“Lynch” was one of those words that she hadn’t heard before and she couldn’t ask anyone what it meant. The main road of Stay More was filling up with people as she walked through them to get home. She was almost all the way home before she realized that she had left the paper poke full of candy at the store. Not only that, but she’d left her penny, or lost it. Her sisters wouldn’t believe her if she told them that she had had a whole poke full of candy, so she didn’t tell them. She was happy to see that Rouser the dog was okay. He must have lit out for home as soon as the gunfire started. At supper that evening she heard the word “lynch” again, several times. She learned that there was a big oak tree near the Ingledew store and hanging from one stout limb of it were the bodies of three men, one of them Ike Whitter. As she listened she was able to figure out the details so she could understand that “lynch” meant to tie a rope around somebody’s neck and hang them from a tree limb until they were dead. Latha’s daddy was angry because the Whitters were friends of his, even if Ike Whitter was “a no-good rowdy, a bully and a drunk.” Latha learned that Ike Whitter had gouged out the eyeballs of several men he had fought with, including the sheriff who had tried to arrest him. Lynching, Latha learned, was against the law, which meant that although the three guys hanging from the oak limb were bad guys, and Ike Whitter had done many bad things, including taking out the sheriff’s eyeball and taking possession of the Ingledew store, it was not the job of citizens to punish him, and those citizens who had done so would be tried in a court of law for taking the law in their own hands. This was complicated, but Latha managed to figure it out and her only question, which she did not utter, was, “How often does this kind of thing happen in the world?” She could not know, then, that Ike Whitter was the only outlaw in the whole long peaceful history of Stay More. She eventually learned that the big old man who had started the lynching was the town’s miller, Isaac Ingledew, who was also the father of the Ingledews who owned the store and hotel, and the grandfather of Raymond Ingledew, who would become Latha’s boyfriend by and by…although of course she didn’t know this at the time, or even know what a “boyfriend” was.
The next day her daddy went off to the village to see for himself the lynched men hanging from the oak tree, and he brought home some folded sheets of paper which he said was a “newspaper,” called the Jasper Disaster. The newspaper was made in the town which was the seat of the county they lived in, Newton, where the sheriff lived. Barb said that someday they would find a way to go there and see all the buildings around “the square.” Saultus Bourne was not able to read, so he asked his wife to read the newspaper for him, at least the parts about the lynching. The story was called, “Stay More Vigilantes Put Noose on Villains.” Latha listened and was able to make out that Ike Whitter had not only taken out the eyeball of the sheriff but also had killed the man who had married his sister. So the Stay More vigilantes had done a good deed by killing Ike Whitter, but the one-eyed sheriff had arrested the Ingledews and the other vigilantes and taken them to Jasper to a jail, which is a place where you lock up evildoers, even though the deed was not evil but good. Latha was very happy to learn that there was such a thing as a newspaper to tell the stories of such amazing things as the lynching. Although she would never ask questions again, she knew that you could still put in for something you want without asking a question, so she requested of her mother, “Could you learn me how to look at the newspaper and tell what it says?” And her mother just replied that that was what schools were for, and if she’d be patient she could go to school one of these days.
Latha and her sisters did not go with their parents to Ike Whitter’s funeral in the Stay More cemetery. Just as well, because there was a pouring-down rain, but the rain stopped in time for all the wet mourners to dry off and go to the Whitter house for the funeral dinner, and Latha got to go to that, where there was better eating than anybody had ever had before or could even imagine. Latha couldn’t believe all the plates and platters and dishes of everything you always wanted to taste, including every pie and cake known to man. The Whitter boy who had paid Latha the penny whispered in her ear that he would give her all his lemon pie if she would go out to the barn with him, but she told him he was silly because she could just help herself to all the pie she could handle. His sister Rindy told Latha, “Don’t pay him no mine. He’s prunier than a billy goat.” Dorinda Whitter was just a little bit older than Latha, and had never spoken to her before. This was the beginning of a friendship, although it would be a while before Rindy would get around to answering Latha’s unasked question: what does “pruney” mean? After the funeral dinner, the two girls separated themselves from the others and Rindy showed Latha her doll, which was something Latha didn’t have yet. They confided in each other: Latha told Rindy something she hadn’t told her parents or sisters, that she had been present during the fight at the Ingledew Store and that Rindy’s big brother Ike had been nice to her. Rindy snorted and said that her brother had never been nice to her, and as far as she was concerned it was a good thing he was dead. Rindy said that she was sure her big sister Clara had been shagged by Ike many times, which was why Ike killed Harley Bullen when he married Clara although maybe one reason was that they hadn’t invited Ike to the wedding because he was such a bad feller. Latha was pleased at the thought of becoming best friends with Rindy and she was sure that Rindy would probably, without being asked, tell her not only what “pruney” meant but also what “shag” meant. She had a notion that both were wicked, and she was beginning, all on her own, to figure out what “wicked” meant.
Chapter four
She had first heard of wickedness when her sisters Mandy and Barb were whispering to each other in bed. All three of them slept together in that one small bed, with hardly enough room to turn over. It was good when the nights were very cold because she could feel the heat from the others’ bodies, but when it was hot—and she had already figured out that heat rises and therefore it was much hotter up in the sleeping loft than in the lower part of the cabin—it wasn’t very good to sleep with her sisters but she had to. She was supposed to wear a nightdress, made out of a flour sack with pretty flowers on it, but when it was hot she always slept without anything on. Her sisters lay there with their mouths up against each other’s ears, talking in tiny little voices that Latha could not overhear, and Latha felt left out of the secrets that they were giving each other, mysteries that teased and tormented her. She had once asked them what they were talking about, and Mandy had said it was just too wicked, and that’s where she first heard that word. In an effort to join in their whispering, Latha had whispered, loud enough for them to hear, the only secret she knew at that time: she had a kitten hidden in the barn, named Cutie-Pie Face. The next day Mandy had told their father, and their father had cut a switch from an elm sapling and had switched Latha’s legs with it until she cried, and he had searched the hayloft until he found Cutie-Pie Face, and had taken the kitten away somewhere so that Latha never saw it again. Latha hated Mandy so much for that that she almost didn’t put any candy for her in that paper poke when she was loading up on candy at Ingledew’s the day Ike Whitter was lynched, but it didn’t matter because she went off and forgot the poke of candy anyhow. One night in bed she was so jealous of their whispering that she couldn’t keep her mouth shut and went ahead and told Barb and Mandy about the candy, and about the gunfight and about the old giant who had lifted her off the floor. But her sisters told her she was just making it up, and they wouldn’t believe her. From then on, she just let them do their whispering, and when they were so busy doing their whispering they didn’t hold on to their doll, whose name was Sally, so Latha would take Sally and whisper things to it.
Then after Rindy Whitter became her friend she didn’t need to whisper to Sally any more. She and Rindy told each other everything they knew to tell, they told each other so much that they ran out of things to tell and could only sit together in silence or try to teach Rindy’s doll, whose name was Florrie, h
ow to talk. Florrie never learned to talk, so it was pretty quiet whenever the girls got together, unless one of them had heard or seen something new to tell the other. The girls had observed that whenever their fathers, Saultus Bourne and Simon Whitter, were sitting together on the porch, the men usually talked about the weather, at least for a while until the weather was completely covered. So Rindy and Latha sometimes did that. But the weather lately wasn’t changing at all; day after day it didn’t rain or even cloud up and Rindy said she had forgotten what thunder sounded like, so Latha had to pretend to be the thunder and speak a big boom to remind her, but Latha’s voice was too girlish to sound like the thunder. She got a dishpan from the kitchen and beat on it with a wooden spoon, until her mother told her to cut out that racket.
Latha would take Rindy out to the milk lot and boost her up onto the back of the calf so she could ride the calf around, and then they’d swap places, and Latha would ride while Rindy would lead the calf around and around, even out to the garden and around it. The Whitters had a mule, which the Bournes didn’t have, because, as Saultus Bourne sometimes said, they was too pore to buy one. The Whitter’s mule’s back was too high for the girls to boost one another up there, so they couldn’t ride the mule, but they could pet it, and Latha liked to reach up and run her hand down the mule’s long face. But one time the mule bit her hand, and it bled so much blood that they had to take her to the doctor to have stitches put in. It was her third visit to the village, and she saw how all the shot-out windows had been replaced. The doctor, whose name was Plowright, scared her and hurt her more than the mule had. And Latha’s father raised a big ruckus because he didn’t have the dollar that the doctor wanted for doing the job and hardly anything to offer in place of it except a piglet, which the doctor accepted, but Latha’s father complained that the piglet was supposed to be their meat for the next year, so it was going to be a sorry Christmas.
Little by little Latha was becoming aware of just how poor they were. The reason for it, according to her father, was that “I aint got no boys to help out around the place, and you gals aint fit for nothing.” Which wasn’t true. All three of the girls had to keep weeds out of the garden, as well as the cornfield and the cottonfield, and it wasn’t easy spending the whole hot day out there trying to chop with a hoe whose handle was too long, or bending over for hours plucking out weeds, and having to know the difference between a weed and a plant, which wasn’t too difficult although Latha never learned why the weeds were thought to be bad. Weeds are strong and healthy and vigorous, and some of them are real pretty. All three of the girls also helped their mother and grandmother in the kitchen and had other chores around the place. Latha was now in charge of all the poultry: the leghorns for eggs and the Rhode Island reds and buff orpingtons for eating, and also some guineas and a few geese. Latha gathered eggs every day and whenever she found a goose egg she’d put it under one of the setting hens, who would adopt the gosling when the egg hatched. Latha’s main job was to collect all the eating eggs each day. One time when her father said that she was fit for nothing, she said, “You eat plenty of eggs, don’t ye?” and he said that was “back sass” and took the switch to her again.
When it got so cold that Latha could barely stand to go out to gather eggs, and the chickens weren’t laying much anyhow, she knew it was time for Christmas, although Christmas wasn’t very special, except that they had a little cedar tree right inside the house, and her sisters made strings of paper dolls holding hands to decorate the tree, and a few strings of popcorn. Grandma Bourne made popcorn balls with sugar syrup and wrapped them in buttered paper to stuff into the girls’ stockings hanging over the fireplace. That year Grandma had also knitted for each of them a pair of mittens, and that was their Christmas present. Later, when Rindy came over to compare Christmases, Rindy claimed that Sandy Claws had put into her stocking some ribbon candy but she didn’t bring Latha a piece because she didn’t want Latha to feel obliged to give her something in return. Latha’s maw had made for Latha a rag doll, not half as big as the doll Sally that Mandy had, or the doll Florrie that Rindy had, and with its embroidered face and wool hair it wasn’t nearly as real as the other dolls, but it was Latha’s own, her very own, and her father couldn’t drown it. She called it Melody as just a name that popped out of the air, and Rindy said she’d never heard that name before. But Melody and Florrie got along just fine together, without either of them looking down on the other or feeling higher and mightier. Rindy did feel higher and mightier herself because Sandy Claws had come to her house and not to Latha’s. Latha said she would’ve had to be there at Rindy’s house to see the feller with her own eyes in order to believe that there was such a feller. It sure sounded to her that Sandy Claws was just some play-like ghost that the grown-ups had made up to fool the kids with. Rindy and Latha argued a lot about this subject, which gave them a lot to talk about.
While they were playing with their dolls on the front porch and arguing about the possibility of Sandy Claws, a boy rode past, or pretended to ride past, a-riding a stick horse, a pretty fancy stick horse with a head cut in the shape of a horse’s and a mane made from a mop, and a real leather bridle. He waved at them, said “Giddy up!” and rode on up the road, even though the road past the Bourne place peters out before long.
Rindy said, “I know who that was. That was just Every Dill, who lives right down yonderways a little. That shore is a mighty fine horse that Sandy Claws brung him.” Since Rindy had claimed she’d never heard the name Melody before, now it was Latha’s turn to claim she’d never heard the name Every before and wondered if it was Every like in every thing, every where, every so often, and every which a way. Rindy said, “I aint never heard it said no other way.” Latha knew that there were other neighbors named Dill who lived south of them, almost as close as the Whitters. Latha’s mother had several times mentioned them because Every’s mother was a distant cousin of hers (Grandma Bourne had explained “first cousins” and “last cousins” and Every’s mother was a “second cousin twice removed”) and also was supposedly the only family hereabouts who were poorer than the Bournes, because the father didn’t do any farming, he was just a maker, he made wagons and wagon wheels and such, and apparently didn’t get much money. So how come he could give Every such a fancy stick horse for Christmas? Well, likely he made it himself…or maybe there was a Sandy Claws.
By and by here come Every riding the other way, and this time he pulled his horse into the Bourne’s yard and stopped, saying, “Whoa, Paint.” Then he said, “Howdy, gals, and merry Christmas to y’uns.” He was a bit older than Rindy and Latha, maybe a whole year older. He wasn’t much to look at, except for his horse.
They howdied him back and Rindy said, “That’s a mighty fine steed that Sandy brung ye.” And Latha asked why did he call him Paint. Every explained it was because his horse was painted, and showed how the stick part of the horse was actually speckled with white paint.
“You ladies keer to go for a ride?” Every offered. Rindy climbed on behind him with her hands on his waist, the horse’s stick pushing her dress up between her legs. When Latha climbed on behind Rindy, the tilt of the stick didn’t scrunge her dress up between her legs. Latha with her newly-mittened hands clasped Rindy’s waist, and Every clucked his tongue and said “Hi-yo, Paint!” and off they went, prancing down the road, although it took them a while to get their prances together. All three laughed from the sheer fun of it. “Fine day for a ride,” Every said. “Let’s us play-like we’re a-riding all the way to Jasper!” And then Every began pointing with his hand and uttering a string of “wry chonders.” He would point and say, “Wry chonder is the courthouse. That’s where they put evildoers on trial.” And “Wry chonder is the county jail. That’s where they lock up the evildoers.” And “Lookee, wry chonder is a automobile!” And eventually he said “Why, I declare, if that aint a rester ront wry chonder! Has you ladies ever been to a rester ront afore?” When they both said no, he said “Let’s us just stop in and h
ave us a bite. Whoa, Paint.” He brought the horse to a halt right there in the road alongside a make-believe restaurant, and after he tied up the horse the three of them went inside and took a table, or rather they just sat on the ground and pretended it was a table, and the waitress came and gave them a sheet of paper that had a list of all the dishes on it. “I aint yet learned to read, myself,” Every declared. “I’m only in the First Reader at school. Has either one of you ladies learnt how to read?” They both shook their heads. Latha suggested that since they were pretending everything else, they could just pretend to read. Rindy said since it was Christmas day everything on the menu was Christmas food, and she’d already had plenty of chicken at dinnertime. Latha could boast that she’d had roast goose with lots of dressing. Every allowed as how he himself was pretty stuffed on ham. So they decided not to order a meal at the restaurant but only some desserts. Rindy chose the sweet potato pie, Latha picked the vinegar pie, and Every had the huckleberry cobbler. They swapped tastes, and the other two agreed they liked the vinegar pie best.
While they were eating their dessert, Rindy asked Every, “What’s it like at that there school?” and Every, first making sure she meant the Stay More school and not one of these here play-like Jasper schools, attempted to tell them about his one semester of experiences at the Stay More school. The teacher’s name was McWhorter, and he came from some place over in Madison County and was boarding with Willis Ingledew. Latha wanted to know what boarding was. Every explained that it meant you just slept in a spare room in the back of the house and got your meals, three a day, or just two, breakfast and supper when you were teaching and eating your dinner at school, but didn’t have to pay for them because it was part of your salary as the schoolteacher. Latha wanted to know what a salary was, but remembered that she wasn’t ever going to ask anybody any questions and she’d already violated that by asking what boarding was. Rindy seemed to read her mind and asked Every what a salary was, and he explained it was what you got paid in cash money for doing a job, like teaching school. Rindy said that none of the Whitters that she had ever heard tell on had ever got a salary from nobody for nothing. Every said that as far as that matter went, his daddy didn’t draw a salary neither, but he got paid by his customers for the wagons and the wagon-wheels he made, and that was practically the same as a salary. Anyhow, this Mr. McWhorter didn’t make much of a salary, after they took out his room and board, maybe just enough to buy hisself a new shirt. Mr. McWhorter—Every was sorry he never learnt his name—was a good enough feller, although he took the stick to you if you didn’t learn your lesson or if you talked out of turn. There wasn’t nobody in the First Reader but him, Every, and Lawlor Coe, who was Every’s only buddy. Latha, because she couldn’t ask questions, whispered into Rindy’s ear, “Ask him what a buddy is.” Rindy whispered back, “I don’t have to, I can tell ye. It means best friend. You are my buddy.”
Enduring Page 4