TWENTY-ONE

LOTTIE HAD HELD the door open for Lucille Bellflower, had nodded pleasantly to the high-pitched wail of Lucille’s complaint about the morning heat, and then she had turned her eyes to Arthur, held them for a moment, and, without speaking, she had walked past him to the storeroom.

“That’s a sweet little woman,” Lucille had said in a purr. “Looks so pretty in that dress she’s got on.”

And Arthur had replied, “Yes, she does.” He had wondered if Lottie heard him.

It took thirty minutes to please Lucille and send her on her way, proudly carrying a lace shawl, gift-wrapped, and when he turned back from the door, Arthur saw Lottie watching him from the front of the storeroom.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

The expression on her face was the same as it had been each day she had worked for him—a simple, girlish look of wonder, a look of surprise and fascination, and then of melancholy. Often the expression made it seem as though she did not hear when someone spoke to her.

Arthur asked again, “Are you all right?”

She blinked. A smile, barely visible, played on her mouth. “I’m fine,” she answered. “I was just wondering what you wanted me to be doing.”

Arthur crossed to her, uncertain of what to say.

“Sally said something about setting up a table for some men’s shirts,” she added.

“Yes,” Arthur mumbled. “That—would be fine.”

“I don’t know which ones she was talking about,” Lottie said.

“The new boxes that came in yesterday,” he replied.

She dipped her head in a nod and then turned to go into the storeroom.

“Lottie, wait,” Arthur said.

She looked back at him.

“I—have to say it again,” he whispered. “How sorry I am about yesterday. I’ve never done anything like that.”

She did not speak. The expression on her face did not change.

“I thought about it all night, and I don’t know what to do,” Arthur said, rushing his words. “I’ve behaved in a way that I would never believe I could, and I’ve violated every trust I would expect of myself, or of anyone else. And I don’t know why I did it.”

“I thought you were lonesome,” Lottie said softly. “When you put your arms around me, you felt that way. You felt like you were lonesome.”

Arthur shook his head in regret. “That’s no reason. No reason at all.”

“It seems like a reason to me,” Lottie said. “It seems like the best reason to me.”

“But I took a vow.”

“Are you lonesome?” Lottie asked.

For a moment, Arthur did not reply. Then: “I suppose so. Sometimes. Everybody is.”

“Did you take a vow for that?”

“The vow covers everything,” he said weakly. He moved his eyes from her, opened his mouth to speak, but did not. He shook his head again, touched his forehead with his fingers as though he wanted to hold back pain. He could feel the damp coating of perspiration.

“I remember my mama waiting up all night for my daddy when I was little, not knowing if he was coming home or not,” Lottie said in a voice that seemed far away. “Sometimes I’d sit up with her and she’d pull me up in her lap, and she’d say to me, ‘Come here and let your mama hold you so she won’t be so lonesome.’ And I’d ask her why she looked so sad, and she’d say, ‘Don’t ever let yourself get so lonesome there’s nothing left but wondering.’ And then she’d laugh quiet-like and she’d rock me and say, ‘You going to be an angel that watches over lonesome people, Lottie. Angel of the lonesome, that’s what you’ll be. Making people’s frowns turn up to smiles, just like some fairy godmother out of a picture book.’” She paused. “I guess I always believed there was something special in being that.”

My God, Arthur thought. He had never heard anyone describe himself, or herself, so perfectly, and yet with such condemnation. He reached to touch Lottie’s arm, without realizing he had touched her. She bowed her head to look at his hand.

“You are that, Lottie,” he said gently. “Yes, you are. But that’s not all you are. You’re special in a lot of ways.”

“No,” Lottie whispered. She touched his hand.

“Yes, you are,” Arthur insisted. “Look at how many people have come in here this week, and I know why. It’s not because of the store, or me, or Sally; it’s because of you. And every one of them that I’ve talked to think you’ve brought life to this store, and you have, Lottie. You have. That’s special. Nothing is as special as that. Don’t you know? You can be anything you want to be.”

Lottie pulled from his touch. “No,” she said. “No, I can’t be. Not like you, or Ben. You know about things I don’t. I just know how to be what I am, and what I am is somebody from Augusta.” A muscle twitched over her lips. “Do you know that’s what my name was? Augusta. Lottie Augusta Barton. My mama said if she put where I was born in my name, I’d always know where I belonged.”

“That’s just where you’re from, not where you belong,” Arthur said. “Maybe your mother meant for you to remember where you came from, after you found where you needed to be.”

Lottie shook her head firmly.

Arthur paused, inhaled slowly, fought the impulse to reach for her. He said, “Is that why you like Ben so much? You think he’s a lot more special than you are?”

She looked up quickly, a shine of tears in her eyes. “Ben’s nice.” She sounded protective.

And then Arthur knew. In an epiphany of understanding, sudden and absolute, he knew that Coleman was right: Lottie had been to Jericho with the carnival, and, somehow, she had met Ben and that meeting had led to her being with him again. A thought flashed: Was Little Ben the son of Ben and Lottie? No, he reasoned. It couldn’t be. Ben had not left Jericho in years, and it would have been impossible for Lottie to be in the town without someone knowing it. That was not the answer. He knew also why Lottie felt a closeness to Ben, why she defended him, and it was a reason he was certain Lottie did not recognize: Ben was the angel of her loneliness. And that made sense. For whatever purpose, Ben had made himself available to her, and that had given her comfort.

“Yes, he is nice,” Arthur said. “Not long ago, I almost lost him, out of my own fault. But I don’t know anybody I’d rather have around me—as somebody who works for me, or somebody to be my son-in-law. His father and I were close friends.”

“He was a lot better this morning,” Lottie said. “I expect he’ll be back to work in a day or so, and then I’ll go on home.”

“You don’t have to go,” Arthur said gently. “I’ve got a place here for you.”

Lottie shook her head slowly. “I told Foster I’d go home. He always wanted me to, since I’d been gone so long.”

“Foster? Was that your husband?”

She nodded.

“Maybe you could go home to visit and then come back and stay here,” Arthur suggested. “Make this your home.”

She did not reply for a moment, and then she said wistfully, “That’d be nice. I feel more at home here than any place I ever been.” She paused. Her eyes floated to his face, still shining. She turned and went into the storeroom.

BEN DID NOT remain long at the store. His presence caused shoppers to stop their browsing to greet him and inquire about his health, and to remark on the turn of events that had introduced him to Lottie Lanier, remarks ending always with a compliment for her.

Also, he felt restless in the store. He had never considered how fully his work had become his life, and how he belonged to every inch of space that incorporated Ledford’s Dry Goods. The scent of new clothes, of leather, of cologne, made him eager to take up the routine he had followed diligently for so many years—a comfortable, easy routine, one that had purpose and dignity. He had never before understood his destiny so clearly. He was a merchant, not a baseball player, even if his failure in the game still affected him. Milo Wade was in Boston, washed in fame, and that was Milo’s destiny. Yet, in so many ways, it seemed that Milo had gotten the worse of it. From all the stories, Milo was tormented. He consorted with demons, and one day the demons would devour him.

In his last years, Ben would remember the day of first visiting Ledford’s after his illness as one of the profound moments of his living. He would say, “It’s when I quit wanting something I never could have and started being glad for what I’d had all along.”

He spoke briefly to Lottie while in the store, saying to her, “You look like you’ve always been here.”

She smiled, deferred to Sally’s presence, and continued her work of arranging a table of men’s shirts.

Arthur told Ben of the sale he was planning. “Sort of a welcome-back-Ben sale,” he said. “But I don’t plan to do anything until you feel up to coming back to work.”

They were standing alone at the pay counter as Sally displayed a dress for Katherine Spearman, the wife of the mayor.

“Yes sir,” Ben said. Then, in a low voice, “I was thinking something and wanted to have your advice on it.”

“All right,” Arthur replied.

“I was thinking that I ought to offer to see Lottie and Little Ben on to Augusta,” Ben said. “And while I was there, I want to look for a ring for Sally.”

Arthur frowned in thought. He looked across the store to Lottie and then turned his face to Sally. After a moment, he said, “I think that’s—that’s a good plan.” He paused. “Sally may feel a little uneasy about it, but that’s to be expected.”

“She could go with us,” Ben suggested.

Arthur shook his head. “I don’t think that’s appropriate. People like to talk, and that’s something neither one of you want, especially from her mother.”

Ben blushed. He had never heard Arthur Ledford speak critically of his wife. Still, it was the truth. Alice Ledford would find fault in anything he did, now that his engagement to Sally was official.

“Let me bring it up,” Arthur suggested. “Maybe if it comes from me—if I say that I’ve asked you to do the gentlemanly thing—it’ll be more reasonable.”

“Yes sir,” Ben said in relief.

Arthur swallowed. He looked again at Lottie. “When—would you be prepared to leave?”

“Day after tomorrow, I think,” Ben answered.

Arthur nodded solemnly. “I’ll talk to Sally this afternoon.”

KNOWING WHAT HE knew about Lottie Lanier, what he had shared only with Arthur Ledford, had made Coleman anxious and jittery. Keeping such news sealed behind his jaws was the same as holding his breath underwater. He had to say it, or drown. Or he had to calm his nerves.

He took his first drink at ten o’clock. At noon, he locked the door to his shoe repair business and tilted a Closed sign against the window, and went into his back room to continue drinking and to work on the repair of a saddle for Simon Greer. By four-thirty, he could feel the corn-made whiskey crawling on his skin, like ants, yet he did not feel drunk. He felt free, exhilarated. He could taste Lottie Lanier with each swallow of the whiskey, could feel her close against him, her naked breasts pressed into his naked chest.

He washed his face to clear his eyes and then he rubbed lilac water into his neck and cheeks to hide the smell of the whiskey. He put on a clean white shirt and a new pair of trousers he had purchased at Ledford’s, balanced the new straw hat on his head, and left by the back door.

He avoided the main street of Jericho, knowing the street would likely be crowded with last-minute shoppers. They were the worse kind, he thought. Rushing in, making demands, expecting people to put aside a day’s worth of work to do their bidding. In his shop, he had sent many of them on their way red-faced with anger or shock. Anybody who knew him knew he would invite the president of the United States to kiss his ass if the president got too pushy.

He laughed aloud at the thought.

Kiss my ass, Mr. President.

He passed the back of the pharmacy, where Dewey Capes, the pharmacist, stood packing trash into a trash can. Dewey was smoking his pipe. When he saw Coleman he nodded and called, “You looking all spiffed up there, Coleman. Looks like you’re going to revival.”

Coleman tipped his finger to his hat, knocking it from his head, but he caught it before it hit the ground.

Dewey laughed.

“Kiss my ass, Dewey,” Coleman growled. He replaced his hat on his head and walked away. He could hear Dewey’s laugh following him.

At Confederate Street, he turned right and continued to Main Street. He stopped under the shade of an elm tree that grew in the corner of Merriweather’s Furniture and Appliance. Across the street was Ledford’s Dry Goods. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the whiskey perspiration from his neck, and he fanned his face with his hat.

All he wanted was a look. He wanted to get close enough to smell her perfume. Maybe speak to her. If she spoke back, he would know for sure she was the carnival girl who had bought the jar of whiskey from him. He grinned, felt a shiver along the back of his arms. Maybe she would say to him, “You don’t tell on me, I’ll give you what you want.”

The door to Ledford’s opened and Sally Ledford rushed out of the store, turned right, and walked briskly down the street.

Going to see Ben, Coleman thought. Ben was a lucky son of a bitch. Had one woman hightailing to him and another one sleeping across the hall from him. Two best-looking women in Jericho. Wouldn’t mind a go with that Sally myself, he mused. Got to be hot and tight and high-strung as a colt.

He licked his lips and let the grin sink deep into his body. He wished he had brought along a drink.

He crossed the street to the store, paused for a moment at the door, letting his eyes sweep the street. He saw two boys running up the sidewalk, away from the store. No one else. He opened the door only enough to slip quickly and silently inside. He stood, scanning the store, listening. He did not see anyone, but from the back, in the storeroom, he heard the quiet voice of Arthur Ledford. Not the words. Only the voice. He moved noiselessly across the marble floor to the menswear department and found a rack of suits to hide behind. Giggled softly. He felt like a boy playing a prank. So what if Arthur Ledford came out of the storeroom and found him? He could say he was thinking of buying a suit, but didn’t see anybody when he came in, and was looking for one himself. What would Arthur do, anyway? There was a bond between them. Arthur was as trapped as a fox in a den surrounded by hounds.

He removed his hat and peeked through the suits to the door leading to the storeroom, and he saw the door open and Arthur step through it, followed by Lottie.

He heard Arthur say, “Don’t be long. They’ll be expecting you.”

“I won’t,” Lottie said.

He saw Arthur glance around the store, then saw him reach to touch Lottie’s face, saw Lottie smile.

“Give the key to Sally,” Arthur said. “She’ll bring it to me. But if you forget it, I’ve got another one.”

“I won’t forget,” Lottie told him.

Coleman fought not to laugh. The old bastard, he thought. No damn wonder he wants it kept quiet about Lottie being with the carnival. He’s getting his fill of her, there in the storeroom. Probably holding it over her. Probably told her it was known about her being in Jericho, and if she wanted to keep it quiet, she’d better do what he wanted done. The old bastard.

He watched Arthur leave the store and lock the door. Through the window, he could see Arthur hurry down the street, toward his home. He thought of Alice Ledford, and thinking of her, he could understand why Arthur would take to Lottie. Alice Ledford was a bitch. Cold as an icehouse. Meanness in her eyes.

Coleman stepped from behind the rack of suits. He could see Lottie in the storeroom, holding a broom, sweeping. He moved quickly across the store, staying close to the wall and the displays of clothing. When he reached the storeroom, he saw that Lottie had her back to the door, and he stepped inside the room and closed the door with a hard push. Lottie whirled to the sound.

“Hello, miss,” Coleman said. He smiled.

Lottie held the broom in both hands. She said, “Mr. Ledford’s gone.”

“I know it,” Coleman told her. “Saw him leave. Saw that sweet little touch he put on your face. Saw him lock the door. I was trying to find me a suit, but wadn’t nobody out there to wait on me.”

“I—don’t sell,” Lottie said.

Coleman stepped toward her. “I know you don’t, honey. I know what you do. Been knowing it from the first time I laid eyes on you. Maybe you don’t sell, but you buy.” He rolled his hat in his hands.

Lottie looked nervously at the closed door.

“Don’t go worrying about it. They’s nobody here but me and you,” Coleman said easily. “Just me and you, and I thought we’d take up where we left off about six years ago.”

A look of surprise flickered in Lottie’s eyes.

“You don’t remember me?” Coleman asked. He laughed.

Lottie moved back, toward Ben’s rolltop desk.

“I was the one you bought the jar of corn from,” Coleman said.

The look of surprise faded from Lottie. She remembered.

“I made you a offer. You recall that?” Coleman continued. “A little trade? Well, I got another little offer. Why don’t we get on with what we could of done six years ago, and I won’t tell nobody about you and Mr. Arthur Ledford, or about you being here before with that carnival and knowing Mr. Ben Phelps, which is the only way you would of showed up with him. What’d you and Ben do? Have you a little time together?” He stepped closer to Lottie. “You show him what it’s about? Does his mama know? What about Sally? You tell her yet?”

“What do you want?” Lottie asked in a whisper.

Coleman could feel the whiskey streaming through him, cheering him. His mouth filled with saliva, his tongue burned against his teeth.

“First thing, I want you to take off every stitch of clothes you got on,” he said in a low, threatening voice. “Then we gone go from there.”

Lottie leaned the broom against the rolltop desk. She began unbuttoning her dress.

“Slowlike,” ordered Coleman. “I want to see it kind of peel off.” He dropped his hat and stroked the front of his pants, touching the erection rising against his leg.

Lottie thought of her sister, of Lila. Could hear Lila’s voice telling her that all she had to do was think about breathing, and everything would go away. Sooner or later, everything would go away. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Pause. Her fingers worked in the rhythm of her breathing.

And then she was nude.

“Great Goda’mighty,” Coleman whispered in disbelief. He did not believe it was possible for anyone to be as beautiful, and he had seen many naked women, from rough-skinned farm girls in hay barns to creamy-skin whores in mansions turned into whorehouses. The nipples of her breasts were honey-gold, matching the color of her eyes. The V-patch of hair gathered at her legs was luxuriously dark, oil-coated, fluffed.

Coleman shook his head, blinked rapidly. A cackling little laugh raced from his throat. She did not move, but the whiskey in him believed she did, believed the shadow of a smile flew to her lips, perched on them birdlike. And then he believed he saw her legs part slightly, her hips turn, her breasts rise up to lick at the light that fell over her.

“You goddamn whore,” Coleman sneered. Blood roared through him, his erection was hot against his skin. He ripped at his belt, fingered his trousers open, yanked them down with his underwear. He stood, exposing himself, glaring at her. His face was flushed and damp. He was breathing in slow, hard swallows of air. “I been waiting six years for this,” he said. He touched the tip of his erection. “Six years.” He moved toward her.

Lottie closed her eyes. She inhaled, held the breath, exhaled.

The door flew open before Coleman could reach her, and Arthur Ledford stepped inside the storeroom. A look of shock was on his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but did not. Coleman stumbled back, tripping on his trousers, and suddenly Arthur was in front of him, grabbing him by the shirt, flinging him against the desk.

“You son of a bitch,” Arthur growled.

Coleman struggled to stand. He said, “Goddamn it, Arthur, get your hands off me.”

Arthur did not move. His face flamed with rage. “You son of a bitch, I ought to kill you,” he hissed.

Coleman raised his hands in defense. “What the hell’s wrong with you?” he whimpered. “She’s a whore. I saw you with her.”

A cry erupted in Arthur’s chest and his fist flashed through the air, hitting Coleman in the mouth, breaking teeth. Blood spurted from Coleman’s lips. He slumped to the floor. Arthur leaned over him, spitting words into his face. “You’ve got a choice, damn you. Either you get out of here and forget you ever saw this woman anywhere, or I’ll call the sheriff and have your sorry ass arrested for attempted rape, and I’ll make certain everybody in Caulder County knows what happened here if I have to go house to house to do it. Do you understand me?”

Coleman nodded. He held his hand over his mouth, and the blood seeped through his fingers. He glanced past Arthur to Lottie. She was holding her dress in front of her. “It was her,” he said hoarsely. “I was right.”

“No, you weren’t,” Arthur snapped. “What you saw was a woman who looked like her, but not as tall. The woman you saw had a hard look. I saw her myself.” He paused, leaned over Coleman. “Do you doubt me?”

Coleman did not answer.

“You’re lucky Dewey Capes told me he saw you headed toward the store,” Arthur said. “If you had touched her, I promise you one thing: you would have died one way or the other.”

“Jesus, Arthur,” Coleman whined. “You want her, you can have her.”

Arthur did not move from Coleman. “You are talking about a lady, you bastard. Someone who just lost her husband, someone who took it on herself to help somebody from our town, and that’s how you will think of her, and how you will treat her. Now get up and get out of here, and don’t ever show yourself in this store again, and don’t ever speak to me again. Have I made myself clear?”

Coleman nodded. He pulled himself away from Arthur and worked his pants back over his waist.

“You leave through the back door,” Arthur told him. “I don’t want anybody to even know you’ve been here.”

Coleman’s face dripped with blood as he dressed. He picked up his hat, took one look at Lottie, still holding her dress in front of her, and then he staggered to the back door of the storeroom and left.

Arthur turned to Lottie. “Are you all right?” he asked gently.

She nodded. “Yes,” she said.

“Did he touch you?”

She shook her head, pulled the dress closer to her body. Her eyes were moist.

“He won’t say anything,” Arthur told her. “I know him. He won’t go against me.” He paused, looked at the back door, then back to Lottie. She seemed as helpless as a child, yet she was not a child. She was a woman, as beautiful as a woman could be. “Why don’t you dress,” he said softly. “I’ll wait up front.”

Lottie nodded.