Cold Sassy Tree (34 page)

Without waiting for an answer, I turned the corner and drove through the cemetery gates and down the narrow wagon road that wound around old graves and old trees. I didn't once think to wonder if Miss Alice Ann or Mr. Homer or anybody had seen me turn into the graveyard with a mill girl in the front seat.

From habit, I headed for the Toy burial plot. After I cut off the motor it was really quiet in there, and cool under the trees. Light-foot said, "Jest listen to them birds sangin'. Hit shore is a pretty place, Will. And so peaceful."

"Well, it seems peaceful when I look at old graves like those." I pointed towards the moldy headstones of people I never knew, some of them born a hundred and fifty years ago or more in Scotland or Ireland or New Hope, Pennsylvania. "But, Lightfoot, I feel like I'm go'n suffocate when I think about Granny Blakeslee or my friend Bluford Jackson, layin' down there in the dark."

An uneasy look came on her face and she sighed a long sigh. "My daddy passed, Will."

"Yeah, Papa told me. Said you came in the store."

The silence hung heavy over us as I tried to think of something to say. Lightfoot kept rubbing the brass horn with her right thumb. Finally she looked at me kind of shy-like and asked if I'd been in any fights lately. "I seen you fightin' lots a-times at school. You're a good skull-knocker, Will."

I blushed under the compliment. "Well, I ain't had time for it lately," I said. "Anyhow, I mostly fight to keep from gettin' called a sissy. And it's a way to get my share of whippin's at school. If you don't get whippin's, they call you teacher's pet."

She laughed. "Ain't nobody go'n call you a sissy or teacher's pet, either one, Will."

"Well, I reckon. But I mostly fight for fun, like my grandfather does. If I feel like sayin' to somebody I bet I can lick you, I say it and we square off and all the boys crowd around, rootin' for one or the other of us, and everybody has a good time." I paused and added, "But it's a real fight when I'm tryin' to beat up Hosie Roach."

She rubbed the brass horn some more, and then said, without looking at me, "Why come you hate Hosie, Will?"

"I don't know. He's—well, snobby and smart-aleck. Always got a chip on his shoulder. And he's dirty."

She said real low, "He ain't got no bathtub like you."

I hated feeling ashamed for having a bathtub. "You seen Hosie this summer, Lightfoot?"

She blushed. "Ever day. He works same shift in the mill as me. Will, you'd like Hosie if'n you knowed him better. He's real smart—like you. Everbody at the mill thinks he's go'n amount to something some day. I mean, you know, get a job thet ain't at the mill."

"Yeah. Maybe."

Feeling around for something better than Hosie to talk about, I showed her how the gears worked, and the choke, and then thought to ask if she saw the covered wagons that came through Cold Sassy last week.

"Yeah. I went out on the highway to watch them pass. I 'as thinkin' it might be folks I knew from White County. But turned out they 'as from way up in the mountains. My folks is from the hills, not the mountains."

Silence. A breeze rustled the leaves overhead and cooled us some. Then Lightfoot said she came through Cold Sassy one time when she was little bitty. "They 'as ten or twelve fam'lies in our wagon train, takin' thangs south to sell in Washin'ton, Georgie. Quilts and arsh potatoes, you know, and them blue mountain cabbages, and apples and chinquapins and home-twist t'bacca. All like thet."

I grinned. "And moonshine?"

She grinned back. "Yeah, I reckon. I remember we stopped in Cold Sassy on the way back home. Went in a store and bought a cast-arn stove, and some piece goods and sugar and coffee. Might be it 'as yore grandpa's store. I always remembered Cold Sassy cause it 'as sech a funny name."

"It ain't funny if you know how it came about. You ever noticed that great big sassafras tree, Lightfoot? The one over by the depot?"

She nodded.

"Everybody calls it the Cold Sassy tree. Back a hundred years ago it was a big sassafras grove there, and the wagoners goin' through said that was the coldest spot between the mountains and Augusta. They all knew what was meant if somebody said let's camp at them cold sassy trees. By time settlers got to comin' in, Cold Sassy was its natural name."

"Hit still sounds funny, Will. Leastways to me it does," said Lightfoot.

"Lots of other folks think that. There's talk about changin' it to something prosperous-soundin', the way Harmony Grove was changed to Commerce a few years ago. Don't you think Commerce is a awful improvement over a pretty name like Harmony Grove?"

More silence, except for birds twittering and a dog barking somewhere. I felt uncomfortable. Aunt Loma's right, I thought. Southerners can't just sit and not say anything. I said, "My granny's great-granddaddy led a wagon train here from North Ca'lina. They were the first settlers."

"Had he heired the land?"

"Maybe, I don't know. I think he had a land grant for fightin' in the Revolution."

"Where I come from, most folks jest tuck it up. Their land, I mean. Maybe thet's what yore folks done."

Time lagged again till Lightfoot asked would anybody mind if she looked around some.

"Naw, course not." Jumping down, I ran around and helped her out, like she was Cinderella stepping out of a coach. I showed her Granny's unmarked grave. "The tombstone ain't come yet," I explained, embarrassed. "Grandpa ordered one from Sears, Roebuck, but it ain't come yet." Then I took her over to the Sheffield plot. Being as Mr. Sheffield owned the cotton mill, I thought she might like to see where some of his money went. "I'm go'n show you two big fancy headstones for men who weren't dead when they were buried," I said gaily.

"They warn't dead?" She was horrified, the way I'd felt when Granny told me about it. Stopping before a huge marble tombstone carved like a scroll, I said, "See? 'Daniel Bohannan Sheffield.' He was the Sheffields' only son."

"He got buried alive?"

"Naw, course not. Ain't nobody under there. Granny said Mr. Dan married a rich Jew lady in New York and was go'n bring her home to meet the fam'ly, but Miz Sheffield wrote him not to come. Said anybody who'd marry a Yankee or a Jew was the same as dead—specially if it was a Yankee Jew. Turned out the bride's family shut the door on her, too, but I don't know if they buried her. Anyhow, Mr. and Miz Sheffield put up this tombstone. See, it don't give a date. Just says 'Died in a foreign land.'"

"He still livin'?" Lightfoot looked around like she thought Mr. Dan might be standing behind her.

"Who knows? They don't talk about him. Now let me show you the other one. See that big carved marble angel over yonder?" As we walked toward it, I told her about Mrs. Sheffield's youngest brother. "Granny said he was around my age when the Yankee army came through. Just fourteen or fifteen. The Laceys lived on a big plantation, and they sent this boy down the Savannah River one dark night in a rowboat with a trunk full of money and silver and jewels—all like that. If he made it to Savannah, he was s'posed to buy passage on a ship to England and wait out the War over there. Which he did. But when it was over, he didn't come home. Granny said after Mr. Sheffield started the mill and they could afford it, Miz Sheffield hired her a lawyer over in England, and he found out her brother had squandered everything. He was workin' as a chim'ly sweep. Wanted to come home."

"Well, I reckon Miz Sheffield bought him passage."

"Naw. She buried him. See? 'Royal Garnet Lacey, Gone But Not Forgotten.'"

I plucked a leaf from the oak tree we were standing under and tore it in little bits while Lightfoot studied the gravestone. "Maybe he did die over in England," she said finally. "If Miz Sheffield said he 'as dead, he must a-been."

"Naw, he wasn't. Granny said he kept writin' letters for years." I laughed, but Lightfoot didn't. She stood for the longest kind of time, staring from one to the other of the expensive tombstones for live men. Then running her hand over the carved angel, she said, "I shore wisht I could get one a-them angels for Pa." She looked up at me, and I noticed for the first time the lavender-blue circles under her eyes.

I felt embarrassed, her wishing for such. Finally I mumbled, "Did you ... uh, where's he buried at, Lightfoot?"

"Back home. Me and my aunt tuck him back to the hills on the train. I knowed he warn't go'n rest easy in no grave down here." With that, Lightfoot sank down on the empty grave of Mr. Royal Garnet Lacey, put her head against the angel's stomach, and cried and cried.

I didn't know what to do. I patted her shoulder and said I was sorry her pa died, but that just made her cry worse. She sobbed out that he 'as lucky to be dead; now he didn't have to work all day after coughin' all night, and didn't have to worry bout gittin' enough vittles.

"Was he ... uh, did he have the TB, Lightfoot? Like your mama?"

She didn't answer. Just sat there and cried some more. Finally she wiped her eyes on the skirt of her black dress, trying hard to get aholt of herself. When she could talk, she said softly, "I think maybe Pa did have the TB. Pneumony's what kilt him, though. Hit come on him sudden like. He 'as deader'n Hell a day later." I hadn't ever before heard a girl say Hell, but she didn't even notice she'd said it. "I wanted to git a doctor, but my aunt, she said he 'as too fur gone. Said we didn' have no money to waste on no doctor when it couldn't do no good.... Oh, Will, I wisht I'd a-stayed with my sister after the funeral. Buster axed me to. Thet's her husband. I said thankee, but I ain't a-go'n be beholden to nobody. Buster said I'd earn my keep if'n I holped him in the fields."

"Why'n't you stay, then?"

"I didn't like the way Buster looked at me when he said I could holp him in the fields."

She picked up a stick and talked on, almost like I wasn't there. "Anyways, I wanted to come back here and go to school. Amount to something. We 'as halfway back to Cold Sassy on the train when my aunt she said, 'Now, Lightfoot, with yore pa dead 'n' all, I cain't keep you no more less'n you go in the mill full time an' pay yore part. Fast as you lam thangs, you'll be a-workin' both sides of the aisle in no time.' Will, I begged her and begged her, 'Please'm, let me git one more year a-schoolin'.' But she said her chi'ren got two year apiece in school, and it ain't holped them a bit in the mill. Said if they'd a-been borned with books for brains, they'd be makin' bottom wages jest the same."

Over near Granny's grave a jaybird screeched. I stood drawing lines in the dirt with my big toe, saying nothing. Then all of a sudden Lightfoot hit Mr. Royal Garnet Lacey's marble angel hard as she could with her stick! Her eyes narrowed. "Here's somebody ain't even dead yet," she said, poking out her bottom lip, "and I bet his headstone cost more money than I or my people will ever see in our whole lives. Hit ain't fair!"

"No, it ain't, Lightfoot." I wanted to tell her about Blu Jackson dying so unfair young, but she started crying again. "Please, Lightfoot. Cryin' ain't go'n help. Hush up now."

"I don' want to hesh up. I'm a-go'n cry the r-r-rest a-my l-life...."

"Look, I'll carry you home. In the car. Come on, Lightfoot. Quit cryin' and I'll ride you home." I caught her wrist and pulled her up.

And then I kissed her.

I swear I hadn't once thought of doing such a thing, and I'm sure she hadn't, either. But before you could say doodly-squat, my arms had circled her and she had flung her arms around my neck, and I could feel her wet cheek against mine. For what seemed like ages I just held her, thinking nothing but the purest thoughts, my heart aching for her, so poor and miserable and lonesome. And then I don't know what happened, I was kissing Lightfoot! Just like Mr. McAllister kissed Miss Love. On her mouth, her cheeks, her closed eyes, her neck.... She kept saying, "No, Will, no, no, no, no...." But she didn't push me away.

My breath came in trembling gasps, and hers did, too. I felt dizzy. I was on fire. I pressed her against Mr. Royal Garnet Lacey's angel and wrapped my arms tight around her waist.

Just then God spoke out loud in the voice of Miss Alice Ann. "Will Tweedy, you ought to be ashamed!" said God. I looked up and there He stood in a pink and white poky-dot dress, pointing His plump forefinger at us.

Lightfoot put her arm across her face just like Eve in the garden when God saw her nakedness.

"You, girl, I don't know who you are," shouted God, "but I can tell you're from Mill Town. Now you just git on home. Will's a good boy from a nice fam'ly. You ain't got no right to come to town like this and corrupt him." God was indignant as all get-out. "Soon as I seen y'all ride in here, I thought to myself they ain't up to no good. Will, I just hate to think what your daddy's go'n say."

"It ain't like you see it, Miss Alice Ann! We didn't mean to—"

"I got eyes, ain't I?" God retorted. "Your trouble, Will, you ain't got no shame! Imagine, actin' like that right in sight of your poor granny's grave!"

W
HILE
I was staring at Miss Alice Ann, my mouth open like a dummy, Lightfoot disappeared. Evaporated. Just like she had at the depot that day she helped me off the train trestle. She must of run across the cemetery and gone out through the woods at the back.

Then while I had my back turned, trying to crank up the Cadillac, Miss Alice Ann disappeared, too—I reckon to go spread the word.

I felt sick.

I took the vegetables to Mr. Slocum, and when I got back home, parked the car under the barn shed and sneaked up to the loft. I wanted to think about kissing Lightfoot McLendon before I had to think about a whipping. I wanted to remember my arms tight around her. I wanted to feel her lips on mine, her hands on my back, her breath coming in trembly gasps at my ear. Closing my eyes, I groaned and sank down in the hay.

Now I knew why Miss Love couldn't stop Mr. McAllister when he was kissing her, despite how bad she hated him. She had lost her senses. Well, I'd lost mine, too, and I wanted to stay that way. I wanted to keep aholt of all the feelings that kept passing over me in waves.

But I was also scareder and more ashamed than I had ever been in my life.