TUESDAY DECEMBER 25, 2007
JESUS’ BIRTHDAY. SCOTT AND DEE had argued about cutting a tree, Scott claiming every living thing should be left to complete its growth cycle, Dee saying the forests were overcrowded and thinning them for a once-a-year holiday maintained their health, as well as upheld tradition.
He said, “City people buy their trees from Christmas tree farms. Country folk don’t make a dent in the forest.”
“That’s the problem with the environment today. People like you don’t have a conscience,” Scott said.
“If butchering hogs and cows and hunting elk is acceptable, so is sacrificing a tree. What’s this family coming to?” Dee swung his chain saw into the truck. “Ginny’s family will appreciate it.”
Lee Ann hadn’t gone to church for over a month. Last week, when Pastor Fletcher came to call regarding her lack of attendance, she admitted having given up her faith, and when he wiped his brow with the dirty handkerchief from his suit pocket, sputtering about losing a lamb from the flock, his distress did not move her.
As a compromise to Dee, they’d exchanged small gifts at dinner the night before, and in the morning he left early to spend Christmas day with Ginny’s family. Lee Ann left Edgar a tin of oatmeal cookies, half a ham, and a box of Leona Webb’s peanut brittle. He still used an outhouse and would find them soon enough. She helped Scott break up the ice on the stock tank and feed the pigs. His new work gloves fit perfectly.
He’d given her two books: The Agnostic’s Bible and Women in Government. At lunch, he pressed the point of her running for commissioner.
“You and Jo,” she said. “I’d be the laughing stock, maybe get half a dozen votes.”
She counted on her fingers those who might mark an X by her name.
Scott said, “James Catlett is going to run. You could end up working with him. He’s a good man. You’re the one with experience, though.”
“I’m also the one who condoned what they did.”
“Don’t underestimate folks. They know the spot you were in. They’d have done the same to hold onto a job with benefits.” He swallowed the last bite of his sandwich with a swig of tea. “Corruption has been accepted here for so long. Accountability in local government is going to be something different. Give them a chance to elect decent people. I bet they will.”
“While we’re on the subject of decent people, help me think of who I can hire as a permanent hand.”
“I’m staying, Mom.” He put his cap on backwards. “Edgar can barely make it to the chicken yard and Dee can’t manage alone. My mind’s made up. As Uncle Walker might say,
I’m resigned
to toeing the line
and being confined
within the county line.”
She shrugged and offered a weak smile. Too much had been lost in too short a time.
“I know you don’t want to hear anything about Walker,” Scott said. “But he hasn’t been seen for weeks.”
“You’re right. I don’t want to hear.”
In the days following, she wept into her pillow, touched the backs of chairs where Eugene had sat, the mug he’d used, and door handles he’d turned. She’d heard of heartache, but she hadn’t known it referred to a specific gnawing pain under the breastbone, there at night, in the morning, and throughout the day, the only cure Eugene’s return. She wore down the path to Mother’s, back and forth, her coat wrapped tightly around her body, childhood memories drawing her into each room. The walls were cold, the sofa, closets, and beds odorless. She opened the kitchen cup-board and held one of Mother’s china plates to her chest, held the cotton dishcloth to her cheek, took her slippers home to walk in her shoes.
And Walker. Where had he gone and what was he up to this time?