Read These High, Green Hills Online
Authors: Jan Karon
These High, Green Hills (43 page)
“Definitely! Absolutely!”
“Good.” She started inside as Dooley came along the hallway.
“That girl’s here again,” he said, looking coldly at them.
“Lacey ... ”
“In the kitchen. Man, she stinks.”
“Get your things,” said the rector, and turned to his wife. “Would you see if he’s rounded up what he needs? I’ll look in on Lacey.”
He found her slumped in a chair at the kitchen table, her hair pushed under the battered hat.
“Y‘r door won’t locked, so I come in.”
He sat opposite her. “How are you?”
“M‘ pap’s gone t’ Tennessee t‘ work on th’ bridge.”
“Wonderful!” he said.
“He’ll come home Fridays. They ain’t nothin‘ t’ eat in th‘ house, he done cleaned out what we had and took it.”
“We’ll handle that. How’s your mother?”
“Bad off.”
He heard the emptiness in her voice. “I’m sorry, Lacey.”
She looked at him coolly. “I said t‘ call me Lace.”
“Yes. Has your mother got her medicine?”
“Yeah.”
“What about a hot bath? It’ll be good for you, and good for your back, and we’ll fix you something to eat.”
“I don’t need no bath.”
Dooley and Cynthia came into the kitchen. “Lace! We’re glad you’re here! Dooley Barlowe, Lace Turner.”
Dooley glared at the girl, and she glared back.
“Everything’s at the front door,” said Cynthia, unwrapping the cake. “I’m just going to cut some of this to send to the farm.”
“I’d eat a piece of that if you was t‘ give it t’ me,” said Lace.
“I’m taking it with me,” Dooley announced. “It’s mine.”
“Actually, it’s ours,” Cynthia said. “And she may have a piece.”
Dooley gave the girl a withering look. “Where’d you come from?”
“None of y‘r business.”
The phone rang, and Dooley bolted for it. “Hello!” He listened intently. “Yes, ma‘am. I liked doing it. I hope you have a real good birthday and ... many more. Thank you for doing stuff for me. Yes ma’am. I will. ‘Bye.”
“Miss Sadie?” queried Cynthia.
“She said she appreciated that I sang her favorite hymn. I hated to make her cry.”
“Oh, but it was a good cry!” said Cynthia, giving Lace a piece of cake. Lace took it from the plate with both hands and devoured it.
Dooley glowered at her. “You ought to say thank you.”
Lace licked her fingers and gave him an insolent look. “You ain’t my boss.”
“Step out front with me, son,” said the rector, “and we’ll visit ‘til Marge and Hal get here.”
They carried the bags to the front porch, where Dooley thumped down on the top step. “If she wasn’t a girl, I’d knock her head off.”
“What would that accomplish?” the rector asked.
“She’d know who she was talkin‘ to, that’s what.”
“Who would she be talking to?”
“I bet you’re lettin‘ her move in here, lettin’ her eat here and everything. She sure as heck better stay out of my room—and why’s she tryin‘ to look like a guy, anyway? Gag. Puke.”
He noticed that Dooley’s prep school varnish was peeling off pretty fast. “Calm down,” he said. “If you knew her circumstances ...” “
Hal Owen pulled his red pickup to the curb, and Rebecca Jane leaned out the window. “Uncle Dools!”
Dooley grabbed a heavy bag in each hand, and the rector hoisted the duffle and the rabbit cage.
His heart beat dully. It seemed they had welcomed him home only yesterday, and now ...
Swallow it down, he thought, going to the curb. Swallow it down.
Hal got out and came around to help. “We’ll just put your stuff in the back. Everything zipped up tight?”
“Yes, sir,” said Dooley.
Marge opened the door and pulled Rebecca Jane onto her lap. “Climb in,” she said.
“Marge ... ” He didn’t know what else to say.
“Timothy, I ... ” She lifted her hands and let them fall.
Hal slapped the rector on the back. “We’ll take care of him, and you and Cynthia come out anytime. We mean it.”
“Anytime,” said Marge, nearly whispering.
He reached in and patted Rebecca Jane, who displayed teeth like seed corn when she smiled. “Come with us!” she said.
The rector managed to smile back. “Not today.”
Cynthia ran down the walk with the bag. “Wait! Esther’s cake!”
Cynthia stuck her head in the truck cab and gave Rebecca Jane a kiss. “Take care of Uncle Dools for us.”
“We will,” said the little girl, nodding soberly.
She kissed Dooley. “Call us.”
“OK.”
“We love you, buddy,” he said, suffering. He looked into the boy’s eyes. Would the pain he saw there never go away?
“Mam says if you wash an‘ go outside, y’r pores’ll be open an‘ y’ll git sick.”
Cynthia passed her another piece of roast chicken. “This is June, though, Lace, and that’s not likely to happen. Washing and going out in winter is probably what she meant. In any case, I want to look at your back.”
Lace thought for a moment. “I thank y‘uns, but I ain’t goin’ t‘ take no bath.”
“Fine. How do you like the chicken?”
“I like chicken, it’s m‘ favorite.”
“Mine, too,” said Cynthia.
“I’d like it better if it was fried.”
There was a long silence as they ate their hastily prepared dinner.
“Lace ... ” said Cynthia.
“Huh?”
“How do you feel about your father?”
“I hate ‘im.” More silence. “But I used t’ like ‘im.”
“What did you like about him?”
“He was good t‘ me when I was a baby. They said I was s’ little, I slep’ in Pap’s beard ‘til I growed out of it. He used t’ be nice t‘ me, bring me candy an’ all, then liquor got ‘im and he went down.”
“Went down,” said the rector.
“Yeah.”
“Has he actually threatened to kill you?”
“Lots of times. An‘ he said if I tol’ anybody anything, or let th‘ school people catch me, he’d hit Mam a lick she wouldn’t forgit.”
“I hear,” he said, “that a woman named Pauline Barlowe lives at the Creek. Do you know her?”
“Yeah.”
“What do you know about her?”
“She’s nice, she’s good. She he‘ps me sometimes, but ’er man don’t like her doin‘ it.”
“What’s nice about her?”
“She prayed that prayer I prayed, an‘ it made ’er different, she smiles an‘ all, an’ does things f‘r people.”
“I heard she has a child.”
“She’s got Poobaw, he’s ten.”
“That prayer you prayed, Lace ... did it make you different?”
The girl shrugged. “Made me want t‘ quit stealin’. I know it ain’t right, m‘ mam knows it ain’t right.”
“Anything else?”
She stared at them coldly. “Y‘uns ask a lot of questions.”
He didn’t know why, but that struck him as funny, and he burst into laughter, liking the feeling. Cynthia laughed, too.
And then, so did Lace.
She paused at the back door, clutching the parcel of food. “I’ll be back, now an‘ agin.”
“If I were to give you this,” he said, holding a twenty-dollar bill, “what would you do with it?”
“I’d buy Mam some goobers, she loves goobers, an‘ I’d spend th’ rest on somethin‘ t’ eat, like ham an‘ all.”
“Do you go to the store?”
“I don’t go t‘ no stores n’r anywhere th‘ school people can catch me. I dress like a boy, an’ know how t‘ duck around so people cain’t see me. Like when I come here, I come th’ back way—down th‘ creek and th’ough th‘ apple trees an’ acrost th‘ park.”
“Who goes to the store for you, then?”
“Pauline, most of th‘ time.”
“She’s honest?”
“Yeah. Honester’n anybody ‘cept Mam.”
He handed her the money. “Take it. And I’d also like you to take this. I know you have a place to hide it, if you need to.” He pulled a small edition of the New Testament from his pocket and gave it to her.
She looked at it without comment and dropped it inside the bag of food.
“When you send to the store,” said Cynthia, “please get a bar of soap and wash yourself.” He thought his wife sounded as if she meant it.
“I might,” said Lace. “If I take a notion.”
As they watched her pass through the hedge, he remembered that social services was looking for her. The very thought horrified him one moment, and gave him relief the next.
At Cynthia’s house, a cool breeze blew through the open kitchen window, and another from the living room met it in the hallway. In the bedroom upstairs, he found she had turned the covers back, and a vase of flowers sat on the small table she kept before the fireplace.
Violet lay curled on the vanity seat, and a breeze puffed the curtains out.
“Thank God!” he exclaimed, surveying the peace of it.
“Undress, dearest. I’ve got your robe hanging on the bathroom door.”
He turned and kissed her on the forehead. “I’m dashed if I have a clue how I ever made it without you.”
“Don’t try and figure it out,” she said gently. “Don’t try and figure anything out. This is a retreat!”
They were sprawled in bed, listening to the patter of a summer rain. The crumbs of a shared piece of cake sat in a plate on the nightstand, and glasses of lemonade perspired on coasters.
“It’s like going on holiday,” he said, yawning hugely.
“What do you know about going on holiday, you big lug? You never go on holiday unless forced by a direct command from the bishop.”
“True enough. But that’s going to change.”
“It is?” she said, looking hopeful.
“Absolutely.”
“That’s wonderful news, darling! Someone said that people who can’t find time for recreation are obliged sooner or later to find time to be sick.”
“I don’t doubt it. Where do you want to go this summer? August is a good time for me to get away. How about you?”
“Perfect. The book will be out of my hands, and I’ll be able to kick up my heels. What about ... ” she threw her arms open wide, “northern Italy?”
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