Cold Sassy Tree (41 page)

"I don't think we better try it, Miss Love," I said. I folded the napkin and held it out to her. "You want the grits, ma'am?"

"I reckon you got a better idea," Grandpa said, sarcastic. He was disappointed. Fixing a leak with grits would be something to tell and laugh about all week, like that time we ran out of inner-tube patching and rode home on a tire stuffed with a piece of old quilt.

"Well, it might plug the leak, Grandpa. I don't know. But I think it'd ruin the radiator. We can risk it, sir, if you willin' to buy a new radiator. But—"

"Let's try something else, Will Tweedy."

"Grandpa, the colored woman said we'd come to a town called Cushie Springs in about two miles. We just foller the creek at the next fork instead of stayin' on the Athens road. That way, we can keep gettin' water to pour in the radiator. And if we make it to the town, maybe we can find a mechanic with solderin' tools."

We made the two miles, but it was an awful drive on a narrow, rutted wagon road. On one side was the creek, on the other a ditch so deep that if you got in it you'd never get out without a mule team. In low spots we hit sand. I had to stay in low gear to get through that. In the meanwhile I was feeding oil to the cylinders and water to the radiator. Kept that bucket going the whole way. When we got there I was wore out, and the heat and burning oil had made a dirty brown mess out of the Pierce's neat new engine.

Cushie Springs was not what I'd call a town. It was just a handful of houses. Scant hope of finding a mechanic here. But probably we could hire a mule team to pull us into Athens.

Grandpa said let's ring up Mr. Shackleford and get him to send a mechanic. Mr. Shackleford had a garage over in Athens. I said, "You see any telephone poles in Cushie Springs, Grandpa?"

He looked around. "Naw, but what's thet got to do with anythang?"

"How can we telephone, sir, if Cushie Springs ain't got no telephones?"

"Don't be smart-aleck. Will. We'll think of something."

We stopped at the first house we saw. The young man who came to the door could hardly say howdy for trying to look around us at the automobile and at fashionable Miss Love, who was leaning out of the car to shake the dust from her veil.

Grandpa introduced himself and stated the situation. "You know anybody who could git a message over to Atnens for us?"

The young man said he'd do it. Be glad to. "I work in Athens and I'm just fixin' to leave. Been down here seein' my folks. This is my mama," he said as an old lady came up behind him and said howdy.

"Howdy, ma'am," said Grandpa.

"And this here's my daddy," he said, smiling at a little old man who came around the house leading a big roan horse that was saddled up.

"Pleased to meet you, sir," said Grandpa, shaking hands. "Are you acquainted with Mr. Shackleford, son? We got a leakin' radiator."

The young man said he boarded right up the street from Mr. Shack's shop. Mounting the horse, he promised to go see him soon as he got back. "But I gar'ntee you, he ain't go'n send nobody over here to work on a Sunday."

"In thet case," said Grandpa, "I got another favor to ast." Writing his name and Papa's on a scrap of paper, he said to please ring up Hoyt Tweedy in Cold Sassy and say we'd be home some time t'morrer. He offered a quarter to pay for the call, but the young feller wouldn't take it. As he galloped off, his mother reached up to tidy her white hair, like we were real company, and said in a slow, drawly voice, "Looks to me like y'all got to spend the night some place, folks. We'd be mighty proud to put you up, wouldn't we, Mr. Nolly?"

It being the custom not to take anybody up on the first invite, Grandpa insisted we'd jest find us a ho-tel.

She laughed. "Ain't no ho-tel in Cushie Springs. Not even a boardin' house." Glancing at Grandpa's spiffy new suit and then at the car and Miss Love's motoring costume, she said, kind of embarrassed, "We ain't got no bathroom or lectric lights like all y'all in Cold Sassy. But if'n yore daughter don't mind, you welcome as can be."

"Hit's my wife, ma'am. And she won't mind." Grandpa motioned Miss Love to come up to the porch, which she did. After introductions all around, the old lady apologized again for the kerosene lamps and the privy. Of course Miss Love said that was all right. But she didn't once in the whole time we were there admit she had a privy, too, or mention her well water and lamplight.

The old lady's name was Miss Gussie. Mr. Nolly's real name, she said, was Knowledge Henry Jamison. I never heard a name like that before. When I got home, I put it down in my journal. What I heard later that night, I wouldn't of dared put down in my journal. But I didn't need to. I knew I'd never forget any of it.

The Jamisons wanted to look at the Pierce. What with all the mud and dust and oil stains, it wasn't much to show off, but they were real impressed, especially after Grandpa said we'd give them a ride when we got the radiator fixed.

Miss Love seemed upset and awful nervous. I reckon Miss Gussie noticed, because she told her to go set down on the porch. "Make yoreself to home, honey, and rest a spell. We just havin' sausage and cornmeal battercakes and soggum syrup. I don't need no hep."

But Miss Love went on to the kitchen anyway, I guess to get away from Grandpa. Considering her new prospects for the future, you'd think she'd be all smiles instead of upset.

As I learned later, she was upset because she thought she didn't want the kind of future that Grandpa had in mind.

Us men sat down on the back porch steps and watched the sun set behind the barn. After talking hard times a while, Mr. Nolly asked questions about the Pierce, and then politely inquired as to Grandpa's business.

"You got you a store? My brother Big Dawg had a store one time. Big Dawg's name is Early. We jest call him Big Dawg." Pointing way off across the fields to a little log house at the edge of the woods, he laughed and said, "Thet's Big Dawg's drinkin' place. His wife won't let him in the house when he's drunk, so he goes over yonder and she sends a colored boy name Fish to see after him."

Normally Grandpa would of come up with a joke or a story then, but he kept looking towards the kitchen. His mind was on Miss Love. Mr. Nolly was thinking about her, too, because he soon said, "Scuse me for astin', but ain't Miz Blakeslee a Yankee? She kind of talks like one."

After Grandpa explained she was from Baltimore, Mr. Nolly said, "We got a real Yankee here in the county. He's bow-leggid, great goodness! Thet damn son-of-a-gun come in here two-three year ago and bought up a farm at sheriffs sale. Painted the house red, white, and blue and then rode the train back up North and got marrit. All I got to say, thet woman must a-been hard up for a husband, comin' down here where ain't nobody go'n speak to her, to live in a red, white, and blue house with a bow-leggid man. She's bow-leggid herself, though, and horse-faced, so they ain't a bad match. Miss Gussie says she cain't wait to see the fruits a-thet harvest! Say, did you know W. T. Stoddard?" Mr. Nolly asked. "He moved over here from Cold Sassy. W.T. ain't much, if you ast me."

"Naw, nor his daddy, neither," said Grandpa. "His daddy's dead now. Last time I seen him, he'd jest set fire to a dog."

I didn't remember old Mr. Stoddard, but I'd heard about the dog on fire. "He was the one did that?" I asked.

"He was the one," said Grandpa, and then told Mr. Nolly how in summertime there's always a bunch of old men playing checkers on a barrelhead out under this great old big sassafras tree at the depot. "One day a starvin', mangy ole dog come along, scroungin' for a biscuit, and thet fool Stoddard decided to put him out'n his miz'ry with kerosene and a match. Whilst the pore thang howled and rolled and whirled in the flames, them old men set there jest a-laughin'. I happened by bout then. Pulled out my pistol, kilt the dog, and shot thet checker game to Kingdom Come." He shook his head. "I'm jest as glad young W.T. chose to locate over here."

At supper that night my napkin slid off my knee. Bending down to pick it up, I saw Grandpa squeeze Miss Love's hand that was in her lap.

When Miss Gussie said she'd show us our rooms, Grandpa looked so excited you'd think all he lived for was to go to bed at night. While we took turns at the privy, she got out a soft white nightgown for Miss Love. "It's the one I save for nice. I embroidered them roses on it myself," she said proudly, handing it over. Then she got some towels and washrags out of a cupboard in the hall and, carrying a lighted kerosene lamp, led us up the steep stairs.

"Now this here is yore'n and Mr. Blakeslee's room," she told Miss Love, holding her lamp high as she opened a door into a neat plain room with old-timy furniture and a 1903 Arm and Hammer baking soda calendar on the wall. "I see Mr. Nolly filled up yore water pitcher like I told him to."

Miss Love's face had flushed at the words "yore'n and Mr. Blakeslee's room." To hide her embarrassment, she moved to the bed and ran her hand over the heavy purple and black coverlet. "Who wove it, Miss Gussie?"

"Mama did, when she warn't but sixteen year old. Spun the wool and dyed it, weaved them panels, and stitched'm t'gether. Ain't it a beauty?" Miss Gussie put her lamp down on the washstand, struck a match, and lit the lamp on the bed table. "They's some quilts in the chest. Y'all might need'm. Mr. Nolly thinks it's go'n turn off cold t'night."

Just as I started to wonder where I was supposed to sleep, Miss Gussie opened a door over by the head of the bed. "This here used to be my sewin' room," she said. "But I fixed it up for my grand-boys, Horace and Ulysses. They's eight and ten year old now. They spend ever summer here with us, heppin' Mr. Nolly around the place. Both them cots sleep good, son, so take yore pick." She lit a small lamp in there, then said good night and went back downstairs.

Miss Love looked at Grandpa. "Where do you want to sleep, sir?"

Like there wasn't any question, he nodded toward the big post bed and said, like teasing, "This here's where Miss Gussie said sleep. I reckon we better mind her."

Figuring they'd have to argue a while, I got a book off the bureau and took it to the little room. Though they lowered their voices, I distinctly heard Grandpa say, "One thang for shore, Miss Love. With two cots and a double bed, I ain't a-go'n sleep on the floor like I done in New York City."

(Well, so Mama and Aunt Loma had worried for nothing about New York City.)

Miss Love just laughed at him. "If you'd been willing to spend the money, sir, we could have had separate rooms. Weren't you lucky there were two berths on the boat!"

Peeping around the door, I saw him slap her behind, playful, and she laughed again. It was the first time all evening she'd seemed like her regular self. But then he got serious. "Cain't we jest sleep in here, Miss Love? Please?"

"Shh-h, don't talk so loud, Mr. Blakeslee."

I was about to pass out, I was so tired. "Where y'all want me to sleep?" I called from the little room.

"On one of the cots," Miss Love said quickly. "Mr. Blakeslee will sleep in there, too. I'll sleep in here."

"Thet's go'n look like Will Tweedy spent half the night on one cot and the rest of it on the other," said Grandpa. "Miss Gussie'll think he warn't comfortable."

The upshot was that Miss Love decided to sleep in the cot room and let me and Grandpa take the big bed. I couldn't help thinking how funny all this would sound to somebody who didn't know she was just his housekeeper.

There being only one washstand, Grandpa and I had to stay in the little room with the door shut while Miss Love bathed. I laid down on one of the cots while we waited. Grandpa paced the floor. The whole time she was washing up, he stopped walking only long enough to hitch up his trousers and scratch his head—like if he scratched hard enough and fast enough he might think how to get his way.

We finally heard Miss Love pour her dirty water out of the washbowl into the waste pot on the floor. But it was some time before she knocked and said she was through. Grandpa rushed to open the door, and it was like he'd opened onto a flower garden, Miss Love had on so much perfume. She stood there in the doorway, holding the red hat in her hand and her clothes draped over one arm. The white gown peeped out above and below her coat, which she was using like a robe.

In the soft lamplight she looked real pretty. Her freckled face was flushed, her eyes bright in the frame of dark lashes, her hair plaited into a thick shiny braid that hung down the left side of her neck.

"I'm sorry it took me so long," she said, her voice steady.

Grandpa surprised me by leaning over and kissing her on the cheek. "G'night," he said. For a long moment they stood there staring at one another, like his eyes were steel and hers a dern magnet. Her lips trembled.

There being no way to get past them, I just sat there on the cot, half-asleep, watching them block the doorway. Finally Grandpa took a deep breath, which shook a little as he let it out. "I know you plumb wore out, Miss Love."

"No, not really. I feel fine. I—uh—feel fine. Are you very tired?"

"Gosh a'mighty, no. If I was a bull I could bust through a fence right now and never feel it." He touched her arm. She didn't move away. He laughed softly. "But I reckon I won't be a-doin' thet tonight. Well, Miss Love, sleep good, hear. Call me if'n you need anythang." They were still staring at one another. "Be sure and call me if they's anythang I can—"

"Thank you, I won't need anything, Mr. Blakeslee. Good night, sir."

She moved past him into the little room. I reckon she'd forgot all about me, because it startled her when I got up from the cot. "Uh, good night, Will."

"G'night, ma'am." She patted my arm as I went out. Then she shut the door.

Grandpa walked over to the washstand and poured some water into the big flowerdy bowl, but I just pulled off down to my union suit and turned back the covers. I was too tired to care about road dust. "Which side you want to sleep on, Grandpa? Left or right?"

"Hit don't matter, son. Like I used to tell yore granny, everwhich side I'm on is the right side. She always said hers was the one next to the cradle or closest to the kitchen."