Lily of the Springs (32 page)

Silence fell. Every eye at the table settled on me. The motor of the old Westinghouse refrigerator clicked on, unnaturally loud in the quiet room. The moment of silence stretched. Across from me, 14-year-old Inis shrank back in her chair, her brown eyes wide and fearful. Poor girl hated scenes, and Lord knew she’d suffered enough of them in this family. I hated putting her through yet another one, but this time, I just had to put my foot down. Royce, at the foot of the table, munched on a corn pone, his eyes gleaming in anticipation as they darted from Jake to me. He was just the opposite of his daughter; he loved a good knock-down, drag-out, and the uglier, the better.

Gladys, at the other end of the table, stared down at her plate, her lips stretched in a thin, stern line. It was the expression of the old Gladys—the one who wouldn’t give me the time of day. And I’d actually believed I was making progress with the woman. Well, I should’ve known it wouldn’t last. After all, her darling son could do no wrong.

I lifted my chin and met Jake’s outraged gaze.

“What did you say, woman?” he asked. His tone was quiet, but the menace behind it was unmistakable.

I stared him down. “I
said
you’re not going anywhere tonight. You’ve got that interview in Bowling Green tomorrow morning, and if you go out with your hooligan friends tonight, you’ll get drunk and you’ll either miss the interview or you’ll go and make a blame fool of yourself and you’ll throw away our only chance at a decent life. And I don’t aim to let you do that.”

I held his gaze defiantly. Across from me, I could almost feel Inis cringing in her chair.

Jake stared back, his jaw clenched. Finally, a slow grin spread over his face, but it was anything but pleasant. His eyes told the real story as they flared with rage. He looked at his father. “I
know
she ain’t talking to
me
. ‘Cause Tatlow women know better than to talk to their men like that, ain’t that right, Daddy?”

Royce gave a snort of laughter and started to say something, but just then Gladys’s head snapped up and she shot her husband a look that stopped him cold.

She turned to her son, and said quietly, “Jacob Royce Tatlow, you sit your behind back down in that chair, and have yourself another helpin’ of supper. Or I can get you a slice of chocolate cake. But you ain’t goin’
anywhere
tonight. The only way you’re gonna take that car of yours out onto that dirt road leading to town is over my cold, dead body. You hear me, son?”

When Jake just stood there staring at his mother in total disbelief, her eyes narrowed and she barked, “
Move
,
I said
!
Sit yourself back down
!”

Two patches of red stained Jake’s cheekbones as he moved back to his chair and fell into it. A shocked silence filled the room.

It was Gladys who broke it. “I reckon your wife knows what she’s talking about,” she said in a normal tone of voice as she reached for a platter of pork roast. “Tomorrow’s a big day for you, son, and I reckon a few hour’s extra sleep won’t do you no harm.”

No one said anything. Another moment of silence passed as Gladys calmly finished her supper. Finally, she looked up and gazed around at everyone as if she’d just noticed they were all there.

“Ya’all ready for a big slice of chocolate cake?”

***

Jake waited until we turned the lights out in the bedroom, then he turned to me as I climbed into bed.

“Don’t you ever talk to me like that again in front of my folks, Lily Rae,” he said softly. “If you do, I swear to God, I’ll knock your teeth out.”

I couldn’t see his face in the darkness, but I knew what it looked like. Stone-cold. I knew better than to respond to him when he was this angry, so I simply got into bed and turned on my side away from him.

He didn’t speak again, and a few minutes later, I heard his soft snore.

He was up the next morning and gone before I awoke.

May 1955

I
looked up from my magazine and glanced around the tiny back yard, still finding it hard to believe it belonged to us. Well…sort of. We were renting the house, but on a rent-to-own basis, so if we wanted to, we
could
own it someday.

It was just after four on a beautiful, summery May afternoon, and as the brilliant sunshine baked down on my Coppertone-slathered skin, I realized I’d never been happier in my life than I was at this very moment.

Jake had left for work at the iron factory 20 minutes ago, and Debby Ann was still napping. I hadn’t wasted a moment after he took off. When Jake walked out the door, I’d been singing along with Pat Boone’s new hit, “Two Hearts” as I ironed a basket of clothes. It was hotter than blazes in the house, even though I had the table-top revolving fan going at full-blast, and my sleeveless cotton blouse and shorts were splotchy with sweat. As soon as his car drove off, I turned off the radio, tip-toed into our bedroom and opened the dresser drawer as quietly as I could. I didn’t want to wake Debby across the hall. After slipping into my swimming suit, I’d gone out the back door and dragged one of our brand new striped lawn chairs ($4.99 a piece at the 5 & Dime) from the concrete patio into the back yard. I’d settled into it with a glass of sweet iced tea, the bottle of Coppertone, a pack of Winston’s, and the latest issue of
Housekeeping Monthly
.

But I was finding it hard to concentrate on the magazine. Every couple of minutes, I found myself looking around the back yard like I thought it was going to up and disappear or something. It was just that I was so confounded
thrilled
about the way everything had changed in the few short months we’d been here in Bowling Green.

A yellow butterfly flitted past my face, briefly landing on the wide daffodil-yellow stripe on my black swimsuit, and then darted off to inspect a rose bush growing along the side fence. The sight made my heart feel like it was about to bust with pride.

I grinned, reached down for my iced tea in its metallic-blue aluminum glass and took a sip. It surely was the
best
iced tea I’d ever tasted in my life. And that’s how it had been with everything in my new home. Special. Even the scuffed up old furniture we’d bought at the Salvation Army and Mother’s sun-faded blue gingham curtains at the kitchen window looked new and special here in our new house.

And I knew why. Because it was
ours
. No longer were we dependent on Jake’s family…or even the military to provide a roof over our heads. We were on our own, and everything was just wonderful.

I glanced down at my Timex and saw it was almost 4:15. Debby Ann probably wouldn’t be sleeping much longer, and my peace and quiet would be over. Especially if that durn Good Humor truck came by again at 4:30 like he had every blame day since the weather got good. Lord help me, if Debby Ann heard it, there would be no peace if I didn’t scrounge around for a nickel to buy her something. Her reaction to the calliope music of that ice cream truck reminded me of what I’d learned in high school psychology about that Pavlov guy and his slobbering dog.

Well, maybe I’d be lucky today, and she’d sleep through the ruckus. It felt like a day that a miracle could well happen. I turned a page in the magazine and saw an article titled “The Good Wife’s Guide.” The picture showed a cheerful housewife in pearls and heels, stirring something on the stove, and a husband in a suit who’d obviously just arrived home, a newspaper under his arm, a smile on his face. At his feet were two well-scrubbed blond children, digging through Daddy’s briefcase for the surprise he’d apparently brought them.

“Hmmmm…” I figured I was
already
a pretty good wife, but it wouldn’t hurt to see if I could pick up a few new tips. Taking another sip of iced tea, I began to read the advice.

No problem there. I make Jake a big supper before he goes into work every day. But when he gets off at midnight and comes home, he’s on his own.
This
wife is sleeping
.

Well, with him working the second shift five blessed days out of the week, by the time he gets off work, I’m in bed fast asleep, and I ain’t got a smidgen of make-up on, and I’m not
about
to wear a ribbon in my hair to bed
.

I smiled. And I might not be all that fresh-looking at one in the morning, but it didn’t stop Jake from kissing me awake and having his way with me if he was in the mood, so I reckoned I was fresh-looking
enough
.

I frowned at this one.
Now,
that’s
interesting. I remember those days back in Texas, spit-shining his Army boots, laundering, starching and ironing his uniform and cooking three meals a day for him after being up all night, walking the floors with a screaming baby, and I never felt anything
close
to personal satisfaction.

I shook my head and read on.

I rolled my eyes.
Huh? Who says?

Well…guess I just flunked this test.

Like hell I
don’t
!
I tried picturing Betty reading this, and what her reaction would be, but heck, I couldn’t do it. Betty wouldn’t be caught dead reading a magazine called
Housekeeping Monthly
.

But it was the last “rule” that really got my goat.

“
Agggggghhhhh
!” I threw the magazine halfway across the yard, which wasn’t far, considering the lawn was only about ten feet long. “That’s what I think about your idiotic ‘good wife’s guide!’”

The magazine landed face up on the grass, the warm breeze gently riffling its pages. I stared at it, chewing on my bottom lip. My good mood of moments before had disappeared. And I knew why. Guilt. That darn magazine article had made me feel guilty.

Because maybe I
wasn’t
a good wife. Maybe that was why Jake had done all those awful things to me back in Texas. Sleeping around with whores. Going out and getting drunk all the time. Maybe if I wasn’t so selfish, if I thought more about
him
instead of myself, I
could
be a good wife to him. Maybe instead of talking back and nagging and always putting my two cents worth in, if I just accepted the way things were supposed to be—the way
Housekeeping Monthly
said they
should
be--maybe then, I could keep Jake satisfied, and he’d settle down and be a decent husband to me.

Besides, hadn’t he been sweet as pie lately? Having a steady job and a good paycheck every two weeks certainly had made a difference. Why, he’d even become friends with Lonnie Foley, even though, technically, he was his boss. The Foleys lived a few streets over in the subdivision. Once the twins had started sleeping through the night, Jinx and Lonnie had had me and Jake over for dinner and some card-playing a few times. Jake had actually seemed to enjoy himself, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t just because of a couple of six-packs the two men put away through the evening. Once we got home that first night, he’d even made a remark about what a good time he’d had with them, and how we should do it again. I’d been pleasantly surprised. After all, in high school, he hadn’t given the two of them the time of day.

Slowly, I got out of the lawn chair, and on bare feet, walked across the soft green lawn to retrieve the magazine. Now was as good a time as any to make a change, and I
did
want to be a good wife to Jake. I’d clip out that article and tape it somewhere where I could see it every day…and learn to live by it.

I grabbed the magazine, and as I straightened, I heard the first tinkling notes of the ice cream truck music from down the street. I held my breath, praying that Debby Ann would keep sleeping.
Just a few more minutes of peace, Lord.

But it wasn’t to be. As the ice cream truck approached and the music grew louder, I heard her calling out from her room. “Mommy, Mommy! Ice cream truck! Mommy, Debby Ann want ice cream! Mommy,
Mommy
!”

I sighed and headed for the back door.

Mother’s Almond Delight Cake

1 cup shortening

1 ½ cup sugar

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 ½ teaspoon almond extract

2 ½ cups self-rising flour

¾ cup milk

8 egg whites, beaten stiff

Heat oven to 325 degrees. Grease and dust 10” tube pan with flour. Cream shortening until light, gradually add sugar and mix until fluffy. Add extracts. Add flour and milk alternately, beginning with flour, fold in beaten egg whites. Turn into prepared pan. Bake 1 hour and 15 minutes. Cool in pan 20 minutes, then remove to cooling rack. When completely cooled, frost with almond icing.