Different Drummers

by Jean Houghton-Beatty

  Kathleen laughed. “Don’t be silly. I don’t even know what a mint julep is.”

  Georgina laughed then too. “Neither do I. I guess I’m just as crazy as you are. Somebody offered Bette Davis one in a movie I saw once about the South.”

  They hugged as the yellow cab pulled up in front of the hotel.

  “Pennsylvania Station, please,” Kathleen said as she stepped inside.

  She looked through the rear window and waved to Georgina until the taxi was caught up in the hundreds of other cars on the busy street.

  The red cap picked up Kathleen’s luggage as she stepped out of the taxi at Pennsylvania Station. After telling him her destination, she followed him through the cavernous building to the right ticket counter. He touched his cap and smiled when she tipped him the two quarters Georgina said were appropriate. She paid her fare, then sat on the nearest bench to look around and people-watch. The train was leaving at three forty-five. She smiled to herself, remembering the tune she’d jitterbugged to a thousand times at the Rialto. “You leave the Pennsylvania Station at a quarter to four, read the magazine and then you’re in Baltimore…”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Next stop, Columbia.” The train conductor’s piercing voice jolted Kathleen awake. She rubbed her eyes and smoothed her skirt with her hands, then gathered her things as the train pulled into South Carolina’s capital city. Thirty minutes later she was in the bus station waiting for the bus to Eddisville. In a stall in the ladies’ rest room, she changed into the all-important dress and jacket. She applied just a touch of lipstick and silently thanked God for her naturally wavy jet-black hair. She ran a comb through it and let it fall loose on her shoulders, then soaked a paper towel and held it to her sweating face. It was just the first of June, yet already the day was hot and muggy. Before she left the rest room, she crossed herself, more for good luck than out of religious need.

  At two o’clock in the afternoon, Kathleen stepped off the bus in Eddisville right in front of a shop with Gus’s General Store painted on a sign over the door. She turned back to the bus while the driver helped her off with her luggage. He looked up and down the street as if he too expected someone to meet the bus, then with a puzzled shake of his head, he tipped his hat and hauled himself back into the driver’s seat.

  Kathleen watched as the bus pulled away and disappeared around a bend in the road.

  Deep down she’d known all along nobody would be there to meet her and didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved. At least it gave her a few minutes to view her surroundings. Across the street was an Eckerd’s drug store, right next door to a small Woolworth’s almost identical to the one in Chester. On the next block a supermarket had A&P emblazoned across the front. There was a dress shop called Laura’s and a few other stores further along.

  She sat on her larger suitcase and took off her brand new jacket, then eased her swollen feet out of her beautiful brand new shoes. She wiped her sweating face with a tissue and thought of the deliciously cool bath she’d have as soon as she settled in at Bob’s house. And maybe, just maybe, she’d take a dip in the swimming pool, which the Conroys could very well have. If American movies were anything to go by, half the houses in the country had one. And was it any wonder. In weather this hot, a pool was almost a necessity.

  She glanced at her watch. Already she’d been here ten minutes and still no sign of anyone who looked remotely like they were here to meet an English girl getting off a bus. She turned to look at the shop behind her, then forced her feet back into her shoes. She’d phone for a taxi. Why hadn’t she thought of this before. As she wobbled toward the door, carrying the larger of her two suitcases, three young men sauntered in front of her. With her free hand, she pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at the perspiration on her upper lip.

  “Excuse me, but do you know the way to Bennington Street?”

  She felt like the foreigner she was when their puzzled expressions told her they were having difficulty understanding her accent.

  Suddenly a broad grin split the face of the one in the middle. “Well, I’ll be… I reckon you must be Bobby Conroy’s new wife from England.”

  Kathleen flashed an answering smile and lowered the suitcase to the ground. “Yes, that’s me. I was hoping someone would be here to meet me but, well, it’s not a big problem. If you’ll tell me where I can get a taxi, I’ll just go on out to their home.”

  All three shuffled self-consciously.

  “Ma’am, I’m as sorry as I can be,” said the spokesman for the trio, “but there just ain’t no place around here where you can get a taxi. We ain’t got no cabs in Eddisville.”

  He combed his hair with his hand then brushed at some dried mud on his pants. “If you don’t mind ridin’ in my old beat-up truck, I’ll be more than willin’ to run you out there. It’s not far.”

  Kathleen wanted to fling her arms around him. “I’d really appreciate it. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “No ma’am. It’ll be my pleasure. My name’s Freddie Conroy. I’m second cousin to Bobby.”

  He pointed to the blue truck at the side of the building, then picked up her suitcases.

  Freddie wasn’t kidding about the state of his truck. The shabby upholstery reeked of stale cigarettes and sweat. She watched him place her suitcases carefully in the back before he climbed in beside her. He coaxed the old truck to life and they rattled away. Kathleen stared out the window as they sped past two or three avenues of gracious Gone-with-the-Wind style homes, until they came to the end of what was obviously the extent of Eddisville’s affluent area.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Freddie said, “Half of Eddisville knows Bobby Conroy found himself an English girl. Word’ll be all over town come tomorrow.”

  He drove his truck down a street of run-down houses. “This here’s Bennington. Bobby’s house is the last one.”

  Kathleen’s stomach tightened into a knot as Freddie turned his truck into the rutted driveway of a dilapidated white frame house. She turned to look at Freddie then back at the house. Surely there was some mistake. This couldn’t possibly be Bob’s home.

  “The place looks deserted,” she said, her voice high-pitched and strange, not like her own voice at all. “Maybe there’s nobody home.”

  “Oh, they’re home all right. That’s Otis’s car.”

  Freddie had already jumped down from the truck and was coming around to her side to open the door. Would she be able to get out? She felt glued to her seat, unable to move.

  “Come on, Kathleen. We’re here. You’re home at last.”

  Like an invalid, she let him help her out and watched helplessly while he lifted her luggage out of the back.

  “Beulah’s most likely out back in her garden,” he said. “You be careful in them high heels. There’s ruts in the ground. You don’t need to be hurtin’ yourself when you only just got here.”

  He took her arm as they walked around the side of the house. “See, there she is. That’s Beulah, Bobby’s momma.”

  The woman, her back bent over the land, was weeding vegetables. She turned around at the sound of Freddie’s voice. Leaving her hoe in the ground, she wiped her hands on her skirt, brushed her forearm across her sweating brow and walked toward them.

  Kathleen saw a face registering no emotion, aged too soon, and withered and lined from too many long days under a burning sun. She dredged up a semblance of a smile and held out her hand that she tried hard to keep from trembling.

  “I’m Kathleen, Bob’s wife. I hope you got my letter I’d be arriving today. I, well, you don’t seem as if you were expecting me.”

  The woman’s hand was rough, like sandpaper. Her face still showed little expression as she gave a barely perceptible nod.

  “Yeah, we knowed you was comin’. Figured as how you’d find your own way out here. Nearly always somebody settin’ outside Gus’s to tell you the way.”

  Freddie shifted from foot to foot. “I reckon I’ll be gettin’ on back to town. It sure was
nice meetin’ you, Kathleen. Welcome to Eddisville.”

  Beulah Conroy nodded to him. “I’m much obliged to you for the favor.”

  Kathleen clasped her hands behind her back to keep from grabbing his arm, to stop herself from begging him to take her back to the bus stop. Instead she smiled at him, a tight sort of leer.

  “Yes, thank you very much.”

  Freddie climbed into his truck, put it in reverse, and backed out of the driveway. He threw up his hand in a wave before he guided his truck onto the winding road and disappeared from sight.

  “I guess we need to go in and get you settled,” the woman said as she picked up one of her daughter-in-law’s suitcases and walked ahead. Kathleen looked neither left nor right. All she saw was the woman in her ratty gray skirt and sleeveless blouse, which showed her sagging upper arms. Varicose veins bulged from the bare legs, and her back was bent forward with the seeming weight of years of hard work and hopelessness on her shoulders. She opened the screen door and held it for Kathleen, who struggled in her brand new high heels up the rickety wooden steps.

  Strange cooking smells greeted her as she entered the stifling house. The dismal room in which she found herself was made even gloomier by the brown paint on the walls. There was a sofa against the wall with a print of huge yellow and orange flowers. Two mismatched chairs were across the room with a floor lamp between them. To the left was a small kitchen with an unfinished table and four chairs pushed against the window.

  Kathleen’s mother-in-law walked ahead then opened the door of a room at the end of a narrow hallway.

  “This is y’all’s room. I cleaned out this chiffarobe so you’d have somewhere to put your stuff.”

  The woman tucked a strand of her straggly graying hair into her battered straw hat. “There don’t seem to be much else I can do right now so I guess I’ll be goin’ back to my garden while you sort yourself out. My husband Otis, Bobby’s daddy, is asleep in the next room so I’d be obliged if you wouldn’t make no noise.”

  Kathleen gave a little nod. “Yes, thank you. I’ll be fine now.”

  The woman moved toward the door. “Selma’ll be home soon. That’s Bobby’s sister. When she gets here, it’ll be time to eat.”

  She held on to the doorknob for a few seconds, her face working as she looked at Kathleen, then to the floor as if struggling to think of something to say. When she abruptly turned and left the room, Kathleen closed the door quietly behind her. She eased her feet out of the crippling shoes, then took off her hat. Through the open window she watched her mother-in-law lumber back to her garden and pick up her hoe. She began weeding her vegetables, as though her daughter-in-law from three thousand miles away, whom she’d never even seen until fifteen minutes ago, had never even arrived.

  Tears of self-pity welled up in Kathleen’s eyes as she turned from the window and lowered herself onto the bed. She suddenly remembered Bob’s letter, the one which had said how much his mother loved to garden. In her mind’s eye she’d seen a genteel Southern lady, woven basket over her arm with gardening gloves on her elegantly manicured hands, and wearing a huge brimmed hat to guard her delicate skin from the searing summer sun. This lady had been cutting roses to arrange in her exquisite lead crystal vases. Kathleen could have screamed with laughter. Bob had meant a vegetable garden. There was nothing wrong with that of course, but never could she have conjured up a picture of Beulah Conroy tending it, never in a million years. Looking back she had to ask herself why she had taken it for granted Bob’s home would be, well, at least elegant. She’d noticed his strange way of talking, his drawl, but lots of people in the movies talked that way. And in his American soldier’s uniform, it was all part of his charm.

  This had to be some kind of horrible dream and soon she’d wake up. She’d either be on the Belgravia with Georgina, or even back in Chester with her family. But who was she kidding? Smells didn’t come into dreams, and the odors of the house, of mustiness and stale sweat, combined with the strange cooking smells coming from the kitchen, seeped even here into the bedroom.

  The faintness eased as she lay still, eyes focused on the peeling ceiling. Finally, she swung her legs to the floor and sat on the edge of the bed. Self-pity wouldn’t solve anything. There had to be a better way. She stood up and smoothed the wrinkles out of her dress with her hand. She opened the door and saw the tiny bathroom at the end of the hall. At the same moment the door of the next room opened and a man stared at her uncomprehendingly. Otis Conroy appeared to be in his late forties and bore a faint resemblance to his son. He was clad only in the briefest of shorts, which left nothing to the imagination, but seemed unaware or unconcerned by this.

  “Who are you and what are you doin’ in my house?”

  Kathleen blinked and stuck out her hand. “Good afternoon, sir. You must be Bob’s father. I’m Kathleen. Kathleen from England. I’m Bob’s wife.”

  His hand was limp and clammy and it was all she could do not to snatch her own hand away. Slowly and deliberately his eyes roamed over her body until he eventually looked up and at the same time let go of her hand. His eyes were light brown, almost amber. There was a fervor in their depths, a zeal she’d never seen in other eyes. The unsmiling mouth was thin lipped, giving his face an almost cruel look. His voice surprised her by sounding perfectly normal.

  “So you’re Bobby’s English wife. I’d forgotten this was the day you’d be arrivin’. I hope you found everythin’ to your likin’.”

  “Why yes, yes I did. Thank you.”

  He looked down at his almost naked body. “I guess I need to be puttin’ on some clothes as it’s gettin’ close to suppertime. If you’re plannin’ on goin’ outside, you can tell Beulah I’m ready to eat.”

  After one last appraising look, he stepped back into his room and closed the door.

  On suddenly unsteady legs, Kathleen made her way to the vegetable garden.

  “Mrs. Conroy, your husband. He said he’s ready to eat.”

  Her mother-in-law wiped her calloused hands on her skirt. “I was hopin’ he’d sleep longer than this. I reckon I’d better get in there and start supper. It ain’t gonna cook by itself.”

  She picked up her hoe and walked away from the vegetables toward Kathleen. “Ain’t you got nothin’ else to wear except that fancy outfit and them high heels? Clothes like that ain’t good for nothin’ round here, except maybe for church.”

  “Why yes, yes I do. I’ll just freshen up and then change into something more comfortable. I have some sandals and a dress.”

  She stayed in the bathroom a long time, splashing the cool water on her face and letting it run over her arms. When she looked in the tiny cracked mirror over the sink, the same face she’d always had stared back at her. It comforted her. She’d almost expected to have metamorphosed into something entirely different from the Kathleen McCreadie she’d known.

  She whispered to her reflection. “Come on Kath, don’t go to pieces. It won’t do a bit of good.” She even winked at herself, then, because it helped, gave the face in the mirror a great big smile of encouragement.

  Back in her room, she hung the precious blue dress and jacket in the wardrobe, or chiffarobe as her mother-in-law had called it. Had it been just a couple of days since she and Georgina had scampered up the stairs to the second floor in Macy’s looking for that special outfit to impress Bob’s parents? With a wry smile Kathleen realized the joke was on her. After she’d changed into a soft pink cotton dress and sandals, she tried to think of something positive. Bob would be home in a few days, maybe even as soon as tomorrow. She’d stick this out until he arrived. He’d see they couldn’t stay here.

  In the kitchen, her mother-in-law was preparing the meal.

  “All right, here I am,” Kathleen said, in as cheerful a voice as she could manage.

  “That looks some better. I tell you girl, I’m having a hard time understandin’ what you’re sayin’. You’ll have to be speakin’ slower so’s I’ll know. How about givin’ them black-eye
d peas a stir and turn them turnip greens down just a tad.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever had turnip greens,” Kathleen said, searching for some middle ground. “Do you mean the tops of the turnips?”

  “Yeah. The turnips didn’t amount to much this year. I got a few good messes of greens though.” Mrs. Conroy shook her head. “I can’t believe you’ve never eaten them. Are you gonna be in for a treat.”

  The screen door flew open and a girl who was obviously Selma breezed into the room. She was pretty in a flashy sort of way. Her frizzy dyed red hair was piled on top of her head and huge red hoops dangled from each ear. Her body-hugging skirt had a long slit up the side and the sleeveless top was cut in a deep V between her breasts.

  “Hi Momma,” Selma said, a split-second before seeing Kathleen in the corner. “So, there you are. I work in Gus’s and saw you get off the bus. I watched you sittin’ on your suitcase outside for the longest time and just knew you must be Bobby’s wife. After you’d gone, Lonnie Pendleton came in and told me Freddie had brought you home in his pickup.”

  Kathleen bit her lip, fighting the urge to ask Selma why in heaven’s name she hadn’t come running out of Gus’s to see if she, Kathleen, who was about to pass out from the fierce sun, was indeed her brother’s new wife.

  She only smiled at the heavily made-up face. “Nice to meet you. Bob’s told me all about you.” He hadn’t but what else was there to say?

  * * *

  Kathleen helped set the table. There were pork chops, turnip greens, black-eyed peas, and a sort of hot bread that Mrs. Conroy said were called biscuits. A big glass of iced tea was placed by each place. When Otis Conroy on the one side and his wife on the other reached for Kathleen’s hands, she knew her confusion showed. She bowed her head along with the others, while her father-in-law gave the longest benediction she’d ever heard. The meal began in silence. Her mother-in-law and Selma barely looked up from their plates, while Otis Conroy, with his intense eyes, seemed determined to bore holes in the very wall as he stared straight ahead, looking down only to shovel food onto his fork.