When the Tide Ebbs: An epic 1930's love story (A Grave Encounter) (7 page)

“Kiah?”

I opened my eyes, “Zann? What are you doing here?”

She didn’t answer. Her rosy lips curled upward.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

She reached down and pulled the straw from my mouth. My heart pounded against the walls of my chest when she leaned down and lightly brushed her lips across mine.

Startled, I sat upright and ran my fingers through my hair. I didn’t know whether to pull her close or push her away. Then, I remembered Mama and jumped to my feet as quickly as if I had a fire lit under me. In a way, I did. Mama was beautiful and naïve once, just like Zann.

I hoped Zann wouldn’t mention the kiss. I didn’t want to talk about it. I wanted to pretend it never happened and I hoped she’d do the same.

Chapter 5

Idiotic desires whirled in my head like sand in a cyclone. I had to pull myself together. With feelings this strong at the beginning of the battle, I feared defeat was only an arm’s length away.

She stood and brushed the back of her skirt. With a soft, pink glow painting her cheeks, she’d never looked more beautiful. “Kiah, I’m sorry if I—”

I placed my palm over her lips and shook my head. “Don’t say it.”

She nodded as if she understood. But did she? Did she feel what I was feeling? I wanted to say something profound, but there was only one thing on my mind, and I could think of nothing else.

She finally broke the silence. “You like pecans?”

I laughed. There was nothing funny about the question, but I laugh when I’m nervous.

She crooked her neck and looked at me befuzzled like. Her lips parted, then widened. A little chuckle slipped out. Then her eyes met mine and we burst into full blown, side-splitting laughter.

We couldn’t stop, though I’m not sure either of us understood why.

I sucked in a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I wish I could quit laughing.”

She caught her breath. “Did . . . did I say something funny?”

“I’m not sure . . . what did you say?” My response seemed to ignite the giggles all over again and we laughed until our eyes ran water.

She held her hand over her mouth. “I simply asked if you like pecans.”

“Oh!” I took another deep breath, and the laughter died down. “Yeah, I reckon everybody likes pecans.”

“What about pecan pie?”

I nodded. “Yep! I reckon it’s about my favorite of all desserts. Mama makes a really good pecan pie.”

“Well, there’s a pecan orchard across the road from the parsonage and Daddy asked me to gather some nuts before supper. Mother always bakes pecan pies at Christmas. Why don’t you come with me, and you can pick up a sack full to take home to your mama.”

My head dropped. I needed time to think. Mama would be thrilled to get a bag of pecans, but suppose Zann’s folks walked over to check me out. What if her daddy took one look and said, “Isn’t this the boy the parishioners say lives with his unwed mama in Rooster Run?” Would Zann be shocked? Or did she know already? She wasn’t one to pry. At first I’d been glad she hadn’t asked many questions about my home life. Now, I worried. I figured the only reason she wouldn’t be curious would be because she had all the answers. I couldn’t decide which of the two scenarios could be worse.

Zann pulled me by the hand. “Come on, let’s go get those pecans.”

I had no desire to get close to the preacher’s house. The idea of a showdown with her father made me shudder, and if the scenario went as I pictured in my head, it wouldn’t be pretty. Yet, I let her lead me down the road. When she smiled, my insides waffled. It would’ve been easier for me to stack greasy chinaberries than to say ‘no’ to Zann Pruitt.

Though it was 55 degrees, I broke a sweat, as I considered what I might be letting myself in for. I figured her parents would have plenty of questions for me, and I was confident they wouldn’t like my answers.

I offered to wait in the pecan orchard while Zann ran across the road to the parsonage, to get a couple of sacks for the nuts.

I leaned against a tree, hoping to fade into the background whenever I heard a jalopy chugging down the dirt road. Apparently, I wasn’t as well hid as I’d hoped, for the car stopped, and a man yelled, “Hello, there.”

When he stepped out of the car and headed toward me, I didn’t have to be told who he was. Pastor Pruitt. He was a big man, at least six feet three and I guessed his weight to be in the 200-225 pound range. His black hair had grayed around the temples, giving him a most distinguished look. Dressed in a black suit, starched white shirt and black string tie, he carried himself with an air of reserve, much like I imagined an Army General, although I’d never personally met a real live General. But I’d seen pictures and read books on the Civil War. If the parson grew a beard, in a few years with a little more gray, he could pass for General Robert E. Lee.

He thrust his hand toward me. “Hezekiah Grave?”

I swallowed hard, hearing him call my name. He had a gentle voice, yet I had the distinct impression, if given cause, the same voice could raise the rafters off a barn. I shook in my brogans and nodded. “Yessir, I’m Hezekiah Grave.” Heat rose from my stomach to my face whenever I took his hand. With a firm grip, he squeezed my sweaty palm, gave a hard pump and let go.

A frightful curiosity churned in my belly as he gazed at me and stroked his chin. I assumed he was sizing me up. If his opinion wasn’t favorable, at least he was too courteous to let it show.

He grinned. “So you’re the young man my daughter appears to be so fond of.”

My face burned. Panic engulfed me. How was I supposed to respond to such a statement?

I breathed easier, when it appeared he wasn’t expecting a reply.

He glanced around. “Where’s my beautiful daughter?”

Like a dimwit, I stammered, “She’s gone to get a couple of knacks for the suts.” I slapped myself on the side of the head. “What I meant to say sir, is that Zann went to get sacks for the nuts.” I grimaced, expecting him to laugh in my face. But he didn’t. He didn’t flinch.

“Fine, fine. That’s just fine,” he said. “Supper should be ready soon. Would you care to stay and eat with us? Dora—my wife—she always fixes enough to feed the countryside. We’d be most pleased to have you join us.”

I wiped beads of sweat from my upper lip. “Thank you sir. That’s mighty kind of you, but I reckon I need to be getting home as soon as I can pick up enough pecans for a pie.”

“Take more than enough for a pie. Christmas is just around the corner and if you don’t have pecan trees on your place, I’m sure your mother will be mighty proud to have you bring home a good ten pounds or more. Women folks can think of a hundred different ways to use pecans during the holidays.”

I nodded. He was right. Mama would be right proud if I stuck around long enough to load up a sack.

Parson Pruitt said, “They’re Stewarts, you know. My Dora is partial to Stewarts.”

At first, I assumed the Stewarts were friends of the Pruitts, until I realized he was referring to the type of pecans. I suppose the following silence was no longer than a couple of seconds, though it seemed much longer. What could be taking Zann so long? I shuffled my feet and tried to think of something insightful to say, but my brain had taken leave of absence.

The parson spoke first. “You have a fine name, Hezekiah. I suppose you were named after the King of Judah?”

He waited for my response.

My mind raced. History wasn’t my favorite subject, yet I’d always made good marks. But in all my years of schooling, I couldn’t recall studying about the King of Judah.

His brow raised. “Are you familiar with the story of Hezekiah in the Bible?”

I sheepishly shook my head and figured I was losing points with Zann’s father, by admitting I didn’t have a clue.

He stroked his chin. “Well, there’s a very interesting story in the Good Book about a time when King Hezekiah was dying and he prayed and asked God to lengthen his days.”

I waited, but he out-waited me. I finally mumbled, “So what happened?”

His smile was warm. Not accusing, as I’d imagined. “God answered.”

I couldn’t believe I stood here carrying on a Biblical conversation with a parson. Why didn’t Zann come on? Was she watching out the window and laughing?

An uncomfortable silence followed. At least uncomfortable on my end.

Then, he said, “God heard Hezekiah’s prayer and saw his tears, and God allowed him to live twelve more years.” The Parson’s eyes lit up. “Isn’t it rich to know that we have a God who hears our prayers and answers our tears?”

Now, he had my attention. Questions, which I’d never considered before, popped in my head, but I would’ve cut off my tongue before allowing myself to be suckered in by a preacher. Even so, I did want to know what he meant by ‘God answers our tears.’ Was he serious? How many tears would I have to shed before God would answer mine? I looked across the road and breathed a sigh when I saw Zann approaching.

“Here comes my daughter now. I’d stay and help you two, but I need to gather a little wood before supper.” He turned to walk away. When he reached the road, he looked over his shoulder and yelled, “The invitation for supper still stands. If not tonight, maybe one night soon. It was a pleasure meeting you, Hezekiah.”

I threw up my hand and uttered a weak thank-you. Conflicting thoughts fought for space in my head. The conversation proved one thing. He didn’t know about my situation. If he had, he wouldn’t have referred to pecan trees being on “my place,” as if Mama and I might own a plot of ground and live like normal, decent people. I didn’t need a college education to look around at the residents of Rooster Run and know there was nothing normal about those of us who lived there. The frightening idea occurred to me that no one in the camp would consider themselves to be abnormal, even though I was quite sure they all were. I felt normal, but maybe I wasn’t, and like the others, just didn’t know better.

Zann stopped long enough to peck her father on the cheek, and then she ran over and handed me a croaker sack. “I’ll bet I can beat you filling up a sack,” she giggled.

The sound of her voice caused the tension to leave my body. “No fair. My sack is larger.”

After we both had picked a good ten pounds or more, Zann said, “Kiah, I have a favor to ask.”

I slung the sack over my shoulder. “Your wish is my command, m’lady.”

“Great. I’d like for you to escort me to the church Christmas party on the 20th.”

She hardly got the words out of her mouth before I shook my head. “Sorry. I can’t go.”

Zann had the unique ability to smile and manage to look sad at the same time. I think it was those big brown eyes. They twinkled when she was happy, and looked sort of pitiful like a basset hounds whenever she wasn’t pleased. But her lips always curled up at the edges—sometimes slightly, sometimes stretching from one ear lobe to the other.

“But Kiah, you have to go. Mama’s made me a gorgeous baby-blue gown from a Vogue pattern, and I’ll have no other occasion to wear it. It’s simply divine and I want you to see me in it. You will go, won’t you?”

I shook my head. “I can’t go, Zann.”

“What do you mean, you can’t? Do you have a good reason?”

“Sure, there’s a good reason.”

She waited. I could tell she expected me to explain. I sighed. This moment was bound to come.

“Zann, you might want to sit down on the grass. We need to talk.”

Her brow furrowed. “You’re scaring me, Kiah. What’s wrong?”

“It’s a long story.” The moment I said the words, I sensed a panic surge. What was I thinking? How could I explain why I didn’t go to church? Why I’d never go? My initial intention was to enlighten her about spiteful hypocrites who crushed a little boy’s spirit, years ago. Yet, there was much more to my story than I was at liberty to tell. How could I make her understand my point of view, without explaining what the pious church folks held against us—the humiliating part I hoped we’d never have to discuss.

She laid her bag down, sat on the ground and leaned back on a tree. “I’m listening.”

I might as well get it out in the open. I couldn’t hide the truth forever. I leaned against a tree and blurted out the words. “Zann, I live with Mama in Rooster Run.” I watched for a look of astonishment but her expression didn’t change. I waited.

She looked neither impressed nor shocked. Not even a slight gasp.

Bumfuzzled, I asked, “Did you know already?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t know where you lived, but I know where Rooster Run is. But what does it have to do with the Christmas party, Kiah? I don’t understand. Why won’t you go with me?”

Didn’t she get it? Go with
her
? “Zann, have you ever been beyond the gate at Rooster Run?” I expected her to say no. Her answer stunned me.

“Sure. Many times. Our maid lives there in #3. You may know her. Dabney Foxworthy. Not only is she our maid, she’s also my best friend.” She paused. “Do you know Dabney? She’s a couple of years older than us.”

My pulse raced. “Yes. I know Dabney.” I snapped, “I’m quite sure I know more about her than you do.” I picked up a pecan and slung it as far as I could throw it.

Zann frowned. “You act as if there’s something wrong with her. There’s nothing shameful about being a maid.”

I smirked. “Yeah? Maybe not, but everyone knows cleaning houses is not the only way she makes a dollar. I imagine Dabney Foxworthy makes more in one hour at night than she makes in a whole week working as a maid.”

I expected Zann to at least raise an eyebrow. Instead, she rolled her eyes in disgust. “Kiah, who are we to judge?”

Her remark caught me by surprise. Maybe I
had no right to judge, but didn’t she realize
her
position? Didn’t she understand her elite Christian heritage qualified her to be both judge and jury of the lower class? Surely, such a distinguished pedigree provided her with a non-expiring Fellow Ship boarding pass.