The Well and the Mine (23 page)

The quiet made me think what if there weren’t never more Jack sounds. Never again. Only a Jack as still and quiet as those bricks left on the side of the road. But we couldn’t go after the brick company. Albert didn’t want to. Not that I’d argue with the idea that we didn’t need to be causing people trouble, but every time I raised my head, I saw the trouble that driver had caused my boy. Albert didn’t want to hear it, but I sure wanted to say it. What I did instead was ask it, only once. When he said no, we didn’t need to be thinking on that anymore, I only nodded. Not like Celia. She nagged at him, argued with him, sighed at him. I didn’t see as that nagging moved him any more than not nagging. He’d made up his mind and that was that.

I could keep at him, be quiet and cold and make him miserable, make us both miserable, or I could leave it be. I wanted to keep as much smoothness in our life as I could. Too much was already pulled and yanked out of place.

So I tried to smooth out my own thoughts at least, keep them pressed and folded. For a week, there’d been the shoes to do, which at least took my mind off why I couldn’t bear to have my children out of my sight even to sleep.

It was only five cents for one of those stick-on shoe soles, and the holes in Tess’s winter shoes was only getting bigger. But I hated to spend a single cent, at least not until Albert’s hours had slacked off and we’d paid a good chunk of the hospital bill. Not that he’d have begrudged new soles. Just the opposite. If he’d seen me here cutting a piece of cardboard to fit inside her shoe, he’d have had a fit and gone to Bill’s store himself. The cardboard only lasted a day, so I was back at the same spot every night, cutting a new piece. Tess didn’t complain, even though she must’ve felt the damp on wet days.

More than saving money, it was something I could do. That nickel wouldn’t make much of a dent in the seventy-five dollars we owed. But it about killed me to see Albert come in half dead at all hours of the night or morning, not even knowing what time it was, just knowing his shift was done and he needed to be back in however many hours. One night he’d walked in asking what was for breakfast when it wasn’t even sunset yet. And we bought so little, it was hard to scrimp. I wasn’t going to cut back on Albert’s coffee. We couldn’t do without the dry ice for the icebox. And nothing else was bought regular. I was used to working longer days than Albert, mending or cleaning supper dishes while he sat and smoked, and I didn’t take to sitting while he sweated and strained. The empty space beside me made the bed seem harder, the clock ticking seem louder. It left me with a helpless feeling, all the worse for Jack tossing in his bed and me not able to help him.

So I cut that cardboard perfectly, not veering in the least from the lines I’d traced around the shoe. When it was done, I was tempted to patch some more shoes whether there was a hole in them or not. But I didn’t. I didn’t even put the sewing scissors down. I held them in my lap, Tess’s shoes side by side in front of me. I didn’t blow out the two candles next to me, but I didn’t really need the light. I sat there cross-legged in the middle of the front room, no fire going, not tired, not really thinking of anything much. It was easy to not think those wide-awake nights. I could turn my mind off and be an empty body. I stayed there and felt the cold floor under me until Albert pushed the door open.

“What’re you doin’ home in the middle of the night?” I asked, almost forgetting to whisper.

He whispered back, head to the side, “It’s five, Leta-ree. Rooster’s about to crow any second.”

I’d always known that rooster better than he knew hisself. I didn’t know what to say. The night pure got away from me.

“What’re you doin’ sittin’ in the middle of the floor?” Albert asked. “And still in your nightgown. Jack alright?”

“He’s fine.”

“You feelin’ poorly?”

I pushed myself to my feet, blowing out one candle and holding the other one toward Albert. Deep circles under his eyes. Even after a night of staring at Jack’s bruises, one look at Albert’s eyes sapped out any bitterness I’d worked up over who ought to be paying for this.

“Just wandered out here,” I said, knowing he wasn’t in no shape to press me on it. “When you headed back?”

“Night shift tomorrow.”

“So you can sleep in?”

He nodded, already headed toward the bedroom. I followed right behind him with the candle. He’d changed after showering at the mines, so he only stripped down to an undershirt and his long johns, then fell into bed.

“Jack sleepin’ through the night?” he mumbled, head in the pillow.

“See for yourself,” I answered, just barely poking his side. “Tosses a little, but he’s sleepin’ good.”

Lifting his head and turning it toward the boy took a few seconds, but he managed. His eyelids stayed open long enough for him to look over Jack from head to toe, then he flopped back down. “He knows I want to be here, don’t he?”

“’Course he does. He knows you got to work.”

“I ain’t seen him awake in three days. What’s he supposed to make of that?”

“That you ain’t got no choice.”

He pulled at the hem of my nightgown, inching me closer to his face. He’d remembered he hadn’t kissed me, and he pecked my cheek when I got low enough that he didn’t have to raise his head.

“Shoulders sore?” I asked.

He grunted, eyes closed. The girls weren’t moving, but I thought Virgie might be playing possum. She woke at the littlest sound. Tess slept like Jack—might as well have been carved out of wood once they hit the bed.

“Want me to rub ’em?”

He more hummed than grunted that time. I sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing my hands together to warm them. Between the cold air and showering after every shift, the skin at Albert’s neck was dry like newsprint. The muscles underneath had turned to concrete, no give in them at all, and I knew his arms would be the same. But he started snoring before I even made it past his shoulders. Shoulders maybe harder, stronger than when I met him. Thought he could run into a rock wall and the wall’d give before he did.

I kept on rubbing even after he was asleep. He’d feel the difference when he woke.

Virgie
IT FELT GOOD TO HAVE JACK BACK HOME, HIS OLD
self, only quieter. He couldn’t run into things nearly so well with the casts on his leg and arm. I knew he’d soon enough figure out how to leave his mark with a crutch, though, and that Tess best stop poking at him and learn to keep her distance.

Mama didn’t like to talk about Jack’s accident. She’d talk about it fine if you brought it up—she wasn’t one to shy away from anything—but I could tell she’d rather focus on talk about the chores and our schoolwork and what was going on with relatives. She never mentioned that truck driver or what became of him or how lucky Jack was or how scary it had been seeing him in the hospital for the first time. Jack’s accident was a wild, unpredictable thing, and Mama liked things to be regular and orderly. I always thought I was exactly like her that way, and mainly I was. I wouldn’t ever be like Tess and sling my shoes all over the place, one under the bed, the other propped against the nightstand. I liked them to be pointed in the same direction, their toes and heels touching. But a small part of me, only a small part, wanted to see what would happen if I put those shoes on opposite sides of the room and pointed them in opposite directions.

I’d finished changing my clothes and tying a rag around my hair before Mama had the varnish measured out. So I started sorting through the paintbrushes laid out next to her.

“You remember Robin from the hospital, Mama?” I asked her as she poured out the last bit of varnish into separate pails for each of us.

“That cute little nurse?”

“Yes’m. She was nice…and real good at takin’ care of the patients.”

“I’m sure she was.”

“You ever wish you’d stayed unmarried, Mama? Earned your own money? Moved somewhere far off?”

“Why’re you askin’ me about somethin’ I don’t know nothin’ about?” She set the can down and handed me one of the buckets. She hadn’t spilled a drop of the varnish.

“You never thought about it?”

“Lord, no. Who’s got time for thinkin’? There’s floors to paint.”

We’d have painted the floors earlier if it weren’t for the accident. As it was, the cold wind outside had turned the floors icy enough that I needed to tuck my dress under my knees to warm them. Mama took the kitchen, Tess took the bedroom, and I took the den. I had on my oldest dress, cream-colored belted cotton, with the hem frayed and a dark stain on one arm that wouldn’t come out. I never could figure how I spilled anything on it. But I only used the dress for housework, and it was good for sprawling on the floor and making even, up-and-down strokes with a paintbrush full of varnish. Every fall the floors started looking dusty and dull, and Mama would want to shine them up with a new coat. It was hot work, messy, too, and even with Papa’s old work gloves for each of us—he never wore gloves, so I didn’t know how he managed to have old ones—I still got varnish sloshed on my arms, shellacking down the little hairs. I’d crawl a little too far and stick my knee in a wet spot, then dirt would stick to my knees. A few hairs worked their way out from under the kerchief tying them back, and they got shellacked from me trying to keep them out of my face.

We didn’t keep a fire going with us all working so hard. Jack sat out on the porch—even with the windows open, Mama worried about him breathing in the fumes. I heard him call my name as I was trying to unstick my knee from the floor without setting my gloves against anything.

“What is it?” I answered back, blowing at a loose hair.

“That boy and Lois are walking up the road.”

“Orville?”

“That whistle boy.”

One night before Jack got hit, a boy that called on Lois had brought his cousin Orville from Jasper on a visit. The two boys and Lois came over, and everybody agreed without saying anything about it that I would be the fourth. We just sat on the porch for a while and Papa decided as long as he met any boy involved and we weren’t gone too long, it’d be alright if I went somewhere with a group of boys and girls occasionally. As long as it wasn’t an actual date. The next time Lois’s fellow was in town, they came over and Orville brought me a wooden whistle he’d carved for me to take to Jack in the hospital. He was a sweet boy.

But I didn’t want him dropping by right then with me such a fright. I wished there was some way people could let you know when they were about to show up at your door.

I saw Lois and Orville wave at Jack as they turned up the walk, and I hid myself by the window, peeking out to see how close they were. As I heard them climbing the steps, I yanked off my gloves and did my best to smooth my hair back under my kerchief. I used the inside hem of my skirt to wipe my face real fast. I didn’t have time to do anything about the dress.

“Virgie,” called Lois at the same time she was knocking.

I counted to three, then opened the door. “Hi, y’all. We’re all paintin’ the floors, so I’m sorry for bein’ a mess.”

I could tell by the look on Lois’s face that I really was a mess, but Orville looked calm enough. “Hi there, Virgie,” he said. “Nice to see you.”

He stepped back and held the door open for Lois to come in first. The nicest thing about Orville was he had wonderful manners. He was always tipping his head to me, almost bowing when he said hello. He never forgot to open a door or pull out a chair or walk on the roadside of the sidewalk.

“Sorry we caught you by surprise,” Lois said, waving her hand in front of her nose at the fumes. “We were just goin’ to walk to town to meet some folks and thought you might want to join us.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t,” I said. “Not like this. And it’d take me ages to clean myself up. I’d need to…” I stopped, not sure it would be right to mention bathing in front of a boy. “I’d need to redo myself from head to toe,” I said instead.

“You look fine,” Orville said, and I could tell that he really did think so. Which was nice enough, but sort of silly.

Lois was still frowning at the smell; I opened the door again and shooed her toward it.

“Let’s go sit on the porch—I don’t want you passin’ out,” I said. I didn’t want them wandering over to where I’d already varnished, either. So Orville held the door again, and we all sat in the rockers on the opposite side of the porch from Jack, who was throwing rocks at a tin can a good twenty feet into the yard.

“I’m sorry, but I just can’t,” I said again. “I couldn’t get ready to go—it’d take way too long.”

“We can wait for you,” Lois said.

“I’m really, really sorry,” I said to Orville. “I’d love to go with y’all but I just can’t this time. I hope I’ll see you next time you come to visit.”

We went round and round about it a little more, and I sat with them on the porch for a few minutes, but I didn’t change my mind. So I brought out some iced tea and we all had a glass and then they left. I could tell Orville was hurt, but I really couldn’t go. I was filthy, and it would have taken an hour or more for me to draw the water and clean up, plus I couldn’t just leave without finishing my part of the floor.

Tess
WE ALL FORGOT ABOUT THE WELL WOMAN AFTER
Jack’s accident. Pretty much. My nightmares stopped altogether. Neither Virgie nor I mentioned babies or mothers or solving anything. Everybody talked less anyway, so it wasn’t like we’d made any effort to keep quiet about it in particular. Papa and Mama hardly slept, but they tried to act like they weren’t about to fall over. I saw more lines in Mama’s and Papa’s faces, and I could tell Virgie was working harder than ever to help out Mama.

I felt the difference in the house, and I knew I should be all somber, too, but once I knew Jack would be okay, I couldn’t seem to keep still. I’d come back from Birmingham twitching to do something, go somewhere. My head was full of the city. And if I couldn’t go all the way to Birmingham—nobody seemed to be in any hurry to go back, and even if they did, they’d hardly let me explore any—I’d have to make do with something closer. I thought about Lou Ellen Talbert and those dead babies buried in her backyard. I was curious. With her puckered side and pointy tongue and grown-up ways and buried babies, that girl lived in a world just as different as Birmingham. And it was close by. Lou Ellen wasn’t at school all the time on account of helping around the house while her mama worked outside, but I kept an eye out for her. And as soon as I spotted her at recess one day, I asked if I could come see them babies. She was sitting by herself under a shade tree—I never saw her with other girls much—and she didn’t act surprised that I asked. She didn’t skip a beat before she told me she didn’t think her parents would take to the idea of her parading a friend past the graves like it was show-and-tell, but if I could get out after her parents were asleep, she’d show me.