Whisper Town (13 page)

Jeb carried the paint behind Floyd. Once they made their way out to the street, Pella and Lepinsky had disappeared. Jeb saw
George Maynard taking his coffee into the station. Shop owners conversed out in front of the stores. Women wrangled over the
cost of a bushel of corn.

It was a peaceful day.

Jeb collapsed on the sofa. He had covered the graffiti alone. It took lots of whitewash, more than he had ever used painting
the church. After the first coat the words bled through. He had to keep dropping the brush back into the bucket and covering
the words one letter at a time, blocking over them until they were first illegible and then invisible. He kept walking out
to the street to see if the slurs had disappeared from a distance. It seemed like they would never go away. He painted one
last coat on the entire church front before dinner. After a night of drying, he would go back and see if the insults had indeed
vanished.

Lucky fed Ida May grits. Willie had stayed over with a friend for the night.

The front door banged open. Jeb stumbled off the couch.

“Jeb, we’re home!” Fern dropped Angel’s bags at the door. She ran to him and threw her arms around him.

Her hair smelled like the wind. He held her, too afraid to let go.

“I’m home too,” said Angel. She walked around them and then stood staring into the kitchen.

“You were gone too long. How’s your momma?” While she answered about the funeral and how the tire blew out, Angel gazed at
the girl who fed her little sister.

“How is that baby doing? Is she still with you?” asked Fern.

“Myrtle’s fine. Lucky, you want to come here?” Jeb called.

Lucky’s brow knitted together at the sight of Angel staring at her. “This your missus come home, Reverend? I thought you wasn’t
married.”

“They’re not married,” said Angel. “Who are you?”

“Lucky has come to help with Myrtle.” Jeb still had a tight grip on Fern.

“Where do you live?” Angel asked her.

“I stay here. Reverend, I’m going to finish up with your youngest and then get Myrtle cleaned up before her night feeding.”
Lucky returned to the kitchen.

“Jeb, we don’t have enough beds,” said Angel.

“If we can work out something, she’s good with the baby. She keeps her all day while I make my runs around town.”

“You’ve taken in another child?” Fern didn’t hide her surprise.

Jeb wanted Fern to understand. “Lucky’s almost grown. It’s not like I have to look after her. Someone’s got to see to the
baby.”

Angel walked past Jeb and out the front door.

Ida May gasped and ran to throw herself on Fern. “Dub’s crabby when you’re gone. I’m glad you’re back.”

“I see you got your own cook, Miss Ida May.”

“Lucky’s a good cook. Better than Dub. He burns supper a lot.”

“Ida May, go wash out your supper dishes,” said Jeb.

“I have an extra bed, Jeb. We can bring it over tomorrow if you want.” Fern walked toward the door. “Maybe talking to Angel
would be good now.”

“I didn’t think she would care, Fern.”

“She’s used to being the lady of the house.”

Jeb took Fern and held her next to him. “I need you around.”

“I see that. To cook your meals, keep you in the manner to which you are accustomed.”

“That’s not what I mean.” He kissed her cheek. “I’ll help Angel in with the rest of her things.”

“I liked Oklahoma.” Angel pulled the rest of her things out of Fern’s car. “The Coulters have it good. It’s quiet and kept
nice. Not like here.”

“Angel, you’re tired.”

“You do things without talking to a body, like moving in more mouths to feed.”

“We can talk about it now. Fern said you had some things happen on the trip that were upsetting.”

“She can tell you. What’s the point of us talking now?”

“Let’s say that we’re keeping them until we find them a home.”

“That’s what you said about us. Are you still trying to find us a home?”

“Your home is with me. Is that what this is about?”

“Lucky is only going to make matters worse. Our place is busting at the seams as it is.”

“Lucky is miraculous.”

“Can’t you see the end of this? People at church are already raising sand about Myrtle. This ain’t no kind of fix-it for things.”

“If I worry about what everyone thinks, then it’s the same as making no decision at all. Ministers have to make the hard choices
at times.”

“On top of it all, I come from a place where I’m treated with respect and come home to find you give away my bed.” She heaved
the heavy suitcase out of the car. “What do I care?”

“Why don’t you say what’s bothering you, Angel?”

“That girl acts all settled in, like she plans to stay a long time. She don’t fool me none, Jeb.”

“Would that be bad?”

“Are you saying this is as good as it’s going to get?”

“Give me your suitcase. It’s heavy.”

“I don’t know what Miss Coulter sees in Nazareth,” said Angel. “All that’s waiting for you back here is another mouth to feed
and no way to do it.”

“Come inside, girl, and let me cook your supper.” Lucky stood on the porch, listening to them. “If you don’t like it, I’ll
sleep on the porch tonight.” Instead of waiting for Angel’s answer, she went back inside the parsonage.

Angel carried her bags through the door. “We’re going to catch hell over this.” She saw the paint splattered across his boots.
“Something must have gotten you in the mood to paint. Where’s the masterpiece?”

“We’ll talk about that tomorrow.”

The sun was finally setting. Jeb wanted night to come and to forget the way the day had started. In his sleep he had practiced
a speech to Fern, about the two of them going away and leaving Nazareth, leaving the church with the problem of how to care
for the cast-off children of the Depression. It seemed like the thing to do in his dream.

Fern had put on a pot of coffee to brew. “Look at you, Rembrandt. Take those things off and I’ll soak them,” she said. She
told Lucky how much she liked her name. Fern always set things straight. She always made bad things seem right. When she walked
into a room, the way seemed more lucid. With Fern around, Jeb was home.

T
HE DAY’S BLUENESS LOST ITS WARMTH AS
the day wore on. The cloudbanks along the mountains outlined all that was left of the clear day with something that smelled
distantly of snow. Everyone said it was too early for snow, but the clouds hovered like orphans while the old people wished
them away.

Wednesday prayer meeting had lost some of its zeal, so the numbers were down. What had started out in years past as a prayer
meeting had become another ritual of standing, reciting, singing two songs, and then listening to a sermon that should not
go late if the minister knew what was best for everyone.

Nonetheless, the meeting kept the name of prayer upon it for the sake of tradition.

Jeb learned the ritual from Philemon Gracie. With the sun going fast, though, he could not usher the congregants into the
hall fast enough. In spite of a third coat of whitewash, the graffiti bled through. Two days of priming in the sun had done
nothing to help hide it.

“Evening, Mr. and Mrs. Pearl,” he said.

The Pearls stood next to the Smithfields, who stood next to the Pattons, who joined the row of faces looking up, squinty-eyed
to read the faded slurs.

Angel pushed her way through the crowd and ran inside. Ida May dawdled staring up with all of the others while the sun went
down and the cold moved in.

“Ring the bell, will you?” Jeb asked Angel.

She tolled it good and hard until the couples disbursed and entered the sanctuary.

“We can’t have people driving by and seeing that,” said Sophie Pearl. “They’ll think we’re rabble-rousers.”

Sam Patton agreed. “Reverend, you can’t leave the church in that state.”

Angel gave another tug on the bell rope and received the desired
bong-bong-bong.

“That’s good, Angel.” Jeb ushered her into the hall.

Will and Freda slipped in and shook Jeb’s hand before taking their seats.

“Can’t figure out why the whitewash didn’t work,” said Floyd. “Beats anything I’ve ever seen.”

“Let’s all gather into the Lord’s house,” said Jeb. He had heard Philemon say it so often in that soft, whispered manner that
caused the church to fall silent, reverent. Jeb felt when he said it, that his words sounded more like stones of provocation.

“Here we go then,” said Angel to Jeb. “Been a while since we seen a hanging.”

Lucky, who had waited until the dead last minute to climb out of the front of Jeb’s truck with the baby, entered and sat fast
on one of the rear pews.

Several boys got up and moved away. Muttering rippled through the congregation.

Jeb took his place behind the lectern.

Fern led Ida May down the aisle. She was a brilliant smile in a bevy of frowns.

“Let’s bow for prayer,” said Jeb. He said one first, silently, just between him and God.

Jeb pulled to a stop in front of Honeysack’s General Store. A boy waved newspapers down on the corner. “You all stay put.
I want to pick up a paper and I’ll buy penny candies down at Fidel’s.”

Angel and Lucky took turns with Myrtle, crushed into the front seat. Willie and Ida May shared a blanket in the truck bed.

“Hurry, Dub, it’s cold,” said Ida May.

Angel shifted when Jeb got out and closed the door. “Looks like the Woolworth’s got in new dresses. Want to go and window-shop?”
she asked Lucky.

Lucky covered Myrtle’s head. “Anything to get out of this truck. Reverend needing some new wheels in a bad way.”

Angel crossed the street and Lucky followed, holding the baby’s face against her shoulder.

“Mrs. Whittington has the best winter hats. About as good as the
Sears and Roebuck’s,
” said Angel. She pointed to a set of earrings and a necklace displayed at the mannequin’s feet.

Lucky glanced up the street. “Sure hope Reverend hurries.” She saw a group of young men gathered at the corner outside the
drugstore. “Let’s get back to the truck,” she said.

“I’m going to ask Mrs. Whittington for a job so I can buy my own clothes. I get tired of the church rag bag dresses. Yours
is nice, though. I didn’t mean it wasn’t.”

“Angel, you don’t have to explain everything to me.”

“There’s that Oz Mills and his banking swells. They think they own everything, but they don’t own me,” said Angel as she turned
to cross the street toward the drugstore.

“Angel, that’s Frank Pella. Don’t go near him. He’s a scary son of a gun.”

“How you know Frank Pella? Oh, that’s right. You’re from Hope too.”

“We don’t run in the same bunch, but I know him. I’m headed back to the truck,” said Lucky.

Angel reached down and picked up a nail dropped in front of the Woolworth’s. “This is Frank’s car parked right here in front
of us. What would happen if this nail were to end up right through that tire of his?”

“Hey, back away from the wheels!” Pella saw them.

Lucky turned her back on the boys.

The sound of feet pounding pavement ensued.

“Lucky, run for the truck!” Angel pushed her from behind.

Before the girls could cross the street, the boys surrounded them.

Oz Mills remained on the corner talking to girls. He yelled at the boys but then returned to his conversation.

“Leave us alone, Frank!” said Angel.

Lucky buried her face in Myrtle’s blankets.

“Who’s the pretty Nigra?” Gordon Watts stroked one of Lucky’s braids. “You like ol’ Frankie’s wheels, girl? You want to go
take a turn in the backseat?”

Frank nudged Lucky with his hand. “Whose whore are you? Someone knock you up and give you a pup to play with?”

“Jeb’s coming out of the drugstore any minute, Frank, and when he does, he’ll kick your butt between your shoulders!” Angel
tried to insinuate herself between Lucky and Frank.

Lucky reached for the truck door. But instead of opening it, she came around with a right hook and landed it right in the
middle of Frank’s face. Blood splattered onto the street and Myrtle’s blanket. Myrtle wailed. Lucky never lost her grip on
the baby.

Frank lunged at Lucky and she stood unflinching, as tall as Frank and drawing back another fist. Angel took Myrtle and covered
her head with the blanket to quiet her.

George Maynard came running out of the station.

“You?” Frank’s eyes met Lucky’s. “This isn’t your town! You can’t stay here.”

Lucky said nothing, even when George grabbed her by the arm and started to throw cuffs onto her wrists.

Angel took the baby out of her arms. “Deputy, you can’t arrest her for self-defense!”

“I saw her hit Frank Pella,” said Gordon. “He didn’t do a thing to her. Toss her in the slammer, Maynard.”

Oz Mills came running across the street. He swore at Frank and Gordon. When he saw Lucky in handcuffs, he said to Frank, “You
sure you want to take it this far?”

Frank was shaken. “I guess not. Officer, you can let her go. Maybe I caused it.”

Jeb came running down the walk. Penny candy scattered behind him as he ran.

“Can we go?” asked Angel. She stared at Frank, mystified.

Maynard pulled out his key and unlocked the cuffs. “You better watch your step, girl. Pella’s daddy don’t like his boy being
messed with.”

Jeb opened the truck door and let the girls inside.

Ida May had buried her face in Willie’s chest, sobbing.

Maynard tapped at the window glass. “Keep that girl away from town, Jeb. She’s trouble.”

Lucky shook out her wrist and massaged her knuckles.

The sidewalks had filled up with the curious from the evening gatherings at Fidel’s and Beulah’s.

“That felt good,” Lucky whispered.

Jeb drove them away. He didn’t say a word to either girl.

Come Sunday, the Church in the Dell had received a new coat of paint courtesy of Floyd Whittington and a group of boys he
had gathered to hide the defacement.

Jeb looked out off the porch steps at the families staring up at the new paint job.