by the side of the road. He didn’t come with a sign announcing his name, for Pete’s sake.”
“Pete!” yelled Ida. “We’ll call him Pete.”
Seemed like everybody else in the family just stood there nodding.
Pete was all snuggled up against that baby boy, and now he had his head on the child’s belly. When Bobby breathed, it was like he was rocking that little dog’s head. Up and down. Up and down.
Leroy started to draw water from the well and Myrtle fetched cups from the kitchen and we sat on the edge of the porch and in the grass and drank clean, cold water. I told them about Aunt Lily dropping the dipper into the well and how Pop took a licking for it.
“That’s not fair!” said Ann Fay.
“Sounds like he took a lot of whuppings he didn’t deserve,” I said.
I thought how it was going on a year since my pop had died. An awful lot had happened since then. The Japs had attacked Pearl Harbor and now we were at war.
If the war went on long enough, Leroy Honeycutt still might have to go off to fight.
I sure hoped not. If it wasn’t for him and a few others, even Miss Pauline, I’d probably still be stumbling around making a mess of myself.
One thing for sure, if Leroy did get drafted, I aimed to help look after Ann Fay and the rest of the family—just the way he’d always looked after me.
Nobody could take the place of their daddy. I knew that as well as anybody. But I could help with the garden and fix just about anything that broke. And I’d do my level best to be as steady and upstanding as the porch post I was leaning against right that minute.
EPILOGUE
Maybe me and Pop don’t go together like biscuits and gravy
the way Ann Fay and Leroy do.
But according to Granddaddy
the acorn didn’t fall far from the tree.
I reckon I do have some of Pop’s ways about me,
and he had some good ones, for sure—
how he loved my momma
and the way he got along with his neighbors, real good.
He had a heart as big as Bakers Mountain
And a knack for fixing whatever broke—
not for money, but just for the love of doing it.
Those are the things I’m aiming for.
And when I feel like I’m up in the air on a scary bridge
I’ll hang on to his words.
Don’t look down.
Keep your eye on where you’re going.
You’ll get across just fine.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
When my publisher asked me to consider writing a prequel to Blue, I knew immediately that Junior Bledsoe would be the protagonist. Junior is one of my favorite characters from Blue and its sequel, Comfort. I love his neighborliness and the never-ending support he gave to Ann Fay Hone
ycutt during her family’s hard times.
But I knew he hadn’t always been so mature and that he had probably been shaped by his own difficulties. So I took a seed from Blue in which Ann Fay says, “Junior is seventeen years old. He’s the man of his house too, ever since his daddy’s heart give out a few years ago.” From those lines grew a story about what had happened to Junior’s father and how Junior responded to the challenges of losing him.
When I wrote Blue I had no idea of the dysfunction in Junior’s family. But I’ve witnessed family dysfunction and wanted to explore the conflicting feelings that children experience in families that don’t run smoothly.
BROOKFORD MILLS
It wasn’t until Junior played hooky from school that I realized the mill town of Brookford would become a part of the story. As a child, I rode through Brookford on my way to Hickory and was always intrigued with the hills covered in tiny white houses, the mill, the dam, and the swinging bridge.
Brookford Mills was in operation from 1898 until the late 1950s. Farmers in neighboring communities grew cotton to supply the mill, and individuals like Junior helped pick it. In fact, local schools planned their schedules so that students would be free during cotton-picking season in September.
WHO WAS REAL? WHO WAS NOT?
Most of the characters in Aim are fictional. Some, however, were real. Jerm Foster was a Brookford resident with a reputation for being an upstanding citizen and a fine mechanic. Stewart Elrod ran the Brookford Service Station. Garland Abernethy was a farmer who lived in Junior’s neighborhood.
Joe DiMaggio played baseball for the New York Yankees, and between May and July of 1941 he enjoyed the longest hitting streak in baseball history—fifty-six games. At a time when Americans were anxious about going to war, he served as an inspiration and a call to greatness. In the early 1940s, most major league baseball games were played during the day and recreated via telegrams for broadcasting on the radio.
Sergeant Alvin C. York was also a real person. His finely honed hunting skills gave him near-perfect aim. During World War I, in a battle in France, York used his sharpshooting skills to defeat the enemy, leading eight other Americans in capturing 132 German soldiers. For several decades York rejected offers to make his story into a motion picture. By the outbreak of World War II, however, he believed that such a movie could help protect innocent people from greedy dictators. Beginning in the summer of 1941, Sergeant York played in theaters nationwide, spurring patriotism and support for the war. York’s photograph appeared several times in the Hickory Daily Record and in other publications across the country as part of the propaganda campaign to persuade Americans to get behind the war.
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