The Sweet Gum Tree (6 page)

Nick pounced on the seven, then spread his cards triumphantly on the blanket. “I sleep on the couch. Gin!” He counted both our totals and added it to the neat line of figures on the notepad beside him. One thing I’d discovered was that he was a whiz with math. You could ask him to multiply long strings of numbers and he’d pop the 30

The Sweet Gum Tree

answer right back like he’d pulled it out of thin air. And he didn’t even need paper to do it. I was more than a bit envious of this talent. My grades came easy to me, always high without much effort on my part, but math was one subject I had to work at.

“Aren’t you afraid to stay in the trailer when it storms?” We have terrible storms here. It’s not unusual to get two or three tornadoes touching down every spring, and sometimes more than that. Nearly everyone has a storm cellar, and those who don’t feel no qualms about running to a neighbor’s when things start to get hairy. One memorable year a twister took out the huge sycamore tree that grew behind our shed, and sucked the chickens right out of the chicken house without damaging a single board. There were feathers scattered over a two-mile area, but we never found a chicken, naked or otherwise.

“You get used to it.” Nick shuffled the cards and dealt the next hand.

“I don’t think I would.”

“If it gets really bad we go over to the Swanner’s. They’ve got a root cellar, but it’s only a dirt hole in the ground. I’d rather stay outside.” The thought of Frank Anderson huddling in a hole with the Swanner’s brought another image to my mind. “Does your father pay Liz Swanner to let him ‘do it’ to her?”

Nick’s head shot up and he glared at me. “Where did you hear that?”

“From kids at school.” I wasn’t about to implicate Jenna yet again. If nothing else, I was loyal.

“People should mind their own business. Besides, you don’t even know what it means.”

“What does it mean?” I asked, ever hopeful.

“Nothing. And I’m not talking about this with you.” He looked back down at his cards.

“Are you mad at me?”

“No.”

Maybe he wasn’t mad, but I had upset him. His eyes had gone from gray to molten and his body was tensed. “The only reason I asked was because I figured she could use the money.”

He didn’t answer.

“I’m sorry.”

A sigh lifted his chest and he looked up at me. “It’s not your fault. I just don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

“Okay.”

It was years before I realized he was embarrassed by what his father did, that he hated watching Liz Swanner’s tired acceptance when his father pulled her into the bedroom. Even worse for Nick was listening to the sounds coming from that room, 31

Katherine Allred

knowing all her kids were listening, too. If it hadn’t been for Lindsey, he never would have set foot on the place.

Liz wasn’t the only woman Frank used, she was simply the closest. Nick told me once that his father thought nothing of bringing home some two-bit hooker he’d found and taking her, knowing Nick could see everything he did because there was no door on the bedroom in the trailer. When Nick was old enough, he would leave the second his father showed up with a woman, sometimes spending the entire night huddled in the cold tin building that served as an office for the salvage yard. So Nick learned the facts of life earlier than most and in a particularly ugly way, a way that affected most of his teenage years. While other boys his age spent ninety-eight percent of their time figuring out how to get girls into bed, Nick avoided them like the plague, something that was destined to cause a real rift in our friendship when I hit puberty. But ignorance is bliss, and for right then, I was happy. Especially after I discovered that while I was vowing to save Nick, he had taken on the job of being my protector and staunchest defender. The incident that enlightened me occurred right before Christmas.

The fourth grade class at Morganville School didn’t have the luxury of individual desks. The students were assigned seats at numerous long tables designed to hold four people, two on each side. It was my misfortune to share my side of the table with Mooney Orr.

Mooney was the class bully, a boy who had already failed two grades by the time he landed in mine. He was fat, sweaty and loud, and all the kids were scared of him.

With good reason. If Mooney wanted something he took it, and woe to the child who tried to stop him. But Mooney was also crafty and sly. He never retaliated when an adult was near, preferring to ambush his prey when he could catch them off-guard, knowing it would be his word against the victims if the kid were stupid enough to tell.

Sitting next to him was torture. I always carried extra pencils because I knew Mooney would confiscate the one I was using. And I considered myself lucky that pencils were all he’d taken so far. At least, I was lucky until the week before our midterm tests.

Because the weather was nasty that Monday, our recess was taken in the gym. I was sitting on the bleachers taking a breather, watching Jenna chase Hugh in a game of tag, when Mooney confronted me.

“You’re gonna let me copy off your paper when we take our tests next week,” he said. “If you don’t, I’ll stomp you into the ground.” He swaggered off, secure in the thought that I’d comply with his demand. I watched him in shock. Cheat? He wanted me to cheat on the tests? The Judge would disown me. I would never be able to look my grandfather in the eye again. There was no way I could let Mooney copy, even knowing he would kill me when it was over.

Death before dishonor was my family motto.

But that didn’t stop me from being scared spitless. By the end of the week my life was in shambles. I couldn’t eat because my stomach stayed clenched in a tight ball of 32

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tension. I couldn’t sleep because when I did, I’d have screaming nightmares. I couldn’t even read because all my energy was focused on my impending demise.

It never occurred to me to seek help. Frenchs weren’t tattletales. Mooney was my problem and I had to take care of him on my own. My family knew something was wrong from my unnatural silence and obvious loss of appetite. At different times, each of them asked me if I was coming down with something. I even avoided Nick that hellish week, although I knew he frowned at me in puzzlement from his post behind Lindsey on the school steps.

The day of the tests dawned bright and sunny, if somewhat chilly. I gave Mama an extra-tight hug goodbye, hoping she wouldn’t cry too much at my funeral, and trudged off to meet my doom.

A small miracle occurred when I reached the school. For the first time ever, Nick left Lindsey and cornered me before I could go inside.

“You ain’t said boo to me in over a week. Are you mad at me for something?”

“No.” I fought hard to hold back the tears threatening to spill over. My teeth were chattering so hard I could barely speak, and nausea turned my stomach in circles. “But you probably shouldn’t plan on marrying me anymore.” With that cryptic statement, I ran into the building, leaving him staring after me.

The trouble started immediately. Mooney glared a warning at me when I took my seat. Mrs. Wade handed out the first test. Swallowing hard, I picked up my pencil and curved my left arm protectively around the paper before I started writing.

Mooney’s foot shot out and hit my calf under the table. Hard. “Move your arm,” he hissed.

“No.” My voice quivered, but I held steady.

“Mooney, Alix, is there a problem?” Mrs. Wade watched us with an eagle eye.

“No, Ma’am,” Mooney answered before I had a chance. “I just had a cramp in my leg.” He bent over his test as though he were busy being a good little student. But from the corner of his mouth he said, “You’re gonna be sorry, you little bitch.” The rest of that day was a blur to me. I don’t know how I got through it, or actually managed to pass the tests myself. When it was time to go home I lingered in the hall until I had no choice. I had to leave, not knowing when or where the attack would come, only certain that it would happen. I wasn’t going to make it easy for him, though.

I’d fight to my last breath.

But Mooney made a mistake. Apparently he was so enraged by my refusal to give in that he couldn’t wait until I was off the school grounds to attack. I hadn’t even made it to the front sidewalk when someone grabbed my pigtail and threw me to the ground.

My books flew in all directions and the air went out of my lungs with a whoosh.

I never had a chance. Before my screaming lungs could draw another breath, Mooney was on top of me, his ham-like fist swinging. The first one hit my left eye and I saw stars. For a second, everything went black and I didn’t feel the second blow. There 33

Katherine Allred

was no third because suddenly Nick was there. He ripped Mooney off me and plowed into him with a determination that was fearsome to behold.

Someone screamed. Teachers came running from all directions, grabbing both boys and pulling them apart. Still Nick struggled to reach Mooney. I could vaguely hear Mrs.

Wade, who was kneeling beside me, ask me where I hurt, but I couldn’t answer. All my attention was focused on Nick.

“If you ever touch her again, I’ll kill you,” he snarled.

Mooney, like all bullies, changed his tune when he was on the receiving end. “They started it,” he whined, making sure he stayed out of Nick’s reach. “I wasn’t doing anything.” Blood poured from his nose.

There wasn’t a scratch on Nick, but his shirt was torn and I saw how he protected his right side.

“You stop your lying right now, Mooney Orr,” Mrs. Wade said. “I saw the entire thing. You should be ashamed of yourself, jumping on a little girl like Alix.” All three of us were hauled to the nurse’s office and our parents called. Nick refused to leave my side, hovering over me protectively until Miss Sams, the nurse, made him stand on the other side of the cot so she could check me for injuries. I had skinned elbows, a busted lip, and a black eye. Nick had a large bruise on his ribs and some raw knuckles. But Mooney had lost two teeth and gained a busted nose.

When Miss Sams moved away to work on Mooney, I gazed up at Nick with my one good eye, tears streaming down and filling my ear. If there were tears coming from my other eye, the bag of ice currently resting on it froze them.

“You saved my life,” I sobbed.

Nick squatted beside me, awkwardly patting my shoulder. “Hey, you didn’t think I was gonna let you get out of marrying me that easy, did you?”

“Oh, Nick!” I sat up and wrapped my arms around him. The bag of ice dropped to my lap, and my lip started bleeding again, but I didn’t care. “I thought I was gonna die.”

And that’s how Mama, the Judge, and Mr. Viders found us. Me crying and bleeding all over Nick, him trying to soothe me without much success.

“My baby!” Mama wailed when she saw my face. She yanked me away from Nick and rocked me, so I cried and bled all over her until Mr. Viders took control of the situation. The Judge simply clenched his jaw and glared daggers at Mooney.

They made me tell them the whole story, even though I didn’t want to. Nick and I were praised and fussed over; me for maintaining my honor under cruel and unusual circumstances, him for coming to my rescue. Mooney was towed out of the building, his mother’s hand twisting his ear, presumably on the way to see the doctor. From then on, he was banished to a seat all by himself at the back of the class. I guess he learned his lesson ‘cause he never bothered me again.

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The Sweet Gum Tree

Frank Anderson never showed up at the school, but then, no one had really expected him to. Nick went home with us, and after I was tucked into bed Mama allowed him to come up and sit with me.

By this time, my eye was swelled shut and he touched it gently, looking mad all over again. “You should have told me. I’ll never let nobody hurt you again, Alix, I swear.”

But there are more kinds of hurt than physical ones, hurts that run ever deeper and leave bigger scars, and not even Nick could protect me from himself.

35

Katherine Allred

When I was twelve, my normally unflappable mother stuttered and stammered her way through a rather muddled explanation of the facts of life, then shoved a book called
Becoming a Woman
into my hand and ran. By then, of course, Jenna and I had pretty much figured out the basics, thanks to a couple of dogs and a lot of gossip from the other girls in school.

My family kept a close eye on me for a few days after Mama gave me “the talk”, waiting to see if I’d been traumatized beyond repair. Personally, I think the only one traumatized was Mama. Every time I’d look at her she’d turn beet-red.

Sex was a four-letter word in our family. When its use was required, it was always spelled, as if actually saying it would bring down the fiery wrath of God on our heads.

The age of free love might have come and gone in the rest of the world, but in Morganville girls who got pregnant without the benefit of matrimony were still talked about in whispers, behind shielding hands.

Even the women’s liberation movement was viewed as a rather puzzling oddity by our female population. They had always thought they were partners, not slaves, and to them a glass ceiling was just something that was apt to break in a hailstorm. It was the combined goal of all our women to see their daughters happily married to a Good Man, raising a houseful of kids. A career to them was working as a volunteer at the library or hospital, or at the local five-and-dime in the makeup department for minimum wage.

And because no one around me paid much attention to those things, I didn’t either.

My main concern was my body. As usual, Jenna had beaten me to the punch yet again, starting her periods when we were twelve. I had to wait another whole year and I was beginning to wonder if something was wrong with me. With every twinge or unusual sensation I’d run to the bathroom, hope warring with anxiety.

The year I turned thirteen was a momentous one for me in more ways than one. My body finally started to change, hard painful knots forming on my chest, and hair sprouting in places it had never been before. Mama took me shopping for my first training bras, and my monthlies started, which thrilled me for all of two months, and then I was sick of them. My hairstyle went from pigtails in fourth grade, to a ponytail in fifth, then to a braid in sixth. By ninth grade I was leaving it loose to hang down my back.