When the Tide Ebbs: An epic 1930's love story (A Grave Encounter) (9 page)

“No, Granny. That ain’t all. I love her, too. Yes’m, I sure love that girl.” A sense of freedom overpowered me as the words from my mouth hit my ears.

According to an old Arabian proverb, there are three things, which one can’t hide: smoke, a man riding a camel, and love. I don’t know about the smoke or the man on the camel, but there was no way I could hide my feelings for Zann.

Call me naive, but love had sneaked up on me. I find it hard to understand how someone so dead set against becoming romantically involved could’ve fallen so hard, so deeply, so totally and irreversibly in love.

There was no turning back. Love crashed into my heart like a cyclone. Hurling, swirling, and flinging all my good attentions to who knows where. I don’t know the minute, the hour or even the day it happened. I was swept up, sucked out and carried away. And from that moment, I understood my life would never be the same.

Zann and I had never spoken the word ‘love’ before. Not even when she kissed me. If a brush of the lips could have such an effect, I couldn’t imagine what it’d be like to hold her in my arms and plant a doozie on her. Of course, I wouldn’t. She was the preacher’s daughter. But one day . . . one day after I received the college scholarship and landed myself a high-paying job, I’d marry Zann Pruitt and fill my days loving up on her. How quickly I’d changed. Love no longer sounded like a dirty word. I was in love, and I didn’t care who knew it.

I crammed the note in my pocket and stuck my head in the door. Mama was sitting in her rocker with her Bible.

“Mama, how you feeling?”

“Much better, son.”

“You’re looking better. Mind if I run down the road for a spell? I’ll be back in a jiff.”

“Go right ahead. I’ll be fine.”

I sprinted across the field and through the woods as fast as I could go. I hoped she’d still be waiting, but it was after five o’clock. What was the chance she’d be there? If only I’d read the note sooner.

Fallen leaves crunched beneath my feet as I ran. The cold air made my nose water. I crammed my hand in my back pocket. No handkerchief. I never left the house without my pocket knife and a handkerchief. Now, today of all days, why did I have to leave it behind? I cringed, imagining myself sniffling, as Zann and I shared our true feelings. I pulled the tail of my flannel shirt to my nose, and hoped the warmth would stop the constant drip.

My heart sank when I reached the bridge and she was not in sight. I scrambled down the embankment and caught sight of a small scrap of cloth. Blue gingham. I smiled. She’d been there. Of all her dresses, and she had several, the blue gingham was my favorite. I supposed she tore off a piece of the hem and left it for me to find, to prove she’d been there. I instinctively held the material to my nose, as if I’d be able to smell her sweet scent lingering. There was no hint of the smell of gardenias but my vivid imagination could almost conjure up the familiar fragrance.

I wanted to see her. I wanted to see her bad. I didn’t think I could stand waiting another day. I remembered the words in the letter. She loved me. At the moment, nothing else mattered. Not even the fear of going to the parson’s house. I wanted to tell her I’d be tickled to take her to the church Christmas party. The bitterness I harbored toward church folks had vanished. Mama was right. They weren’t all like the folks from Piney Woods.

I jogged all the way to the parsonage, sprinted up the steps and knocked on the door. Parson Pruitt cracked it open and peeked his head out. I waited for him to invite me in, but the creases on his forehead told me an invitation wasn’t forthcoming. His voice was stern. Not light-hearted and friendly, the way he sounded in the pecan orchard. “Zann can’t come out.”

So, he was having a bad day. We all have them. I said, “I understand. I’ll wait on the porch, sir,” thinking perhaps Zann was eating supper.

He glared at me and bellowed, “Stay away from my daughter.” His face reminded me of a chameleon’s throat the way it changed from a rugged tan to pomegranate red.

He thrust a clinched hand in the air. “Young man, you’d better be making fast tracks before the devil wins this war I’m fighting. Now, get off my porch.” The door slammed.

His fist in my face couldn’t have stunned me more. I turned and ran. I was angry for being so stupid. I should’ve known better than to think the good Parson would allow me to see his daughter after he found out the truth about me. I’d shed more than a few tears in my lifetime, but I’d never sobbed the way I wept on the way home. I stopped in front of the iron gate at Rooster Run and waited until there were no tears left. I couldn’t let Mama see me in such a fix.

I walked in the house, and found Mama asleep. I was glad. I didn’t feel like being questioned. Though I hadn’t eaten, I wasn’t hungry. I wanted to crawl in bed, pull the covers over my head, sleep and never wake up. Why did I have to tell Zann my life history? Maybe her father could’ve forgiven me for living in Rooster Run, but as a Reverend, it’d be impossible for him to look upon the shameful result of Mama’s sin. Meaning me, of course. The disappointment was almost too much to bear. I wouldn’t be escorting her to the Christmas party or anywhere else.

I tossed all night, angry at myself for breaking both vows. I did the unthinkable. I fell in love, and then I made things worse when I brazenly tromped up the steps to the parsonage and spoke to the parson. I buried my face in my hands and groaned. I’d let down my guard. Why was I surprised at how things turned out? All I wanted to do now was to forget her. That’d be easier said than done. How can you forget someone who has the ability to make your heart beat by the touch of her hand and with a sweep of her lips cause it to stop?

Chapter 7

I came home from working at the yard, dog-tired. I looked at the calendar above my bed. Saturday, December 20
th
, the night of the church Christmas party. My stomach wrenched.

Too exhausted to eat, I walked over and fell across my bed. I looked in the corner of the room and groaned. “What’s that supposed to be?” A scraggly pine limb was stuck in a foot tub.

Mama’s head dropped. “I wanted a Christmas tree, so I broke a switch from off a tree in the woods. It didn’t turn out to look the way I’d hoped. I’ll throw it out tomorrow.” I saw her lips tremble and her eyes fill with tears.

What was wrong with me? Why did I choose to hurt the one person who loved me more than life itself? How could I be so cruel?

Ashamed, I stood and wrapped my arms around her. “You want a tree? Don’t you fret. We’ll have a tree. We’ll have the best Christmas you’ve ever had in your life.” I meant every word of it.

I grabbed my jacket from off the nail.

Mama’s eyes grew wide. “You going somewhere?”

“Well, I can’t cut down a Christmas tree if I stay in the house, now can I?”

Her face lit up. “I reckon not.”

Christmas was her favorite time of the year, though I hadn’t always shared her enthusiasm. Especially when I was in grammar school and the teacher would go down the row, asking all the kids to tell what Santa Claus brought. I hated having to make up the lies.

I could usually count on getting a piece of fruit, but it was never from the jolly old man or his elves. As a child, I decided the reason Santa Claus never stopped at my house was because Mrs. Ola Mae ratted.

I went to #8 and asked Mr. Newsome if I could borrow his ax. He was the only one in the camp with tools. He was particular about lending them out, but he took a liking to me when we moved in, and said I could borrow anything he had.

I walked out to the edge of the woods and spotted a short-leaf pine with full branches. The kind Mama liked. After cutting it down, I made a stand and drug it home. The look of awe on Mama’s face when she saw the tree was worth more to me than a bag of money. I threw the pine limb out the back door.

“Kiah, you think we might buy some popcorn to string on it?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be a Christmas tree without decorations, now would it, Mama? If you want popcorn, it’ll have popcorn. We’ll decorate it Monday night when I come home from work, and it’ll be the prettiest tree in all the county.”

The fresh scent of evergreen filled the room. Mama thanked me more times than necessary, before crawling in bed.

It was only eight o’clock and I couldn’t sleep. I had to get out of the house. I didn’t start out knowing where I was going, but somewhere between Rooster Run and the church, I figured out my destination. I’d stay out of sight in the pecan orchard and wait. If I was lucky, I’d get a glimpse of her walking home from the party. I tried to envision her in the strapless gown she’d described so enthusiastically, yet I knew my imagination could never equate such beauty.

I stepped up my gait when I came to the edge of the road leading to the church. My heart beat faster as I sprinted down the lane. Hiding in the orchard, I waited for the party to end, and when it did, I scrutinized every person leaving the building. Zann wasn’t among them. Her father, the last to leave, locked the building. But where was Zann? She’d looked forward to the Christmas Party for weeks. I wanted to run ask Parson Pruitt if she was ill, but I couldn’t. He hated me.

Would I ever be able to get her out of my mind?

Sunday morning I woke to the sound of Mama’s off-key humming. “You sound chipper, Mama. Feeling better?”

“I do, Kiah. I reckon it must be the Warburg’s Tincture.”

I sat down at the table and smiled. She could credit the tonic, but I knew better. The Christmas tree standing tall in the corner was the medicine that did the trick. She sat down and sipped on a cup of coffee. There was something different about her. Something besides the smile on her face. “Your hair . . . you’ve done something different . . . and you’re wearing lip rouge.”

She lowered her head and blushed. “I didn’t think you’d notice. You like it?”

“I do. You look . . . well, you look real nice, Mama. Real nice.” I could tell she was pleased.

She reached up and patted her hair. “I haven’t worn it up in a long time. I wasn’t sure I could find my combs, but they were tucked away in my carpet bag.”

“Did you get all spruced up for a special occasion?” The question was asked in jest, but her answer stunned me.

“As a matter of fact, I did.” I watched her suck in a deep breath and slowly let it back out. She had a peculiar look on her face. She sat a bowl of oatmeal in front of me. Without so much as drawing a breath in between her sentences, she quipped, “I wish we had some raisins. My mama always put raisins in our oatmeal. You like raisins, honey?”

I had a sudden rush of adrenalin. I remembered the day Zann asked me the same question. Though I hadn’t wanted to admit it at the time, but that was the day I fell in love.

“Do you, Kiah?” Mama asked.

I laughed. “Yes, Mama, I love raisins, but the oatmeal is good without them.” What had brought about the sudden change in Mama? She looked alive for the first time in months. Where was
her
rush coming from?

Maybe the Christmas spirit was responsible for her gaiety. Had she got all gussied up, hoping I’d take her to Goodson’s to buy popcorn for the tree? Of course. That was it. Had to be. I dreaded giving her the news, but nothing would be gained by putting it off. “Mama, if you were hoping we’d go to Goodson’s this morning to buy the popcorn, he won’t be open today. It’s Sunday.”

She nodded. “I know what day it is, Kiah. The popcorn can wait.”

I scratched my head. “But . . . but you look—”

She laughed. Not a little snicker, but a side-splitting hee-haw. “I declare, Kiah, you must’ve thought I was sweet on ol’ man Goodson, if you believed I went to the trouble of getting all gussied up, just to go to the grocery store.”

I wanted to deny it, though the notion had crossed my mind. “Then what’s the occasion, Mama? You aren’t wearing lip rouge for me and I know it. What are you up to?”

“Not up to nothing, son. I’m going to church and I want you to go with me.”

The breath left me as if someone had socked me in the stomach. Of all the things she could’ve asked, that was the one thing I couldn’t do.

I sat stirring in my bowl of oatmeal, and the longer I sat, the madder I got. Why would she do this? What was the point? For the first time in months, she was feeling like a human being again, and now she wanted to spoil it by setting herself up for ridicule by a bunch of pious do-gooders. It didn’t make sense and I was quick to let her know how insane I considered the idea to be.

For years, I’d ached, seeing the hurt in her eyes when women shunned her and crossed over to the other side of the street, just because she bore a child out of wedlock.

Out of wedlock. That was the decent way of putting it. The more offensive way was to call me a nasty name and act as if Mama and I deserved punishment for breathing their air.

Her shoulders drooped when I refused to go with her. Apparently, all my rantings and ravings didn’t discourage her ridiculous notion to go, because she picked up her purse and said, “Well, if you won’t go with me, you can at least hitch up the mule and take me.”

I ran my fingers through my hair and grimaced. “Mama, I don’t think you should.”

“Kiah Grave, since when do you get off telling your mother what she should or should not do. I’m going to church if I have to walk every step of the way. Dabney said the little young’uns are having a Christmas Pageant this morning and I want to see it.”

My jaw dropped. “Dabney? Dabney goes to church?”

“I didn’t know you knew Dabney that well.”

I smirked. “I don’t know what you mean by ‘that well,’ but I know enough to shock me that she’d have the nerve to darken the doorway of a church.” I rolled my eyes. “Mama, there’s things about Dabney you may not know. I really wish you wouldn’t get so chummy with her. Haven’t we given folks enough fodder for gossip, without you hanging out with the likes of Dabney Foxworthy?”

Mama glared at me as if I’d suddenly sprouted horns. I didn’t know what she was thinking, but my gut told me it would be best not to ask. She stood in the doorway with her arms crossed. “Are you coming or not? I don’t wanna be late.”

“Hold on, Mama. I’ll hitch up Dolly and take you, but don’t expect me to escort you into church. I’ll be waiting outside for you when it’s over.”

“Suit yourself.”

I could tell she wasn’t happy with me. But I wasn’t too thrilled with her, either. Dabney walked through the gate, as I lifted Mama onto the wagon.

Mama hollered, “Dabney, wait and you can catch a ride with us.”

I lowered my head and groaned. Didn’t Mama know what people said about the girl?

I sat in the wagon, holding the reins, until Mama popped me on the arm. “Where are your manners, Kiah? Help the lady up.”

Dabney’s face turned red. “I can manage.”

Mama’s eyes told me I best not keep my seat. I jumped out of the wagon. My fingers almost touched, when I reached around her tiny waist and lifted her up. I flinched when Mama slid over, putting Dabney right smack in the middle. Humiliated, I popped the reins and Dolly lit out like her tail was on fire. The wagon jerked and bolted over the bumpy clay road. Mama grabbed her hat, leaned across Dabney and shot me a look which I’d learned to interpret at a very early age. I pulled back on the reins. “Whoa, Dolly. Whoa, Babe.” I looked at mama. Neither of us said a word. We didn’t have to.

I didn’t pay much attention to the female chatter as we rode along until I heard Mama ask about the Christmas party. My ears perked.

Dabney said, “We had a good turn-out. I ’spect there were fifty people or more there. It was a shame that Zann and Mrs. Pruitt weren’t able to go. Zann had a pretty dress her mama made for the occasion—it was white with baby blue netting and a wide, satin cummerbund. I ain’t never seen nothing to beat it.”

“Sure sounds pretty, all right,” Mama said. “I once had a pretty blue dress made outta satin. Made it myself, but things didn’t turn out the way I planned, so I never got to wear it. But that’s all water under the bridge, as they say. Too bad Zann didn’t get to wear hers.”

Dabney giggled. “The parson didn’t take too kindly to it being strapless. I think he thought it was scandalous, but Mrs. Pruitt convinced him it was nothing of the sort.”

My irritation mounted. I wasn’t interested in a silly old dress. I wanted to know why Zann wasn’t at the party.

I tried to sound only casually interested. “Too bad she was sick.” I cut my eyes to the side and observed Dabney’s reaction. She worked for the Pruitt’s. If anyone knew what was wrong with Zann, she’d know. When she failed to comment, I tried once more. “Uh, I reckon she was sick. Why else would she have missed a chance to wear her new dress?”

Dabney frowned. “Yeah. Sick.” There was something strange about the way she said it. I could think of no other reason Zann would’ve missed the party, but why was Dabney acting so mysterious?

I pulled the wagon up to the end of the lane and helped the ladies down. “I’ll be waiting in the pecan orchard across the road, when church lets out.” I recognized a couple of boys from school, walking toward the church. I swiftly looked in all directions to make sure no one had seen me driving up with Dabney Foxworthy.

Mama’s never been one to give up easily. “Kiah, you’re likely to get cold sittin’ here in the wagon with the wind whipping through the trees. Don’t you wanna come with us, shug?”

“I’ll be fine, Mama.”

“But won’t you get bored? The Pageant’s likely to last longer than an hour.”

“No problem.”

Dabney thanked me for the ride and commented she was glad they arrived early so they could sit on the front. Was she serious? I figured the gossipy old ladies would certainly have plenty to talk about next week with Fendora Grave and Dabney Foxworthy sitting shamelessly on the front pew. There was nothing I could do about it. Mama had been bound and determined to go to church. When she made up her mind to do something, a pack of wild wolves couldn’t stop her.

I parked the wagon directly across from Zann’s house and watched the door. I too, was glad we were early, but not for the same reason as Dabney. I watched for Zann’s mother to walk out the front door of the parsonage, on her way to the church. If Zann was still sick, she’d be home alone. I’d sneak over and explain to her that I went to the bridge as soon as I read her letter, and how sorry I was to have missed her.

I heard the piano playing. Church had already begun, yet Mrs. Pruitt never left her house. Maybe Zann was sicker than I imagined. I could stand it no longer. I didn’t care if her mother was with her. I had to see her—talk to her. I tied up the mule and darted across the road to the parsonage.

Her mother answered the door. “Ma’am, my name’s Kiah Grave. I’m a friend of your daughter’s. Is she home?”