Crayons and Angels

by Rita Kano

  “I think it’s a good possibility and a good place to start asking questions. Maybe someone who was there last Wednesday night might recall seeing her.”

  “And maybe they saw her with somebody.” The lantern light bounced across Nash’s face as an owl hooted from the branch of a nearby tree.

  “That’s exactly my feeling.”

  “Miss Shirley, seems I’m getting’ a feeling of my own. And I ain’t ashamed to say … I’m hoping it’s a sound one. Might I be seein’ you at the revival tomorrow night for intentions other than gettin’ saved?”

  “You will, Mr. Nash. Although saving someone is my only intention. However, it being a workday, I might be a little late. I’d appreciate it if you’d save me a seat.”

  “That won’t be a problem. No problem at all.”

  Nash Britt stood on the porch of his house watching Shirley back out of the driveway and turn her car in the direction from which she had come. He waved to her just before the trees of the apple orchard came between them.

  As Shirley approached the Lovett house with her mind sifting through the events of the day, a fluid flash of pale white streaked across the road just beyond the full reach of the car’s headlights. She pushed lightly on the brakes and rolled forward straining into the darkness for another glimpse of the fleeting form that had caught her eye. Directly in front of the Lovett house, between the two bushes framing the roadside end of the walkway stood Sue Bell in a white ankle length nightgown.

  Shirley stopped and Sue Bell dashed over to the car door.

  “Sue Bell?” Shirley turned the engine off. “Sweetheart, are you out here all alone?”

  Sue Bell looked over her shoulder back toward the house door and then held the blue tinted Mason jar up in front of Shirley’s face. “She’s in here, Miss Shirley.”

  “She… she’s in the jar? What’s in the jar, baby?”

  “She is,” answered the child.

  “Who? I… I don’t understand.”

  Full moon shadows intensified the bewilderment in Sue Bell’s eyes. “Look.” She pointed to the jar.

  “I am looking, Sue Bell. I see the jar, but I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me. There’s nothing in the jar.”

  “Sue Bell,” a voice shouted out.

  The call came from the front of the Lovett home where Arlene stood in the yellow cast of the porch ceiling light.

  “Sue Bell! You get back here this instant. Do you hear me?”

  Shirley stepped out of her car, gathered Sue Bell into her arms and walked up to the porch steps.

  “It’s you,” said Arlene. “What are you doing back here? And what are you doing with Sue Bell?”

  “Bringing her back to you,” answered Shirley. “I saw her as I was passing by. She…”

  “Come here, baby,” Arlene cut off Shirley’s attempt to explain.

  It was obvious to Shirley that not if it took her last breath would Arlene allow Shirley Foster to come out looking like a Good Samaritan.

  “She was… and is,” Arlene emphasized, “none of your concern, Miss Foster. That’s what she is to you. We here don’t need nothin’ from your kind. Is that understood?”

  The level of Arlene Lovett’s bitterness took Shirley by surprise. She sensed, however, that the bite of the farmer’s wife’s tongue lay deeply rooted in self-defense rather than aggression. Shirley tilted her head to one side with curiosity gathering in the center of her forehead, as she prepared to say what she was sure Arlene couldn’t. “What are you afraid of, Arlene?”

  “I ain’t afraid of nothin’, Miss Foster. My Papa don’t know what he’s talkin’ about. You’re as bad as Lizzie, takin’ his every word for gospel. You need to stop listening to him and stay away from here.” Arlene grabbed Sue Bell by the arm and pulled open the screen door. Sue Bell wiggled loose and ran inside clutching the blue Mason jar against her chest. Arlene followed, latched the door hook and stared back at Shirley from the other side of the screen wire. “What are you waiting for? Go on. Stay away from here. And stay away from my deddy, too. Don’t think I ain’t noticed how you look at him all willowy eyed.”

  “Mrs. Lovett, I apologize if I’ve done anything to offend you. I assure you, as I told you earlier, it was never my intention. But, whatever I’ve done, or you think I’ve done, I’m asking that you put it aside, if only for a few minutes. I really need to talk to you about Sue Bell. Something’s not right with her. She said some things out by the side of the road that I find very disturbing. In my professional opinion, Mrs. Lovett, she needs…”

  Arlene interrupted again. “Mrs. Lovett. Mrs. Lovett. Don’t my name just sound so sweet and syrupy dripping from your snooty college educated mouth. Well, Miss Foster, let me tell you something… it don’t matter what you call me or how you say it. I smell the vinegar. And I’m warnin’ you, welfare lady. Stay away. Stay away from my house and my family.” The solid wood front door slammed shut in Shirley’s bewildered face.

  Shirley wasted no time turning her car around and heading back to Nash’s house. When she knocked on the side door, it swung open.

  “Mr. Britt,” she called out. “It’s me, Shirley Foster. Sorry to disturb you, but I…” Shirley peeked inside. “I really need to have another word with you.”

  “Be right there,” Nash called from another room.

  A door adjoining the knotty pine paneled den opened and Nash walked out. Before he closed the door, Shirley saw a wall painted lavender, lavender carpet and the flicker of a candle.

  “I was prayin’ you’d come back,” said Nash. “Come in.”

  Shirley stepped inside the dimly lit room. She flinched when the door clicked shut behind her. The words out of Nash’s mouth about praying for her return had yet to register in her mind. Something else grabbed her attention. “Is that your wife?” she asked, nodding toward an 8 x 10 studio photograph, sitting on top of the TV console.

  “Yes,” Nash replied.

  “She looks… she looks…”

  “Uh-huh. I know. Yes, I know, Miss Shirley. A whole lot like you. It surprised me too. Like I said; pretty as a picture.”

  “Like me? No,” Shirley’s embarrassment revealed itself even in the dimly lit room. “Not at all like me. She’s beautiful. She… she looks like an angel.”

  Nash picked up the photograph. “Hard to believe you don’t see the resemblance.” He stared at the photograph and then studied Shirley’s face. “You certainly ain’t seeing what I see. The two of you could be kin. But then, we all are somewhere down the line ain’t we? At least that’s what they say.” With one finger, Nash stroked the glass covering the face in the photo. “Hair the color of an autumn sunrise,” his words swelled in the tight, pressing air, “and skin…”

  This time Shirley interrupted. “And skin as soft and creamy as buttermilk pudding.”

  “You took the words right out of my mouth,” said Nash returning the photograph to the top of the TV. The gold metal frame clinked against dark mahogany wood.

  “Yes…” Shirley hesitated as she started to wonder. “I don’t think you’ve mentioned your wife’s name. Was it by any chance Isabelle?”

  “Yeah,” Nash tilted his head. “Yeah, it was. That was her proper name, although, most everybody called her Sable. How’d you know? You ain’t one of them weird psychic ladies, are you?”

  “No. No, not at all. I, ah… I saw the name on one of the tombstones earlier when we first met.”

  “Did you now? Well… you’re mighty observant. Yes, indeed.” Nash gazed at Shirley. “I talk to her… my wife… every chance I get. Hard to believe she’s been gone all these many years.”

  “Mr. Nash, was your wife named after a relative, a grandmother or great grandmother?”

  “Puttin’ aside your reason for asking, my answer is ain’t everyone down in these parts named after a relative?”

  “So, you don’t know for certain,” said Shirley.

  “The subject never came up that I recall. Grandmas are called Gran
dma, Grandpas are called Grandpa. And time leads to forgettin’.”

  “I suppose that’s true. So… so, Nash,” the intimacy of the room brought Shirley’s curiosity back to Nash’s initial comment when she returned to the house, “did I hear you say you were praying I’d come back?” Shirley glanced toward the lavender room; the door now tightly shut. “I apologize for my distraction.”

  “I did,” said Nash. “I did indeed. No apology necessary, though. My own mind skips about like that too sometimes. Won’t you have a seat, Miss Shirley?”

  “Oh, thank you. Thank you. But no, I only stopped for a minute. I just…”

  Nash settled down into a red leather rocking recliner, leaned back, crossed his arms and propped one leg atop the other.

  Shirley stood in the middle of the room, a touch lightheaded. Sort of like somebody had her pinned down with one thumb as the room spun about her.

  “On second thought, I’d be happy to sit with you for a minute or two.” Shirley placed herself on the middle cushion of the three-cushion couch.

  “One of these days,” Nash stretched out his long body and crossed his legs at the ankle, “you’re gonna have to tell me why you don’t see the resemblance I see between you and Sable. But right now, there’s other things pressing harder on my mind. Why did you come back here, pretty lady?”

  “Because of Sue Bell, Nash. I came across her standing out by the road in her nightgown. She had that blue Mason jar with her and said Martha Ann was in the jar. Well… wait, no… that’s not exactly what she said. She didn’t say Martha Ann’s name. She just said she’s in the jar. But, I’m pretty sure she meant Martha Ann. Nash, I know what I told you before about stages children go through and… and there most likely being nothing to worry about, but what I just saw and heard changed my mind. I’m concerned about Sue Bell. I tried to tell Arlene that, but she told me, in no uncertain terms, to go away and not to come back… ever. So, I came here to tell you what happened and what Sue Bell said. Do you have any idea what she meant or what might be going on with your granddaughter?”

  Nash pushed against the floor with one foot and started the chair rocking, but he had no immediate reply to Shirley’s question. The room soon filled with the creaking rhythm of the chair, which forced Shirley’s anxiety to slip out of her grip.

  “Look. Nash. I have to be honest with you. I think you do know something. I think you know something you don’t want to tell me. Which leaves me no choice but to ask you again… what’s going on in that house? If I don’t get some straight answers from you, I’ll be obligated to report this to the director of Social Services.”

  Nash lifted up from the rocking chair and walked to the middle of the room where he stood directly in front of Shirley.

  “I’ve got answers.” One leg shook nervously. “Yeah,” he nodded. “If that’s what you want, I’ve got answers. But first… if honesty is what you want from me, you’ve got to tell me the real reason you came back here.”

  Shirley’s eyes darted from side to side before they settled onto Nash’s question. “I don’t know what you mean. I’ve already told you the reason, Mr. Britt. This is a very serious matter. Sue Bell…”

  Nash held up one hand. “Pardon me, Miss Foster. I know you’re concerned about our little Sue Bell. So am I. But I don’t think for one second she’s the reason you turned around and came back here. No.” He shook his head, “No, I certainly don’t. And yes… there’s things I want to tell you, but I can’t unless I know you’re goin’ to hear me. What I got to say ain’t the kind of stuff folks chat about outside fresh white-washed church doors. The things you’re asking for… the answers you’re looking for… those things… they get whispered in the dark from safe under bedcovers and then the folks that heard them try their best to forgit it all when the morning sun rises.”

  Shirley crossed her legs, attempting to appear more comfortable than she felt. “I assure you I… that is, in my position with the welfare department there’s… well, I don’t think there’s much that could surprise me. I overcame my illusions regarding human nature within my first year. I’m tougher than I look. You can trust me with whatever is on your mind.”

  Nash sized up Shirley’s response for a full minute before sitting down on the couch next to her.

  “Miss Shirley, have you noticed that neither one of us seem to be able to make up our minds what to call each other. One time it’s this, one time it’s that. When you call me Mr. Britt, my doubts grow by the doubles. That’s why I’m telling you plain as I know how. I can’t trust you with the answers you want, unless I know why you really came back here. I need to know why you came back in the dark of night. I need to know why you’re sittin’ here with a man who’s not much more than a stranger.” Nash placed both hands against his head. “Oh, my Lord, Miss Shirley…” He turned around and back again. “I can see your heart poundin’ through that thin fabric dress you wearin’. Even so, your hands are as steady as a rock. Seems to me, you got a good whiff of what’s going on in this family earlier tonight at the dinner table. And now you’ve seen it. You saw it back there before you turned your car around. You saw it… you did, didn’t you? Can you trust me enough to tell me you saw it?”

  Shirley shuddered, taken aback by Nash’s insight. “I…” her right hand curled into a fist. “Yes. I saw it.” Shirley’s confession expressed itself further with a trembling sigh. “I heard it in Arlene’s voice, from the start. Back there, in the glow of the porch light, I saw it in her eyes. She’s afraid of something. And… and you’re right. The feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me it’s not the kind of thing I usually get called out to check on. I don’t know what it is, but I sure as heck know what it isn’t… if that makes any sense to you. Is that what you wanted to know?”

  Nash placed his hand on top of Shirley’s. “I knew you were special the moment I laid my eyes on you. My dear Sable knew it too. When we were walking down the road and I slipped my hand into yours, I felt my dear departed wife’s warm fingers slip between the fingers of my other hand. But I had to be sure you weren’t like them welfare ladies I’ve heard people talk about. Sayin’ one thing and meanin’ another.”

  “I appreciate your kind words, Nash. I really do. But you seem to be beating around the bush yourself; beating it to the ground, in fact. Nash,” Shirley searched his eyes for the comfort she couldn’t find within herself. “Maybe, it’d be best if we just forget about all this for now. Forget about what I’ve said. I should have known better than to… to… let’s just forget it. A good night’s sleep and daylight has a way of clearing the head. Over the past few months, I’ve been trying to make a habit of giving all my first thoughts the shadow of a doubt until the sun rises. The more I think about it, the more I… maybe I’m… maybe I’m seeing things that aren’t even there. Maybe you are, too.”

  Nash smiled far too knowingly for someone she had just met. “I see a steady stream of kindness running through the blood in your veins, Miss Shirley. But day or night it ain’t easy to speak the words there ain’t no runnin’ from. Not that it’s easy pretendin’ it ain’t real either, but that’s…” Nash closed his eyes and rubbed both hands against his thighs, “that’s exactly what I’ve been doin’ and what I can’t do no more. There’s…” Nash breathed in and exhaled the air like it was going to crash to the floor and break, “there’s some things you need to see. Things that’ll make it a whole lot plainer than words can. You…” the muscles of Nash’s face twitched, “you just sit tight,” he patted the cushion next to Shirley, “while I step into the back room for a minute. Okay? Just stay put. Stay right here.”

  Shirley consented with silence, but as soon as Nash disappeared from sight she glanced toward the door. She felt her body struggling to get up, but something bigger than the growing uneasiness in the pit of her stomach held her back. Even as her mind reached out for the door, her feet took root in the floor. Curiosity killed the cat; she heard her grandmother’s voice say. Can’t prove it by me, she always an
swered back. But, the truth was, Shirley had lost count of her many lives. Was the last one eight? Or was it nine?

  Nash returned carrying a leather wrapped bundle. He handed it to Shirley.

  “What’s this?” Shirley asked as she took it from him.

  “Letters,” Nash replied, “two letters. But there’s more out there. You’ll see what I mean after you read these.”

  Shirley untied the buckskin wrapping. “They… wow. These are really old.” Shirley examined the texture of the yellowed paper and especially one jagged, discolored edge. “Looks like someone tried to burn them.”

  “I tried,” said Nash. “They won’t burn. Fire don’t leave no more than a scorch mark, as you can plainly see. The flame puffs out as quickly as it starts.”

  “Won’t burn? Nash, don’t… please don’t play games with me. Won’t burn? That’s impossible. This is ordinary paper… old, yes, but nothing that shouldn’t go up in flames. I’m not going to do this.” Shirley rewrapped the letters and held them out to Nash. “You’ve been under an awful lot of stress with Martha Ann going missing again and Sue Bell’s odd behavior. I’m sorry to be so blunt, but you’re mistaken. You’ve got to be.”

  “No. There ain’t any mistake. And I ain’t asking you to take my word for it. Try it for yourself if you care to. See for yourself. I had to try it more than once before I believed my own eyes… leaving me with a conclusion that I ain’t told anybody. The letters won’t burn because they don’t belong to this time.”

  “What? What do you mean?” With a quick glance, Shirley calculated the distance in time to the outer door. When her body didn’t jump and run, she heard the words again. Curiosity killed the cat. How did she manage to get into spots like this? How long could her luck hold out? Had she misread Nash? Is that what Arlene had tried to show her and tell her? Was that why Arlene told her to stay away? Had it been for Shirley’s own safety?

  True to her blood-born nature, level-headed, straight line thinking quickly gained the upper hand. “I’m sorry,” Shirley rattled her head “Maybe I… did I hear you right?”