Authors: Ruth White

Belle Prater's Boy (10 page)

BOOK: Belle Prater's Boy

4.1Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Read Book Download Book

ads

I couldn't find the right words.

“I see you,” Porter said. “I can see you even under all that hair.”

“What â¦ what do you see?”

“Well, let's see. You remind me a whole lot of your Aunt Belle, the way you're so talented with music.”

It was the second time that summer I had heard that, and it tickled me.

“And you're wonderfully imaginative and creative like her. But she was mad at the world because she wasn't Love. You're also a fine person in your own right. Nobody can outshine you if you can just be yourself. Belle never learned that, and it caused her a lot of grief.”

“What do you think happened to her?” I said.

“Belle? Oh, that's easy. She actually vanished, you see, many years ago, when she was about your age. Now she is out there trying to find herself again.”

Seventeen

F
or the rest of summer vacation things were not quite the same between me and Woodrow, but we were polite to each other. We didn't mention the change.

The last Saturday in August Mama took me to Bristol to shop for new clothes, like she did every year. I didn't ask Woodrow to go along, even though I knew he had never been there and he really wanted to go. I got dresses, skirts and sweaters, shoes, and a topper for cool fall mornings. We had lunch at an S&W cafeteria, and drove home late through the rolling hills of Abingdon and Lebanon. It was a beautiful drive. Just me and Mama. We had a good time.

Coal Station got its first stoplight, at the intersection of Residence and Main, and we all trekked down there to see itâeven Dawg.

Grandpa was in the market for a new car, so Woodrow went around singing car-commercial ditties.

What a joy to take the wheel
In your brand-new Oldsmobile!

And:

You gotta drive it to believe it
The Dodge for '55!

Also:

Ford! Ford! New kind of Ford!
Car of tomorrow by Ford!

Woodrow also had a new joke: “Name me two cars that start with P.”

Of course everybody said, “Plymouth and Pontiac.”

And Woodrow would come back with “No, they start with gas!”

The apples started falling. Summer was dying.

It looked like Cleveland was going to the World Series.

And there were no new developments in the Belle Prater case.

My old familiar nightmare came more often, but with less horror. It didn't send me into hysterics anymore.
Sometimes I would wake up with a tear on my cheek, haunted by the memory of blood on the face of a dead animal. I would look out my open window at the stars at such times, and I could almost recall what it was the nightmare was trying to tell meâalmost. The ugly thing seemed ready to come out and show itself to me.

School started back the day after Labor Day, and Woodrow and I advanced to the seventh grade. You couldn't call it high school yet, but it was in the same building as the high school, and we would be changing classes. On the first day Woodrow and I found out we were assigned to the same homeroom. Our teacher was new, a man from eastern Virginia. Neither of us had ever had a man teacher before.

Several of our classmates, including Buzz, Mary Lee, Franklin Delano, Flo, and Willy, were in our room again. We all sat there in new clothes before the bell rang, talking in hushed voices and sizing the teacher up. He was a middle-aged man with tiny blue eyes and a big red nose. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and a tie, which I thought was uncalled for in this heat. Already beads of sweat were popping out on his forehead.

I reckon each one of us was wondering what the school year would bring. I was secretly promising
myself to make the honor roll every six weeks, which was nothing new for me. I always made the honor roll, and Mama always said, “That's my good girl.” I wondered what she would say if I made straight C's? The bell interrupted my thoughts.

“Good morning, young men and women,” the teacher said.

We pulled ourselves up to attention and tried to look the part.

“I am Mr. Collins, your homeroom and first-period English teacher.”

Straightaway Woodrow wanted to know what was his relation to Floyd Collins, the poor man who got himself trapped in the Kentucky cave.

“None whatsoever,” Mr. Collins replied. “Though I have read of that unfortunate man.”

That was a new one on Woodrow. He never had heard tell of two people a-bearin' the same last name and being no kin a'tall. And he told Mr. Collins as much. Why, everybody knew a Prater was a Prater, a Honaker was a Honaker, and a Coleman was a Coleman, no matter where they lived. Same as a dog was a dog and a cat was a cat. You couldn't get away from it.

Sometimes it was hard to tell if Woodrow was putting you on or not.

“Well, perhaps somewhere in the far past,” Mr. Collins
conceded, “all Collinses did come from the same hoose.”

“What's a âhoose'?” Woodrow wanted to know.

“That's how they say âhouse' in eastern Virginia,” Franklin Delano said, giving us a short lesson in dialect. “My uncle lives in Fincastle, and out there they say âaboot the hoose' instead of âabout the house.'”

That didn't bother Mr. Collins one bit. In fact, he said it was an amusing observation. I decided I was going to like him.

“I am new here,” Mr. Collins went on. “Not only in your school, but in your town. I arrived in Coal Station only last week, and I'm staying at the Presbyterian Manse with the minister and his good wife.

“So I would like to start by learning some things about you and your families. Could we have some volunteers first?”

Of course Woodrow volunteered.

“My name is Woodrow Prater. I live with my granny and Grandpa Ball in a great big old two-story hoose â¦”

Woodrow paused and grinned at Mr. Collins, who grinned back at him.

“ â¦ on Residence Street. We have â¦”

“He's Belle Prater's boy,” Buzz interrupted. “Do you know about her, Mr. Collins?”

“No,” Mr. Collins said. “I am not familiar with that name.”

“Tell Mr. Collins, Woodrow,” Buzz went on, with a devilish grin. “Tell about your mama disappearing into thin air and all.”

Everybody looked at Woodrow. I saw a shadow of pain flit across his face. But he collected himself just like that.

“Good idea!” he said cheerfully. “It was like this, Mr. Collins. My mama, Belle Prater, learned the secrets of invisibility.”

“I see,” Mr. Collins said politely. “Go on.”

“She wasn't like most grown folks. She was still a child in some ways. She wished on a star and played she had a fairy godmotherâstuff like that. She made up swell stories for me about the little people. And she believed in magic. You have to believe, you know, to make the magic work for you.”

Mr. Collins nodded.

“We saw this ad in the back of a
Red Ryder
comic book,” Woodrow went on. “I remember there was a picture of Little Beaver on the front cover.

“And the ad said, âWant to become invisible? Learn the formula of the gods. Order your invisible recipe today!' And it gave an address to order. I wanted it more'n Mama did.

“âOrder it, Mama,' I begged her. âI want to learn how to be invisible.' 'Cause I thought it would be fun
to go around the other kids at school and hear what they said, and go to them later and repeat it to them.

“So just for fun we ordered the recipe. It was only seventy-five cents, and we took it out of our carnival fund. That's another thing Mama likedâthe carnival. We always went over to Grassy Lick when the carnival was there.

“Then our recipe came in the mail, and some of the things it called for were so outlandishâlike a vulture's feather, a jack-in-the-pulpit petal, a squirrel's toenail, a quart of dew from a graveyard, a pint of mother's milk, a hair from the mustache of a man with a girl's name. She got that one, by the way, from old man Leslie Matney before he kicked the bucket. Spit from a baby no more'n two hours old, and I don't know what-all. I forget the rest.

“Anyhow, I lost interest because it was too complicated, but Mama was so curious her nose like to twitched out o' joint. She was determined to mix that brew. And she did.

“She plotted and planned and went skulking about the holler till she found all the ingredients she needed. And she stirred them up and let 'em steep for three days like it said.

“When Daddy complained about the smell, she told him she was making sauerkraut. If Daddy had been sober, he woulda knowed it wadn't the season for cabbage.

“Then, on the fourth day, I come home from school and Mama was nowhere â¦ Well, she was somewhere, but nowhere that you could see. I searched the house and barn, and called and called her, but got no answer.

“So I went to the kitchen and sat down to a bowl of corn bread and milk, and I heard Mama say, âI'm here, Woodrow. Right beside you.'

“I about swallowed my spoon.

“âIt's okay, Woodrow,' she said. âI drunk only a little, so I'll be reappearing soon.'

“And I felt a rush of air on my arm like she was touching me.

“âThe more you drink, the longer you stay invisible,' she said. âMaybe we'll drink some together and go visiting next Sunday. Won't that be fun?'

“And I said, âJoe Palooka!'

“It was about all I could think of to say.

“Then she reappeared maybe an hour later, and she was so excited.

“âNext time I'll drink more,' she said to me. 'Lots more. Just think, Woodrow, you can go to the show and to the carnival and not have to pay. And you can go on buses and trains, or ships, planes even! Why, you can go anywhere!'

“It was the next Sunday morning she disappeared, and we haven't seen or heard from her since.”

Woodrow sat down abruptly.

Mr. Collins grinned. You could tell he didn't believe one word Woodrow had said, but he was going along with the story.

“And where, pray tell, do you think she went?” he said.

“New York City, probably,” Woodrow said nonchalantly. “There's a doctor there who operates on crossed eyes and makes them straight. I know she'll send for me soon.”

“What a lie!” Buzz hissed under his breath.

“You have quite an imagination, Woodrow,” Mr. Collins said. “But let's remember the difference between fact and fantasy. Who's next?”

About three people volunteered and told their things before I raised my hand.

“I am Gypsy Arbutus Leemaster,” I said, “ â¦ and I â¦”

“Beauty is a short name for Arbutus,” Flo interrupted. “Don't you think it suits her, Mr. Collins?”

“Very much so,” Mr. Collins agreed.

“Don't you think we should call her Beauty?” Flo went on sweetly.

I felt an angry flush creeping up my cheeks.

“I can play the piano!” I blurted out.

The class fell silent in surprise. I was agitated under their watchful gaze, but I felt like I had to say something about meâthe me that was hidden under the golden hair.

“Woodrow can tell g-good st-stories,” I stammered. “B-but I can tell good jokes. And I make good grades. And animals like me, and â¦”

My classmates seemed puzzled. I took several deep breaths and tried to calm down.

“So?” Buzz interjected rudely.

I saw Woodrow bristle.

“I live on Residence Street with my mother and stepfather, Porter Dotson,” I concluded quickly and sat down.

“Porter Dotson?” Mr. Collins said. “Yes, he is one person I have met since I've been here. A very fine man.”

“Not as fine as my real daddy!”

The words came out of nowhere.

“His name was Amos Leemaster. He died when I was five.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, dear. Was it an accident?”

Suddenly my heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my ears, and my mouth was so dry my lips stuck together. I pushed back my hair with shaking fingers and felt sweat trickling down the back of my neck.

“Yes, it was an accident,” I said.

I glanced at Woodrow, and he gave me an encouraging smile.

“He was a volunteer fireman,” I went on, and I could hear my voice trembling. “And â¦ and he went
into a burning house to save a baby, and â¦ and he did save the baby, but he â¦ he died.”

“That's a lie!” Buzz Osborne said out loud.

“That's a very rude thing to say!” Mr. Collins scolded Buzz.

“Well, it is a lie. Let me tell you â¦”

“Shut up, Buzz!” Woodrow shouted.

I was gripped with terror. Buzz was going to say it. He was going to make me hear it.

“My mother said that Amos Leemaster got his face so scarred up in that fire you couldn't recognize him, and â¦”

“I said
shut up!”
Woodrow hollered, as he stood up and moved toward Buzz.

“Boys! Boys!” Mr. Collins tried to intervene, but his voice was drowned out by Buzz's next words.

“ â¦ and he was married to the prettiest woman in the hills â¦”

“We do not talk about this in front of Gypsy!” Woodrow screamed, and raised his fist to Buzz.

BOOK: Belle Prater's Boy

4.1Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub