by Pat Spears
Jodie, I’m sorry. I know you don’t understand. But I’m doing what I think best for you.” Aunt Pearl dropped into a chair, her forehead resting against her palms.
“You’re wrong. I do understand.” Jodie rose from the table and walked out of the kitchen.
When she’d packed all she owned in the tattered suitcase, she lay down on the bed, fully dressed, to wait out the night. She had no choice but to go with Red Dozier, wherever he meant to take her.
Eight
Red arrived early, declining to stay for the meal Aunt Pearl offered. Jodie refused to hug her tearful aunt and walked to Red’s car without looking back. If she ever stopped feeling betrayed, maybe she’d get around to thinking of Aunt Pearl more kindly.
The Dodge smelled of spit and polish, and Red wore starched and ironed khaki pants with hard creases and a long-sleeved shirt bleached whiter than what Jewel had called the underside of death. Jodie sat up straight, tugged at the short hem of her dress. Her school shoes pinched so her toenails rolled under.
It hadn’t taken long for the two of them to become strangers. They rode the first hour or so mostly in silence, neither seeming to know what to say to the other. Then he turned to her, surprising her with his question.
“What ever happened to those Easter biddies we fixed the pen for?” He smiled slightly. “They didn’t stay pink, did they?” His smile widened.
“Them? No way. They turned out to be Rhode Island Reds. As to what happened, they stayed behind with a friend when me and Jewel went on the road.”
“Did that last long? Traveling with the band?” He frowned.
“Not really. After a while, I begged Jewel to leave me off at Aunt Pearl’s. I was missing too much school.” She looked away, pretending sudden interest in the stiff corpse of a raccoon picked apart by buzzards.
“How was it there with your Aunt Pearl? She seemed nice enough.”
“Like watching a hen set eggs. But I got used to steady. Never went hungry and never slept cold. Aunt Pearl was always home before sundown.”
After that, conversation dried up. Jodie covered her growing uneasiness by faking an interest in the Bible Aunt Pearl had given her as a going away present. In the front of the Bible, she had neatly written Frances Josephine Taylor. On a second page, decorated in fancy curvy lettering and titled “Family History,” she’d written Jewel Faye Taylor above the line denoting mother. Above Jewel’s name was written the names James Franklin Taylor and Frances Josephine Ayers, Grandparents. Was she named for a woman Aunt Pearl claimed was her grandmother, a woman Jewel had never as much as mentioned?
The line naming Father was blank, and Jodie decided Aunt Pearl’s certainty was no more solid than her own.
Slipped between the pages, she found a faded picture of two young girls. The older wore a worried look, her arm shielding the younger. On the back of the picture was written Pearl Mae Taylor, born 1911 and Jewel Faye Taylor, born 1921. Her mama had been sixteen the year Jodie was born. All the times before when she’d asked about family, Jewel had only shrugged, as if they had crawled fully formed from some slimy place like slippery toads.
“Read the Bible a lot, do you?” Red glanced at her with the playful twinkle she remembered.
“Can’t say I’m altogether faithful.” Jodie closed the book and watched cotton bolls escaping from the bed of an open trailer ahead, swirling in the hot air like popcorn.
“I’ve never been much for reading the Bible. But I’ve always liked the story of that kid, David. It says he brought down a giant with one smooth stone, using a little bitty slingshot he whittled while tending his daddy’s sheep.” He kept a straight face, and Jodie decided that Red Dozier was likely good at poker.
“Yep, I’d say he got off a lucky shot. Then, I’m partial to a pig sticker.” She’d never heard the story of David, but she liked his guts, although the boy could not have been too smart.
“That right?” Red smiled, and she was sure he was onto her lie, but he seemed to lighten up all the more.
“Play the radio if you want. Might pick up a decent station out of Pensacola. It’s not all that far now.”
“Did you ever hear Jewel sing on the radio?” Maybe he had and she’d somehow missed it.
“No, I never did. Don’t think that radio deal panned out.” There was a hint of regret in the slow way he shook his head.
There was never a deal. Just Troy’s bullshit. Had Jewel fed Red the same line? If so, was that why he never bothered coming back? She’d ask, but she really didn’t want to know.
“Why do you call your mama Jewel?” His forehead wrinkled and his blue eyes searched hers.
“She said calling her ‘mama’ made her feel old.” But now that she’d never get any older, what she called her couldn’t matter.
He nodded, but his frown stayed.
“What am I to call you?”
“Red will do fine. And where we’re going it’s just as well you don’t talk about your mama. It’ll go easier on you.” The big vein in his neck popped blue under the red splotching of his skin.
“As far as I care, you can tell your fine wife any lie you want. But Jewel Faye Taylor was my mama. I bet you didn’t even know I was named for my grandma. Says so right here in this Bible. You want to see for yourself?” She waved the book at him in the way she’d seen Aunt Pearl do. “And I’m not pretending otherwise. If you don’t like it, you can stop this car and let me out.” Choking back tears, she grabbed the door handle.
He reached across, laying a firm hand on her shoulder.
“No doubt she’s your mama.” For an instant, a faint smile played at the corners of his mouth. “And you can forget what I said. You’re right to stick up for her.”
His admitting to being wrong didn’t mean she forgave him. But for now, her choices were Red’s place or the state orphanage. She’d take her chances with him.
An hour or so later, Jodie got her first look at Catawba, Florida. It was a pitiful looking town: five blocks of nothing to brag about buildings facing off along Main Street, including a Western Union, dry goods store, hardware, grocery, feed and seed, filling station, café, brick schoolhouse, and two churches. A heavy veil of putrid smoke nearly blocked the sun, and Jodie pinched her nose, breathing through her mouth.
“That stink’s the paper mill located over in the next town. On a good day, when the wind’s just right, it stinks up our town only half this bad. You’ll get used to it. Everybody does.”
Jodie was certain she’d never get used to living in a town that smelled like rotted eggs and pine rosin. It was just as well that Red had never tried bringing her and Jewel here to live. Catawba was in no way a place of deep breathing.
Red pointed out a grassy square and the two-story, red brick building that occupied its center. “That’s the county courthouse. Some of the state’s biggest crooks operate out of there.” His sternness led her to take him at his word. Two old men dressed in bib overalls and white shirts sat on a green bench near the courthouse. One leaned and spat a stream of brown tobacco juice onto the manicured lawn. On the far side of the green, two boys about her age chased each other in hard play. They reminded her of black Alvin and white Rabbit, boys from the row. A long-legged, brown dog barked and chased after them.
“Those two boys, there.” He pointed. “The towhead’s Silas and the other’s Little Samuel. Samuel’s daddy works there at the A&P. And Silas,” he paused, “let’s just say he’s figuring on how to get along without one. They’re good boys.” Red sounded the horn, and the two stopped long enough to wave.
“That so?” She had drawn the boy’s piss-poor luck times two. And she was yet to know a boy she thought much of.
“There on the corner, that’s the elementary school. What grade you in?”
“Seventh.”
“Then you’ll go to the new junior-senior high. History teacher’s a fine lady and a damn good teacher. You’ll like her. Name’s Miss Ruth O’Riley.”
Jodie hated history, and t
he teacher he was so sure she’d like sounded like an old maid. They made the worst teachers.
Several miles out of town on a county road, Red turned the Dodge onto a sandy lane, and at the top of a rise she got her first look at the clapboard house. An array of ramshackle outbuildings dotted the yard cluttered with junked farm equipment.
The late afternoon sun reflected off the tin roof, the house appearing to be ablaze. The house was even smaller than Aunt Pearl’s, and only slightly bigger than those on sharecroppers’ row. If the entire house and its outbuildings burned to the ground, Red wouldn’t be out much. Nothing about what she saw made her want to stay.
He shut down the engine and turned to her.
“There’s bound to be a bit of friction. But I’m counting on you being gritty like your mama.” He paused and glanced toward the house. “Things will work out. You’ll see.” He showed her his best poker face, but the circles of sweat at his armpits told a different story.
She followed him through the sagging picket gate. The day’s heat, trapped beneath the tin roof of the porch, shimmered like Christmas tinsel. He stepped onto the porch, his lanky frame casting its long shadow across the lye-scrubbed boards. Standing next to Red, Jodie clutched the brown cardboard suitcase, glad Aunt Pearl had insisted she wear her best school dress, although it was badly wrinkled, and splotched with yellow mustard from the hotdog she’d eaten on the road.
A stout, hard-eyed woman sat in a straight-back chair, cutting sweet corn from the cob. A shy, pudgy girl peered from behind her. Neither lifted a hand or spoke, the only sound that of Jack Bailey’s booming question: Do you want to be Queen for a Day? The shrill voices of desperate women erupted, shamelessly pleading to tell their stories. Jodie hated the show, believing pity shouldn’t be put to a contest.
Red nodded to the silent woman and ignored the girl. He jammed his big hands into the pockets of his trousers, rocked heel to toe, as if he meant to gather momentum, and cleared his throat. Overall, he struck an odd if not downright silly pose. Jodie ground her teeth and waited.
“This is Jodie Taylor. Like I said before, she’s to live here. And there’s nothing more to be said.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, nudging her forward. His manner reminded her of all those times she’d gone to Jewel, ready to take her punishment, but not seeking forgiveness.
“Jodie, this lady’s Miss Mary, my wife. You’re to call her Miss Mary. And you’re to do as she says. The girl’s Hazel. You can call her whatever you work out between you. And you two are to get along.”
He took a clean white handkerchief from his pocket and mopped at the sweat rolling down his temples. There was a rank odor about him that Jodie hadn’t noticed earlier.
Miss Mary drew the skirt of her cotton print dress across her knees, binding her short thighs in a vise. Her stout fingers worked through the chalky-white kernels as if she meant to separate Red’s words into truths and consequences. Her puffy, dough-like face was drawn and pale, and she glared at him from where she sat, her dark eyes wet, fired stones.
The girl, crouched next to her mama, stared, saliva trickling down her chin as her stubby fingers worked like tiny shovels inside her chapped cheek. Jodie believed her to be a year or so younger, and she looked as if she knew to fear what was to come.
Jodie gripped the suitcase more tightly. It held all she possessed: her link to her past—the busted seventy-eight, carefully packaged, and the Bible—along with two pairs of jeans, three shirts, a pleated green skirt, a white blouse, two school dresses, three changes of underwear, her Wonder Woman comics, and the three detective novels she’d stolen.
“Hazel, you’re to make room. Now show Jodie inside.”
The girl looked to her mama, but she was too busy glaring at Red’s back as he turned and walked off the porch. He stood in the yard, whistling for a dog he called Buster.
Jodie had no choice but to follow the mute girl into a tiny bedroom furnished with a double bed, home to a collection of stuffed animals, a scarred chifforobe, and a three-legged stool painted bright yellow.
“Now, this is what I call damn pitiful. Barely room enough to cuss a crippled cat. And that mess of kid toys piled there has got to go.” She gave Hazel her best Jewel stance.
Hazel moaned, a hand to her mouth, and she backed away, bumping into the near wall.
“What’s the matter with you? You retarded or something?”
Hazel ran from the room, crying, and Jodie stared after her. Maybe she was a bit unfriendly, but now was the time to settle things between them. If she stayed, she’d have her hands plenty full with the old woman.
She didn’t bother unpacking but shoved the suitcase under the bed. She lay on the bed, curled into a defensive ball, and in the moment she hated Red Dozier, her Aunt Pearl, and most of all Jewel.
At the sound of footsteps approaching, Jodie sat up on the side of the bed and squinted through her grogginess. She’d fallen asleep.
“My daddy says you’re to come to supper.” Hazel turned and hurried back down the hallway.
“Wait. Is there a bathroom in this place?”
Jodie glanced at her reflection in the cracked mirror hanging above the bathroom sink and ran wet fingers through her snarled curls. When she entered the kitchen, Miss Mary slammed a dish of macaroni and cheese onto the table and stomped out.
“Go on, Jodie. Get to the table.” Red sat at the head, his face flushed, and he appeared to grind his teeth. He motioned for Hazel to sit. She glanced over her shoulder as if confused as to which parent she owed her allegiance.
Jodie took the chair nearest Red, her back pressed up hard against the chair spindles, so much so she was certain of grooves. Red sighed and called upon Hazel to pray.
“God is great. God is good. Let us thank Him for our food. Amen.” Hazel raised her head and smiled so sweetly pious, Jodie was sure sugar wouldn’t melt in the girl’s mouth, proving she wasn’t dumb after all.
Jodie pushed the yellow, brick-like macaroni and cheese around on her plate, fearing she’d gag if she tried swallowing it. Meals in this house weren’t going to be Aunt Pearl’s; supper was skimpy and cold.
Red cursed, slammed his plate into the sink, and went to the pantry. He came back with a quart jar.
“You girls like peaches?” He winked at Jodie. He knew they were her favorite. “Grab those leftover biscuits out of the safe. We’re about to eat our fill of Red’s famous peach cobbler.”
They added milk to the crumbled biscuits and peaches, finishing off the entire jar.
Red leaned back, patted his belly, and said, “What’d ya’ll say to a game of Chinese checkers? I’ll play two colors. Double my chance of winning.” He stepped to the stove and poured a cup of coffee.
“Can I get a cup of that?” Aunt Pearl had forbidden coffee, something about coffee stunting her growth. Jewel had told her it would turn her black. Both were lies.
Red poured a second cup and set it on the table next to her. “You gonna want sissy mess in that?”
“Nope, drink my coffee black.”
He looked at her, and slowly nodded. “Figured as much.”
Jodie studied his face, his expression giving away nothing of what he felt.
Hazel had retrieved the game board and set it up on the kitchen table.
“All right, young ladies. You’re about to get yourselves dry-gulched.”
Hazel giggled. “I’m playing red, Daddy.”
“Dang, girl. You know red is my color.” He poured a double shot of whiskey in his coffee and sat back at the table.
“No, you had red last time, remember?” She gathered the marbles and began filling the spaces on the board.
“All right, Jodie, I guess you get to pick next.” Black was her lucky color.
The three played as if the headwinds of an impending storm weren’t swirling about in another part of the house. When Hazel began to nod, Red sent them off to bed.
Being with Red and Hazel had helped to settle her nerves, and sleep came easier t
han Jodie expected. She slept hard until startled awake by strange voices. At first, she was confused, believing she was back at Aunt Pearl’s. A whimpering Hazel lay next to her, curled into a tight ball, her fists covering her ears. Jodie strained to hear what she now knew was Red’s checked voice, coming from the other side of the house.
“Girl, shut your damn blubbering.” It wasn’t her they fought about.
Jodie heard whore’s bastard in Miss Mary’s shrill voice.
“She won’t have her back.”
“Then send her to a home. Anywhere. I want her gone from here.”
“No, she stays. That’s final.” Red’s anger ricocheted off the walls like the blasts of a scatter gun. Miss Mary wailed as if he’d shot her. His fury driving his heavy footsteps across the parlor, he slammed the front door back on its hinges.
Jodie jumped off the bed and hurried to the window. Across the ridge, the moon shone brightly, and she saw him as clearly as day. He kicked open the gate and crossed to his car. He got into the Dodge and sped away. No chance he’d seen her timid wave.
Jodie got back into bed, her eyes squeezed tight against what she knew was her fate. Jewel had once warned that if they were to make it in this world, they’d need to butt with their own heads. They were not the type to be rescued. Before Jewel had fallen under Troy’s dark spell, she’d had a way of being right about hard things. Red came for her, but she was to be alone in this house.
Nine
Jodie pulled at the long strands of cobweb tangled in her hair and scrunched next to a foundation post. Buster rose from the pit he’d dug next to the fireplace footing and crept closer. She wrapped an arm around the dog’s thick shoulders, and he licked her sweaty face. Both hid beneath the house from Hazel, her mother’s dutiful spy.
A pair of dirty feet appeared at the outer edge of the porch, and Jodie scooted further toward the center of the house. Hazel squatted, peered beneath the house, and grimaced. Jodie counted on the girl’s fear of all things that crawled, and the glare of the mid-morning sun, to shield her.