Deliver Us from Evie (12 page)

“Take care, Evie,” I whispered.

“Thanks, Parr.”

Yeah, thanks, I thought.

The whole damn thing was my fault.

I
T WAS STILL DARK
when the Kidders came for me. Even the roosters across the way were asleep.

Evie hadn’t left a note, so I wrote one fast and left it on the table.

Evie’s gone to St. Louis, so don’t look for her. I’ll explain later. She’s okay. P.

I sat in back with Angel, our hands sneaking over to meet. I had on a suit and one of Doug’s old ties. Angel was wearing a white dress, white tights, and white shoes, with a pink sweater, a pink cloth rose pinned to it. Her long black hair was just washed. I could smell the coconut shampoo she favored.

Mr. Kidder got right down to business. “We’ve heard the rumors about your sister, Parr, and we’re sorry for your family.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Now, I have heard the same thing said about Evie was said about the Duff girl on that sign. Was nothing on that sign said your sister had gone after Duff’s daughter.”

“That’s what I heard, too,” I said.

“So now this is just slander, and ‘he that uttereth slander is a fool’!”

“Father reminded us of the Old Testament’s words that ‘whoso privily slandereth his neighbor,’ him will the Lord cut off,” said Mrs. Kidder.

“Yes, ma’am. Evie’s gone, anyway. She took off.”

“She
has
, Parr?” Angel glanced up at me.

I nodded.

“Can’t say as I blame her,” said Mr. Kidder.

“We just want you to know we were too hasty judging Evie,” said Mrs. Kidder.

“
You
were too hasty, Mother. I never judged her. ‘God is the judge; he putteth down one, and setteth up another.’”

“Poor Evie,” said Angel. “If anybody’d said that about me, I’d like to die!”

“Well, she’s gone to St. Louis instead,” I said.

“She’ll be better off away from here,” said Mr. Kidder. “Buck Duff is not a fellow you want against you…. Did you finish planting with all this going on?”

“Nothing interferes with planting,” I said.

“I was going to say if you had more to do, I’m finished over at the Fultons’. Bud went back to Columbia last night. But I could lend a hand, if your dad’s not done.”

“Thanks, he is. But I’ll tell him that.”

“We had fine weather, didn’t we?”

“Yes,” I said. Angel was squeezing my hand, sitting as close to me as she could get herself.

The sunrise service was in the tent lot in Floodtown where farmers brought in small crops at the end of summer, extra tomatoes, corn, cucumbers and other vegetables, flowers, and baked goods.

There was a post marking the highest point of the floodwater back in ’73, which was the flood that wiped out the farms and homes of everyone in Floodtown. There was a wall behind that with a quote from Mark Twain painted on it.

One who knows the Mississippi will promptly aver … that 10
,
000 River Commissions … cannot tame that lawless stream … cannot say to it Go here or Go there and make it obey … cannot bar its path with an obstruction which it will tear down
,
dance over
,
and laugh at.

Under that were names of people who hadn’t survived.

It was just getting light enough to see our way into the rows of folding chairs, facing a makeshift pulpit, with benches for the choir behind it.

The sun was rising in the sky at the end of Pastor Bob’s short sermon about the meaning of Easter, and the choir rose and sang “I am Risen.”

Then it was Angel’s turn.

As soon as she got going, I knew she’d picked the hymn herself.

It was called “We’ll Never Say Good-bye,” and she looked right down at me when she sang the chorus:

We’ll never say good-bye in heaven
,

We’ll never say good-bye (good-bye)

For in this land of joy and song
,

We’ll never say good-bye.

I went back to their trailer for sausage, eggs, and homemade biscuits, and then I asked Mr. Kidder if he’d mind driving me over to St. Luke’s. I said that Easter Sunday meant a lot to my mother, that we tried to have the whole family together.

In the car he said, “I didn’t want Angel to ride with us because I wanted to say something personal to you, Parr.”

“What’s that, sir?”

“Angel says you’ll be getting your driver’s license soon. I’m glad for you, because I remember myself at your age, champing at the bit to get behind a wheel.”

“I’m going to have Evie’s car,” I said.

“I’m glad for you, Parr. But I got a rule and I don’t want it broken. Angel’s not to be out after dark in that car unless it’s a very special occasion like a dance at her school or yours, and then you’ll have to drive her straight home. No parking, ever, Parr. You know what I mean?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I’m telling you this because the man’s in charge of those things, and I hold you responsible, Parr. No parking, ever!”

“I heard you, sir.”

“You hear me and you
listen
, Parr, or it’ll be all over for the two of you.”

“You don’t have to worry, sir.”

“I have to worry. Anyone’s got a daughter has to worry!”

St. Luke’s smelled like a funeral parlor with all the flowers everywhere, and every female wearing her best perfume.

All the women were dressed to the nines, but my father was wearing his old light-blue suit splitting at the arm seams, and Doug didn’t even have a tie on.

Mr. Duff was in his center-aisle pew with Patsy. He had on a blue silk blazer with gold buttons, gray pants struggling to hold his big belly in, a red rose pinned to his lapel.

He was singing loud and shouting out all the responses, which was his way. He didn’t glance our way as we filed into our pew. Neither did Patsy.

She had an early tan she must have gotten from playing tennis at Appleman, and her long blond hair was streaked with lighter shades through it. She was wearing a white shirt open at the neck, cut low, pearls, a yellow blazer, a navy skirt.

I kept staring at her and thinking of her choosing Evie to love, when she could have probably had any guy in the county she wanted, in the whole state of Missouri and maybe all of the U. S. of A.

I tried to fathom her state of mind from her face, but she didn’t have any particular expression that gave a clue.

When the service was over, she didn’t look in our direction once. She actually took her father’s arm, and they made tracks, only stopping by the door long enough to greet the Reverend Southworth.

“I knew it would turn out this way,” Mom said to me as we were heading down the aisle. “Evie’s the one being run out of town, and
she
carries on like nothing’s happened.”

“Evie wanted to go. No one told her to.”

“Oh, Parr, don’t be so blind. What’s Evie going to do in St. Louis? Summer’s coming—that was her favorite time on the farm.”

“Maybe she’ll come back.”

“I could kill
you
for not waking us up!”

“Don’t kill me,” I said. “There’s not a lot of us left to harvest.”

Cord never showed up for the service.

I don’t know what my father said to him, or what Evie did, either.

The next day when I got home from school, I saw he was back at work.

It wasn’t that my father was a forgiving man. It was just that first he was a farmer. First and last, he was, and whatever was in between there wasn’t time for.

The only mention of it Cord made was during an argument between us about who had to clean the farrowing floors, the worst job on the farm.

When my father wasn’t within hearing range, Cord said, “You owe me, Parr. I took all the blame for the sign.”

So I did them.

J
UNE, AND DOUG STILL
hadn’t told our folks about his decision to become a vet.

Evie called every weekend from New York City. She was staying at some women’s residence run by the Salvation Army.

Dad was mad she was still gone, though in the beginning I think he was glad she was. I heard him tell her, “Well, you could use some salvation, I guess,” handing the phone quick to Mom the first time we got a call from her.

He didn’t want to get into a conversation with her. I don’t think he knew what to say. His way of handling anything messy was to let it go by without discussion, what he called letting it work itself out, as though whatever “it” was had a life of its own.

He didn’t think Evie’d stay away.

He thought she’d be back as soon as Patsy Duff left for Europe on July Fourth. After she graduated from Appleman, she and her father took Mrs. Duff to a rehabilitation center in Kansas City. They were due back in Duffton any day.

Evie had a job she said was temporary, working in a department store.

“What are you wearing to work?” Mom asked her.

I was sitting there waiting for my chance to say hello, and I muttered, “All you care about is what Evie’s got on her back!”

“Your brother says I only care about what you’ve got on,” Mom told Evie, “but that isn’t true, honey. I’m worried sick about you. Be careful on the streets. People have guns, knives. You’re too trusting, honey. You can’t trust people in a city like that…. And something else, honey.” I saw her look around to see if Dad had come up from the barn. There was no one else in the house but me.

Mom said, “Be careful of the friends you make, too, Evie. Don’t seek out the gays. Think about that lifestyle, Evie. That’s a very narrow life.”

“Not like ours,” I muttered. “Not like staying in Duffton, Missouri, on a farm, your whole life long.”

Mom snapped, “Parr, stay out of this! Wait your turn to talk!”

Then she said to Evie, “Did you hear what I said? Don’t make up your mind too soon that you’re one of them. This could be a phase. You could be making a terrible mistake. Why don’t you see a doctor, honey? There are clinics in a big city like New York, places you could go that charge fees according to what you can afford.”

Whatever Evie answered, Mom shot back, “That’s ridiculous! You haven’t known anything of the kind all your life! … You just met the wrong person!”

Mom listened some more, interjected things like “Oh, sure, and where is she now? Did she stand by you, Evie? … Last time I laid eyes on her, she was hanging tight to her daddy’s arm like she was his little girl!”

Finally, Mom gave up and passed the phone to me.

“We miss you,” I said, because I hadn’t heard anyone else say it. I meant it, too. Before, I’d only thought about Evie as someone to save me from being a farmer, but it was her presence I got to missing. I’d started thinking she was the only one in the Burrman family with any originality. My mother talked a lot about her being this stereotype, but it seemed to me that was what we were more than she was. At least she was in New York City. Not a one of us had even been there on a visit. Burrmans were farmers to our bones. We came from farmers, we bred farmers, we looked like farmers, and we’d probably die farmers—or I’d die trying not to be one: one or the other.

“Don’t miss me, Parr. Think of me, but don’t miss me. Get on with your life, and I’ll get on with mine.”

I wanted to tell her Doug and she were making it hard for me to get on with mine, but Doug had to break the news himself.

“Do you like that place, Evie?”

“I do, Parr. Sorry, little brother. I know you’d rather hear I can’t stand it.”

“Then you’re staying.”

“I’m staying. You get out, too, Parr, when it’s time.”

“You sound real happy, Evie.”

“I’m not unhappy…. How’s Dad doing?”

“He’s doing. You know Dad. He does…. But he misses you. He can’t ever say things like that.”

“I know. But you’ll all manage.”

“We all manage, but we could sure use a repairman on the premises.”

“You could use a repair
person
,” Evie said, chuckling.

Mom hollered from her office, “That call is costing Evie money, Parr!”

No matter how often Mom told Evie to call collect, she never did.

I got my driver’s license, took Evie’s car to school, and found out right off the bat why Mr. Kidder had his rule.

I met Angel after. We weren’t
parked
, not out by the quarry, anyway, where all the kids made out. We’d pulled over by a field halfway between Duffton and Floodtown, so we could watch some ponies gamboling in a pasture.

Angel was all over me, or I was all over her, or we were all over each other. We’d never really been off alone together, and we just let go.

I had to say, “Hey, wait!”

“For what?”

“Didn’t you ever hear boys get excited?”

“Girls do too.”

“It doesn’t show, though.”

“I like it showing.” She laughed.

Having a car seemed to change her, but she said it wasn’t the car. She said it was thinking about what was happening to her and me, Doug and Bella, and even Evie and Patsy. I’d finally told her the truth about my sister, making her promise not to tell her folks.

“Love is a force,” she said. “It comes over you like waves crashing on a beach.”

“Have you ever even seen a beach?”

“On TV. But you know, Parr, all the hymns I learn make me think of love more than God. Of what happens because of love. ‘Love found me, My fainting soul was tempest tossed,’ and ‘Linger no longer, come come,’ and ‘I belong to him, yes, I belong to him.’ I think about all that’s happening around us because of love.”

“You’re not still afraid of Evie?”

“Uh-uh. I been thinking: What if it was a world where males and females weren’t allowed to love each other, and we felt like we do? I couldn’t change. Could you?”

“No,” I said.

“And I wouldn’t want just any old boy, either.”

“I wouldn’t want just any girl.”

“Not even Toni Atlee?”

“Oh, well, maybe Toni Atlee.”

“Be serious, Parr.”

“I wouldn’t want anyone but you, Angel.”

“So I bet Evie just wants Patsy.”

“She did. I don’t know about now.”

“But I never would have had anything to fear from Evie.”

“Right. Don’t be too sure about me, though.” I started the car. “You better stop learning those sexy hymns. They’re going to ruin us.”