The Reading Lessons (18 page)

“Don’t ruin it, Mama,” Hadley said. “Can’t I just be happy?” 

“What about that librarian with the apple slice ears?” Ants were gathering at her shoes.

“Eat your ice cream, will you? I paid good money for that.” 

He remembered a time when they actually had better things to talk about than his sorry excuse for a love life. For a while, they’d toyed with the idea of going into the lavender jelly business together. Mama had been offered twenty dollars for her recipe after the owner of the Burlington Hotel tried it on some lamb at Mr. Browning’s dinner table. Mama being Mama, she’d declined to sell her secrets, so Mr. Lizenbee purchased five jars at two dollars a piece and vowed to return for more. Of course, Mr. Browning kept the money since the jelly had been made on his dime, but Mama had it in her head that lavender jelly might make them rich if they could find a way to produce it on the side. 

Hadley was to be in charge of growing the flowers. He’d already bought the seeds. Mama put in a request to use the summer kitchen on her day off. She planned to trade mustard pickles for lemons. The company name was settled as well. After weeks of bickering and scratching their heads, they looked for flowers to inspire them. “What’s the book have to say about lavender?” 

Hadley ran his finger down the ‘L”s. “Larch, Larkspur, Laurel, here it is. Lavender. Lavender was one of the holy herbs used to prepare the essence in the Song of Solomon. In the language of flowers it means love.”

“That’s it!
Love Jelly
. We’ll drop a little bud in every jar to fill each bite with love.”

“Sounds kind of dirty, don’t you think?” Hadley said.

“I think it’s pretty.”

Now it seemed like Mama didn’t even remember about Love Jelly, and Hadley almost always forgot to bring along his flower book so they could search for deeper meaning on the road of life. Whereas, they used to jump around like lunatics and try to grab a falling leaf in midair to protect themselves against catching cold, or spend whole entire mornings arguing about which songs God liked best, the praises or the sorrows (Mama thought the sorrows), the only arguments they had now were about things that were none of Mama’s concern.

She said, “I loved a man once who didn’t love me. It was lonelier than being alone.”

“It’s not the same thing,” Hadley said. “Lucinda isn’t Slip.” 

In her own strange way, Lucinda loved him, he was about eighty-nine percent sure of that. It was “society’s” fault they couldn’t be together. Hadley knew this because he often over-heard the radio broadcasts from Pittsburgh that Lucinda listened to during supper. There was one particular fellow at KDKA who used that word all the time, mostly with respect to the
ills
of society, which, it turns out, there were a great many. 

Society was eating all the wrong foods, the man on the radio said. They were drinking spirits on the sly. too. Crime was rampant . . . boot-legging, swindling, racketeering. And if you didn’t believe the fellow at KDKA, all you had to do was listen to the advertisements to know that this was the gospel truth. Society was losing its hair at an alarming rate. So much so, that some of the world’s leading hair experts had been called in to develop an astounding new bald-reducing tonic. Society had warts, too, and itchy skin, and more corns on their feet than ever before. According to the radio, some people were still living in the Dark ages and had yet to purchase a Sunbeam Toaster or the new Silex Automated Juicer. Things were a real mess. And if itchy skin was such a national problem, was it any wonder that true love was not allowed to prevail in today’s broken society?

“Lucinda was forced to marry Dickie,” Hadley said. “If she could, she’d be with me.”

“I don’t know, Hadley. You’re a handsome boy. I think Miss Lucinda just wants to have her cake and eat it, too.”

“You’re dripping.”

“You should be getting married and starting a life that doesn’t involve her. Soon you’ll be eighteen. I know you don’t believe this, honey, but life flies by so very fast. Before you know it, you’ll be an old man.” 

“Isn’t that all the more reason to be with the person you love?”

Mama closed her eyes and a tear leaked out. “It’s wrong. Don’t you see how wrong it is?”

“I don’t care.” 

The next day was Monday. Hadley couldn’t think about anything except that.

###

For the first time, Flora’s chipper chit-chat wore badly on his nerves. Hadley could hardly take how sweet she was being. He looked around, hoping to find an escape. 

A banner had been strung up across the bandstand. APPEARING TODAY:
PEANUT JONES AND THE DIXIE DANDIES
–
Brought to you by the fine makers of Pall Mall and the Southern Chapter of the Anti-Horse Theft Association.
“Damn!” he muttered. He’d completely forgotten about the concert. 

Flora was telling a story about how her father had stumbled across several cases of canned peas that fell off a truck in the middle of their street. “And the good news is, we’ll be set for peas until the end of time . . . ” 

Hadley couldn’t listen to another cheery word. “I don’t think I should see you anymore,” he blurted.

Flora’s cheeks lost all their flame and, for one instant, it was like the sun had been snuffed out. “Have I done something wrong?”

“Gosh no. You’re the nicest person I’ve ever met. It’s me, Flora.” He took a deep breath. “There’s this other girl.”

Peanut’s trombone let out a bleat. “Oh,” Flora said. 

People were beginning to weave around them as they made their way toward the stage. Flora was carrying her granny’s quilt. They had planned to listen to the band together. “I’ve been trying not to love her, Flora, but I can’t seem to let it go. You deserve someone nicer than me. I’ve always thought as much.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re a nice young man. I’m pleased and proud to know you.” 

Hadley knew Flora wouldn’t feel half so pleased and proud if she knew what he was planning to do with a married woman the next evening. 

“No need to look so glum,” Flora said. “I’m fine. It’s been real fun talking books with you. I’ve enjoyed every second of it.”

“Me too,” Hadley said, feeling genuinely sad. Flora was the one he should love. Lucinda was mean and stingy and likely to disappoint him. Flora was not mean and stingy. Flora would never let him down. 

She held up the quilt. “I’m gonna go watch Peanut now, okay?”

By then the band was so loud, Hadley was forced to yell in order to be heard. “I reckon we’ll still meet up at the library, unless you don’t want me coming no more?”

“You better come. The red books would be lonely without you.”

She had a good smile, too. Hadley never realized just how good it was until he was walking away from it. 

Stumbling against the flow of the crowd, he walked headlong into Babe Butternut and her three show dogs, a manly bunch of Boston Terriers that went by the preposterous names of Ambrosia, Adorabelle, and Apricot. Babe hooked him by the waist of his pants as he plowed through their leashes. “Whoa. Slow down there, honey.” 

Hadley spun in circles, trying to unleash himself.

“Have you had a lovers tiff, poor dear? Come and sit with me for a while. My girls will cheer you up.”

“No thank you, Miss Butternut,” he said. 

Adorebelle looked particularly insulted and made a grab for his pants. It was a miracle Hadley managed to break free. “I need to go.” 

At the time, it didn’t occur to him that Lucinda was sure to hear about his “lovers tiff”. If it had, he might have wondered how such news would affect their night together. As it was, he didn’t give it a second thought.

###

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t get rid of Tapley no matter how hard I tried.” 

It was Monday, and Lucinda was giving him the same
what’s-a-poor-girl-supposed-to-do
shrug that he got whenever her library list contained any dreadfuls written by Cherry Awntop. “He says he hasn’t a place to go and would just as soon work as sit in his room with nothing to do. He’s polishing the Conway even as we speak.”

“No,” Hadley said. 

This had been the best day of his life. He’d whistled through it, happy as a lark, untroubled by the bee sting he got first thing, or the rip in his trousers, or the bone in his soup. He’d made the best of the previous night’s romp, too, secure in the knowledge that on Monday it would be
his
turn to be alone with Lucinda. “At last. At last. At last,” he’d said as he drifted off to sleep.

He threw down the delicatas he’d spent half his pay on and buds scattered across the floor. “You can’t back out on me, Lucinda. I meant what I said about jumping off the roof.”

“You think you can blackmail me into touching you, is that it?”

“Blackmail?” Hadley shook his head and tried not to scream. Or burst into tears. “I love you, Lucinda. Don’t pretend you don’t know that.”

Lucinda folded her arms. “You’ve never said as much before.” 

He closed his eyes and tried to remember some small kindness she had shown him, settling on the time she bought an electric fan for his bedroom. All he need do was mention how stuffy it could get when Tilly was cooking, and there was Lucinda, bringing him a fancy new electric fan. That fan had changed his life, it was such a pleasant thing to have. 

When she married Dickie and moved to Wisteria Walk, Lucinda could have brought along Loomis or Lemon or Flavia. Flavia could get stains out of a dress like nobody’s business, and Lemon had a secret method for darning three socks in under ten minutes. But Lucinda didn’t bring Lemon or Loomis. She brought Hadley and no one else. And she gave him his own electric fan. And she slipped him a piece of Christmas orange in her handkerchief. And she made up a holiday for them to call their own. And she promised him an evening alone with her. 

“Please,” he said. “Make Tapley go. I need this night with you.”

All day, he’d dreamed about how it might go. Maybe they’d share the Coconut Kiss he brought for her. Maybe they’d dance. Pringles had wanted three dollars for a water-spotted copy of
Mary Marie,
and he’d been glad to pay it. He’d bought a record, too.
My Regards Waltz
. Lucinda loved to listen to music, and Hadley loved watching Lucinda listen to music. Sure, he’d thought about touching her, but to court Lucinda’s love, this was what he dreamed of more than anything else. 

“Make him go,” he hollered.

“God love it! Lower your voice. Do you want Tapley to hear?” She steered him out the kitchen door, leading him behind the row of bedclothes pinned on the line. 

“I’ll embarrass you if I have to,” Hadley threatened. “Tapley won’t be the only one to hear me.”

“Quit it, Hadley. You’re acting like a baby.”

Hadley’s breath sped up like a child set to bawl. “You promised me this night, Lucinda. You said we’d be alone.”

“There will be other business trips.”

“Uh-uh,” he said. An embroidered corner of sheet flapped against his cheek, and he batted it away. “I ain’t waiting no more. You can’t make me listen to you with Dickie one more night. You think it’s fun to push me? Well, you’ve pushed me to the very edge, Lucinda. There is no where else to push.” Hadley did some pushing of his own and backed her up against the house. 

“What are you doing?” Lucinda said.

“Send Tapley away this instant, otherwise, I’m gonna take you right here. Against this wall.”

“You most certainly will not.”

“Oh you’d like that, I think. You’d like to slap me and pretend that you can’t stand the sight of me. Well, I want it to be nice Lucinda, but that isn’t a requirement.”

The bedclothes billowed in the breeze. “The neighbors might see,” Lucinda whispered.

Hadley stepped closer. “So make him go then.”

She stared him in the eye. “No.”

“Suit yourself,” Hadley said, pushing up her dress. “I warn you though; I don’t intend to be as speedy as your husband. I’ve waited too long for this.”

“Promises. Promises,” she said.

Hadley grabbed her by the face. “I’m not playing with you. It’s gonna be the bedroom or it’s gonna be this here wall. You decide. Right now.”

Lucinda fingers danced over him as she groped for his buttons. “The wall.”

The wall.

It wasn’t pretty, and it wasn’t speedy, and Lucinda did slap him around a bit. So much so that he was forced to pin her hands above her head. “Why do you taunt me like this, goddamn it?! Can’t you just be friendly?”

She craned her neck and licked her lips, thrashing against him as though she wished to break free. “I do it for you. I do! I want you to die when you push inside me.” The wall of sheets snapped at his back. “Do you want to die, Hadley?” 

He released her hands. 

Hadley discovered that making love against a wall did pack a deathblow of sorts in that his whole life with Lucinda passed before him like flipping pages in a book. From childhood until this moment, the days whirred by. There he was on the very first page, scribbling dirty words down on recipe cards, his heart pounding like a mallet. Next page. There he was, stretched out with Lucinda in the attic letting her rip into his skin. Next page. Her foot. Next Page. Her hand. Next page. Her bluebells. Next page. He was about to die . . . 

“That’s nice. You do that real good.”

Hadley couldn’t take his eyes off the body under his hands. Lucinda couldn’t take her eyes off the Brewster’s windows. “Look at me,” he said, turning her attention away from the Brewsters. “Look at me when I die.”

Lucinda looked at Hadley. 

“At last. At last. At last . . . ” he sighed, the cement behind her shoulders creating a tattoo on the skin of his palms. 

After years of dreaming about being with her, Hadley Crump had Lucinda Worther-Holmes up against the wall behind the clothesline under the kitchen window while Tapley polished the piano bench. And he didn’t stop having her until Lucinda struck her fists against his back and gave a spiraling moan some five or more times. “God,” she spat, gritting her teeth, the words flying from her like a curse. “You’re going to kill me.”

The bedclothes whipped. The ground tilted. All colors blurred into one. “I love you,” Hadley choked. They sank to the ground, forehead to forehead, smashing clovers under their knees.