Tallgrass (18 page)

“I thought no such thing. Hazel. You weren’t to blame.”

“Who’s to say? I haven’t been such a good wife. It’s no wonder he took up with her. You know what a temper I have. And I still get those awful headaches. Who wants to be married to a woman who spends so much of her time lying down in a dark room with a washrag on her head?”

“The headaches aren’t your fault.” There was a clink of ice. “At any rate, the girl’s gone.”

“Girl!” Cousin Hazel sniffed. “You might as well call a mutton lamb!” She took a minute to get control of herself. “But yes, she joined the WAVEs, thank the Lord, and Walter’s come to his senses. He says he doesn’t know what got into him. He liked her very well, but I don’t think it was love. He’s begged me a hundred times to forgive him, and I have. Still, you forgive, but you don’t forget. He’s forgotten, I think, but I just can’t, not in the middle of the night, at any rate. I start thinking about the two of them together and . . .” She gave a nervous laugh. “It’s like shivering over last year’s snow, but I can’t help it.”

“Some things you never forget. I expect this is one of them. But you deal with them. That’s what women do.”

I sagged into the chair, heavy with the secrets I’d heard. Cousin Walter, that nice man who fixed drinks for his wife every evening, had committed adultery. I’d thought it was foul-smelling men like Mr. Reddick who went to bed with women who weren’t their wives, that it was part of their nature. Was adultery part of Cousin Walter’s nature? Why hadn’t Cousin Hazel walked out on him? She could have gotten a job, but doing what? Working at the war plant with Marthalice or in a drugstore like Helen Archuleta? Maybe Cousin Hazel didn’t have any choice but to stay with Cousin Walter and make the best of things. I wished I could ask Marthalice about all that.

“You didn’t mention it to Loyal.”

“No, of course not. It’s not his business. And he wouldn’t understand anyway. Men don’t, you know. They understand it’s wrong, but they don’t know how the pain lingers, how it hits you at the oddest moments.”

“You do understand, then. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it had happened to you.”

“Oh, no,” Mom said quickly. “But I had a friend who went through it. More than one friend, in fact.”

“In Ellis?” Cousin Hazel laughed. “Oh, Mary, you do me a world of good.”

I think they might have hugged then, but I didn’t dare look around the edge of the chair to see. I’d overheard more secrets in the last few minutes than I had in my whole life.

After a moment, Mom said, “I wonder where Rennie’s got to. I’m glad I don’t have to worry about that one.”

They pushed back their chairs and took their glasses into the kitchen, and there was the sound of running water. Then the two of them went upstairs, and I opened Cousin Walter’s dictionary, but I’d forgotten the word I was going to look up.

MOM SPENT MOST OF
the week resting, while Cousin Hazel and I rode the streetcar downtown. She took me on my first elevator ride, to the top of the Daniels & Fisher Tower, and introduced me to a doorman who was seven feet tall. I found postcards at Kress to send to Betty Joyce and a record at Wells Music for Daisy, and Cousin Hazel bought fabric for Granny’s quilts at Joslin’s. We went into the hat department of Neusteter’s and bought a hat for Mom, because “nothing makes a woman feel better than a new hat,” Cousin Hazel told me. We talked with the saleslady about the colors and the shapes and the style. Then we decided on a brown felt hat with a maroon bow and a dark brown feather. “It will broaden her face, and the color’s right. It’s not as fancy as what she ought to have, but she won’t be embarrassed to wear it to church,” Cousin Hazel said. I thought again how lucky Mom was to have women who loved her. Dad would have bought her a hoe. From time to time, I peeked at Cousin Hazel, looking for some sign that she was a wronged woman, but I didn’t know what to look for.

“Is Mom really sick?” I asked after we had finished shopping and were eating ice-cream sundaes at Baur’s.

“Why do you ask that, Rennie?”

We were sitting at the counter, and I twisted around a little on the stool. “Well, she’s been sick since last fall, and you took her to the doctor.”

Cousin Hazel nodded. “I don’t think it’s anything for you to worry about.”

“No, ma’am.” I wasn’t going to get information out of Cousin Hazel.

She stirred her ice cream and chocolate sauce together. “It’s not my place to talk about your mother’s health. I think you should ask her.” She took my hand and squeezed it. “She told me you’d offered to stay out of school to care for her. That was a generous thing to do.”

I shrugged.

“You like school, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“She didn’t know if Marthalice was college material, but it would break your mother’s heart if you didn’t go. She says you’re the smart one. Your parents think the world of you.”

THE DAY BEFORE MOM
and I left, Cousin Walter drove all of us, including Marthalice, up to Lookout Mountain in the Packard for a picnic. After I heard that he’d cheated on Cousin Hazel, I didn’t know if I could look him in the eye. But I did, because he was Cousin Walter, and I liked him, and I kept forgetting he was a sinner. When he thought nobody was looking, Cousin Walter pinched Cousin Hazel’s bottom through her slacks, and she giggled. I didn’t think Mrs. Reddick would want Mr. Reddick to pinch her.

Cattie had fixed a lunch basket, and we ate it at a picnic table under pine trees. “We sure are going to miss you people, and not just because of the chicken,” Cousin Walter said, holding up a drumstick.

“You’ll have to make this an annual visit,” Cousin Hazel said.

“I wish you folks would come and visit us,” Mom told them.

“I’d like that. Do you think we could do that, Walter?”

“Loyal’d put me to work.”

“He might at that. Yes, he might,” Mom said. She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye, and I knew we both were trying to imagine Cousin Walter bending over the sugar beets in his suit. “You could bring Marthalice with you.” Mom turned to Marthalice. “We sure would like to see you at home for a visit, honey. Your dad would, too. He misses you.”

Marthalice bit the nail of her index finger. “I know, Mom. I’d like to, but I have to work. It’s hard getting time off. The work we do, they need us. It’s for the war effort.”

Cousin Hazel said, “Mary, couldn’t Loyal come here and see Marthalice? Surely those boys could work the beets for a day or two without him.”

“Oh, you know Loyal and the beets.”

A chipmunk ran up a rock near us, and Cousin Walter pinched off a piece of chicken skin and threw it to him. The chipmunk ate it and ran off. Cousin Walter threw another piece to a black-and-white bird; then another bird flew down, and the two of them began squabbling. “Hold on there,” Cousin Walter said, but he didn’t throw any more food.

Cousin Hazel took out a cake with white icing and cut big pieces. The cake was red inside. “Ooh, look at that,” Mom said.

“Red velvet cake. It’s only food coloring. I’ll give you the recipe, Mary.”

“fust wait until the Jolly Stitchers see that.”

“They’ll think you’re a red Commie,” said Cousin Walter, teasing Mom.

“Well, yes, they might. They might at that.”

After we ate the cake, Marthalice closed her eyes and turned her face to the sun and smiled. Cousin Walter asked her, “You meet any nice young fellows at that place where you work, Marthalice?”

“Nope. There aren’t many fellows who work there, mostly girls.” Marthalice opened her eyes. “But I met a boy at the ballroom at Elitch’s a couple of weeks ago. He’s in the Army Air Corps. I’m going to see him again Saturday night.”

Mom looked surprised. “I don’t like the way that sounds.”

“It’s all right, Mom. That’s where everybody meets. Maybe he won’t even show up.” She gave a nervous laugh, which didn’t sound like Marthalice at all. She used to be sure of herself around boys.

We all sat in the sun after that, letting the lunch settle, until the clouds came over. Cousin Walter said it was going to rain, that it always rained in the afternoon in the mountains. We packed the leftovers in the basket, and Cousin Walter carried it to the car. Mom and Cousin Hazel followed him, while Marthalice and I folded the tablecloth.

I’d been thinking about Marthalice coming home, and I said, “Maybe you could ask if you could get time off to help with the beets. That’s war work, too, you know. You could ask.”

Marthalice laughed and kicked at a rock, sending it skidding down the mountainside, with a stream of dirt behind it. “Maybe I don’t want to. Have you thought about that? Maybe I don’t want to go back to Ellis.”

I
hadn’t
thought about that. I couldn’t imagine Marthalice never coming home.

MOM AND I GOT
a seat together on the train going east, and she went to sleep right away. When she woke up, we unpacked Cattie’s lunch, but Mom wasn’t hungry.

“Cousin Hazel said you asked her if I was really sick,” Mom said.

I didn’t reply.

“Well, I’m not going to die.”

“Are you pretty sick?”

“I could be. My heart’s weak. The doctor says if I want to get well, I’ll have to stay in bed and rest up, more than before. And I intend to do that. Lord knows how your father would get along by himself.”

“Me, too.”

“It’s all right, Rennie. I don’t intend for either one of you to have to. It’s hard work to die, and I haven’t the time for it.” Then Mom added, “I don’t like putting the burden on the two of you, especially on you.”

“I don’t mind. Besides, Daisy does a lot of the work.”

“Not all of it. I couldn’t manage without you, Rennie.” She squeezed my hand. “You mustn’t let on to Marthalice how sick I am. I wasn’t going to tell either one of you, but I decided you have a right to know, since you’ll be taking over so much of the responsibility for me. You can handle it, but your sister’s different. She’s not very strong, and I don’t want to upset her. You mustn’t write her about me.”

Suddenly, I knew that it was Marthalice, not me, who was too fragile to deal with Mom’s heart trouble. I squeezed her hand in return, relieved and happy that Mom had confided in me. “I won’t.”

“You’re getting awful big now. You do your part and more. And there’s not many girls your age I’d trust with keeping secrets.” She put her head against the window then and closed her eyes, and I stared out at the sky, which was streaked with pink and rose, like the marble soda fountain at Baur’s. The train whistle sounded long and low over the prairie, and I watched as the light faded and the sky turned black. And then I realized Mom knew I had overheard her conversation with Cousin Hazel. And she knew I’d keep it to myself.

SOMETIME IN THE NIGHT,
the conductor came through the car calling out “Ellis,” and Mom shook me awake, and we gathered our things. A soldier sitting across the aisle helped Mom take down the suitcases and then carried them to the door of the car. When the train came to a stop, there was Dad waiting for us, and the soldier handed down our baggage to him.

We were the only ones who got off at Ellis. I went down the steps first, and Dad grinned and grabbed me. When he set me down, he said, “Well, hi there, Squirt. I wondered where you’d got to.” Then the conductor helped Mom down. When she stepped off the little stool, she hugged Dad so hard that he took a step backward and said, “Here now. What’s this all about? Here now.”

BOTH MOM AND DAD
were quiet as we left the station. Smoky Blessinger, who ran the depot at night, sold tickets, helped passengers up the steps to the trains, loaded freight onto the big carts, and wrote down the telegraph messages, waved when he saw us and called, “Miz Stroud, I’d like to say—”

Dad cut him off. “Not now, Smoke. Can’t you see Mrs. Stroud and the girl’s just got home? And they’re plenty wore-out.” Then Dad hurried us to Red Boy, while Mr. Blessinger stood on the platform, his arm still raised in greeting.

“How’s Granny?” Mom asked.

“She didn’t even know you were gone. But I did. I got awful lonesome.”

“That’s good, I guess. You left her alone?”

“Only for a few minutes. I waited till I heard the train whistle. She was asleep. There’s not time enough for her to get into trouble.”

Mom managed only a little smile, because she was tired from the long trip, her face hollow and as gray-white as the freight wagon that stood out bleak and splintery in the light that puddled in big circles around the electric poles beside the tracks. When she got into the truck, Mom sagged against the seat and laid her head back on the worn wool upholstery. Dad seemed worried about her, anxious to know what the doctor had said, but he wouldn’t ask her about it just then, because he didn’t know that her condition was not a secret from me. He kept glancing at her as we turned onto the Tallgrass Road. After the noise of Denver, the countryside sounds were comforting—a dog barking, a coyote yelping, the knocking of the engine, dirt crunching under the truck’s tires. As the headlights swept the fields beside us, I saw the long rows of sugar beets, which seemed to have grown a foot since we’d been away. A cat ran in front of the truck, and Dad braked and swore softly. “Dad blamed thing!” But he didn’t hit it.

Mom opened her eyes, startled, and looked around until Dad explained. “Somebody’s fool cat near got itself killed, by Dan. Cats!” It seemed as if he was taking out something on them.

“Hazel’s neighbor’s got a cat,” Mom said. “The woman had its claws taken out. So’s now it can’t protect itself, and it has to stay in the house all the time. She talks to it in baby talk, like it’s a regular person. I never understand why people’s so crazy to treat animals like they’re human.”

“Unless they’re chickens,” Dad said, and smiled. But the glance he gave Mom was raw with hurt. He must have been plenty worried about what she’d learned from the doctor. I wanted her to tell him right then that she was going to be all right, that all she needed was rest. But it wasn’t my place to speak up.

Mom closed her eyes and didn’t see his look. “Oh, hush up.”

“Chickens are different, all right,” Dad said. He patted Mom’s hand, leaving his palm on top of it until he had to shift gears.

“I saw a polar bear when we were in Denver, a stuffed one, a polar bear and a cub at the natural history museum,” I said. “And we went to Elitch Gardens, and I rode a roller coaster. I didn’t throw up, either.”

Dad didn’t reply right away, and I thought he hadn’t heard me. Then he said, “Why don’t you tell me about it after a bit, Squirt.”

I was disappointed that Dad didn’t want to hear about our trip. He’d probably worked hard while we were away and was tired, too. I wondered if maybe there was another reason that he was upset. Something could have gone wrong with the beets, or a bad thing might have happened with the boys. I thought perhaps someone at the camp had caused problems. Then I wondered if the sheriff had caught the man who’d killed Susan. I hoped so. That would make it a good summer. Everybody would feel easier about the camp, and people wouldn’t be so edgy about the Japanese. They’d say Dad had been right all along to hire the boys, and kids at school would admire me for not fighting. But if Susan’s killer had been caught, Dad would have told us right away. Perhaps there was an attack on the camp or another murder, and Dad didn’t want to let us know about it. The awfulness came back to me.

I leaned against the cold metal of the truck door and shivered despite the summer warmth, looking off into the fields, which were dark after the headlights passed them by. At Cousin Hazel’s house in Denver, the night was always brightened by porch lights or the streetlamps at the corners of the blocks, but here in the country, the fields were a comforting, velvety darkness, illuminated only by the stars and then the glow from the camp. I put my head back against the seat, like Mom, and thought about Susan until Dad stopped the truck. I reached for the door, but Dad said, “Stay put,” and he got out and opened the gate, then drove through, got back out and closed the gate, and drove to the back of the house.

I opened the truck door, and Dad came around to help Mom down, but she said, “Loyal, I’m not dead yet. I guess I can make it to my own house.”

Still, he took her arm, and she didn’t resist. He walked inside with her, holding on to her all the way to the bedroom. Then he and I carried in the suitcases and the shopping bag of things Cousin Hazel had sent home with us. He asked me to check on Granny, then said, “Daisy left you your supper in the refrigerator. I’ll see if your mother wants a bite to eat.” And then he did the oddest thing. He went into the bedroom after Mom and shut the door.

I wished he knew he didn’t have to shut me out of the conversation about the doctor. But maybe she hadn’t told me everything. She wouldn’t lie to me, I thought. Mom wouldn’t do that, of course, but she might have left out some of the truth. I rummaged around in the shopping bag for Granny’s material, then picked up my suitcase and carried it upstairs, stopping at the door to Granny’s room and looking in. She was making little gurgling sounds like babies do in their sleep, so I tiptoed in and placed the material on her bed, where she would see it when she woke up. After I put my suitcase in my room, I went back downstairs and got out cold ham and bread and a dish of canned tomatoes. I set them on the table, wondering if I ought to just go to bed and forget about supper. I was tired enough to fall asleep with my head in my plate. Then I saw a rhubarb pie with two pieces gone—Dad’s and Granny’s—and I thought I could stay awake long enough to eat rhubarb pie.

I stooped and reached for it, and as I did, I heard Mom cry from the bedroom, “Oh! Oh no, Loyal!”

Dad said something that I couldn’t understand.

Then Mom cried again, “Oh no! No!” She began to sob. I’d never heard her make those sounds, which were almost like hiccups.

I stood up, staring in the direction of the bedroom, the icebox door open, the cold chilling my side. Something terrible had happened, and it wasn’t about Mom’s heart. I stood there in the cold from the refrigerator, thinking again about Susan Reddick, when Dad came out of the room and said, “Daughter, get your mother a glass of water.” He never used the word
daughter
unless he was angry.

“What?”

“Did you not hear me?” His voice was sharp, and I wondered if I’d done something wrong.

“What happened? And why are you mad at me?”

He didn’t answer me, just stood there, and I wasn’t sure he’d heard my question. I shut the refrigerator door, took the drinking glass we kept beside the sink, filled it, and handed it to him, and he returned to the bedroom. Since he didn’t close the door, I followed him. Mom was perched on the edge of the bed. Her hat was on the dresser, along with her earrings and watch, and she’d taken off her stockings and shoes and was sitting in her dress, barefoot. Her face was weary with fatigue, and it was as white and bleak as a winter morning.

Dad sat down next to her, making the bed sag and the springs squeak. He held the glass while she drank in small sips, but she had trouble swallowing, and the water trickled out of the sides of her mouth. She wiped her face with her hand. Then she sniffed and reached for her pocketbook, took out a handkerchief, and blew her nose. She saw me then and reached out both arms. We weren’t much of a hugging family, and I walked to her slowly, confused, wondering what was wrong. “Tell her,” Mom said to Dad, her voice breaking.

Dad opened his mouth, but he couldn’t speak.

“Is it another murder?” I asked. “Is it another girl?” Then I saw the yellow telegram on the dresser, the lines of type all in capital letters, and I remembered Mr. Blessinger calling to Mom at the station. I took the final steps to Mom and sank to my knees, burying my head in her lap, just as I had when I was a little girl and I was scared. “It’s Buddy, isn’t it? Is Buddy dead?”

“Oh, no, Squirt,” Dad said quickly. He patted my arm awkwardly with a hand that was calloused and rough. There was a line of pinpoint scabs on his wrist, maybe where he’d scraped it on a barbed-wire fence, and a trace of Mercurochrome. “He’s not dead. Our Bud’s missing.”

“What?” I’d thought about Buddy getting killed or even hurt, coming home with a broken leg and having to hobble around on a crutch or with his arm in a sling. I’d even considered that Bud might lose an arm or a leg and thought how I would be proud that he’d lost it fighting for his country. I knew I wouldn’t be embarrassed or act the way Billy Lutens did when his dad was discharged from the army because his right hand had been shot off. Billy walked on his dad’s left side and turned his face away when he saw the end of his dad’s empty shirtsleeve. Big boys teased Billy about things Mr. Lutens couldn’t do with his hands anymore, like clap and shift gears, and Billy cried. But I’d have fought anybody who called Buddy a cripple.

Dad reached over for the telegram. “It says here, ’The secretary of war has asked me to express his deep regret that your son, Pvt. Loyal Thomas Stroud, Jr., is missing in action . . . .’” Dad’s voice broke, and he put down the telegram and cleared his throat. “There’s more, but that’s about the gist of it. The telegram came two days ago. I didn’t want to call you and Mother in Denver. It wouldn’t have been right to tell you over the telephone.” He cleared his throat again. “Smokey Blessinger himself brought it out at the end of his shift, instead of giving it to some blabbermouth kid. I said to him, ’Keep your trap shut till the womenfolk get back,’ and I guess he must have, ’cause none of the bees have come calling. The telegram tells there’s a letter to follow.”

“Does Granny know?” I asked, getting to my feet.

Dad shook his head. “I don’t see any need to tell her. She’d likely forget, and we’d just have to tell her all over again.”

“When they say he’s missing, does that mean he’s dead and they can’t find him?” I thought about Bud half-buried in the mud somewhere or lost in a forest, lying dead under the bushes, just like a dog or a cat that had wandered off when it was hurt. Soldiers would hunt for him, call his name, but after a while, they’d give up. Maybe they’d stop looking for him before Buddy was dead. I began to shake, thinking of Bud dying like that, lonely, his body lost forever. He’d rot into the earth like some wild animal. There wouldn’t be a grave, and Mom couldn’t go to the cemetery with a jar of flowers. Even Susan Reddick had a grave.

“Oh!” Mom said, as if somebody had slapped her on the back and the air had gone out of her. She made room for me between them on the bed, and I was glad the three of us were together to share our grief. Mom and I couldn’t have dealt with it alone. Dad had been right not to call us in Denver, but how had he borne it by himself? “You don’t really think he’s dead, do you, Loyal?”

“I don’t think he is, Mary. The telegram doesn’t say so, and they’d tell us if they knew.”

“That’s it, isn’t it—
if
they knew. Maybe they don’t know.”

“What does that mean, ’missing in action’?” I asked. “How can they miss him?”

Dad took a deep breath and put his arm around me. “It probably means he’s been captured.”

“By the Germans?”

Dad nodded.

Mom began to cry. She put her hands together and slid them between her knees and looked down at her feet. Her legs were tan, but her feet and ankles were white from wearing socks when she worked outside in the sun.

“Is he hurt?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Dad said. “If he’s been captured, the Germans have to let the Red Cross know about it. Then the Red Cross will tell the U.S. government. They’ll let us know where he’s at. I expect that’ll take a month or so. Then we’ll be able to write him, send him packages. Mother can make him a quilt.” He gave a hoarse chuckle.

Mom looked up and said, “Oh, Loyal, how can you joke at a time—” Then she looked at me and said, “And Bird Smith will make him a batch of her awful cookies.”

“Fine and dandy,” Dad said, and they glanced at each other over my head as if they were making a pact to look on the bright side.

“I’ll cut out ’Terry and the Pirates’ for him,” I said, playing my part in the conspiracy.

“Sure you will,” Dad said a little too forcefully.

But if there was a bright side, I didn’t see it. I pictured Buddy being guarded by ugly Huns with mustaches, evil men who looked like Hitler, who’d prod Buddy with rifles and yell orders at him in a language he didn’t understand. They’d have ferocious dogs they’d sic on my brother and other brave American boys. The Germans would make him sleep on the ground without any blankets, and they’d feed him watery soup, or maybe they wouldn’t give him anything at all to eat. Then I remembered Tallgrass and the barracks the Japanese lived in and the mess halls where they ate. And I thought about Mr. Tappan and the men who were employed as guards there and the way they treated the Japanese. I hoped the German guards would be just like them, decent fellows who worked crossword puzzles with the inmates and showed them pictures of their children. Some of the guards rode on the yellow dogs with the football team from the Tallgrass High School and cheered for the Japanese boys. If the German guards were like that, Buddy would be all right. Then something else occurred to me, and I said, “Maybe after a bit, they’ll give Buddy a pass to work on a farm,” I turned to Mom and said. “Maybe some German farmer like Dad will hire Buddy to work in his fields. Buddy wouldn’t have to fight anymore. He could spend the rest of the war working sugar beets.”

Dad squeezed my shoulder until it almost hurt. “Why, Squirt, I guess if something like that happened, I don’t see but what it’d be all right.”