The Optimist's Daughter (10 page)

“Poor little girl!” Major Bullock said. As he offered her one of the silver cups with whiskey and water in it—she let him go on holding it—he said again, “Poor little girl. I reckon you know you
get
the house and everything in it you want. And Laurel having her own good place in Chicago, she’ll be compensated as equally as we know how—”

“Oh, foot,” said old Mrs. Pease.

“I sure do know whose house this is,” said Fay. “But maybe it’s something a few other people are going to have to learn.”

Major Bullock lifted the cup he’d offered to her and drank it himself.

“Well, you’ve done fine so far, Wanda Fay,” said old Mrs. Chisom. “I was proud of you today. And proud for you. That coffin made me wish I could have taken it right away from him and given it to Roscoe.”

“Thank you,” said Fay. “It was no bargain, and I think that showed.”

“Still, I did the best
I
could. And I feel like Roscoe sits up there knowing it now,” said Mrs. Chisom. “And what more could you ask.”

“You drew a large crowd, too,” said Sis. “Without even having to count those Negroes.”

“I was satisfied with it,” said Fay.

“For the first minute, you didn’t act all that glad to see
us,”
said Sis. “Or was I dreaming?”

“Now, be sisters,” warned old Mrs. Chisom. “And I’m glad you broke down
when you did
, Wanda Fay,” she went on, wagging her finger. “There’s a time and a place for everything. You try begging for sympathy later on, when folks has gone back about their business, and they don’t appreciate your tears then. It just tries their nerves.”

“Wanda Fay, I’m sorry I can’t fool around here no longer,” said Bubba Chisom, handing her his empty plate. “A wrecking concern hasn’t got all that time to spare, not with all we got to do in Madrid.”

“Come on, then,” said Sis, who had pushed herself to her feet again. “Let’s get going before the children commence to fighting and Wendell starts giving trouble again. Wendell Chisom,” she said to the little
boy, “you can take this home to your mother: this is the first and last time you’re ever going to be carried to a funeral in any charge of me.” She took Laurel’s hand and shook it. “We thought a heap of your old dad, even if he couldn’t stay on earth long enough for us to get to know him. Whatever he was, we always knew he was just plain
folks.”

Through the open front door could be seen the old grandfather already outside with his hat on, walking around looking at the trees. The pecan tree there was filled with budding leaves like green bees spaced out in a hive of light. There was something bright as well in the old man’s hatband—the other half of his round-trip ticket from Bigbee.

“Wanda Fay,” said Mrs. Chisom, “let me ask you this: who’re you ever going to get to put in this house besides you?”

“What are you hinting at?” said Fay with a dark look.

“Tell you one thing, there’s room for the whole nation of
us
here,” Mrs. Chisom said, and stepping back into the hall she looked up the white-railed stairway. “In case we ever took a notion to move back to Mississippi.” She went outside and they heard her stepping along the front porch. “It’d make a good boarding house, if you could get your mother to come cook for ’em.”

“Great Day in the Morning!” exclaimed Miss Tennyson Bullock.

“Mama,” said Fay, “you know what? I’ve got a good mind this minute to jump in with you. And ride home with my folks to Texas.” Her chin was trembling as she named it. “Hear?”

“For how long do you mean to stay?” asked Mrs. Chisom, coming to face her.

“Just long enough.”

“You going to rush into a trip right now?” Major Bullock asked, going to her other side.

“Major Bullock,” she said, “I think when a person can see a free ride one way, the decision is made for them. And it just so happens I haven’t unpacked my suitcase.”

“I haven’t heard your excuse for going yet,” said Sis. “Have you got one?”

“I’d just like to see somebody that can talk my language, that’s my excuse. Where’s DeWitt?” Fay demanded. “You didn’t bring him.”

“DeWitt? He’s still in Madrid. He’s been in a sull ever since you married Judge McKelva and didn’t send him a special engraved invitation to the wedding,” said Bubba.

Fay gave them a tight smile.

Mrs. Chisom said, “I said, ‘DeWitt, now! You’re a brother just the same as Bubba is—and Roscoe was—and it’s your place to get up out of that sull and come on with us to the funeral. You can take the wheel in Lake Charles.’ But DeWitt is DeWitt, he expects his feelings to be considered.”

“He speaks my language,” said Fay. “I’ve got a heap to tell DeWitt.”

“You may have to stand out in front of his house and holler it, if you do,” said Bubba. “He’s got folks’ appliances stacked over ever’ blooming inch of space. You can’t hardly get in across those vacuum cleaners and power motors and bathroom heaters and old window fans, and not a one of ’em running. Hasn’t fixed a one. He can’t hardly get out of the house and you can’t get in.”

“I’ll scare him out of that sull,” said Fay.

“I think that’s just what he’s waiting for, myself,” said Sis. “I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, if it was me.”

Fay cried, “I don’t even mind standing up in the back and riding with the children!” She whirled and ran upstairs.

“You’ll wind up riding on my lap,” said her mother. “I know you.” She put her hand out and stopped a tray going by. “I wouldn’t mind taking some of that ham along, though,” she told Tish. “If it’s just going begging.”

Laurel followed Fay upstairs and stood in the bedroom door while Fay stuffed her toilet things into the already crammed suitcase.

“Fay, I wanted you to know what day I’ll be leaving,” she said. “So there’ll be no danger of us running into each other.”

“That suits me dandy.”

“I’m giving myself three days. And I’ll leave Monday on the three o’clock flight from Jackson. I’ll be out of the house around noon.”

“All right, then.” Fay slammed her suitcase shut. “You just try and be as good as your word.—I’m coming, Mama! Don’t you-all go off and leave me!” she yelled over Laurel’s head.

“Fay, I wanted to ask you something, too,” Laurel said. “What made you tell me what you did about your family? The time we talked, in the Hibiscus.”

“What did I say?” Fay challenged her.

“You said you had nobody—no family. You lied about your family.”

“If I did, that’s what everybody else does,” said Fay. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“Not lie that they’re dead.”

“It’s better than some lies I’ve heard around here!” cried Fay. She struggled to lift her suitcase, and Laurel, as if she’d just seen her in the deepest trouble, moved instinctively to help her. But Fay pushed on past her, dragging it, and hobbled in front of her, bumping her load a step ahead of her down the stairs. She had changed into her green shoes.

“I believe a few days with your own family would do you good,” Miss Tennyson Bullock said. In the dining room, all of them were waiting on their feet. “Eating a lot of fresh vegetables, and so forth.”

“Well, at least my family’s not hypocrites,” said Fay. “If they didn’t want me, they’d tell me to my face.”

“When you coming back?” asked Major Bullock, swaying a little.

“When I get ready.”

The clock struck for half-past twelve.

“Oh, how I hate that old striking clock!” cried Fay. “It’s the first thing I’m going to get rid of.”

They were taking old Mr. Chisom as far as the bus station, to be sure he found it.

“You got a lot of fat squirrels going to waste here,” the old man said, bending down to Laurel, and she was unprepared for it when he kissed her goodbye.

At last they were in the truck, rolling down the driveway to the street.

“Poor little woman. Got a bigger load than she knows yet how to carry by herself,” said Major Bullock, waving.

Wendell was the only Chisom visible now, standing at the very back of the truck. He pulled one of his guns out of the holster and rode off shooting it at them. No noise came but his own thin, wistful voice.

“Pow! Pow! Pow!”

The few who were left walked back into the house. The silver tray on the hall table held a heap of calling cards, as though someone had tried to build a little house with them. Beside it lay a candy box with the picture of a pretty girl on the dusty lid.

“Old Mr. Chisom gave me all those pecans he
brought,” said Laurel, sighing. “I don’t know why. Then he kissed me when he left.”

“I believe he thought you must be Fay,” said Miss Adele gently.

“I’m making myself a little toddy,” said Miss Tennyson, adding sugar to something in a glass. “Do you know, Laurel, who was coming to my mind the whole blessed way through?
Becky!”

“Of course,” said Miss Adele.

“And all I did was thank my stars she wasn’t here. Child, I’m glad your mother didn’t have to live through that. I’m glad it was you.”

“Foot! I’m mad at you for not getting the house,” old Mrs. Pease told Laurel. “After all, I’m the one that’s got to go on living next door.” She went home.

The others were leaving too. “Rupert, I could brain you for roping in those Chisoms,” said Miss Tennyson, as the Major took her by the arm.

“I thought they’d be the answer to her prayers, poor little woman. And Clint jotted the list of ’em down for me just the day he took off for New Orleans. In case she needed ’em.”

“And she did,” said Miss Adele.

“I still can’t believe it!” the Major loudly said, as the Bullocks helped each other toward the old Chrysler. “Can’t believe we’ve all come off and left him in the ground!”

“Rupert,” said Miss Tennyson, “now listen to me. Believe it. Now you get busy and believe it. Do you
hear what I say? Poor Clinton’s in Heaven right now.”

Miss Adele took a step toward the kitchen, and then Missouri clinked some glasses back there. Miss Adele lifted her empty hands for a moment, and dropped them.

Laurel touched her own to one of hers, and watched her go.

Three

1

L
AUREL, KNEELING
, worked among the iris that still held a ragged line along the back of the house up to the kitchen door. She’d found the dark-blue slacks and the blue cardigan in her suitcase—she’d packed them as automatically as she’d packed her sketchbook. She felt the spring sun gently stinging the back of her neck and she listened to other people talk. Her callers sat behind her and over to the side, in the open sunshine.

“Well, we got her out of the house,” Miss Tennyson Bullock said. “Fay’s gone!”

“Don’t brag too soon,” said old Mrs. Pease.

These four elderly ladies were all at home in the McKelva backyard. Cardinals, flying down from low branches of the dogwood tree, were feeding here and there at the ladies’ crossed feet. At the top of the tree, a mockingbird stood silent over them like a sentinel.

“I used to waste good time feeling sorry for Clint. But he’s in Heaven now. And if she’s in Texas, I can just sit here in sunshine and be glad for
our
sakes,” Miss Tennyson said. She had the ancient deck chair, which engulfed her like a hammock. “Of course, Major daily expects her back.”

“Oh, but not to stay, do you think? In Mount Salus without a husband?” asked Mrs. Bolt, the minister’s
wife. She promptly reassured herself. “No, she won’t last long. She’ll go away.”

“I wouldn’t count on it if I were you,” said old Mrs. Pease. “You got a peep at her origins.”

“Ask yourself what other roof than this she’d rather have over her head, and you’ve got your answer,” said Miss Tennyson.

“What did she do with herself while he was
here?”
exclaimed Mrs. Bolt.

“Nothing but sit-and-eat,” said Miss Tennyson. “And keep straight on looking like a sparrow.”

“She had to eat. Had nothing else to do to occupy her hands,” said Mrs. Pease, holding up a perfectly enormous afghan she was knitting as if by the porcelain light of the dogwood tree.

“Oh, surely you know she was occupied enough with this great big house to care for.” Miss Adele tilted up her face at it. The faint note of mockery that belonged in her voice had come back today.