The Road to Bittersweet

by Donna Everhart

  Big Bertha said, “Stick around, you’ll see.”

  Which could a meant anything. Big Bertha was puzzling, her moods swinging like a sickle. Momma nodded and smiled at her, but I could read her look and it said, You’re crazy as a Bessie bug.

  Big Bertha said, “It’s getting on late. Thank you for listening to me complain and whine. I probably shouldn’t have dumped on you. I barely know you.”

  Momma smiled again. “Don’t you worry none. It’s fine.”

  Big Bertha waddled off, and we could hear her sort a mumbling, arguing with herself as she made her way to the other side of the yard.

  I stepped out of the tent and said to Momma, “Big Bertha sure is something else.”

  “Losing the one person who loves you is hard because love is healing, it can take away hurts like that. It can make you see things differently.”

  Momma’s words got me thinking hard about Clayton. He’d caused feelings I’d never had, and a considerable amount of anxiety seeing him so close to Laci. But, was that love? I won’t sure. Papa would’ve said I was too young to be thinking on such things, though some girls my age who’d come to school didn’t never show back up again because they’d gone off and got hitched. Or worse. I looked up and seen Papa hurrying back from seeing Mr. Cooper, his face all knotted up like he had a headache. He plopped down on the stool Big Bertha had vacated.

  Momma said, “What did he say?”

  Papa shook his head. “He’s the boss man. I tried to tell him it’d be good to have a bit more money seeing as Laci was going to be working extra, and what you reckon he said? No. Said if I want to earn more money, I could help clean up after the show animals. Said she won’t going to have to play long enough to justify it.Yet, he wants her learning more songs.”

  Momma’s tone was incredulous. “That sure don’t seem fair. How’s she supposed to do that? She can’t be going off to some stranger’s by herself.”

  “That young buck Clayton was there and said he’d take care of it. Got a way to hook up that contraption near his tent. He said, Laci could learn that a way. Boss man said have Wallis Ann go too. Said he’s seen all three of them roaming about together, so it ought to not be a problem. We can’t afford to lose this job. Anyway, he’ll be here shortly.”

  I looked at Papa, my heart slipping a beat. “Who?”

  Papa said, “Who else?”

  I could only guess. A moment later we heard whistling and Clayton strode towards us with a smile. The sight of him caused a tiny lurch in my chest. Love for someone outside of my family was unknown, like all the other new experiences I’d had around him. The taste of cotton candy. The Ferris wheel. The sideshows with strange people inhabiting tiny tents, their particular oddities on display. Clayton stopped whistling when he seen the look on Papa’s face, while Momma ignored him, going inside their tent and closing the flap.

  Without a word, I went and got Laci, who still sat on her cot like she was tired. “Come on with me, Laci.”

  We left out of the tent to see Clayton waiting awkwardly, looking everywhere but at Papa.

  Papa more or less growled at him. “Have them back in an hour.”

  Clayton hesitated, and dared to ask, “What if she ain’t learned a new song by then? Mr. Cooper . . .”

  Papa said, “One hour.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  We started for his tent without a word between us. It won’t like it had been, with the previous easygoing way we’d enjoyed one another’s company. A mood hovered, stifling and bitter. I walked fast, hurrying, and Clayton kept pace with me easy enough, saying nothing about my silence.

  When we come close to his tent, he cleared his throat. “Is something the matter, Wallis Ann? You seem . . . mad.”

  “I’m not mad.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. I got the phonograph and a different record. Let’s see what Laci can do.”

  “If you say so.”

  I heard some noise from Clayton. I didn’t bother to look at him. The phonograph sat on a similar wooden table as the night before. Laci went and sat beside it like she was aware of the purpose of being there.

  I was about to tell her anyhow when Clayton spoke up. “Laci, listen to this new song. See if you can play it.”

  He started the record. I sat on a nearby stool and pretended to be looking elsewhere while secretly watching him watching her, looking for what I don’t know. A special look? Laci rarely ever looked anyone in the eyes, except me, Momma, Papa and Seph when he was here. She listened to the song playing, her head tilted to the side.

  Clayton told me about the record he’d selected. “It’s another Bach song. It’s called Sonata Number Two in A Minor. It’s a pretty long one.”

  I nodded, then sat festering, wishing I could simply fade away, yet the music and watching Laci learn kept my attention. It was, in a word, exquisite. Clayton seemed to forget I was even there, spellbound as Laci worked through the music, and in that way, I guess I got my wish.

  I’d disappeared.

  Chapter 22

  It come as no surprise Laci learned the song quick as she did. Clayton played it twice and then she played bit by bit, all the way through, like she’d heard it a hundred times already. Wonder filled his face as he chose a small section of the record to play, stopped it, then waited as she placed her fiddle under her chin and coaxed out an identical rendition. She lowered her fiddle and waited for him to move the needle to some other spot. In random snippets here and there, Laci proved she could play the song, having only heard it fully two times. Clayton gaped at me while pointing at her.

  He said, “I ain’t never seen the likes of nothing like it.”

  I said, “I reckon not. Laci’s remarkable.”

  “She sure is, she’s something else.”

  It won’t what he said, but how he said it, and it made my heart feel like it had been exposed to a deep freeze, creating a deep ache in response. The walk back was just as quiet, the three of us side by side yet seeming very far apart. Clayton glanced at me a time or two. I refused to look his way, as I won’t in the mood for prying questions. Although we hurried, the hour was gone. Closer to our tents, he slowed down like he wanted to talk, only I kept going.

  He said, “Wallis Ann.”

  With a sigh, I stopped and turned around. “What?”

  “You sure there ain’t something wrong? You seem different.”

  I stared into his serious brown eyes for what I thought I’d seen there before, only now they hid his thoughts, like Laci hid hers.

  I said, “So do you, Clayton.”

  “How am I different?”

  I won’t sure how to answer him. I couldn’t say, You’re being too nice to my sister. I’d thought at first his attentiveness to Laci was all because of me, only now as things went along, it didn’t seem like that at all. I recollected the kiss, and then, after meeting her, he changed, transferring his attentions.

  Without thinking, I blurted out, “Why’d you ever kiss me, Clayton?”

  A fiddle string plunked, an interruption distracting enough to make him look at Laci. Papa had joined Momma, and they glared in our direction. I could feel Papa’s disapproval from where I stood.

  Clayton looked at them nervously too and said, “Maybe we could talk tonight. After the show?”

  “I guess.”

  I walked away without waiting to see if Clayton had anything else to say.

  Laci didn’t follow me until I turned and said, “Laci!”

  When we got close enough, Papa said, “She better have learned it.”

  “She knows it, Papa.”

  Momma watched Clayton leaving and turned to me. “You look upset, Wallis Ann.”

  “I’m not upset!”

  Momma shook her head like she couldn’t fathom what had got into me.

  At the cookhouse tent, I spent most of the time shoving my food around instead of eating, glad when we left so I could give up the pretense. We went to the ar
ena as scheduled and immediately my eyes was drawn to a new sign sitting at the entrance. SPECIAL SHOW TONIGHT! CLASSICAL MUSIC PERFORMED BY THE MOUNTAIN MUTE! The mountain mute. Whatever aggravation and confusion I’d been feeling about Laci went out of me as I gaped in shock. I pointed without a word, and Papa stopped dead cold in his tracks.

  Momma yanked his shirtsleeve. “No! Oh no!”

  Papa jerked his arm from Momma’s grip and marched over to the sign, grabbing it off the stand as Chili Mac stopped taking money from the long line of folks.

  Chili Mac yelled “Hey! What’re you doing? You ain’t supposed to tetch that!”

  “Damned if I ain’t! Where’s Johnny Cooper?”

  Chili Mac pointed inside the tent while all the people who’d been waiting in line pointed at us.

  We could hear the people muttering, “There she is, the mountain mute! That’s her, right there! I seen her the other night! What all you reckon’s wrong with her?”

  Papa said, “Come on!” as he stomped inside the tent, yelling, “Cooper!”

  Momma said, “Oh dear God,” as we followed. Papa and Mr. Cooper got into an animated discussion, arms waving about, with Papa’s face going red as a tomato while he waved the sign in front of Mr. Cooper’s face. I ain’t ever heard Papa sound the way he did right then.

  His voice held a quiet warning. “This here’s my daughter you’re talking about.”

  “I ain’t said nothing what ain’t true. She don’t talk and she’s from the mountains. It’s all true!”

  “You’re trying to make her seem like a sideshow, like a freak, and she ain’t no freak. I won’t have you putting her on display. We don’t need your money this bad.”

  I’d never seen Papa in such a state. He lifted his arms and slammed the sign against a raised knee. It busted in two and he tossed the pieces to the ground. Mr. Cooper tried to smile at the flow of people still coming in, filling the arena to standing room only. He smoothed his hand over his hair, nodding at them like nothing won’t wrong, everything’s fine here.

  Arms held out, Mr. Cooper made a gesture what said Calm down, and in a tight but calm voice, he said, “Okay. Okay. Please, Mr. Stamper, ain’t no need of getting all riled up!”

  Everyone was watching. They could tell something was going on.

  He sounded a bit whiny when he said, “I assure you, the sign, seeing as how you broke it, will not be replaced.”

  Papa leaned down to Mr. Cooper. “And I want ten percent of the cut, not seven.”

  Mr. Cooper puckered his mouth, and his face twisted like his feet hurt. “Fine, fine then. That too.”

  Papa said, “Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  They shook, while I’d gone red hot as a poker at Papa over his dickering like she was a freak.

  I pulled on Momma’s sleeve. “How can he haggle over her? It don’t seem right, that ain’t no different than Mr. Cooper.”

  Momma’s expression was hard, like the day the doctor said, “idiot savant,” yet she didn’t make a move to stop him.

  She shook her head. “Your papa’s feeling a bit desperate, Wallis Ann. We need this money. Don’t worry. He won’t allow Laci to be humiliated.”

  I thought he already had, though I reckon he was as upset as me. When he come over to us, I could have sworn I felt heat coming off him.

  He said, “I can’t believe he thought he could pull that stunt.”

  Momma said, “It’s all over now.”

  Clayton seen us standing together near the platform, and ventured over to stand at my elbow.

  I snapped at him, “Did you know anything about that sign out front?”

  He looked surprised and said, “What sign?” and the innocent look he wore seemed genuine.

  I looked away. “Never mind.”

  Mr. Massey hurried in, and without consulting with Mr. Cooper, he began talking about the show for the night. “Ladies and gentlemen! Do we have a special treat for you!”

  Mr. Massey motioned at Clayton, and Clayton put his hand under Laci’s elbow escorting her away from us and onto the platform. He held her fiddle while she sat down on a chair placed in the center of the platform, and much like her petting that two-headed sheep, it seemed curious how she went along with things where Clayton was involved.

  Mr. Massey went on, “See this girl here, she’s a mount . . .”

  Mr. Cooper yelled, “Hold up, wait!” and hurried over.

  The crowd buzzed and whispered. Mr. Cooper held a private conversation with Mr. Massey, gesturing at Papa. Mr. Massey stared our way, his expression as flat as a fallow field. Mr. Cooper backed away giving Papa an apologetic look. Clayton bent over Laci, talking in her ear.

  Mr. Massey yelled, “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s hear it for our mountain miss! Laci Stamper!”

  Clayton stepped off to the side of the platform, staying where she could see him. She sat motionless, the lavender dress spread out over her knees, gripping her fiddle tight. She peeked through a strand of hair to her left, and then to her right. She’d become aware we won’t there with her, and suddenly I was scared for her and wanted her to do good. I wanted her to make us proud, to prove to everyone here she was special. I held my breath until she bent her head to the left, and placed the fiddle under her chin. Everyone hushed, and it was as if they all leaned forward at once in anticipation.

  With her right hand holding the bow to the strings, she pulled out a long, sweet note. She played the songs she learned, the sound saturating the arena like a warm rain falling and drenching a drought-stricken land. I would like to say she played flawlessly, only the songs won’t familiar enough for me to know. It seemed in my mind, she played pretty as a lark singing. When she finished, it was clear the crowd loved her. She lowered the fiddle and then her head as if to avoid seeing the people before her. Everyone jumped to their feet, pounding out approval with their boots on the seats and their hands. She remained seated, her face bleached of color, like she’d just woke up from some sort of stupor.

  We hurried towards the stage, and Papa give her his hand. She rose from the chair to stand beside him, and I quickly moved the chair off the platform to make room. Papa didn’t bother to wait for Mr. Massey. He began singing “Black-Eyed Susie” a cappella, and at the start of that familiar song, Laci went to playing with a fervor I’d not seen before, her arm cranking furiously to the mountain tune. We sang a few songs. When Papa and I started clogging, I put all I had into it, beating my shoes against the boards in a steady rhythm, working out my anger through clogging. I sang loud, and clogged hard, trying to expel all them new feelings about what was happening, all of it bubbling inside of me like a hot spring. I glanced out across the crowd once to see if Clayton was watching. He won’t nowhere I could see, and my mood plummeted the same way I’d seen him fall from that tall platform.

  Finally, it was over, and the crowd left, going on about the show they’d seen. The inside of the tent felt hot and stuffy, and all I wanted was to get out into the night air. I wanted to go to the tent, lie down, close my eyes, go to sleep and forget. About everything. I didn’t care about what Clayton wanted to tell me. As the crowd was leaving, Mr. Cooper come, handed Papa some money, and left without a word.

  Papa pocketed the money, and Momma said, “Ain’t you going to count it?”

  “I don’t want to know.”

  “What do you mean you don’t want to know? The place was full. He told us it would hold a hundred people. He gets twenty-five cent a person, so we ought to get two dollars and fifty cent.”

  “I can cipher on my own, Ann. I know what we ought to get, but I’m tired of arguing for the night.”

  “But if you don’t tell him now, you can’t prove it.”

  “I ain’t messing with it tonight, I said.”

  Momma heaved a frustrated sigh. We left the arena tent, skirting around the crowd by Clayton’s platform. I hoped he’d look for me where we usually stood. I hoped he’d notice I won’t there, and worry about it. As we made our way t
hrough the yard, Momma and Papa spoke politely to some of the other workers here and there.

  They shouted, “Heard that oldest gal was something else!” and “What kind a music was that?”

  Papa said, “Just music.”

  I breathed in deep, noticing the smells hung thick and strong, even in the cold. One had to get outside the boundaries of the traveling show to get to fresh air. I raised my arm to sniff my sleeve, and even my clothes smelled like this place. Once inside our tent, I took off the blue and green plaid dress and hung it over the line in the corner Papa had strung up for this purpose. Laci took off her lavender dress. I lay on my cot, closed my eyes, tried to empty my head as Laci laid her fingers on my bare arm, tracing the tips back and forth until we both fell asleep.

  * * *

  The next morning when I woke up, my thoughts about Laci’s performance and the attention she got went to festering like a sore. Even though all of us performed, we might as well have got off the stage and left her to it alone. It won’t no matter to Momma and Papa because they was proud of us both, but it got stuck in my craw, this idea my singing and dancing won’t appreciated. I got to remembering how I went with a few of my classmates to a clogging contest held down to Cullowhee a couple years ago. Momma, Papa, Laci and Seph, who was only a baby at the time, had come to see me dance, and I was proud I could show them what I’d been working on in secret. We did all kinds of dancing and included steps like Kentucky Drag, Shave and a Haircut, and the Cowboy. We won the trophy too, and that was probably the only time I felt I won’t being likened to Laci, the one time I done something where nobody else noticed her over me. It had felt real good, and I had wanted that day to last forever.

  I went out of the tent, ignoring Laci as she reached for my hand, wondering how it would be if the only person I had to worry about was me. I went about my business like she won’t there, trying to whitewash my thoughts towards this fresh idea of an existence as an individual person. She come towards me time and again and I turned away, refused to look at her when her eyes sought mine. It felt odd. Mean-spirited. Unnatural, in fact. I found I couldn’t keep up denying her. We’d always been so close, I couldn’t see things no other way. By dinnertime, I relented and Laci hurried over to press against me hard like she was trying to make up for the lack of contact.