The Right Kind of Fool

by Sarah Loudin Thomas

  “Never did like the way he acted,” Creed said. “Guess he’ll pay for the trouble he caused, though.”

  “Eddie Minks sure as heck paid for it.”

  Creed sobered. “Yeah. I suppose we’ve all done some things we’re not proud of after the fact. It’s a wonder God lets us get away with it.” He shifted on the sofa, thinking of the way he’d run from his family.

  Virgil sighed and sank back into the chair. “In my experience, God doesn’t let us get away with anything. He just leaves us to make our own beds and then lets us lay in ’em . . . whether we like it or not.”

  The two men sat in silence for a few moments. Creed was busy pondering his own shortcomings, and maybe Virgil was doing the same.

  Giving himself a shake, Virgil stood and turned to Creed. “Delphy entering anything in the fair?”

  “She’s got some preserves ready to go, and I think she’s doing an apple pie.” Creed stood as well.

  “Julia gave up on the pie contest,” Virgil said, “but she sewed a dress I think might win.” He gave a wry smile. “’Course, I’m partial to just about anything that woman does.”

  Creed glanced toward the kitchen where he could hear Delphy making her cake for the Hackers. “Women are a wonder,” he added.

  “You finally figure that out?” Virgil slapped him on the back and saw himself out the door.

  Creed watched his friend disappear down the street before grabbing his hat and heading for the Westfall place. He had an idea.

  Loyal joined in with the rest of the kids on Friday afternoon as they practiced the pageant for the Battle of Rich Mountain. Reverend Harriman said he could be a Union soldier following Michael and his buddy Chuck, who were supposed to be David Hart and General McClellan. Rebecca and another girl were David’s sister and mother, while most of the other kids were Union or Confederate soldiers. Loyal could tell they were being rowdy and likely giving the pastor a headache. At least that was what he figured from the way the older man kept rubbing his head. He’d taken Michael to task for not really knowing his lines and made him carry his script with him while they practiced.

  Of course, Michael didn’t care since he was going to switch places with Loyal, then hide behind the curtain to read the words out loud as Loyal signed them. Chuck was the only other one in on the scheme. He seemed to think pulling one over on the pastor was pure fun.

  They finally finished their practice—or rather, Reverend Harriman finally gave up on them. He told them all to be at the town square in their costumes by six p.m. sharp on Saturday. The pageant would begin at six-thirty whether rain or shine. The reverend made some speech about how it was raining the night David Hart led the soldiers up the mountain to defeat the enemy, and if rain didn’t stop their ancestors, then it wouldn’t dampen their spirits either. Loyal could see the kids were giggling and elbowing each other instead of listening, so he didn’t feel too badly about not being able to catch whatever else the pastor said.

  Once released, kids scattered up and down the street to see the various fair displays. There would be a pancake supper at the Methodist church that evening. Loyal was supposed to meet his parents there, but they’d agreed he could see the fair’s displays with Michael and Rebecca until then. The Presbyterian church offered quilts and handmade clothing that would be judged on Saturday. The old courthouse had all the food displays—preserves, fresh produce, baked goods—and Loyal had a mind to go there, but Michael said it was torture since they couldn’t eat anything. Instead they decided to go to the Odd Fellows Hall where they could see woodwork, basketry, and ironwork while they waited for the arm-wrestling contest to get under way.

  The warmth of the September sun gave way to the cool interior of the hall. Michael saw a few of his buddies, and they started talking and horsing around. Loyal and Rebecca made their way along the risers with their displays of handiwork. They didn’t talk or sign, just pointed at items that seemed interesting. Rebecca was excited about a gathering basket artfully arranged with fresh-cut flowers. While Loyal didn’t much care about it, he feigned interest for the sake of his friend.

  Then he spotted it. Father’s pie safe with the tin inserts Loyal had punched was sitting on the middle riser between a side table and a fancy jewelry box. The judges had already come through, and the pie safe now wore a white ribbon. Loyal frowned. Third place? But it was beautiful. And it was a present for Mother. How could it have gotten less than first place? He felt a hand settle on his shoulder and turned to see Father.

  He nodded at the piece of furniture. “We did alright, didn’t we?” Loyal scowled and held up one finger. Father threw his head back with laughter. “You think it’s worth first place?” He looked at the pie safe. “If your mother thinks so, that’s good enough for me.” He looked Loyal in the eye. “Mainly I wanted the whole town to see that I . . . that we had made something nice for your mom. Even if the judges didn’t think it was the best, I’m proud of it.” He gave Loyal a squeeze. When his father spoke next, his lip movement wasn’t as pronounced, forcing Loyal to focus hard and fill in the blanks. “Things don’t have to be perfect to get the job done.” Then he winked at Loyal, tipped his hat to Rebecca, and left them to their own devices.

  Loyal rolled his father’s words around in his mind that night. He was tired. After eating a huge stack of pancakes along with sausage, he’d played stickball until dark. Michael made sure he was included and even got the other kids to learn a few signs for things like out and home run. Then there’d been a bonfire and baked apples with cinnamon and sugar. Mother had taken one look at him and made him take a bath before he went to bed. Now he had that pleasant feeling that comes with being well-fed and physically worn out. And happy.

  Still, Father’s comment kept returning to him. He wasn’t perfect. So why didn’t Father see that he could get the job done? That while he might not come in first, he could do well enough to stay at home and go to school with the kids who, for the first time ever, were beginning to feel like friends?

  As his eyes drifted shut, a sleepy prayer whispered through his mind, and he lifted lazy hands to echo the words. Please let Father see that I’m good enough.

  thirty-six

  Creed walked along the street with his wife’s hand tucked in the crook of his arm. She fit perfectly beside him, and he finally felt like their troubles were behind them. The murder had been solved. He expected to get a good price for his ginseng. Loyal was safe and would soon be back at school. And once that happened, he’d be able to give his full attention to repairing the years of damage he’d done to his marriage. He patted Delphy’s hand. Today would be a start.

  “Let’s see what’s on display at Odd Fellows,” he said. “Then we’ll go see how many ribbons you’ve won for your preserves.”

  She laughed and jostled against him. “You’re just dragging this out,” she accused.

  “Maybe, but we have time before the pageant.” She smiled and let him guide her inside the hall. It smelled of popcorn and sugar. Creed bought a cone of sweet kettle corn, and they munched as they strolled past the displays.

  “Oh, that’s nice,” Delphy said, stopping in front of the pie safe with its white ribbon fluttering in the breeze coming from the open door.

  “You like it?” Creed asked. “It only got third place.”

  “That doesn’t matter. I’ve always thought it would be nice to have a pie safe. And the design in the door is pretty.” She started to move on, but Creed held her in place.

  “I like it, too,” he said as he reached over and plucked the ribbon. “Let’s see whose name is on this.”

  Delphy swatted at his hand. “Leave that be.”

  Creed ignored her, making a show of examining the ribbon. “Let’s see . . . it says Adelphia Raines.” He looked at her, eyes wide. “Why, that’s you.”

  She frowned and snatched the ribbon from his hand. “You’re talking nonsense. Let me see that.” She examined it, then turned wondering eyes on Creed. “It does have my name on it.”<
br />
  “Sure enough. Guess it must be yours.”

  “But . . . I don’t understand.”

  Creed took the ribbon and hung it back over the button on the little door. “It’s yours, Delphy. Loyal and I made it for you.” He ducked his head. “I wanted to get a blue ribbon on it for you, but I guess third place will do.” He coughed and cleared his thick throat. “The main thing is, I didn’t just want to make you a pie safe, I wanted to make you a prizewinning pie safe. One with your name on it, so that everybody who sees it will know how special you are.”

  Delphy flung her arms around his neck and kissed him right there in front of everybody. Surprised, it took Creed a moment to respond. Then he wrapped his arms around his wife and kissed her like he meant it. Somebody whistled, but he didn’t care who saw. It was high time the whole town knew how much he loved this woman.

  Creed was still feeling the glow from kissing his wife in front of an audience as they found a spot to watch the pageant. He tucked Delphy close to his side where they stood in the street with a view of the park. Some of the men from church had hammered together a makeshift stage that the kids would use for their show. Creed smiled. He’d been in the same pageant when he was a kid. Always stuck to playing a soldier, although he’d changed from the Confederate to the Union side and back again depending on the year and who he wanted to aggravate. Now Loyal was playing the same part. He gave Delphy a squeeze and felt like his chest was expanding. He couldn’t imagine being prouder or happier than he was at this precise moment.

  Loyal felt like throwing up. Why did he think this would be a good idea? All the performers were gathered off to the side of the park, waiting for the pageant to begin. And while several of them looked nervous, Loyal didn’t think anyone was as scared as he was. He moved his hands ever so slightly, rehearsing his lines again. Of course, if he forgot them, probably no one would know but Mother.

  A wave of dizziness washed over him. Mother would be watching. He wanted to prove himself to Father, but the fact that Mother would be able to see if he got anything wrong suddenly chilled him. The whole point of this was to prove that he could fit in, even with his differences. What if he ended up proving just how different he really was?

  Loyal began backing toward the edge of the park where some shrubs grew. Maybe if he just eased himself back into them, no one would know . . .

  He yelped when he felt a hand slip into his own. He knew he’d yelped because several kids jerked their heads around to stare at him. Looking down, he saw Rebecca’s hand firmly in his. She squeezed and shaped the words You’ll be wonderful. Oh well, too late to back out now.

  The plan was for Loyal to slip to the side of the stage and shed his soldier’s coat just before Michael made his entrance as David Hart—telling General McClellan that he would lead him to the enemy. Chuck kept sniggering into his fist. He thought their plan sounded way more fun than doing the same routine they’d been following since the fair started decades before.

  Loyal lifted up the sincerest prayer he’d ever mustered and watched for his cue.

  “Where’s Loyal?” Delphy shifted and craned her neck, trying to spot their son in the cluster of kids to the side of the stage.

  “He’ll be coming on with the rest of the Union Army.” Creed laughed. “I have to say, this is the first time probably since I was up there myself that I’ve given this show much attention.” He smiled and pulled Delphy closer. She let him. “Kind of nice to have our boy up there just like any other young’un growing up in Beverly.”

  She rested her head against his shoulder. “It is nice. I’ve always wanted him to be more a part of things when he’s at home. Maybe . . .” She snuck a look at him from beneath her lashes. “Maybe we can tell him that next year he can try the local school? I talked to the woman who would be his teacher and she’s already reading up about ways she could make learning easier for him.”

  Creed dipped down to give her a quick kiss and smiled. “You’re mighty persuasive, woman. I’ve been thinking the same thing, and now we’ve got all winter to think it through.” He let his hand drift to the curve of her waist and then a bit lower. “During the long, cold winter.”

  She giggled and captured his hand before he caused a scandal. The way her husband was wooing her was a delight. And the fact that they were already married made it even more fun than when they’d been courting the first time. She flushed and elbowed him. “Pay attention. It’s almost time.”

  They turned their eyes to the stage, where Confederate troops huddled off to the side under a sign that read Camp Garnett. A painted sheet stretched across the opposite side represented the Joseph Hart homestead on the summit of Rich Mountain. A road sign in the middle had the words Staunton-Parkersburg Turnpike painted in letters that started large and got progressively smaller as the artist realized he was running out of room.

  A narrator stepped onto the stage and set the scene, explaining how General McClellan had been tasked with protecting the railroad and securing the counties of what was western Virginia in those days. Then Bud Corrick’s boy Chuck climbed onto the stage and made a speech about the dangers of a frontal attack. He’d played General McClellan for several years, but Delphy noticed that he was showing unexpected energy this time. He had a twinkle in his eye and a bounce in his step.

  Delphy knew Michael would come out next as young David Hart, who would offer to lead the general and his men through the dense rhododendron and laurel hells to flank the enemy on Rich Mountain. Then she’d get to see Loyal come out to follow Michael and Chuck all over the park as if it were the side of a mountain. Most years there were some kids who hammed it up, acting like they were clawing their way up steep hillsides and pushing through dense underbrush. One year, somebody decided to liven up the show by hollering that he’d been snake bit. Delphy hoped the kids would be more dignified for Loyal’s sake.

  Chuck said the line that was Michael’s cue and Delphy looked to the group of kids waiting their turn as soldiers. Nothing happened. She felt Creed’s hand in hers tighten. He must be nervous, too. Then there was a stir and a murmur and, instead of Michael, Loyal stepped up onto the stage. Delphy gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.

  Loyal moved toward Chuck, his gait stiff and his hands clenched. He glanced at the crowd, blanched, and riveted his eyes on Chuck again. He lifted his hands, and as he began signing, a voice floated out over the park.

  “I will gladly show you the way to Rich Mountain. My father’s home is there, and although it will be hard going, the Confederates must be defeated.” Loyal’s movements were jerky at first, but then they smoothed into a continuous, fluid motion that was almost like a dance. Delphy couldn’t take her eyes off him—he was doing it perfectly.

  “He’s signing the part,” she murmured. Creed glanced down at her. She ignored the tears welling in her eyes. “Isn’t he beautiful?”

  In a stage whisper, someone said, “What’s that boy doing?” And another answered, “It’s that deaf boy, the Raineses’ boy. He talks with his hands.” Delphy wanted to defend her son—to protect him—then realized she didn’t need to. People could see what he was doing and that he was doing it well. A surge of wonder and pride coursed through her. What had she imagined she needed to protect him from? Yes, people would misunderstand him. Yes, he would face challenges. But just look at him! All she’d been doing was holding him back.

  Loyal was helping to lead the troops on a circuitous route around the park, behind the stage, back to where the crowd was gathered, and on to the waiting Rebels. His face was tense, lips tight, and skin pale. Delphy thought she could see sweat on her son’s forehead, even though it was a pleasant evening, and the first hint of worry passed through her. Loyal kept his eyes glued to a particular tree, and she realized that Michael was there, reading from the script. Loyal watched him to make sure his signing was in sync with Michael’s words.

  “He’s scared,” Creed whispered.

  Delphy tamped down her own fear. “And still he�
�s carrying on. As if he thinks he has to prove something. Do you think . . . ?” She tore her eyes from her son to look at Creed. His expression was pained. “Do you think he’s trying to prove to us that he can get along with hearing folks?” She looked back and her heart ached. She was afraid that was exactly what he thought, and as much as she wanted to blame Creed, she might be more to blame than him.

  A woman to their left leaned closer to Creed and Delphy. “The way he talks with his hands is right purty. And it’s peaceful.” She smiled. “Do you’uns talk that way, too?”

  Delphy could have hugged the woman. She signed as she spoke. “I enjoy signing. And I agree. It is pretty.”

  The woman beamed at her. “Maybe you can learn us some at church one evening.”

  “I’d like that,” Delphy said, hands continuing to move.

  Just as she turned her attention back to the stage, she heard a murmur. It was time for the big finish. The skirmish was wrapping up, and General McClellan would praise David Hart for his bravery and fortitude. There were just a few final lines, and then she could tell Loyal he didn’t have anything to prove.

  Except she didn’t see Loyal. And there was a disruption among the kids that had nothing to do with the mock battle. Someone said, “Disgusting,” and the group of kids parted to expose Loyal, who was losing his dinner in the bushes.

  Rebecca rushed to his side and handed him a handkerchief. Loyal, looking paler than ever, straightened up, took one look at the crowd focused solely on him, and keeled over.

  Delphy started running.

  thirty-seven

  I thought it was the best pageant we’ve had in years.” Turned out Virgil wasn’t much good at giving pep talks. “Sure held folks’ attention, and it’s not like it was the first time someone threw up.” He grinned. “Remember back in twenty-two? I think there was a stomach bug going around that year, and once the first one succumbed”—he chuckled—“it was a chain reaction.”