Lily of the Springs

by Carole Bellacera

  “Lily Rae?” he said softly.

  Pretending to be surprised, I jumped a little, clutching at the bodice of my sundress. “Oh! You startled me.”

  His gaze swept my face, and then stopped on the Band-Aid I’d applied to the cut on my temple. “How’s your head?”

  I refused to meet his eyes. “I’ll live.”

  Wish I could say the same for my Elvis record.

  I almost said it aloud. Had to bite my tongue to stop myself. To cover, I made a move as if to get up from the table, but Jake reached out and grabbed my hand. “Hon, I’m really sorry for last night. I couldn’t sleep a wink over it.”

  I finally looked at him, and as soon as I saw the vulnerability in his eyes, my anger drained away. And God help me, all I wanted to do was take him in my arms, cover his unshaven face with kisses and tell him I forgave him. But following on the heels of that impulse, was the image of him slamming that hammer down on my Elvis record.

  “Jake, apologies are fine and good, but…”

  He touched his index finger to my lips. “I know. It’s the drinkin’. I know that. And I’m gonna stop, Lily Rae. I mean it. I’m stopping today.” He squeezed my hand. “Babe, I’ve already been to the hardware store. I was the first customer there this morning. I’ve got the boards to build them shelves you’ve been wanting. And I’m going to get started on it directly, but first…” He gave me his lop-sided grin and took a slim paper bag from his lap, sliding it across the table toward me. “Got something for you.”

  I looked down at it.

  “Go ahead. Open it,” he said, his grin widening. “I had to go to three different stores to find it.”

  Before my fingers even touched the sack, I knew what was in it. “Oh, Jake…” I whispered, as I drew the 45-LPM record out, and stared down at the yellow Sun Records label.

  I looked up at him. “You really are sorry, ain’t you? Aren’t you?” I corrected. Lately, I’d been trying hard to talk more like Betty, but I still slipped into “country-talk” more often than not.

  Jake’s grin had disappeared, and he was watching me, a hopeful expression on his face. He nodded. “I am sorry, hon.” His fingertips brushed the Band-Aid covering my cut. His voice roughened with emotion. “I hate myself for hurting you.”

  My throat tightened. I reached up to grasp his hand. “It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t mean it.”

  “It was my fault. If I hadn’t been drinking, and if I hadn’t ruined your record…”

  I reached toward him and cupped his bristled jaw in my hand. “It’s over now. You’ve apologized, and I forgive you. Let’s just forget it, okay, Jake?”

  He reached out and took my hand. “I just don’t want to be like my old man, you know? Sometimes, even as it’s happening, I see him in myself, and yet, I can’t do a thing to stop it.”

  I shook my head. “You’re not like him, Jake. You’re not. If you were, how could I love you like I do?”

  He stared at me a long moment, and then nodded. I leaned closer and kissed his lips softly. He drew me into his lap, and wrapping his arms around my waist, deepened the kiss. After a long moment, he drew away. His index finger traced the outline of my lips. “How many more days will you have your period?” he whispered.

  I sighed. “This is only the fourth day. I still have one more day at least.”

  He groaned, and then gave me a little peck on the lips. “Okay. Why don’t you go put that Ellis-guy’s record on the hi-fi? I reckon I ought a give him another chance.”

  I grinned and jumped up from his lap, grabbing the record. “It’s Elvis, Jake. Elvis Presley…and don’t you forget it. I predict one day we’ll have quite a story to tell our grandkids about seeing him in person.”

  But I’ll never tell them the real story.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  November 1954

  I stood at the stove, stirring a spoon through a skillet of half-cooked scrambled eggs. From the radio on top of the refrigerator, Rosemary Clooney sang “Mambo Italiano.” The record had just been released the week before, but KOSY had been playing it so much, I already knew the lyrics; I sang along with her now as I made Jake’s breakfast. Debby Ann, a frail 20-month-old, stood nearby in her footed Bugs Bunny pajamas, tugging at my pajama leg and whining for her “ba-ba.”

  I shook my head. “I told you, Debby Ann, doctor says no more ba-ba. Go get your sipper cup. It’s on the table.”

  “Noooooo,” Debby whined, rubbing her fist into a tear-filled eye.

  Ignoring her, I turned to the Ladies’ Home Journal on the counter next to the stove. I’d found this new recipe on how to dress up ordinary scrambled eggs with deviled ham, and today, that’s what Jake was going to get, like it or not.

  I heard him come into the kitchen and turned to flash him a smile. “Good morning, sleepy-head!”

  Clad only in a pair of plaid pajama bottoms, he growled something unintelligible and headed for the percolator to pour himself a cup of coffee. Smiling, I turned back to the eggs and added the Underwood deviled ham. “Got a special surprise for you this morning, hon.”

  Jake took a sip of coffee, placed the cup back on the table and ran his hands through his greasy hair so it stood up in comical spikes. “God help me…especially if you got it from one of them fancy magazines of yours.”

  He wasn’t exactly grinning, but I could tell by the quirk of his lips that he was just kidding around. He wouldn’t admit it, but he actually liked some of the fancy stuff I made for him out of my magazines.

  “Here you go.” I took the skillet from the stove and moved away from Debby Ann, forcing her to release her grip on my pajama leg. The toddler gave an indignant squeal. I winced but ignored her. The ear-piercing squeal was one of Debby Ann’s latest tricks in her attempt to maintain Mama’s attention at all costs.

  “Mama! Ba-ba!” she demanded, her heart-shaped face screwing up in a familiar pout.

  I scraped the eggs onto Jake’s plate. “First of all, you’re old enough to say it right. Bottle. And second of all, you heard me…you can’t have it.”

  “I don’t know why you’re always trying to reason with her,” Jake said, shoveling the eggs into his mouth. “Just tell her no, and leave it be.” He swallowed and looked up at her. “Hmmmm…not bad. What’s in it?”

  “Deviled ham.” I scooped the whimpering toddler into my arms and sat down across from Jake. “Surprised?”

  He shrugged and shook his head. “One thing about you, Lily Rae, you’re not a bad cook.”

  I smiled and reached for Debby Ann’s sipper cup. For Jake, that was a real compliment. Things had been really good between us ever since that last big fight about the Elvis record in June. And it was because Jake had made a real effort to change. As far as I knew, not a drop of alcohol had passed between his lips since then, and it sure made a difference in our home life.

  “Here.” I put the sipper cup into Debby Ann’s hands. “Drink this.”

  “No!” In a fit of temper, she threw the cup, and it went spinning across the table, spilling milk all over the scratched Formica.

  Jake, who’d just picked up his coffee cup, gently placed it back down. He got to his feet, came over to me, and took Debby Ann from my arms.

  “Bad girl!” He gave her a right smart swat on the behind, and for a moment, Debby Ann looked startled, then she released a howl that sounded like a squalling ambulance on the way to the hospital with a critical patient. “If you can’t behave yourself, you can go right back to bed, young lady.”

  He carried Debby Ann out of the room, and her cries diminished the farther away he got. A moment passed, and I heard a door slam followed by Jake’s footsteps heading back to the kitchen--and in the background, Debby Ann’s piercing cries.

  “That little gal is spoiled rotten,” Jake said, stepping back into the kitchen. “And I don’t want you running in there and picking her up. She’s got you wrapped around her little finger.”

  The screams grew louder. Apparently, Debby had just real
ized that her daddy really was leaving her in her crib. I shook my head. “She’s on her way to having a major conniption fit.”

  “She’ll simmer down…once she realizes you aren’t going to give in to her.” Jake sat back down at the table and resumed eating.

  I got up to pour myself a cup of coffee, hoping the caffeine would distract me from the baby’s crying. I supposed Jake was right, but it was all I could do not to run in there and scoop her out of the crib just to shut her up.

  “Get me a refill, will you, hon?” Jake said through a mouthful of eggs. “Any more biscuits?”

  “In the oven. I’ll get you a couple.” I grabbed a potholder and removed the tray from the oven, scooping up two golden biscuits with a turner and depositing them onto Jake’s plate. He sliced one open and began to slather it with butter.

  With my coffee cup in hand, I started to sit down.

  “We got apple butter?” Jake asked.

  “I’ll get it.” I put the cup down on the table and turned to the refrigerator, glancing up at the Coca Cola Neon clock on the wall I’d bought at the PX last pay day. I rubbed my temple and grabbed the jar of apple butter, trying to ignore Debby’s screaming. Honestly, it was way too early for her nap. She’d never go down at eleven o’clock in the morning.

  “I don’t think she’s simmering down,” I said, placing the jar on the table.

  “She will.” Jake spread a thick layer of apple butter on top of the butter and took a bite. He glanced at me. “Sit down. Got some news.”

  “What?” I took my seat and reached for my coffee. Was it my imagination or were Debby Ann’s cries petering out? Could Jake actually be right?

  He popped the last of the biscuit into his mouth and reached for the second one. “Any more of them eggs?”

  “No, but it’ll only take a minute to make you some more.” I started to get up.

  “Nevermind. That can wait.” He pressed the top half of the biscuit on the one topped with butter and apple butter, eating half of it in one bite. “Talked with Sarge this week about reenlistment.”

  My heart skipped a beat. Had he received orders for his transfer? Much as I was excited about seeing other parts of the country—and maybe even the world—I didn’t look forward to moving away from Betty. But then, Eddie was due to get transfer orders soon, too, so it was inevitable we’d eventually be separated. After all, that was military life.

  “So, what did he say?” I asked eagerly, one ear still listening to the sounds from down the hall. Darned if she wasn’t winding down! Her cries had gone from ear-piercing shrieks to muffled sobs. “Did he think you might be able to get orders to Hiwalya? Oh, Jake, it would be so wonderful if we could go there! Oh, darn! Betty told me it’s not pronounced like that. Let’s see…how did she say it? Ha…wah…eeee.” I grinned at him. “So, what did he say? Please don’t tell me we have to go somewhere awful like North Dakota!”

  Jake frowned. “Don’t it bother you that Miss Know-It-All is always correcting you on everything? Must make you feel like an ignorant hillbilly.”

  I bristled. “She’s not like that at all, Jake. She’s trying to teach me how to speak correctly so I don’t come off sounding like an ignorant hillbilly!”

  He rolled his eyes and pushed away his plate. “Anyhow…” He took a sip of coffee, then cocked his head toward the doorway. “Hear that? Didn’t I tell you? She’s dropped off to sleep. Just goes to prove…coddling ain’t the way to raise kids.”

  “Okay, you’re right. Anyway, so what did your sarge say?”

  “Just what I expected him to say. No guarantees we’ll be sent to Hi…wal…ya, or any other place interestin’. Hell, I might end up in Timbuktu or Southeast Asia somewhere. I hear things are startin’ to heat up over there again.” He took another slurp of coffee and set down the cup. “I just can’t take that chance, Lily, so I told him I’m not going to re-up.”

  I stared at him, shock radiating through my body. There was no mistaking what he’d said. It was clear as daylight. But I still couldn’t quite believe it. “But Jake,” I said finally. “We talked about this. We agreed that the money was too good to give up, especially since you got that promotion to buck-sergeant. Remember how we talked about all the places we’d like to go to? Germany and California…Colorado. Why, there’s a whole world out there we’ve never seen, and the Army will pay for it all! How can you turn down an opportunity like that?”

  “Well…” Jake drew a pack of Winston’s from the arm of his rolled up T-shirt, tapped one out and stuck it between his lips. “I just don’t like the odds.” He struck a match and lit the cigarette, taking a long draw of it before releasing a stream of smoke. “Like as not, they’ll end up sending me over to some hellhole in Southeast Asia, and I just ain’t gonna go through that shit again. I did my part in Korea, and that’s enough.”

  I just stared at him, my brain spinning. He couldn’t be serious! I’d always assumed Jake would be a “lifer.” With a wife and kid to support, a steady pay check wasn’t something to take lightly. How could he give up the security of the military for…what?

  I suddenly realized how quiet it was in the apartment. When had Debby Ann stopped crying? On the radio, Kitty Kallen sang “Little Things Mean a Lot.” Jake sat leaning back in his chair, smoking his cigarette as if he didn’t have a care in the world. But I saw the wary look in his eyes. He’d been prepared for a fight about this. I took a deep breath and consciously tried to calm down. The only way I could make him see sense about this was to simmer down.

  “So, what’s your plan?”

  He took another draw on his cigarette and blew out a smoke ring. “Go back home. Get a job. Settle down.”

  It took all my strength to hold back a shriek of dismay. I reached for my coffee cup, thinking carefully before speaking. I took a sip, then said, “Last I heard, there weren’t many jobs in Russell County…unless you want to shovel manure.”

  Or work for pennies at the gas station. I practically had to bite my tongue to stop myself from saying that out loud.

  Jake shrugged. “I can always get my old job back at the gas station.”

  I tried not to laugh in his face. “Pumping gas for Slim Jessup wouldn’t pay for Debby Ann’s baby food. And where are we gonna live? Have you even thought about that?”

  “My house. Where do you think?”

  “You mean your mama and daddy’s house, right? Or are you trying to tell me you’ve up and bought us a place, sight unseen?”

  Jake chuckled, making me want to slap him silly. “Now, Lily Rae, you know me better than that.”

  That just made me madder. And all thought of remaining calm disappeared. I slammed my coffee cup down on the table. “Well, if you think I’m gonna move back in with your mama and daddy, and put up with all the shenanigans I did two years ago, you’ve got another think coming, Jake Tatlow. Because I ain’t gonna do it!” I stared him down, my jaw set.

  His lips tightened; anger sparked in his eyes. “You ain’t got no choice, Lily Rae,” he said quietly. “I’m the head of the household, and you’re my wife. What I say goes. And I say, come December 1st, we’re gonna be right back in Russell County where we belong. And if that means we gotta spend a few months living with my folks, then that’s the way it has to be and I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

  I stared at him, blinking back tears of fury. I knew better than to continue the argument. For now, anyway. But somehow, I had to reason with him, make him see that staying in the military was the only way we’d ever be able to make a decent life for ourselves. Later…when he was in a better mood, I’d try to convince him of that.

  “Ba-ba?”

  The childish voice came from the doorway of the kitchen. I looked beyond Jake’s shoulder to see Debby Ann peeping into the room, her thumb in her mouth, her face flushed and eyes swollen from crying. Jake’s head whipped around; he scowled at her.

  I jumped up and headed for the toddler. “How did you get out of your crib?”

 
“Why, you little son-of-a-gun!” Jake shoved back his chair. “So help me, I’m going to blister your little behind.”

  I reached her first and swept her into my arms. Debby Ann, seeing the anger on her father’s face, began shrieking. I turned and glared at him. “No, you’re not! You’re not gonna lay a hand on her!” I placed a kiss on the baby’s forehead. “Come on, sweetie. Mama will go lay down with you.”

  My heart pounding, I turned and headed down the hallway, half-expecting Jake to follow me. But there was only silence behind me. It wasn’t until I reached the bedroom door that his voice rang out in disgust.

  “No wonder the brat is so goddamn spoiled!”

  That was followed by the slam of the apartment door and footsteps as he stomped his way down to the 1st floor. I collapsed on the bed with Debby Ann in my arms. Hugging the whimpering toddler against me, I burst into sobs of my own.

  Mother’s Fried Apple Pies

  6 oz. dried apples

  ½ cup water

  ½ cup sugar

  Pastry (see below)

  Put apples and water in medium-sized saucepan and let stand for 1 hour or overnight. Cook, covered, over low heat until thick enough to cling to a spoon, about 45 minutes. Stir in sugar.

  Pastry:

  2 cups self-rising flour

  ¼ cup shortening

  ¾ c milk

  Cut shortening into flour, using pastry cutter or fork until mixture is well combined. Stir in milk to make soft, but not sticky dough. Add more flour if necessary. Heat shortening in heavy skillet to 1/8” depth to medium hot. While skillet is heating, prepare dough. Pinch off piece of pastry the size of a small egg. Place on well-floured surface and roll into 5” circle. Place 2 T of apple mixture on bottom half of circle, leaving 1/2” uncovered. Fold top of pastry over apples, forming a half-circle. Press sealed edges together with tines of fork. Prick top of pastry with fork in several places. Place in heated skillet and fry on both sides until golden brown. Serve hot.