Son of a Preacher Man

by Karen M Cox

  I grinned and handed it back to her. “Right. Botany doesn’t change that much anyway.”

  “Plants fascinate me.” She thumbed through the book and shrugged her shoulders. “They seem so common, just your run-of-the-mill greenery growing in the field or beside the road. But hidden inside them is this amazing power. Some of them nourish or heal, but some of them can kill. The deadliest plants can appear so ordinary.”

  “See? I’m not the only one that thinks about things real deeply—or looks to find answers in an old book.” I tapped the cover to illustrate my point.

  She looked away as Lily came back in the door and tugged on her sleeve.

  “I want some ice cream. Can I walk over to the Dairy Queen? You said I could, if there was money left over.”

  “Can you wait a bit? I don’t want you crossing the street by yourself, and the clothes are almost done anyway.”

  Lily sighed in frustration while Lizzie counted out coins. It looked like she had just enough for one small cone.

  “I have an idea.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a bill. “An ice cream sounds good to me, so if you two ladies would get me one when you get yours, I’ll treat. And I’ll watch your clothes till you get back.”

  “Deal!” Lily grabbed the bill from my hand and pulled Lizzie along behind her.

  “You don’t have to—”

  “I insist.”

  Lizzie looked from me to her sister and finally acquiesced. “Lily, what do you say to Billy Ray?”

  Lily curtsied. “Thank you, kind sir.”

  “You’re welcome, gentle lady,” I said with a bow.

  She giggled and pranced out into the twilight where the Dairy Queen sign glowed like a beacon across the street.

  “Make sure you keep an eye on my brassiere,” Lizzie called out as she left. My face got hot, but I smiled anyway.

  I watched over the girls as they crossed the street, and that’s when I heard the loud rumble of a pick-up truck pulling into the ice cream shop’s parking lot. Loud, bawdy male laughter filled the humid air, and Lizzie turned her head to talk to the goons in the truck. I couldn’t make out her words, but they laughed again, and she proceeded up to the window to order.

  I kept my vigil as she came back across the street, an ice cream in each hand, and tensed when the pick-up squealed out of the parking lot and did a u-turn in the street, pulling up between the girls and my post at the laundromat’s front door.

  “Hey, Lizzie, you want a lick of my cone?” The passenger snickered loudly, and the other redneck guffawed.

  “Got my own cone tonight. Maybe some other time, boys.” I heard the brittleness in her laugh and felt a low rage start to burn in my blood. She had such a joyful heart, and these boys were trampling it with their vulgar innuendo. Lily had come back in and stood in front of me, holding her hand out.

  “Here’s your change, Billy Ray.”

  I took it without thinking and without taking my eyes off the jerks in the truck. Their heads swung around toward Lily and me, then back to Lizzie.

  “Oh, I get it. The preacher’s kid gets his cone licked tonight.” She ignored them and started to cross in front of the truck. The driver stepped on the gas and the break simultaneously, revving the engine and lurching the truck forward. It startled her if her little jump was any indication, so I decided to intervene. Without saying a word, I walked out and took one ice cream from her. I slipped my other hand to her back as I stood between her and the ugly, orange truck. I guided her gently the rest of the way across the street.

  The driver snickered as if it were all a fine joke. “Have a good evening, preacher boy! You’re in for the ride of your life!”

  “He’ll be confessin’ plenty on Sunday,” the other said in a mocking tone. I gave him my best scowl, and he let out a whoop of laughter as they peeled away.

  “Bye, Lizzie!” The driver’s hand lifted in farewell as they disappeared into the night.

  She called after the fading taillights. “Bye, Stan. Bye, Nate.”

  I tried to read her expression, but it was completely closed.

  “Friends of yours?” I asked, taking a bite of my ice cream.

  “I know ’em. Why?”

  “Why do you let them talk to you that way?”

  “What way?”

  “That…disrespectful way.”

  She let out a bitter bark of laughter. “You say that like I’ve got a choice about how they talk to me.”

  Hopping up on the concrete table outside the laundromat, she put her feet on the bench. “Besides, if I let them get to me, haven’t they already won?”

  I followed her, finishing my ice cream in three bites and tossing the cone in the garbage can. “Tolerating it only gives them your tacit approval.”

  “Why should I disapprove? Boys like me. Why is that a bad thing?” Her ice cream sat forgotten on the table beside her.

  “Do they like you, yourself—or just some superficial part of you?”

  “Maybe I don’t care. Maybe I like the attention like everybody says.” Her eyes were blazing, the way they did that day at the lake when she defended Jeannie against my perceived judgment, except this time she sounded hotter, angrier. That heat made me feel singed and raw.

  “When I’m with a boy and we’re doing…whatever, I call the shots. I have the power over him. He’ll do anything—promise anything. For just a moment in time, I can pull his strings and make him dance any way I want.” She moved her hands up and down as if she was manipulating a marionette. Her face was stony, immovable. “I can even make him say he loves me.”

  I should have been offended by her words, but I wasn’t. I had a sneaking suspicion she could make me promise those things too if she tried. I couldn’t blame those boys for wanting to touch the light and life inside Lizzie Quinlan. It must make them feel invincible. And knowing that I wasn’t any better, any stronger than all the rest of them? Well, it was a disconcerting thought.

  I hated that hard, unyielding expression of hers and wished I could rub it off to show the eager, innocent face of the girl I talked with earlier—the girl learning the Latin plant names. Without considering my actions too much, I laid my hand gently against her cheek. “Love is long-suffering, is kind,” I whispered. “Love envieth not; love is no vain boaster, is not inflated with pride, doth not act unseemly, seeketh not her own advantage.” I brought my hand down slowly. “Is that what you feel when those boys say they love you?” I called them boys on purpose. No man worth his salt would lie to this precious soul. I watched her eyes gradually fill with tears, and she shook her head slightly. Her hands came up as if to reach for mine and then fell back to her sides. She got up from the table and started to walk away, but I planted my feet in front of her and refused to move. I put one arm around her and drew her head to my shoulder with the other. Her arms slipped around my waist, and I could sense a hesitant tension in her, so I pulled her closer to soothe that unease away. To my surprise and delight, a shaky sigh exited her mouth, and I felt her relax just a bit. I turned my head to lay my cheek on top of her hair and saw the incredulous faces of Charles and Marlene Miller not ten yards away.

  The sneer on Marlene’s face made my blood run cold. Charles just looked shocked beyond belief. My whole stance grew taut, and Lizzie turned to see what had taken my attention. She looked up—to gauge my reaction, I’m sure—but I couldn’t look back at her right then. Marlene turned around without a word and stalked off.

  “Uh…” Charlie stammered. “We came by to…well, Marlene wanted…um…” He shook his head, and a nervous chuckle escaped him. “Do you need any help carrying your stuff back to the office?”

  “No, thank you, Charlie,” I said in a grave tone, praying he would just go home. He looked at me for a long time.

  Then, as if he had read my thoughts, he said, “Well, okay then. See you tomorrow.”

  My gaze returned to Elizabeth’s upturned face, watching the emotions play across it like the changing patterns on a kaleidoscop
e. Embarrassment, sorrow, triumph, guilt, and some other emotion I couldn’t name but thought might be desire—they were all there. Her arms were still around my waist, but she snaked them tentatively up to my shoulders, rising on her tiptoes to reach around my neck. I’d never felt as alive as I did at that moment, and a smile came unbidden to my lips. She gave me a tremulous smile in return and cast her eyes down in an almost modest gesture.

  “Oops.” She brushed her fingers against the collar of my shirt and began to sing “Lipstick on Your Collar” in a low, sultry voice. Her fingers rested against the side of my neck, my pulse hammering into them at a fevered pace. I was afraid to move, afraid I’d chase her away if I said a word. When she came to the part about you and I being through, she stopped as if she’d had a sudden jolt of reality and abruptly pulled her hand away.

  “Billy Ray Davenport, what on earth do I do with you now?”

  “Lizzie, I promise, I—”

  She stepped back. “Please don’t say anything. Don’t promise anything.”

  “Why not?” My voice did not sound like my own. It had a rough, gravelly quality I’d never heard in it before.

  She closed her eyes. “Because I won’t be able to bear it when it turns into a lie.” She turned and walked back into the laundromat just as Jeannie pulled up in the pick-up. “Lily! Jeannie’s here. Did you get our clothes folded?”

  I stood there—immobile, just absorbing the emotions, the night, the whirling dervish inside me—until she came out carrying a basket under one arm and, over her shoulder, a large laundry bag with US Navy stamped on the side. Lily paraded along behind her with a basket of her own.

  “Thanks for the ice cream, Billy Ray!” Lily called out cheerfully.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Lizzie smiled up at me, but there was sadness in that smile. “Goodnight.”

  My voice dropped into bass register. “’Night, Lizzie.”

  I watched her pile the laundry in the back of Jeannie’s pickup and climb in the passenger side after Lily. She looked ahead, didn’t wave. I remained there, watching the taillights disappear into the darkness, and stayed put for I don’t know how long after they left.

  Mrs. Turner stuck her head out the door. “Your clothes are dry, son. Come back in and get ’em so I can close up shop.”

  “Of course.” I folded my laundry and put it back into my bag, hoisted it over my shoulder, and walked slowly back to Dr. Miller’s.

  I walked through the back door of the office and into my dark room, closing the door behind me with a soft click. Moonlight shone through the window and illuminated a figure sitting on the bed. I almost jumped out of my skin.

  “Hello, Billy Ray.”

  “Good grief, Marlene! You scared the living daylights out of me!” Willing my heart rate to slow, I put my bag down with shaking hands and started putting my clothes away. “How did you get in here anyway?”

  “Daddy’s spare key.”

  I made a mental note to go to the hardware store in the morning. Surely, they had a privacy lock I could buy to latch the door from the inside.

  “Yes well, speaking of your daddy, if he finds you in here, he’ll fire me on the spot and lock you in your room till you’re thirty.”

  “I don’t care about that.”

  “You’re being foolish, Marlene. Go back to the house before they miss you.”

  She stood up and walked over to me, putting a hand on my shoulder. “What do you see in her?”

  I ignored her and kept on putting clothes away. She slipped her arms around my waist.

  “If you show me how, I’ll do for you what she does; I promise.” Her voice was soft at first, and I almost felt sorry for her, but then it took on a hard edge. “Except I’ll do it only for you, not for every Tom, Dick, and Harry in Orchard Hill.”

  I shucked her hands from my body and made my voice as firm as I could. “Stop it, Marlene.”

  She stepped back, and I turned to face her—to frighten her off with my scowl. I found it extremely disturbing that this harridan and her wounded pride could somehow manage to heighten my senses to a level just below arousal. We were alone, at night, in my bedroom, for heaven’s sake! And though we were both completely clothed and not near any swimming hole, Marlene made me feel shame in a way that Lizzie never had.

  “People always say the preacher’s kids are the wildest.”

  I went over and held the door open. “I would tell you it isn’t what you think, but I doubt you’d believe me.”

  She sauntered past, her sweet, sickening, flower perfume wafting over me. “Just think about it. I would never embarrass you in public the way she did tonight. It would be a secret—just between us.”

  I didn’t respond—kept on standing there, waiting. Then, thank goodness, she left. I shut the door and shoved a chair in front of it. I sat heavily on the bed, dropping my head in my hands. Sleep would be a long time coming.

  Chapter 7

  The next morning, I rolled out of bed at quarter till seven. I had no desire to walk into the Miller’s house and face Marlene, but that’s where the food was, so I took the risk. I worried for naught though; Marlene was not yet up when I sat down to biscuits and gravy, and I managed to inhale the entire meal and leave the premises before she appeared downstairs.

  I always started work by seven thirty in the morning, bright and early, and unless he was swamped, Doc would let me go about three in the afternoon. Mrs. Miller didn’t serve dinner until somewhere between six and seven, so that gave me time to myself most afternoons. I usually spent the time reading, or walking around town, or writing letters to Dad, Aunt Catherine, or a couple of friends from school.

  But that day, I found myself walking out away from town, following a creek that ran near Linden Road. Up on the bank, I could see the side of the now-repaired Quinlan family barn. I thought about stopping to talk to Lizzie, but after last night, it seemed, well…awkward. Marlene’s assumptions about Lizzie and me—and the subsequent vulgar offer she made—rankled more than I cared to admit. It angered me that those assumptions tainted the innocent fun Lizzie and I had talking about plants and playing tag with little Lily. I wondered if Marlene was vicious enough to tell lies about us all over town, or if her pride was so decimated that she wouldn’t say a word. I hoped for the latter, but honestly, I expected the former.

  Still, if she and Charles had seen that embrace Lizzie and I shared, other people in town probably saw it too. That, in combination with the crass insinuations made by the Pick-up Truck Goons, would probably make for some fine gossip. I figured it was too late to worry about my “reputation.” Strangely enough, that didn’t bother me half as much as I thought it would. It seemed to rouse some part of me that longed to shock people—to show them I was in charge of my own life, and that I wasn’t just the preacher’s son.

  I kept on walking, trying to rid my mind of this ambivalence and following the stream so I wouldn’t get lost. My thoughts and feelings were a jumble. First and foremost was rage at the town’s unjust treatment of Lizzie. Hadn’t these people ever heard of forgiveness? What about welcoming a lost sheep into the fold? Did anyone ever ask her the real story behind those rumors? It was so unfair when people based their opinions of a person on half-truths and hearsay! I could certainly understand how Lizzie found it almost impossible to be herself when everyone already thought they knew all about her. The wisdom behind the Ninth Commandment, the one that forbade bearing false witness against thy neighbor, certainly rang true in this case.

  Another thought nagged at me though. What if the townsfolk weren’t bearing false witness against Lizzie? What if those things they said about her were true? She herself said she went out with Marlene’s boyfriend. She alluded to loose behavior when she talked about the town’s boys and “when we do whatever.” What exactly did that mean anyway?

  Furthermore, if people told it around town that I was seen embracing Lizzie outside the laundromat, well, it wasn’t an out-and-out lie. They might jump to tawdr
y conclusions because of who she was, though, and that made me angry—on her behalf and mine.

  I grabbed a stick and took a vicious swipe across a bush, dislodging a handful of bright green leaves and leaving a sharp hiss of rushing air in its wake.

  “Why you so mad at that shrub, Billy Ray?”

  I jumped, whirling around to look behind me for the voice, but there was no one there. Just when I thought I might be imagining things, I heard a contagious giggle.

  “I’m up here, goofy.”

  I looked to the right, off the beaten path, and there was Lily Quinlan about ten feet above the ground, sitting in a tree.

  “What on earth are you doing up there?”

  “Sittin’.”

  “Well, that’s obvious.” I paused and changed to my best imitation of a big brother. “You’d best get down from there before you fall.”

  She tilted her head to the side and looked at me thoughtfully. “No.”

  “No?” I had to admit I was amused at her blunt reply, completely devoid of petulance.

  “I like it here, and I’m not ready to go home yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s sad there today.”

  “It is?” Concern rose up in my chest. “Is your mama all right?”

  “Mm-hmm, she’s fine, but Lizzie’s sad.”

  Now my concern grew ten-fold. “She’s sad, is she? Do you know why?” I dreaded the answer, but I had to know.

  Lily shrugged. “She didn’t tell me. She doesn’t know I know.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I heard her last night after she thought I was sleeping. Well, I was asleep at first, but a noise woke me, and it was her. We share the same bed.”

  “What was she doing?”

  “Cryin’. I don’t understand it. Lizzie never cries anymore. She used to a long time ago when I was four but not now.”

  “She must have been mighty unhappy back when you were four.”

  Lily nodded, her expression solemn. “I don’t like it when Lizzie’s sad. She doesn’t play with me, so that’s why I came here to my favorite spot.”