The Enchanted Life of Adam Hope (17 page)

The two of us ate hungrily, me looking at him and him gazing back at me. Incomprehensible. Yet he sat like any man, eating eggs, chewing, lifting his coffee cup to his lips. I could hardly breathe. But I, too, sat like any woman and ate my supper.

He ate with the same concentration and gusto as Addie. When he had sopped the last smear of egg yellow with his biscuit, he wiped his hands, then took a small wad of money out of his pocket. He laid it on the table and pushed it toward me. “That’s what’s left. I wish it was more. But there was food, the motel, and the booze. I had to buy some clothes, too. I left him enough money for the train back to Kentucky. He looked up at me early one morning before I handed him the bottle and said, ‘I never knew you were such an ugly, goddamned ugly woman. How’d you get here?’ I was starting to get a beard by then.”

He tipped forward, slurring and jerking his shoulders the way Roy had when he was drunk. I laughed then and Addie laughed, too. “Ugly, goddamned ugly woman,” he repeated and we could not stop laughing. Every time we glanced at each other, we giggled and he mimicked Roy again. My face locked into a laugh, I felt hysteria rising.

Finally, I choked on some biscuit and had to stop myself.

“Do you like this?” I asked when I had calmed down. “Being a man?”

The question sobered him. He sighed and answered, “Yes, I do. But I don’t like it more than being you.” My skin prickled when he said “being you.”

“I wasn’t sure if I could even make it happen. It took longer than I thought it would. I had to concentrate everything I had on him. With you, it just happened. I went out only for food, booze, and clothes—and a haircut. When I saw I was finished, I came straight back here.”

“Did it hurt? Will you stay like this? Will you need to be around him?”

He sat very still for a moment, rubbing his chest. “No, it didn’t hurt. But I could feel things coming apart and reassembling.” His hands rocked up and down over our empty plates. I felt my own wrenching internal realignment.

He smiled and shrugged. “I feel okay. I feel . . . stable. Fixed again.”

He put his hand over mine. “And you?”

“I am not stable yet,” I whispered and began clearing the table.

We washed the dishes, side by side, not touching, though I felt his warmth next to me, waiting, available.

Near sunset, he went out into the barn. Quietly, I followed to watch. Hobo stood alert at the barn door, barked once, then wagged his tail. Addie stopped and knelt. Hobo approached her with familiarity but no affection. Addie took Hobo’s muzzle in her hands—in his hands. Suddenly, Hobo leapt up, licking Addie and running excitedly around him, barking.

In the barn, the livestock rustled—a muted snort, a whinny of interest. I walked down the porch steps to get a better view. Addie went first to Darling’s stall. I heard that faint hum. Darling nosed him and nickered in recognition. He ran his hand down her neck, Addie’s touch. But a man’s deep, full laugh accompanied it. When he opened the stall gate, she pressed into him. Hobo circled them, yapping. The cows bellowed at the excitement, the chickens clattered in the coop.

Addie bridled Darling, mounted bareback. With a wave, he cantered off, disappearing into the pasture. I could see them for a long time, then, at the far end of the pasture, dusk snuffed them out of sight.

By the time I heard him shutting up the barn for the night, I’d made his bed—the same bed I tried to get him to sleep in after I found him in the mud. I laid out some of Lester’s clothes for him, certain this time they would fit, at least in length. The shoulders might be too narrow.

That was all I could do. To do more, to have him in my bed then, on that first night, felt like it would be the undoing of me. Too much for one day. I was numb.

He did not comment when he saw the bedroom door open and the bed turned down, but stopped and, taking my head in his hands, kissed me gently, squarely on the forehead and said good night.

“Good night, Addie,” I replied. But I could not walk away from him. “You need a man’s name. I can’t call you Addie. And I can’t call you Roy. He knows where we live. What if he shows up again? You need a name, one that sounds like Addie.” Then I said the first name I could think of, “Adam. You can be Adam.”

“Adam? Yeah, I like that. Adam.” He sat on the bed and took his shoes off. “I don’t think Roy will be back this way to raise questions. But I might run into someone who sees a resemblance. It would make sense for us to be from the same clan. And I owe him for this.” He swept his hand across his lap. “My last name should be Hope. Roy can be a middle name.”

“You need a story, too. Where do you come from? And why are you here?”

My questions filled the room for a minute.

Adam took a deep breath. “From here. For you. As always. Though I forgot to think up a name, on the way back, I decided that I’m from Kentucky, like Roy. The other side of the mountains. I came here because I heard about how good Addie was with horses. I’m good with horses, too. So I came to see if you two could give me a job. And now it looks like you will really need a new hand. So do I get the job?” He smiled an invitation.

I let it pass. “Adam Roy Hope,” I pronounced him. He gave me Addie’s smile, her gaze through his new face.

We went to our separate beds.

I could sense him through the walls. Then the fatigue of my confusion and desire came down like a hammer and knocked me into a sleep in which there was no skin, no voice, no entangled limbs.

The next morning, I woke to the sound of footsteps in the hall, the floorboards telegraphing the new weight of Addie—of Adam. Everything else remained the same, the squeak of the oven door as he opened it, the groan and sputter of the pump as he drew water for coffee.

I dressed slowly and went into the kitchen, into the welcome of his wide grin, into a normal day. We did the same chores in the same order. Same cows to milk, same chickens to feed, same pitchfork for the manure. Same red dirt underfoot. But she was now he. The world seemed surreal in its placid continuity while, in me, tectonic, dizzying shifts took place.

I could almost taste the strange irony of my desire. For her. For him.

After the morning milking, we finished sawing the fall logs, a job that we had started with Roy. Sawing the thicker log was a two-person job. We didn’t talk much. All I had were questions. The same questions I had had all along. There were, I was sure, no more answers now than there had been when I found him. I felt drained, stunned, my skin stretched over nerves held together only by routine. The noise and effort of sawing offered a small antidote.

He took over the splitting and stacking when we finished the sawing. Through the open barn doors, I watched him while I cleared the manure and lay down fresh hay. He circled the stump we used as a chopping block, then swung the maul in a practice swing. He shook his head, then stepped back farther from the stump and swung again. Rocking back on his heels slightly, then forward, just as Addie used to do, he swung again. The maul landed dead-center and he laughed.

In the afternoon we stopped for lunch. Adam noticed the healed cut, a thin red line at the base of my thumb as I handed him a sandwich. He touched my wrist. “What happened?”

I pointed to the shelf, “The cookie jar, I smashed it against the wall when I found it empty. I hadn’t found your note yet. I cut myself cleaning it up.”

I smelled the grassy, fresh-mown odor of his sweat. The warmth of his touch lingered on my hand. “I need to take you down to meet Momma and Daddy. I want to let them know you’re here. The sooner they meet the new hired help, the better, I think.”

We walked to the mill-village, cutting through the woods where I had played as a child. To cross the creek, we walked single-file over a narrow fallen tree. Halfway across, I heard, above the soft burble of the creek, a single, crisp chime, clear as the water behind me. I turned to look, almost slipping on the slick log. Adam grabbed my elbow, to steady me, and grinned sheepishly at me.

“I know it’s you.” I continued across the creek and down the path.

Otherwise, we were quiet. The sun shone through the sparse canopy of late winter. With him behind me on the narrow path, I could imagine that nothing had changed, that I would see Addie if I glanced over my shoulder.

We reached the edge of the mill-village and my self-consciousness immediately returned. I felt naked, aware of him by my side. We waved to the old lady who lived in the first house. Her little granddaughter, sitting in the porch swing, waved back, but the old woman continued her sweeping without noticing us.

Momma and Daddy were alone at the table when we arrived, a pot of pinto beans and a plate of corn bread between them. They stood when they saw Adam.

“Momma, Daddy, this is . . .”

“Adam. I’m Adam Hope. Pleased to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Roe.” He held his hand out. Daddy shook his hand and nodded.

Momma’s eyes were wide with surprise. “My, it is nice to meet you, Adam. Sorry, y’all are missing Evelyn’s sister, Rita, she’s off with some friends,” she said as she took Adam’s hand. She motioned for me to get more plates and forks and returned her attention to Adam.

“Y’all are just in time for supper! Sit down.”

“Thank you, ma’am. Sorry to barge in like this. I’m from Kentucky. I came to Clarion looking for work.”

“Are you a good mechanic?” Daddy asked. “One of our machine boys left for the Radley mill about a week ago.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll keep that in mind, but I’m not much of a mechanic. I’m a trained groom and stable hand. Too many of us already in Kentucky. I came here because I heard about Addie Hardin and Cole Starnes’s work with horses, so I—”

I interrupted, “I’m pretty sure the Starneses aren’t looking for any help. But I have really been missing Addie’s help. If she doesn’t come back . . .”

Daddy’s interest had lagged as soon as he saw Adam wasn’t looking for a mill job, but now he pulled out a chair for Adam and sat down opposite him. “That’s something to consider. Her momma never came back.”

Momma touched my arm and sighed sympathetically. She ladled ham and beans onto our plates and pushed the skillet of corn bread closer to Adam.

I shook my head. “I could use the help.”

Adam took a piece of the corn bread. “It’s a small place, but more than one person can do. I’d be happy to work for room and board for the time being. Until you know what the situation is. I’ve done farming, too.”

There was a beat of silence, then Daddy turned to Momma. “Lily Mae, why don’t you offer the boy some of your sweet pickles?”

Momma got the pickles and some of her corn relish, opening a fresh jar of each and presenting them on the little flowered dish she reserved for company.

Adam added a generous portion of each to his plate and moaned appreciatively when he had a mouthful of pickles. “These are great, Mrs. Roe. Did you can them yourself?”

“I did,” she beamed. “With Evelyn and Addie. They grow the best pickling cucumbers. That land is good for corn and peppers, too. Call me Lily Mae.”

Adam spooned the relish onto his corn bread and took a big bite. “Mmm . . . this is really good!”

“So, Adam. Horses? I wouldn’t think there would be much call for horses now with everybody in cars and filling stations on every corner.” Daddy searched his pants pocket and pulled out his pipe in preparation for his after-dinner smoke.

“Rich people will always have horses. Keep them as pets and investments,” Adam replied.

“Investments. I imagine that’s so.” Daddy tapped his pipe on the edge of his plate.

“Some people just like them.” Momma nodded her head.

The porch door slammed and Joe walked in. I introduced them. While they shook hands, Adam pointed to Joe’s newly purchased truck parked in the yard and asked, “How’s that one running for you?”

Joe’s face lit up. He’d saved for months for that old Ford. He launched into a story about it as the men went out to the porch. I realized, with a shock, that Adam was courting my family. And succeeding.

Momma and I cleaned the table. Over the noise of the running water and the dish-washing, all I could hear of the men were indistinct words, punctuated by occasional laughter.

“Evelyn, honey, you haven’t heard anything from her?”

I shook my head and turned away to slip a stack of dried plates into the pantry.

“That is peculiar,” Momma said.

I nodded, but did not offer anything.

“She can take care of herself, Evelyn. Don’t worry about her.”

I didn’t want to make Momma complicit in my lies. But I didn’t know what to say.

“Adam seems like a nice fellow.” She stopped wiping the counter and looked at me quizzically.

“He would be a big help, Momma. Now that Joe has a family. And Bertie never helps anymore, even Rita wants to stay in town with her friends. And Cole is full-time at the mill. Now with Addie gone . . .” I shrugged and tried to look convincingly sad and tired. “All he’s asked for is food. He can’t eat much more than Addie.”

Momma smiled at my reference. Addie was known for her appetite at family dinners. “I know you miss her. And it looks like you’ve been eating less up there by yourself.” She pulled at the waist of my dress. “I don’t see how it could hurt for you to have some help. He’d eventually want to find a paying job, so don’t get too used to it.”

Before I could think of anything to say, Daddy, Joe, and Adam came in from the porch. Momma squeezed my arm and asked them if they wanted coffee.

“I can’t, Momma,” Joe said. “I gotta get back to the house soon. Mary’ll be looking for me.” He turned to Adam. “So what were you, army, navy? Not air corps. You haven’t said a thing about flying.”

I felt a surge of panic.

But Adam just sighed and said, “I didn’t serve, Joe, sorry to say. Maybe if the war had lasted a little longer . . .”

“I didn’t quite make it either, buddy,” Joe commiserated. “Momma made me finish high school, and by the time I was ready to sign up, they were starting to turn ’em loose. Some say I’m lucky, but I don’t know.” He looked at both of us. “Can I give you a ride on my way home? It’s getting dark.”

“You were lucky, son,” Momma said. Then she turned to Adam. “Now, about that room and board. We’ll need to decide where that room will be.”