Fair and Tender Ladies (46 page)

But as for me, I am not so sure. I think Taylor Three is mighty pretty, mighty cold. I think he might be the kind that will be real interested in you for as long as you're offering what he needs, and then drop you like a hot potato. I hope I'm wrong. But I can not bring myself to trust a man with soft hands and a dimple. Franklin Ransom had a dimple too.

That lightning bug lantern reminded me so much of Joli—not Maudy, never Maudy, who is a girl like a 100-watt bulb. I sat and held the lantern in my hands, listening to the owls, watching it glow, and change, and glow, and change.
Like all of us.
This thought came to me all of a sudden. For Danny Ray is back from Germany now and going to East Tenessee State, I don't know if I told you that or not, and our Bill has moved into a house down on Home Creek with a young widow woman named Marlene Blount whose husband did not come back from the war. She is ten years older than Bill if she's a day! And has two big old boys. Plus she is sort of fat. But she is real good-natured and keeps Bill grinning, I will say that. The other day when Oakley and me were driving to town, we went right by her house and there was Bill out in the yard throwing a baseball with her two boys, and she came outside and hollered them all in to supper! It beats all. It is like Marlene Blount has got one more kid. But Bill has always been real happy-go-lucky, just like a kid, and Marlene is a good mother. As for me, I'd never say a word against it anyway. I
couldn't.
Not after what I did.

So I sat out on the porch in the pulsing light of the lamp and after a while I started getting sleepy. But before I went back to bed, I unscrewed the lid of the jar and dumped the lightning bugs out on the porch. At first they kind of crawled around as if they did not want to go anyplace. But then they seemed to figure things out and they rose up together like a little blinking cloud—up, up, and out across the yard and up into the trees until they were out of sight.

And I remain your loving sister,

 

IVY.

August 8, 1947.

 

 

Dear Joli,

 

I know Ethel has called you up on the long distance telephone which I could not bear to do.

So I know that you know about your daddy.

We buried him yesterday. But somehow it did not seem real to me, not even then. It does now, for I am writing you this letter.

I will try not to go on and on as is my want.

The funeral was preached by Rev. Ancil Collins, the old preacher they used to have who came back here special to do it, as he said he has never known a better man than Oakley Fox in all his life. Rev. Collins uses a cane now and can't hardly see. He was assisted by Mr. Blue and by Delphi's boy Cord who has got the call. Cord told about how he knew your daddy from a child and how your daddy carved him a little horse when his pony died. I had never heard this story before. It was real sad. Everyone was crying and fanning themselves. The little Ramey's Chapel Church was full to overflowing, with folks sitting out in the grass and standing back in the shade of the trees. Somebody had dug up ferns from along the creek and filled the whole front of the church plum up with them. It looked so pretty and was fitting for your daddy too, who loved these mountains so. Dreama cried and fainted dead away when they carried him out. She has always got to be the center of attention. Your grandmama Fox could not come as she is in the hospital down at Majestic. Your grandpa came to the church but could not make the climb to the house nor to the burying ground.

All I will say about the burying is, there has never been so many people up this holler before, not ever. And it so hot, with a thunderstorm coming up! But yet they came, all the folks from church and town and Home Creek, more besides. You would not think a quiet man would know so many, nor be so loved. For a man who did not say much, he got around a good bit! All kinds of people come up to speak to me and Ethel and Bill and Danny Ray and Victor, telling stories of how your daddy fixed their bridge after it got washed out, or how he gave them some money when their old man died, or he gave them one of those little carved bears to give to their boy for Christmas, or he drove them into town to see the doctor or catch the train and I don't know what all.

You can rest assured of one thing.

I believe your daddy was the best man in the county, bar none.

If there is a heaven, your daddy is right there.

His grave is up high next to my own father's, facing East so he will see the sun rise and can look upon Bethel Mountain as always. I have to stop now. Because I have written this letter to you, it is real now.

In grief I remain your loving,

 

MAMA.

Oh Silvaney,

 

It has been over a month now, it is September and the leaves start to fall, a big yellow sycamore leaf landed all of a sudden on the porch yesterday. It was like a blow to my heart. And when I went walking, I saw where the horsechestnut has changed to red, a red fan of spiky leaves just blazing amongst the green.

Oakley was too young to die.

And I am too young to be a widow woman even though some days I feel old as the hills themselves which I walk among now almost without ceasing, I know they are saying it up and down the holler that I am crazy, crazy like Tenessee, may be that is right. For my grief is so long and so cold, as cold as Oakley's cheek when they put him in the grave oh he had the prettiest coffin Rufus stayed up two nights running to make it, Martha says he couldn't hardly see to hit a nail, for crying.
You have got to cut this out Ivy. You can't go on like this,
Geneva came up here to say and took Maudy down there with her for a visit.
You have got to get a hold on yourself,
Geneva said. But I wake in the early light and walk, I can't help it, I go again and again to the ridge where we picked the berries and the berries is up there still, now spoiling on the bushes for folks has no longer got time to climb up there and pick them and cook. Folks can just buy what they want at the store, and do so. But I go and stand in the little cave nearby, where he first kissed me, and whenever I close my eyes I can see him coming out of the mine at Diamond, and feel my heart leap up to see his face. Oh Silvaney, I never knowed how much I loved him until I left him, and that's a fact. And now I have lost him again and this time it is for good. No it is not for good. It is for ever. Life seems contrary to me, as contrary as I am. I feel like you never say what you ought to, nor do as you should, and then it is too late. It is all over. I have spent half of my life wanting and the other half grieving, and most often I have been wanting and grieving the same thing. There has been precious little inbetween.

Oakley's preacher Mr. Blue came up here but nothing he said made me feel any better, and when he said,
Now let us bow our heads in prayer, Mrs. Fox,
before he left, I just looked down and noted the dust devils everyplace in this house which I have not touched for a month nor will I let Martha nor Marlene Blount come up here to clean it for me. Oakley's absence is filling it up, this is why I have to leave and go walking. And I know he loved the mountains where I walk.

Oh lord Silvaney, over and over I see in my mind the night he died, he woke up with a pain in his chest, he
knew
he was dying.

Ivy,
he said,
turn on the light,
and I did, and his face was as gray as his hair.
Ivy, my Ivy,
he said. I had to bend down to his mouth to hear the words.
Ivy I love you,
he said, and then,
My God.

So then he died, and God has got him now not me.

It was so hot walking up that hill. I kept thinking I saw Granny Rowe around the bend ahead. I thought I saw her long black skirt go swishing, and smelled her pipe smoke in the air. Two others besides Dreama passed out that day from the heat and we left them and gone on up there and got him in the ground as the black clouds were piling up in the sky and the air grew green and still.

Amen,
I remember Mr. Blue said
Amen
just before the thunder cracked and everybody started back down. By the time we hit Pilgrim Knob, the rain was falling hard and big drops were splatting like silver dollars in the dusty yard. They left then, everybody except Ethel. I made them go. Ethel laid down on the bed to rest when the last one left, Mrs. Johnnie Sue Rasnick who is always the first to come and the last to go. She loves a funeral.

It started raining nice and steady, and I went out on the porch. I had sat there so long, over so many years and years, with Oakley, I didn't hardly see how I could sit there by myself. I looked at Oakley's rocker which Rufuses daddy had made and gave to Momma years ago, that old rushbottom rocker with the seat now curved to Oakley's shape. One of his knives was laying right there, and some little pieces of wood, and shavings all around his chair from where he whittled. You know he was always whittling, mostly those little bears. He made them doing everything! Running, sleeping, sitting up, playing. I can't tell you how many people have asked for a little bear to remember him by, but when I went out to the old tobacco barn to find some more, I couldn't find a one. He had given them all away. They are all over this county now. But that is how Oakley was. And then I felt so
mean
because I used to bitch at him for helping folks for free, or for getting shavings all over the porch! I looked over at Oakley's chair for a while as the rain started pouring harder, and then finally I sat down in my own chair.

It got almost dark—dark green air, and the heavy rain smell came up from all around me. It was like the earth was steaming. Then I cried. I cried a long time. I cried until finally Ethel came to the door and said,
Come here Ivy, I want to show you something,
and then she took my hand and led me in the kitchen and showed me what all was still there, even after so many folks had come and gone. Meat loaf, a carrot cake from Ruthie, Geneva's fried chicken of course, and Marlene Blount's potato salad. Ethel got her a plate of that and me a plate, and sat down.

Sit down,
she said to me, and I did, and she took a bite and I did too.
What do you think?
she said, and I said,
Too much onion.

I don't guess he is marrying her for her potato salad,
Ethel said, and I said,
What do you mean, marrying her?
for that was the first I had heard of it.

Well I don't know that for sure,
Ethel said.
But I betcha.

So we ate the potato salad and then some boiled custard and carrot cake.

Then Ethel turned on the radio which still makes me cry as it reminds me of Oakley so much. He was just crazy to hear all about Jackie Robinson.

Well, Ethel stayed up here with me for a while and then she left and I took up walking as I said, and now I am about walked out. I am ready to go down and get Maudy back from Geneva's and may be sell off another little piece of this land if I can do so. Corey is offering to come up here and stay for a while, and Martha says she will loan me that little boy of hers and Rufuses who is cute as can be. But I have said no to all that. I will not be lonely. Even if it is just me sitting on this porch, I will not be lonely. Although I know that not one hour for the rest of my life will go by without me missing Oakley and that's a fact. But I will tell you another fact which is just as true, it hit me yesterday.

I can read every book that John O'Hara ever wrote.

I can make up my own life now whichever way I want to, it is like I am a girl again, for I am not beholden to a soul.

I can act like a crazy old woman if I want to which I do.

I can get up in the morning and eat a hot dog, which I did yesterday. I don't know what I might do tomorrow!

But for sure I will remain your loving sister,