Tenderness (2 page)

“Can’t Susan do some of that?”

“She helps. She hangs the clothes on the line and does most of the ironing. But fourteen-year-old girls have more interesting
things on their minds than picking berries, making jam and scrubbing floors.” Jesse watched her father rub his tired eyes.
“Go take a nap, Papa, while I clean in here. You’ve been up since two o’clock this morning,” she said gently. “Supper will
be ready when you wake up. I’ve got a chicken roasting in the oven.”

“Chicken on a week night. Aren’t you getting a mite extravagant?”

“I bought it from Mrs. Arnold. It was all cleaned and dressed and ready for the pot. She said she was culling out the hens
that had stopped laying. But I suspect they need the money.”

“And you couldn’t resist?”

“Go on with you,” Jesse retorted affectionately. “You wouldn’t have resisted either.”

In the weeks that followed, two more women spoke about having been stripped and fondled by The Looker, as he was now being
called since the word had spread through the town like wildfire. That brought the total of women and girls whom Jesse knew
about to four. It was reasonable to believe that others had suffered the same treatment and were too ashamed to make it public.
And some must have remained silent because, although they felt violated, they had not suffered any bodily injury nor been
raped.

Boyd Harper was furious when the story appeared in the
Harpersville Observer.
Ralph Marsh, the owner and publisher, was the only man in town, other than Doctor Forbes, who dared to stand up to the Harpers.
The headline read:
LADIES BEWARE
. In the article, the editor cautioned women to lock their doors and stay off the streets
at night. Outraged at the unwritten suggestion that the offender was a town resident, Boyd Harper or his son, Edsel, appeared
at every public gathering declaring that The Looker was someone from the colored town on the other side of the wooded hills
that ringed Harpersville, or from nearby Frederick or Grover.

At supper one night, Doctor Forbes told his family the latest rumor was that The Looker was Wade Simmer, a man who lived in
the hills and who came into town only when necessary.

“Wade Simmer? He’s got a mean look. I saw him real close up… once. Yup, I bet it’s him.” Susan, at fourteen, had more than
a mild interest in anything that had to do with sex.

“Why do they think he’s the one?” Jesse passed the cabbage and pepper slaw to her father.

“’Cause most folks don’t like him.”

“Why not?”

“’Cause he doesn’t give them the time of day, I reckon.”

“What’s that got to do with it? You don’t accuse a man of such a terrible thing just because you don’t like him.”

“Some do.”

“H-h-his p-p-pap-a w-w-was—” Todd’s stuttering was much worse when he had what he considered valuable news to impart to the
family.

“Talk slowly, son, and the words will come out,” Doctor Forbes said.

“Papa h-hanged.”

“His papa was hanged?” Susan’s interest was piqued. “For what?”

“K-k-killin’ Mr. H-H-Harper’s brother.”

“Lord!” Susan exclaimed. “That’d do it. That’d twist the tail on the donkey. How’d you find that out, you little twerp?”

“I-Ike S-Spangler.”

“That greasy old man who’s aways foolin’ with motor cars? What does he know ’bout anything?”

“H-h-he knows M-M-Mr. S-S-Simmer, that’s w-why.” Todd looked defiantly at his sister, glanced to see if his father was looking,
then stuck out his tongue.

“Mr. Simmer is a man who tends to his own business and expects everyone else to do the same.” Doctor Forbes helped himself
to another helping of creamed potatoes and peas.

“You’ve met him?” Jesse asked.

“Yeah, I’ve met him. Remember the woodcutter who split his leg open with an axe last fall? It was Wade Simmer who carried
him out of the woods to the road. Another time he stopped me and asked me to look at the colored boy who lives on his place.”

“Well?” Jesse and Susan said at the same time.

“Well, what?” The doctor was being deliberately obtuse.

“You know,” Susan said. “What was he like?”

“He had the belly ache from eating too many green apples. Simmer thought maybe it might be something serious.”

“I mean Mr. Simmer. What was he like? Does he and that nigger boy live under a brush arbor? Does he have a woman up there?
Is he mean as folks say he is?”

“Susan, for crying out loud,” Jesse exclaimed. “Do you listen to every gossip? And I told you not to say `nigger.’ “

“How am I going to know anything unless I ask? I bet you don’t plug up your ears when Papa tells us about Mr. Simmer.”

No, she wouldn’t, Jesse admitted silently. She had been as curious about him as everyone else. It was simple curiosity, a
perfectly normal reaction to a man who was practically a recluse.

“He lives in a house. I didn’t see any women,” the doctor said. “Jesse, is there more cornbread?”

“Of course. I’ll get it.” Jesse left the table and went to the kitchen. “Oh, for goodness sake. Todd, you didn’t empty the
pan under the ice box. There’s water all over the floor.”

“I-I-I f-f-forgot.”

“That’s your chore, young man,” Jesse said, returning to her seat at the table. “You can clean up the mess before Susan and
I do the dishes. And don’t forget to put the card in the window. The iceman comes tomorrow.”

The next morning on her way out of town to visit families in the hill country, Jesse stopped at the modern two-storied brick
schoolhouse, the pride of Harpersville. She had glimpsed the blond head of her friend, Pauline Anthony. The teacher was holding
a child who had fallen from the giant stride, an iron pole that sat in the ground much like a maypole. Instead of ribbons
and flowers, chains with hand grips hung from this pole. Holding onto the chains, the children ran around the pole until the
momentum lifted them off the ground so that they made “giant strides” around the pole, hence the name. If one of the chains
was not in use, it oftentimes swung free and struck one of the children. Jesse had always thought it a frightfully dangerous
thing to have on the playground.

She pulled the horse to a stop, stepped quickly from the buggy and called to Pauline before she entered the school.

“Is she hurt?”

“No, I don’t think so. She got a little bump on the head. You all right now, Fredda?” She set the small girl on her feet.
“Go in and get a drink of water. You’ll feel better.”

“That plaything Mr. Harper insisted on having in the school yard is a menace,” Jesse said.

“I agree. I try to keep the big kids off while the little ones are playing nearby.” Pauline looped her arm into that of her
friend. “Where are you off to, Nurse Forbes? Wherever it is, I wish I were going with you. I hate being cooped up in a schoolroom
on such a lovely spring day.”

“I’m going up to Mill Springs to check on Mrs. Bailey’s ingrown toenail. Papa cut a hunk of it out last week. Granny Lester’s
goiter is getting bigger. Soon her neck will be the size of a waterbucket. Papa wants me to try once again to get her to come
down and let him send her to Knoxville and have it taken out.” Jesse grinned at her friend. “How is that for a romantic afternoon?”

“Oh, you!” Pauline’s brown eyes sparkled. She was not as tall or as willowy as Jesse, but her skin was flawless and she had
a ready smile. The two had been friends for two years—since Pauline had come from Knoxville to teach in the new school.

“How do you find them?”

“There’s only one road, silly. I’ll just keep going until I get there. It isn’t as if I haven’t been up there before.”

“My foot! You shouldn’t go alone. You could run into that idiot that’s got the women in this town scared out of their wits.”

“The Looker? I’ll be back before dark.”

“Wade Simmer lives up there.”

“You think he’s The Looker?”

“Everybody else does.”

“Papa wouldn’t let me go up there if he thought it was dangerous.”

“I saw Wade Simmer at the depot once. He looked mad enough to bite a nail in two. He was having a set-to with the agent about
something he’d expected to come in on the train. He seemed wild and… kind of exciting. Now that I think about it, he didn’t
seem the type to
look
and not do anything else. He was pure-dee male from top to bottom. But then… you never know. Could be a horse kicked
it
or he got
it
caught in a fence and all he can do is look.” She giggled at the look of exasperation on Jesse’s face.

“Pauline! For goodness sake—”

“Yes, yes, I know. I’ve got a nasty mind. Tell you what. I’ll come help you put up your raspberry jam if you’ll go to the
ball game Sunday.”

“That’s a bribe. You know how I hate making jam, but I also hate letting berries go to waste.”

“It’s a deal? I’ll be over Saturday morning.” The school bell rang, and, laughing over her shoulder, Pauline dashed for the
school door.

“I’ve been hornswoggled,” Jesse called.

“You sure have,” Pauline retorted, and disappeared inside.

Jesse stood on the walk for a moment and watched the children file back into the school. Some of them were in awe of her,
she knew. Once a month she visited the school to talk about the importance of clean hands and teeth. While she was there,
she swabbed throats, treated boils and ringworm and a dozen other minor ailments.

Today she wore her nurse’s apron, white and starched, over her blue gingham dress. The square bib came up to the neckline.
The long, wide straps that went over her shoulders crossed in back, fit into loops at the waist and tied. The little round,
stiff white headpiece that was anchored to the crown of her head and the apron that covered her skirt identified her as a
nurse. Jesse was proud of her uniform; she had spent two years away from home and family to earn it.

She walked back to the buggy, climbed in and slapped the reins against the animal’s back. It was a wasted motion. Molly was
a well-trained horse. She knew that when Jesse or the doctor got into the buggy, she was to go. She also knew that when they
got out, she was to stay until they came back.

The buggy moved past the creamery, crossed the bridge that spanned the creek and turned onto the road that led up the mountain.
It really wasn’t a mountain. The Great Smokies were ten or fifteen miles to the east. What Jesse was driving through was more
like a cluster of high wooded hills that rammed against each other, divided only by the rocky streams that cut a deep gash
to the rich bottomlands. The ride was quiet and peaceful. Jesse let Molly travel at her own speed while her ears drank in
the birdsong and her eyes feasted on the beauty of wild flowers.

Where the road rounded a curve, the trees opened up and Jesse could see the town below—Mr. Harper’s town. The wide brick-paved
streets were laid out in straight lines, fanning out from the main street that ran through town. Business places filled the
four-block area around the park square. In the center of the park was a statue of the town’s founder. To the intense irritation
of Boyd Harper, the statue had become a favorite resting place for pigeons and starlings and needed periodic washing down
to maintain its dignity.

Farther out on Main Street Jesse glimpsed the large, Victorian house where she had lived since she and her father had moved
here from Knoxville when she was five years old. Here he had met and married Dora Gilbert. Jesse’s own mother had died giving
birth to her, and much of the time she had been shuffled among relatives until her papa remarried; Dora, his new wife, had
been all Jesse’s young heart had dreamed a mother could be. The family had had ten wonderful years together before Dora died
when Todd was still a baby in diapers.

The windows of the white, gabled house gleamed in the morning sun. Set well back from the street with a narrow walk leading
to the wide steps of the veranda that curved around two sides, the home was much like the others that lined the main street
beyond the business section.

The Harper house, of course, was much bigger. The town’s leading family lived in a square red brick building set in the middle
of two acres of well-tended lawn. The white pillars rose up to support an upper porch. On the side were two sets of bay windows
on both the ground floor and the upper floor that extended to smaller bays on the third-floor attic rooms. A fretwork railing
circled the flat roof. Every eave was decorated with the elaborate scrollwork. And, fluttering in the breeze, the United States
flag hung from a pole that jutted out from the porch, as if, Jesse thought, to identify it as an official residence.

Jesse’s smile was one of indulgence as the horse followed the meanderings of the road. Unlike most people in Harpersville,
she felt no animosity toward the Harpers because they were rich or because they thought they owned the town fifty-five years
after their ancestors founded it. To her, their struggle to be important was almost childish.

At the crossroads Jesse took the trail through an un-fenced pasture and passed a tobacco patch before entering the cool woods
again. All was quiet except for the chirping of the birds and the chatter of a squirrel now and then as it scampered to the
tops of the birches that stood white and clean. A mockingbird trilled high up in a treetop and a bluejay scolded him from
the sumac below.

“You old fussbudget,” Jesse teased as she passed by.

Molly pulled the buggy on up the hill. The sun was warm and bright. It was a sweet-smelling May day, a bright blue day and
one that would stay in Jesse’s memory for a long, long time.

M
ules, horses and teams were hitched to the rail in front of the mill when Jesse drove by. A man was unloading sacks of corn
and a woman with a stiff-brimmed sunbonnet stood holding the hand of a small child. The woman waved. Everyone in a four-county
area knew Doctor Forbes’s buggy. They also knew that it was his daughter in the white uniform of a nurse.

Jesse promised herself that if she had time, she would stop at the store on the way back and visit for a moment with the miller’s
wife, Mrs. Frony. She usually found the tiny woman crocheting. She made everything from baby booties to doilies and tidies
to bed and table covers. On her last trip Jesse had delivered a box of thread that had come in on the train, and Mrs. Frony
had given her a lacy dresser scarf.