Homefires (41 page)

“She apparently told the clerk she was to join her husband, who was in room 101, and she wanted to surprise him.”

“How did she track him down?” I was gaining a new respect for Tillie’s intellect.

“She’d found a match packet from that motel in one of Rick’s shirt pockets. Seems that was their meeting place when this woman came into town.”

“Where did he meet her?” I groped for the Kleenex box on the end table.

“On a Charleston job. She works in one of the sales offices there. Rick installed phones there when they first opened.”

“That far back, huh?”

“Couple of years.”

“It gets worse.” I shivered and hugged myself. “Why were you – where did you go?”

“Rick asked me to go talk to Tillie. He’s devastated that she’s so – shredded by the whole thing. He wants her back.”

I looked at Kirk. Astounded. “Oh, really?”

Kirk ignored my sarcasm. “Well – you’ve got to realize a crisis like this many times yanks a person back to reality. Rick’s been living ina – fantasy world, his own words, for all this time.
Seeing Tillie’s face when she rushed in to find them together... well, it’s tearing him up.”

“No joke,” I said flatly and crossed my arms, wanting to beat up on Rick.

Kirk sighed. “That’s not like you, honey.” It was sad, the statement.

“I know.” I blinked back tears. “Give me a little time, huh? It’s just – Tillie adores him. Rick could do no wrong. And now – what’s she going to do, Kirk?”

“I went over to talk with her. Rick was with me. She barely looked at me. Or him. She just looked – dead. I’m truly concerned about her, Neecy. I tried to help her see that it is possible to forgive and go on. That Rick wants – needs her forgiveness. He cried and pleaded with her to not leave him. Said he’d make it up to her if she’d just give him a chance. I’ve never seen a man more desperate.”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing much. When I left, Rick was still pleading with her for mercy.” He looked at me then and I saw the misery in the green depths, the caring, the helplessness. I slid over, put my arms around him and drew his head down to rest on my shoulder.

“You’re a good man, Kirk Crenshaw.”

Toby stuck his head in the door. “What’s for lunch, Mom?”

A familiar gray Chevrolet sat in our drive as we drove in. Our family had eaten an early dinner at Bessingers, needing that time together. A pall jaded the day for Kirk and me, one we’d tried to hide from Heather and Toby. Somehow, we’d succeeded.

Until now. I drew in my breath and watched Zelda and Alton Diggers emerge from their car. “Go in the house,” I told Heather and Toby as Kirk braked the car then got out.

“Why?” Toby gazed at the Diggers, knowing them to be church folks and wanting to socialize with Tillie’s parents who, to Toby, had to be nice if related to his pal.

“Because I said so.” I spoke more sharply than intended. But I’d seen Zelda’s ‘planted’ stance, which, according to Tillie, meant ‘ready for war.’ But then, for Zelda, that was normal. I
decided that I’d best serve Kirk by getting our children out of hearing range so I shooed them quickly inside. Heather looked pompously over her shoulder at me, as in “back off.” But she didn’t say anything. That, I could handle.

I got busy fluffing cushions and emptying the dishwasher. From the bedroom window, I spied the intense palaver… Zelda’s hands-on-hip stance, her red face, Alton’s silent stiffness –

Poor Kirk. Despite his composed features, I spied the bleakness underlying them.

Please...please make her shut up.
I hurried back to the kitchen so he wouldn’t think I was eavesdropping. The front door opened and closed quietly. His footsteps, usually a crisp clicking stride, now sloughed. I turned from the sink. He sank – literally – against the doorjamb. Hands dangled limply at his sides. And his face – like an animal shot between the eyes, ready to fall.

“Kirk?” I moved to him. “What happened?”

He blinked then cleared his throat. “They said I was of the Devil.” Pain flickered in his eyes. “Said I told Tillie to ignore Rick’s philandering ways. She’s twisting my words.”

“
What?”
My mouth dropped open. Then closed in a tight line. “How
dare
they!”

That seemed to spark a little life into him. He straightened and moved to sit on the living room sofa. I followed him. “Zelda said I should be shot for telling Tillie to forgive that – I won’t repeat what she called Rick. Said a decent man would’ve sympathized with Tillie, not tried to talk her into staying with an adulterer and fornicator.”

I plopped down beside him. “Oh, Kirk.”

He sighed deeply, his eyes unseeing. Sad. “I tried to tell them that God’s word instructs us to forgive.” His shoulders shrugged. “Else – how can God forgive us?”

“That’s what He says,” I agreed. I wanted to take him into my arms to soothe and heal but knew not to. Not yet. Hurt ran too deep for him to receive my comfort. Kirk battled alone. Oh, he wanted me there. Heard my soothing words. And I knew they helped. Some. But in the arena, he did his own hand-to-hand combat. Since childhood, this was so.

At times, Kirk didn’t even seem to trust the Almighty to handle his fights.

Immediately, I pushed away those traitorous thoughts.

The phone rang and I went to answer. It was Rick.

Kirk took the phone from me. “Yes, Rick. They were here.” A long silence. “No – I haven’t heard from Tillie. Zelda says she and Raquel are staying with them for the time being.”

Another long silence, then, “I certainly will. And Rick – hang in there. I’ll be praying for you, okay? Yeah – sure thing. Bye.”

I took the phone from his limp hand and hung it up.

He stared out the window, elbows on the kitchen table, fingers steepled to his mouth. I poured him a fresh cup of coffee and sat opposite him to sip my iced tea.

I saw desolation slowly seep away. “I know what the Bible says about love,” Kirk spoke to himself, as well as to me. This was his recovery time. “Zelda’s opinion of what decency is is beside the point. I have to check against what God’s word says. And it says a marriage not only can but
should
be able to withstand outside attacks against it.”

“Kirk, your advice was right on target. Most people
want
to hear that their marriage can be saved.” I watched him relax more by the moment. His
denial
strength began to kick in.

I was beginning to suspect that denial and faith
could
overlap.

“Anyway,” I reached for his hand and squeezed it, “Zelda’s well known around here for her harsh nature.” I grinned. “Rivaled only by the infamous Sarah Beauregard.”

Kirk’s smile started in his eyes and spread to his entire face. “Yeah. Nobody’s going to listen to either of those two busybodies.”

“Can I hold Dawnie, ple-ease Mrs. Crenshaw?” Twelve-year-old Cindy Stone held out her hands to Dawn, who sat astride my hip, decked out in her new blue calico dress and bonnet. We wore matching outfits for the annual Old-Fashioned Sunday. I stood on Solomon Methodist’s white-columned portico, reluctant to join the folks milling about the lush church grounds. I recalled last years’ warm, friendly atmosphere. A real family feeling.

Today, it was a family thing again – only this time, I was not
family.
In recent weeks, folks had begun to distance themselves from the Crenshaws. Subtle things. Averted eyes. Pretending not to hear when I spoke. Kirk had, characteristically, tuned it out. Today, the coldness was a tangible thing, leaving me limp with confusion.

Callie had summed it up. “Zelda’s doings. She’s an expert at twisting words and throwing them back at you entirely different than they started out. She’s managed to get most of her part of the clan to believe Kirk’s morals are so loose he’s giving out immoral advice. Hey, you and I both know this crazy redneck mentality on ‘sticking together.’”

“Yeah,” I’d agreed. “As MawMaw’s old radio song goes,
Slap ‘er down agin’, Maw… Slap ‘er down agin, We don’t want our neighbors talkin’ bout our kin.”

I hated to think church folks could believe such nonsense, but when it came to loyalties – especially at Solomon Methodist – kin stuck together. Oh, there were a few exceptions but not enough to deflect considerable damage when someone like Zelda set her bead.

Today, the clan’s coldness was a grim statement to that effect.

“Please?” Cindy persisted, her eyes twinkling at Dawnie, who leaned toward her, reaching.

“Sure,” I smiled and handed her over. From the corner of my eye, I saw Cindy’s mom Lucille Stone come out of the vestibule.

“Mama!” Joannie rushed to her mother. “Isn’t she cute?” She proudly thrust out her blonde, bonneted prize. “Here! Wanna hold her?”

I folded my hands and held my breath. Red-haired Lucille’s chin rose two, three notches and her nostrils flared as though smelling something foul. Her pale nutmeg gaze flickered from Dawnie to me and back, not lighting on either, like an angry cornered animal ready to snarl.

“Mama?” Cindy looked bewildered. “Don’t you wanna hold her?”

Lucille’s russet head did a brisk, negative nod and she was gone in a heartbeat. I watched her march to join her Clemmons
kin clustered around Homer Clemmons’ horse and wagon. First cousins of Zelda Diggers, most of them.

Her daughter stared after her with the same befuddlement I felt inside.

“Cindy,” I forced a smile. “I think I’ll take Dawnie home for a nap.”

“Aww,” Cindy reluctantly relinquished her little friend. “Bye, Dawnie.”

“Janeece,” Kaye Tessner caught me as I turned to leave. “Where you going? It’s time to eat.”

“I – ” I swallowed back the bubble of hurt and forced a wide smile. “Dawn’s tired. I’m going to lay her down for her nap at the house.” I turned and hightailed it home, feeling Kaye staring after me.

“Want me to fix you a plate?” she called.

Sweet Kaye…but I shouldn’t vent to her. She was, by marriage, of the kinship. It wouldn’t be fair to drag her in.

“No,” I hollered back and kept walking.

Inside the parsonage, I tried to swallow the enormous, heavy weight lodged in my chest, wishing Callie were here today. She’d gone to visit her mother. Mollie’s health had suffered since Ed’s fatal heart attack and Callie liked to check on her every three to four weeks.

I put Dawn into her crib, went into my bedroom and closed the door. Only then did I allow the tears to fall. Recent snubs and slights rushed and swarmed me like killer bees, beating and stinging me into incoherent sobs and spasms of grief. I’d suppressed them, the memories...
cold, disdainful faces freezing me on my Sunday morning processional from pulpit entrance to choir platform... mocking, cruel smirks when I faced the congregation to sing choir solos...my greeting smile freezing as backs turned to me....

I’d ignored the meanness toward me. Today, the ugly thing loosed itself upon my baby. How could I ignore that?

An innocent baby.

I can’t pull Kirk down by complaining.
“It’ll pass,” he’d say. Would it?

I wept until I heard the last of the mules and wagons pull out. Until the late afternoon sun began to fade. Still, I wept.

“Janeece?” I heard Kirk call out as he came in.

I snuffled soundly then pretended sleep.