A Death On The Wolf (5 page)

We left Mark’s bike there on the beach and he rode on the back of the motorcycle with me to his house with my tee shirt wrapped around him. And unlike when we had ridden down there earlier, where I had putted along in second gear at 15 miles per hour so Mark and Frankie could keep up on their bikes, now when we pulled off the path from the river onto the road, I nailed the throttle and left Frankie behind. Mark and I were doing nearly 60 when we hit the bridge, and he was about to squeeze the breath out of me holding on for dear life. When we got back to his house, Mark climbed off the back of the Honda, and I watched him run for the porch with the sleeves of my tee shirt trailing behind him like a kite’s tail. I never saw that shirt again.

After that day when I took Mark home and left his brother at the river, there was a change in Frankie, and the change seemed to intensify each time his little brother was forced by circumstance or providence to be in our company. And now, today, for the first time, I recognized the change for what it was in all its glory. It was jealousy. It was stupid and irrational, which was precisely why I knew now I could never reason with Frankie about it. And I sensed the resolution would either strengthen our friendship or destroy it. There would be no middle way.

Chapter 5

The Intruder

The next morning at breakfast, Aunt Charity dropped a bomb on me. After Sachet had finished her oatmeal and gone out to play, Aunt Charity told me she was bringing one of the children from the Masonic home to live with us for the rest of the summer. I didn’t understand the “us” part so I made sure to ask if this stranger would be staying at Aunt Charity’s house and not ours, and I was assured it was to be the former. I suppose it did not occur to me then that despite there being two houses on the Gody farm, separated by about fifty yards, Aunt Charity saw us as one family, and significant changes in one household were worthy of discussion in both. Seems she and Daddy had discussed this last night and he had given his blessing. My counsel was not sought—nor even desired, apparently—and the plan was presented to me as a
fait accompli
over eggs, bacon, grits and biscuits the next morning.

I was mulling this over now as I watched Aunt Charity at the sink washing Sachet’s bowl. My sister was on the front porch, playing with her dolls and tea set, blissfully ignorant of this news I was sure would ruin the remainder of our summer. But, if there is one thing I had learned from my father, it was the futility of fretting over things you could not control. So, as I sat there swirling my fork in the remnants of my over easy eggs, I started trying to think of the bright side. It was hard, but I was trying. Maybe having another kid around for the summer wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Maybe having someone right next door to toss the ball with, or go down to the river with, or help out with milking the cow, or cutting the grass, maybe this was a good thing. My mood began to brighten. “So what’s his name and how old is he?” I asked Aunt Charity.

She was drying the bowl she’d just washed. She spoke without turning to me. “Her name is Mary Alice Hadley and she is fourteen,” she said.

So much for looking on the bright side. I just stared at Aunt Charity while I tried to find the words to express my frustration. Not only was a stranger, an intruder, coming to live with us, to encroach upon my summer, but it was a girl, and that was totally unacceptable. “How come nobody asked me what I thought about this?” I said with an angry timbre—a mistake, and I knew it the minute the last word left my mouth. I watched Aunt Charity slowly put the clean bowl in the cabinet. She turned to me, and instead of her patented gaze of stern indignation, I saw a softness there that was both familiar and strange. I saw a brief glimpse of my mother’s face.

Aunt Charity came over and sat down at the table across from me. Normally, when I was about to get a verbal dressing down, I would be sitting with her towering over me. I could, of course, stand up at any time and reverse that, but I didn’t dare. But now, here she was coming down to my level, meeting me as an equal. It was a totally unexpected move on her part and it had the effect of calming me. And again, I was seeing images of my mother from so long ago, and my heart ached because of it. My mother, who could melt the resolve of an obstinate boy with the sheer force of her gentle spirit; she had been the polar opposite of her twin sister. But, on rare occasions, like now, Aunt Charity would show that she and Mama had been cut from the same bolt, and that somewhere, deep beneath her unbending rectitude, lay the same pacific gifts that served my mother as a mother so well.

“
Nelson,” Aunt Charity began, “you are right. Your father and I should have talked with you about this, and I’m sorry we didn’t. I think we both forget sometimes that you are a young man now and not a little boy.”

“
Yes, ma’am,” I said, looking down at my plate. She had completely disarmed me. Sixty seconds ago I was cocked and locked and prepared for battle; now I was ready to wave a white flag.

“
Nelson, look at me,” she said.

I looked up at her. “Yes, ma’am?”

“
Whatever misgivings you have about this, or any ill will you feel toward me for doing this without asking you first, let’s get it out in the open now. Once Mary Alice is here, we will not speak of this again.”

“
You don’t have to worry, Aunt Charity. I’ll be nice to her.”

“
Oh, Nelson, I never thought for a minute that you wouldn’t be nice to her.”

“
I just don’t see why you’re doing this,” I said. “It’s not like she doesn’t already have a place to live.”

“
You’ll understand better when you meet her.”

“
When is she coming?” I asked.

“
I’m leaving in a few minutes to go pick her up.” Aunt Charity got up from the table and took my plate and glass over to the sink.

“
Are you taking Sash?” I asked.

“
No, I’ll need you to watch her until I get back.”

“
I have to be at work down at Dick’s at two,” I said.

“
I should be back before noon. Marie is over at my house today. If I’m not back by the time you have to go to work, take your sister over there.” Marie was Aunt Charity’s housekeeper.

“
Okay,” I said. I looked at the clock on the wall. It was half past seven. What a way to start the day.

— — —

I was back at the barn, filling up the watering trough for the goats, when I heard the horn and looked over at Aunt Charity’s house to see her gold Sedan de Ville pulling into the drive. Sachet was standing in the shade of the pecan tree watching me. She was tugging at her dress and holding one of her dolls. “Where’s Aunt Charity been this morning?” she asked.

I rinsed my hands off in the stream of water coming from the spigot and then shut off the valve. “She had to go to Poplarville,” I said, shaking the water from my hands. “Why do you keep pulling at your dress like that?”

“
It itches,” she said.

I walked over to her and pulled the back of her dress open. “It’s the label,” I said. “You want me to cut it out?” She nodded her head so I fished the knife out of my jeans pocket and opened the blade. “Hold still,” I said. I moved her hair out of the way and started cutting the label.

“
Don’t cut me,” Sachet said.

“
Then be still.” I finished cutting out the label and then smoothed the back of her dress down. “Is that better?”

My sister wiggled and worked her shoulders up and down to test the efficacy of my handiwork. “Why did Aunt Charity go to Poplarville?” she asked.

“
She’s bringing one of the kids from the home over there to stay with her this summer.” I closed my knife and stuck it back in my pocket.

Sachet turned and looked up at me. “Why?” she said.

“
I don’t know.” I took my sister’s hand and we headed over to Aunt Charity’s to meet the intruder.

As we got to the edge of my aunt’s yard, the trunk lid on her Cadillac popped open. Aunt Charity was getting out of the car and she motioned to me. “Nelson,” she called, “please get Mary Alice’s suitcase out of the trunk.” I waved acknowledgment.

As Sachet and I got closer to the car, I peered intently into the backseat to see what this girl looked like. But Aunt Charity’s front yard was populated by tall, longleaf pines just as ours was, and she was parked in the shadow of one, thus, I could not see into the car well enough to tell if there was beast or girl or both in the backseat. Whichever, she had not gotten out yet and Aunt Charity was standing there, waiting for me to get the suitcase.

“
I may need you to help me get Mary Alice in the house,” Aunt Charity said in a hushed tone.

“
Help you get her in the house?” I said, not sure I’d heard her correctly. I reached in the trunk for the large Samsonite bag. It was heavy, and I actually had to strain to lift it. “Good grief,” I said as I lugged the thing out of the trunk. “What’s she got in here, a load of bricks?”

“
Mind your tongue,” Aunt Charity said, again in a low voice.

I followed her around the car with Sachet right by my side. When Aunt Charity opened the back door, my first glimpse of this interloper was of a pink sundress with tiny blue flowers on it, so tiny they almost looked like blue dots. She was wearing sandals and I watched as her legs slowly rotated out of the car and she put her feet on the gravel drive. Then the walking stick appeared, and the delicate hand that held it. When she leaned forward and I saw her face, my heart melted. She was the prettiest girl I had ever seen. Her complexion was fair; her eyes a deep blue. Her long brown hair fell on her bare, creamy shoulders with a little upturn curl. As she stood up and reached out for anything to hold to steady herself, I set the suitcase down and reached for her hand. When she felt me take it, she smiled, looked past me, to the unseen distance over my right shoulder, and said, “Thank you.” And it was then I realized Mary Alice Hadley was blind.

Aunt Charity cleared her throat and said, “Mary Alice, this is my nephew, Nelson.”

“
Hello, Nelson,” Mary Alice said. “I’m very pleased to meet you.” Her voice was soft and clear, her diction clean and proper.

“
I’m pleased to meet you, too, Miss Mary Alice,” I said. And to this day I don’t know why I called her Miss Mary Alice. It bubbled out of me just as instinctively as had the impulse to take her hand when she first stepped out of the car. I looked at Aunt Charity and said, “I’ll help her in the house and come back for the suitcase.” Aunt Charity smiled and stepped back, and with a little tug on Mary Alice’s hand I led her from behind the open car door and up the drive toward the house. She had her walking stick in her left hand tapping away in front of us as we slowly made our way to the front porch.

It’s difficult to put into words how I felt that day as I held Mary Alice’s hand and helped her take her first steps into my world. No clichés or hackneyed phrases could possibly do justice to my emotions at that singular moment when it seemed time truly had stopped. I remember looking over at Aunt Charity as we walked along, and I think she had discerned what was happening even before it had registered with me as a conscious thought. I remember feeling ashamed of the things I had said to her at the breakfast table, as well as the unspoken thoughts that had filled my foolish mind that morning as I dreaded the arrival of this unwelcome visitor from the Masonic Home for Children. But, there I was, holding her hand, and totally smitten by her simple grace and charm. I was a boy in the throes of nascent love, and it thrilled me and terrified me and made my head swim. Recalling it now some four decades later, it still does.

— — —

Mary Alice Hadley almost cost me my job at Dick’s ESSO later that same day. For the life of me, I could not keep my mind on anything that afternoon at the station—anything other than her. The extent of my distraction came to a head at four o’clock sharp when Mrs. Rosemary Routledge, the widow of the late Judge Walker T. Routledge of the Harrison County Chancery Court, arrived for her weekly fill-up. Miss Rosemary was about eighty years old and drove her late husband’s ’67 Buick Electra. She always came by the station on Mondays around four o’clock for gas. And, given that she only put about five miles every week on her car driving to Anne’s Beauty Shop and to the IGA for groceries, I was usually lucky if I could get a gallon of Hi-Test in her tank. I didn’t mind, however, because no matter the paltry amount of gasoline she purchased, Miss Rosemary always pulled a dollar bill from her purse and told me to keep the change. That was one tip I could count on every week, no matter what. Today’s fill-up, however, cost me 37¢ and an oil change—and no tip.

When Miss Rosemary pulled up to the pumps, I was waiting there as usual. But, unusual for me, I did not immediately start pumping her gas. I don’t know how long I stood there like a daydreaming dolt, but when Miss Rosemary said, “Young man, I’d like some gas, please,” it snapped me back to reality.

“
Yes, ma’am,” I said, and grabbed the nozzle from the pump. I pulled the hose to the back of the car, flipped the license plate down, screwed off the cap, stuck the nozzle in, and started pumping. About ten seconds later Miss Rosemary let out the most god-awful scream, and it nearly scared me to death. I released the pump handle and ran around to see what was wrong.