Good Ground

by Tracy Winegar

  Somewhere deep inside, she knew that she would never be the same. The weak and frightened Clairey would be tucked away somewhere within, and the new, stronger Clairey was permitted to come out. She was capable of anything. She grasped an understanding that if there were no challenges, there was no growth.

  Strange to her, but she felt an unexplained kinship with those tobacco plants, wondering if they had resented being torn up by the roots as much as she had. But now they possessed unlimited possibilities, room to grow, sun to warm in, water to drink, the ability to reach their full potential. Her body felt light as if she were floating as she went back to the house that night in the steady rain, and she sang again, this time in triumph, as she walked.

  “Glory hallelujah, I shall not be moved. Anchored in Jehovah, I shall not be moved.” Her voice grew louder with conviction so that she could hear herself above the rain. “Just like a tree that’s planted by the water, I shall not be moved.”

  Ellis rolled over in the night, roused from a deep sleep with a vague impression that something was amiss. He lay still in the darkness, his senses heightened, aware of the rain as it clattered on the tin roof above him, the sounds of the wood shifting and moaning in the wind. His arm instinctively reached out, but Clairey was not next to him. His fingers groped empty bedding, a vacant pillow. Then, above the drumming of the rain, he heard it, a faint but vaguely perceptible noise that was just audible above the downpour. Had it been this that had awakened him, or Clairey’s absence?

  He fumbled in the gloom for his overalls and slipped them on, not bothering with his shirt, then proceeded cautiously to the front room, feeling for the rifle he had left next to the door with his stretched out hands. He gripped it tightly as he made for the door and stood on the porch, straining to hear what it was he had heard before. And then it came to him, drifting with the storm. He was confused and on his guard, sensitive to anything that was out of the ordinary. This was certainly out of the ordinary.

  It was Clairey’s voice he heard, Clairey coming up to the house from the barn, drenched through by the rain. She was singing, and her words were competing with the sound of the rain. “Though the tempest rages, I shall not be moved. On the rock of ages, I shall not be moved. Just like a tree that’s planted by the water, I shall not be moved.”

  He met her on the porch as she was coming up the stairs. “Claire?”

  She looked up at him, squinting her eyes against the drizzle, and his confusion grew.

  “What in thunder you doin’?”

  “Come see it, Ellis,” she begged, grabbing his hand and tugging on him.

  Ellis resisted. “Come see what?”

  “Come see and you’ll find out,” she persuaded, not letting go of his hand.

  He wavered still then carefully set his rifle down on the porch before he allowed her to lead him into the rain. Her pace was quick, urgent. A few times she slipped in the mud and nearly lost her footing, but she continued on toward the field. He struggled to keep up with her, limping and trotting, slowing her down when he couldn’t manage it.

  Ellis and Clairey came to the edge of the field, the field the two of them had worked together to prepare for the tobacco, and there they were, leaves drooping beneath the raindrops that fell on them: the tobacco plants lined in neat rows, stretching out before them. She turned to him, her expression full of excitement, her eyes seeking his approval.

  It was too much for him to fathom. “What…What’s this?” he asked.

  “The terbaccer,” she answered.

  “How?”

  “I done it. Every last one of ’em is set, and I done it,” she cried.

  “The terbaccer?” he yelled above the din. “It’s planted? All of it?”

  She nodded emphatically to all of his questions.

  Without thinking, reacting from pure instinct, he picked her up to swing her around, forgetting momentarily his handicapped leg, until it folded under the weight. They both tumbled to the ground, laughing, ecstatic, unable to control the sheer joy they were experiencing in that moment.

  “It’s done,” she said again. “All done.”

  He sat up and looked over the field. “Shoot, if it ain’t the purtiest thing I ever saw!” he cooed. The two sat there for a while, watching the tobacco with wonder and awe.

  Part V: Blossoming

  Chapter 22

  Summer of 1935

  ALTHOUGH IT WAS A BALMY SUMMER’S NIGHT, Ellis made a fire to dry their clothes and warm themselves next to. He turned from his task to watch Clairey, who was shivering as she put the kettle on to boil some water. She was soaked clean through, and he allowed his gaze to linger over her clinging dress. There was something about her that he couldn’t explain, even to himself. The draw was like two magnets passing close enough to be immediately glued to one another.

  During the first six months of their marriage together, Clairey had seemed nothing more than a nuisance to Ellis. He could not say when those feelings had changed. It had been a gradual thing, like roots and stem and leaves sprouting from a germinating seed. Their relationship had begun small and nearly indiscernible at first but gradually grew up and out, stretching toward the light of the sun.

  Now, almost a year after he had met her, he was experiencing new feelings. He was surprised by that. He was sure a large part of his reluctance to be close to her came from the fact that he had held on so tightly to his feelings for Dulcie Mae. Ellis had believed there would never be any chance that Clairey could measure up to Dulcie Mae. He could never have imaged he would have developed any sort of an attraction for her. But now, he was feeling like a husband, like a lover. He couldn’t help wanting her. He realized it was more than just wanting to satisfy his needs. He desired her. He fancied Clairey.

  “How’d you manage it?” he wondered in admiration.

  She shrugged. “Don’t know. Just set my mind to it and done it,” she explained as she busied herself with her task. “Didn’t wanna get your hopes high if it happened it didn’t work out, so I didn’t tell you ’bout it.”

  “Claire,” he said, trying to get her attention.

  “Huh?”

  Ellis didn’t respond right away. Instead, he waited for her full consideration.

  She stopped what she was doing and turned to him.

  “I’m awful proud of you,” he complemented. “You done good.”

  “You won’t have to get rid of your daddy’s place now.”

  When she said those words, he realized that Clairey hadn’t simply done this to save the farm: she had done it to save him. She had done it so that he wouldn’t have to live with selling out to Coy Struthers. It meant so much more when he understood exactly why she had done what she had.

  “Come on over here and sit by the fire. Warm yourself,” he said, motioning to her.

  She did as she was told and came over to the fireplace, holding her hands out tentatively toward the heat, the flames fanning her face, drying her cheeks. Ellis felt the familiar flutter of his stomach as he slid in behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her back against his chest. She relaxed a little and dropped her arm to cover his, her hand on his hand.

  He put his face to her wet hair and said softly, “You smell good.” It was the rain, the earth, and her skin.

  She laughed. “I smell like an ole wet dog.”

  He was goaded on by her light manner. “Claire?”

  “Yes?”

  “I just wanted to say I grown real fond of you,” he told her in a mild, tender voice.

  “And I you, Ellis,” she replied, with an ease that put his fears to rest. “I’s fortunate to have a good man such as you. Your daddy woulda been real proud of you.”

  “My daddy, I think, woulda liked you.”

  The kettle began to hiss on the old black stove. “Pero’s done,” she murmured. “You want some?”

  He sighed deeply, annoyed by the interruption. “Sounds good,” he said, letting her go. He sat in the rocking chair, and she brought
him a mug and poured the dark brown liquid from the kettle spout to fill it. She poured one for herself as well and dragged a chair over to sit down opposite him with a bashful smile.

  He looked like a boy, sitting with his mug between his hands, in his undershirt and overalls, with his hair matted down and wet.

  “Ellis,” she began, but hesitated.

  “What is it?”

  “Can I ask you somethin’?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Somethin’s been eatin’ at me. I know it’s gonna sound strange, but I was wonderin’…What was your mama’s name?” And the secret that had been burning in her for a while now worked its way to the surface. She had never felt comfortable enough to address it before, not until now.

  “My mama’s name? It was Edith,” Ellis answered. He gave the impression that he was thrown by her out-of-the-blue question. “Why you wanna know for?”

  “It weren’t Lottie Borden?”

  Ellis looked truly puzzled now. He watched her sip at her Pero with a troubled frown. “No, it weren’t.”

  “Oh,” she said, and decided that she shouldn’t say anything more. Ellis was obviously completely unaware of what was being talked about behind his back. She suddenly realized that now was not the time to broach the subject.

  “Who’s Lottie Borden?”

  “Don’t know,” she responded. “Some name I done heard.”

  Ellis was scrutinizing her now, and she could feel it, feel his eyes upon her, his suspicion growing. She wished that she hadn’t said anything. Why had she brought it up? Maybe she thought that he knew, that he just hadn’t told her. Perhaps because it was a mystery and she couldn’t let it lay. She wanted a conclusion that made sense, that tied up all the loose ends. But in the back of her mind, she thought maybe he would think she was the one person in the whole world that he could trust to tell him the truth, the one person who hadn’t deceived him. Selfish, really, but she hadn’t thought that until now, until it was too late.

  “Where’d you hear it from?” he pressed.

  “Don’t know. Round town, I s’pose.”

  Ellis would not let it rest. He knew that she knew something she wasn’t telling him, and he was determined to get it from her. “Who is Lottie Borden?” He was losing his patience, and the tone of his voice made it clear.

  “They was talkin’ ’bout her in the grocery that day we was in town.”

  “Who was talkin’ ’bout her?”

  “That day I was a-standin’ and waitin’ for you, and they’s talkin’ and I heard ’em.”

  “Tell me now what you been goin’ on ’bout. I wanna know,” he persisted. “I wanna know.”

  “I’m real sorry I brung it up. It’s just that…”

  His anger was right at the surface now, and she could tell that she was only agitating him, taunting him by withholding what she knew. “I wanna know right now what happened,” he ordered, his shoulders tense, his face expectant.

  “That feller at the grocery, he done tole that lady that you was Lottie Borden’s. Well, I didn’t know your mama’s name so I’s wonderin’, is all. He done messed it up.”

  “Why’d he think my mama’s this gal Lottie Borden? There somethin’ you ain’t tellin’?”

  “I…well, it was somethin’ you done tole me when you got your leg run through. You said to me that your daddy brung you into this world.”

  “So?”

  “So when we was a-stayin’ with the doctor and his wife, she done tole me that she’s there when Doctor Fielding delivered you. And the doctor, when I said it to him, he was behavin’ awful strange like.”

  Ellis seemed completely lost and confused by all that she was saying, his mind unwilling to put the puzzle pieces together. “She don’t know what she’s talkin’ ’bout. That’s all. And neither does he.”

  “You’re prob’ly right.” She thought perhaps she had agreed too quickly for Ellis’s liking.

  He scowled at her.

  “He even says he can’t ’member all them babies he hepped along ’cause there’s so many of ’em,” Clairey continued, trying to fix the damage she had done. She would have done anything to get out of the mess she’d just made.

  “Whatcha gettin’ at anyhow?”

  She didn’t answer, only looked down at her mug, cringing.

  Ellis seemed perplexed, his brow wrinkled, his mouth drawn. She recognized his customary habit of rubbing his neck when he was upset or angry. Finally, he spoke up. “You sayin’ my daddy gone with some other gal? That what you sayin’? ’Cause he never’d a-done such a thing. My daddy’s a God fearin’ man. He never.” His tone was a mixture of disbelief and defensiveness.

  “I never said he weren’t,” she gasped.

  “He weren’t like your daddy,” Ellis sneered. “He weren’t kearn—weren’t trash—like that.” He saw her reaction, how she looked staggered and hurt all at the same time, and he gave the impression that he was glad for it. “That’s right, nothin’ but garbage!”

  His jaw line was hard, and his lips curled in a jeering small smile. “Don’t think I don’t know ’bout your daddy and that baby that come from him and your mama’s sister. Now you tryin’ to ruin my daddy’s good name? No sir!” He pushed out of the rocking chair. “I won’t have it!” He stomped out in the rain to the barn.

  He did not want to believe it, could not fathom it. His daddy had been a good man, a man that never would have done such a thing. He had taught him about God, had read to him from the Good Book.

  Clairey was a liar! She was an ignorant good-for-nothing. He never should have taken her in. How dare she throw about such accusations? Edith was his mother! Edith Hooper! His daddy had told him so. Who was he going to believe, her or his father?

  In frustration, he kicked the stall door. It flew open and banged loudly. His anger unsatisfied, he looked about for something more to take his rage out on. He took up a shovel and pitched it with all of his strength. It struck the wall and clattered to the floor.

  A rage tore loose inside of him, a rage that he had suppressed all those years. It consumed him, and he let it. The memory of his father was pushed aside, and he remembered all of the insults, all of the ill treatment he had received at the hands of those town folks that knew him, had known him since birth, and it suddenly all made sense. They had been aware all along. All along, it had been lurking there, under the surface, and his daddy had kept it from him.

  All of those years, he had taken their scorn, their insults. He remembered how the children had taunted him about his mother, and he understood that they must have known too. They hadn’t been mocking or making fun of Edith; they’d been talking about this Lottie Borden. And when Dulcie Mae had said her parents would not let her accept his offer of marriage, he had wanted to know what it was they had disapproved of. She had done her best to be vague. She’d told him that they wanted someone with a good reputation. He had assumed that they’d wanted someone who was established. After that, he had done everything he could to make himself respectable, got himself a farm, and worked to make a good living. Every thought he managed to form was proof that he had been deceived. It seemed that every memory he was able to recall pointed to the obvious.

  In the back of his mind, he had always wondered why—why they harbored such resentment for him. Now he had the answer, and he felt sick. He felt the bottom dropping out. He lay down on his back in the hay loft with his arm covering his eyes, listening to the rain. He remembered his daddy taking him up on the hill to where Edith was buried. He would talk about her with such tenderness, such love. Ellis had grown to want that more than anything—the joy of finding a woman to cherish, to adore. A woman to spend his life with, to grow old with.

  It just didn’t seem possible that all that time he’d been lying. Ellis wouldn’t believe the man capable of it, if not for the cold hard truth. People were talking, inconsistencies were popping up, and the only reasonable explanation was a terrible reality that he didn’t want to face. He should have gone in t
o bed, but he stayed in the hay loft and eventually fell asleep there. He simply wasn’t ready to face her, to face Clairey.

  In the early morning hours, he woke with a start and remembered what had transpired with an engulfing dread. He was not ready to confront Clairey. There were still too many questions in his head. He was back to telling himself that his father never would have messed around on his wife. His reasoning skills were shaky at best in his present condition. Every time he felt that, yes, it must be so, he then would argue within his head that he knew Jim Hooper, and Jim Hooper never would have! Seeing Clairey would only complicate things further.

  Ellis climbed into the truck and pulled out of the barn. He saw Clairey come out of the house to try to stop him.

  “Ellis!” she screamed.

  She scrambled down the stairs in pursuit, grabbing the door handle as he sped by. It was the passenger side handle, the one that didn’t work. She attempted to jump onto the running board, but Ellis didn’t even slow.

  He peeled down the drive, hitting the main road, and did not stop until he had reached town. He slowed the truck a bit, not sure really what his plan was. He cruised the streets for a while and then parked and got out to walk. His leg was bothering him some as he limped along the store fronts, lost and troubled, watching people pass him, the faces of strangers seeming to look at him in some knowing way. Across the street, he spotted the grocery store and decided on the spur of the moment to go there. It had all started with the clerk.

  He walked past a group of men that were loitering out front, swapping stories and catching up since they’d last seen each other. They paid him no mind. He came through the door and saw the clerk, and he inexplicably wanted to pound him.