Doc had to think back to Nancy’s birthday. The 26th had been a Friday, Saturday they’d stayed in Nashville and yesterday they’d been in Memphis. ‘It’s Monday 29th, so Halloween’s on Wednesday.’
‘Okay, We’nsday night’s the party then; I’ll leave Thursday. I ain’t missin’ no party!’
Coffeeville was a small town in Yalobusha County with a population of fewer than a thousand people. According to the motto coined for its 175th anniversary, it was a place where old friends gather. At one time, it had been the place where Choctaw and Chickasaw Indians had gathered, but they hadn’t always been friends.
The town owed its origins to General John Coffee, a friend and business partner of General Andrew Jackson. Coffee had fought alongside Jackson in the War of 1812 and the Creek War, and then become a surveyor. One of his last assignments had been to survey the boundary line dividing Choctaw from Chickasaw hunting grounds and maintain peace between the two tribes. For this purpose, Coffee and his soldiers had established a hill camp overlooking the site of the present-day town, and the settlement that grew around it was named after him.
Although Coffeeville was of the map, it was never really on the map until the Civil War Battle of Coffeeville in December 1862, when Confederate troops ambushed and defeated Colonel Theophilus Lyle Dickey’s Union cavalry. It then promptly fell off the map again and went back to growing yams and cotton.
‘It’s like a neutron bomb’s gone off here,’ Jack said.
‘Neutron bomb wouldn’ta done this,’ Bob said. ‘Neutron bombs jus’ kill people; they’da lef’ the buildin’s standin’. Why don’t you pull over so’s we can take a look roun’.’
Jack’s car had been the only moving vehicle on the town’s main street. He drove to where Front Street joined Oak, and parked close to a feed and seed outlet. As they walked the length of the deserted main street, it was apparent that Coffeeville had seen better days. There were empty spaces where buildings had been torn down and never replaced, and the charred remnants of a large building that had been lost to fire and then simply abandoned. ‘Kinda gap-toothed, ain’t it?’ Bob said.
Interspersed were a couple of empty shops; a number of small stores selling auto and electrical parts, drugs and gifts; and offices advertising legal, tax and insurance services. At the far end of the street was a General Store – provided that a person’s idea of a general store wasn’t too general and didn’t include food – and a small restaurant.
‘Where we gonna buy groceries?’ Bob asked. ‘Ain’t no place here.’
‘Let’s go to the restaurant and get coffee,’ Jack said. ‘We can ask there.’
The restaurant was as empty inside as the street had been outside. They sat down at a table and waited while a woman with tattoos on both legs came to terms with the fact that she was no longer alone. The surface of the table was sticky and Jack wiped it with a paper napkin, while Bob moved the ashtray full of cigarette butts to another table.
‘How y’all doin’ today?’ the woman asked. ‘What can I get you?’
She seemed relieved when they only ordered coffee. She brought two cups and filled them with a weak filtered brew that had been percolating since the restaurant had opened for business that morning. ‘Is it always this quiet?’ Jack asked.
‘Pretty much,’ she replied. ‘I’m thinkin’ ’bout movin’ to Water Valley. More goin’ on there. You just visitin’?’
‘Passing through,’ Jack said. ‘Tell me, where can we buy groceries?’
‘Piggly Wiggly on Route 7. Takes three minutes to drive there. It don’t take more ’n three minutes to drive anywhere in this town. Did I say I was thinkin’ ’bout leavin’?’
‘Yes, you said you were thinking of moving to Water Valley. Is that a much bigger town?’
‘Sure is,’ she said. ‘Got a population o’ more ’n three thousand.’
While Doc and Eric unloaded the cases from the bus, Nancy walked around the house and visited every room. She’d been sure her parents would have been there to welcome them and couldn’t understand their absence. Maybe they were visiting Ruby and Homer over in Leflore, or had driven to Memphis to see Daisy. ‘Oh my Lord,’ Nancy thought. ‘We forgot to call on Daisy when we were in Memphis.’ Her parents would never forgive her. ‘How could you go all the way to Memphis and not visit your own sister?’ they would ask her, and she wouldn’t know what to tell them. She went looking for Gene: ‘He’ll know what to say,’ she reassured herself. She found him standing on the porch smoking a cigarette.
‘Quite a view, isn’t it?’ Doc said. ‘How much of the land is yours?’
A large paddock sloped gently to the edge of woodland extending for as far as the eye could see. Hilton Travis – and later those who’d rented the lodge from the Travis family – would have walked into these woods with rifles in hand and returned with the carcasses of white-tailed deer, wild turkeys and doves and, on one occasion, the body of a man called Homer Comer.
Doc and Nancy walked to the bottom of the paddock where Eric was standing, wearing his familiar bicycle helmet and red gloves. It was a peaceful surrounding and Doc could understand why Nancy had decided to end her days here rather than in Hershey. He turned and looked back at the lodge – a house in any vernacular other than the Travis’ – and saw the grandeur of its log and stone simplicity for the first time.
The approach to the lodge had been disfigured by the encroaching kudzu, but the land to its front was free of the vine and its menacing omen. The sun, too, was warmer than it had been all week, occasioning the start of an Indian summer that would last for the next three days. Doc took off his sweater and tied its arms around his waist.
They heard the sound of a car arriving. ‘That’ll be my parents, Gene,’ Nancy said excitedly. ‘Don’t mention that we never called on Daisy.’
‘Daisy who?’ Doc asked.
‘Don’t be foolish, Gene,’ she snapped, and then called to Eric. ‘Eric, my parents are here. I want to introduce you to them.’
Nancy walked ahead of them, unaware of the disappointment awaiting. ‘Oh, it’s you two,’ Nancy said when she saw Jack and Bob. ‘You didn’t run into my parents when you were out, did you?’
‘Apart from the girl at the checkout, the only person we ran into was a woman with tattoos on her legs,’ Jack said. ‘I’m going out on a limb here, Nancy, but I’m guessing she wasn’t your mother.’
‘My mother didn’t have tattoos on her legs, did she, Gene?’
‘Of course she didn’t, Nancy. Your mother was a lady.’
Bob took control of the kitchen, while Doc and Nancy settled on a couch and Jack unpacked his bag. Eric went exploring and made a careful examination of each room. He came back with three pieces of information: there was a piano and guitar in one of the rooms; all clocks in the house had stopped at exactly eleven minutes past eleven; and the same genealogical chart he’d seen in Arthur Annandale’s house – the one tracing the origins of the British royal family to the House of Israel – was also hanging on one of the bedroom walls. Apart from the piano, which had always been in the lodge, Nancy was unable to explain why these things were as they were, and suggested to Eric he ask her father when he returned. Hilton, however, would never walk through the lodge’s door, and the mysteries would remain just that – mysteries.
They ate meatloaf, yams and salad that night. ‘You’ve done us proud, Bob. This is the best tuna fish casserole I’ve ever tasted,’ Nancy said.
‘It’s meatloaf, Nance, but long as you enjoyin’ it, I don’t min’ what you calls it.’ Bob drained the beer from his glass and went to get another.
‘Did you get the beer from the funeral home?’ Nancy asked.
Bob looked at her curiously. ‘I got it from the store, Nance. Why would I go to a funeral home for beer?’
‘Well, I’ll be! They must have legalised it since I was last here. It used to be you could only buy beer from the funeral home. They used to keep it cold in the mortuary and pay the sheriff to turn a
blind eye.’
‘What did the town used to be like, Nancy?’ Jack asked. ‘It was as quiet as the grave when Bob and I were there.’
‘Front Street used to hum on a weekend,’ Nancy said. ‘There was a picture house there, and people would socialise until well after ten o’clock. I remember going with Ruby and having good times. We used to meet boys, and I remember smoking my first cigarette there, too.’
‘Did you stub it out prop’ly,’ Bob asked.
‘Of course I did. Why are you asking me such a stupid question?’
‘’Cos half the town’s burned down,’ Bob laughed.
‘Most of the towns in this part of the world look as if they’ve been burned down,’ Doc said. ‘Either that or the people building them lost interest halfway through and didn’t bother to finish up. The time I visited the Delta, I came away thinking they should sweep all the two-bit communities into a pile and make one decent town out of them.’
‘What nonsense!’ Nancy said. ‘The Delta’s the most beautiful place on earth – and, for your information, Coffeeville isn’t in the Delta.’
‘I’ll take yo’ word on that, Nance, but so far as Coffeeville goes, I reckon there’s mo’ goin’ on in the Sargasso Sea. One good thing, though: no one’s gonna come lookin’ fo’ us here.’
Just as Bob had spoken, there was a knock on the door and everyone looked at each other nervously.
‘I wonder who that is.’ Doc asked. ‘You didn’t tell anyone in town where you were staying, did you?’
‘No one,’ Jack said. ‘I told them we were passing through, didn’t I, Bob?’ Bob nodded in agreement.
‘It’ll be my parents!’ Nancy said enthusiastically. ‘I told you they’d be here. Eric can ask them about the clocks now!’
‘Your parents would have a key, Nancy. They wouldn’t knock, they’d just let themselves in.’
He walked to the door and opened it wide enough to see who was there. He took a surprised step backward and then pulled open the door.
‘Holy shit!’ Doc exclaimed. ‘It’s Dora!’
Wanda and George
‘You looked like you’d see’d a ghost,’ Wanda laughed. ‘Thought you was gonna fall down dead an’ leave me standin’ there wit’ you on my conscience. My mamma woulda ’bout laughed herself silly – ain’t that the truth, George?’
‘Sure is, Wanda. She’da laughed that laugh o’ hers, an’ the whole damn house woulda shook. We’da needed a struct’ral engineer to come sort things out.’
Wanda’s resemblance to her mother was uncanny. It was difficult to believe that the girl who’d helped serve dinner during his stay at Oaklands was now a grown woman in her sixties, a mother of four and grandmother to six. Wanda was having similar trouble coming to terms with Doc.
‘You sure you that skinny boy Ms Nancy brought home wit’ her? You looks nothin’ like him.’
‘It’s me alright, Wanda; greyer and heavier maybe, but it’s me. I think the years have been kinder to you.’
‘In that case, why you mistakin’ me fo’ some hun’red-an’-ten-year-old dead woman then?’ Wanda laughed. ‘My mamma woulda had a fit if she’d knowed I was talkin’ to you. She never forgive you fo’ what you said ’bout her cookin’: “Reminded him a dead people,” is what she used tell us. You really say that?’
‘You said that and you complain about the things I say?’ Jack said to Doc.
‘I didn’t say that,’ Doc said. ‘Brandon told Dora I’d said it, but I never had!’
‘He a no good,’ George said. ‘Never did like the man.’
‘Watch yo’ mouth, George. Brandon Ms Nancy’s brother,’ Wanda said.
‘Don’t mind me,’ Nancy said. ‘I didn’t go to his funeral after he died, and neither did Ruby.’
‘He dead?’ George asked surprised. ‘Thought the man lived in Clarksdale.’ A frown crossed Wanda’s brow and she looked across at Doc.
‘You haven’t seen Ruby, have you, Wanda?’ Nancy asked. ‘My parents haven’t mentioned her for some time now. I hope she’s alright.’
‘She be fine, Ms Nancy.’
‘She alive? I thought she were dead. Now I gettin’ confused.’
‘You bin confused yo’ whole life, George; no point worryin’ ’bout it now. Mr Gene, can you he’p me in the kitchen fo’ a minute?’ Doc followed Wanda to the kitchen and closed the door behind him.
‘So who’s the little girl?’ Bob asked.
‘B’shara Byrd,’ George said with pride. ‘She our youngest gran’child an’ she stayin’ with us while her Mom and Daddy go cruisin’ in the Caribbean. Ain’t that right, B’shara?’
B’shara Byrd said nothing and continued to suck the wooden beads hanging around her neck.
‘That’s going to cost,’ Jack said. ‘Cruises don’t come cheap.’
‘Doretta – that our daughter – catched herself a good one. Earns a ton o’ money tradin’ frozen pork bellies in Chicago. Ever’ time he comes an’ visits he tells me ’bout his job an’ what he does, but I cain’t says I’m none the wiser. Frozen pork bellies is the only words I can understan’.’
‘What you do, George?’ Bob asked.
‘Works at the cotton gin down the road. Bin there close to thirty years. Ain’t much, but it pays the bills an’ I ain’t got too long b’fore I retires. Dora woulda bin surprised I lasted this long. She thought I’d never ’mount to much.’
‘Why she think that?’ Bob smiled.
‘Years ago, I stole a car as a protest,’ George replied.
‘What were you protesting?’ Jack asked.
‘Fact I didn’ have one,’ George said, a grin spreading across his wide face. ‘Dora weren’t a forgiver. To her way o’ thinkin’, once you crossed a line you were crossed it fo’ good. Fo’ all her Christian values, when it came down to it, she weren’t a b’liever in redemption. I jus’ thank the Lord I never said nothin’ bad ’bout her food – she’da prob’ly killed me. That friend o’ yo’s got off lucky.’
‘That’s cos he’s white,’ Bob laughed. ‘White men al’ays gets off lucky.’
‘You men,’ Nancy said. ‘You talk such nonsense!’
‘Mrs Skidmore, can I show B’shara Byrd the piano?’ Eric asked.
‘Of course you can, dear. Do you play the piano?’
‘Yes, and I can teach her some notes.’
Eric and B’shara Byrd left the room just as the lucky white man and Wanda returned to it. Doc had confirmed Wanda’s suspicions: Nancy was indeed travelling down the same road taken by her mother and grandmother before her. ‘That po’ woman,’ Wanda had said. ‘You ever needs he’p, you call me. Travis fam’ly bin good to me an’ George – Ms Nancy in partic’lar.’
Wanda and George had been taking care of the lodge since the time of Hilton Travis. In need of someone to oversee the often empty property, and aware of the friction that existed between George and Dora, Hilton had bought Wanda and George a small house close to the property and paid them a yearly retaining fee. After the lodge and its land had been leased, Nancy had made it a condition of the lease that Wanda and George continue as caretakers. The lodge could be seen from their house, and the unexpected signs of life that evening had attracted their attention.
‘B’shara’s a real cutie,’ Nancy said. ‘She’s got the exact same eyes as Doretta.’
‘I hopin’ not, Ms Nancy: Doretta’s blind in one eye,’ George said.
‘Oh my, I didn’t know that, George. What happened?’
‘Walked into a damned twig, Miss Nancy.’
‘There’s always something, isn’t there?’ Nancy sympathised. ‘I’m losing my mind – did you know that? I’ll get it back some day, but Gene says it’s going to take time. That’s why we’ve come to Coffeeville. Gene says I’ll get better faster here than I would if I stayed in a nursing home, so it looks like we’ll be neighbours for a while, Wanda.’
‘They says good things come from bad, Ms Nancy, an’ if you losin’ yo’ mind makes you my neighbour fo’
a time, then that the good fo’ me… C’mon, George, we need to get back an’ leave these people be, get B’shara Byrd to bed.’
‘We’re having a party on Wednesday night – Halloween and Nancy’s birthday rolled into one,’ Doc said. ‘If you haven’t already made plans for the evening…’
‘You must come!’ Nancy said. ‘It’ll be like old times.’
‘Yes it will,’ Doc said. ‘You can serve me dinner again.’
‘Gene!’ Nancy said sternly.
‘Wanda knows I’m joking, don’t you, Wanda?’
‘No one knows when you’re joking, Gene. How many times do I have to tell you that?’
‘I can understan’ now why my Mamma didn’ like you,’ Wanda laughed.
That night Eric couldn’t sleep. He lay there with his eyes open, thinking of the day ahead.
He’d pinned all his hopes on finding Susan, but until this moment had never entertained the idea that Susan might be unwilling or unable to help him. He’d run away from school, lied to people and travelled thousands of miles to find her, but what if she wanted nothing to do with him, what would he do then – just go home? How could he when he had no home to go to? He didn’t want to go back to Talbot Academy and he didn’t want to go back to the Annandales, either.
He was happy with the people he travelled with, but Otis would soon leave and Doctor Gene and Mrs Skidmore were old people and Mrs Skidmore ill. He couldn’t expect them to look after him and they wouldn’t live forever. Maybe Jack would help him; maybe, he could live with Jack. Jack, he knew, would live forever.
He started to cry. He missed his parents and wanted them to be alive again. He wanted to taste his mother’s cooking and smell her perfume, hold his father’s hand and feel safe. He wanted to be a part of a proper family again, for someone to love and take care of him.
He closed his eyes and pressed his hands together in prayer. ‘Please, God, make Susan love me. Let me live with Susan.’
Seemingly, God heard his prayer.
Last Bus to Coffeeville Page 44
