Losing Battles (54 page)

“How much of a one have
you
had?” Aunt Cleo asked. “Let me get a good look at your eyes.”

“Besides the rest, Mr. Ike Goldman of Goldman’s Store brought in a trayload of eats you never seen the like of,” said Uncle Homer. “And decorating a silver tray was a bottle of something—the bought kind—and some little glasses the size of a lady’s thimble! Some of those Presbyterians made out like they’d rather go home, but there was plenty of the other kind that helped themselves.”

“If you’d rather be celebrating at her house than mine, just turn around and go back over there, Homer,” said Miss Beulah to his face. “A hundred to one they haven’t started missing you yet.”

“Is it going on all over her house?” Aunt Beck asked.

“It’s Bedlam,” said Uncle Homer, as though satisfied. “It’s pure unadulterated Bedlam over there. Cigars!”

“Well, Homer,” said Miss Beulah, “you may have gained yourself a margin of votes today by racing off from your own family
and rubbing shoulders with a crowd of mourners—but no further stars in your crown, not if I had any say-so about it. And I doubt if the eats could come up to mine—they had pretty short notice.”

“Chicken predominated,” said Uncle Homer. “Chicken predominated.” Suddenly he sat down.

Again quiet threatened. Only a few children still had their eyes open. Wild with asking a riddle one minute, they would be stopped by sleep the next, as though a cup were being passed around the company, and having tasted what was in it they fell back open-lipped one after the other, even the most stubborn. Now their elders had their own silence left to them.

“And on moonlight nights like tonight,” said Granny, “they’d mount ’em the same steed and ride ’em up the road and down the road, then hitch the bridle to the tree. That’s after I was safe under the covers and Mr. Vaughn had left off his praying and settled in to snore.”

“Who, Granny?” the aunts were all asking her.

“Just told you. The schoolteacher. Ain’t that who you’re trying to bury?” she asked.

“Miss Julia Mortimer? Granny!” Uncle Percy, Uncle Curtis, and Uncle Dolphus all exclaimed at her in shocked voices. Uncle Noah Webster asked, “Granny dear, are you telling us about Miss Julia Mortimer and a sweetheart?”

“Call him Dearman. That’s his moniker,” said Granny.

The laugh that rose and fell around her was one of dismay.

“Who can believe that?” challenged Miss Beulah. “Well, I’m not saying I can’t. A rascal like him’s just the kind that some over-smart old maid would take a shine to.”

“Some did consider her beautiful of face as a girl. Haven’t you ever marvelled to hear that?” said Aunt Birdie.

“Miss Julia Mortimer had ears set close to her head, little ears that run up in points—like Judge Moody’s and mine,” said Mr. Renfro in candid vanity.

“If she’d married Dearman! It would have been a different kettle of fish,” said Aunt Nanny.

“We would have escaped from a lot,” agreed Aunt Beck. “But would she have been as satisfied, with only a husband to fuss over instead of a whole nation of ignorant, squirming schoolchildren?”

“Watch out, Beck. Watch out for your sympathies,” said Aunt Birdie.

“Don’t talk about Dearman around here,” said Miss Beulah.

“What’s his story? Ain’t he the one you come home from German-hunting and found in charge of your store?” Aunt Cleo asked Mr. Renfro. “Oho-oho.”

“I didn’t go German-hunting,” Mr. Renfro replied.

“He managed to blow himself up right here at home,” said Miss Beulah.

“I didn’t have a bit of excuse in the world, I was right here in Banner, and watching him, and lost it to him. Mr. Dearman,” Mr. Renfro said. “The store I had from my daddy.”

“Shucks,” said Aunt Cleo.

“I was
out
of the store some, blowing stumps, cleaning up after him—he needed somebody knowing how to do that,” said Mr. Renfro. “And hunting some. And he all at once had my business. There ain’t hardly what you could call a story to it.”

“It’s your story. Not Dearman’s. You don’t know your own story when you hear it,” Miss Beulah said. She whirled on Aunt Cleo. “All right. Dearman is who showed up full-grown around here, took over some of the country, brought niggers in here, cut down every tree within forty miles, and run it shrieking through a sawmill.”

“Did he cut your trees?” Aunt Cleo asked.

“Did you see any giants left, coming?”

“Went through our hills and stripped ’em naked, that’s all!” Aunt Nanny cried. “I kept asking how he got in here and found us!”

“Followed the tracks. The railroad had already come cutting through the woods and just barely missed some of us. Yes’m, he put up a sawmill where he found the prettiest trees on earth. Lived with men in a boxcar and drank liquor. Pretty soon the tallest trees was all gone.”

“Reckon you-all got something for ’em,” said Aunt Cleo.

“By then we was owing to Dearman,” said Mr. Renfro.

“We didn’t even get the sawdust!” cried Uncle Noah Webster to his wife.

“It was a tearing ambition he had to make all he could out of
us. And even some of our girls listened to his spiel and was sweet on him,” said Uncle Percy. “I hated that.”

“What he left us was a nation of stumps,” said Mr. Renfro.

Granny put out both hands in an amazingly swift predatory gesture.

“That’s him!” said Miss Beulah. “Just a great big grabber, that’s what Dearman was.”

“Well, that’s the way to get something,” said Aunt Cleo, grinning at them.

“I believe down your way was exactly where he come from, Sister Cleo,” Uncle Curtis said.

“He did. Manifest, Mississippi, is where he sprung from,” said Miss Beulah.

“That’s a familiar-sounding name, Dearman,” said Aunt Cleo.

“He’s what levelled Piney!” Uncle Noah Webster told her. “Why, I’ve learned that since I’ve been living in your house and going to the barber shop. Those forest pines he took right in his maw. And when he first showed up there he didn’t have but two goats.”

“And when he left it he had all the money he needed and a gang to go with him and they just started up the railroad track,” said Uncle Dolphus.

“Then after the store he took my house away from me,” Mr. Renfro went on. “I had a little bad luck just at the perfect time to suit his needs, and he put me out and moved himself in. Thinking he was going to dwell in it forever, I reckon, and lord it over Banner forever and aye. He didn’t get to do that.”

“That’s enough!” warned Miss Beulah. “He was just a glorified Stovall. Now will everybody please forget about him?”

“I don’t know what Beulah could have married me for, after that. Unless she did it just to show she felt sorry for me,” Mr. Renfro said.

“Go to grass,” said Miss Beulah. “And now you’ve told more than enough, haven’t you?”

“What happened to Dearman?” asked Aunt Cleo.

“I sent him home,” said Granny.

A long sigh travelled over the company, like the first intimations of departure.

“Poor Brother Bethune. His memory has tried to serve him one time too many, look at him,” said Aunt Nanny.

“He may last. May last another go-round. May not last,” said Aunt Birdie. “Poor Brother Bethune. I’m a little inclined to pinch him.”

“Wake him up and see if he knows who’s got him!” said Aunt Nanny.

“No, Mr. Willy Trimble’s just as sound asleep as he is. Tilted right together, look at the picture. Foreheads kissing like something could run right out of one head and into the other one.”

“And wouldn’t it surprise them both if it did!”

“Nathan, what’re you fixing to do to start us home? Blow or pray?” Uncle Noah Webster called.

Uncle Nathan slowly walked out from behind Granny’s chair, where she sat all motionless. He raised his right hand. Then his arm jerked aside. His nose darkened the center of his face.

“Uh-oh,” said Aunt Cleo. “He’s fixing to go.”

“He’s fixing to go, right now!” cried Brother Bethune, jumping out of his sleep and coming as if to pounce.

Miss Beulah was ahead of him. Running, she caught hold of her eldest brother under his arms and let his head tumble into her breast. She planted her feet and stood propping him up.

“Don’t try to speak a word,” she said between her teeth. “Now don’t be foolish. I’ve got you.”

He jerked back his head and jerked open his mouth longways at her, but no sound came out. Neither did he seem to draw breath. Presently he leaned forward again and coughed.

“Do I see blood on his shirt?” asked Aunt Lexie.

“A little bite of watermelon,” said Miss Beulah fiercely. “Get back if you don’t know the difference.” Moving her hand like one feeling her way, Miss Beulah patted Uncle Nathan on his great head of springing, doglike hair. Presently he raised his head and looked at her, gray-faced.

“Now what came over you?” she asked calmly. “You be quiet like I said. Don’t jabber.”

“Well, what’s
he
got to hide?” asked a voice.

“Sister Cleo, I don’t know what in the world ever guides your tongue into asking the questions it does!” Miss Beulah cried. “By
now you ought to know this is a strict, law-abiding, God-fearing, close-knit family, and everybody in it has always struggled the best he knew how and we’ve all just tried to last as long as we can by sticking together.”

Now Jack came up and put an arm around his uncle. “Every word Mama’s saying is true, Uncle Nathan. You’re back with us. You can feel comforted like I do.” He looked into the old, dark-burned, age-stained face. “Some day, Uncle Nathan, I wish you’d tell it,” he broke out. “What ever caused you to go off like that among strangers, and never stay still, and only let us see you at reunion time. You make me wonder tonight if what you had to do was as bad as aggravated battery.”

“Whatever that is,” said Miss Beulah in strong, prohibitive tones.

Uncle Nathan moved; he turned his shaggy head toward Jack and spoke. “Son, there’s not but one bad thing either you or I or anybody else can do. And I already done it. That’s kill a man. I killed Mr. Dearman with a stone to his head, and let ’em hang a sawmill nigger for it. After that, Jesus had to hold my hand.”

“Now what did you want to tell that for?” said Miss Beulah shortly, her voice the only sound that was heard. “We could’ve got through one more reunion without that, couldn’t we? Without you punishing yourself?”

But Uncle Nathan’s face shone. It looked back at them like a dusty lantern lighted.

“Don’t show us the stump! Don’t show us that,” came voices.

But he did. He took off his hand and showed them the stump. There was good moonlight to see it by, white and clean with its puckered stitching like a flour sack’s.

“Is that the hand that did it?” asked Miss Lexie behind his back. “Didn’t he ever tell it before, Beulah? Didn’t anybody know besides just you, you and Granny?”

“Lexie Renfro, he told Miss Julia Mortimer. And she told him, and I heard her: ‘Nathan, even when there’s nothing left to hope for, you can start again from there, and go your way and
be good
.’ He took her exactly at her word. He’s seen the world. And I’m not so sure it was good for him,” said Miss Beulah.

Brother Bethune with a shocked face asked Uncle Nathan, “Why didn’t you break down and tell the preacher, if you sinned that bad?”

“The preacher was Grandpa,” said Uncle Nathan. Then he stalked back and stood in his place again, behind Granny’s chair.

“Did it for Sam Dale,” said Granny. She turned her head around and looked Uncle Nathan in the face.

Judge Moody, his face fixed, had watched him in dead silence. Uncle Nathan now returned his look but it was a moment before he seemed to place the Judge.

“You’re journeying to Alliance,” he said then. “I left Alliance this morning and walked
here
. I believe in the old method of travelling.”

Miss Beulah took a step back, and asked in horror, “Did you try to pay her one of your breakfast-time visits this morning, dear? Miss Julia Mortimer?”

“Jesus Lord told me not to,” he said.

“You see a good reason why I told you not to harp on Dearman, Mr. Renfro?” Miss Beulah broke out.

But Mr. Renfro in his chair gave no answer. The only sound coming out of his open mouth was like dry seed being poured between two buckets, back and forth.