Eleven

Fall and winter was always exciting for me because the Carter Family came each year to sing and Loretta directed the Christmas pageant at the church. For three years running I played the role of Mary. By the end of each summer I was already looking forward to rehearsals.

The Carter Family was coming to Morgan Hill on the first Saturday of December and I couldn’t wait because Joe said he’d come back for it. When that night arrived the gymnasium in the schoolhouse bustled with people from the surrounding communities who brought baskets full of fried chicken, biscuits, green beans, mashed potatoes, and every dessert possible. The room filled with pipe and cigarette smoke and the aroma of chicken and ham. Women wore their best cotton dresses and men left their caps at home. Henry splashed on cologne and Mama and Loretta wouldn’t let him hear the end of it.

“What’s that called?” Loretta asked.

“It said Garden Surprise on the bottle.”

Mama and Loretta held on to each other and laughed. Poor Henry. He could never get a break.

When Joe walked through the front door John and Milo and I ran and jumped on him, knocking him down. Mama watched from across the gymnasium and I swear I saw her smile.

We ate throughout the night and Mama, Loretta, Helen, and other women busied themselves putting out a fresh bowl of green beans or another basket of rolls or a fresh pie. Clyde and Dewey were there but they stayed outside for the most part drinking on the tailgate of Dewey’s truck. The Carter Family sang and a lot of people stomped and kicked their heels in the middle of the gymnasium floor. Earlier in the day men had laid a large, flat piece of wood on the floor and covered it with sawdust. I grabbed John’s and Milo’s hands and we spun and swung our legs and danced till we fell down in exhaustion. I watched Joe and wished he’d ask my mother to dance but I knew it wouldn’t do any good; she didn’t dance and I knew she wouldn’t start now. I stood on top of Henry’s feet and he danced me around the room, knocking over three people in the process.

I went with Joe to eat a piece of pie. “Can I have two pieces, Mama?”

“Why not?” she said, putting pieces of butterscotch and lemon in front of me.

Joe picked up a piece and began to eat it. “You look real nice, Fran.”

“Thank you, Joe. How long you staying?”

“Don’t rightly know.”

“Well, it’s good to have you home.”

Joe looked at the floor and took another bite of pie. “This is real good.”

“Charlotte made it.”

“I’ll need to tell Charlotte it’s real good.” I rolled my eyes. They were hopeless.

I never wanted that night to end. Milo jumped around and laughed so much that, for the first time, the memory of the fire wasn’t the first thing I thought of when I looked at him. It’s funny what can be called to mind when you look back on things. I can’t recall a word the Carter Family sang but I remember the sound of their guitars, mandolins, and bass in the background as I danced and ate and ran through that smoky gymnasium. I can hear the sawdust crunching beneath my feet and see Henry’s face as he twirled me around the floor, and I remember glimpses of Mama running for another pie or cake. And in a drawn-out moment I can see myself running when I spotted her hanging limp in Joe’s arms as he carried her out of the building.

 

FRAN AND LORETTA HAD WORKED THROUGHOUT THE NIGHT keeping food on the tables. Late in the evening when Fran reached for a blackberry pie it slipped out of her hands and fell, dark liquid and berries spreading over the floor where the women were working. She scooped up the gloppy mess and threw it back into the pie tin. Loretta handed her a towel. “No,” Fran said. “That’s somebody’s good towel. Let me get some rags.”

The hallway was dark behind the gymnasium but Fran walked to the janitor’s closet and fumbled for the light string dangling from the ceiling. She pulled on it and looked for a bin or crate of rags. She spotted a bucket on the bottom shelf and bent to grab a handful of rags.

“You look awful pretty tonight, Fran.”

She screamed and jumped. “Dewey! What on earth are you doing back here?”

“I seen you needed help.”

She smelled liquor and forced a ghost of a smile. “I just needed some old rags.” She walked toward the door but he blocked it. “I got me a mess to clean up.”

“Loretta can take care of that mess. Just stay here and talk. We could pick up where we left off that day at your house.”

The reckless look on his face frightened her and she stepped back. “This old janitor’s closet ain’t no place to talk. The gymnasium’s the place for that. It’s got all that good food.” She tried to move past again but Dewey filled the doorway.

“You know I didn’t come to your house all them nights just because I liked playing cards with Lonnie.” His face was close and she shrank back. He pressed his mouth onto hers and she turned her head, frightened at his touch. “God, you are some woman, Fran Gable.” He stepped closer and ran his hand up and down her side. “Clyde and me been talking about Beef and wondering why he ain’t here.”

She clutched the rags tighter and stumbled to the back of the closet. “Ruby said he works in Morristown on Fridays. He’s probably still working.” Her voice was quiet and shaking.

Dewey threw his head back and laughed. “Working!” The liquor on his breath filled the small space. “I think your nigger son has something to do with him not being here.”

She smiled, trying to ease Dewey’s mind. “How could a little boy make a great big man do anything? You know Beef. He’s found a game going on in Morristown and is good and drunk by now.”

Dewey leaned closer. “Maybe.” He breathed heavy on her and she held her breath. “You look good, Fran.” He pulled her to him and pressed his body into hers. “You always look so good.”

His voice was intense and strained and she felt panic rise to her chest. He covered her mouth with his and she tried to scream. He pulled her tighter and ripped open the back of her dress. She broke free and ran to squeeze past him. “Don’t!”

He grabbed her arms. “Shut up when I’m talking, Fran!” He kicked the door shut and yanked her dress to the floor. She cried and covered herself with her arms. He yanked down the straps of her brassiere and pushed her against the wall, unbuttoning his pants. She tried to scream but Dewey forced his mouth over hers. She bit down on his lip and he flinched. When he saw blood on his hand he punched her hard in the belly. She groaned and doubled over. Dewey stepped toward her and she grabbed the galvanized bucket off the floor and swung it against his head. He struck her again, in the face this time, knocking her into the shelves. Another blow sent her falling hard to the floor and he kicked her in the stomach. She saw the light swinging above as she sank into darkness and then heard the thud of Dewey’s body as it fell next to hers.

“BE STILL, FRAN,” DOC SAID, EASING HER BACK ONTO HER BED. “Stay real still.”

“Is the baby dead?” she asked. Helen and Loretta stayed at her side.

Doc listened long with his stethoscope and examined the bruises on her belly and face. “I believe the baby’s okay. For now.”

Her face tightened. “Don’t let me lose it.”

He held on to her hand. “Fran, the only thing I can do is tell you to be still in this bed until the baby comes. No washing, no milking, no working at the store.”

 

I SAT IN THE FRONT ROOM WITH HENRY, JOE, JOHN, AND MILO. I still didn’t know what happened and the wait for Doc was too long. “Henry, what happened to Mama?”

Henry glanced at Joe and shifted on the couch. “She got hurt.”

“How?”

“A man knocked her over and she fell real hard.”

“What man?”

“It don’t matter, Jane. Sheriff Dutton’s taking care of him.”

I looked up at him. “It does too matter.”

“Dewey Schaeffer did it.”

“Why?”

“Because he was drunk and full of meanness.”

I looked at Joe but he was studying a spot on his dungarees. “Did he want to hurt Mama?”

“He wanted what ain’t his, Pretty Girl, and when he seen he wasn’t going to get it he turned ugly and mean and hurt your mama.”

I rested my head on his shoulder. Sometime later, when I was ready to know what Dewey wanted, I would ask Henry those questions.

Doc finished with Mama and walked into the front room. “Is the baby okay?” I asked.

“I don’t know, Jane. But if your mama stays off her feet and stays still, maybe. I hope so. For now, just let her get some sleep. There’s nothing broken.”

 

LORETTA AND HELEN CLOSED THE BEDROOM DOOR AND WALKED into the front room. “She’s asking for you,” Loretta said to Henry.

Henry opened the bedroom door and stuck his head inside. Fran waved him in and he sat on the chair next to her bed as he had so often done over the years, waiting it out with her. He looked down and rubbed his fingers along the inside seam of his pants. It was hard for him to look at her with her face and eyes swollen red and blue.

She watched him for the longest time. “Like old times, ain’t it, Henry? You and Loretta coming over here, putting me back together again with bandages and salve.”

“Them days are over, Fran. Sheriff Dutton’s making sure that Dewey don’t do this to nobody again.” He laid his hand on top of hers. “I’m awful sorry, Fran.”

She shook her head. “Ain’t your fault, Henry. From day one I didn’t want to have this baby. Now I don’t want to lose it but God seen my heart early on. You get what you deserve.”

Henry shook his head. “I been around a long time, Fran, and from what I’ve seen God don’t work that way. Good thing or else we’d all be in trouble.” She was quiet. “There’s just some sorry men in this world. But there’s some awfully good ones, too.”

“Sometimes it seems that Loretta married the last good one in Greene County.”

Henry looked at the floor and cleared his throat. “Now that’s enough of that talk.”

“I’ve been in here studying on what happened—how I was in that closet with Dewey and then the next thing I know I’m here in my bed. And I have one question.” He looked up at her. “Where in the world did you learn to hit like that?”

“I didn’t…”

“Henry, the last thing I remember is smelling that godawful perfume of yours.” Henry slapped his head. “Now where did you ever learn to fight like that?”

“Five brothers and my sister, Sarah. She was meaner than all five boys put together.”

“How many blows did Dewey take?” He held up two fingers. “Well, if I look like this what does Dewey look like?”

“If his face feels anything like my hand then I suspect he looks pretty bad.” He fidgeted with his hands and ran them up and down his legs. “Joe carried you out of there, Fran. When people heard the commotion they just poured into the hall but Joe ran right through them and covered you up. He had you out of there before I could think about it.” He paused. “That about scared him to death.”

“I reckon seeing two people laying there like that might scare anybody.”

“He didn’t care one iota that Dewey was laying there.” She looked at him. “Fran, I’ve known both of you since you were little bitty and I might be getting old, but I still got eyes and I can still see that young boy from all them years ago when you two would walk up the hill to school together.”

She turned to look out the window. “He’s going back to Atlanta. That’s where his work is.”

He pulled her face toward him. “Do you think he’d drive all the way back here just to hear some singing when he could hear a dozen singers in Atlanta any time he wants?” She pulled away from him to face the window again and Henry knew she was done talking. “He’s a good man, Fran.” She closed her eyes, hoping he wouldn’t say anything more. “Fran, you need…”

“I can’t.”

“He’s not Lonnie.”

“He don’t deserve to be brought into this. He needs a good woman.”

Henry sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over her, seeing that her eyes were wet. “Fran, that’s you.” She shook her head. “You been holed up in this house for so many years with Lonnie that you think being pushed down and stepped on is the best that it’s ever going to get but that ain’t so.” She looked out the window and Henry stood to leave, patting her shoulder. “Get some sleep, Frannie.”

“Henry.” He turned to her. “Why would he want a broken-down woman and four youngins that ain’t even his? Why would any man want that?”

He stood by the door and shrugged. “I guess because twenty years from now he can’t see his life without you all in it.”

 

LORETTA SLEPT ON THE SOFA AND HENRY LAID A PALLET ON THE floor beside her. He had just settled in when he heard a truck in the driveway. I jumped to the bedroom window and held my breath as Beef walked to our kitchen door. I looked at Milo and John but they were sound asleep. I wedged myself between their bed and the window so I could hear what was happening. Henry opened the door and stood on the porch with Beef.

“I heard what was done,” Beef said.

“She’s sleeping, Beef.”

I pressed closer to the window, trying to ease it open. Henry walked with Beef to the driveway and I pushed the window up, leaning close to hear but I couldn’t. I saw them in the moonlight and after several minutes Henry handed Beef something. Beef got into his truck and drove away. That was the last time I ever saw him. People said Beef just up and left without a word to Ruby or Louise. When people were at the store everyone speculated endlessly on why Beef left: Couldn’t live in a community with coloreds, or Couldn’t bear to see his youngin go to school with a colored, or He came to his senses and knew Ruby and Louise would live in peace without him. Everybody had their own theories but Henry never said a word.

JOE CAME TO THE HOUSE A COUPLE OF DAYS LATER TO ASK MAMA if we could go with them to the tobacco auction in Greeneville on Saturday morning. I groaned; I couldn’t bear to hear how we’d get hit over the head but she didn’t even think about it before she said yes. Henry went with us and Helen stayed with Mama for the day.

We walked into an enormous warehouse and gasped at the sight: The floor was covered with long rows of tobacco baskets holding some of the best-looking tobacco I’d ever seen. Joe led us to the rows where he and Del had unloaded their tobacco. Milo rested his hand on it. “That sure is some pretty tobacco.”

“It’s the prettiest we’ve ever had,” Joe said. “No doubt about it.”

The biggest tobacco companies at the time, such as Liggett & Myers, Philip Morris, R.J. Reynolds, and the Southwestern Tobacco Company, sent representatives to Greeneville to bid on the best of the crops. I watched as the reps meandered up and down the rows examining the leaves for damage and color. I grabbed Milo’s hand as two of the men knelt beside the Cannon tobacco. An older man puffed on a pipe and grunted in the ear of the younger man with him. He took the pipe out of his mouth and stuck his nose into a basket. The man looked up at me and I smiled, squeezing tighter to Milo’s hand.

“Is this your tobacco?”

“It’s the Cannons’,” Milo said. “And my mama and daddy’s.”

“Well, you tell the Cannons and your mama and daddy that they put out some real nice tobacco.” Joe clapped Milo on the shoulder and we watched as he grew a foot right there in front of us.

The auctioneer made his way through the maze of tobacco and stood on a platform in the middle of the baskets. A man held up a number for the first lot that would be auctioned. I tried to understand what the auctioneer was saying but it was no use. The tobacco reps knew exactly what he was saying and they’d respond with a “hup” and a nod or a finger thrust into the air. Before we knew what happened Liggett & Myers had purchased the first crop of the day. We followed the crowd as the auctioneer moved down each row. The bids rolled in right on top of each other that morning as the men moved closer to the Cannon tobacco.

“Lot sixteen,” the auctioneer said. “Lot sixteen.” A man working with the auctioneer lifted a basket of the Cannon tobacco and walked it by the tobacco reps. Henry held on to me as the auctioneer rattled together a string of words I couldn’t understand. “Hup,” a rep from Liggett & Myers said. The warehouse buzzed with voices.

“Hup, hup,” a man from Philip Morris said, raising his hand in the air.

“Hu-up.” It was the rep from R.J. Reynolds. The auctioneer pointed at the rep, talking louder and faster than before.

“Hup!”

“Hey-up!”

My heart raced and I clung tighter to Henry’s neck. “Hup,” I said, yelling above the crowd. “Hup-hup.”

The auctioneer stopped and turned to look at me. “Now how you gonna buy this tobacco?”

“I ain’t wantin’ to buy it. I’m wantin’ to drive up the price.” The crowd laughed and Joe lifted Milo onto his shoulders so he could see the men as they bid on his daddy’s tobacco.

“Sold!” the auctioneer said, pointing to the R. J. Reynolds rep.

“What’d it get?” I asked Henry.

“It got 48.3 cents a pound,” the auctioneer said. “You drove up the price for sure cause that tobacco brought in the highest bid of the day so far.”

The Cannons’ and Willie Dean’s tobacco ended up getting the highest bid of the day—it brought in $565 per acre. Joe whooped and threw Milo into the air.

“Can we help you put out next year’s crop?” I asked Joe.

His smile faded. “I won’t be here next year. I need to get back to Atlanta.”

I grabbed on to him. “No, Joe. Don’t go back.”

“I need to. I told them I’d go back once I got Mother and Pop’s crop taken care of.”

I held tighter to him. “When you leaving this time?”

He squeezed my shoulder. “I need to leave now but it’d be hard to go knowing one of my oldest friends is laid up in the bed.”

I smiled. “Then you’ll wait till after the baby comes?”

“I’ll need to make some calls to Atlanta. We’ll see.”

 

THE NEXT DAY HELEN AND JOE WALKED INTO FRAN’S BEDROOM. Joe handed her an envelope. “That’s Milo’s share of the money.”

She opened it and took out a check made in her name. “No, Joe, this is your…”

“No, it’s not our money. Willie Dean and Addy and Milo worked that tobacco. This is his money.”

She stared at the numbers on the check. She’d never held something worth so much money in her life. “I don’t feel right about taking this.”

Helen sat beside the bed. “And we can’t take it, Fran. He’s gonna struggle enough. When his mama and daddy died it just opened up a whole world of struggle for him.”

Fran looked at the amount on the check. “But there’s more here than what the tobacco brought in.”

Helen looked at her. “Fran, they ain’t nobody here who’s going to drink your money anymore. It’s time you turned the electricity on in this house and got a wringer washer and a Frigidaire.”

“I can’t take what ain’t mine.”

“Then take it for Jane, John, Milo, and this new baby.”

And she did.

 

I HAD BEEN ANTICIPATING THE FIRST REHEARSAL FOR THE Christmas pageant since the summer. I couldn’t wait to run to the church each Saturday and practice, but before John, Milo, and I left that evening I jumped down the embankment and ran to Louise and Ruby’s house. I pushed away the dead weeds and brush and climbed the hill to their door. Ruby answered. “Hi, Miz Ruby. Is Louise here?”

“I’ll holler for her.” I stepped inside and looked around the dingy room furnished with a tattered sofa and hardback chair setting up against a plastered wall with holes.

“Beef wasn’t no-account at all,” I said to myself. Louise came from the back of the house and smiled when she saw me. “We’re fixing to go to the church for our first pageant practice.” I left a space for Louise to respond but neither she nor Ruby did so I barreled on. “Loretta makes me play Mary every year but I’ve been studying on that and I believe it’s time for somebody else to play her.” Louise’s eyes widened. “I believe you’d be perfect for it.”

“I can’t do nothing like that.”

“They ain’t a thing to it. Mary don’t say nothing. She just sits there and holds the baby. Sometimes it’s a live baby if one’s been born but they ain’t no new baby this year so you’ll hold a winter squash.” She gaped at me and then looked at Ruby. “You want to or not? We’re fixing to leave.”

“Can I, Mama?”

“That’d be something else,” Ruby said. “You playing the mother of the baby Jesus himself.” Ruby looked at me. “But we ain’t never been to church.”

I shrugged. “Then it’s a good time to start, I guess.”

 

EACH MORNING THAT WEEK JOE HELPED US MILK THE COWS AND take care of the animals and Helen made breakfast for us. Joe never went into Mama’s room; he stood outside in the hallway and asked how she was doing. “I’m fine, thank you, Joe,” she said day after day.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Joe said, twisting his cap in his hands. My heart sank. My mother was too stubborn and Joe was too shy for anything to ever happen between them.

After our work was finished John and Milo and I ran off to school and left Mama alone in the house. Sometimes Helen stayed awhile and talked with her or Loretta, Charlotte, or one of the women from church would come and clean and get supper cooked and put it in the warming compartment of the oven for when we got home.

When we got home from school John and Milo and I ran to her room and told her about what happened that day and listened to her stories of who visited and what they talked about with her. At night I slept with Mama, and John and Milo made a pallet on the floor of her bedroom. Looking back I know that it was during Mama’s bed rest that we became a family. We talked way into the night about anything we could think of. “How’s your book coming, Jane?” Mama asked.

She had never asked about my writing before. “I ain’t writing it. I ain’t able to do something like that.”

She sat up. “If Henry can set down by that creek and tell one tall tale after another then you can sit down and write a book sure enough.”

There was a faint note of belief in her voice that made me want to pop. I wanted to throw my arms around her neck but lay back on my pillow because none of us were ready for that.

 

FOR TWO DAYS WE PAINTED MAGNOLIA BRANCHES IN CLASS. Each student brought in a branch from a tree off their property and we painted the great leaves a brilliant red or blue or gold. I painted several branches because I wanted to put them in Mama’s room as decorations for Christmas. Miss Harmon helped us cut out and glue together tiny strips of construction paper that we formed into a chain. I made mine extra long so I could hang it around Mama’s window in her room. Milo put the construction paper star he’d colored on Mama’s headboard and John laid a small clump of hay on Mama’s bedside, sticking three pinecones he’d painted in the middle of it. They were supposed to be Mary, Joseph, and Jesus but even if I squinted real hard I couldn’t see any resemblance to people at all.

“Ain’t this something,” Mama said, over and over, admiring the decorations. “This is just some kind of pretty!”

“Joe’s taking us out to shoot mistletoe,” I said. “Then we’ll hang that in here, too.”

“Well, that will be something,” she said.

“He said he’d help us bring in a Christmas tree, too, if that’s all right.” We waited, not knowing how Mama would react. We never had a Christmas tree as long as Daddy was living.

“That’d be fine as long as it ain’t too much work for Joe.”

“It ain’t,” John yelled, running from the room. Milo and I ran after him.

 

WE WERE NEVER MORE PROUD OR EXCITED THAN WE WERE ON that day, dragging that spindly pine tree through the Cannon pastures to Joe’s truck. For the first time ever John and Milo and I were going to decorate a Christmas tree. In previous years Mama had always made sure that we got something in our socks that we hung on the mantel: an orange or some English walnuts, maybe a small bag of marbles or jacks. I didn’t care about getting gifts this year. I just wanted to put up that tree and hoped it would bring some sort of peace to Milo and my mother. If ever there was a year for comfort and joy this was it.

We dragged the tree through the front door and laid it down in the front room. I ran into Mama’s bedroom to tell her about it but realized she couldn’t help decorate it. “You think you could watch us?”

“I bet old Doc would let me move out to the davenport.” She lifted the covers and tried to move her legs but stopped.

“What’s wrong, Mama?”

“Just sore.”

I ran to the door. “Joe! You reckon you could get on in here and carry my mama out to the davenport?”

Mama waved in my direction as if swatting a swarm of bees. “Jane! What is wrong with you?”

Joe stood outside the bedroom door. “You reckon you could carry her so she can watch us decorate the tree?”

Joe twisted the cap in his hands. “You’d have to ask your mama that.”

I looked at Mama and she was pale, her arm was over her face. “Mama, Joe’d carry you out to the davenport if you want.”

“Lord have mercy,” she said, muttering.

“Mama!” I said, louder. “Joe’s waiting to carry you out to…”

“Okay, Jane. Okay!” She moved the blankets off her legs and straightened her house coat.

I turned to Joe. “Mama says okay.”

“You doing okay, Fran?” Joe asked, walking close to her bed.

Mama wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, nodding.

“Holler if I hurt ya and I’ll put ya back down.” Joe put an arm under her legs and the other one under her back. She grimaced when he lifted her but I was the only one who saw it. Joe couldn’t bring himself to look at her and she stared at the ceiling as he carried her through the hallway into the front room. He eased her down on the sofa and then backed away as if she was dynamite.

“Boy, that is some kind of tree!”

“Ain’t it!” John said. “Me and Milo cut it down.”

“Joe helped, too,” Milo said, running around the tree to help Joe put it in the stand.

Once it was in place we strung popcorn and the berries from the mistletoe Joe shot out of the trees behind the Cannon house. Joe tried his best to string the popcorn but he was all thumbs. He kept at it, partly, I believe, because it kept him near Mama.

I stood back and marveled at the tree. Joe helped us cut a star out of two paper sacks, and John and Milo and I colored it with red and blue pencils. We glued the two stars together and then Joe lifted Milo so he could ease the star down onto the highest point of the tree. I jumped up and down along with John and Milo.

Mama and Joe laughed as they watched us and for a moment it felt like we were a family of sorts. I ran around the front room with John and Milo and prayed that God would make a way for us to be a real family.

MARGARET DROVE INTO OUR DRIVEWAY LATE THAT AFTERNOON. Fred Dog ran to greet her as he always did. She carried a pot of chicken and dumplings and I put it on the stove as she went in to see Mama, who was still on the sofa.

“Good to see you, Margaret,” Mama said. Her voice was kind. Too kind, I thought.

“Ain’t that a pretty tree! How you doing, Frannie?”

“I’ll make it.” My mother’s voice was strange.

“Where’s John and the little boy?”

“His name’s Milo. You can call him by his name, same as everybody calls you by yours.”

“I didn’t mean nothing by it, Fran. I was…”

“Just dropping in to see how I was doing. I know.” I stopped my work in the kitchen and crept through the hall to the front room, leaning close to the door.

“Of course I came to see how you’re doing.” Margaret’s voice was tense.

“You didn’t come to see me.” I felt my heart pounding. What was my mother doing? “You ain’t really been to see me in weeks. You used to come pulling up that driveway and your youngins would spill out of the truck so they could play in the barn with Jane and John. You ain’t brought your boys by since Milo’s been in this house because you’re so afraid his colored skin might rub up against your boys.”

“I wouldn’t keep my boys from playing with your youngins.”

There was a long pause. “I didn’t say my youngins. I said Milo. You’ll lean down and pet on that dog outside but you won’t ever say a word to him.” Margaret huffed but didn’t respond. “I don’t hear you denying it, Margaret.”

I heard Margaret moving about. “You have lost your mind, Fran Gable. We’ve been friends since we were no bigger than John and you’re…”

“Why’d you do it, Margaret?” Margaret stared long at her. “I don’t care how you did it. You’ve always been smart. You were a whole lot smarter than me in school. You were smarter about who you married. I just want to know why you killed my cow.”

“Lord help us all!” Margaret shouted.

“I know it was you, Margaret. I didn’t at first. I thought it was Beef. Joe told me that Beef was too dumb and lazy to do something like that but I didn’t believe him. For the rest of my life I would have thought it was Beef, but Ruby just happened to mention during that rainstorm that Beef had been going into Morristown for work on Thursdays and Fridays. My cow died on a Friday. Since I’ve been laid up here for a week I’ve been studying on that and it’s real curious to me. You know that dog barked and barked at Beef when he came here one day but he don’t bark at you. If Beef had set foot on this property in the middle of the night I know Fred would have told everybody about it. But if you came, well, he’d just see a friend and lay right back down.” My breathing had stopped. Margaret didn’t move or attempt to say anything. “That sure was an awful lot of plotting and planning just to get rid of one little boy.”

Margaret kept her back to Mama. “One little boy who ain’t done nothing but bring trouble on you, Fran.” She turned to her. “Your whole life ain’t gonna be nothing but hardship.”

“Could be. I ain’t able to see into the future like you can. All I can do is what I’m supposed to do.”

I leaned forward and could see Margaret looking out the window toward the tracks. “What now, Fran?”

“You can go home. Know that I forgive you here today for the trouble you caused and what you did to my cow. I know if I don’t that I’ll be eat up with meanness like you and that ain’t no way to live. But that don’t mean I have to call you my friend. I believe we’re well past that now. I ain’t saying nothing to Sheriff Dutton. Them boys of yours need a mama. So go on home where you belong and leave us alone.” I ran and hid beside the chifferobe in the hallway and held my breath as Margaret passed. I could hear my heart in my ears.

Mama stood and walked to the door leading to the hall, leaning over to see me next to the chifferobe. She knew I’d been listening the whole time. She looked at me and I saw tears rimming her eyes. I nodded my head and she eased down the hall to her bedroom. This was our secret to keep.