That afternoon, Ron, Lux, and Alan Ray came home empty-handed and late, almost as late as the younger children came off the bus. As soon as he got in the door, Ron begged and cried to take another day off school. “You know they don’t do anything in school on the day before a holiday,” he told Dessie, but she put her foot down. “You need to do all your work,” she said, making room at the table for him to have a snack, and for Lissy and Little Lux to start on their homework. “More good marks next year, and then ask me about it.”
“Next year?” Ron said. “Goddamnit,” he cursed softly under his breath, but before Dessie could threaten to wash out his mouth with soap, he raced outside to ask his father.
But on Tuesday, when Lux got Dessie up at 4 a.m. to pack Lux’s lunch, Lux didn’t bother to wake Ron. It was sleeting outside, and the temperature had dropped. Dessie was relieved that by the time Ron got up and realized that his dad was gone, it was too late for him to do anything but get ready to go to school. Late that afternoon, when Alan Ray and Lux came home from hunting, Ron’s bear was covered with a thick glaze of ice, and the sky was as dark as the men’s mood.
Dessie and the boys sat at the kitchen table while Lissy heated up water for the dishes. Tommy pushed away his bottle full of powdered milk; only when she mixed half powder and half real milk could Dessie sneak a bottle by him. The Velveeta cheese was still a hit with the kids, and they ate cheese sandwiches and baked beans that night for supper. Rose had stopped by earlier, and she’d brought Dessie a ham to fix for Thanksgiving dinner from the Prices’ freezer. She and Bertram were headed to spend the holiday with Aunt Nelda, who was getting around better after a second hip replacement. Also, Bertram had wanted to give the children some spending money for pop and candy.
Just as Rose was heading out, Alan Ray came back up to help plan out the next day’s hunting. He still wore his camouflage, but his usually ruddy complexion was pale, his voice low. Lux wouldn’t say much, but when Ron found out that his uncle had been to town, he couldn’t help but ask Alan Ray for the news. Alan Ray told everyone that the largest buck checked in was a fourteen-point, and a bunch of young four-point bucks and six-points were tagged; yearlings and does had been spotted everywhere.
WEDNESDAY WARMED up a little, but was still cool and very foggy. Ice dripped off the porch stairs. By the time the children got up, Ron and Lux were out in the woods, and the fog was lifting. The kids were happy to get a break from school. Between looking after the little ones and getting the house cleaned up for the Thanksgiving dinner, Dessie did not know where the day went. Throughout the day, Dessie and Lissy heard gunshots, though it was hard to place their exact direction. At first, each rifle crack and shotgun echo made Dessie hopeful, but when several hours passed and Ron and Lux hadn’t come down off the Goshen Road, the pit of her stomach filled with dread. She tried to push the thought from her mind, but even worse than the idea of them coming back empty-handed was the idea of an accident way back in the woods.
When Ron and Lux finally returned Wednesday evening, their vests, pants, and boots were covered with mud and briars. They had seen a couple of deer, and Ron had fired off a couple rounds, but he couldn’t get a decent shot at anything. Ron looked completely worn out as he came into the kitchen after hanging his hunting clothes outside. “I almost shot a doe,” he said. “I was going to sneak it home through the woods and not check it in. That way you could have something for Thanksgiving tomorrow, Ma.”
“That’s all right, Ronnie,” said Dessie as she set him out a cup of hot cocoa. “We’ve got the ham from Papaw’s hog, and we’ll get our buck sooner or later.”
“Not if them hunters from Ohio already got it,” Lux said from the living room. Dessie hadn’t seen any out-of-state license plates, but she kept that information to herself, glancing back at Lissy as if to say, hush now. Lissy took the hint, setting aside her schoolwork, helping draw bathwater and put the younger kids to bed early, so they wouldn’t get on Lux’s nerves.
Dessie quietly cleaned up the kitchen and started making pie crusts for the next day. “No old ornery buck is going to ruin my Thanksgiving dinner,” she said to Lissy, and they both got so involved in the routines of measuring ingredients and rolling out lard pie crusts that they didn’t notice that Lux and Ronnie had fallen asleep in their long johns and woolen socks, sprawled out on the living room floor in front of the heater.
WHEN LUX, Ronnie, and Alan Ray returned from the woods Thanksgiving morning, Alan Ray said they’d seen some deer, but all the animals in the woods were moving like they had been spooked. They hadn’t even gotten off a shot; they still had all the shells they took up into the woods that morning. Lux wasn’t talking about it, and neither was Ron. Sullenly and silently they sat on the porch, cleaned the guns, and went into the house to get changed. Only Alan Ray was as cheerful as usual; it seemed to Dessie that any time Alan Ray was away from work he was as happy as a boy. He said his good-byes and yelled up to Dessie on the porch that he’d “be taking any last-minute orders for her sister,” and that he’d be back before long with Billie and their two boys to eat an early Thanksgiving dinner.
Right after that, Lux left for town. He wanted to wash the truck and go to Cleve’s Grocery for the news, since Cleve’s was the nearest check-in station, open even on Thanksgiving, and because Cleve would trade food stamps for cigarettes and beer. Lux took the youngest boys with him as a special treat, and to get them out of Dessie’s hair. Little Lux bounced down the porch stairs into the truck, talking about how he could buy caps for his cap gun with the money from Papaw.
Ronnie was sweeping off the front porch as Lux came back up the drive. Ron said nothing as his father walked by, just hung his head down and worked at a stubborn spot of mud. Dessie was glazing the ham, and, with the help of Lissy and the little ones, she had made two big trays of biscuits from the powdered mix and a skillet full of gravy. Lux walked into the house, set two six-packs down on the table, and took a couple of cans for himself.
The house had been cleaned up and the kitchen table pulled out into the living room. A folding table had been set up too, and two gingham tablecloths overlapped both tables. Since Rose and Bertram had taken off the day before, the long, combined table was only set for ten. In the center stood a construction-paper cutout of a pilgrim man and woman that Lissy had colored at school several years earlier.
Lux scanned the room, then pulled the two tables apart and pushed one against the wall. The clatter of plates and silverware brought Dessie out from the kitchen. “Lux, what’s going on in there?”
“Where the hell is a man supposed to sit if he wants to watch football?” Lux said, propping up his long legs on one of the folding chairs.
“You know dinner’s almost ready,” Dessie said, but just then Tommy came out of the bedroom, toy trucks in hand, and settled onto his dad’s arms. “Look after your daddy,” she told Tommy, trying not to stare at the disarray, but then she turned back to helping Lissy slowly stir the gravy.
As soon as Alan Ray and Billie and the boys came over, Lux cracked open two more beers, but when Alan Ray refused his, Lux kept both. Alan Ray stood up and paced between the kitchen and living room. He was chatty, saying they still had until Sunday to hunt, and mentioning a few other places in the woods that they could use as a blind. Lux seemed to be lost in thought. Ronnie and Billie set the table back together, and Lux didn’t seem to notice as Billie lifted his legs out of the way. Dessie brought out some corn chips and then returned to the kitchen to take the rice casserole and the ham out of the oven.
Dessie’s home-canned green beans and pan gravy were on the stovetop; in the oven keeping warm were whipped-up instant potatoes and biscuits from the government surplus. Two golden sweet potato pies cooled on the counter. Billie brought brown sugar baked beans, Mountain Dew, and also Cool Whip with two Jell-O rings for an extra dessert. Lissy got the boys cleaned up and settled in at the table. Dessie set out as many platters of food as the table would hold and took her place next to Bill
ie, where they could easily move from table to sink to stove top and back again. She popped Tommy down in the high chair next to her. Across the table, AJ and Bertie were already reaching for biscuits. Lux turned down the TV, but he sat at the end of the table beside Alan Ray, so they could keep an eye on the game.
“Lead us in grace, Alan Ray,” said Dessie, with a little smile in Billie’s direction. Alan Ray rose. He stared in all directions until the group became silent, raised up a can of Coke, and in his deepest voice said, “OK, y’all, hush. A moment of silence.” He winked at Ron, “Rub-a-dub, dub, thanks for the grub, yaaay, God.”
Everyone echoed the final cheer. Billie’s family dug in. But Dessie’s family picked at their food. The kids whispered back and forth, the game droned on, and Dessie scanned the table to see if the food was disappearing. Lissy was doing her best, and so was Billie. Lux’s plate was full; he’d eaten maybe a few forkfuls of Billie’s beans. And Ron hadn’t put anything on his plate. Dessie finally spoke up. “Ronnie,” she said, “take something.”
“I can’t eat, Ma,” said Ron. He swallowed and nodded at the platters.
Lux turned to Ron. “What the hell are you doing? Settin’ here feeling sorry for yourself? You could have got one yesterday, if you could shoot straight. You should’ve been practicing all along, like I told you.” Lux leaned forward. “Eat some of this, will you?” He took up an overflowing spoonful of Billie’s beans from the bowl, and reached down the table to put them on Ron’s plate. The closer the spoon came to Ron, the more Lux’s outstretched arm began to shake. A brown mound of beans landed at the fluted edge of Ron’s empty plate. Dessie tried not to look as it slid down slowly into the center.
Ron kept his eyes down his plate. “Me? I can shoot straight,” he said under his breath. He struggled to keep his cracking voice steady. Then he surprised everyone by staring straight at Lux. “That goes for you, Pa. You’re the one who can’t shoot straight. Don’t you think I can shoot straight, Uncle Alan?”
“Whoa.” Alan Ray finished chewing and gulped. His face suddenly became as red as his hair. “Keep me out of this!”
“Watch this,” said Ron. “Just you watch.” Ron took a spoonful of the rice casserole and launched it across the table at his dad. He was aiming for Lux’s plate, but a solid chunk fell onto Lux’s lap. A few flecks of rice stuck to Lux’s sleeve. Tommy laughed out loud from the high chair, and before Dessie could hush up the baby, Alan Ray called out, “Good shot!”
“Yeah, great shot!” said Little Lux. Dessie covered her mouth with her hand. All she could think of was how glad she was that Rose and Bertram were absent. Those boys ought to have more sense than to make a game out of this. They were raised better than that. The cousins started to giggle, and Tommy banged his spoon against the high-chair tray. Lux slapped his hands down hard on the table.
“Now, Lux . . .” Dessie began. Everyone stared at him.
“Why, you little shit,” Lux said, glaring at Ron. Everyone watched as Lux pushed himself up from the table, slid his uneaten dinner aside, and brushed the flecks of rice onto the floor. Every glass of water on the table shook, and the silverware clattered while Lux held onto one of the table’s corners to steady himself. “OK, boy, we’ll see who can shoot straight,” he said, adjusting his eyepatch and grabbing up his beer. He walked over, and his fingers took hold of Ron’s shoulder. Ron’s chair spun around. Then Lux pulled Ron up out of his seat by the collar of his flannel shirt. “Come on, Ron. We’ll just take this up outside.”
Dessie stared across the table at Lux’s swaying form as he walked across the living room floor, reached up to the gun rack on the wall for Ron’s Winchester Model 94, took a box of shells from the drawer, stopped near the door for a second to slip on some mud boots, and stepped outside. Ron slid out of Lux’s path, then he took up his boots and headed for the porch. Alan Ray stood up and shrugged at the women before he ambled out. The younger boys raced out of their seats after them. “You young kids better stay on that porch!” said Dessie, and she and Billie went to the storm door to see what was going on.
Outside, Lux stooped over, wrestled a medium-sized rock from the flowerbed next to the driveway, and walked across the yard to the plywood bear under the apple tree. With the edge of the rock, he scratched a big X on its chest, scraping off the paint, and then he walked back about thirty yards across the front yard. Just then, Ron raced over. “You just wait,” he yelled. “Just you watch this! Watch me shoot, you blind old man!”
Lux handed the gun to Ron. “OK. Y’want first shot? It’s your gun, go ahead and show everyone how good you shoot it.”
Ron loaded all seven shells into the tube, cocked the gun and shot, then cocked and shot again. Each time the gun fired, Dessie could see the boy stagger back almost before she could hear the crack. But she could see it was no use. Ron’s aim was off, or the bear was too far away. He missed every time. Ron cocked the gun a final time and shot again at the brown shape far across the yard. “That damn thing’s always been off,” he said, and threw the Winchester into the dirt.
Quickly, Alan Ray bent to pick it up. “Give me that,” said Lux, and he took the rifle. “You just stay right here, Ron,” Lux told his son. “Let me show you how to get your deer.”
Ron stopped and stood behind Alan Ray, looking like he didn’t care anymore and he would rather watch the other boys on the porch. Lux ignored him. He checked the barrel to see if there was any mud in it, and then pulled his flannel shirt out of his pants and wiped the stock down. He backed up about another ten yards and then adjusted his eyepatch, reloaded the gun, squinted and aimed with his right eye. His first shot flew just over the head of the bear, but Lux cocked, aimed, and shot, and cocked, aimed, and shot until the bear lay flat on the ground with three holes in its chest, one in the center of the X.
“Get down there and set that back up, Ron,” said Lux. Alan Ray took up the gun next, while Ron ran around to the bear to set it up again. The kids on the porch called out to see if they could come closer to watch. When Lux gestured for Little Lux and the cousins to come into the yard, Billie and Lissy went out there, too. Dessie could not watch. She turned away from the door and looked back toward the cluttered dinner table.
Tommy squirmed in his highchair. “Boom, boom!” he said, then put his hands over his ears. “Never you mind about that noisy old gun,” Dessie said, turning off the sound on the TV before she eased herself down next to Tommy. She surveyed the all the food that was left on the table. “Nobody likes this stuff but us,” she said to him. “You like my cooking, don’t you? Look what your mama’s got for you.”
Tommy’s eyes widened as Dessie pulled all the plates of uneaten food over and began to pick out pieces of meat and beans and untouched servings of commodity rice and biscuits. Dessie sat with Tommy, cutting up his food and feeding him small portions. Outside she could hear repeated rifle shots, but she was done watching. And no one seemed to need her; no one had called her name. “Look here, baby,” she said to Tommy, taking the colored construction-paper pilgrims from the centerpiece. “Here’s the pilgrims. They came from far far away, to try to live in the new world full of rivers and forests. Let’s feed the pilgrims.” She held out a spoonful of instant mashed potatoes to the pilgrim man. He was dressed all in black, with a stiff formal hat, and he carried a musket. “Mum, mum, mumm,” she said. Then she held it to Tommy. But neither he nor Mr. Pilgrim wanted any, so she ate some herself. The shapeless blob of instant potato hung in her mouth, salty and smooth, but nothing like a homegrown new potato. “You’re right, honey,” she said. “This ain’t food. This stuff’s awful.” Pointing at the musket, Tommy said, “Boom.” Dessie nodded.
Dessie held up her hands and started clapping, one and two, buckle my shoe. Tommy settled down in his chair, so Dessie kept on going, telling Tommy about building log cabins and growing corn in the New World, about the Indians and Pocahontas and Captain John Smith, whatever she could remember from her school days, making up rhymes, hogs and logs,
corn and born. She talked on, about the arrowhead that Lux had found many years earlier and given her, about her childhood memories of Thanksgiving, the hams in her smokehouse, chasing turkeys around her yard with handmade bows and arrows, the rows of canned homegrown food in the root cellar, as if it wasn’t really her life, like she was just another character in the Captain John Smith story. Tommy smacked his lips and opened wide for ham dipped in gravy and sweet baked beans, but clamped his mouth shut for rice or potatoes. Anytime that the baby wouldn’t eat, Dessie helped him out. When their plates were both clean, she stopped talking.
Dessie lifted up Tommy from his high chair and walked him over to the window. Outside it seemed strangely calm. Lux and Alan Ray had set the Winchester into the gun rack at the back of the cab in Lux’s pickup, and it looked like they were getting ready to drive back into the woods to catch an hour or two of daylight. Billie was smoking; she and Lissy stood out on the porch, squinting at the afternoon sun as it began to head behind the tree line of the blue-gray Barker Mountain ridge in the distance. Over at the apple tree, Ronnie had taken out his Daisy BB gun, and he’d organized the younger kids into a game. What was left of the plywood bear was propped against the tree, and the kids were taking turns, shooting it with the BB gun, and then, when they were out of pellets, heaving rocks at it. Little Lux had managed to lift a rock almost as big as his head.
“See that bear, honey?” Dessie asked.
“Dat bear? Dat Ronnie bear?” said Tommy. He squinted out the window to where the children were lined up. He pointed out his thumb and his index finger and made a fist with the other fingers, as if his hand was a tiny gun, Tommy stretched out his chubby arm and said, “Boom, boom!”
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