Unto These Hills (8 page)

Ruth looked startled, then laughed. “You lil’ bugger. All ears.”

Despite the morbid topic, I, too, burst into laughter,

I scooped the girl into my arms and gooched her good, pitching her into spasms of giggles.

“Who plays?” I gestured toward an old upright piano in the living room corner.

“Me,” Ruth said, blushing slightly. “Grandma Bond taught me some and the rest, I learnt myself.” Amazing. She’d had to drop out of school at fifteen, when she got pregnant. “It give me somethin’ to do the past four years b’sides just sittin’ and twiddling my thumbs and trying to avoid people staring at me and whisperin’an’ all.”

“I’m sorry, Ruth, that you had to go through all that. It’s not fair.” I sighed and looked down into Sally’s upturned face. She was trying to read our angst. “And don’t ask me what’s not fair, Miss Sally,” I gooched her again, garnering more rolling belly laughs.

“Play something for me,” I gushed, thrilled at this other dimension of Ruth, glad there was more to her than gossip speculated. “Please?” I shifted Sally into a comfortable slouch across my lap as Ruth hesitantly settled herself on the scarred mahogany bench.

For the next twenty minutes Ruth Bond’s fingers flew over those ivories making tunes I’d heard on the radio;
Dancing in the Dark, Sunny Side of the Street, Pennies from Heaven —
misting my eyes with memories of Mama singing. Then she swung into Boogie Woogie as easily as Esther Williams diving off a high dive board.
In the Mood
had me on my feet dancing with Sally in my arms, shrieking with glee. The last song Ruth played was a mellow rendition of Red Foley’s
Peace in the Valley,
which, again, had my eyes teary. With her, for some reason, probably because of her own openness, I didn’t mind
feeling
.

“Thank you, Ruth,” I hugged her profusely when she arose from the aged, dignified instrument. “You need to do something with your talent. You read music?”

“Jus’ a little. I know the key a song’s wrote in and the notes and all but — I can listen to a tune and play it better’n trying to read it, if that makes sense.” She blushed to her sandy roots, camouflaging, for a moment, her scattering of light freckles.

“That’s — incredible.” I was impressed beyond measure. “Thanks again, y’hear? I don’t want this to be the last concert you play for me.”

This time, when I hugged her, she hugged back and I sensed Ruth had had as much fun entertaining as I’d had listening. Lo and behold, for a time, she’d made me forget the horrible episode with Emaline’s grandpa.

Her mama returned shortly, gave me my share of material and paid me a handsome tip to boot. Ruth and I exchanged warm good-byes.

And, sadly, I knew that socializing like this today was a rare thing for her. I felt a strange sense that I was abandoning her in her exile.

~~~~~

Outside, the rain had stopped and the earth smelled washed-clean. Sunlight filtered through dispersing clouds, warming me as I walked home. I felt better, having talked to Ruth. She didn’t seem as tragic up close. Yet I knew many wouldn’t agree with me. And that beautiful little girl. It was
unconscionable
that folks held her accountable for Harly’s evil.

The ice truck rumbled onto Maple Street as I turned the corner there. I picked up my stride, head down. When the tires screeched to a halt, my pulse skipped into a frantic cadence as I prepared to turn tail and make a dash for home.

“Hey, gorgeous!” Daniel called, hooking his elbow over the window ledge. I took a deep steadying breath and walked over to the truck.

“Sunny?” His smile dissolved. “You look like you seen a ghost. Anything wrong?”

I opened my mouth to spill my guts about Bill Melton groping me and making me feel like trash…but the words wouldn’t come. Daniel would — well, he’d go ape. And Emaline — I couldn’t destroy her belief in her grandpa. She would surely find out and be devastated. It would end our friendship.

It hurt to learn that I no longer trusted unconditional love.

“No. Nothing’s wrong. Just a long afternoon.”

Some things are more important than spilling your guts.

~~~~~

The crisis came on suddenly, with the velocity of two planets ramming each other and exploding. Emaline crashed through my door, sobbing that her mama, Renie, had taken ‘bad off’ and was in the hospital. The three of us, Daniel, Emaline, and I immediately dashed off to Gladys’ house for consolation and prayer.

Gladys’ aura of peace and tranquility sang out to me in those moments it took to span our back yard, the dirt alley, their back lawn and screened-in porch. There is, I’m convinced, a mystical, inexplicable sense of family between villagers.

“Gladys!” I called out.

She appeared in the kitchen doorway, dark eyes keenly assessing our tear-stained features. Her face instantly gentled. “My, this is bad, ain’t it?” She pulled us inside, taking us each by the arm and into her embrace. Over our shoulder, she gently told Daniel, “Pull out a chair for the girls, handsome boy.”

“M-Mama’s bad off,” Emaline sobbed. “In Spartanburg General. A blood clot…only a fifty-fifty chance….” More sobs.

For twenty minutes Emaline poured out her heart, her fears, and her hopes. Gladys sat silently, listening as no one else I know listens. With her heart and soul. No distractions of self-serving thoughts. One-hundred-ten percent
there.

When Emaline finished, her tears abated, her emotions spent for a spell, only then did Gladys lean forward, elbows on kitchen table, to reach and take our hands in hers. She commenced praying, not the hollering, desperate demands I’ve heard from some but with a calm serenity seasoned with unwavering faith. Mostly, she asked God to take care of Emaline and Polly. And their daddy. She did ask Him to be with the doctors at the hospital and comfort Renie with His presence. I kept waiting on her to ask God to
heal
Renie. “Amen,” she said.
Maybe
she just forgot
, I thought.

Anyway, Emaline and I both hung onto God’s hem during the next thirty-six hours.

But despite all our prayers, Renie died that night.

~~~~~

After they brought Renie’s pitiful little wasted body home for the wake, I never left Emaline’s side. In true mill hill spirit, folks descended to care for the bereaved family and friends. There, death is as much a part of existence as life. In an inexplicable way, nurturing absorbed a bit of tragedy’s sting.

Daniel saw to our every need, hovering in the sweetest, non-intrusive way. Neighbors came and went with food and consoling words. Nana, to whom words did not easily come, came bearing a chocolate cake, a truly sacrificial love offering. The cost would set her back nearly a week. Relatives ascended in waves, reaching out to Jack and the girls but it was me upon whom Emaline leaned in those dark hours. Gladys wafted in and out with soft words and hugs and a huge Banana Pudding.

Strange, she hadn’t seemed really shocked at Renie’s passing. How had she known? She was one of a handful of people I’ve met in life with that extra sense of
knowing
. I don’t believe it is presumption. Not in Gladys’ case, anyway. It goes deeper and I completely respect its veracity.

Walter came by, handsome and quite comforting. Doretha appeared, alone, and offered her soft-spoken solace. Even Francine and Tack dropped by for a short spell. I silently thanked the good Lord because there were few things Francine truly reverenced. Timmy stayed close by during those hours, quietly, unobtrusively, but I felt his presence. Daniel included him in his protective circle. Sheila hung closely with Polly. I was proud of her.

Daniel, well, he was a tower of strength for us all, defiantly sticking close those days, to the point of neglecting his duties at the Stone residence. Yeh, he still had them
plus
his ice house job. I admired his courage, praying he wouldn’t face too much verbal retribution. Though Tom didn’t physically abuse him anymore, according to Doretha, “He’s still got a filthy mouth.”

“Isn’t she beautiful?” I murmured, gazing at Renie, who, in death, looked like a sleeping movie star in her silk baby-blue gown.

Emaline wept softly beside me. Our arms entwined each other’s waists. Daniel and Doretha had gone home moments earlier. “Tonight’s special,” Emaline whispered. “Our last time with her.”

We burst into tears at the finality of it. We spent that entire night bunked down on the couch near the casket, gazing at the sweet profile framed with lustrous brown hair and I thought how ironic that hair lived on after flesh died.

~~~~~

The Pentecostal church was packed out for the funeral. I sat with the family, with Daniel next to me. The pastor related how he’d visited Renie at the hospital and prayed the sinner’s prayer with her during a lucid moment.

Emaline and I had burst into grateful tears at this news and Gladys, sitting in the pew behind us, reached up to gently squeeze our shoulders. Daniel’s fingers intertwined with and squeezed mine.

We filed out to the song I Won’t Have to Cross Jordan Alone.

That’s when I saw him.
Daddy
.

He stood in the church parking lot, where everybody dispersed to their cars to drive to the nearby cemetery for Renie’s burial.

I rushed to him, Emaline attached to one elbow, Daniel to the other. “Daddy!” We were in each other’s arms. “You made it in time for the funeral.” I stepped back and looked up into his saddened face. “Who — how did you find out about Renie?”

“I didn’t — not till I got to Nana’s. She told me and I rushed on over.” Nana had opted not to come. Too sad, she said.

I stared at Daddy, fear gathering in my gut. “Then — why did you….”

“I came to get you kids. I got a job.” He smiled softly at me. “We’re going to Chicago.”

~~~~~

The next afternoon, I stuck my head in the Kale’s back door and called out. “Gladys? You home?” My voice was scratchy from crying and pleading with Daddy to leave me behind. He’d refused, saying it wasn’t fair to Nana, that we were his responsibility, not hers.
Funny,
I thought resentfully,
he hasn’t worried about that for all this time.

I wanted to bid Gladys a private goodbye. Too, I wanted her to pray for a miracle, that somehow I could stay. Today, what with Renie’s death and all, and us leaving for Chicago, Nana seemed overly protective. Daddy was at the garage getting his old Ford serviced for the long drive up North. Nana had wanted all of us to accompany her to Uncle Charlie’s. Francine had pulled me aside and threatened to strangle me if I didn’t insist on staying home, so she could. I’d discreetly warned Sheila to stick to Nana’s side, away from Uncle Charlie.

Soon as Nana disappeared down the street, Francine did her disappearing act. To the hotel, I suspected, to say goodbye to Daisy and Leona, Mama’s old buddy. Too, it wasn’t in Francine to miss this last chance to flirt with the men boarders who congregated in big porch rockers or in the lobby with its chintz settees and easy chairs. Her maid duties — on this, her last day — had ended at three-thirty so this was free, fun time. I’d gone with her on other days. Today, I’d rather be with Gladys.

“Gladys!” I called again, taking a few steps into her kitchen, closing the door behind me. “Where are you?”

“Boo!” Harly appeared around the doorway so quickly that I jumped. “Come on in, purdy girl.” His blue eyes sparkled with mischief. “Pure meanness,” was Gladys’ spin on his devilish black patent-leather hair and near colorless blue-gray eyes that showcased black, black irises.

“Oh, ahh…” I backed up till my spine touched the back door, “I-is Gladys home?” I already knew the answer. How
stupid
of me. My fingers groped behind me for the door knob.

“No.” Grin firmly in place, he spanned the distance in a breath, standing nearly toe to toe with me. A chill rippled over me as I gazed into a purely wicked countenance, one that, years later, I compared to the malevolent Henry Fonda character in the movie,
Once Upon A Time in the West.

“But
I’m
here,” he said, his hairy long arms slithering around me. The odors of his sweat, greasy hair tonic, and liquor hit me so strongly I nearly gagged. Terror seized me. I could see tiny opaque specks in his irises and the pores on his oily nose.

“Harly raped me.”
Ruth’s words echoed and beat about in my brain
.

Reaction set in. “Let me go,” I screeched, twisting away to wrench open the door.

Hands snared me. “Where y’ goin’ in such a hurry? Huh? You’re purdy like your mama, girl. And so
soft.
Why ain’t you friendly like her? Huh? “ His voice slithered over me like slime let loose, taunting, laughing, his hands snaring, pulling, pulling me against him. I retched as he groped my breasts — then ducked quickly, sliding through the door like a snake startled from its nest.

I lickety-split across the back yard and shot through the alley to our house, his wild, wicked laughter trailing me like smoke from a bonfire.

“You’re purdy as your mama, little girl….”

Shame crashed over me in tidal waves
.

And with it, anger. At Mama’s wantonness. At Harly’s depravity. I slammed through our front door, raced up the stairs, and threw myself across the bed and squalled out my horror and grief. That horrible man actually compared me to Mama.

He thought I was like Mama. Oh God, oh God.

I’m not like Mama. I’m not, I’m not, I’m not!

~~~~~

Gladys had warned me. I didn’t tell Daniel about Harly, certain my own stupidity had caused the whole mess. I should have knocked and not entered Gladys’ door before knowing she was there. Too, I didn’t want Daniel involved because Gladys was still my friend and any kind of obnoxious confrontation between Daniel and Harly would affect that relationship. Gladys didn’t need any more hurt over that crazy man.

Anyway, the looming specter of Chicago quickly pushed the ugly thing into the black hole in which it belonged. I don’t know who was most distraught; Daniel, Emaline, or me.

“What am I gonna
do,
Sunny?” Emaline howled, tears trailing down her pale cheeks as she helped me pack my meager wardrobe, one that’d dwindled greatly with Mama’s absence, in spite of my seamstress efforts. I’d had a growing spurt and many of my hemlines couldn’t be let out to accommodate an extra inch and a half of height. I passed them on to Emaline, who, at five-feet-three inches was now two inches shorter than me.