Aim (23 page)

“Have mercy,” said Momma. “No wonder Axel and Hammer couldn't be in the same room.”

When she said that, the aunts pulled apart, turning stiff as two mailboxes standing by the highway. Lucille's face went slack, and she stared at the flowered rug on the floor. When she spoke, it was real slow and quiet.

“Lily,” she said, “remember when you dropped the dipper in the well and you didn't own up to it? Daddy beat Axel until he couldn't sit down.” Lucille shivered and hugged herself. “I can still hear how he whimpered all night long.”

Momma moaned. She was hurting for Pop and I was too. I could almost feel that licking. And something told me Pop had felt it up until that night on Hog Hill. When finally his heart just gave out.

Aunt Lillian turned and pointed her finger at Lucille, jabbing the air between them. “Oh, and
you're
so upstanding. Remember when you lied about breaking that window? Axel took a beating for that, too. Just because he had a new bat.”

Those two sisters threw their tales back and forth like baseballs they couldn't wait to get rid of. And neither one of them was catching what got thrown at her.

But I sure was. And Momma was too. Finally she said, “Lord, have mercy! I'm just so sorry for every one of you. Please, no more stories!”

From the sound of things, everybody in Hammer
Bledsoe's family had a lifetime of hatefulness weighing them down. The aunts were each trying to prove they had the worse end of the deal. But if you asked me, Pop was the one who suffered most.

That's why he never took a belt or a hickory stick to me. Somewhere along the way he must have decided he wasn't going to pass the meanness down the line. In my mind's eye, I saw him walking up that hill and out of Brookford with only the clothes on his back, and maybe a wrench in his hip pocket. Determined to find his own way in the world.

May 1942

Momma packed up every last stitch of Granddaddy's clothing, all his newspaper clippings, and the Theodore Roosevelt poster, and set them by the door. She told me to carry Granddaddy's chair to the front porch. “In case those sisters come popping in and want it all back.”

“What about the radio?” I asked.

“I'm putting my foot down on that one. Both of those women have a radio already, and we need to keep up with war news. So do the Honeycutts.”

I washed Granddaddy's filthy spitting can and set it in a pasteboard box with other metal we were collecting for the war effort. He had ten empty Skoal tins and one half-full one. I put them in the box too.

Momma scrubbed my room down with pine oil and we pushed the bed to the opposite wall from where it was. She even pulled a different quilt out of her cedar chest and put it on my bed. The place looked and smelled like a whole new room. And something about that made me think I could have a new start on life.

I set the photograph of Gideon Bledsoe on the table by my bed and tried to imagine what he'd say if he was standing there in front of me. But maybe I didn't need him to say a word. Maybe his kind eyes said it all—not to let hard times turn me mean.

I still had to get Leroy's truck fixed, so I climbed on Grover and headed into Brookford. After talking to Jerm, I'd ride to the mill to tell Mr. Hefner I wanted the doffer job. Only thing was, I
didn't
want it. My eyes burned just thinking about all that lint. I doubted I could live through one more day in that place, but I'd made a mess of things and fixing that mess was going to take money.

Jerm was flat on his back under a car. He shimmied out from under and sat up. “Junior. I'm real sorry to hear about Hammer's passing. When is the service?”

“Whenever the aunts decide.”

Jerm chuckled. “You mean, whenever they can agree. That could take a while. Anything I can do?”

“Well, sir, I reckon I have a job for you.”

“How's that?”

“I blew the engine in Leroy Honeycutt's truck.”

Jerm let out a long whistle. “That '35 Chevrolet?”

“I'll work in the mill to pay for it. Could you start on it soon as possible?”

“You sure Leroy wants me to do it? How come he's not the one asking?”

“He said he'd stop in after work. But first, I reckon he wanted me to confess my own sins.”

Jerm cocked his head and gave me a questioning look.

“He loaned me the truck and I was supposed to put oil in it. But I kind of got sidetracked.”

Jerm wiped his greasy hands on a rag. Then he flapped that rag toward my face in a friendly way. “Aren't you Axel Bledsoe's boy? And didn't Axel have a block and tackle?”

“Yes, sir. It's still there.”

Jerm clapped my shoulder. “You know Otis Hickey.” He pointed back up the road. “If I'm not mistaken, he has an engine in his scrapyard out back that'll have some parts you need, likely some pistons and maybe some rods. You'll save some money and do Axel Bledsoe proud at the same time.”

I never did make it to the mill to take that job. Jerm left that car he was repairing, and we headed up to see Otis, whose place was just about as junky in the front as it was around back. Jerm knocked on the door, and Otis came out squinting against the daylight.

“Morning, Otis,” said Jerm. He told him what we wanted, and Otis took us around to see the engine. Jerm did some bartering with him and said he'd come again later, after he took a look at Leroy's truck. Then we headed back down the hill.

“I'll have to order some of the parts,” said Jerm. “But first I need to see how Leroy feels about our plan.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

I spent the rest of the day working around the house,
bending over backwards to please Momma. That evening, when I was cutting the grass, I looked up and there was a truck coming up the lane. It was Basil Whitener, who Leroy had been catching a ride with, and he was towing Leroy's truck behind him.

I left my grass cutter in the front yard and headed around to the back. Leroy was unhooking the chain between the two trucks. “We stopped in at the garage,” he said. “Jerm told me what the two of you had cooked up.”

“You okay with that, Leroy?”

“Long as Jerm backs us up.”

Leroy was ready to start working. So we used Pop's block and tackle to pull the engine and lower it onto a tarpaulin there in the yard. Basil stuck around to help that first night, and Jerm showed up the next day with parts, bringing Otis Hickey along with him.

“You're looking at a soldier man,” said Otis, poking himself in the chest. “Uncle Sam has picked my number.”

And that right there made the war feel real close. It didn't hit me the way it would if Leroy was leaving us. But still, Otis was the one who'd stood on that swinging bridge and told me things about Pop I would never know otherwise.

While we worked on that truck, he filled our ears with more stories—about him and Pop walking across the Brookford dam when they were boys. About Pop's sisters being so frightened of that bridge they tried crossing it on
their hands and knees. “But they still couldn't do it,” he said. “Some people are just scared. Ain't nothing going to convince them to cross over.”

I hated to see those fellows leave when it started getting dark of an evening. I wanted to stay under that oak tree, changing out pistons and adjusting spark plugs. Enjoying the sound of Jerm Foster's laugh and Leroy putting in his two cents every once in a while. Having them there felt a little bit like having Pop back. Except nobody was singing “Amazing Grace” and
I
actually got my hands in the grease.

On Friday night, when it was all done, Leroy reached in his pocket and pulled out the key. “Put some oil in this truck and you can be the first to drive it.”

And if that right there wasn't amazing, I didn't know what was. I went into Pop's shed and poked around on the shelves until I found the Quaker State motor oil. I could hear the men out there under the oak tree tossing wrenches into their toolboxes. I liked the sound of their deep voices, but I wasn't in a hurry to leave the dusty, oily smells inside the shed.

“Pop,” I whispered. “I sure do miss you. Even if you were a wretch sometimes. At least you were a better wretch than Granddaddy was. And I aim to do better than you and him both. I've got Leroy and the others to keep me on the straight and narrow.”

May 1942

On Saturday morning I found Dudley at the river with his fishing pole and a string full of catfish dangling in the water.

“Where's your pole?” he asked.

“I didn't come to go fishing.”

“Suit yourself.”

“My granddaddy died.”

“Oh.” Dudley stared at the water like he was looking in there for something to say. Finally he said, “I'm sorry.”

I shrugged. “I got my bed back and it's quiet in my room now. He was a cantankerous old cuss, you know that?”

Dudley nodded.

“His whole family was ornery, but I reckon he made 'em that way. His heart gave out. Just like my pop's did.”

“Must run in the family,” said Dudley. And then it was like he realized what he'd just said. “Course that don't mean it'll happen to you.”

“Not if I can help it. I don't know what makes a
body's heart give out. But I decided some things, Dudley, and I'm here to tell you about 'em.”

“Shoot.”

“I'm not going to be like them. Pop could be ornery too, and I reckon I don't blame him on account of how Granddaddy treated him. He probably did the best he could. I know he aimed to be a better father than his daddy was. He did all right until he started drinking.”

I sat down on the bank beside Dudley. “I know one thing. I won't be spending my life running to Hog Hill or some other dead-end place the way Pop did. I'm going to do something different. I'll be upstanding, is what I'll be. Just so you know, I won't be stealing cars or letting you talk me into doing stupid things. You hear?”

“I'm listening.”

“Good. And another thing. You have to go see Miss Hinkle. And her sister, Miss Dinah. You owe them a big ‘I'm sorry.'”

Dudley frowned. And he said a few bad words.

“You can handle it. But don't be surprised what kind of punishment they give you. Miss Hinkle roped me into taking ninth grade all over again—at her kitchen table. So I can go on to tenth grade next year.”

“Yee haw!” said Dudley. He gave my shoulder a fistful of wallop.

“Hey! Just because we're in the same grade don't mean I'll be talking with the likes of you. Not unless
you make things right with them first. I'm done with troublemaking, you hear?”

“You said that one time already.”

“All right, then. Whatcha going to do about it?”

“Now? You want me to go now? What about my fish?”

“You can come back for them. Or, here's a better idea. Take them to Miss Pauline. Tell her you'll clean 'em for her.”

Dudley hefted himself off the riverbank and gathered up his pole and the string of fish, and we headed back toward my house. It was about a mile and a half away. We passed Garland Abernethy's lane, and right about that time I saw something move in the side ditch. At first I thought it was a groundhog, but then I realized it was a dog.

“Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle.”

“What?”

“It looks like Ann Fay Honeycutt just got herself a dog.”

June 1942

I carried the little rat terrier in a cardboard box to the Honeycutts'. I went around to the back door, and sure enough, Leroy had the family working in the garden. Myrtle was tying up string beans, and Ann Fay was helping Leroy hoe weeds. Even the twins were dipping tin cans into a bucket and pouring water onto the tomato plants. The front of Ida's dress was drenched, and Ellie was drinking from her can.

“Hey,” I said. “You don't look like a tomato plant to me.”

Ellie giggled and poured the water on top of her head. It ran down past her ears and over her eyes. She blinked and the water splashed off her eyelashes.

I didn't blame her for drenching herself. I was wet too—soaked with sweat. June was always hot and sticky, but this year seemed worse than usual.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ann Fay drop her hoe and come running. “Hey, Junior. What's in that box?” She wiped at her face with her sleeve.

“It's a surprise.” I carried the box over to the house and set it up on the porch floor. Bobby was there on a crazy quilt, sleeping with only his diaper on. “Are you ready?”

Ann Fay jumped up onto the porch and lifted one of the flaps on the box. “A dog?” She said it so quietly it sounded almost like she was whispering a prayer. Then she squealed. “It's a dog. Where'd you get him, Junior?”

The pup scooted into the corner of the box and whimpered.

“Shh. You're scaring him. He was in the side ditch. Someone dropped him off, I reckon.”

Ann Fay jumped off the porch and headed back to the garden. “Daddy! Come look what Junior brought.” She grabbed Leroy's arm, which was moving back and forth because he was hoeing, but she hung on and didn't give up. “Come, Daddy.”

Leroy loved his garden, that's one thing for sure. But evidently he loved Ann Fay even more. He let her drag him toward the house, stepping over rows of beans and winding through the tomato plants. Myrtle straightened up from the beans and stood there rubbing the small of her back, groaning just a little. Then she left her bushel basket and followed Leroy and Ann Fay.

I had the pup in my arms by this time, and he was snuggled into me like that would protect him from these strangers. I scooted my backside up onto the edge of the porch. Ida plopped down beside me and held out her hands. “I want to hold it.”

“No. Let me hold it.” Ellie poked the dog's belly with her finger.