The Ghosts of Varner Creek (18 page)

"I don't know. Never seen it before. Pretty one, though."

We went on in the house and Aunt Emma was sitting with a strange man at the table. He had black hair and blue eyes that were a bit startling. They reminded me of Mama's eyes, except bluer than even Sarah's. As George and I walked in we heard Uncle Colby come in the back door. He put his hat and coat on a set of deer antlers he had hung near the door for just that purpose and then came into the main room. He was about to say something to us, probably ask us what we had been up to given I had some new scratches, but his eyes passed over us to the table when he noticed the man sitting with Aunt Emma. There seemed a brief moment of recognition before he walked over to the man. "Marcus,” he said as he held out his arm for a handshake which the man returned. “Been a long time."

"Yessir, sure has," responded the man.

"What brings you out our way?" asked Uncle Colby.

"I reckon you know the answer to that," voiced Aunt Emma.

"Annie didn’t show up in Galveston?" asked Uncle Colby.

Aunt Emma gave him a warning look. She didn't want him to say it out loud in front of George and me, particularly me.

"No. I haven't heard from her, neither. Reckon I would've by now, even if she got lost. Probably someone would have heard from her by now," said the mysterious man.

Aunt Emma was nearly beside herself with frustration with the two men who so openly discussed things clearly not meant to be heard by a child in such a precarious situation as myself. "Less'n she wants it that way. She’s probably trying to make a fresh go of things somewhere," she added. "Ain't no good speculatin' just now." She glanced over at George and me. Francine and Amber were also listening in. Their heads were poking out from their bedroom, no doubt where they'd been sent when the strange man arrived so Aunt Emma could have a private talk. "What’ve you boys been up to?" she asked us. It was probably half to change the conversation and half genuine curiosity.

"We went chicken hunt'n again," George said. The strange man gave us a strange look. I suppose it did sound funny to someone who didn't know about the wild chickens in the woods.

"Well, it don't look like y’all fared none too better," she said.

"It was that Leghorn again. He’s meaner than a cornered bobcat," I said. "But George nearly walloped him good. We almost caught 'em. Had him under the milk crate and everything, but he was too big. He knocked it over and had at us again. Ole George gave him a good run, though."

She gave a half-hearted smile, "Well, I think you boys need to leave them things be before you lose an eye. And speaking of which, where is my good crate?"

George and I looked at each other. During the melee, neither of us had thought to grab the crate. Aunt Emma saw it on our faces, though, and didn't seem too upset. "If'n you boys do go messin' around out there again, I expect my crate to be returned. Anyhow, now, why don't y’all get cleaned up and ready for supper. There's some fresh water already out by the back door."

I wasn’t too keen on buckets these days, but thankful I didn't have to go near the well. After two bad experiences, I was beginning to acquire quite the phobia about them. We got cleaned up, stinging some more with that lye sap, and then went inside. Aunt Emma had slaughtered some of her own chickens and two of them were laid out with cornbread and butter milk. An extra place was set for the mystery guest. I still didn't have any idea of who he was until after we had finished eating and cleared the table.

He came over to me and said, "I reckoned we'd have us a talk outside."

And then he proceeded out the front door to the porch. I wasn't quite sure what to make of him, but when I looked over at Aunt Emma she gestured that I should follow him.

We occupied the two wooden chairs Uncle Colby had made himself. They were sturdy, being both made of oak and big and wide. When I scooted myself all the way back in the chair my feet barely touched the ground. The man pulled out a stick of tobacco from his pants and a pocket knife. He cut himself a big chaw and placed it between his lips and gum.

"I'm your Uncle Marcus," he explained. There was a good pause after that as though he expected some kind of an answer.

"Mama's told me about you," I finally said. She didn't tell me much, though. Just that she had a brother who used to live in Houston but now lived in Galveston, and that her own Mama and sister lived there, too. He worked for the railroad or something like that. I knew that most folks in town figured Mama went to live with him. "My Mama and Sarah ain't gone to Galveston, have they?" Would he be here if they had? I asked myself.

"They hadn't shown up as of yesterday when I struck out to come here," he told me. He had been looking off in the fading sunset but turned his attention directly on me,

"Caught me a train to Houston last evening and then come in on y’all's this morning. You reckon your Mama and sister intended to go all the way to Galveston in that wagon 'stead of the train?" he asked.

I could feel my legs start to bounce up and down on their own.

"Dunno. Mama didn't say nothin' to me before she left. Nothin' at all," I said. I was half-tempted to tell him what I really thought, but he was kind of intimidating and I just didn’t feel comfortable enough with him to start talking about ghosts and things.

He gave a spat that cleared the railing of the porch. It sailed clear over it onto the ground beyond. It was a heck of a spit, and a twelve year old notices things like that. "I know I ain't been much of an Uncle to you," he said. "Last time I saw your sister, she was just a baby. And truth be told I ain't never seen you when you was younger." It didn't seem the kind of thing I was supposed to respond to, so I didn't. "How's things been over at y’all's place? Before your Mama left, I mean."

He kicked one leg over the other and grabbed George's stick that had been placed by the chairs before George and I had gone into the house. He started whittling a curving line at the top of it with his knife like I’d seen Pap do so many times.

"I reckon things was fine," I told him.

"Your Mama and daddy been fighting much?" he asked.

It wasn't too difficult finding the answer for that one. "Sometimes. Pap got a temper on him, but Mama ain't much for starting arguments, or nothin'."

"Your daddy been hitting' on her any?" he asked in the same monotone voice, as though asking about the weather.

"No, sir," I answered.

This strange uncle of mine gave me a looking over as if trying to gauge the honesty of my answer, but he seemed content. "What about you?" he asked, "Does he hit you around?"

"Sometimes, mainly when he’s drinking or I act out of hand," I told him. From some weird place within myself I suddenly felt the need to stick up for Pap a bit. I didn't have a clue where Mama and Sarah had gone off to that night, and certainly had come to believe they probably didn’t go of their own accord. None of it made much sense, except that the strange things I'd seen led me to believe the worst may have happened. But as bad as Pap was, it was hard to image him doing what my thoughts said he might have, so I didn’t want to come out and tell this man what I really believed. And part of me was still in denial, maybe. I told myself, the horse and wagon were gone, and so were all their things. It’s not impossible they just left somewhere and the things I'd seen were just some weird workings of my mind. If Sarah hadn't been born quite right, maybe neither had I. I knew I was just trying to talk myself into believing those thoughts, though, and it wasn’t working.

"You talk to your daddy, lately?" he questioned.

"No, sir. I’ve been stayin' here near on three weeks now, and only seen him once. Aunt Emma had George and me take some lunch over to Mr. Pyle's place for Uncle Colby, and I seen Pap then, but he didn't say much to me, though. He just asked how I was over at Aunt Emma's house and whether or not I was behavin’. I told him I was and he said that was good. That was it."

Another long pause came and went before he asked me, "You love your daddy?" I didn't expect him to ask me that. That was a hell of a question for some stranger to just come right out and ask me, but now that he had, I realized I wasn't quite sure.

"He's my Pap," I said, as if though that answered sufficiently.

I guess it did, because the man kind of nodded a little and then changed the subject, "How'd you get all those cuts on yah?" he asked, pointing to all the scratches, new and old, that I had received from Lucifer the Leghorn.

"Chicken," I told him. I saw his eyebrows raise as though he thought I must be the weakest boy there ever was to get covered in cuts like that by a chicken. "Meanest rooster in creation, I reckon," I added quickly. "We call him Lucifer the Leghorn. He's wild and out in the woods with some other chickens. Me and George been trying to catch some of them, but only times we've gotten close he come at us. We nearly caught him, himself, today, though. But he got loose and scratched me up again."

My uncle didn't smile, and didn't frown. He pretty much didn't react at all, but something about his mood seemed a little lighter. I think if things with Mama might have been different, maybe he would’ve laughed, but things were as they were. Instead, he said something I wouldn't have guessed he'd say in a million years, "I'm in town for a bit. I reckon tomorrow I'll show you boys how to catch that rooster." He stood up and said, “If you want, I mean.”

“
Sure,” I told him. “That’d be just fine.”

And with that the conversation ended. He went back inside and he and Uncle Colby brought out some of the whiskey he had stashed away from Aunt Emma's judgment. She knew he had it, of course, and even dipped into it herself now and then when she had a cold. She reckoned they could use a drink, anyhow. Neither of them were big drinkers, not like Pap, but it might ease some old tensions between them and help the conversation a bit. They stayed up late talking into the night while the rest of the house went to bed.

Chapter 10

The next morning Uncle Marcus wasn't at breakfast. Aunt Emma told me that she had sent him a telegram just a day or two after Mama left to let him know she might be on the way and to ask for some word if she should arrive. Since Mama and Sarah never did, Uncle Marcus thought it best he make a trip to Varner Creek. He was staying over at Miss Thomas’ in town seeing as how she had a large home and a room to spare. There aren’t many people she’d of done that for, but she was fond of all the Stotleys, and Uncle Marcus was unquestionably an acceptable occupant, especially under the circumstances.

Not long after breakfast he showed up at Aunt Emma’s again. He came riding up on the same glorious horse that had been munching on oats the night before. Francine made a comment on how handsome he was. I thought she meant the horse but Amber knew better, and she teased her about it, "Eeeeew, he's our Uncle," she said.

"So?" answered Francine, "Just 'cause he's handsome don't mean I want to kiss him or anything. He’s just a nice looking man, is all." And Amber had to agree with the assessment.

Uncle Colby had expressed the need for a bit more quiet that morning at breakfast, obviously nursing a slight hangover as it had been a while since he’d drank so much. It probably hit him harder than he expected, I guess. I was used to being quiet in respect of hangovers, anyway. And Uncle Colby was much better with handling his than Pap was. Pap would curse and complain, and if I was being too loud, give me his backhand upside my head to shut me up. Uncle Colby just downed about three glasses of water while nibbling on two pieces of bread. He couldn’t even seem to look at his eggs, so the rest of his breakfast sat untouched when he left for work.

When Uncle Marcus arrived, though, he looked no worse for the late night and strong drink. He told Aunt Emma he had intended on spending some time with George and me today and asked if it'd be all right if he borrowed their rooster. She thought it a bit of an odd request, but said that as long as he brought him back like he took him, it'd be fine.

"Come on, boys. I'll show you how you catch that chicken what’s been giving you all the problems," he told us.

George and I were both excited. We couldn't for the life of us figure out how George's rooster was going to help us catch Lucifer the Leghorn, but Uncle Marcus seemed so nonchalant about the whole thing, we figured he had some kind of chicken wisdom we lacked. We all three went outside and Uncle Marcus put George's rooster in a burlap sack with his feet sticking out. Then he carried him upside down like his feet were handles. The rooster was none too happy about it, but he couldn't do anything but cluck and complain, since he couldn't find himself a way to get upright again. One of his chicken legs kept kicking and he was trying in vain to stretch his wings inside the sack. Uncle Marcus then took some more of Uncle Colby's twine and George's stick from yesterday, the same one he had whittled on a bit last night to keep his hands occupied, and we set out.

"Y’all go ahead and show me about where those chickens are at," he told us. So we led him through the woods. This time George and I were optimistic. There was something about having Uncle Marcus' quiet strength with us that led us to believe victory was assured. It took a good long time to find the chickens again, though. They had crept back even further into the woods. No doubt Lucifer the Leghorn had decided to put some more distance between his harem and the invaders. Hardly any words passed between us and Uncle Marcus. George quietly whispered his curiosity about what Uncle Marcus and I had talked about. "Did you tell him about seeing you know who?" he asked in a barely audible voice.