The Forgiving Kind

by Donna Everhart

  Mama said, “Daniel’s father left when he was just a baby. His mama’s doing the best she can, raising him and his sister on her own. It can’t be easy.”

  Mr. Fowler said, “You get what you ask for.”

  The cookie turned to sawdust in my mouth. Mr. Fowler didn’t like Daniel, the way he looked, or maybe even the fact he was coming to eat.

  I said to Mama, “I’m going outside to wait.”

  When I picked up my dowsing branch, Mr. Fowler said, “You gonna take that magic wand of yours, wave it about, and get your work done?”

  I pretended not to hear him while Mama explained that too. “Her father gave that to her, so it’s right special to her.”

  Mr. Fowler’s answer was vague, and then he started asking questions about Daniel’s family. What did his mama do, and did Mama think he was a good influence on me. I went down the steps, and walked past the clothesline. I didn’t want to hear anything more from him. I went to the garden, and drifted up and down the rows of sweet corn, tomatoes, and okra. There weren’t many weeds, but I pulled a few here and there, and noted we’d need to stake the tomato plants soon. Next I went to the chicken coop, scattered feed for the hens and filled their water pans, their clucking soft and soothing as I dropped corn around my feet, making my own little noises at them.

  Ross waved his hat at me as he went by, the tractor’s sound smooth and steady. I waved back and then went behind the barn, where I wouldn’t be interrupted. I clenched the stick against my palms, and tried to relax. There was a warm breeze, and the afternoon sun was pleasant, not too hot yet. That familiar drawing on my legs began as I went along, a reassuring sensation. I couldn’t explain why I thought today would be the day I’d sense Daddy’s presence. As I walked, instead of getting stronger, the sensation faded. A contrasting shiver rode up and down my backbone, and then the pulling was gone altogether. I stopped and went back to where I’d started and did it again with the same result, a faint tug, and that was all. I worried that maybe it had only been Daddy’s own gift all along. Maybe it had never really been mine. I hurried to the spot he fell with a sense of urgency, a clear question in my mind.

  Are you here?

  “Hey.”

  My eyes went wide and I spun around. Daniel stood a few feet away, holding a brown paper bag clutched in his hands.

  “Gosh, Daniel! You ’bout scared me to death!”

  He smiled and pointed at the branch.

  “Any luck?”

  I was too embarrassed to tell him what I was really doing, certain he’d think I’d gone clear off my rocker.

  I didn’t answer and instead I said, “Come on.”

  We walked back to the house, and he followed me to my room where he threw himself across my bed, and yawned. I put my dowsing stick in the corner by the window, and thought about the day he’d had at school, but he didn’t act bothered by that anymore.

  I said, “You tired?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t get much sleep last night. Mama was up till dawn.”

  “Doing what?”

  “What do you think? She had a friend over.”

  “Oh. Ew. Hey, what did you bring?”

  “I’ll show you, come on!”

  We went back outside, running by the chicken coop, making the birds flutter and squawk. He reached the barn first, and I followed him into the stall nearest the door. This particular one was best ’cause the back ones were too gloomy, even in broad daylight. Plus this one didn’t have used, greasy tractor parts, stacks of cotton sacks, or flattened tires. Here is where we’d fashioned a crude stage using wood crates to create a platform. We had a curtain we’d hung by fastening a piece of rusty wire from one end to the other, and draping an old piece of cloth Mama let us have. We could even pull it open or closed. We had an old floodlight Daddy let us use for what Daniel called special effects. It would flicker erratically, but was still useful when it was nighttime. Daniel pulled items from the paper bag.

  Two dresses.

  “Your mama’s gonna have a fit.”

  “Nah. These ones are old. She won’t miss’em.”

  Daniel tossed me one, and we tugged them on over our clothes. I was always amused at what Daniel came up with. Mine was a chestnut-brown color, with small beige flowers and hung off of me while Daniel’s was pale blue. He began taking big long strides around the stall, going into his “director mode,” explaining what we were going to do, confident and sure of himself. Director Daniel was different than School Daniel. He was bold and assured.

  “You”—he leaned in close, our noses almost touching while breathing in a dramatic fashion—“will be Eve Harrington. I’m Margo Channing.”

  He spun on his heels, enthusiastic and eager, the curls of his hair and the dress swinging as he paced, explaining the scene. I was fascinated by his excitement; it was contagious, and my own enthusiasm grew as he went on until Mr. Fowler appeared in the opening of the barn, and the smile I’d had vanished. Mr. Fowler placed his hands on his hips, and stood in the shadows, a self-righteous look on his face, like what he saw confirmed a thought, a perception he’d held in his mind.

  Daniel hadn’t noticed him, didn’t see how his eyes narrowed until they became small and glittery, like solid black marbles. Mr. Fowler spit on the ground as if wanting me to know what he thought, as if what we were doing was wrong. His reaction made me uncomfortable. He definitely did not like Daniel. With an eerie grin, he walked away, and I was sure what he’d seen would cause a problem, and sooner rather than later.

  Chapter 9

  I looked at the now vacant opening as the sound of Mr. Fowler’s truck filled the barn. He revved the engine hard several times, the pitch of it matching the look I’d seen on his face. Daniel went still and looked apprehensive. Mr. Fowler stopped mashing on the gas, and let the truck idle for several minutes. Finally came the sound of him leaving, and a few seconds later, the barn was quiet again. I hoped he wouldn’t be back for supper.

  Daniel walked over to the barn door, and looked out. “Did he come in here?”

  “He sort of looked in the door.”

  “Oh.”

  Daniel yanked the dress over his head. He grew quiet, withdrawing the way he did at school, his energy and liveliness tucked away until it was safe to come out again. I pulled the dress I had on off too.

  Even though Mr. Fowler was gone, I remained a little on edge. “Let’s go down to the fishpond.”

  I could see him stewing, his good mood fading.

  Wanting to reassure him, I said, “Don’t let him bother you. It doesn’t matter whatever he thinks any old way. He ain’t got a thing to say about it, and if he does, well, we’ll kick that sumbitch’s ass.”

  That brought a little smile to his face, and hopeful he would perk up, I said, “Come on, I’ll race you!”

  We took off, and several minutes later we stood by the pond, breathing hard. It was relatively hidden at the end of our property, situated close to the woods separating our land from Mr. Fowler’s. The grass hadn’t been mowed around the edges the way Daddy liked to keep it safe, so I began searching for a couple of fallen limbs under the trees. I chose two that looked like they could withstand the heavy whacking to scare off water moccasins. I gave one to Daniel, and we got to beating on the weeds up to the edge of the small wooden dock. Daddy had built it, and it wasn’t nothing fancy, just four posts, and a wood surface big enough for us to lie on.

  Daniel went alongside me whispering, “Be gone, agkistrodon piscivorus!”

  No task went without a tiny trace of showmanship from Daniel. We went onto the dock and sat on the graying, weathered wood. I drew my knees up, wrapped my arms around them so I could rest my chin on my kneecaps. I waited for him to talk. Daniel was holding onto that moment back at the barn, sitting quiet, the breeze ruffling his hair. I inched toward the edge, rolled up my pant legs, pulled my penny loafers off, and stuck my feet in the water. I was hot, and the water was cool, not tepid like it would eventually become by the end of summer.
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  “We could go swimming,” I suggested, while I gazed up at the sky, and the thickening clouds to the west.

  “Nah.”

  “It’s warm enough. Feel.”

  I grabbed his hand and pulled.

  He leaned over and stuck his fingers in the water. “Uh-huh.”

  He sat back up and wiped them against his pant leg.

  It was quiet again for a few seconds, until I said, “Daniel?”

  “Hm?”

  “Remember that time I finally beat you?”

  He made a noise and looked at me, smiling a little. “Yeah. First and only time.”

  We’d been nine years old, and it was a day he’d beaten me time and again, with me growing madder by the minute. I’d swam naked before, until Mama insisted I wear a swimsuit when I’d turned seven. When I stripped my suit off and jumped back in, Daniel had sat with his mouth open in disbelief. I’d wanted to beat him bad—just once—but the bathing suit Mama made me wear hindered me with straps that kept falling down. I’d laughed and splashed water at him, not feeling the least bit uncomfortable.

  He’d grabbed my suit, flung it at me, and yelled, “Put it back on!” turning away, the back of his neck to his toes red like he’d got an instant sunburn.

  I threw it back and said, “Not ’til you race me. I can beat you. I know I can.”

  “I ain’t racing no nekkid girl.”

  “You’re just scared ’cause you know I’ll beat you.”

  “Ain’t.”

  “Are.”

  “Dang it, Sonny. I ain’t racing you less you put the suit on.”

  “You’ll lose.”

  Daniel waved his hand at me without turning around. “No I wouldn’t.”

  “Would.”

  “Wouldn’t!”

  “Then, race me.”

  “Promise you’ll stay on your own side. Don’t come near me.”

  “Geez, Daniel. It ain’t like I got cooties, ya know.”

  I started to climb out of the water, and Daniel actually screamed.

  I stopped. “What is it? I got to get out to dive in.”

  “No you don’t!”

  “Yes I do!”

  I put my hands back on the sun-warmed wood, and went to pull myself out of the water again and he’d faced away from me, yelling, “Don’t!”

  He jumped in so fast it looked like he fell. I’d never seen him so worked up, so panicked by my presence.

  I couldn’t resist looking all around myself as I swam a little closer, saying, “Eeeew! Look! What are these?”

  Alarmed, he came a little closer and said, “What, what is it?” real concern in his voice.

  I lunged and tried to grab his arm, screaming, “It’s a cootie!”

  Daniel said, “Dammit! Quit playing around! You ready?”

  My competitive side took over, and snickering to myself, I swam back to the dock, gripped the edge with my fingers, and focused on the other side of the pond.

  My jaw set, I said, “Yeah.”

  “On your mark. Get set. Go!”

  I plunged forward and began kicking for all I was worth, my arms going over and over, my body feeling as if I was skimming over the surface. I ended up beating him by a few seconds. He couldn’t believe it.

  I climbed out to do a victory dance, and he yelled, “Get back in!”

  I cannonballed him, and cavorted about with glee. He was stunned, but mostly mad. He climbed onto the wood and made me look away, taking off his own swimsuit, wanting to prove he could beat me back, and he did. Who knew if the suits really had a thing to do with being faster, but every time we went swimming after that, eventually, they came off. By then we’d discovered we liked the freedom and we grew comfortable around one another, sometimes even lying on the wood side by side to dry off. It was a carefree, natural feeling, and though I’d been a little curious about Daniel, after I discovered he looked like my brothers, who I’d seen plenty of times when we were little, we quickly went back to being our nine-year-old selves.

  Ross had caught us once too. He’d appeared out of nowhere, coming for a swim, and there we were, like white chicken meat floating in a bowl of gravy.

  Ross yelled, “You better get them bare asses outta that water, now!”

  I’d yelled, “Go away, Ross! Quit spying on us!”

  Daniel said, “We ain’t doing nothing!”

  Ross said, “Like hell you ain’t! You’re swimming nekkid with my baby sister! I’m gonna turn my back, and you’re both gonna put them suits back on, or I’m gonna go and get Daddy!”

  Furious, yet scared, I said, “You do and we’ll have plenty of time to get them on. Our word against yours, Ross Creech!”

  “And who you reckon he’s gonna believe? Me or you? Why would I make up something like that? Huh?”

  He had a point.

  Grumbling, I said, “All right. All right. Come on, Daniel.”

  We scrambled out of the water, wiggling quick as we could into our suits while Ross stared at the sky. Once we were decent again, I stormed off with Daniel following close behind me, both of us worried he’d tell Daddy anyway.

  He hollered after us, “Daniel Lassiter, I’ll whup your ass and tell my daddy, you ever do that again!”

  We’d done it a few more times, always keeping track of where Ross or Trent might be, but as we got older, and Mama had talked to me ’bout boy and girl things, that took the fun out of it.

  I sneaked a peek at Daniel, sitting like me, arms around his knees.

  “What do you want to do, then?”

  “Just sit here for a while.”

  “Okay.”

  I lay on my back, and twirled a piece of grass. I reached over and got another and sandwiched it between my thumbs. I put them vertical to my mouth and blew. It didn’t work right the first time, but the second time it did, and I produced a fuzzy sounding whistle, much like the noise of a gnat. Daniel looked at me, annoyed.

  Innocent, I said, “What?”

  He shook his head.

  I sighed. “Let’s go back to the house. Mama’s bound to have supper almost ready.”

  We walked with me bumping into Daniel to knock him off the path, and him doing the same to me. By the time we got there, both John Deere’s were parked under the oak tree. The hopper lids were up, and Ross and Trent were in the process of cleaning the equipment, checking the various parts. This was something Daddy had taught them as well. I could hear him clear as if he was here. You can’t just jump on’em and go. You got to keep’em up, that’s just as big a part of the job as usin’em to tend to the crops.

  Trent said in an irritated voice, “No fair you go off playing. That field I was in could have used some hoe work.”

  “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

  Trent acted like he hadn’t heard me or didn’t want to hear. I caught a whiff of supper drifting from the open windows of the kitchen and motioned to Daniel, who didn’t see since he was watching Trent climb back on the tractor. I had a sudden thought. Maybe he wanted to learn how to drive one. He’d never worked on a farm, and maybe he was wishing he could learn to do some of the things my brothers did.

  I said, “Hey, Daniel, you want to see if you can drive the tractor? Trent can teach you.”

  Daniel looked at me, his expression hopeful while Trent looked downright ornery at my suggestion.

  He said, “I ain’t got time to be giving no lessons! I got another field to plant.”

  Daniel shook his head quick. “That’s okay. He ain’t got to . . .”

  Trent cranked the tractor up as Daniel was speaking, popped the clutch, and almost did a wheelie. He took off, driving like he’d done the day he’d ended up in the ditch. Ross shook his head, grumbling about it.

  I said, “Come on, let’s go in.”

  Daniel looked over his shoulder at Trent as he flew down the road. I was pretty darn sure he wanted to learn how to drive that tractor.

  Mr. Fowler was nowhere in sight at supper and nobody asked about him. It was alm
ost like old times with all of us gathered round the table, except for Daddy’s empty chair. Mama put so much food on Daniel’s plate, even he looked alarmed. She said he was getting too thin. After we were done, Daniel swore he was about to pop, couldn’t eat another bite. When he saw the banana pudding, the meringue all toasty brown, he somehow found room. After supper, Ross got the truck, and Daniel put his bike into the back. Ross and I gave him a ride home, talking about nothing really. At one point, the truck’s headlights caught the two glowing eyes of a possum as it crossed the road.

  Ross said, “Guarantee that’s the only possum in Jones County ever made it to the other side.”

  A few minutes later we rolled down Daniel’s street to see every single light was on in his house. Shadowy shapes of people passed by in the windows, and there was music. Loud music. Too loud even for a Saturday night hootenanny, as Daddy used to call somebody else’s itch to get drunk, play records, and sing along. Daniel climbed out reluctantly. He shut the door, leaned against it, and twitched at some loud noise from within that was followed by loud laughter.

  He said, “Well. Guess I better go see what’s going on. Sounds like furniture being moved around.”

  I said, “Reckon your mama’s having a party, huh.”

  “Yeah. No sleep for me tonight.”

  I said, “Want us to wait? You can come stay at our house you know.”

  Daniel looked me, then Ross. “You sure?”

  Ross nodded. “Go on and get your stuff.”

  Daniel looked relieved. “Okay.”

  We watched him walk up to the house, slump shouldered, and thirty seconds later he hurried out.

  He got in, slammed the door, and said, “Thanks. Mama said it was a ‘supper party,’ but it looked like a drinking party, you ask me.”

  The front door flew open and Mrs. Lassiter appeared, leaning against the frame, bottle in one hand, a cigarette in the other, and wearing a dress so tight you could practically count the bones of her rib cage. Her hair was all mussed up and a man appeared over her shoulder, smooching on her neck. I looked down at my hands, fighting the urge to bite my nails.