Chapter 5

Rain emptied from the sky all day Friday. Saturday morning was no different. Each drop on the barn’s tin roof pounded louder than the one before. The smell of bacon filled the barn. “It’s here if you want it,” Gene called as Kage climbed down from the loft. Willy was at the table, gravy flooding the edges of his plate. Not waiting to talk after each bite, Willy called to Kage, “We’s gonna do it. Me and Barney—we’s got a plan.”

“Shhh,” Barney quieted Willy.

Gene went about his business, ignoring Willy. He flipped the bacon strip-by-strip with a fork in the cast iron pan—each strip slaughtered, cured and thickly cut. Kage wondered if Gene was a drunk who stayed on the wagon during warm months, working until winter set in. He learned working construction that many men lived like that—sober when there was work and drunk otherwise.

Willy, the more heftily built of the two, sat shirtless with his belly exposed. The bib of his overalls rested in his lap. His hair looked to have been cut by his own hand—jagged and untamed. Gene, passing up six-feet and lanky, stood center of the kitchen floor with his overalls buckled over his bare shoulders—yet the buttons at each hip unfastened exposing the waistband of his underwear. His hair, considerably thinner than Willy’s, was neatly combed to the side, though questionable as to the last time it was washed.

Although a first assessment revealed the differences between the two brothers, they had one thing in common—each was in his own isolated world. He once asked Gene if it had always been just the two of them. Gene had answered, “No.” That was it—no explanation. He went on about his work as if Kage hadn’t even tried to make conversation.

“I got the shovels in the back of my car.” Barney shared Willy’s ardent enthusiasm, winking at him as if they were plotting some covert operation.

Kage took a slice of bacon from the table, mumbled “thanks” to Gene and reached for his jean jacket hanging from a nail near the door. It was damp from the moisture that seeped through the cracks of the barn.

“You want in? We got it all figured out!” Barney offered.

Lifting his jacket above his head to shield the rain, Kage left without a word to them. He’d be soaked by the time he got from Gene’s to Franklin’s Grocery. Eager for the money so that Ridgewood would be no more than another unpleasant memory, he’d picked up several shifts at the store.

* * *

The rain tapping Gracie’s bedroom window reminded her of Erma Franklin’s nails on the ice cream shop counter as she waited for Willy Carter to decide between Chocolate or Strawberry Swirl. Gracie used to enjoy easy, rainy mornings, appreciating the slowing of the world around her. When her father was not able to farm outside, he sat in his recliner working his way through stacks of unread newspapers. Her mother fixed country ham, eggs, biscuits and sausage gravy for breakfast, and the family was napping by noon. Gracie’s mother rested on the couch, arms tucked under a pillow and legs pulled to her chest, leaving just enough room for both girls to curl up at her feet. Gracie’s mom wiggled her toes, and the girls giggled as they grabbed her toes with theirs. This lasted until Gracie’s dad, half asleep said, “Here now,” in a deep, gruff voice. Silence instantly absorbed the room, and it sounded as if God turned up the volume on each rain pellet. Gracie slept deeply and sweetly.

But this morning Gracie awakened as tired as she had gone to sleep. After the nightmare, miserable images swarmed her mind: the shattered look on her grandfather’s face as he gathered her from under the oak tree, her grandmother face-down on the front lawn where she’d collapsed as neighbors pulled her back from running into the flames, and Pastor Ted’s desperate pleas to God and then his silence—crippled by a complete loss of consoling words.

Gracie recalled the low voices murmuring at the funeral home, muffled like never-ending whistles caught in a shrill breeze. She experienced again the panic she suffered after the surgery, when she saw her right arm—with no hand or fingers. These panic attacks felt as she imagined the last seconds of life would be. Her chest aching beyond words and her mind racing, she pleaded for life’s sustaining fuel, one deep breath. She calmed herself with words, the words of her grandfather, “You are strong, Gracie. Hold on, my sweet girl. Breathe …”

A clap of thunder startled Gracie from her unrelenting memories. She finished making her bed, though fighting the urge to slide back under the covers and disappear.

Sitting at the kitchen table, Gracie’s grandfather looked through the screened back door, concentrating so intensely he jumped when she spoke. He chuckled aloud at himself. Usually Gracie would have laughed too but laughing took too much effort today. Still in her long, flannel nightgown, Gracie took baby steps toward the refrigerator.

Her grandfather wore a gray suit—the same one he had worn to church for years—alternating between two ties. Today the blue striped tie had its turn. Thomas was the typical grandfather—gray hair with facial features that looked as if he was meant to be that particular age his entire life. Today was Saturday Revival Celebration at Mt. Pleasant, and she’d forgotten.

“You sick?” Thomas asked, trying to see her face under her disheveled hair.

“No. Maybe. I don’t know,” she answered in one muddled sentence. She didn’t want her grandfather to worry, but she didn’t feel okay. Gracie wondered if there was a medical term for just being in a rotten mood. Several terms came to mind, none medical and none appropriate.

“Maybe some spiced apple cider would help?” Thomas offered.

Gracie ignored him and leaned into the refrigerator. No juice. Only a taste of milk left in the jar. She drank it and absentmindedly put the empty jar back in the refrigerator. That left water or the stiff coffee her grandfather made. “Figures,” Gracie mumbled.

“You going to church?” she asked her grandfather.

“You not? Everybody will be asking about you.”

“Remember? I don’t feel good,” she returned with a pout, hoping for a grandfather-sized portion of sympathy.

And she got it. “Curl up on the couch.” He rummaged through the refrigerator with no luck. “Gotta get you some spiced cider.”

Marilee had believed spiced cider fixed all ailments: headache, sore throat, back pain, you name it. Gracie suspected they were both thinking the same thing but neither saying it. If Marilee had still been with them, there would have been spiced cider in the house.

“Some coffee make you feel better?” He reached for the pot and poured a cup before she could say no.

Gracie was sure that later she would regret not going to the revival. Pastor Ted’s messages always spoke straight to her, so often giving her strength through another week, but she wasn’t in the mood for idle chitchat about the weather, as if it really mattered. They didn’t know how it felt to have the memories—the joyful ones battling against the frightful ones, each replaying in snippets, and both resulting in equal pain. Her mind was never at peace, not when she was awake—or asleep.

After Thomas left, Gracie rested in a hot bath until it turned cool and was no longer soothing. She pulled on a pair of faded overalls and an old T-shirt. Her grandmother’s voice played in her mind, “Ladies wear dresses.” For a moment she considered her grandmother’s disapproval, but she continued tugging and clasping her overall straps and reached for her sneakers. She combed through her wet hair and stepped outside meeting the drizzling rain without hesitation.

* * *

Cars wrapped around the parking lot of the grocery store the same way a load of busheled ripe peaches drew a crowd, yet as Kage scurried inside, there were no customers. The sound of the congregation singing Amazing Grace filled Franklin Grocery’s parking lot, along with the vehicles. Kage’s washed-out jeans suctioned to his legs and his scuffed boots sang a consistent squish-squash rhythm. Though soaked, Kage was pleased to be working, as the majority of businesses were closed.

“You couldn’t catch a ride in with Gene?” Aaron called as Kage stepped through the door. Erma Franklin’s nephew, Aaron, sat behind the register working a crossword puzzle.

“Naw, he’s tied up with a new born calf.” Kage shook like a wet dog.

“He’s missing the revival?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Ain’t like Gene to miss the revival.”

“Why do they schedule it on a Saturday anyway? If you ask me, he wastes too many Sundays just sitting around reading, and then he’s out of bed before daylight Monday morning like we’ve got more than we can get done,” Kage ranted.

“Gene likes the Word.” Aaron adjusted his glasses and made conversation as if he knew something about everything.

“Yep, guess so,” Kage agreed. “Once Gene sat at the table with his eyes closed and his head bowed so long I thought he’d expired.”

One Sunday Gene asked if Kage believed in God. He had shrugged; he never read the Bible at the orphanage—the print too small, the words too big. Thinking of Gene reading his Bible reminded him of the orphanage lady who read Bible stories to him—not Maureen, the mean one with the big hands, but the one who was full of hugs. Kage couldn’t remember her face or her name, but he could remember feeling his arms wrapped around her tiny frame. She was the one who taught him right from wrong as she rocked him, whispering in his ear that he was a good boy until he could no longer hold his eyes open. Then her name came to him—Lady. Kage realized now that it was probably spelled Lattie, but as a boy she’d been his “Lady.” She made rounds each night and said prayers with the children.

Prayer hadn’t worked for him. He prayed as a little boy for his father to come back and later he prayed for a new family—any family to love him. He’d struck out on both accounts. So why bother?

Just then the bell on the door clanked as the first customer entered. She walked across the front of the aisles reading the handwritten signs hanging from the ceiling.

“Hi,” Aaron called out and waved. The girl returned a strained smile and brushed away the raindrops from her cheeks.

“Can I help you, Gracie?” Aaron called from the stool behind the register.

She replied, “No, just grabbing a few things.”

Aaron went on, “So how about this year’s revival? It looks like a full house.”

Gracie acknowledged Aaron but remained focused on her shopping list.

He persisted, “I know most of the businesses in town close for the annual Saturday Revival Celebration, but Aunt Erma expects it to be one of our busiest days when service lets out.”

Walking down the condiment aisle, she didn’t respond. Aaron, not getting the hint or just eager to have a customer, continued, “Before you know it, you’ll have Swirly’s open on Celebration Saturday.”

She kept her distance, yet spoke over her shoulder. “Nope, not us.”

As if he did not get it, Aaron leaned forward and elevated his voice so she could still hear him as she picked up a jug of apple cider at the other end of the store. “Yep, heard your grandfather was quite vocal on the subject last year when the gas station didn’t close. Aunt Erma heard how much they made though, and here we are!” Aaron extended his hands presenting the result.

“We got a threat when we first announced we’d be open,” he added. “Can’t remember who Aunt Erma said it was from, but the note said the devil was going to close this place down. It said the only businesses that would stay open on Celebration Saturday had to be dealing in ‘illegal infringements’ of some kind. Whoever it was called the sheriff on us. The sheriff came in apologizing, but he still looked this place up and down,” Aaron paused. Gracie didn’t respond.

“Aunt Erma hollered him right outta here. I’d suspected she was sweet on him, but she surely ain’t no more. Mention that man’s name, and Aunt Erma goes into a fit,” Aaron chuckled. “You need help finding anything?”

“Nope,” she answered.

Aaron went on, “Aunt Erma’s at church. She’s started going real regular you know. She bought a new Bible and everything. Mom’s excited she’s taken interest after all these years. And she swears it ain’t just because someone left that note saying Aunt Erma was a devil worshiper. That’s crazy! Who in this town would do that? Aunt Erma knows everyone, and they are all as friendly to her as a cat that rubs on your leg every time you come near.”

Kage knew what Erma had interest in, and he was pretty sure that if Pastor Ted weren’t a holy man, she’d be rubbing on his leg like a friendly cat. He’d witnessed Erma scurry about the store to dust near him.

As Gracie rounded the first aisle, carrying a grocery basket, Kage hadn’t moved quickly enough, and he was caught—caught staring at her. He felt his face redden as he turned away and awkwardly began rearranging the canned vegetables.

He’d wanted a glimpse of her face. He wanted to know if what he saw in her eyes was what he heard in her voice. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it was familiar to him. Those pretty eyes he had seen at the ice cream shop were angry. Not particularly at Aaron’s one-sided conversation but at the world; the kind of anger he had felt more than once—a hostile anger that consumes.

Then all of a sudden Kage felt sick; his stomach burned. It occurred to him that she assumed he was staring because of her arm. He supposed many people stared, especially strangers. Kage, angry with himself, tried to make eye contact with her just to share a smile. But she didn’t look up, not once.

* * *

“How was Celebration Saturday?” Gracie asked her grandfather as he poured two cups of hot cider.

“Everyone asked about you,” he answered, blowing on the steam rising from his mug. “Ben was there, in his dress blues. Hardly recognized him.”

Ben Franklin, Erma’s younger brother, joined the military the day after high school graduation. It had been John F. Kennedy’s words that convinced him: Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country.

Gracie had predicted that with a name like Ben Franklin he’d do great things.

“Do you think you’ll feel like going to church service in the morning?”

Gracie nodded. “The cider helps.”

“Glad you’re feeling better. If I’d been here, I wouldn’t have let you walk in the rain to the store when you aren’t feeling good.”

“Just tired, I guess.”

Thomas topped off her cup of cider. “Maybe more warm cider will help you sleep.”

Gracie, though tired, didn’t want to sleep. She remembered telling her grandmother once that when her eyes closed the monsters came out.