Glory Girl (4 page)

“What about Uncle Newt?”

“He ran off to Las Vegas with his half of the money and was arrested out there. He’d checked into Caesar’s Palace under his own name.”

“Oh.” Even with this information Anna felt she was still searching for Uncle Newt. “He sounds like the kind of man—well, I mean he doesn’t sound like a person who would deliberately cause trouble. He just sounds sort of—I don’t know—dense, stupid.”

“Maybe he is stupid—I don’t know. But he’s always caused trouble. There’s a difference. Like I know a lot of stupid people who never cause trouble—I’m a good example. Did you know that when Uncle Newt was little, he burned down the house?”

“Not on purpose!”

“Well, I don’t know if you’d call it on purpose or not. He was under the house burning cobwebs with a candle, for the fun of it. He liked to see the cobwebs melt, he said, and he set the kitchen floor on fire and ran away.”

“Little kids do crazy stuff,” Anna said. “Look at the things Joshua and Matthew have done.”

“Well, that was just one thing. I could keep going all night. He was in the Navy—this was when they were drafting people—and he got off his ship in some place like Manila and didn’t get back on. He missed the ship. He said he couldn’t find it. It was a battleship, Anna—you know how big those are—and he couldn’t find it!”

“Maybe …” Anna trailed off. She sat on the bed, slumped forward.

“Anyway, I think it was a relief when he was finally sent to prison.”

“Now that
is
a terrible thing to say.”

“It wasn’t me who said it.”

“Who? Dad?”

“The day Uncle Newt was sentenced, I remember this perfectly. I was standing right out there in the hall and the phone rang and it was Grandma Glory. It was right before Christmas. Our tree was up. And without even stopping to say hello, Grandma Glory goes, ‘He got seven years.’ She was crying so hard I had to ask her to say it twice. And Dad called in from the living room, and he goes, ‘How long did he get?’ I said, ‘Seven years,’ and he goes, ‘Well, it looks like a merry Christmas after all.’”

“A
M I ALLOWED TO
ask a question?” Anna asked.

The Glory family was sitting around a table eating Kentucky Fried Chicken out of boxes. In the Kentucky Fried Chicken parking lot, the blue Glory bus was parked close to the highway so everybody driving past could read what was printed on the side. “The Glory Gospel Singers.” Free advertising, Mr. Glory called it. He had painted the uneven white letters himself.

Nobody in the family had done much talking since they left home that morning. They were on their way to pick up Uncle Newt at the bus station in Greenville, and Mrs. Glory had talked to each of the children before they left. She had made each one promise, even Angel, not to do anything to upset their father.

“Am I allowed to ask a question?”

Mrs. Glory shot Anna a look of warning. “What do you want to ask?”

“I was just wondering if Uncle Newt can sing.”

Mr. Glory’s head snapped up. “Sing? What has that got to do with anything?”

“I just thought if he could sing—well, you’ve always said you could use another male voice, and if Uncle Newt can sing—well, he could join the Glory family singers.”

“Anna, Newt is a criminal,” her father said.

“Not if he’s out of prison. You’re only a criminal until you’ve paid for your crime. Then you’re just like everybody else.”

Her father lowered his chicken leg. He wiped grease off his chin with the back of one hand. His cold eyes never left Anna’s face. “Don’t try me today.”

“I’m not trying you. I just don’t see why you’re still calling him a criminal.”

“Is everybody finished?” Mrs. Glory asked quickly. “Newt’s bus’ll be getting in. We don’t want to be late.” She began gathering up the scattered napkins and chicken bones. Then she paused and looked at each of the children. “You know, don’t you, that your father is being very generous to Newt—giving him a place to stay, giving him a job working on the bus.”

No one commented.

“We are all of us trying to do the Christian thing.”

Again no one spoke. Matthew was trying to eat the crust off the rest of the pieces of chicken before Joshua got the idea of doing the same thing. He finished a leg, tossed it back in the box, got another. He felt a stab of joy when Joshua accidentally pulled out that very piece.

“What’s going on?” Joshua reached back into the red striped box and pulled out a thigh. “You ate all the crust! You—” He turned to Matthew with his fists clenched.

“Boys, I’m talking to you,” Mrs. Glory said.

“Well, he ate all the good part. The only part I like is the outside!”

“Have a piece out of my box.”

“But what I don’t understand about Newt,” Anna began, “is—”

Mr. Glory slapped his long hands on the table and rose. “I would like to go five minutes without talking about Newt!”

He turned and walked to the glass counter. He leaned forward, staring at the cartons of cole slaw and bean salad as if his life somehow depended on the little cups.

“Can I help you?” the waitress asked.

“No!”

Mrs. Glory winced at the fury in that exploded “No!” “Now, listen to me and I mean it,” she said in a new lower voice. “No more about Newt.”

“Well, just tell me if he can sing,” Anna said, “and then I’ll shut up.” She somehow felt that Newt’s troubles might be tied in with the fact that, like her, he was a non-singer in a world of song.

“Yes, Anna, he can sing. He used to be in the Gospel Quartet.” She leaned forward. “This thing between Newt and—” She nodded toward her husband. “This thing goes way back. When they were little boys, their mother liked Newt best. No matter what John did—and he was the one that made the good grades and did the chores and went to church. He had medals every single year for perfect church attendance. When he went to 4H camp he even got notes from the counselors that he’d attended services so he could keep his record. But no matter what he did to make them proud, Newt was always Grandma Glory’s favorite.”

“Why would Newt—” Matthew began. Mrs. Glory signaled him to lower his voice. “Why would Newt be the favorite?” he whispered. “Didn’t he burn down the house?”

“We don’t
ever
mention that, Matthew.”

“But didn’t he?” Matthew was genuinely puzzled. He had always thought parents favored the children who caused the least trouble.

Mrs. Glory glanced at her husband’s back. “I don’t know if I can explain it, but it seemed like Grandma Glory always liked—well, people that couldn’t get along in the world. She had a three-legged dog one time and she let him do everything but pull up a chair at the table. It’s hard for me to understand because—well, because I like all of you exactly the same.”

“You do not. You like Angel best,” Joshua said.

The Glory twins had paused in their tug-of-war with the last drumstick. They held it between them, one on each end, fingers dug into the meat, waiting to resume the struggle.

They glanced at Angel. She was idly picking tiny pieces of meat from a bone and putting them in her mouth. She always ate with her fingers but so daintily that no one ever corrected her. It even made people around her, eating with forks, look clumsy and bad-mannered.

“That’s true,” Matthew said. “You do like Angel best.”

Mrs. Glory hesitated. She had never been a good liar. Already her neck was beginning to redden with the strain. “I like you all the same.” The flush moved up to her cheeks.

Mr. Glory saved her by turning suddenly and saying, “It’s time to go to the station.”

“Yes, come on, everybody.”

“It’s mine!” Matthew tore the chicken leg out of Joshua’s greasy fingers. “Nyah!” He ran for the door with the chicken leg sticking out the side of his mouth like a cigar.

“Don’t fall,” Mrs. Glory called, and as Joshua started after him changed it to, “Don’t push!” She sometimes felt she could put any verb after “don’t” and it would fit.

The rest of the Glory family got up, went outside, and followed the twins onto the bus. As they settled in their seats, Mr. Glory began to coax the engine into action. With a loud backfire from the muffler, the bus moved out onto the highway.

“Make him give me that chicken,” Joshua whined. “He had more than anybody.”

“Boys, share,” Mrs. Glory said. Her voice was as hopeless as someone talking to a tornado.

“She said
share
.”

“Ow! You’re not supposed to hit me until my head heals.”

“I can hit
you
, but not your head.”

“Who said?”

“Dad.”

“Dad, did you say that—”

Mrs. Glory reached over and stopped the rest of the question by squeezing Matthew’s hand until the tips of his fingers turned purple. “Ow!” Then there was silence.

Anna sat alone on one of the back seats. She had started to feel a kinship with Uncle Newt that surprised her. She couldn’t explain it. She didn’t feel that way about the members of her own family. Maybe, she told herself, it was like at the movies when with an awkward yearning she would want the bad guy to get away.

“The bus station’s over there,” Mrs. Glory said, and Anna sat up straighter. She somehow felt as if she alone would be able to recognize Uncle Newt.

“And there’s a bus pulling in,” Joshua said.

Mrs. Glory turned in her seat to face the children. “Now, don’t anybody mention prison. I mean that. We want Newt to feel at home.”

“Can we mention it later?” Joshua asked.

“We’ll see.”

“After supper?”

“We’ll see!”

“Because we’re doing reports in school on a relative with an interesting occupation, and I’m doing Uncle Newt and bank robbery—and don’t you steal my idea, you!”

He gave a warning jab to his brother without making contact.

“This
must
be his bus,” Anna said. Her excitement was rising. She moved down the aisle, holding onto the seats so she could be the first one off the bus. She ran across the parking lot and got to the door of the Greyhound bus just as it was opening.

Her face was bright, her smile wide as the bus driver began to help the passengers down. “Watch your step, sir.… Have a nice day, ma’am.” She shifted her weight impatiently, her eyes on the passengers. Her smile faded as the last passenger descended, and it was not Uncle Newt.

“Reckon he doesn’t know to get off?” Mrs. Glory asked. She was walking the length of the bus now, peering up at the faces in the windows.

“He knows to get off,” Mr. Glory said.

“Well, lots of times people in prison don’t know how to do for themselves when they get out. They need help.” She came back on the other side of the bus. “I don’t think he’s on there.”

Anna said to the driver, “My uncle was supposed to be on this bus.”

“What does he look like?”

“Well, he’s just kind of—” She paused. She wanted to put it as kindly as possible. “He’s an average sort of man. He’s—”

“I’ll check,” Mr. Glory said. He had suddenly remembered how, as a boy, Newt would occasionally hide on the floor of the car to avoid being kissed by relatives.

Mr. Glory boarded the bus and went down the aisle, looking on and under each seat like a policeman. Then he came back and stood in the doorway and looked down at his family.

“He’s gone,” he said.

“I
WANTED TO SEE
Uncle Newt,” Joshua whined as the blue bus pulled away from the station.

“Me too.”

“Watch out for that truck!” Mrs. Glory screamed.

Mr. Glory avoided the beer truck by slamming on the brakes. The whole family jammed into the seats in front of them.

“John!” Mrs. Glory said as she straightened.

Mr. Glory did not answer. He remained hunched over the steering wheel. After a moment he took a deep breath and restarted the engine.

Joshua pushed himself up by leaning hard on Matthew’s back. Matthew came up with his fists raised, but Joshua was already looking innocently out the window.

Joshua was still hoping to catch a glimpse of Uncle Newt, to cry, “I see him!” It was always a triumph to see something before Matthew did. Their rides to singing engagements were spent yelling, “I see the river!”, yelling back, “I saw it before you!”

“Where do you think Uncle Newt could be?” Anna asked. She was not on the back seat where she usually sat, but up front with the family.

“Did you hear what the bus driver said about the man who got off in Spartanburg? That was Newt, don’t you think, John?”

Mr. Glory did not answer. With a jerk of his shoulders he threw the bus into third gear.

Mrs. Glory said, “It sounds like him—bolting off the bus, spilling people’s things, running away. Newt never could face up to anything. He’d run like a scared rabbit if you looked at him.”

“But why would he run from me—us?” Anna asked. The thought was unexpectedly painful. “Mom, maybe we should drive to Spartanburg—”

“And do what, Anna? Drive up and down the streets looking for a man we might not even recognize?”

“I’d know him,” Joshua said, leaning forward. “He’s going to be real pale, and his clothes won’t fit right, and he’ll—”

“The last time I saw Newt,” Mrs. Glory said, interrupting, “was eight years ago at a family reunion, a picnic. Well, I wanted to be nice and so I went over to hug Newt—everybody was hugging everybody else—and he jumped back like I had a disease. I never will forget the look on his face when he saw me coming.”

“Did you hug him anyway?” Matthew asked. He didn’t care for affectionate relatives himself.

“I had to. I already had my arms out. And Newt cringed and ducked his head—he did everything but dig a hole in the ground and disappear.”

Mrs. Glory puffed up her beehive hairdo. The memory still stung. “Later Cousin Annabelle said, ‘Didn’t you know? Newt can’t stand to be hugged.’ And I said, ‘Anybody that can’t stand to be hugged doesn’t belong at a family reunion.’”

“Mom, you and Dad would recognize him,” Anna said.

“It’s been eight years. I told your father this morning he’d probably have to point Newt out to me.”

“Well, we ought to do
something
.”

“I look at it this way. If Newt doesn’t want to come, if he doesn’t want to be part of our family, if he wants to get away from us so bad that he’ll knock people down getting off a bus—well, that’s fine with me.”