A Death On The Wolf, page 4
“Nelson,” Aunt Charity began, “you are right. Your father and I should have talked with you about this, and I’m sorry we didn’t. I think we both forget sometimes that you are a young man now and not a little boy.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, looking down at my plate. She had completely disarmed me. Sixty seconds ago I was cocked and locked and prepared for battle; now I was ready to wave a white flag.
“Nelson, look at me,” she said.
I looked up at her. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Whatever misgivings you have about this, or any ill will you feel toward me for doing this without asking you first, let’s get it out in the open now. Once Mary Alice is here, we will not speak of this again.”
“You don’t have to worry, Aunt Charity. I’ll be nice to her.”
“Oh, Nelson, I never thought for a minute that you wouldn’t be nice to her.”
“I just don’t see why you’re doing this,” I said. “It’s not like she doesn’t already have a place to live.”
“You’ll understand better when you meet her.”
“When is she coming?” I asked.
“I’m leaving in a few minutes to go pick her up.” Aunt Charity got up from the table and took my plate and glass over to the sink.
“Are you taking Sash?” I asked.
“No, I’ll need you to watch her until I get back.”
“I have to be at work down at Dick’s at two,” I said.
“I should be back before noon. Marie is over at my house today. If I’m not back by the time you have to go to work, take your sister over there.” Marie was Aunt Charity’s housekeeper.
“Okay,” I said. I looked at the clock on the wall. It was half past seven. What a way to start the day.
— — —
I was back at the barn, filling up the watering trough for the goats, when I heard the horn and looked over at Aunt Charity’s house to see her gold Sedan de Ville pulling into the drive. Sachet was standing in the shade of the pecan tree watching me. She was tugging at her dress and holding one of her dolls. “Where’s Aunt Charity been this morning?” she asked.
I rinsed my hands off in the stream of water coming from the spigot and then shut off the valve. “She had to go to Poplarville,” I said, shaking the water from my hands. “Why do you keep pulling at your dress like that?”
“It itches,” she said.
I walked over to her and pulled the back of her dress open. “It’s the label,” I said. “You want me to cut it out?” She nodded her head so I fished the knife out of my jeans pocket and opened the blade. “Hold still,” I said. I moved her hair out of the way and started cutting the label.
“Don’t cut me,” Sachet said.
“Then be still.” I finished cutting out the label and then smoothed the back of her dress down. “Is that better?”
My sister wiggled and worked her shoulders up and down to test the efficacy of my handiwork. “Why did Aunt Charity go to Poplarville?” she asked.
“She’s bringing one of the kids from the home over there to stay with her this summer.” I closed my knife and stuck it back in my pocket.
Sachet turned and looked up at me. “Why?” she said.
“I don’t know.” I took my sister’s hand and we headed over to Aunt Charity’s to meet the intruder.
As we got to the edge of my aunt’s yard, the trunk lid on her Cadillac popped open. Aunt Charity was getting out of the car and she motioned to me. “Nelson,” she called, “please get Mary Alice’s suitcase out of the trunk.” I waved acknowledgment.
As Sachet and I got closer to the car, I peered intently into the backseat to see what this girl looked like. But Aunt Charity’s front yard was populated by tall, longleaf pines just as ours was, and she was parked in the shadow of one, thus, I could not see into the car well enough to tell if there was beast or girl or both in the backseat. Whichever, she had not gotten out yet and Aunt Charity was standing there, waiting for me to get the suitcase.
“I may need you to help me get Mary Alice in the house,” Aunt Charity said in a hushed tone.
“Help you get her in the house?” I said, not sure I’d heard her correctly. I reached in the trunk for the large Samsonite bag. It was heavy, and I actually had to strain to lift it. “Good grief,” I said as I lugged the thing out of the trunk. “What’s she got in here, a load of bricks?”
“Mind your tongue,” Aunt Charity said, again in a low voice.
I followed her around the car with Sachet right by my side. When Aunt Charity opened the back door, my first glimpse of this interloper was of a pink sundress with tiny blue flowers on it, so tiny they almost looked like blue dots. She was wearing sandals and I watched as her legs slowly rotated out of the car and she put her feet on the gravel drive. Then the walking stick appeared, and the delicate hand that held it. When she leaned forward and I saw her face, my heart melted. She was the prettiest girl I had ever seen. Her complexion was fair; her eyes a deep blue. Her long brown hair fell on her bare, creamy shoulders with a little upturn curl. As she stood up and reached out for anything to hold to steady herself, I set the suitcase down and reached for her hand. When she felt me take it, she smiled, looked past me, to the unseen distance over my right shoulder, and said, “Thank you.” And it was then I realized Mary Alice Hadley was blind.
Aunt Charity cleared her throat and said, “Mary Alice, this is my nephew, Nelson.”
“Hello, Nelson,” Mary Alice said. “I’m very pleased to meet you.” Her voice was soft and clear, her diction clean and proper.
“I’m pleased to meet you, too, Miss Mary Alice,” I said. And to this day I don’t know why I called her Miss Mary Alice. It bubbled out of me just as instinctively as had the impulse to take her hand when she first stepped out of the car. I looked at Aunt Charity and said, “I’ll help her in the house and come back for the suitcase.” Aunt Charity smiled and stepped back, and with a little tug on Mary Alice’s hand I led her from behind the open car door and up the drive toward the house. She had her walking stick in her left hand tapping away in front of us as we slowly made our way to the front porch.
It’s difficult to put into words how I felt that day as I held Mary Alice’s hand and helped her take her first steps into my world. No clichés or hackneyed phrases could possibly do justice to my emotions at that singular moment when it seemed time truly had stopped. I remember looking over at Aunt Charity as we walked along, and I think she had discerned what was happening even before it had registered with me as a conscious thought. I remember feeling ashamed of the things I had said to her at the breakfast table, as well as the unspoken thoughts that had filled my foolish mind that morning as I dreaded the arrival of this unwelcome visitor from the Masonic Home for Children. But, there I was, holding her hand, and totally smitten by her simple grace and charm. I was a boy in the throes of nascent love, and it thrilled me and terrified me and made my head swim. Recalling it now some four decades later, it still does.
— — —
Mary Alice Hadley almost cost me my job at Dick’s ESSO later that same day. For the life of me, I could not keep my mind on anything that afternoon at the station—anything other than her. The extent of my distraction came to a head at four o’clock sharp when Mrs. Rosemary Routledge, the widow of the late Judge Walker T. Routledge of the Harrison County Chancery Court, arrived for her weekly fill-up. Miss Rosemary was about eighty years old and drove her late husband’s ’67 Buick Electra. She always came by the station on Mondays around four o’clock for gas. And, given that she only put about five miles every week on her car driving to Anne’s Beauty Shop and to the IGA for groceries, I was usually lucky if I could get a gallon of Hi-Test in her tank. I didn’t mind, however, because no matter the paltry amount of gasoline she purchased, Miss Rosemary always pulled a dollar bill from her purse and told me to keep the change. That was one tip I could count on every week, no matter what. Today’s fill-up, however, cost me 37¢ and an oil change—and no tip.
When Miss Rosemary pulled up to the pumps, I was waiting there as usual. But, unusual for me, I did not immediately start pumping her gas. I don’t know how long I stood there like a daydreaming dolt, but when Miss Rosemary said, “Young man, I’d like some gas, please,” it snapped me back to reality.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, and grabbed the nozzle from the pump. I pulled the hose to the back of the car, flipped the license plate down, screwed off the cap, stuck the nozzle in, and started pumping. About ten seconds later Miss Rosemary let out the most god-awful scream, and it nearly scared me to death. I released the pump handle and ran around to see what was wrong.
Miss Rosemary was getting out of the car. Dick had heard the scream and left the brake job he was doing over in the bay to investigate. Before he could even get out to the pumps, Miss Rosemary was pointing at me. “Richard Tillman,” she said to Dick as he walked up, “do you see what he has done?” Her bony finger was wagging up and down in my direction.
Dick pulled a red shop rag from his back pocket and started wiping his hands. He looked at Miss Rosemary, then me. I just shrugged. I didn’t know what she was talking about. “What’s he done?” Dick asked.
Miss Rosemary got an exasperated look on her face, like she was dealing with two nincompoops. She pointed to the gas pump, the Regular gas pump, the one from which I was filling her tank. I closed my eyes and shook my head because I knew what she was about to say. “He has put Regular gasoline in my car!” she exclaimed. “Regular! He knows I always get Hi-Test. This was the Judge’s car and he said it must always have Hi-Test. He said it knocks on Regular.”
Dick looked at me and I couldn’t tell if he was mad or trying to keep from laughing. If it was the latter, I didn’t think it was funny. If it was the former, which I was certain it was, I was scared I was about to get fired. “I’m sorry about that, Miss Rosemary,” Dick said. “It was an honest mistake. It won’t hurt the Judge’s car, I promise.”
Miss Rosemary turned a hard gaze on Dick, moving her head like a pigeon in full strut as she tried to get him focused in her tri-focals. “I want you to drain every bit of that inferior gasoline out of my tank and refill it with Hi-Test.”
Now I was sure I was getting fired. Dick stepped over to the pump and looked at the numbers on the meter. I had put exactly seven tenths of a gallon in her tank. “Miss Rosemary,” Dick said, “it didn’t even take a whole gallon. I think your tank holds almost twenty-five gallons. I promise you with that little bit of Regular in there you won’t notice a thing. And it won’t hurt the engine. If it does, I’ll buy you a new one.”
I could see Miss Rosemary was thinking it over. To seal the deal, and get her on her way, Dick added, “I think you’re about due for an oil change, so when you come by next week for your fill-up I’ll do that for you, no charge.”
Miss Rosemary’s resolve was softening. “Well, if you say it won’t harm anything, I suppose it will be all right…” she turned her octogenarian gaze on me and added “…this time.”
“I’m really sorry, Miss Rosemary,” I said. “It won’t ever happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t, young man.” She turned to get back in the car.
I quickly removed the nozzle and replaced her gas cap. As I was sticking the nozzle back in its holder on the pump, Miss Rosemary started up the car and pulled away. Dick looked at the meter on the pump and said, “You owe me thirty-seven cents.” He pointed at me with the hand still holding the red shop rag and added, “That oil change is coming out of your goddamn pay next week.” He turned and headed back to the bay and the brake job. “Get your head out of the clouds, boy,” he said over his shoulder, “or you’re gonna wind up owing me money come payday.”
When I got home at 6:30, I was surprised to see Daddy’s pickup sitting in the backyard. Evidently, this was one of those rare days for him when he actually got off work on time. As I motored the Honda into the empty side of the carport beside the Batmobile, Bear came running up from wherever he’d been napping. “Hey, boy,” I said and petted him on the head as I climbed off the bike. “Have you had your supper?” I asked. I went over in front of the car and opened the big trash can where we kept the dog food and scooped some out and put it in Bear’s bowl, which was on the ground beside it. His water bowl was full. Bear immediately began to devour the crunchy nuggets and I headed for the house and left him to it.
“I fed Bear,” I said as I walked into the kitchen. Aunt Charity was at the stove, turning something in the iron skillet.
“I already fed him half an hour ago,” she said without looking up.
I laughed. “Well, he’s eating dessert, then. What are we having?” I walked over for a peek at what Aunt Charity was tending to on the stove.
“Pork chops, collards, and creamed potatoes,” Aunt Charity said. “Go wash up, it’s ready.”
“Where’s Daddy and Sash?”
“In the living room watching TV. Let them know that dinner is ready, please.”
I went to the living room to find Daddy sitting in his recliner. My sister was in his lap and they were both asleep. The TV was not on and a copy of The Little Engine That Could was in my father’s right hand. Under the expert tutelage of Aunt Charity, my sister could already read at the second grade level and she had long outgrown this book. But she loved it, and she loved for our father to read it to her. “Daddy?” I said, and reached down and touched his shoulder.
He opened his eyes and blinked and looked up at me. “Hey, sport. Guess I fell asleep.” He looked down at Sachet in his lap. “I guess she did, too,” he added.
“Aunt Charity says dinner is ready,” I said.
“Okay.” He nudged Sachet. “Come on, baby girl, it’s time to eat.”
I heard my sister’s loud yawn as I headed to the bathroom to wash my hands.
When we all sat down to dinner, I noticed there were only four places set at the table. “Where is Mary Alice?” I asked.
Aunt Charity looked at my sister. “Sachet, would you say grace, please?”
We all bowed our heads as Sachet began to pray. “God is great, God is good. Let us thank Him…”
But I wasn’t listening. I was wondering why Mary Alice wasn’t here with us. As soon as I heard the “Amen,” I repeated my question: “Where is Mary Alice?”
“I’ve already taken her dinner over to her,” Aunt Charity said.
Daddy was handing me the platter with the pork chops on it. “You mean she’s eating over at your house?” I asked. I took a pork chop and put it on my plate, then passed the platter past Sachet to Aunt Charity.
“I want one,” my sister said, eyeing the platter as it went by her.
Aunt Charity looked at me as she took one of the smaller chops and put it on Sachet’s plate. “Yes, Nelson, she is eating at my house. Why?”
I stood up and glowered down at my aunt. “She’s over there by herself? Alone? She’s eating alone?”
“Sit down, son,” Daddy said sternly.
Aunt Charity was staring up at me with a look of bemusement. “Mary Alice is not an invalid, Nelson. She’s fine. I’m going over and check on her shortly.”
I was still standing, trying to keep my dismay at this breach of hospitality from rising to the level of genuine anger. Something was very wrong here. When words finally failed me, action set in. I reached for the bowl of mashed potatoes and doled out a double helping into my plate. I did the same with the collard greens. I grabbed a piece of cornbread, scooped up my napkin and flatware, picked up my plate, and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” Daddy asked.
I stopped just as I went through the open door onto the back porch. I turned around to see all three of them staring at me from the table. “I’m going over there and eat with Mary Alice,” I said, and fixed my eyes on Aunt Charity. “I can’t believe you would make her eat by herself.”
As I walked over to my aunt’s house, all sorts of things were going through my mind, not the least of which was how bad I would feel if I were in a strange place and left to have my evening meal by myself. But Mary Alice was blind, which, in my juvenile ignorance, made it doubly worse. What in the world could Aunt Charity be thinking? If she was going to treat the poor girl this way, she should have left her over at the Masonic Home in Poplarville. I was sure she didn’t have to eat alone there.
The garage door was open, so I went in through the door from there that opened into Aunt Charity’s kitchen. I expected to see Mary Alice sitting at the breakfast table in the kitchen, the last place I’d seen her earlier when I walked her into the house, but she wasn’t. It was nice and cool inside, thanks to the central air conditioning. I stepped into the kitchen and closed the door behind me. “Mary Alice?” I called out.
“Yes?” she answered, her voice coming from the dining room.
I walked down the hall off from the kitchen and entered the dining room. The chandelier was ablaze over Aunt Charity’s formal dining table, which would seat ten, and Mary Alice was sitting down at the far end. The room was quiet and still. I could faintly hear the fan from the central air conditioning and the tick of the grandfather clock in the hall.
Mary Alice was still wearing the pink sundress from earlier in the day. Again, I was dumbstruck by her quiet and simple beauty as I watched her slowly cut a sliver of meat from the pork chop on her plate then raise the fork to her mouth. Yes, she was alone. But it was obvious she was fine, fully capable of caring for herself in something so routine as eating a meal. She was, as Aunt Charity had said, no invalid.
