Good Hope Road (33 page)

I thought about June and Ivy, and how afraid they must of been, running off like that, young teenagers getting married in some strange town in the dark of night, expecting a baby. I thought about June working hard those last few months of high school, trying to finish up his schooling, trying to support Ivy. I remembered him so tired from working at the sawmill that he could hardly keep his eyes open in school while the rest of us were laughing and talking about dances and such.

I thought about him watching the baseball team finish up the season without him, and him realizing that he wasn’t gonna be going away to A&M college to play baseball.

I realized how sad he must of been, and how much he give up to be with Ivy, and how much he must of loved her. It must of broken his heart to put her in the ground holding his baby, the only baby he ever ended up having.

When he married again, it was to a young widow with two small babies of her own, and she couldn’t have any more after that. He loved her anyway, and he loved those children, and if I hadn’t of hated him so much, I would of seen that he was a good husband and father. His wife was a good woman, but she wasn’t my sister, Ivy.

I wondered now if he ever thought about that baby who died with Ivy—that tiny part of him that never had a chance at life.

Sleep come to me finally, and I dreamed of Ivy and that little girl who would have been June’s. She had Ivy’s long hair, dark and curly, and June’s sky blue eyes. When she smiled, she looked like June.

She and Ivy were picking wildflowers, somewhere far away, and they were happy. Ivy paused long enough to look across the field at me. She tried to say something, but, as always, I couldn’t hear the words.

They faded like the mist as the rattling of pots pulled me out of my dreams, and Lacy stirred in the bed beside me.

“Ssshhh,” I whispered, pulling the quilt over her.

“You all right, Mama Gibson?” I heard Janet holler from the kitchen.

“Yes, I’m all right.”

Lacy opened her eyes and rolled over on the pillow to look at me.

“Good morning, sweet one,” I whispered.

She didn’t answer, except with the littlest bit of a smile. At least that was something.

“I see you still got your red string.” I touched her little hand. The red string had been wrapped around her fingers all night while she slept. “Maybe later today we can go back and see Mr. Jaans and he can show you some more tricks with the string. I recall he knows quite a few. Would you like that?”

Lacy smiled wider and nodded. I saw a hint of the brightness she had showed June—just a small portion, but it was my portion. It was enough to fill me.

Squealing come from bedrooms down the hall as the rest of the kids woke up and started a fight about something. “Here, you kids stop that!” I shouted. I climbed from the bed and limped down the hall with my legs creaking and crackling.

“Toby’s been in here stealing my Easter candy, Granny!” Christi hollered. “I woke up and there he was in
my basket
!”

“Heaven’s sake, what’s this about Easter candy?” I walked into the girls’ room, where Christi and Cheyenne had Toby pinned on the bed.

In the corner, Anna pulled her pillow over her head and grumbled, “Tell them to be quiet. I’m sleeping.”

I looked around the room, and joy filled me like water running into a cup. It felt like such a normal day. Such a wonderful day. “Lands, Christi, that candy’s been in that basket for four months. If it ain’t rotten, somebody ought to eat it.”

“Well, he didn’t
ask
.”

Under the pile, Toby squealed and tried to say something with his mouth full of jelly beans.

A chuckle wound its way up from deep inside me. It was good to know that storm or no storm, children were still children. “I hear some little ones got too much grouchiness and not enough love this mornin’.” I stretched my arms open wide. “I think they need some hugs from their granny to take away all that orneriness.”

The girls squealed and ran from the bed, and Toby got to his feet and followed them, dropping a handful of jelly beans in the Easter basket on the way. I wrapped my arms around the three of them and squeezed hard. In her bed, Anna lifted her pillow and rolled her eyes; then she smiled and pointed to the doorway behind me.

Over my shoulder, I saw Lacy. I opened my arms again, and she come into the circle with the rest of them.

I held on to them for a few moments after they started to squirm and tried to get away. “Well, let’s get dressed,” I said finally. “Today’s a new day.”

I went to the living room and slipped on my clothes, then hobbled into the kitchen, still trying to get the oil back into my joints.

Janet shook her head at me as I come in. “Mama, you’re trying to do too much. You’ve got yourself all sore and crippled up.”

“I’ll be all right.” Normally I would of gotten irritated with her mollycoddling, but for some reason, it didn’t even bother me now.

You’re awful hard on people, Eudora,
I heard June’s voice say in my head, and I knew I didn’t want to be that way—just one more stubborn, grumpy old lady in a world with too many grumpy old ladies already.

I poured water from the jug into glasses, then sat down and took a big swallow as Janet set out the breakfast plates. “You think I can borrow your car for a little while? I got a couple of errands to run this morning; then maybe later we can drive over to Hindsville and get some groceries at Shorty’s, if there’s anything left in the store.”

Janet looked relieved to be talking about normal things for once. “That sounds fine, Mama. The keys are on the mantel.”

The kids come rushing in, and we ate breakfast listening to them chatter about going fishing down at the creek. Lacy got a piece of toast and a cup of water, and for once she sat down with the rest of them.

I smiled at her. “I told Lacy later on I’d take her to the armory to see June. You kids might want to come along and see all the pictures. There’s some old ones there from when I was in the Watermelon court at the Poetry Fair. Don’t know where they come from, but them old pictures are quite a sight.” Laughter rumbled in my throat. “Lordy, that was some day! Me and some girlfriends and cousins got elected as the Watermelon Court, and Mazelle Sibley was hoppin’ mad she didn’t get picked. If ya look real close in the pictures, you can see her scowlin’ in the contestants’ row.”

The kids giggled.

“Can we go see later, Gran?” Anna asked. “I didn’t know they had pictures way back when you were young.” She grinned at me with a wicked twinkle in her eye.

“You just watch yourself, young lady.” I wagged a finger at her. “You ain’t had your hug yet this mornin’.”

Toby and Cheyenne started into a chant. “Anna needs a Granny hug. Anna needs a Granny hug. Anna needs . . .”

I stood up and kissed Anna on top of the head, then mussed her hair up for good measure and went to put my dishes away. “I’ll be back after a while.”

As I walked out to the car, I thought about June. I wondered what he would do now. He was too busted up to go home by himself, and he didn’t have any family close by to take care of him. Far away in Germany, his son and daughter-in-law probably didn’t even know what had happened in Poetry.

Reckon he’ll make out. He always does
, I told myself.
Ain’t got time to worry about June’s problems now, anyway. I got Jenilee to worry about, and that’s a big enough problem all by itself.

I climbed into the car and headed off to find Jenilee Lane, so I could finally live up to the promise I made so many years ago.

 

 

I
left the house while Drew and Nate were still sleeping. I woke feeling the need to be alone and think. I didn’t ask Drew if I could borrow his truck. I just got up and left.

I ended up at the armory, more from habit than anything else. I figured it would be nearly empty so early in the morning, except for Mr. Jaans and a few other people who were still sleeping there. I wanted to go inside and sit and look at the pictures and be still for a while. So many conflicting emotions were at war within me. So many questions about what the day would bring.

I turned off the key and sat in the truck, watching the sky brighten over the misty purple hills.

The sound of a car door startled me from my thoughts, and I realized the Gibsons’ car had pulled alongside mine, and Mrs. Gibson was hobbling toward me. The look on her face said she had something to tell me. I climbed from the truck and met her at the bottom of the armory steps. My mind conjured the idea that she had somehow gotten word about Daddy, and she was going to say,
Jenilee, word has come in about your daddy. He’s awake and he’s ready to come home. He’ll need you to take care of him, of course. Everything will go back to just the way it used to be. . . .

My stomach rolled, and my heart pounded like a hammer trying to drive a nail inside me.

“Jenilee, are you all right, child?” Her voice seemed far away.

“Yes,” I heard myself say, a small choked sound that lacked conviction. “I . . . just didn’t get much sleep last night. I . . . better . . . I better go home. Drew’s going to be wondering about his truck.” I wanted to get in the truck and drive—so far and fast that reality couldn’t catch me.

“I have a little something I want to talk with you about.” Mrs. Gibson took my arm and pulled me close, as if she didn’t want anyone else to hear. “Can ya spare a minute to sit here on the steps with me?”

“I really should go. It’s light already.”

“It’ll only take a minute.” She lowered herself to the steps, and I collapsed beside her. “You know I ain’t a person to mince words, so I’m gonna say some things straight out. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, so if I do, just try to bear with me a minute, all right?”

“All right.” I looked at my hands in my lap, trying to imagine what she might say.

She took a deep breath and let the air out slowly, thoughtfully. “I’m worried about what’s going to happen to you when all of this is over. June, Doc . . . uhhh . . . Doc Albright, we’re all worried. We talked about it some the other night.”

I remembered seeing the three of them talking, and blood prickled hot into my face. “I’ll be all right,” I said, like I didn’t know what she meant, but of course I did. “Things will just . . .” I swallowed hard, my eyes burning. “It’ll be the same as always, I guess.”

Mrs. Gibson huffed a breath of air and smacked her lips. “Well, that ain’t good enough. It ain’t good enough for things to go back the way they always been, is it?”

I shook my head, staring at my hands in my lap. “No.” It was the one thing I hadn’t been willing to admit, even to myself.

“Doc Albright thinks you ought to sign up for this program in St. Louis where they let young folks work in hospitals and take college classes in medicine and such. He thinks you got a lot of talent for doctorin’ folks.”

I sat very still, trying to grasp what she was saying, trying to imagine myself doing what she was describing—leaving Poetry, leaving everything, going to college, working in some hospital somewhere, someplace where no one knew me
. Someplace where no one knew . . .

“We couldn’t afford something like that.” I let out the breath I had been holding and wiped my eyes, impatient with myself. What was I doing, pretending something like that could happen?

“Doc Albright says he knows the people that run the program. He says he can get you in. You can get scholarships and work-study to pay for it. He says the program is for kids whose families don’t have much money. He says he thinks you would be good at it. It starts in four weeks.”

My heart fluttered in my throat, and panic spun through me.
Four weeks
. “I . . . I have to take care of Nate and Daddy.” I felt like a person being swept out to sea, grabbing for a rope. “I couldn’t go in four weeks.”
Or ever.
“Maybe . . . maybe I could go later in the year. Next semester or something.”

I could feel Mrs. Gibson watching me. “Doc says they only take a new class once a year.”

“I . . . I could go next year.”

She slapped a hand against the concrete. “You know you won’t go next year. If you don’t do it now, it’ll be too late. You’re only gonna be at this point once in your life, where you have this chance.” She took my hand in both of hers and leaned close to me, watching my eyes. “There ain’t any future in staying here tryin’ to hold that farm together for your daddy. He’s a grown man. It’s time he took care of himself.” She met my eyes, her gaze glittering with determination. “There ain’t any future in getting with that Shad Bell either, Jenilee Lane, and you know it. I know it feels like the easy thing to do, but if you do what’s easy, you’re gonna end up in the same place as your mama.”

Was that what I had been doing? Was I staying in Poetry because I was needed, or because I needed to stay—because I didn’t have the courage to leave?

My mind whirled with possibilities, like pictures in the wind. I imagined what it would be like to leave everything behind, to become somebody new. I wondered if it would really be possible to be a doctor, like I had pretended to be years ago while caring for calves and puppies and kittens before I was old enough to understand the reality of the world I was living in.

My heart started to open that door again.
It’s a mistake,
part of me said.
It’ll only end up hurting.

“I can’t,” I heard myself tell her.