Ordinary Grace (4 page)

n a minister’s salary we ate cautiously but we ate well. That didn’t mean the food was good; my mother was a notoriously bad cook. But she was a savvy shopper and made sure there

was plenty to sustain us. Most Saturday nights my father made hamburgers and milk shakes and we ate these with potato chips. Salad was the lettuce and tomato and onion we put on our burgers though sometimes my mother would cut carrots and celery into sticks. We looked forward to dinner on Saturdays which we sometimes ate around a picnic table in our backyard.

That Saturday things were different and they were different because of the dead man and because Jake and I had reported him. My father had come to pick us up at the police station where we waited with Gus. We’d answered the questions of the county sheriff who was a man named Gregor and who’d been called into town from the small farm he operated on Willow Creek. He didn’t look like a sheriff. He was dressed in overalls and his hair was stiff with hay dust. He treated us kindly though he was stern when it came to his admonition that the railroad tracks were no place for boys to play. He reminded us about the unfortunate Bobby Cole. He sounded truly sad when he spoke of Bobby’s death and I had the sense that it meant something to him and I was inclined to like him.

Jake stuttered horribly when he was questioned and in the end I told the story for both of us. I didn’t mention the Indian. I don’t know why. The sheriff and the men in the police station hadn’t been drinking and they seemed reasonable and I wasn’t afraid that they’d do violence if they picked him up. But Jake in his utterance in the back room of the drugstore had omitted the Indian and in doing so had lied and the lie once spoken had taken shape as surely as if he’d chiseled it from a block of limestone. To undo it would be to put on my brother’s shoulders the impossible responsibility of trying to explain why he’d dissembled in the first place. Since the moment when with astonishing clarity he’d spoken the lie, Jake hadn’t been able to say a single word without stumbling through a long preamble of unintelligible utterances that were an embarrassment to him and to all who were present.

My father when he arrived was fully informed. He and Gus stood together while our questioning was completed then he ushered us outside into the Packard. Although Dad had cleaned the car thoroughly after Gus puked in the back, there was still a faint unpleasant odor and we drove home with the windows down. He pulled into the garage and we climbed from the car and he said, Boys, I’d like to talk to you. He looked at Gus and Gus nodded and walked off. We stood in the open doorway of the garage. Across the street the church was bathed in the light of the late afternoon sun and its white sides had turned yellow as pollen. I stared at the steeple whose little cross seemed like a black brand against the sky and I was pretty sure of what was about to come. My father had never struck us but he could speak in a way that made you feel as if you’d offended God himself. That’s what I figured was our due.

The issue, he said, is that I need to be able to trust you. I can’t watch you every moment of every day nor can your mother. We need to know that you’re responsible and won’t do dangerous things.

The tracks aren’t dangerous, I said.
Bobby Cole was killed on those tracks, he said.
Bobby was different. How many other kids have been killed playing on the tracks? Heck, streets are more dangerous. Me and Jake could be killed a whole lot easier just crossing the street in town. I’m not going to argue, Frank.
I’m just saying that anything can be dangerous if you’re not careful. Me and Jake, we’re careful. That dead guy today wasn’t because we weren’t careful.

Okay, then this is the issue. I need to know that when I ask something of you you’ll give it. If I ask you to stay away from those tracks, I need to know that you will. Do you understand?

Yes, sir.
Trust is the issue, Frank. He looked at Jake. Do you understand? Jake said, Yes s-s-s-sir.
This is what’s going to happen in order that you remember. For

All things considered I didn’t think it was such a bad deal so I nodded to show that I understood and I accepted. Jake did the same.
I thought that was it but my father made no move to leave. He looked beyond us toward the dark at the back of the garage and was silent as if deep in thought. Then he turned and stared through the open door of the garage toward the church. He seemed to come to some decision.
He said, The first man I ever saw dead outside a coffin was on a battlefield, and I have never spoken of it until now.
My father sat on the rear bumper of the Packard so that his eyes were level with ours.
I was scared, he said, and I was curious and although I knew it was a dangerous thing to do, I stopped and considered this dead soldier. He was German. Not much more than a boy. Only a few years older than you, Frank. And as I stood looking down at this dead young man, a soldier who’d seen a lot of battle stopped and he said to me, You’ll get used to it, son. Son, he called me, even though he was younger than I. My father shook his head and took a deep breath. He was wrong, boys. I never got used to it.
My father leaned his arms on his thighs and folded his hands in the way he sometimes did when he sat alone in a pew and prayed.
I had to go to war, he said. Or felt that I had to. I thought I knew more or less what to expect. But death surprised me.
My father looked at each of us. His eyes were hard brown but they were also gentle and sad.
You’ve seen something I would like to have kept from you. If you want to talk about it, I’ll listen.
I glanced toward Jake who was staring at the dirt floor of the old garage. I held my tongue though in truth there was much I wanted to know.
My father waited patiently and gave no sign that he was disappointed in our silence. All right, he said and stood. Let’s go inside. I’m sure your mother is wondering what’s become of us.
My mother was in a tizzy. She gathered us to her bosom and made a fuss over us and swung between chastisement for our actions and delirium over our safety. My mother was a woman of deep emotion and also of drama and in the middle of the kitchen she poured out both on Jake and me. She stroked our hair as if we were pets and she dug her fingers into our shoulders and gave us each a stern little shake to set us straight and in the end she kissed the tops of our heads. My father had gone to the sink to run himself a glass of water and when my mother asked him about what had gone on at the police station he said, Go on upstairs, boys. Your mother and I need to talk.
We trudged up to our bedroom and lay down on our beds in the heat that lingered from the day.
Why didn’t you tell them about the Indian? I said.
Jake took his time answering. He had an old baseball that he’d grabbed off the bedroom floor and he tossed it and caught it as he lay. He said, The Indian wasn’t going to hurt us.
How do you know that?
I just do. Why didn’t you say anything?
I don’t know. It didn’t feel right.
We shouldn’t’ve been on the tracks.
I don’t think it was wrong.
But Dad said—
I know what he said.
You’re going to get us in big trouble someday.
You don’t have to always follow me around like a sick dog. He stopped tossing the ball. You’re my best friend, Frank.
I stared up at the ceiling and watched a fly with a shiny green body crawl across the plaster and I wondered what it was like to walk upside down in the world. I didn’t acknowledge what Jake had said although it was something I’d always known. Except for me Jake didn’t have friends and I wasn’t sure the weight I should give the confession or the response I should offer.
Hey, you two desperadoes.
My sister stood leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed and a wry smile on her lips. Ariel was a pretty girl. She had my mother’s auburn hair and pillowy blue eyes and my father’s quiet and considered countenance. But what Morris Engdahl had said about her was true. She’d been born with a cleft lip and though it had been surgically corrected when she was a baby the scar was still visible. She claimed it didn’t bother her and whenever somebody who didn’t know asked her about it she gave a toss of her head and said, It’s the mark left by the finger of an angel who touched my face. She said it so sincerely that it usually ended the discussion of what some considered a deformity.
She came into the room and nudged Jake over and sat on his bed.
I said, You just get home?
Ariel waitressed in the restaurant at the country club south of the Heights.
Yeah. Mom and Dad are having this big discussion about you two. A dead man? You really found a dead man? That must’ve scared you plenty.
Naw, I said. He looked like he was sleeping.
How did you know he was dead?
It was a question the sheriff had asked too and I told her what I’d told him. That we thought he might have been hurt and when he didn’t answer our calls from the trestle we went down to check on him and it was easy then to see that he was dead.
You said he looked like he was just sleeping, Ariel said. Did you poke him to find out or what?
I said, Up close he looked dead. He wasn’t breathing for one thing.
You investigated this dead man pretty carefully, she said. She put her index finger to the scar on her lip which was something she did sometimes when she was deep in consideration and she looked at me a long thoughtful time. Then she turned to Jake.
How about you, Jakie? Were you scared?
He didn’t answer her. Instead he said, We weren’t supposed to be there.
She laughed softly and said, You’ll be lots of places you’re not supposed to be in your lives. Just don’t get caught.
I saw you sneaking in the other night, I said.
The moment of her playfulness vanished and she looked at me coldly.
Don’t worry. I didn’t tell anybody.
It doesn’t matter, she said.
But I could tell that it did.
Ariel was my parents’ golden child. She had a quick mind and the gift of easy charm and her fingers possessed magic on the keyboard and we knew, all of us who loved her, that she was destined for greatness. She was my mother’s favorite and may have been my father’s too though I was less certain of his sentiments. He was careful in how he spoke of his children, but my mother with passionate and dramatic abandon declared Ariel the joy of her heart. What she did not say but all of us knew was that Ariel was the hope for the consummation of my mother’s own unfulfilled longings. It would have been easy to hate Ariel. But Jake and I adored her. She was our confidante. Our coconspirator. Our defender. She tracked our small successes better than our distracted parents and was lavish in her praise. In the simple way of the wild daisies that grew in the grass of the pasture behind our home she offered the beauty of herself without pretension.
A dead man, she said and shook her head. Do they know who he was?
He called himself Skipper, Jake said.
How do you know?
Jake shot me a look that was a silent plea for help but before I could respond Ariel said,There’s something you guys aren’t telling me.
There were two men, Jake said in a rush and it was easy to see that he was relieved to have the truth spill from him.
Two? Ariel looked from Jake to me. Who was the other man?
Thanks to Jake the truth was already there in front of us like a puddle of puke. I saw no reason to lie anymore especially to Ariel. I said, An Indian. He was the dead man’s friend. Then I told her everything that had happened.
She listened and the pillowy blue of her eyes rested sometimes on me and sometimes on Jake and in the end she said, You guys could be in big trouble.
S-s-s-see, Jake hissed at me.
It’s okay, Jakie, she said. She patted his leg. Your secret’s safe with me. But, guys, listen to Dad. He worries about you. We all do.
Should we tell someone about the Indian? Jake asked.
Ariel thought it over. Was the Indian scary or dangerous?
He put his hand on Jake’s leg, I said.
He didn’t scare me, Jake said. I don’t think he was going to hurt us or anything.
Then I think it’s okay to keep that part a secret. Ariel stood up. But promise you won’t goof around on the tracks anymore.
Promise, Jake said.
Ariel waited for me to chime in and scowled until I gave her my word. She walked to the door where she turned back dramatically and gave a broad wave of her hand and said, I’m off to the theater. She pronounced the word as
theatah.
The drive-in theater, she said and finished by throwing an imaginary stole about her neck and exiting with a dramatic flourish.

My father didn’t fix hamburgers and milk shakes that night. He was called to van der Waal’s Funeral Home where the body of the dead man had been taken for disposition and where he discussed with van der Waal and the sheriff the burial of the stranger. He didn’t get home until late. In the meantime, my mother heated Campbell’s tomato soup and made grilled cheese sandwiches with Velveeta and we ate dinner and afterward watched
Have Gun—Will Travel.
The picture was snowy on the screen because of the poor reception in so isolated an area but Jake and I clamored to watch it every Saturday night anyway. Ariel left with some of her friends to go to the drive-in movies and my mother said, Home by midnight. Ariel kissed her sweetly on the forehead and said, Yes, mother dear. We took our Saturday night baths and went to bed before my father returned and when he came home I was still awake and I heard my parents talking in the kitchen which was directly below our bedroom.Their voices came up through the grate in the floor and it was as if they were in the same room with me. They had no idea I was privy to every conversation that took place between them in the kitchen. They spent a few minutes talking about the burial service for the dead man which my father had agreed to perform. Then they moved on to Ariel.

No, Mother replied. Just a bunch of her girlfriends. I told her midnight because I knew you’d worry.
When she’s away at Juilliard and I have no say in the matter she can stay out as late as she wants but when she’s with us and under our roof she’s home by midnight, he said.
You don’t have to convince me, Nathan.
She’s been different lately, he said. Have you noticed?
Different how?
I get the feeling something’s on her mind and she’s about to speak and then she doesn’t.
If something was bothering her she’d tell me, Nathan. She tells me everything.
All right, my father said.
Mother asked, When is the burial for that dead itinerant?
Mother used the word
itinerant
because she said it was kinder than
hobo
or
bum
, and so we’d all begun to use that term when referring to the dead man.
Monday.
Would you like me to sing?
It will be just me and Gus and van der Waal at the burial. No need for music I think. A few appropriate words will do.
Their chairs scraped on the linoleum and they drifted away from the table and I could no longer hear them.
I thought about the dead man and I thought that I would like to be there when he was buried and I rolled over and closed my eyes thinking about Bobby Cole in his casket and about the dead man who would be in a casket too and I fell into a dark and unsettled slumber.
In the night I woke to the sound of a car door closing on the street in front of our house and Ariel laughing. In my parents’ bedroom across the hall a dim light burned. The car drove away and a few moments later I heard the tiny cry of the hinges on the front screen door. The light in my parents’ bedroom blinked off and their door closed with a quiet sigh. Ariel came up the stairs and then I was asleep.
Later I woke to thunder. I went to the window and saw that an electrical storm was sliding north of the valley and although the rain would miss us I could see quite well the silver bolts of lightning forged on the anvil of the great thunderhead. I slipped downstairs and out the front door and sat on the porch steps. A wind cooler than anything I’d felt in days breathed into my face and I watched the storm as I might have watched the approach and passing of a fierce and beautiful animal.
The distant thunder was like the sound of cannon fire and I thought about my father and what he’d told Jake and me about the war, which was a good deal more than he’d ever shared with us. There’d been many things I wanted to ask and I wasn’t sure why I’d held back and though he’d done nothing to show it I knew my father was hurt by our silence which was the only return we gave for his difficult honesty. I’d wanted to ask about death and if it hurt to die and what awaited me and everyone else after our passing and don’t give me that crap about the Pearly Gates, Dad. Death was a serious subject on my mind and I wanted to talk to someone about it. Standing with my father and brother in the dirt of the garage I’d been offered the moment but I’d let it pass.
As I sat on the steps I saw someone dash across the yard from the back of the house and head toward Tyler Street and up to the Heights. We didn’t have streetlights on the Flats but I didn’t need a light to know who was sneaking away.
I stood up to return to my bedroom and looked one last time where the lightning stabbed the earth that rimmed and isolated our valley.
There’d been two deaths already that summer, and although I didn’t have a clue, there were three more yet to come.
And the next would be the most painful to bear.