by Lorrie Moore
And then we didn’t go on the train after all. We went to the stable and they already had the light road hack hitched up and waiting, and Mamma was crying now and saying how Papa never even had his Sunday clothes and Papa cussing now and saying, “Damn the clothes.” If we didn’t get to Uncle Rodney before the others caught him, Papa would just wear the clothes Uncle Rodney had on now. So we got into the road hack fast and Papa closed the curtains and then Mamma and Aunt Louisa could cry all right and Papa hollered to John Paul to go home and tell Rosie to pack his Sunday suit and take her to the train; anyway that would be fine for Rosie. So we didn’t go on the train but we went fast, with Papa driving and saying Didn’t anybody know where he was? and Aunt Louisa quit crying awhile and said how Uncle Rodney didn’t come to supper last night, but right after supper he came in and how Aunt Louisa had a terrible feeling as soon as she heard his step in the hall and how Uncle Rodney wouldn’t tell her until they were in his room and the door closed and then he said he must have two thousand dollars and Aunt Louisa said where in the world could she get two thousand dollars? and Uncle Rodney said, “Ask Fred”—that was Aunt Louisa’s husband—“and George”—that was Papa; “tell them they would have to dig it up,” and Aunt Louisa said she had that terrible feeling and she said, “Rodney! Rodney! What”—and Uncle Rodney begun to cuss and say, “Dammit, don’t start sniveling and crying now,” and Aunt Louisa said, “Rodney, what have you done now?” and then they both heard the knocking at the door and how Aunt Louisa looked at Uncle Rodney and she knew the truth before she even laid eyes on Mr. Pruitt and the sheriff, and how she said, “Don’t tell Pa! Keep it from Pa! It will kill him . . .”
“Who?” Papa said. “Mister who?”
“Mr. Pruitt,” Aunt Louisa said, crying again. “The president of the Compress Association. They moved to Mottstown last spring. You don’t know him.”
So she went down to the door and it was Mr. Pruitt and the sheriff. And how Aunt Louisa begged Mr. Pruitt for Grandpa’s sake and how she gave Mr. Pruitt her oath that Uncle Rodney would stay right there in the house until Papa could get there, and Mr. Pruitt said how he hated it to happen at Christmas too and so for Grandpa’s and Aunt Louisa’s sake he would give them until the day after Christmas if Aunt Louisa would promise him that Uncle Rodney would not try to leave Mottstown. And how Mr. Pruitt showed her with her own eyes the check with Grandpa’s name signed to it and how even Aunt Louisa could see that Grandpa’s name had been—and then Mamma said, “Louisa! Louisa! Remember Georgie!” and that was me, and Papa cussed too, hollering, “How in damnation do you expect to keep it from him? By hiding the newspapers?” and Aunt Louisa cried again and said how everybody was bound to know it, that she didn’t expect or hope that any of us could ever hold our heads up again, that all she hoped for was to keep it from Grandpa because it would kill him. She cried hard then and Papa had to stop at a branch and get down and soak his handkerchief for Mamma to wipe Aunt Louisa’s face with it and then Papa took the bottle of tonic out of the dash pocket and put a few drops on the handkerchief, and Aunt Louisa smelled it and then Papa took a dose of the tonic out of the bottle and Mamma said, “George!” and Papa drank some more of the tonic and then made like he was handing the bottle back for Mamma and Aunt Louisa to take a dose too and said, “I don’t blame you. If I was a woman in this family I’d take to drink too. Now let me get this bond business straight.”
“It was those road bonds of Ma’s,” Aunt Louisa said.
We were going fast again now because the horses had rested while Papa was wetting the handkerchief and taking the dose of tonic, and Papa was saying, “All right, what about the bonds?” when all of a sudden he jerked around in the seat and said, “Road bonds? Do you mean he took that damn screw driver and prized open your mother’s desk too?”
Then Mamma said, “George! how can you?” only Aunt Louisa was talking now, quick now, not crying now, not yet, and Papa with his head turned over his shoulder and saying, did Aunt Louisa mean that that five hundred Papa had to pay out two years ago wasn’t all of it? And Aunt Louisa said it was twenty-five hundred, only they didn’t want Grandpa to find it out, and so Grandma put up her road bonds for security on the note, and how they said now that Uncle Rodney had redeemed Grandma’s note and the road bonds from the bank with some of the Compress Association’s bonds out of the safe in the Compress Association office, because when Mr. Pruitt found the Compress Association’s bonds were missing he looked for them and found them in the bank and when he looked in the Compress Association’s safe all he found was the check for two thousand dollars with Grandpa’s name signed to it, and how Mr. Pruitt hadn’t lived in Mottstown but a year but even he knew that Grandpa never signed that check and besides he looked in the bank again and Grandpa never had two thousand dollars in it, and how Mr. Pruitt said how he would wait until the day after Christmas if Aunt Louisa would give him her sworn oath that Uncle Rodney would not go away, and Aunt Louisa did it and then she went back upstairs to plead with Uncle Rodney to give Mr. Pruitt the bonds and she went into Uncle Rodney’s room where she had left him, and the window was open and Uncle Rodney was gone.
“Damn Rodney!” Papa said. “The bonds! You mean, nobody knows where the bonds are?”
Now we were going fast because we were coming down the last hill and into the valley where Mottstown was. Soon we would begin to smell it again; it would be just today and then tonight and then it would be Christmas, and Aunt Louisa sitting there with her face white like a whitewashed fence that has been rained on and Papa said, “Who in hell ever gave him such a job anyway?” and Aunt Louisa said “Mr. Pruitt,” and Papa said how even if Mr. Pruitt had only lived in Mottstown a few months, and then Aunt Louisa began to cry without even putting her handkerchief to her face this time and Mamma looked at Aunt Louisa and she began to cry too and Papa took out the whip and hit the team a belt with it even if they were going fast and he cussed. “Damnation to hell,” Papa said. “I see. Pruitt’s married.”
Then we could see it too. There were holly wreaths in the windows like at home in Jefferson, and I said, “They shoot fireworks in Mottstown too like they do in Jefferson.”
Aunt Louisa and Mamma were crying good now, and now it was Papa saying, “Here, here; remember Georgie,” and that was me, and Aunt Louisa said, “Yes, yes! Painted common thing, traipsing up and down the streets all afternoon alone in a buggy, and the one and only time Mrs. Church called on her, and that was because of Mr. Pruitt’s position alone, Mrs. Church found her without corsets on and Mrs. Church told me she smelled liquor on her breath.”
And Papa saying “Here, here,” and Aunt Louisa crying good and saying how it was Mrs. Pruitt that did it because Uncle Rodney was young and easy led because he never had had opportunities to meet a nice girl and marry her, and Papa was driving fast toward Grandpa’s house and he said, “Marry? Rodney marry? What in hell pleasure would he get out of slipping out of his own house and waiting until after dark and slipping around to the back and climbing up the gutter and into a room where there wasn’t anybody in it but his own wife?”
And so Mamma and Aunt Louisa were crying good when we got to Grandpa’s.
III
And Uncle Rodney wasn’t there. We came in, and Grandma said how Mandy, that was Grandpa’s cook, hadn’t come to cook breakfast and when Grandma sent Emmeline, that was Aunt Louisa’s baby’s nurse, down to Mandy’s cabin in the back yard, the door was locked on the inside, but Mandy wouldn’t answer and then Grandma went down there herself and Mandy wouldn’t answer and so Cousin Fred climbed in the window and Mandy was gone and Uncle Fred had just got back from town then and he and Papa both hollered, “Locked? on the inside? and nobody in it?”
And then Uncle Fred told Papa to go in and keep Grandpa entertained and he would go and then Aunt Louisa grabbed Papa and Uncle Fred both and said she would keep Grandpa quiet and for both of them to go and find him, find him, and Papa said, “If only the fool hasn’t tried to sell them to someb
ody,” and Uncle Fred said, “Good God, man, don’t you know that check was dated ten days ago?” And so we went in where Grandpa was reared back in his chair and saying how he hadn’t expected Papa until tomorrow but, by God, he was glad to see somebody at last because he waked up this morning and his cook had quit and Louisa had chased off somewhere before daylight and now he couldn’t even find Uncle Rodney to go down and bring his mail and a cigar or two back, and so, thank God, Christmas never came but once a year and so be damned if he wouldn’t be glad when it was over, only he was laughing now because when he said that about Christmas before Christmas he always laughed, it wasn’t until after Christmas that he didn’t laugh when he said that about Christmas. Then Aunt Louisa got Grandpa’s keys out of his pocket herself and opened the desk where Uncle Rodney would prize it open with a screw driver, and took out Grandpa’s tonic and then Mamma said for me to go and find Cousin Fred and Cousin Louisa.
So Uncle Rodney wasn’t there. Only at first I thought maybe it wouldn’t be a quarter even, it wouldn’t be nothing this time, so at first all I had to think about was that anyway it would be Christmas and that would be something anyway. Because I went on around the house, and so after a while Papa and Uncle Fred came out, and I could see them through the bushes knocking at Mandy’s door and calling, “Rodney, Rodney,” like that. Then I had to get back in the bushes because Uncle Fred had to pass right by me to go to the woodshed to get the axe to open Mandy’s door. But they couldn’t fool Uncle Rodney. If Mr. Tucker couldn’t fool Uncle Rodney in Mr. Tucker’s own house, Uncle Fred and Papa ought to have known they couldn’t fool him right in his own papa’s back yard. So I didn’t even need to hear them. I just waited until after a while Uncle Fred came back out the broken door and came to the woodshed and took the axe and pulled the lock and hasp and steeple off the woodhouse door and went back and then Papa came out of Mandy’s house and they nailed the woodhouse lock onto Mandy’s door and locked it and they went around behind Mandy’s house, and I could hear Uncle Fred nailing the windows up. Then they went back to the house. But it didn’t matter if Mandy was in the house too and couldn’t get out, because the train came from Jefferson with Rosie and Papa’s Sunday clothes on it and so Rosie was there to cook for Grandpa and us and so that was all right too.
But they couldn’t fool Uncle Rodney. I could have told them that. I could have told them that sometimes Uncle Rodney even wanted to wait until after dark to even begin to do business. And so it was all right even if it was late in the afternoon before I could get away from Cousin Fred and Cousin Louisa. It was late; soon they would begin to shoot the fireworks downtown, and then we would be hearing it too, so I could just see his face a little between the slats where Papa and Uncle Fred had nailed up the back window; I could see his face where he hadn’t shaved, and he was asking me why in hell it took me so long because he had heard the Jefferson train come before dinner, before eleven o’clock, and laughing about how Papa and Uncle Fred had nailed him up in the house to keep him when that was exactly what he wanted, and that I would have to slip out right after supper somehow and did I reckon I could manage it? And I said how last Christmas it had been a quarter, but I didn’t have to slip out of the house that time, and he laughed, saying, “Quarter? Quarter?” did I ever see ten quarters all at once? and I never did, and he said for me to be there with the screw driver right after supper and I would see ten quarters, and to remember that even God didn’t know where he is and so for me to get the hell away and stay away until I came back after dark with the screw driver.
And they couldn’t fool me either. Because I had been watching the man all afternoon, even when he thought I was just playing and maybe because I was from Jefferson instead of Mottstown and so I wouldn’t know who he was. But I did, because once when he was walking past the back fence and he stopped and lit his cigar again and I saw the badge under his coat when he struck the match and so I knew he was like Mr. Watts at Jefferson that catches the niggers. So I was playing by the fence and I could hear him stopping and looking at me and I played and he said, “Howdy, son. Santy Claus coming to see you tomorrow?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“You’re Miss Sarah’s boy, from up at Jefferson, ain’t you?” he said.
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“Come to spend Christmas with your Grandpa, eh?” he said. “I wonder if your Uncle Rodney’s at home this afternoon.”
“No, sir,” I said.
“Well, well, that’s too bad,” he said. “I wanted to see him a minute. He’s downtown, I reckon?”
“No, sir,” I said.
“Well, well,” he said. “You mean he’s gone away on a visit, maybe?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“Well, well,” he said. “That’s too bad. I wanted to see him on a little business. But I reckon it can wait.” Then he looked at me and then he said, “You’re sure he’s out of town, then?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“Well, that was all I wanted to know,” he said. “If you happen to mention this to your Aunt Louisa or your Uncle Fred you can tell them that was all I wanted to know.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. So he went away. And he didn’t pass the house any more. I watched for him, but he didn’t come back. So he couldn’t fool me either.
IV
Then it began to get dark and they started to shoot the fireworks downtown. I could hear them, and soon we would be seeing the Roman candles and skyrockets and I would have the ten quarters then and I thought about the basket full of presents and I thought how maybe I could go on downtown when I got through working for Uncle Rodney and buy a present for Grandpa with a dime out of the ten quarters and give it to him tomorrow and maybe, because nobody else had given him a present, Grandpa might give me a quarter too instead of the dime tomorrow, and that would be twenty-one quarters, except for the dime, and that would be fine sure enough. But I didn’t have time to do that. We ate supper, and Rosie had to cook that too, and Mamma and Aunt Louisa with powder on their faces where they had been crying, and Grandpa; it was Papa helping him take a dose of tonic every now and then all afternoon while Uncle Fred was downtown, and Uncle Fred came back and Papa came out in the hall and Uncle Fred said he had looked everywhere, in the bank and in the Compress, and how Mr. Pruitt had helped him but they couldn’t find a sign either of them or of the money, because Uncle Fred was afraid because one night last week Uncle Rodney hired a rig and went somewhere and Uncle Fred found out Uncle Rodney drove over to the main line at Kingston and caught the fast train to Memphis, and Papa said, “Damnation,” and Uncle Fred said, “By God, we will go down there after supper and sweat it out of him, because at least we have got him. I told Pruitt that and he said that if we hold to him, he will hold off and give us a chance.”
So Uncle Fred and Papa and Grandpa came in to supper together, with Grandpa between them saying, “Christmas don’t come but once a year, thank God, so hooray for it,” and Papa and Uncle Fred saying, “Now you are all right, Pa; straight ahead now, Pa,” and Grandpa would go straight ahead awhile and then begin to holler, “Where in hell is that damn boy?” and that meant Uncle Rodney, and that Grandpa was a good mind to go downtown himself and haul Uncle Rodney out of that damn poolhall and make him come home and see his kinfolks. And so we ate supper and Mamma said she would take the children upstairs and Aunt Louisa said, “No,” Emmeline could put us to bed, and so we went up the back stairs, and Emmeline said how she had done already had to cook breakfast extra today and if folks thought she was going to waste all her Christmas doing extra work they never had the sense she give them credit for and that this looked like to her it was a good house to be away from nohow, and so we went into the room and then after a while I went back down the back stairs and I remembered where to find the screw driver too. Then I could hear the firecrackers plain from downtown, and the moon was shining now but I could still see the Roman candles and the skyrockets running up the sky. Then Uncle Rodney’s hand came out of the crack
in the shutter and took the screw driver. I couldn’t see his face now and it wasn’t laughing exactly, it didn’t sound exactly like laughing, it was just the way he breathed behind the shutter. Because they couldn’t fool him.
“All right,” he said. “Now that’s ten quarters. But wait. Are you sure nobody knows where I am?”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “I waited by the fence until he come and asked me.”
“Which one?” Uncle Rodney said.
“The one that wears the badge,” I said.
Then Uncle Rodney cussed. But it wasn’t mad cussing. It sounded just like it sounded when he was laughing except the words.
“He said if you were out of town on a visit, and I said, Yes, sir,” I said.
“Good,” Uncle Rodney said. “By God, some day you will be as good a business man as I am. And I won’t make you a liar much longer, either. So now you have got ten quarters, haven’t you?”
“No,” I said. “I haven’t got them yet.”
Then he cussed again, and I said, “I will hold my cap up and you can drop them in it and they won’t spill then.”
Then he cussed hard, only it wasn’t loud. “Only I’m not going to give you ten quarters,” he said, and I begun to say, “You said—” and Uncle Rodney said, “Because I am going to give you twenty.”
And I said, “Yes, sir,” and he told me how to find the right house, and what to do when I found it. Only there wasn’t any paper to carry this time because Uncle Rodney said how this was a twenty-quarter job, and so it was too important to put on paper and besides I wouldn’t need a paper because I would not know them anyhow, and his voice coming hissing down from behind the shutter where I couldn’t see him and still sounding like when he cussed while he was saying how Papa and Uncle Fred had done him a favor by nailing up the door and window and they didn’t even have sense enough to know it.
