The Forgiving Kind

by Donna Everhart

  “You ever find that stick of yours?”

  I didn’t answer.

  Mama prompted my manners. “Sonny.”

  “No, sir.”

  Mr. Fowler leaned back in his chair, balancing on two legs, and Mama drew up. He rocked away on them two legs, all that weight of his causing them to creak and groan. Mama got up and went to the sink like she couldn’t bear to watch.

  He said, “Just as well. I ordered you a dowsing kit. Found it in a catalog down to Slater’s. What you think about that?”

  That sure caught me off guard. I had no idea you could buy such and or that he’d bother to even buy something for me. He’d made it pretty clear what he’d thought about my strange ability. Mama smiled, then prompted me about my manners again since I was still trying to grasp what it meant. There had to be a reason behind it.

  She said, “Why, that’s real nice, ain’t that real nice, Sonny?”

  My response was half-hearted. “I guess.”

  Mama’s voice went deep with disappointment. “Sonny.”

  “I’m sorry, Mama, but I’m still looking for the one Daddy gave me.”

  “That doesn’t mean you forget your manners. Didn’t you tell me they were copper, Frank?”

  “That’s right.”

  Copper?

  I couldn’t picture how that was supposed to work, much less how it would ever feel like the willow branch, which held the warmth of my hands, as well as the natural smell of sun-soaked wood. I could almost feel the Y in my hands right then, the memory creating a tingling sensation in my palms for want of it. It was a longing much like the one I had when I thought about never laying eyes on Daddy again, never hearing his voice, or his laugh.

  Mama said, “See. They ought to last you a good long time.”

  I nodded, already knowing I couldn’t hardly stand the idea of accepting them. Besides, what good was copper? A branch from a willow tree was intended to find water since it did best growing near rivers, streams, or lakes, according to Daddy. This idea of Mr. Fowler’s seemed outlandish, strange. How appropriate coming from him. I picked up my toast and went toward the door.

  Mama said, “You want an egg?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “I’m going to need you to get them tomatoes and okra out of the garden today.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She said, “Oh, and Aunt Ruth’s coming next week.”

  “She is?”

  “Yes, but she can only stay a few days. She got a summer job tutoring some students.”

  Mr. Fowler set his chair back on all four legs and said, “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

  Mama said, “You never asked.”

  I went outside and flopped down onto the porch swing, setting it in motion with my foot. I stared out at the fields, my spirits lifted over Aunt Ruth’s visit, considering what she might make of it all. I finished eating and headed down the porch steps toward the barn to tell Ross about the irrigation and Aunt Ruth. When I passed the burn can, a shape caught my eye. I went closer, and then snatched at what poked up over the edge, staring in disbelief. It was my willow branch, the distinctive Y-shaped end scorched, one side almost half gone. How would it have gotten in there? The screen door slammed. Mr. Fowler was heading for his truck. I pressed my mouth together and marched back across the yard, up the steps. Mama was picking up the phone as I burst into the kitchen, waving it in the air.

  “Look! It’s my dowsing stick, all burned up! I’ll never be able to use it again! He threw it there!”

  Mama hung the phone up, giving me an exasperated look. “Who did?”

  “Mr. Fowler!”

  “Oh, Sonny. Why would he do that?”

  Outraged I said, “That’s why he spent money to buy me that other one! He’s feeling guilty!”

  I could see uncertainty in her eyes, but she only said, “Calm down. It ain’t right to lay blame when you don’t know for sure.”

  “Who else would’ve done it? I know it was him!”

  Mama glanced over my shoulder. Mr. Fowler was standing just inside the doorway. I’d been so busy yelling, I hadn’t heard him come back in.

  Calm as could be, he said, “I ain’t touched it. Hell, it don’t even look like the same one to me.”

  Giving Mama a pleading look, I willed her to believe me, only she said, “Sonny, you’re not being fair.”

  My chest heaved up and down like I’d run all the way to the house from one of the back fields. She stared at me with such sadness, I realized she would take his side on this too. Maybe it was where he stood in the shadow of the doorway, or maybe it was that my vision had gone blurry, whatever it was, I was certain he’d smirked as she said that. I rushed back outside and took off across the yard.

  Mama called, “Sonny!” but I only ran faster, heading straight for Daddy’s grave. When I got there, I dropped to my knees and leaned my forehead against the stone. I cried out of anger over Mama not believing what I’d said, and then I cried about her taking his side over mine. And, I missed Daddy, his closeness. Mr. Fowler tested loyalties and I felt betrayed. All of it came pouring out, but instead of feeling better when I finally quit, I felt worse. I stared down at my poor, soot-covered willow branch. I was going to keep it anyway. I wasn’t ever going to throw it away.

  I spoke out loud. “Things sure are different now you ain’t here.”

  I stared toward the cotton fields, and my chest hitched again. It felt like I’d cried enough tears to drench an acre. If only that were possible, I’d have cried an ocean in order to save us all.

  Chapter 16

  Aunt Ruth pulled into our drive in the blue Buick she’d had for years, arm hanging out of the window and waving with enthusiasm. She was the distraction we needed, and as she climbed out and stretched, I was again reminded how much she resembled Mama, only a little taller. Mr. Fowler upon finding out Aunt Ruth was arriving today had decided he’d spend the time buying what was needed for the irrigation. He would be gone most of the day. I wished her visit would keep him away for as long as she was here, but that was a pipe dream.

  She and Mama did that thing, grabbed hands and started jumping up and down while going in a circle and laughing. They had to stop to catch their breath after a few seconds. Aunt Ruth stood with her hands on her hips to study me and my brothers before hugging each of us in turn.

  She said, “My word, you all have grown like weeds.”

  Her manner of speaking was more precise, as if her teaching mode was never turned off. She grabbed Ross’s arm and playfully pulled him around to the back of the car to help her get what she’d brought. He lifted out the expected and welcome crate filled with jars of spiced peaches. She gave Mama a soft brown paper package, tied with string, likely a pretty material for something she could make. She gave Trent her suitcase, and to me, she handed a box filled with magazines and books. Mama’s favorite, Good Housekeeping, was on top.

  We headed inside, and once we got into the kitchen and set things down, Aunt Ruth grew teary eyed.

  She said, “Oh, Olivia, I’m so sorry about Lloyd. You know how much I cared about him.”

  Mama couldn’t speak since it was still too hard to talk about Daddy as a memory. She drew a handkerchief from her apron and dabbed at her eyes. Ross and Trent shuffled their feet, while my eyes welled up and spilled over. Aunt Ruth hugged Mama hard, and after a few seconds she let her go.

  Mama blew her nose and said, “God, it was awful. He was in so much pain.”

  Aunt Ruth shook her head. “I can’t hardly bear to hear it. Lloyd was such a good man. You know, I got to thinking about the time I was about seven and you were five.”

  Mama nodded. “Jimmy Flynn.”

  Aunt Ruth said, “Yes. He barely got nipped by some kind of snake, I’m not sure if they ever knew, but my word. How his arm swelled up and turned color.”

  “I remember.”

  Whoever this Jimmy Flynn was, he must’ve died.

  Curious, I said, “What happened to him
?”

  Aunt Ruth said, “They amputated his arm.All the way up to the shoulder.”

  I said, “He didn’t die?”

  Aunt Ruth shook her head. I wished what happened to Jimmy Flynn had happened to Daddy. He might not have had an arm, but he’d still be here.

  Aunt Ruth sighed, and pointed out the window. “I see the fields got planted. The neighbor you mentioned?”

  Mama nodded. “Yes.” She cleared her throat and said, “Frank’s been a godsend.”

  I shifted, and Ross coughed into his hand.

  Trent said, “He sure has got a lot of money.”

  Aunt Ruth quickly picked up on Mama’s use of his first name. “Frank, huh?”

  Mama flipped her hand, dismissing any meaning behind it. She got her cigarettes, lit one up, and Aunt Ruth stuck out a hand, wiggling her fingers.

  Mama frowned and said, “Since when did you start smoking?”

  Aunt Ruth said, “Since I started back teaching sixth grade instead of fourth.”

  She smiled at me knowing I was going into the sixth grade, while Mama handed over a cigarette and the matches.

  Ross grumbled his opinion of Mr. Fowler. “He’s real good at telling us what to do, that’s for sure.”

  Mama gave him a warning look while Aunt Ruth’s expression was curious. “I remember you saying you had a neighbor, but didn’t really know him.”

  “Yes, before Lloyd’s accident, we didn’t see him much.”

  Aunt Ruth regarded Mama like a cardinal looking for food, tilting her head, examining her closely. I wanted to tell her how hateful he was, but Mama kept talking like she needed to get ahead of herself with some sort of explanation.

  She said, “We spotted him a time or two in town, or in one of his fields when we’d drive by the place. He was just always busy, I suppose.”

  Trent said, “He’s got a lot of land. A lot more than us. About a thousand acres.”

  Ross said, “Ain’t nobody cares about that but you.”

  Trent shoved Ross, and before they could get into one of their tussles, Mama said, “Boys,” and then continued, “he noticed the fields weren’t planted. That was on account of Slater’s Supplies had quit allowing credit on purchases. If it hadn’t been for him, we wouldn’t have a crop this year.”

  Aunt Ruth was looking a little bewildered. “You never said a word about that when we talked, Olivia.”

  Mama said, “There was no need for you to worry. I handled it.”

  “But . . . why didn’t you tell me?”

  “What could you have done?”

  “I could’ve helped!”

  Mama said, “Lord have mercy, I know you ain’t forgot how much it takes to run a farm, have you? It takes a lot of money, even one this size.”

  “But, to take from a stranger?”

  Mama breathed out heavy and said, “I didn’t see as it’s much different than credit at Slater’s. Oh, sure, I suppose we could have gone without the crop. I’d already taken in sewing, done some ironing again, working my fingers till they were numb and it wasn’t enough. Sonny could’ve sold some of the vegetables out of the garden along with the eggs. Ross could’ve got him a part-time job. It wouldn’t have been enough.”

  “What about the bank?”

  “We’re already carrying a large note. We borrowed against the house a few years ago when we’d had a bad year. Lloyd only just said we didn’t need to get in any deeper with it.”

  “But . . .”

  “I did the best I could.”

  Aunt Ruth said, “I’m just a little surprised is all.”

  Mama waved an arm toward the windows. “Weather sure hasn’t helped.”

  Aunt Ruth shook her head. “No. I can see that.”

  Mama said, “Frank’s decided we ought to irrigate a few acres.”

  Aunt Ruth said, “Hm.”

  She finished her cigarette, stubbed it out, and said, “When do I get to meet this helpful neighbor?”

  I spoke up. “He’s here for breakfast, dinner, and supper, and most times in between.”

  Her expression almost made me laugh as she raised her eyebrows at me, then even more markedly at Mama.

  Mama brushed it off and said, “Ain’t nothing wrong with him eating here considering. The least I can do is cook him a meal.”

  I said, “Meals.”

  Mama ignored me and said, “You’ll meet him soon enough, I reckon. I asked him to come for supper tonight.”

  Aunt Ruth said, “I can’t wait.”

  I couldn’t wait to see what she thought of him. Aunt Ruth was blunt and said what most people thought but were afraid to say. I’d seen her and Mama butt heads a time or two in the past when she came to visit, though it didn’t happen often.

  She looked at me and smiled. “Are you and I bunking together?”

  I liked her being in my room with me. “Yes!”

  Mama said, “Boys, get the cot out of the attic.”

  I grabbed the suitcase from Trent and took it to my room. I loved remembering some of the great conversations we’d had after everybody went to bed. Let’s see what she thought about things after I filled her in tonight. I went back out into the hall and watched as Ross pulled on the cord that brought down the attic door. He unfolded the ladder, and climbed up. He handed the cot down to Trent, who carried it to my room and set it by the window. I got extra sheets out of the wardrobe in the hallway, and made it up. Just seeing it in there, and that suitcase by my bed meant it was officially summertime.

  I went back into the kitchen where Mama and Aunt Ruth sat at the kitchen table catching up. Sometimes I wished I’d had a sister when Ross or Trent got to acting foolish, and I found myself smiling a little bit even though I had no idea what they were really giggling about. Mama eventually got up and filled the metal ice trays, then washed out a set of small glasses she kept in the top cabinet. Aunt Ruth set them on a silver tray she’d just polished.

  She held it up to eye level, checking out the shine she’d given it while commenting, “This was Mama’s favorite piece.”

  Mama nodded and said, “It sure was.”

  Aunt Ruth took it to the living room and Mama took the tablecloth she’d soaked in starch out of the freezer. I used a Pepsi bottle with a rubber sprinkler top and shook water in droplets onto the frozen material when needed. There was something satisfying about pressing the hot iron to the cold cloth. I especially liked hearing the little spitting noise the iron made as I worked to remove the wrinkles. Steam rose up, and the scent of starch was as fresh as cut grass.

  Mama came by occasionally as I moved sections of it around the ironing board, telling me, “Don’t forget that corner” and “There’s a spot there.”

  She helped me carry it and place it just so on the table. The final touch was when I went outside to cut some of her white peonies. I arranged them in a pretty crystal vase, and set it in the middle of the table. I stood back a little and stared at the setting, and considered its overall appearance. Fancy. Like when Preacher Moore would sometimes come to eat Sunday dinner. Mama was going to put out a big meal just like for those occasions. She’d already fried the chicken and had bowls filled with rice, gravy, and the purple hull peas I’d shelled on the porch earlier. There was a plate of cucumber strips and tomato slices, so pretty and colorful. She’d made two pitchers of sweet tea and they sat chilling in the refrigerator. She’d made a chocolate pie with meringue and it was on the counter.

  Trent and Ross hovered about like unwanted flies at a picnic, their hair still wet from cleaning up.

  Mama said, “Can’t you two find something to do? If you’re not helping, out of the kitchen.”

  They drifted off with minor grumbling to go listen to the radio on the back porch. Aunt Ruth had gone to take a bath, and when she came out, Mama took one. They both had dresses, freshly starched too. Mama’s was pink, and Aunt Ruth’s was blue. I wore a dress that was one of Daddy’s favorites. It had a white collar, and was pale yellow. Mama said it went real nic
e with my hair, which I’d braided into two pigtails and tied white bows on the ends. I loved getting dressed up. I pulled on a pair of anklet socks with lace, and finally, my spit shined black Mary Janes. They made a clopping sound like a horse’s hooves as I went down the hallway. I stepped into Mama’s room where she was in her bra and slip, sprinkling talcum powder in the crease of her bosoms.

  I said, “Mama, can I use some of your perfume?”

  She spritzed it in the air and said, “Walk through it,” which I did.

  It smelled of peaches, a bit of cinnamon, and other things I couldn’t quite pinpoint.

  “Which one is it?”

  Mama said, “It’s Youth Dew by Estée Lauder.”

  Daddy had given it to her for her birthday a couple years back. I noticed she was almost out, and regretted asking her to share it.

  Mr. Fowler showed up at six o’clock, hair tonic holding every strand of hair in place for a change and wearing a dress shirt like he was attending a church service. Each time he moved, the aroma of his aftershave, or whatever it was he wore, drifted my way, and after a while, I started to get a little headache between Mama’s perfume and that. Daddy never wore that sort of stuff. He smelled like rain and hay. Wind and dirt. He smelled of the outdoors, the scent I love best.

  Ross and Trent had followed Mr. Fowler inside, so now everyone was crowded into the kitchen, which was a bit steamy still from all the cooking earlier on. In a matter of seconds, Mr. Fowler’s forehead beaded up with sweat. Nervousness or awkwardness was not what I expected out of him, but that had to be the reason he kept tugging at the collar cinched around his neck, and clearing his throat. Mama made quick introductions. He offered Aunt Ruth a brief handshake before he stuffed his hands back into his pockets.

  After the introductions, Mama said, “Frank, would you like a cocktail?”

  Relief melted his features into something almost pleasant. “Sure, sure, that would be real nice.”

  Aunt Ruth wagged a finger and said, “Follow me,” and Mr. Fowler went along with her like a puppy being led away on a leash, docile and meek.