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BOOK: Dorothy Garlock - [Dolan Brothers]
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“Well, whata ya know. That’s some frog.” Tom went to his son and placed his hand on his head. “Be careful with it.”
“Aunty.” Jay’s eyes sought Aunt Dozie.
“He ain’t goin’ to hurt dat frog none. It been here since Henry Ann was little bitty, same as dat chair.”
“Do you know Karen Wesson, Mr. Dolan?” Henry Ann said, when her friend came into the kitchen, followed by Isabel.
“We’ve not met. Pleased to meet you.”
“Same here.” Karen stepped forward and extended her hand.
Henry Ann wasn’t in the mood to eat, but she made an attempt so that Aunt Dozie wouldn’t fuss. In the past Aunt Dozie had sat at the table with her and her Daddy, but with Isabel, Karen, and the Dolans present, she made herself busy by setting up the ironing board and ironing the shirt Karen would take back to the parlor for Ed Henry to be buried in. Isabel ate in a surly silence, but Karen talked easily to Tom.
“We haven’t seen you in church, Mr. Dolan. We have a Sunday school class for toddlers Jay’s age . . . and I’m the teacher.”
Tom placed the spoon in his son’s hand to prevent the child from using his fingers to carry mashed potatoes to his mouth. His dark eyes went first to Henry Ann and then to Karen.
“I was born and raised a Catholic, Miss Wesson.”
“Oh, I see. This is Baptist country. The nearest Catholic church is in Wichita Falls. Were you married there?”
“No, ma’am. We were married by the justice of the peace in Conroy.”
Karen, fearing that she was getting into touchy territory, changed the subject.
“Someone told Daddy that you’re an automobile mechanic.”
“Among other things.”
“But you’d rather farm, is that it?”
“No. It’s a matter of making a living. There’s not enough mechanic’s work now to support a family. So I’m doing a little of both.” His eyes briefly caught Henry Ann’s, and she saw a muscle jump in his jaw.
“We have an old Whippet that hasn’t run for several years.” Karen continued on, blissfully unaware that Tom Dolan was reluctant to talk about himself. “Daddy’s had several mechanics look at it, but there’s so much wrong that they suggested he sell it for junk.”
“He might get something out of the parts.”
“I don’t think Daddy can stand to see it torn apart. It’s the same with an old buggy he has.” Karen laughed.
Henry Ann was so used to her friend that sometimes she forgot how pretty she was. There was not a single blemish on Karen’s face. Her hazel eyes shone between rows of thick lashes only a shade darker than the dark blond hair that she had pressed into a perfect finger wave. Her friend even had a special name. Most of Henry Ann’s friends had names like Betty Jo, Flossy Mae, or Sadie Irene. Karen was a special name for a special girl.
Did Mr. Dolan think she was pretty?
Karen was interested in everything with a compelling eagerness. When listening to someone, she was intent, as if what was said was terribly important to her. She was friendly, gay, and happy, yet deep down inside she thought as much about serious things as Henry Ann did. It was one of the things that made them such good friends.
“Every tire on the thing is flat—rotten in fact.”
“Whippet is a good car.” Tom’s eyes went from Karen to Henry Ann and found her looking at him.
I wonder if she knows how long it’s been since I’ve sat in a friendly kitchen at a cloth-covered table and eaten a meal that I didn’t prepare myself. My son has never had this experience before. He wasn’t allowed to eat at his grandmother’s table lest he spill something on the tablecloth.
Oh, Lord! I must hurry and get out of here, or I may never want to leave.
“I hate to eat and run, Miss Henry, but I’ve chores to do at home.” Tom stood and looked down at his son. “Can you thank the ladies for dinner, tadpole?” He picked the child up and set him on his arm.
Jay hid his face against his father’s shoulder.
“Thank you for fixing the fence—”
“It was nothing—”
“Dat baby ain’t leavin’ dis place less’n he got him a handful a cookies.” Aunt Dozie put several large round cookies in Jay’s hand. “Yo come back’n see Aunt Dozie, hear?”
“And the frog. I’m glad Teddy, that’s what I called him, has someone to play with him.” Henry Ann held out the green frog. One of Jay’s hands was full of cookies, but he quickly reached for the toy with the other hand.
“Are you sure you want to part with it?” Tom asked, looking into her calm face. There was a slight smile of amusement on his.
“Quite sure.”
I was saving it for a child of my own. But it seems to give your child so much pleasure—
Henry Ann followed Tom through the house and stood on the porch while he put his son in the car. He got in, lifted his hand in a salute, and drove away. Back in the kitchen, Henry Ann urged Aunt Dozie to the table to eat.
“Isabel and I will do the dishes before I go back to town,” Karen said.
“I got things to do. ’Sides, what’s
she
here for?” Isabel started for the back door.
“Isabel!” Henry Ann’s voice stopped her. “Aunt Dozie has worked all morning, and Karen needn’t stay when you and I can do the cleanup.”
“Oh . . . all right. But that kid made a mess.”
“He’s just a little boy. I thought he did quite well.”
“I’ve been around enough married men to know when one ain’t in no hurry to get back to his
wife
,” Isabel said nastily. “That’n would hop in bed with either one of ya at the drop of a hat. He’s woman-hungry, is what he is.”
“For crying out loud!” Henry Ann stood with her hands on her hips, her disbelieving eyes on the young girl’s face. “I don’t understand you at all, Isabel. That man is a neighbor who came to do a neighborly deed. Beside that . . . he’s married.”
“What’s being a neighbor got to do with it? And so what that he’s married? That don’t mean nothin’. He’s a man with a pecker, ain’t he?”
Henry Ann felt the tingling sensation of embarrassment as blood rushed to redden her face. Her eyes flashed to Karen, who was carrying dishes to the the workbench, then to the door as Johnny came in.
He stood just inside the door as if sensing the tension.
“Come on to the table, Johnny. We didn’t wait for you, but Aunt Dozie held back some chicken. She’s got hot bread.”
“Sit yoreself down, boy. I’ll be loadin’ yo up a plate.” Aunt Dozie took a clean dish from the shelf and went to the stove.
Johnny looked at Isabel’s pouting face and noticed the paint and the pencil-slim brows.
“Jeez . . .” he whistled between his teeth. “What’er you all gussied up for? You look like you just came off Reno Street.”
“And . . . you look like you just came off a . . . off a reservation!” Isabel flounced out and let the screen door slam behind her.
“Ain’t nothin’ bad ’bout a reservation far as I can see.” Aunt Dozie set Johnny’s food down on the table. “Dem Indian folks was here long ’fore dem white man come.”
* * *
Emmajean was waiting on the front porch when Tom drove into the yard. She had on one of her good dresses and was wearing her floppy-brimmed hat. Knowing there was going to be an unpleasant scene, Tom left the sleeping child in the front seat of the car and went toward the house.
“Where in the hell have you been? I’ve been waiting hours.”
“You know where I’ve been. Mr. Henry died last night. I went there to pay my respects.”
“Four hours. It took four hours to say you were sorry the old man died?”
“I fixed a fence that was down. They invited me and Jay to dinner.”
“Well, now, isn’t that just dandy? You were eating dinner while I waited for you to remember you have a wife.”
“Waiting for what? You were still in bed when I left.” Tom was trying to hold on to his patience.
“To go to town!” she shouted. “I told you last night I was out of embroidery thread. Didn’t I? Didn’t I?”
“We’d use ten cents’ worth of gas to drive to town just to buy a one-cent thread. You should have said you needed it yesterday when we were in town.”
Tom walked into the house, and Emmajean followed. The bed was not made, clothes she had tossed out of drawers were scattered over the floor that hadn’t been swept since he last swept it. The place was a mess. The glass lamp was lit, and a curling iron in the chimney was red hot. He blew out the lamp.
Dear God! She gets more irresponsible every day.
“Don’t you walk away from me.” Emmajean was working herself into a full-blown tantrum. “I said I wanted to go to town.”
“I’ve got work to do, and so have you. Why in God’s name don’t you clean up this place? I’m not taking you to town again until you do.” He raised his voice and glared down at her.
“You’ll take me if I tell you to!” she screamed. “Who’er you but a dirty old sod-buster. And what’s this, but a old . . . a old dirt farm? I’m a Conroy. The town of Conroy, Texas, was named for my grandpa. There wasn’t a town named for
your
grandpa.”
“Clean the house, Emmajean.”
“You’ve been over there smelling around that slut! I knew what she was when she came pussyfootin’ over here to
welcome
the new neighbors. It wasn’t
me
she came to see. No-sir-ee. It was big Thomas Dolan who’s hung like a stallion and is horny as a billy goat.” Her face now was distorted with fury, her voice filled with hate. “You won’t sleep with me! But you’re screwing
her
, aren’t you?”
“Hush that kind of talk, Emmajean!” Tom was glad he had left Jay sleeping in the car.
“Hush that kind of talk, Emmajean,” she mimicked. “Hush that! Hush that! That’s all I ever hear. From Mama. From Papa and from you. Someday you’ll be sorry for treating me like this. I wish Mama would die. I hate her. I hate you. I hate that stinking brat you made me have!” Her voice rose to a screech.
“Calm down. You’re getting all worked up, and you’ll be sick.”
The words had no more than left his mouth when a plate went flying past his head, hit the wall, and smashed into pieces. Knowing what would come next was a crying jag that would last for several hours, Tom left the house, went to the well and began filling the stock tank.
Could hell be any worse than this?

 

Chapter Four
It seemed to Henry Ann that half the town had turned out for her father’s funeral. There was standing room only in the church, and a string of motorcars followed the black hearse that carried his body to its final resting place.
That is not my daddy being put in the ground. It is only the house he lived in while he was here.
The thought helped Henry Ann to get through the day.
Johnny had stood beside her, silent and expressionless. It would surprise her to think later that his presence had been a comfort. Isabel, on the other hand, had sulked because Henry Ann suggested firmly that she wash the paint off her face and wear a freshly ironed gingham dress instead of the green satin that had been their mother’s.
Dozie had insisted on staying at the farm even though Henry Ann had asked her to come to the burial.
“Mr. Henry done knows that I’s grievin’ his passin’. I stay right here and get de fixin’s ready for when de company comes.”
“I hope that old woman’s got the lemonade ready,” Isabel said, as they left the cemetery and headed down the road toward the farm. “I’m ’bout to burn up.”
Henry Ann had sent Johnny to town early that morning to get a block of ice. He had put it in a washtub and covered it with a couple of old quilts. The stoneware cooler for the lemonade would be set at the end of the tables lined up on the porch to hold the food.
With a heavy pain burdening her heart and wishing the day to be over, Henry Ann had helped Aunt Dozie with the food, then stood on the porch and greeted her father’s friends. She thanked those who brought covered dishes and invited all to take plates from the end of the table and to help themselves. Shoulders stiffly erect to hide the pain within her, she accepted their condolences.
The yard filled quickly with cars and wagons. Ed Henry was well-known and respected in the community. Later Henry Ann would compare the number of friends who came to her father’s funeral to the fewer than ten people who had come to say farewell to her mother just a week before.
Johnny chipped ice and carried it in a dishpan to the cooler for Aunt Dozie. He seemed to share none of Isabel’s dislike for her. In fact, he hung around in the kitchen making himself available to help. Isabel, however, disappeared as soon as Pete Perry rode into the yard and let his horse into the back corral. Many of the people had passed the tables and filled a plate when Isabel came out of the house with her arm tucked in Pete’s. She led him to the tables heaped with food and handed him a plate.
Anger kept Henry Ann’s tears at bay. Pete Perry had never been welcome in her father’s house, and he wasn’t welcome now. How dare that little twit bring him here as if he were a member of the family! He smirked when he saw her glaring at them, left his plate on the table, and came to her.
BOOK: Dorothy Garlock - [Dolan Brothers]
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