Lily of the Springs (14 page)

“Now,” she said softly, looking into his eyes. “If you’re ready to act like a decent human being, you can go scrounge up something for your supper.
I’m
going to bed early.” Slowly, she withdrew the butcher knife from the vicinity of his neck. But she took it with her as she ambled out of the room.

Silence followed her departure. Finally, Royce uttered a curse word so foul I couldn’t help but gasp. Then he stomped out the back door, slamming it behind him. A moment later, the rumble of his old pick-up truck broke the quiet of the autumn evening.

Once the sound of the truck disappeared down the road, I looked around at Jake and his sisters who’d gone back to eating as if nothing had happened. I shook my head in astonishment. “I can’t believe your mama just did that.”

Jake shrugged and reached for another pone of cornbread. “Aw, it ain’t nothing to worry about. She gets like that once a month, and we all just learn to stay out of her way.” He crumbled his cornbread into his soup bowl, and then added matter-of-factly, “But sometimes, Pa forgets.”

Gladys’s Apple Dumplings

2 cups peeled, pared and sliced tart apples (or 1-16 oz. can apple slices)

Pie crust for two pies

1 cup sugar

1/2 t cloves

1 t cinnamon

1/2 t nutmeg

1 cup milk

1/4 c flour

Prepare pie crust. Roll out into 8 equal squares. Place two T apple slices on each and fold up each corner. Place in greased baking pan and dot with butter. Bake at 425 degrees for 30 minutes. (For fresh apples, bake at 350 for 45-50 minutes). While cooling, prepare cinnamon sauce. Mix sugar, spices and flour together and gradually stir in milk. Cook over low heat, stirring constantly until thickened. Spoon warm sauce over dumplings and top with vanilla ice cream or fresh whipped cream.

T
he knock came at the door just after seven the next morning. I was helping Gladys and my sisters-in-law with the breakfast dishes. My eyes were puffy from all the tears I’d cried that morning when I’d awakened to find that Jake hadn’t come home at all. This was the first time he’d stayed out all night. His absence hadn’t gone unnoticed by Gladys, either. Not that she’d said a word. But the excessive banging of pots and pans as she’d made the sausage gravy and biscuits had revealed her irritation.

From the kitchen, I heard Royce answer the front door, followed by the rumble of another male voice. And suddenly my heart began to gallop. It had something to do with Jake. I knew it!

I threw down the drying rag and hurried down the hallway toward the front door. Through the gap between Royce’s body and the door frame, I saw a blue uniform. It was the Sheriff, Burps Dewey.

“We got him in lock-up, Royce,” he drawled. “Drunk and resistin’ arrest. Chased him with the siren goin’ all the way into Columbia, and that sum-bitch drove around that circle with me on his damn tail three or four times before he finally pulled over. And then that smart-alec son of yourn put up a fight when I tried to cuff him.” The sheriff turned his head and spat a stream of blood-brown tobacco juice onto Gladys’s half-dead rosebush at the side of the porch. “He goes before the judge at ten this morning, and once bail is set, ya’all can come on down and get him out.”

I pressed my fingers against my mouth.
Oh, Lord God. Jake, you’ve done it now
.

Royce’s response was amazingly calm. For Royce. “
Son-of-a-bitch
! I reckon I’ll be to town directly, Burps. Mighty good of you to come out here to let me know.”

With a nod, the sheriff turned and made his way down the porch steps. Royce closed the door and turned.

“I’ll get my coat,” I said.

Royce frowned. “You git that round little butt of yours back into the kitchen and help out my missus. I’ll take care of that no-account, lazy ass husband of yourn. And when I’m through with him, he’s gonna wish he was never born.”

I caught my breath. “You’re not going to hurt him.”

He gave me one of his evil grins. “He’s too big to hurt anymore, missy. But what I got in store for him, is gonna make him
beg
for the lickin’ of his life.”

He gave a braying laugh, grabbed his weather-beaten hat on a rack beside the door and walked out.

***

“It ain’t gonna happen agin because you ain’t gonna
be
here for it to happen agin!” Royce glowered at his son.

Jake sat on a straight-back chair in the parlor, his eyes blood-shot, hair tangled. A greenish-yellow pallor tinged his face, and his jaw was slack and stuporous. Like something the cat drug in, I thought. Drunker than a skunk. Well…maybe not now, but he
had
been. I was almost as angry with him as Royce was.

Gladys, too, could barely contain her disgust. She sat in her usual chair by the stove, her fingers nimbly shelling peas. Her blue eyes—the only thing about her similar to Jake—were furious, but she’d stayed as silent as a clam during Royce’s tirade.

It had started more than ten minutes ago with their arrival back home after Royce had scraped together fifty bucks to bail Jake out of jail. He whirled around, his dark eyes shooting venom at his son. “And you’re gonna pay back ever penny of it, you hear me? My money don’t grow on trees! If I had an extry fifty dollars layin’ around, I’d damn well put it to better use than to bail
your
sorry ass out of jail! Only reason I did it is because of
this ‘un
.” He jerked his chin toward me, a look of loathing on his rabbit-like face.

My stomach dipped.

“I’ll pay it back,” Jake muttered, head bowed as if it was too heavy to lift. His fingers restlessly massaged his forehead.

My jaw tightened.
Got yourself a headache, huh? Well, good! You get what you deserve
.

“Damn
right
you’ll pay it back!” Royce roared. “But I ain’t waitin’ for you to nickel and dime me at that fat-ass Slim Jessup’s gas station! You’re gonna git yourself a
real
job, boy!”

That got Jake’s attention. His head lifted and his red-rimmed eyes peered blearily at his father. “There ain’t no real jobs in Russell Springs.”

Royce gave a smile so big and smug, I could see his false teeth gleaming from across the room. “You got that right, boy. That’s why tomorrow mornin’, bright and early, you and I are gonna head up to Louieville. Because I happen to know the perfect job for the likes of you.”

The sneering tone of Royce’s voice made Gladys sit up straighter. Her hands paused on the pea pod she held as her gaze fixed upon her husband. Jake, too, seemed to sense that something was in the air. His face had taken on a wary look.

Royce’s nasty grin widened. “Private Jacob Tatlow,” he said slowly. “Has a nice ring to it, don’t it?”

Gladys dropped the pod into the bowl in her lap, her face whitening. Jake stared at his father. As Royce’s meaning became clear, my body went ice cold.
No! He couldn’t be serious
!

No one spoke. In the corner of the parlor, an ancient grandfather clock pealed out the hour with eleven chimes as three pairs of eyes stared at Royce. He still wore a self-satisfied smirk, but kept his gaze reserved for his son. As the last peal of the chime echoed away, Jake shook his head. “No. I ain’t gonna join no army.”

Royce gave an ugly laugh. “You ain’t got no choice!”

“
Pa
!” Jake’s eyes flashed fire. “Soldiers are gettin’
killed
over in Korea! I ain’t gonna be one of ‘em!”

My heart gave a lurch. Oh, God! I’d forgotten all about Korea. My first thought had been about myself—how awful it would be to be separated from Jake. But if they sent him to war, he could die!

“Royce.” Gladys stood and put the bowl on her chair. “Jake has a point. There’s lots of boys dying over there in that heathen country. I’m not gonna sacrifice my youngest boy for them funny looking little slant-eyes over there.”

“You ain’t got no choice neither, Gladys,” Royce said, not even sparing her a glance. “Stay out of it. It’s like this, son. You’re the one who knocked up this here little gal and brought her into the family, and for all I know, she might’ve spread her legs for every Tom, Dick and Harry in the county, but you’re the one who got caught.”

I gasped in outrage and started to protest, but Gladys threw me a look of warning that all but screamed at me to keep quiet. My mouth clamped shut, but my fingers itched to claw at Royce’s skinny throat.

“But if you think I’m gonna keep supporting Little Miss Princess and that brat she’s carrying in her belly, you got another think comin’. Now, I don’t want to hear another word about it. Tomorrow mornin, sun-up, we’re headin’ to the Army recruiter’s office. And if I was you, I’d pack me a bag, because you’re gonna tell the U.S. Army you’re ready to go right now.”

Hitching up his overalls, Royce strode out of the parlor, leaving the three of us stunned. I looked from Gladys to Jake, my heart racing. “They won’t do that, will they?” I stuttered. “Take you away tomorrow? Not that fast, right?”

Jake just stared bleakly at the floor. In desperation, I turned to my mother-in-law. “Gladys, they’ll give him some time, right? I mean, they can’t just take him away like that, can they? Won’t he have to take some tests? A physical? Surely that takes time!”

An inscrutable look appeared on Gladys’s face and she turned away. She bent and scooped up the bowl of peas, then padded out of the room. I looked back at Jake.

“You can’t let him do this to you, Jake.” I gnawed on my bottom lip, trying to control the panic boiling inside me. “We don’t have to stay here. We can leave, just you and me. You can go find a job up in Louieville or Lexington. Jake, I don’t think I can bear it if you get sent to war. What if something awful happens? What if…” My voice died away. I couldn’t even say it.

Slowly Jake got to his feet, moving gingerly. “I can’t think. I gotta go get some sleep.”

And he, too, left the room.

Mother’s Chocolate Gravy

2 heaping T cocoa

½ cup sugar

Pinch of salt

¼ cup flour or 2 T cornstarch

1 T butter

2 cups milk

In small bowl, mix cocoa, sugar, salt and flour. Add a few drops of water until it’s a thick paste. Taste. If it isn’t sweet enough, add more sugar. Pour into heavy cast iron skillet and gradually add milk. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly until thick. Add butter. Serve over hot biscuits.

O
ne more storm like last night, and all the leaves would be stripped clean off, I thought as my rubbers sank into the spongy ground of the path that wound through the woods—the short cut to the place I used to call home.

Indian summer had given way to a wet and cold November. It had been raining for the past three days, culminating in gusty winds and heavy downpours through the night. This morning wasn’t much better. The rain had stopped, but it was still overcast, and much colder. I sniffed. Snow was in the air; I’d bet my life on it. Early for snow, though. It rarely snowed in Kentucky before Christmas.

My heart gave a pang. Christmas. Surely, I wouldn’t make it to Christmas. My heart would break before that. Jake had been gone five days. The Army had taken him just like Royce had said they would. He’d taken the pledge that very day up in Louieville, and the next morning, they’d put him on a bus to boot camp in Aberdeen, Maryland.

Oh, God. How was I going to get through the next eight weeks without him? I stepped out of the woods onto the hill that looked down on the south side of my family home. Without the protection of the trees, an icy wind from the north hit me straight on, and I shivered, wrapping my old wool coat more tightly around my expanding belly. A wisp of smoke spiraled from the stone chimney down below, and the scent of burning wood drifted on the wind.

My heart ached with homesickness. Mother would be in there alone, busy with one of her daily tasks—maybe baking bread or putting up some apple butter from the autumn harvest. Norry and Edsel would be in school, and Landry would be working at the feed plant in Columbia. Since it was the farm’s off-season, Daddy would be up living in Louieville where he worked at the GE Plant, only making it home to Kentucky on weekends.

Head down to shield my face from the wind, and with tears burning my eyes, I made my way down the hill and up the steps of the front porch. I hesitated at the door, wondering whether I should knock or just go on in like I used to. The decision was made for me when the door suddenly opened, and there stood Mother, a rolling pin in her hand, flour smudged on her forehead where she’d brushed away an errant lock of graying hair.

“I heard ye comin’ up the steps,” she said with a pleased smile. “Come on in. I’ve just put on a pot of coffee.”

Stepping into my old home and being greeted by the strong, rich aroma of Mother’s coffee mixed with the lingering scent of fried bacon felt like heaven. I blinked back my tears, determined not to let Mother see how close to falling apart I was. If the plan I’d formulated as I made my way through the woods had a chance of succeeding, I would have to appear strong and mature. I’d have to act like an adult.

“I’m making a couple of pies for a potluck after meetin’ tonight,” Mother said, bustling back into the kitchen. “Come and sit yourself down.”

I shrugged out of my coat and hung it on the rack near the door, then made my way into the kitchen. It looked just the same as it always had with its burnished pine cabinets and gleaming wood floor. Mother’s handmade red and white-gingham curtains over the sink looked freshly washed and starched. Scraps of pie dough and flour covered the big oak table. One unbaked pie rested on top of the stove, and another one on the table, filled high with sliced apples, waited for its top crust. Coffee perked in the black enamel pot on the stove. I felt an overwhelming impulse to plop myself into one of the chairs and just breathe in the atmosphere of the warm, apple-scented room…maybe just stay here forever.