Prayers and Lies (7 page)

Jolene had joined Mother in the kitchen, where a new batch of rolls was coming out of the oven. From the couch, I could see the two women talking, but their voices didn’t carry into the room. Jo-lene had that pained look again; Mother looked worried, too. I knew this was the trouble Jolene had not wanted in her house, and I wondered how Caleb had ended up with them. I’d always figured Jolene ruled the roost at home. Maybe she didn’t, after all.

Nancy and Melinda had climbed the ladder to their loft. I could hear them above, putting their room to order. Nancy was particular about where everything went, and they always took a long time, setting things up just so. Tracy sat at Daddy’s feet, listening to the men talk. She loved being part of the adult conversation, and she adored Bobby Lee. At home she would sometimes compare boys she knew at school to her grown-up cousin.

“Oh, he’s okay,” she would say about some pimply Romeo. “But he sure doesn’t carry himself like Bobby Lee.”

I knew she wouldn’t move unless Daddy ordered her to. So I pulled Reana Mae into our room, figuring now was the time to catch up in private. Summers, we had the whole outdoors to wander. Wintertime on the river, privacy didn’t come cheap.

I admired Essie’s new ensemble again, then asked about all the people I could think of. Harley Boy had won the spelling bee at school, beating out a sixth grader even. Cousin Lottie was saying real words now. Lottie’s older sister, Ruthann, had herself a real boyfriend.

“But,” Reana whispered, grinning slyly, “she ain’t kissed him yet. She’s gonna make him wait till Christmas for that.”

Ruthann was in the fourth grade with Reana Mae at the grade school in town. They rode the school bus together, an hour each way every day—except when it snowed. Then the bus didn’t run and the kids along the river went to Ida Louise’s house for their lessons. All things considered, they preferred school to Ida Louise.

“How about you?” I asked, grinning at her. “You got a boyfriend yet?”

Her cheeks colored and she shook her head. “Who’d look at me?”

“I always thought Harley Boy looked at you kinda sweet,” I teased.

“Naw, Bethany,” she mumbled, her cheeks getting redder. “I know I ain’t pretty. Mama says she don’t know how she got a daughter like me, and I reckon she’s right. She figures I’ll probably stick with her always, ’cause won’t nobody else want me.”

“That’s not true, Reana Mae,” I said, holding her hand. “You’ve got your mama’s pretty eyes. And Mother says you’re going to be beautiful when you get older.”

It was true, Mother said that sometimes. I never understood how she could, seeing that Reana was certainly not pretty now. But Mother just smiled and said to wait, Reana Mae would surprise us all.

“Does she really? Does she say that?” Reana Mae’s eyes widened. Then she smiled shyly. “Caleb says I’m pretty, too,” she whispered.

I stared at her in amazement. What did that bear-boy know about pretty?

“What’s he like?”

“Caleb? Oh, he’s all right. He makes Mama mad a lot, ’cause he’s so big and clumsy, and he breaks things sometimes. And he gets into trouble, too, and won’t listen to Mama. Seems like only Daddy can make him mind, and Daddy ain’t home much these days.”

Reana Mae’s brow furrowed as she straightened Essie’s coat.

“He’s real nice to me, though.” She smiled. “He even bought me a scarf from the Woolworth in St. Albans, a pink woolly one for school. But Mama don’t like me to wear it.” She sighed unhappily.

“How long is he gonna live with you?” I asked.

“Well, Daddy says just for a while. Just till Mamaw gets a new place to live where Caleb can finish school. He’s sixteen, you know, so he’s supposed to go to school. And he don’t go here, ’cause he can’t get along with the teachers at the high school. He says they got it in for him ’cause he lived in the city before.”

She smiled sidelong at me, and just for a minute, she did look almost pretty. She was nine now and had rounded out a bit, looking less like a reed and more like a healthy girl. She’d also started braiding her dark blond hair back, so it wasn’t such a tangled mess.

“Anyway, Daddy says just for a while, but Mama thinks he’s here to stay. She says Mamaw don’t want Caleb with her ’cause she can’t make him mind her no more.” She laid the doll down and stretched. “I hope he does stay.”

“Why?” I asked. “He looks so mean.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “He does look mean. And he’s got hisself a nasty temper, truth be told. Buttons is sore afraid of him, that’s for sure.” She laughed guiltily. Neither of us much liked Jolene’s ill-tempered poodle. Both of us had felt her sharp little teeth.

“But he’s kind mostly,” she continued. “And he talks to me and asks me things like he really wants to know what I think. I like him.”

Jolene appeared in the doorway to tell Reana it was time to go. We were going to Aunt Belle’s for supper, and they had to get back home and check on Caleb.

“Lord knows,” Jolene said with a sigh, “if we’re gone too long he’s like to burn the house down. Or worse.”

Bobby Lee laughed. “Aw now, Jolene, he’s just sowing him some oats. That’s what boys his age is supposed to do.” He winked at my daddy. “Boys is supposed to sow wild oats, ain’t that so, Jimmy? It’s in their nature, that’s all.”

Jolene turned away from him abruptly. “Reana Mae! What on God’s green earth is takin’ you so long?”

They bundled up and left, walking single-file down the tire tracks in the road. Mother and Daddy stood in the cabin doorway, watching them go.

“Lord have mercy.” Daddy sighed, his arm around Mother’s waist. “They sure have taken on a load.”

“It’s trouble,” Mother agreed, shaking her head, her lips in a tight, thin line. “Nothing but trouble.”

*  *  *

Aunt Belle’s house on Thanksgiving was filled with family and laughter and good smells. All the women had been there since sunup, stirring, kneading, tasting, and gossiping. All but my mother had been nipping from the bottle a bit as well. By the time we ate in the early afternoon, their cheeks were pink from kitchen heat and the good Kentucky bourbon Aunt Belle kept on hand.

When Tracy and I came in with Daddy from chopping firewood, the smells of corn bread, pecan pies, smoked ham, hot biscuits, sage, and cinnamon nearly knocked us back out the door. My mouth watered just thinking of all the food. Best of all, I knew out back in the spare kitchen, Belle’s housekeeper, Donna Jo, was roasting the biggest, juiciest turkey in the valley.

We sat down to tables spread with every good thing you could imagine. Loreen had made corn bread and sweet potatoes topped with sticky, melted marshmallows. Jolene brought candied carrots and green beans boiled to a pulp with bacon fat. Belle’s offering—made with her own two hands, as she proclaimed loudly—was a silver tray piled high with bourbon balls, sweet concoctions heavily soaked in liquor and rolled in powdered sugar.

Uncle Joe, Bobby Lee’s grandfather who had been married to my Great-Aunt Arathena before she died, had driven in from Tennessee, bringing boxed chocolates, bottles of Coca-Colas, and more bourbon. Nancy and Melinda had spent half the morning under Donna Jo’s direction, mashing potatoes with butter, warm cream, and pepper until not a lump survived. Mother had made her fancy sugar cream pies and a big pot of cooked cranberries. Aunt Vera and Uncle Hobie brought two enormous hams smoked in their own smokehouse and smothered with brown sugar and caramelized sweet onions. Donna Jo supplied the rest—huge lard biscuits, stuffing rich with sage, roasted turkey, creamed corn, strong coffee, and a sweet mix of canned fruits, dried coconut, and tiny colored marshmallows in a sour cream sauce. Heaven!

Even Belle’s big table wouldn’t hold all her clan, so Donna Jo had set up card tables in the living room. After she carried in the turkey—to a round of applause—Donna Jo sat down with the rest of us to eat. Her own husband was long dead and her children had moved from the valley years before. Her rough red hands spoke eloquently of the hard work she did for Belle, but at mealtimes she was just another woman at the table.

My daddy stood to ask the blessing. “Lord God in Heaven,” he intoned solemnly, “how grateful we are to be gathered together as a family today.”

I peeked around—I never could keep my eyes closed for prayers—and saw Caleb at the next table, staring at the empty seat he had saved for his mother. Cleda Rae had said she would be with us today, and she hadn’t even called Belle to say otherwise.

“We ask your blessings, Lord, upon those who are gathered here today, and upon those who could not be here with us … because of the snow or other circumstances we cannot know.”

Then I knew my daddy was worrying about Caleb and Bobby Lee, too.

“Bless this food to our bodies, and us to thy service, O Lord. Amen.”

“Amen,” we all echoed. I saw Bobby Lee reach over to clap his hand on Caleb’s shoulder.

Then we ate, and ate, and ate. And the grown-ups talked, and talked, and talked.

We didn’t have a children’s table at Aunt Belle’s. Everyone just sat where they happened to sit—except for Belle, of course, who always sat at the head of the big table, a decanter of bourbon beside her plate. I sat with Reana Mae, Uncle Joe, and Loreen. At the card table next to us were Caleb, Bobby Lee, and Aunt Vera, with Cousin Lottie in the high chair. Farther on, Ruthann was sitting unhappily at a table with her daddy (my Uncle Hobie), Nancy, and Melinda. Ruthann was sulking because she had wanted to sit with Reana Mae and me, but by the time she got there, the table was full. Uncle Hobie was trying his best to involve Nancy and Melinda in a conversation, but they simply answered him as briefly as they could and then pointedly ignored him and Ruthann. Tracy, of course, had managed a seat at the big table between Mother and Daddy. Somehow, she always managed that. She sat next to Daddy, smiling sweetly, quiet as a church mouse—like she might just sprout a halo at any minute.

Cousin Lottie, when she had eaten all the sweet onions at her own table, toddled from table to table, begging for more. “Onon?” she burbled sweetly, and no one—not even her sister, Ruthann—could resist. I’m not sure Lottie ate much that day besides onions and sugar cream pie.

When we had eaten until we could not eat any more, Donna Jo brought out the pies and the bourbon balls and the fresh-whipped cream and the strong, black coffee, and we were persuaded to eat “just a mouthful” more. Aunt Belle was cutting the pies when the front door creaked open and Cleda Rae burst in, bundled from head to toe in some kind of dark purple fake fur and carrying a six-pack of beer. “Hey, ya’ll, here I am!” she called out.

Caleb was on his feet in an instant, rising so suddenly he knocked his chair over—and very nearly the table, too. “Mama!” he called, and I stared in amazement. In that moment he didn’t look like a bear at all, but just like any other boy. In the next instant, his features changed and he was once again dark, suspicious, looking for all the world like a great bear. I turned to see what could bring about such a transformation. A man stood just behind Cleda Rae, holding another six-pack of beer.

Bobby Lee was on his feet, too. In an instant he was at the door and had wrapped his mother in a tight embrace. The man stood quietly behind them, grinning uncertainly. Cleda Rae disengaged herself from her older son, set down her six-pack, smiled brightly, and exclaimed loudly, “I hope ya’ll don’t mind, I brought along a friend with me.” She turned to the man standing behind her and took him by the arm, drawing him forward.

“Bobby Lee, Belle, everyone, this here is Mr. Ephraim Turner from up to Huntington. His folks are all away down south today, so I asked him to join us for the holiday. I hope that’s all right with you, Belle,” she added, turning to Aunt Belle, who was standing just behind Bobby Lee by this time.

“Course it is, Cleda Rae,” Belle boomed. “We got plenty of room for friends today. Mr. Turner, why don’t you just bring that beer on into the kitchen?” she continued, taking the man by the elbow and steering him into the other room.

“Cleda, let me take your coat.” Jolene was there now, tugging the awful purple fur thing from Cleda Rae’s shoulders.

“Ain’t it just the smartest thing you ever seen?” Cleda simpered. “Ephraim bought it for me last week. He said that old coat I had before wouldn’t keep a raccoon warm in summer. Jolene, honey, let me look at you. Puttin’ on a little weight, sugar? Now, don’t fret about it. It looks right good on you.”

Turning from Jolene’s grimace, Cleda Rae continued brightly, “Now, where’s my Caleb?”

Caleb still stood where he had risen, never taking his eyes from his mother. His bushy brows seemed to meet in the middle of his forehead.

“Sugar boy, come on and give your mama a kiss.” Cleda Rae held her arms out as she crossed the room toward him.

Caleb stood still for a second longer, then turned and bolted from the room, through the kitchen. An instant later, we heard the back door slam shut.

“He forgot his coat!” Reana cried, running to the front closet to retrieve it.

“Reana Mae! You sit yourself down this very instant!” Jolene’s voice rang out, harsh and tinny.

“But, Mama …”

“He gets cold, he’ll come for his coat,” Jolene said flatly.

“Gracious glory,” Cleda Rae exclaimed, frowning, “I don’t understand that boy. Never have, never will. He’s just like his daddy, that one, never does what he’s supposed to.”

“Mama, why don’t you sit yourself down and get a plate of something to eat,” Bobby Lee said, holding out a chair for his mother.

“Good Lord, no, honey. Ephraim and I, we done ate on the way down here—we got ourselves a hamburger at the Big Boy. I will have me a piece of that pie, though. Is that your sugar cream pie, Helen? I’d know it anywhere. Ephraim, honey, you come sit yourself down beside me and try a piece of Cousin Helen’s sugar cream pie. If it ain’t the best thing you ever ate, I’ll tap-dance Dixie.”

She cut a big slab of pie and put it down before the empty seat at the table, the one Caleb had just vacated. Mr. Ephraim Turner walked over uncertainly, righted the chair, and sat down. He ate the pie silently, never stopped smiling, and never said a word. Cleda Rae, on the other hand, never stopped talking.