Prayers and Lies (10 page)

I was crying by then. All I could do was hand her the letter. I watched her as she read it. Her face grew very white and still. She looked like a little old woman standing there. Her hand holding the letter shook so that she finally sat down, laid the letter on the bed, and leaned over to read it again. “Dear Lord,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Oh no.”

“Mama,” I whimpered. “Is Jolene gonna be okay?”

She wrapped me in a hug and held me tight while we both cried. “Yes, honey,” she finally said, pushing my bangs from my forehead to kiss me. “Jolene will be okay. And so will Reana Mae. And you know what?”

She stood as she said it.

“What?”

“We’re going down there and make sure they’re okay.”

She said it firmly and quietly. She wasn’t shaking now. She had decided what to do, and she was calm and steady.

“What about school?”

“You’ll just have to miss a few days,” she declared. “Because right now, Jolene and Reana Mae need us, and family comes first. So”—she was walking briskly around the room now—“you need to get some things together. Your pajamas and toothbrush, some clothes and socks and panties. Can you get your things together, Bethany?”

“Yes, Mother.” I was already pulling things out of my drawers. “Yes, I can get my things ready.”

“That’s my good girl.” She was heading down the stairs. “I’ll call the school and see if we can get some work for you to take with us, so you won’t fall behind. And I’ll have to cancel my meeting tomorrow night.” Her voice faded as she walked down the stairs.

“And, Bethany,” she called up from the bottom. “You might just put some of your old books in a bag for Reana Mae. Just a few that you’re done with. I’ll bet Reana could use an escape right now.”

“Yes, Mother!” I began pulling books from the shelves. What would Reana like? Trixie Belden mysteries? Nancy Drew? Definitely
Little Women
. I was sorting piles of books on the floor when Tracy came up the steps.

“What are you doing?” She stared at the room. My clothes were spread out on the bed. Books were scattered across the floor in small stacks.

“I’m getting some books for Reana Mae,” I answered, not looking up from my work.

“What?”

“Some books for Reana Mae. To take with us.”

Tracy stood for a moment, then pounded down the stairs. “Mother!” I heard her yelling. “Mother, what’s going on?”

A few minutes later, Tracy stormed back up the stairs, her face white, her eyes red, her nostrils flared. I shrank away from her, but she swept past me, flung herself down on her bed, and wailed. I sat uncertainly for a moment, then cautiously walked to the side of the bed.

“Are you okay, Tracy?”

“Leave me alone!”

“Are you crying for the baby?”

She sat up and stared at me, her face twisted in fury. “You just go on down to that hillbilly river, you little bitch. Go on down and be with your trashy twin and her whore mama! I don’t care if you never come back—either one of you! I hate you!”

Then I realized Tracy wasn’t coming with us. Only Mother and I were going. I stood before her silently. I didn’t know what to say. She stared back at me, shaking with rage. Finally, she flung herself down onto the bed again and wailed some more. I returned to my stacks of books, deciding on Beverly Cleary and Nancy Drew. Then I took my clothes and books down to Mother. She was packing in her room. She smiled wanly when I walked into the room, looking pale and very tired.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” She put my clothes in the suitcase with hers and found a bag for the books. Daddy came home then, and I was shooed outside so they could talk. I sat on the back porch glider with our cocker spaniel, Skipper, scratching his soft ears and shivering in the weak March sun until dinner.

We gathered at the kitchen table for supper. Melinda and Nancy were unusually quiet. They had been looking forward to babysitting next summer at the river. Nancy had even been knitting booties. Pink ones, because she was sure the baby was a girl. Tracy’s chair was empty as we bowed our heads for grace. And then, there she was—smiling, laughing, apologizing loudly for being late. She slid into her chair and helped herself to meat and noodles.

“Tracy,” my father began cautiously. “Your mother and I have been talking, and we were wondering if you’d like to spend a few days at Lynette’s while she and Bethany are gone. Would you like that?”

“Oh no, Daddy.” She smiled at him. “If I go to Lynette’s, who will take care of you?”

“Well, Nancy and Melinda will be here,” Mother said.

Tracy cut her off. “Oh, they can’t make tuna noodle casserole like me,” she said with a smile. “Besides, Nancy always has cheer-leading practice, and Melinda has track. I’ll stay here and take care of Daddy.” She fairly beamed at him, her eyes sparkling like an angel’s.

“Well, all right. If that’s what you want to do,” Mother said hesitantly.

“Good, then. That’s settled.” Daddy grinned. “You all go on down and take care of poor Jolene. Tracy will stay here and take care of her old man.”

Nancy and Melinda said nothing, just rolled their eyes at each other. At least their schedules wouldn’t be affected.

I went to bed early that night. Mother and I would leave first thing in the morning. But I couldn’t sleep until I heard Tracy’s even breathing. I was still in shock. Tomorrow, I was going to West Virginia with my mother … just the two of us in the middle of the school year. Would wonders never cease?

8
Spring Storms

W
e left the house before the sun rose. I sat proudly on the front seat beside Mother, my pillow and blanket bundled around me, and waved to Daddy and the girls as we backed out of the driveway. Tracy’s arm was wrapped through Daddy’s, and she smiled brightly as we drove down the street. Mother blew a kiss to them, then sighed. “I hope they’ll be all right,” she said.

She turned on the radio to the easy-listening station and reached over to pat my arm. “Why don’t you go back to sleep, sweetheart? It’s early, and we have a long trip ahead of us.”

I snuggled down in my seat, wrapping the blanket around me, and watched the familiar scenery pass. By the time we got on the interstate, I was asleep.

By mid-morning we were following the Ohio River, now catching glimpses of the water, now seeing only the grimy industry that lined the river’s edge. At noon we crossed the Ohio into West Virginia and began following the Kanawha River south. Now the road got rougher, the hills higher, the houses farther apart, and the tobacco barns more ramshackle. We were coming home.

*  *  *

Aunt Belle threw open the front door and pulled Mother into a hug. Then she reached for me, and I was enveloped in her soft, ample embrace. Belle gave the best hugs I’ve ever had.

“Come in, come in, you two.” She laughed. “Come in out of the cold. Helen, you must be stiff as a rod after that drive. It’s a shame Jimmy couldn’t come with you. Bethany Marie, let me look at you. Lands, child, you’ve grown a foot! Donna Jo, come and lay your eyes on my Bethany. If she ain’t grown a foot, you can call me a nigger! What are we standing here for? Come in, come in.”

Donna Jo appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron, smiling warmly. She hugged us, then took our suitcase from the porch and carried it upstairs.

I ran up the stairs and down the long, carpeted hall to the funny little wooden door at the very end. I turned the skeleton key in the lock, opened the door, and ran up the steep steps to the attic room. At the top I stopped and stared happily. This room was my favorite place in the world. It was L-shaped, each side furnished with a small, black iron bed, a bedside table with its own Bible, a three-drawer chest, and a round-backed upholstered rocking chair. Hand-stitched quilts adorned the beds, and a rag rug lay beside each.

Every summer we girls took turns spending nights at Aunt Belle’s—as many as Mother would allow. We always went in twos—Nancy and Melinda one weekend, Tracy and me the next. And we always slept in the attic room.

The room had two windows—one at each end of the L. You could lie in bed and look out at night and see a million stars in the heavens. But one window overlooked the road, while the other commanded the best view of the river in the whole valley. And that’s the window Tracy always demanded. Sometimes she let me climb into bed with her to watch out the window at night. But she never once let me sleep there myself. It was her bed, she said, because she was older.

Well, this time Tracy was in Indiana. The river window was mine. I ran back downstairs to get my clothes from the suitcase Mother was unpacking in the guest bedroom at the front of the house. The canopied bed was so tall, you had to use a step stool to climb into it. Mother looked like a little girl standing beside that tall bed. I climbed the step stool and plopped onto the feather mattress, relishing freedom after eight hours in the car.

“Mother, I get to sleep in the bed by the river window since Tracy’s not here!” I said happily, watching her unpack. “I’ve never slept in it before.”

She turned to look at me. “Never?”

I shook my head. “Tracy gets that bed, because she’s older. But this time I get it!”

She smiled at me, then bent over and kissed my forehead. “Sweetheart, you and Tracy were supposed to take turns.”

“Well, but she always wants it. And you know how she is….” I trailed off.

Mother sighed. “Yes, honey. I know how she is.” She put down the blouse she was holding, climbed up on the bed, and lay down beside me, pulling me close. “You must be patient with your sister, Bethany. I know she can be … well, hard. But you must always be patient with her. She may not seem like it, but Tracy is fragile. Do you know what that means?”

“You mean like your china cups?” I asked.

“Yes, that’s just exactly what I mean. Tracy is fragile like a china cup. She takes things so hard and feels things so very much, and sometimes I’m afraid … well, we all must be very patient with her. And very kind.”

“Yes, Mother.” I nodded, impatient to get back to the river window upstairs.

“Now,” she said, sitting up and surveying the room. “Take your things up and put them away. We’ll have lunch with Aunt Belle, and then we’ll go see Jolene and Reana Mae.”

After a late lunch of cold ham, cottage cheese, and macaroni salad, we put on our coats and walked to Bobby Lee and Jolene’s. Aunt Belle offered to drive us, but Mother and I wanted to walk.

“Tell Jolene I’m here if she needs anything,” Belle called after us. “She can’t be so stubborn that she don’t need her family now.”

In the March chill against a steel-gray sky, Jolene’s cabin looked smaller and drearier than I remembered. Plastic sheets were nailed over the windows, a metal trash can overflowed on the porch, and a huge sheet of blue plastic flapped from the roof in the wind. When we opened the gate to the yard, Bo loped around the corner of the house, woofed once at us, and wagged his tail hopefully. His coat was matted and dirty.

“Hey, Bo,” I said, patting his head. “Hey, buddy. How’re you?”

As if in response, he trotted to the porch and pawed at his empty bowl.

“Okay, buddy.” I nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you some dinner.”

Mother rapped briskly at the front door. She waited a moment, then knocked again. When no one answered, she called out, “Jo-lene! Reana Mae! It’s Helen. Are you home?”

I heard feet pounding on the wooden floor, and the door swung open. Reana Mae flew into Mother’s outstretched arms and began sobbing. “Aunt Helen! I knew you’d come. I knew you’d come help Mama.”

Mother stroked her tangled hair and kissed her upturned face. “It’s all right now, Reana Mae. I’ll help you take care of your mama.”

“Hey, Reana,” I said, suddenly shy. I’d never had to deal with trouble like Reana Mae was facing. I didn’t know how to help.

“Hey, Bethany!” She ran to hug me, too. Bo’s tail thumped the porch hopefully.

“Oh, Bo!” Reana Mae’s hand flew to her mouth and her cheeks reddened. “You poor thing, I forgot to feed you yesterday, didn’t I?” She stroked the dog’s head. “I’ll get you something right now, Bo.”

I looked back to the door and saw that Mother had walked into the cabin. I waited for Reana Mae and we followed her.

Inside the cabin was dark and cold. Mother stood silently in the front room, looking about uncertainly.

“Oh, Aunt Helen, I’m so glad you’re here,” Reana Mae said as she ran into the kitchen. “I can’t make the fire stay lit, and Mama won’t eat hardly nothing, and I don’t know how to make the washing machine work, and she won’t let me ask Granma for help.”

She reemerged, dragging a huge bag of dog food. “I got to feed Bo,” she said. “Mama’s in her room in bed. But I bet she’s awake. You can go on in.”

She went out on the porch again, and I followed. I didn’t want to stay inside the cabin.

Reana Mae filled Bo’s dish and we watched him wolf down the food as if he were starving.

“Poor thing,” she murmured. “I didn’t feed him yesterday. I can’t remember if I fed him the day before, either. It’s been so hard, Bethany,” she said, turning to me. “Mama won’t get out of bed at all, and I don’t know how to make her better. I’m afraid she’s gonna die of pure sadness.”

“Where’s your daddy?” I asked.

“He’s gone to look for Caleb.” She sat down on the front step and cupped her chin in her hands. “He came home and Granma told him about the baby. And he cried, Bethany. I never seen Daddy cry before. And then he went in to talk to Mama, and I heard them both crying. And I thought maybe Daddy would take care of Mama, and I could go back to school. But then it all blew up.”

She rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes. Her hands were red and chapped. Her fingernails had been chewed to the quick.

“What do you mean, it all blew up?”

“Daddy asked Mama how it happened, and she told him it was Caleb’s fault. She got real upset and started yellin’ that Caleb was wicked, like the devil’s own stepchild, and that’s why she lost the baby. So Daddy asked where Caleb was, and Mama told him how she sent him off. She was hollerin’ and cryin’ like she was being whipped. She kept saying Caleb was wicked, and it was his fault the baby died.”