Asylum Heights

by Austin R. Moody

  He looked away and grinned and he thought, “This is going to be a very beautiful day.”

  He said, “Good morning. You are so lovely. I’m sorry. I was having too much fun last night. I’m Jordan Peltier. Please tell me your full name.”

  The blue eyes became more earnest and she responded, “My name is Callenda Carpenter. My friends call me Callie. I live in Atlanta and I’m visiting here on summer break from school.” She continued, “I’ve never had so much fun as I had last night either, and I never had a drink before, or anything else we did. You are wonderful. I just hope I’m not pregnant.” She added, “You know one of my uncles, Sheriff Merlin Carpenter, of Jasper County in Rose Hill? I’m just scared to death he might tell Paw-Paw. I’m just sixteen.”

  Stammering, Jordan Peltier whispered, “Who is Paw-Paw?” A cloud of apprehension crossed her brow. She said, “He is my grandfather. His name is Judge Elijah Carpenter.”

  Peltier responded, again barely audibly, “I don’t believe I know him, either.”

  “I’m sure you will soon, especially if I’m going to have a baby,” she smiled. “He’s very important. He’s the Chief Justice of the Mississippi Supreme Court.”

  Without a word, Peltier got up from the bed and went into the bathroom. He raised the seat on the commode and knelt down in front of the stool. Then he vomited. He vomited repeatedly.

  Callie dressed quickly. She called sweetly from the front door, “Thanks for a very special evening. I have to go now. I’m sure I can get back before anybody wakes up. Paw Paw is having a surprise birthday party this afternoon. He will be sixty-three.”

  Before the President could answer, she swept out the door, leaving her terrified suitor crouched upon his knees on the bathroom floor retching for his life.

  He began to pray.

  Not far away, Papa Hailes opened the top of his jewel box and extracted his gold pocket watch from within its interior. It was now mid-morning, and Papa looked at Glen. Their eyes met and they broke into laughter knowing that the banker must have awakened by now to his prize and to his logical response.

  “I hope Callie is all right.” Papa mused.

  Glen had known his second cousin from their visits for Christmas and from weddings and family reunions. She was bright, spirited, and clever with a mile of guts. He assured, “Don’t worry about Callie. She has full control and wouldn’t let a jackass like Peltier take advantage of her. She’s twenty-three and just looks young. She worked him like a pair of dogs on a goat. I know that a banker can go to prison for rape. Just let him draw his own conclusions. He didn’t get a thing, but I’m sure he thinks he did.”

  He thought of his brother, my uncle in Atlanta, and continued, “Foster put her on the bus from Atlanta knowing that she would be all right and he knows we wouldn’t place her in any position of jeopardy. We are just going to help Mr. Big Shot out of a jam. Everything else will fall into place. Right now she is in Quitman at her cousin John Hal’s father’s house. If all goes well, she’ll be on her way back to Atlanta tomorrow, and Jordan Peltier will never be the wiser nor see her again.”

  “Now the time has begun.” Papa spoke softly. They walked out into the front yard, beginning their final inspection of everything. They went through the house, the grounds and the barn, and then walked into the woods to satisfy themselves that all was in readiness for probably the most crucial visit of their lives.

  Finally, Papa said, “We’re ready; let’s go help your mother.” Papa first had to use the privy and Glen went on to the kitchen. Miss Ellie had already prepared and cooked the field peas and yams. Glen asked my grandmother what she needed done. She reached into a drawer and removed a paring knife then extracted a large, warm, recently boiled Irish potato from a pot and handed it to him to peel. He had done very little in a kitchen before, but instinctively took the potato from her hand and began to remove the brown skin from the vegetable. This accomplished, she directed him to cut the flesh into large cubes for potato salad and to peel and cut up the rest of the potatoes in the pot while she whipped eggs, salt, dry mustard and a little vinegar with oil into a dressing. She had already chopped an onion, a pickle and had boiled the eggs for the salad. There was no celery but the taste was exquisite after the flavors had been blended and balanced with salt and pepper. This accomplished, she took the bowl of potato salad and placed it into a cooler that contained a large block of ice that Papa Hailes had brought in from Quitman the day before for this most important occasion. Finally, she said, “All we have left to do now is to put the biscuits into the stove and fry the chicken. We can’t do that until Mr. Peltier arrives. Let’s get dressed now and go to church.”

  As Glen was leaving the kitchen he turned back for a drink of water. Then he noticed his mother standing by the sink. Her face was turned away and she was sobbing softly. He walked over to her and took her roughened callus-laden, work hardened hands, and gently pulled her to him enfolding her close to his breast. “Mama,” he whispered, “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s all wrong. All of it,” she replied. “It just seems so unfair that we have to scheme and connive, even expose Callie to something dirty and evil, just to be able to have the opportunity to live and to survive. Your father seems to be changing and not for the better. I know that he must adapt to this terrible situation, but it is taking something good and decent from him and from every one of us.”

  Glen’s voice hardened. “This is not of our doing, Mama,” he admonished. “This is a test for all of us to determine the extent of our character and our strength to see just what we Hailes have within us, to win out over an almost impossible obstacle just to be able to keep what we have and to improve upon it.”

  His grip upon her tightened then he gently kissed her salty, tear-laden cheek.

  “It’s going to be all right. Let’s get going to church now and ask for forgiveness and thank God for each other.”

  Mama Hailes finished dressing and finally donned the summer straw hat that Papa had bought for her in Quitman. She had found a particularly colorful, purple floral print kerchief and had wrapped it around the base of the crown, creating a festive band that accentuated her deeply tanned and leathered face. It seemed to mollify, soften, and rejuvenate her eyes, hair and mouth by this trivial expression of her limited fashion.

  Papa could not but notice. He said, “You are particularly beautiful this morning, Ellie. It makes me think that the Lord is going to smile upon us this day.”

  “Just look very carefully upon the face that carries that smile, William Silas Hailes,” she scolded. “The devil has wanted to become the presence of God since just after the Lord created him. Tweak his beard then quickly say I’m sorry to God just before he strikes you to the ground. If he doesn’t favor you with a bolt of lightning then run away as fast as you can because it won’t be God that you’re conversing with but Lucifer himself.”

  Papa laughed out loud. “Glen, with such a woman on our side we cannot lose!”

  My uncle responded pensively, “With such a woman on our side we must not lose.” With that they walked through the door and out onto the front porch. The sky was clear and the place was clean. They climbed into the wagon and moved into the road toward the Hale Congregational Methodist Church. There was no Catholic Church for them to attend.

  They arrived with barely sufficient time to tether the wagon team beneath a large white oak tree to provide adequate shade for the horses. They rushed into the entrance to the church, and were stopped and given programs of the day’s services. The church was crowded to capacity and all of the seats in the pews of the rear of the house were occupied. They were of necessity, therefore, quietly escorted down the center aisle by an usher to the second row of seats just beneath the pulpit.

  After a broach of hymns, the day’s reading of the scriptures ensued. The elder conducting this portion of the services asked for any visitors to please stand, state where they were from and what brought them to Hale on this particular day and to be attending thi
s Sunday’s services.

  A seemingly unending agenda of additional announcements ensued. Among these were the solicitation of the congregation for their tithes and offerings and the introduction of new transfer members that had recently moved from without the community. The ushers moved silently through the rows with deep silver plates collecting the dues of the Lord both volitional and obligational. Papa folded two one-dollar bills from his pocket and placed them into the passing plate. He could not afford this display of affluence, but he wanted the Lord to know the importance of this day and of all of the efforts that had been expended, and for which they had given so much of themselves.

  Thereupon the preacher emerged from a wing to the left clothed in his ecclesiastical robes. After the call to prayer he bowed his head and proceeded with a petition for mercy and of thanksgiving for the many blessings bestowed upon the congregation and the citizens of the community of Hale.

  The prayer and the message by the pastor were particularly tedious and lengthy that morning. Papa extracted the timepiece from his watch pocket and was somewhat alarmed by the lateness of the hour. The worst possible thing would be for Jordan Peltier to arrive at the place and find no one there.

  Still the clergyman pressed on with his message. It was very hot within the narrow crowded seats of the church and those fortunate enough to have owned hand-held fans and the presence of mind to remember to bring them were afforded at least a bit of relief. The unending monotonous tedium induced an anesthesia, a catatonia, a transcendental state of almost-sleep, almost wakefulness throughout a substantial portion of the remainder of the congregation.

  Finally, Papa Hailes decided that the preacher must be seized with divine inspiration. Without interruption he could continue this sermon well into the afternoon. Breaking this incessant droning was mandatory. Papa had to act, and now. He gave no consideration or rehearsal to what he must say or do. He simply stood up in the pew in mid-sentence of the sermon and quietly stated, “Thank you, Pastor Breckenridge for the services rendered in this House today. Our family has been benefited and blessed by the power and strength of your preaching the Word.

  Unfortunately, our ox is in the ditch this morning and we must leave right now to go home and get him out. I didn’t want to just get up and leave in the middle of the service without an explanation. I want to thank you and the entire congregation of this church again this morning for all of your understanding.”

  The Pastor stood in the pulpit transfixed. He could say nothing and there was complete silence within the church for several seconds. The choir director suddenly stood up and motioned to the singers to stand. Following her lead, the pianist quickly moved from her seat and slid upon the bench in front of the instrument. After a tap of her baton on the music stand in front of her the director whispered, ‘Rock of Ages,’ the closing song. Thereupon the entire congregation also stood and joined with the choir in singing that great old hymn.

  It was Papa Hailes’ favorite hymn, but he grasped the moment, and reached for his wife’s hand. Without another word he turned from the pew into the main aisle and the three of them slipped quietly out of the church and walked briskly back to the wagon. No one seemed to notice their departure.

  Thirty minutes later they were back at home and Papa breathed a sigh of relief because Jordan Peltier was not yet there awaiting their return. Papa passed through the living room of the house and entered his bedroom. He removed all of his clothes except for his under shorts. At that moment he heard the approaching sound of a horse that would imminently precipitate his plans into action. He scrambled to his dresser drawer and quickly extracted a work shirt and pants then removed socks from another drawer. He hastily dressed and moved quickly through the bedroom door, back through the living room and out onto the front porch just as Jordan Peltier rode up into the yard sitting upon Chicago awaiting a greeting and an invitation to dismount and come into their home.

  The sun shone down with intense heat. There was no flow of air, nor any breeze, and the only sound that could be heard was Chicago’s labored breathing after a brisk morning ride. Jordan Peltier’s face was reddened and sweat streamed from his forehead and down his cheeks into tortuous rivulets. He did not look well at all.

  “Mistuh Pelt-tee-yay!” Papa exclaimed. “Get down off that horse and come on in this house!”

  “I haven’t heard my name pronounced correctly since I left New Iberia,” Mr. Peltier responded. “Parlez vous Francais?” he continued.

  “Mais non, merci,” Papa answered. “I worked the shrimp boats for a while down in the bayou country and learned just enough French to insult everybody. I’m lucky to have gotten out of there with my life.”

  If Jordan Peltier had not felt so bad at that moment he would have laughed. Instead he dismounted and walked onto the porch taking Papa’s outstretched hand of welcome. Glen stood by as the banker had climbed off Chicago and stepped upon the ground.

  In the barn Glen took the tack off and led him to a stall in the barn. He made sure that adequate water was available for the horse to drink. These chores completed he walked out and returned to the festivities in the house.

  They moved through the screen door of the porch and on into the living room. Mama Hailes was standing in the kitchen just beyond the short connecting hallway. Mama smiled and nodded her head in confirmation of his welcome.

  “We are sure glad you made it out to see us today,” Papa smiled. “I hope you didn’t have any trouble finding the way.”

  “No more than I had trying to find my way home from De Soto last night.” Peltier grinned sheepishly.

  “Oh?” Papa mused. “My cousin’s granddaughter was over there at a party last night.” He continued, “Come on into the kitchen, I want you to meet my wife, Miss Ellie. She has worked very hard to be sure that you have an enjoyable time today.”

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Peltier.” Mama Hailes said, extending her hand. “Dinner is not quite ready. We are having fried chicken with sour milk biscuits and cream gravy, field peas, glazed yams, turnip greens, and my special potato salad. And we have tea.” She proudly amended. “And peach cobbler,” she remembered. “Would you like a tall glass of iced tea right now?” She inquired.

  Papa interceded, “Miss Ellie, Mr. Peltier looks pretty rocky right now and I don’t believe it is due to motion sickness from his ride out from Quitman. He looks like he could use a little more substance in his refreshment.” Papa continued, “If you want the tea, that’s fine, but if you’d prefer something a little more bracing, then I’d like for you to try a little peach brandy that I made. I think that it will be much more appropriate and fitting for this occasion since we have cause for a celebration.”

  Peltier knew that a drink containing alcohol at this moment would be more therapeutic than festive and he quickly acknowledged that a drink would be preferred, adding that he looked forward with anticipation to Miss Ellie’s iced tea with the coming meal.

  “Glen, go to the pantry and get a glass of our latest batch for Mr. Peltier,” Papa called. With subtlety, he had emphasized the word “BATCH.”

  Soon, Glen returned with a small fruit jar containing a brilliant auburn, almost golden liquid, as transparent and crystalline as the water from their well.

  Jordan took the jar but did not notice that it was chilled and very cold, nor the collection of wet, dew-like beads clinging to the exterior of its surface. Had he thought a moment he would have known that this offer of the concoction had been planned considerably before his arrival.

  At this moment, however, he was distracted. He inspected the proffered beverage, held it up to the light and bent over the mouth of the jar to smell its aroma and taste. The color appealed to his visual senses and the alcohol laden evaporate of the brandy bouquet clung to the inside of the jar. The vapor radiated into his nostrils and along the mucous membranes of his nasal airway penetrating to the olfactory nerves beneath its surface. Despite their considerable experience in accepting, processing, and transmitt
ing these ethanolic impulses to his brain for Jordan for years, the brandy provided a particularly satisfying balm to these irritable neuronal and cerebral pathways this morning. The “Hair of the Dog” was still alive and well.

  “My God, I needed this!” Peltier exclaimed. “Where in the world did you get it?” He continued.

  “Well,” Papa replied, “The peaches came from our trees in the orchard just beyond the barn. The water came from the creek. The sugar came from my Cousin Tom Hailes’ store in Harmony along with the cloves, cinnamon and other spices, and the crocks we bought from him and used to make it all happen. How we did it came from my father’s ancestors and theirs in Ireland plus a little detail or two that I added myself,” Papa smiled.

  A faint trace of a breeze began to stir through the open window and screen door of the living room blowing across Peltier’s sweating brow. The moisture began to evaporate from his forehead, cooling him. He began to feel much better. He had enjoyed every draught and taste of the peach brandy and he felt refreshed and invigorated as he set the empty fruit jar on the small coffee table before him.

  Mr. Peltier sat in the living room just by the open screen door as the air flowed through the house. He didn’t say anything for a while enjoying the momentary evaporative cooling and the relief afforded by the peach brandy.

  Papa Hailes filled a large glass with ice-cold water and placed the refreshment to his lips while Glen busied himself chipping from the ice block in the cooler.