“I’m just messing with you. What’s her name?”
“Cynthia Graves.”
“Oh, I know who Cynthia Graves is, sweet little girl, nothing like that flirty stepsister of hers. I graduated with her father, Theo. He asked me out once, but I was seeing that loser John Platts at the time. Wish I’d took him up on it. I might have been rich instead of waiting tables at this dying drugstore.”
A bell rang and Frances retrieved Ethan’s order from the kitchen window. Ethan ate his breakfast quickly, anxious to go and find Cynthia.
“You swallowed that plate whole,” said Frances, as Ethan paid his check, leaving fifty cents for a tip.
“Guess I was hungry.”
“Well, you be sure and come back soon. I enjoy our little talks.”
“Thanks,” said Ethan. “I do too.” He left the drugstore, looked around the square for Cynthia, then walked over to Square Deal. He found Simon Green sitting at his spot on the store bench.
“You mean you’re still around?” said Simon. “I figured that old Miss Green would of done had you locked up somewhere or a spook got you by now.”
“No, I’m still here,” said Ethan, seating himself on the bench beside Simon.
“Glad of it. My other bench buddies couldn’t make it today. Fred’s in the hospital with an irregular heartbeat, supposed to be going home tomorrow, and Alfred don’t make it but about every other day. This bench needs somebody young to sit on it every once in a while. I’m sure it gets tired of listening to us old fogies talk about politics and the obituaries.
Ethan laughed.
“How’s old Miss Green’s bees doing, by the way? Have you gotten stung yet?”
“I’ve only seen them one time, but I’d like to learn more about them. They’re really cool, I think. If my mom would let me, I’d kind of like to raise some bees.”
“Now if you ever decide to,” said Simon, “you let me know. I used to have some bees of my own. Well, they were my wife’s bees, really, but I helped, got to be pretty good at it, in fact. I haven’t had the heart to get back into bee keeping since she passed away, but I think I’d like to now.”
“What happened to your wife’s bees?”
“Some of them died, but most of them just up and flew away. I didn’t have the good sense to get out there and tell the bees about Mildred’s passing. I was too grief stricken, I suppose, didn’t even think about it until it was too late.”
“I don’t understand,” said Ethan. “What do you mean by telling the bees?”
“Well,” said Simon rubbing his chin, “It sounds like an old superstition, but some old superstitions have a lot of truth to them. If a bee keeper dies, someone has to get out there and tell the bees about it, or the bees will fly away, find a new place to make their honey.”
“That’s fascinating,” said Ethan, “I’ve never heard that before. And I’ll be sure to let you know if I decide to set up some bees. It would be great to have an expert’s help.”
“I don’t know about me being an expert, but I do know a thing or two about the subject.”
“Hi, Ethan,” said Cynthia Graves, approaching the porch.
Ethan jumped a little. “Oh, hi, Cynthia. I was hoping to find you today. I’ve got great news.”
“That sounds exciting. I’m on my way to the library. You want to go with me and tell me what the news is.”
Once the two had made it inside the library and settled themselves at a table in a remote corner, Ethan told Cynthia that Miss Green wanted to hear her play the piano.
“That’s great,” said Cynthia, “how’d you talk her into letting me play for her?”
“Oh, I didn’t. I was going to ask her, but she brought it up first. Can you do it tomorrow? Do you think your mom will let you?”
“Tomorrow will be great. I’ll tell my stepmom about it after the fact, in case she has any objections. I doubt she will but just to be safe.”
“Great,” said Ethan. “Should we meet on the square at about one o’clock tomorrow? Does that sound good?”
“Sounds perfect.”
“I can’t wait,” said Ethan. “I know she’s going to be impressed.”
“I’ll go home and practice tonight. I’m a little nervous already.”
“There’s no need to be nervous. She’s nicer than you’d think she’d be.”
“So,” said Cynthia, “what kind of books are we going to look for today? I guess we should find something to read so they won’t accuse us of loitering.”
“I want to find some books about the Bell Witch,” said Ethan.
“Oh, that sounds fun. The Bell Witch is a big legend around these parts.”
“The waitress at the drugstore, Frances Batts, told me she’s related to the Bell Witch, Kate Batts.”
“That sounds ridiculous,” said Cynthia. “I didn’t think a whole lot was known about who Kate Batts really was, let alone her genealogy. They do have the same last name, though, so I suppose it’s possible.”
The two talked and laughed together until the librarian told them they needed to quiet down. Ethan checked out a book about the Bell Witch and Cynthia went home to practice piano. Ethan was reluctantly starting to like Rocky Creek a little; at least it had a few cool people.
He had two suppers that evening: one his mom prepared and one Daniel’s mom prepared. Meal number one was a disgusting spinach and hamburger casserole, so Ethan didn’t feel bad about only eating a few bites of it, saving room for meal number two, which his mom knew nothing about. He had started to tell her that he was going to Daniel’s instead of Miss Green’s but decided it wasn’t worth the risk of being told he couldn’t go. It would be better to wait and tell her about Daniel later. Luckily, meal number two was much better: fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, and coleslaw. “It may not be Kentucky Fried Chicken,” said Sophia, “but it ain’t too bad, I guess.”
“Taste great to me,” said Ethan. He was relieved that she seemed to be fully recovered from her rough start to the day.
“I’m glad somebody appreciates my cooking.”
“I think it’s good too,” said Daniel.
“I’m so glad you and Daniel have become friends. It was kind of lonely around here with just the two of us, being new to town and all.”
“I’m new to town too.”
“What does your dad do for a living?” asked Sophia.
“He passed away,” said Ethan, looking down at his plate and slowly stirring his potatoes and gravy with his fork.
“I’m sorry,” said Sophia. “Me and my big mouth. Daniel’s father might as well be dead. I’m sorry I ever met him.”
“So I guess you’re sorry you had me too,” said Daniel.
“Of course not,” said Sophia, “You know I love you. Me and my big mouth again. I suppose my mouth is why he left me. John wasn’t much of a talker. I just wish he’d have talked enough to tell me something was wrong, not just up and leave. I could have done something to make things right. I guess I deserve to be alone.”
“Don’t say that, Mom” said Daniel.
“Ethan,” said Sophia, cigarette smoke billowing out of her mouth, “you should invite your mother over sometime. She probably gets lonely too, being new to town.”
“I might do that.”
Sophia fixed herself another glass of bourbon mixed with cranberry juice. Ethan felt sad for her. It was her third glass since they’d started eating. “Doctor told me to drink lots of cranberry juice,” she said, “treats this urinary infection I’ve been fighting.”
“Mom, I don’t think Ethan wants to hear about your urinary infection.”
“I was just saying that cranberry juice is good for it.”
“I don’t think he meant for you to drown it in alcohol,” said Daniel.
“Makes it go down easier,” she said, taking a final puff of a cigarette and snuffing it out in a glass ashtray. Cranberry juice is kind of strong if you don’t water it down with something.”
“A urinar
y infection is going to be the least of your worries if you don’t quit drinking so much,” said Daniel.
“Oh, I don’t really drink all that much.”
“If you say so,” said Daniel.
After supper the two boys headed towards the swimming hole. Ethan followed Daniel down highway 31W a few miles before they crossed a weedy field, hiked through a wooded area, and crossed another field, until finally they came upon a beautiful clear pond. A small stream fed the pond, entering on one side and existing on the other side, keeping the water fresh.
“This pond is amazing,” said Ethan, “almost as nice as the streams back home.”
“I told you,” said Daniel.
Shedding the jeans they had worn over their trunks to avoid chigger bites along the way, they ran and jumped into the cool refreshing water. There was a grapevine hanging from a tall tree on one side of the pond, and the two boys found at least a dozen different acrobatic ways to swing from it and splash into the water. It was nearly dark before the two decided they had better get to the house. On the way back Ethan told Daniel about Flintridge and about the house that Mittie Drane had lived in. Daniel said he’d love to see the old houses, and Ethan promised he’d take him there soon. They would make a bike trip out of it.
The two played basketball by porch light until late that night. The next morning Ethan helped Daniel wake up Sophia, who was again passed out on the couch. Ethan noticed some medicine bottles on the coffee table beside her, but didn’t think a whole lot about it at the time. Before Ethan left, he exchanged phone numbers with Daniel, and they promised to call each other and plan a trip to Flintridge in the next few days.
Ethan smiled as he rode his bike towards town. He now had two best friends, one back home and one in Rocky Creek, and a potential girlfriend, something he’d really never had before. He looked forward to introducing Cynthia to Miss Green. He was sure the two of them would get along great, as they both loved playing classical music on the piano. Everything was slowly starting to get better in this new town, and Ethan felt a newfound happiness.
He felt happy because he knew nothing of the darkness he would soon face, a darkness that would threaten to consume him, a revelation making him question his own place in the world. But for now it seemed to him that everything was starting to be okay.
Cynthia was waiting next to the fountain at one o’clock. She had brought her bike, and the two friends headed towards Zelma Green’s.
“I’m nervous,” said Cynthia. “I hope Miss Green likes my playing.”
“Don’t worry about Miss Green,” said Ethan. “You’ll like her when you get to know her. She made me nervous when I first met her, but we get along just great now. It’s that woman that stays with her, Miss Satterfield, that I can’t stand, always jumping on me about something.”
“Well, I hope Miss Satterfield’s not going to be listening to me play; I’d be nervous for sure.”
“I think she’s leaving today, hopefully already gone. Her sister died recently, and she has to be out of town a lot now. Thank goodness for that, about her being gone, I mean.”
Ethan breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing that Miss Satterfield’s car was not in the driveway. “Good, she’s not here,” he said.
“That’s a relief,” said Cynthia.
He knocked on the kitchen door, opened it slowly, and hollered for Miss Green.
“Oh, how wonderful,” said Zelma as she walked into the kitchen from the hallway. “I see you brought your friend, the pianist.”
“This is Cynthia,” said Ethan, as the two walked into the kitchen, the screen door slapping shut behind them. “Cynthia, this is Miss Green.”
“I am so glad to meet you. Ethan has told me you play piano, and I’ve been wanting to meet you ever since. There are so few young people these days who play the piano, especially classical.”
“It’s nice to meet you too, Miss Green. I’m still learning to play, so I make mistakes sometimes. Don’t be surprised if I hit a wrong note or two.”
“Mistakes are the mortar that we use to build our dreams.”
“That’s a wonderful way of putting it, Miss Green,” said Cynthia. “I never thought of it that way.”
“I just love to listen to her talk,” said Ethan. “She is so wise about things.”
“I guess living to nearly a century makes one reflective,” said Zelma. “I very much appreciate the compliment.”
The three walked into the front parlor with the piano. Cynthia played parts of several classical songs near flawlessly, starting with Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy.” Zelma expressed her delight with each song, declaring her a musical genius.
“I’m so glad you like my playing,” said Cynthia. I was a little bit nervous.”
“My dear,” said Zelma, “at your young age you are already a better piano player than I’ve ever been, even during my heyday.”
“Wow,” said Cynthia. “I’m so glad to hear you say that. I wasn’t sure what you’d think.”
“Never doubt your talent again.”
“Thank you. I will certainly keep practicing.”
“Now,” said Zelma, standing up and balancing herself with the horsehead cane. “I’ve made us some refreshments. I hope you two like fresh squeeze lemonade and molasses cookies.”
“I’ve never had molasses cookies, but they sound good,” said Ethan.
The three sat on the front porch and talked a while over their refreshments. Ethan thought the molasses cookies were terrible, but he ate two of them to be polite. He could tell that Cynthia liked Miss Green as well as he did by the time she was ready to go home. She promised that she would return soon, and Ethan accompanied her back to her house, all smiles as he watched her walk up the front steps. She turned and smiled back at him before closing the large door. He was in a daze of happiness as he rode his bike home.
Chapter 14
After eating supper with his mom, a yucky tuna casserole that he could barely swallow, Ethan replenished his satchel, grabbed a raincoat in case it started to rain, and rode his bike to Zelma Green’s. He found her sitting at the kitchen table listening to a small radio. A voice on the radio warned of possible strong storms that evening and overnight. It was nearly dark outside when heavy rain started beating against the windows. The electricity went out moments before a loud clap of thunder vibrated the house.
“Why don’t you grab a candle and a match out of the drawer over there,” said Zelma, “and we’ll go sit out the storm in the parlor.”
The clock with the Roman soldier ticked as Ethan lit the candle and seated himself in one of the fancy parlor chairs. Zelma sat in a chair across from him, the wrinkles of her face intensified by the shadowy light. The storm raged outside.
“You know,” said Zelma. “I rather enjoy times like these when the electricity goes out. When I was growing up at Flintridge, we didn’t have electricity. We burned candles and lanterns, and the world seemed so much more mysterious and wonderful. Sitting here in the candlelight, I can imagine myself young again. I almost believe that if I took a candle and looked at myself in the mirror, I’d see a young face, the girl I used to be, staring back at me. And if the lights never came back on, I could escape this old body and run away, run away back to Flintridge, the Flintridge I knew as a girl, and all my old family and friends would be there waiting for me. I know it sounds crazy, but I can almost believe that.”
“I hate to ask,” said Ethan, “but while you are thinking about the past, do you care to tell me the rest of the story about Mittie? I’ve got to know what happened.”
“Of course, yes, this is a perfect time to tell the story. This storm has made my memory as sharp as a razor. And I somehow feel strong enough to tell it now. The other day my emotions got the best of me, I’m afraid. But please refresh me on where to start.”
“You were saying that Ester was upset about something she saw at the cemetery, Mittie’s dog, I believe.”
“Oh yes, that was a horrible morning, one I’m s
ure will still be fresh on my mind on the day I close my eyes for the last time.” She paused a moment as a flash of lightning lit up the room, followed by a loud crash of thunder. “Ester was very upset that morning. She believed that Mitte’s dog barking at her grave was an ominous sign, and her increasing panic was infecting me. While Ester rang the dinner bell repeatedly, I ran and found father, two brothers, and Brother Charles in the field. Father was upset with me at first. He thought the idea of exhuming Mittie was preposterous and would get us into a lot of trouble with Mr. Drane. He finally consented with the stipulation that Mr. Drane must agree to the matter. My heart sank at this because, knowing what I knew, I was certain he would never give permission. Having poor Mittie return from the grave to tell her story would be the last thing he would want to happen. Nonetheless, we all headed over to Mr. Drane’s house, the house you and I visited the other day.
“It went about as well as I feared it would. Ester couldn’t hold back her emotions and made the situation worse. She cried and pleaded with Mr. Drane to give permission to exhume Mittie, angering him so much he pulled a pistol out of his vest pocket and threatened to shoot her with it. He told us to get off his land and said he would have us all arrested if we moved so much as a speck of dirt off her grave. At that Father said we should leave. I felt frustrated and heart sick.
“On the way home, Father asked Brother Charles to drive us over to the cemetery. ‘It’s against my better judgment,’ he said, ‘but you two have convinced me to inspect the situation, for my own conscience sake.’
Ester and I thanked him profusely.
“‘I’m not promising to exhume Mittie,’ my father replied, ‘Just that we will assess the situation. I want you two to go along to satisfy you own minds that everything is okay. We will put an end to this today.’
“Once we reached the cemetery, it was just as Ester had described: Mittie’s dog was over the grave barking. He looked at us pleadingly, as though seeking our assistance. The poor desperate thing had dug quite a hole already.
“‘Oh, my heavens,’ said my father, ‘that poor woman’s been buried alive. The dog wouldn’t be acting that way otherwise. It must hear her down there. Grab the shovels, Brother Charles, we’ve got to get her out.’
A Million Doorways Page 14