Different Drummers (22 page)

A week later, Bob listened intently as Kathleen read out loud the write-up in
The Eddisville Gazette
. Mr. Tate had written the column himself in his flowery, folksy style, about Bobbie Conroy, one of Eddisville's own, wounded in Korea while fighting bravely for his country. He made it sound almost as if Bob had won the Congressional Medal of Honor. Lennie Barlow had taken the picture of the hometown soldier and his English wife, holding hands and smiling

Bob preened. “Well, now, ain't that something serenely into the camera from their elegant little house on Petrie Avenue. Well now, ain't that something. Don't it feel great to get your name in the paper like that. Shoot, old man Tate makes me sound like some sort of hero.”

He looked around the immaculate room. “You'd better get this place cleaned up. Ain't no telling who'll be droppin' in now.”

* * *

“I ain't changed my mind about them,” Bob said when he told Kathleen he had no intention of accepting the dinner invitation from William and Belle Tate. “They still turn their noses up at the likes of us. Just because you work for old man Tate, don't make no difference to me. That's between you and him.”

Kathleen stared at her husband, filled with exasperation at his small-mindedness and stubbornness.

He lit a cigarette. “Aw, come on, Kathleen. Can't you at least be reasonable? Tate's got that crazy old bat for a wife. How in the hell am I supposed to talk to her? And another thing, you don't see her runnin' over here to see us, do you? Come to think of it, you don't see her nowhere.”

Kathleen fought to keep the anger out of her voice. “Don't say those things about Belle. You don't have the slightest idea what you're saying. She's been ill.”

“Yeah, well, it's lastin' a hell of a long time. I ain't laid eyes on the woman in years.”

“Please Bob, don't talk like that. The Tates have been very good to me. I've never known two nicer people. Mr. Tate spent hours writing that article about you, trying to get it exactly right.”

Bob spoke as if trying to explain something to a child. “Ain't you never gonna learn nothin'? That's how Tate makes his money, writing stories of interest about people in the town. Do you think he'd do it for nothin'?”

* * *

Even though it was evident after a few days that none of Bob's own so-called friends would be beating a path to their door, some people did come to call. Lennie Barlow came with his wife, and they brought a bottle of champagne. Bernie came on the same night, almost as if it had been planned. And when Mr. Tate came, arms filled with brownies and cookies baked by Belle and Sarah, Kathleen's heart filled with gratitude because she knew her boss had done it for her.

Freddie dropped by every other day, sometimes with Mary and sometimes alone. Kathleen knew he got on Bob's nerves but if Freddie noticed, he didn't show it and kept right on with his visits.

Physically, Bob became stronger. His leg was mending, and now and then he'd use a cane instead of crutches. But after the first couple of weeks at home, his mood darkened. When he became tight-lipped and morose, Kathleen tried to tell herself this was probably normal behavior for any wounded soldier returning home from a war.

With just one week left of his leave, she came home from work one evening and was immediately struck by the distinct improvement in his disposition.

He pointed to the large envelope on the coffee table. “If you want the surprise of your life, take a look at what's in there.”

Kathleen pulled out the contents and stared at the large photograph for at least ten seconds before she realized the two people posing so theatrically were Otis and Selma. They stood side by side on a platform arranged a lot like the Holiness Church of Jesus. There were the potted chrysanthemums, and she could see a grand piano in the background.

Selma's hair was now platinum blond, or white, Kathleen couldn't tell which from the black and white photograph. It hung in two thick braids on her shoulders. Kathleen didn't remember Selma's hair being anywhere near this thick and long. It had always been red, thin, and frizzy. She had to be wearing a wig. Her dress was more like a flowing robe, along Grecian lines, except for the long, loose sleeves. She had a silken cord tied around her waist.

Kathleen moved her gaze to Otis, feeling her skin crawl even now. His strange eyes stared into hers, glowing with the zeal of an Old Testament prophet. His hair was also different as if it had been fluffed up and powdered. It was longer than she remembered. Maybe he too was wearing a wig.

Both smiled serenely, with arms stretched outward and upward in praise.

In spite of her antipathy toward these two, Kathleen was fascinated by the photograph. Still staring at it, she replaced it on the coffee table.

When Bob handed her the rest of the envelope's contents, she had the strange feeling he was watching her closely, as if waiting to see her reaction.

“How about readin' the newspaper clippin' out loud,” he said. “I'm gettin' better with my readin' but I'm not that good yet and I don't wanna miss nothin'.”

The Reverend Otis Conroy it seemed had come from out of nowhere and already was drawing the largest crowds the church had ever had. In fact, since Preacher Conroy held his first Sunday service at the Church of Divine Power just a few short weeks ago, membership had tripled. Underneath the article was the same bizarre photograph of Otis and Selma.

Bob grinned and shook his head unbelievingly. “Damn if Daddy ain't famous. He didn't get no publicity like this when he was preachin' at Uncle Homer's church.”

There was also a letter from Otis telling of the day Jesus had come to him in a vision and given him the power to heal. He'd written the word POWER in capital letters and underlined it twice. He could help the afflicted now, he'd written, could cast the devil out of their tormented bodies. Also capitalized and underlined twice was the statement that Bobby just wouldn't believe how the money was rolling in.

Almost as an afterthought, Otis mentioned Kathleen. He said he couldn't wait to see her and hoped it wouldn't be all that long before Bob brought his wife to Crystal Springs so they could witness for themselves all the wonderful powers Jesus had bestowed upon Otis Conroy and his daughter Selma. Fighting a desire to tear the letter to shreds, Kathleen prayed for diplomacy. Surely, Bob wouldn't fall for any of this. Or would he? she wondered, as she looked at his flushed, excited face.

She gathered the courage to ask. “What do you think of all this?”

Bob was clearly puzzled as well as dazzled. “I don't get it. They don't even look like themselves. Wonder what they did to look like that?”

Kathleen stared at the picture again. “Well, Selma has on a wig for starters. And it looks like your daddy's wearing one too. How do you like their nice white outfits?” she asked, unable to keep the contempt from her voice.

“Damn,” Bob said. “I didn't expect them to look like this. Ain't Daddy just somethin' else? He's always been a character, but he ain't never done no layin' on of hands before.”

He lit a cigarette and pulled the ashtray toward him. “We need to pay him and Selma a visit. This is somethin' we've got to see for ourselves. Daddy said he can't wait to see you. Didn't I tell you he always kinda liked you?”

Kathleen listened grimly as she thought of the sarcasm behind Otis's words when he'd mentioned her.

“Oh, don't worry,” Bob said. “I ain't fallin' for all that razzamatazz about him bein' able to heal people. Damn if that ain't for the birds. Still and all, he did say the money's rolling in. I'm wonderin' just how much cold cash Daddy's talking about here.”

He grinned as if letting her in on his secret. “I ain't above trying my hand at anythin' if it means we'll be makin' a bundle. No ma'am. Maybe I can be up there savin' a few souls, same as Daddy.”

When Bob slapped his uninjured knee as if it was some big joke, Kathleen knew the idea was taking hold. Her stomach turned over.

She fought to keep the mounting panic from seeping into her voice. “How can you do that? Don't you have to have some kind of degree in theology or something?”

“Degree in what?”

“Theology.”

“Shoot no. Daddy ain't never had no degree and look how good he's doin'.” Bob's face was flushed and his eyes crackled.

“You mean you really think he can heal people now?” She couldn't help it. The words just slipped out.

Bob's face darkened as he suddenly grew defensive of his father. “You don't have to be so damn sarcastic. How do you know he can't do it?”

When she didn't answer, Bob struggled to his feet. “Seems to me you'd be tickled to death to take a look at Daddy's new church. It's his very own.”

“I didn't notice you being so interested in his preaching when you came home before,” she said. “You didn't even seem religious. Why the sudden enthusiasm?”

He looked down at her, clearly startled. “It ain't the religion I'm looking at. I just got through tellin' you that. But I ain't gonna say as much to Daddy on account he had his callin' and all. I'm lookin' at the money side of it. Strictly the money side. Uncle Homer didn't care much about makin' money, except maybe to cover church expenses. But he should have. Is it any wonder Daddy left when somethin' good turned up? There ain't no denyin' he puts on one hell of a good show and I'm bettin' he'll be makin' as much money as any movie star in no time at all.”

Kathleen stared down at her hands trying to think of something to say but the right words wouldn't come.

“There's big bucks here,” Bob said. “I mean big bucks with a capital B. I can smell ‘em. Didn't you know there's money in preachin'?”

When she still didn't answer, Bob banged his fist on the table. “I'll be damned if you don't beat all. First time home you talked me into takin' that job at the hardware store, and you can see where that got us. And now, now when a real chance comes along, you're actin' like there's somethin' wrong with it. Well, let me tell you somethin', Baby. If I get to preachin' alongside Daddy and that money's rollin' in, you're gonna be singin' a different tune.”

She shoved everything back in the envelope and slammed it onto the coffee table. “Am I? If you think that, you don't know me at all. You and I march to very different drummers, Bob, and all I can tell you is I think the whole idea is so bloody crazy, it makes my head spin. Don't ask me again. Just do what you have to do. If you have to go, go, but I'll never go and that's final.”

It wasn't the first time she heard a little voice somewhere inside her head telling her to let him go. If he did, she'd be rid of him at last.

Bob rolled his eyes and shook his head slowly as if she were beyond understanding. He took a beer out of the refrigerator and headed slowly for the terrace. She watched him through the window as she prepared the evening meal and saw him for the first time as a carbon copy of his father. Had Beulah started her married life filled with hopes and dreams, only to have them smashed to pieces by the unpredictable Otis Conroy? Could Bob and Otis wear her down until she had that same look of hopelessness in her eyes she'd first noticed in Beulah?

“Dear God,” she whispered to the empty room. “I could bear anything but that.”

Everything was clear to her now. If Bob decided to be part of the Church of Divine Power, it would be the end of their marriage.

Slowly she set the table for supper.

* * *

She'd been so intrigued with the letter and photographs from Otis, she'd almost missed the other envelope. After she'd cleared away the dishes, she saw it there on the coffee table, recognizing immediately the English postage stamps and familiar handwriting. Picking it up she went into the bathroom and locked the door to afford herself a measure of privacy.

The envelope contained the usual letters and inevitable pictures. Coming hard on the heels of the letter and picture from Otis, it was as if she stared at people from another planet. How could the lives of two families be so different? What was the reason behind such diverse points of view? She tried to imagine her father in the role of a preacher such as Otis Conroy and found it impossible. She wiped her mind clear of the Conroys, and concentrated on the pictures and letters from home. One of the pictures showed the outside of the bakery, with Nina's shop next door. It looked now as if the beauty parlor had always been there and hadn't once been part of the bakery storeroom at all. There was a brand new sign stretching across the two shops with the catchy names Upper Cut and Upper Crust emblazoned across it.

Her family stood beneath the sign looking like people she used to know, but who weren't really a part of her life anymore. There stood Kevin, in between Dorothy and Nina, an arm protectively on each of their shoulders. Dorothy wasn't “little Dorothy” anymore. Although only fifteen, she looked almost grownup when she wasn't wearing her school uniform. Mum and Dad looked older but why wouldn't they. Time didn't stand still. Kathleen tried to ignore the twinge of envy as she stared at the picture of Nina with the handsome naval officer who was her sister's fiancé. They held hands and laughed into each other's eyes. Nina had scribbled on the back of the picture they planned to marry next year and looked forward to a honeymoon in Paris. Kathleen wondered if there was any way she could afford to go home for the wedding and realized there was nothing she would rather do.

Later she showed the picture to Bob and her hardened heart protected her from being hurt. He glanced casually at the picture then handed it back to her. “Damn if I ain't glad to be away from that place,” he said.

* * *

Even though Bob tried to talk some more about taking a trip to see Otis preach in his new church, Kathleen refused to discuss it. That was at least until two days before the end of Bob's leave, when she came home from work to see a shiny new Oldsmobile with Tennessee license plates parked in the driveway.