The Pecan Man (7 page)

“We’re planning on eating at
two, Eddie. I hope you’re not starving…”

My voice trailed off
helplessly. I generally keep my feet out of my mouth when I’m entertaining, but
this one was wedged in tight. I didn’t even try to take it out.

“I’ll be right back. I need to
check on Blanche’s progress and see if she needs any help.”

Eddie did not reply, but if I
wasn’t mistaken, I’d swear there was a twinkle in his eye that I had never seen
before. And I’m dead positive I heard him chuckle when I left the room.

We sat down to Thanksgiving
dinner promptly at 2 p.m. Marcus sat at one end of the long formal dining table
and I at the other end. I had intended to do place cards, but didn’t, and Grace
had that under control anyway. Directly at my left sat Grace, who had
established that seating arrangement immediately upon learning that it was her
personal responsibility to keep me company. She sat “Mr. Pecan”, as she called
him, on the other side of herself and directly across from her mother. Patrice
was to my right and the twins sat on either side of Marcus at the other end.
Eight of us - just right for my old mahogany table, which had scarcely been
used in the past forty years and possibly never used to seat an entire family
at once.

Blanche set a steaming bowl of
giblet gravy on the table and took her seat. Hands immediately reached out to
each other around the table. I took a deep breath. I had never prayed aloud
that I could remember. Walter had always done that for us. After his death, I mostly
ate alone and so I bowed my head and thanked God silently before every meal. I
suddenly couldn’t remember the etiquette for this situation. All I could manage
was, “Who would like to say Grace for us?”

Grace sputtered, “Why you want
somebody to say my name?”

Blanche jumped in with, “Hush,
child!”

Marcus looked flustered and
deferred to Blanche, who closed her eyes, took a deep breath, opened her eyes,
breathed out and said gently, “Eddie, would you please ask the blessing for
us?”

Of all the silly notions… I
couldn’t believe Blanche would do such a thing to that poor old man. Why, she
couldn’t possibly know if he even believed in God, much less worshiped Him.

Eddie nodded, his voice
cracking slightly as he began, “Father God, have mercy on us po’ sinners
gathered before you on this fine, fine day. Father, we are grateful for this
food and for these friends and we ax’ yo’ blessin’ on us all.” His voice
gathered strength with each word and I was reminded of the evangelists I heard
on television. There was a pleasant rhythm to the way he spoke, and not just
because of the sharp smacking noises that provided percussion to his words.

“Forgive us, Father, for our
transgressions and keep us mindful of yo’ sacrifice every single day. Lawd,
make us truly thankful for all these things you have done, in Jesus’ name,
Amen.”

“Amen!” was the chorus that
preceded the next thirty minutes of feeding frenzy. Marcus carved the turkey as
if he had been doing that task for years, and he probably had. Grace chattered
happily to her new friend, the Pecan Man. If the events of two months prior had
any lasting effect, you wouldn’t know it by the way Grace responded to Eddie.

Blanche had convinced the child
that her horror in September was all a bad dream. That was how she had handled
it with her other children as well. Grace had had a bad dream and it frightened
her terribly, so no one was to discuss it. End of story. I wasn’t convinced it
was a good way to deal with the situation, but it seemed to be working for now.

I was a little overwhelmed by
the noise at the table at first, but I was soon laughing heartily at the antics
of Grace and the twins and the stories that Marcus shared of life at boot camp.

I finally got around to asking
Eddie where he’d been for the past few weeks. Seems his daughter had sent him a
bus ticket to come to Alabama for a visit. I asked why he didn’t just stay down
there, but he offered little in the way of explanation.

“Some things just ain’t meant
to be, Miz Beckworth. We’s both better off not bein’ too close.”

“That must be hard for you.”

“Not really,” he replied with a
shrug. “We ain’t never had too much in common. This here some good cawnbread
dressin’ Miz Blanche. You make this?”

Moves like that didn’t bode
well for my prying. I focused on eating my cranberry gelatin.

After dinner Blanche and
Patrice cleared the table, Grace and the twins turned on the television set in
the living room and the two men and I retired to the porch. Eddie seemed to be
anxious to get home, but Blanche was packing him up some leftovers to take with
him. Not too much, for it wouldn’t keep without refrigeration, even with the
nights turning cooler now.

The three of us rocked in
silence for quite a while. I think back to those moments now and I realize just
how quickly whole lives can be altered. Sometimes, it’s just a few words here
or there that put things in motion and everything you believe about yourself
changes. Things you couldn’t have dreamed you’d do are done in the blink of an
eye.

If Blanche had packed faster,
if Marcus had headed upstairs to finish fixing that leaky faucet, if I had
never invited Eldred Mims to Thanksgiving dinner, Skipper Kornegay might still
be alive today.

“How’s dat l’il girl doin’?”

The question from Eldred came
out of the blue. I half-choked on my tea and sputtered, “Who, Gracie?”

“I felt awful bad ‘bout what
happened to her. I didn’t hardly know what to do but bring ‘er on home that day
I found ‘er.”

Marcus was leaning forward in
his chair with an expression on his face that even I couldn’t read. It was
shock, I suppose.

“You found her?” I blurted out.
I suppose I should have been able to cover better than I did, but I had never
asked Blanche how the child got home that day. I just assumed she had come of
her own accord and Blanche had not wanted to speak of any of the details.

“Yeah, I’s the one what found
her, cryin’ fo’ her mama like she was. I like to never got to sleep that night
f’ worryin’ ‘bout that chile.”

“Found her where?” Marcus found
his voice. “What’s he talking about, Miz Beckworth?”

Now it was Eddie’s turn to look
shocked. I was equally stunned and I just sat with my mouth half-opened for a
minute. I hadn’t been prepared to tell an outright lie and, at that moment, all
my upbringing screamed, “Don’t!” Unfortunately, I couldn’t tell if that meant
don’t
lie
or don’t
tell
. So, with my heart beating that one
single word, I said, “Oh, Gracie just had an accident, that’s all.”

“What kind of accident?” Marcus
demanded to know.

“I think I done talked outta
turn,” Eddie managed. “I thought the family knowed all about it.”

“Blanche didn’t want to worry
anyone, is all.” My voice quaked under the strain of lying.

“What happened to Gracie, Miz
Beckworth? I thought she just had a bad dream about something.”

“Marcus, you’re gonna have to
talk to your Mama about this.”

Eddie stood. “I got to go. I’m
sorry, Miz Beckworth. I didn’t mean no harm.”

“Wait, Eddie. Blanche is
packing your food.”

“No, I got to go.”

He was off the porch and
halfway down the sidewalk when Blanche appeared at the door with a Winn Dixie
bag packed with leftovers for Eddie to take with him.

“Where’s he…”

“What happened to Grace, Mama?”
Marcus clenched and unclenched his fists with nervous energy.

“Oh, Lord, help me,” was all
Blanche could manage before she sunk into the nearest chair and dropped the
sack of food to the floor.

It happened so fast, I still
wasn’t sure how much damage had been done. I wracked my brain to remember every
word that had been said in case Blanche could stick with her dream story
without Marcus being certain she was lying. Blanche looked up at me with that
very question on her face.
How am I going to do this?

Not being privy to the whole
discussion, Blanche had no clue how to proceed. I tried to fill in for her, but
as is probably already apparent, I’m not altogether quick on my feet.

“Eddie was just asking after
Gracie, Blanche. He wanted to know how she was doing after she had that
accident and he brought her on home.”

“Oh,” Blanche nodded, “the
accident.” She wasn’t particularly convincing if you ask me.

“Gracie just fell over some
rocks on her way over to Miz Ora’s house and Eddie was kind enough to bring ‘er
on home to us, tha’s all.”

“What rocks?” Marcus wasn’t
buying a word of it.

“I don’t know what rocks,
Marcus. Just some rocks out in the woods,” Blanche broke out in beads of sweat
across her forehead.

“What was she doing in the
woods?”

“She was takin’ a shortcut, I
suppose.”

“Gracie knows better’n to take
any shortcuts, Mama. Besides, I played in every stick of any woods we got close
by and there ain’t a rock in ‘em that’s big enough to trip over. Now, somebody
better tell me what happened to Grace and they better tell me now.”

I raised my hands in a gesture
that clearly said
don’t look at me!

Blanche raised herself out of
the chair, wiped a forearm across her face.

“Don’t be makin’ such a fuss
outta nothin’, Marcus. Gracie fell. That’s all they is to it.”

Marcus stood, too, rising a
full foot over the compact bulk of his mother. I watched the fear and anger
wash over him like a baptism. I can’t imagine how much it hurt that boy to
stand there and hear his mama tell him what he knew was a lie.

He hesitated for a moment, then
turned and headed off in the same direction as Eldred Mims. We hoped he might
be headed home, but he wasn’t and we should have known that. We should have
known.

Eight

Blanche was solemn and quiet as she put away the last of the
dishes and prepared to walk the two miles home. By the time they got there, it
would be six-thirty and turning cool with the setting sun.

“Want me to call you a cab?”

“Naw, we all right, Miz Ora.
Night air do us good.”     

I suddenly felt silly for never
having gotten a driver's license. My father disapproved of young women driving
and, once I married Walter, I had no need to learn how. His Ford LTD was still
sitting in the garage. It sat in the parking lot of the Rotary Club for nearly
a week after his death before a fellow Rotarian thought to bring it home.

“Really, Blanche, I don’t mind
paying for a cab tonight. There’s a breeze kicking up and - well - let me call
a cab for you. I’ll be right back.”

Blanche might have argued, but
Grace fussed as Patrice zipped her jacket. She wasn’t the only tired child. The
twins yawned and fidgeted as they shifted leftovers from arm to arm. Blanche
said nothing, so I called City Cab and gave them the address. The taxi arrived
in minutes and the girls crowded into the back seat with Blanche taking the
front. I gave Blanche a five to pay the driver and shut the door. I leaned into
the open window and asked quietly, “What are you going to do about Marcus?”

“He’ll be all right,” she said
softly. “He’s prolly out somewhere blowin’ off steam. He’ll be fine. What he
don’t know can’t hurt him. That’s just all there is to it.”

“Thanks for today, Blanche.
That was the best Thanksgiving I’ve had in years.”

“It was the onliest
Thanksgivin’ you had in years, Miz Ora.”

“The only one with family,
anyway.”

I patted Blanche on the arm and
stepped back from the curb and the taxi pulled away. The side mirror reflected
Blanche’s grin in the fading light and one dark arm reached out the window and
gave a little wave as they turned the corner toward home.

I sat on the porch until the
street lights flickered on, then went into the house and poured a glass of iced
tea. I watched the evening news, and then I read for an hour or so until I felt
sleepy. I had just turned off the porch light and locked up when I heard a
commotion near the back door. It sounded like something had been thrown onto
the stoop and then crashed into the bushes. I froze for a moment. The bushes
rattled again and finally there was a low, insistent knocking on the door.

I looked at the clock. It was
nearly nine-thirty. Long past the time when anyone should come calling,
especially at the back door. My mind raced with unspoken questions. I couldn't
remember where Walter kept that old pump-action Winchester he used to run the
squirrels out of the pecan trees. Lot of good it would do me. I hadn't a clue
how to fire it.

The knock sounded again, a
little louder this time.

“Miz Beckworth? Miz Beckworth!
It’s me - Marcus!”

I could barely make out what he
was saying, since he spoke in nothing more than a loud whisper. I peered out
between the blinds covering the back door. Sure enough, I could tell it was
Marcus from the sound of his voice and the shape of his head. I wrenched the
door open and he stumbled inside. Looking at his face in the fluorescent light,
I might not have recognized him at all. One eye was swollen shut and thick
black dirt covered his hair and one cheek. I grabbed a kitchen towel from the
counter, but I couldn't figure out what to do with it.