Comfort

by Joyce Moyer Hostetter

  When the people at the store asked about Daddy, I didn’t give them much satisfaction either. “Oh, he’s busy,” I said. “Working all day and planting the garden at night.”

  It made me wonder what they’d be saying if I wasn’t sitting there to hear it.

  Of course Otis came into the store right at eleven o’clock. And I do declare, I think even his glass eye twinkled when he saw me. I just had to ask how his momma was doing.

  Otis grinned real slow and lifted his hat like always and scratched his head. “She has her good days and her bad days, she does.”

  I fished a pickle out of the jar for him and he asked about my family.

  “I reckon we’re like your momma,” I said. “Some days are better than others.”

  I wondered what Otis actually meant when he gave that answer. What were the bad days like, anyway? Was his momma in a foul mood? Or was her arthritis acting up?

  It made me stop and think how all those people coming into the store, one or two at a time, were carrying things inside that the rest of us didn’t have any idea of. And maybe they liked coming in there because they could count on Ruth Whitener to listen to them grumble. Or they could swap gossip and forget their own worries.

  In some ways it was like Whitener’s Store took the place of Warm Springs for me. Even if I had different troubles from the people who came in there, they were my friends. It felt like some of the men who came in there offering me chewing gum and asking me silly riddles loved me almost like a daughter.

  Or maybe I just wanted to believe that because I couldn’t count on anything from my daddy anymore.

  One night, the week after I started back at the store, I found out just how bad off my daddy really was. We were fixing to eat supper. Ida and Ellie had both washed their hands and were sitting at the table. I was getting butter and jelly out of the Frigidaire and Momma was at the stove putting food from pots into serving bowls.

  “Ida,” said Momma, “go tell your daddy that supper is ready.”

  Daddy was sitting on the front porch, so Ida ran and told him. Then she came right back inside and hid behind the kitchen door. When he came into the kitchen she jumped out at him and hollered, “Boo!”

  Well, you should have seen my daddy jump. At first Ida squealed with laughing because she had scared him so good. But it wasn’t a good kind of scared—the kind where you’re startled but then you realize you’re okay.

  I could see Daddy thought he was in danger—like Hubert on that day in the brace shop. Like he thought a real enemy was after him. For a minute his whole face went ugly scared, and then he went after Ida like she was the enemy. He let out an awful scream, grabbed her up, and slammed her against the wall.

  Ida went dead silent but tears were running off her cheeks. Her teeth were chattering, and her eyes—oh, the fear in them just made my legs go weak. I wanted to grab her away from him, but I didn’t. I just stood there staring and hanging on to the open refrigerator door.

  But Momma, if she was the least bit afraid of Daddy, I couldn’t tell it. She was taking a pot of stew beef off the stove when it happened. She set the pot back down and stepped ever so quietly to where Daddy was standing. “Leroy,” she said. And her voice was low and soothing. “It’s your little girl.” As if Daddy didn’t know who Ida was. As if he was the one who needed comforting. She put one hand on Daddy’s shoulder and she slipped the other arm around Ida’s waist. “Let her go,” she said.

  Daddy was shaking every bit as much as Ida was. His face was twisted up and he was making strange sounds. But it looked like he had relaxed his hold and was letting her slide down the wall.

  Momma pulled Ida to her, but she kept one hand on Daddy’s shoulder.

  Daddy shook his head hard—like a dog drying off when it comes out of the creek. Then he went into the living room and out the front door, and left us there.

  Ida started crying out loud then. And Ellie too. We was all crying. Momma had Ida’s face pressed up against her big belly and was running her fingers through her hair. “He didn’t mean it for you, honey. He didn’t mean it for you.”

  She was looking through the window at Daddy’s truck driving away. I could see her worrying if Daddy was going to hurt himself on the road. I was worried too, but still I was glad he was gone.

  I never did put the butter on the table. But it didn’t matter on account of none of us ate supper that night. Later I saw Ellie nibbling on a biscuit, but I don’t think she even realized it or she would’ve put jelly on it.

  It was Thursday and I wished in the worst way it was Wednesday. I needed to hear those people singing out at the colored church. I didn’t care what song it was. As long as it was about tribulation and making it through.

  I took Comfort from around my neck before I went to bed that night. And held on to her while I waited for Daddy to come home. He came in the back door after I’d gone to sleep. I woke up because Mr. Shoes was in the kitchen yapping.

  At least someone in the family was glad to see my daddy.

  34

  Change

  April 1946

  The next morning I expected to see Daddy at the kitchen table staring into his coffee and smoking a cigarette. But he wasn’t there. Momma wasn’t elbow-deep in flour either. There was a box of cornflakes out, and the table was set with bowls and spoons.

  Evidently Daddy wasn’t getting biscuits and gravy for breakfast.

  I heard them moving around in the bedroom, so I figured they’d be coming into the kitchen soon. I sat at the table, and Mr. Shoes came running from their room and jumped up on my lap. I tried to snuggle with him, but all he wanted was to lick my face a few times and be let out. I followed him to the front door and onto the porch.

  It was one of those spring mornings when everything outside feels just about perfect. Bakers Mountain was starting to turn green with leaves on the trees and the birds were having a regular choir practice in our yard. Down below the garden the wisteria was blooming all over the pine trees. There was a gentle breeze blowing which brought the smell of those purple flowers up to the house.

  But still, something was missing. It took me a minute or two to realize what it was. Daddy’s truck wasn’t in the lane!

  I went back into the house and right to Momma and Daddy’s door. It was half open, so I pushed it the rest of the way. Momma was down on her knees digging pasteboard boxes out from under the bed. The mattress was bare and the sheets were on a pile by the door. She had pushed her dressing table into the middle of the room. And her cedar chest too.

  “Momma, is everything okay?”

  My momma’s baby belly was dragging on the wood floor, preventing her from getting any closer to whatever she was after. She pulled her head out from under the bed and the look on her face told me not to ask questions. But I did.

  “Whatcha looking for?”

  “I’m just making changes.”

  “Changes?”

  Momma reached behind her for the broom, which was laying on the floor. She used it to push a box out to the other side of the bed.

  “Where’s Daddy?”

  She grabbed the iron bedpost and pulled herself up. Just watching her so slow and clumsy made me want to give her a hand. But when I started toward her, she waved me off. “I don’t need your help,” she said. “Go eat your breakfast.”

  “But Momma, what are you doing? Where’s Daddy?”

  She sat on the edge of the bed to catch her breath. “Probably in South Carolina by now.”

  “South Carolina? Where’s he…?” And then I figured it out. To Georgia. To Mamaw and Papaw’s.

  Momma got up and started pushing the bed across the room. Every so often one of its posts would catch on the edge of a floorboard. But she didn’t let that stop her.

  I started toward her. “You shouldn’t be—”

  “Don’t tell me what I shouldn’t be doing.” She shoved the bed again and stopped to catch her breath.

  “What about the baby?”

 
“Well, what about the baby? He needs a change too.”

  Something was different about my momma. She had some sort of plan and there wasn’t anybody going to interfere.

  I helped her push the bed into place with the head of it against the back wall.

  “Thanks,” she said. “Now go wake the girls up and get yourselves off to school.”

  So I did. But of course the twins were full of questions. “Where’s Daddy?” asked Ellie.

  Momma came out of the bedroom just then. “He’s gone,” she said. “And he won’t be back for a while.” She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat at the table with us. “We don’t have to keep living like this. I am not bringing a baby into the middle of a war zone.”

  That’s when it hit me what my momma was saying. She had run my daddy off! She explained to the twins that Daddy was probably halfway to Georgia. And that she hoped being with his momma and daddy would make him feel safe again. “He hasn’t figured out that the war is over,” she said. She rubbed both hands over her belly. “And it’s not right for his wife and children to be his enemy.”

  Ida didn’t ask any questions. For once she let Ellie do the talking for her. “When’s he coming back?”

  Momma sighed. “I guess we don’t know. But don’t you worry. We survived by ourselves before. We can do it again.”

  I had no idea how Momma thought we could survive without Daddy and his paycheck.

  Peggy Sue’s father had been real good to him at that hosiery job. I got to thinking how wrong it was for Daddy to up and leave him without any warning. Especially after Mr. Rhinehart paid my way to Warm Springs and everything.

  When I saw Peggy Sue at school I told her about it. “So your daddy just lost a worker,” I said.

  But she didn’t seem concerned. “Daddy’s got men and women both, standing in line for work,” she said. She was probably right about that because plenty of people had lost their jobs right after the war.

  And I figured I had just lost my job too, since I didn’t have a way to get there. On the bus that afternoon, I told Jean Whitener to please tell her mother that I probably wouldn’t make it to work the next day.

  All of a sudden our family had gone from two people working to none.

  At least that’s what I thought. But boy, was I in for a surprise! On Saturday morning I woke up the same time as always and let Mr. Shoes out to do his business. When I did, there was my daddy sitting on the front porch.

  I didn’t know whether to be happy or worried. Did this mean the war had come home again? I hadn’t heard anything unusual during the night, and as far as I could tell, Momma was still sleeping. It was probably the best sleep she’d had in a long time.

  Maybe I should’ve hugged my daddy’s neck. Or acted the least bit glad to see him. But to be honest, I didn’t know if I was.

  “I thought you were in Georgia.”

  “Is that what your momma told you?”

  “She figured you went…”

  “Running home to my momma?” Daddy didn’t look at me. He just stared at his truck in the lane and said, “I come to take you to work, Ann Fay. Are you going to get ready or not?”

  Well, I sure didn’t expect that. I had a lot of questions, but I figured I could ask them later. I went inside to get dressed and the girls woke up and found out Daddy was there. While I was eating cereal they came running back in the house hollering for Momma. I heard Ellie telling her that Daddy was not at Mamaw and Papaw Honeycutt’s house.

  Momma sent the girls out of her room and she stayed inside. So I went to her door and told her that Daddy was taking me to Whitener’s Store.

  “I’ll see you tonight,” she said. And that was the end of the conversation.

  I went outside and climbed in the truck. I didn’t take a cane because I never had to walk that far, after all—only from the porch to the truck and then from the truck to the store. I could handle it easy, and I liked looking like a normal person for a change.

  There was a pasteboard box on the truck seat. A blue shirtsleeve was hanging out of a top corner. And Daddy’s lunchbox and garden shoes were on the floorboard. There was a pine needle stuck to the box. I picked it up and put it between my teeth. I liked how sharp it tasted. Almost like lemon. It put me in mind of Warm Springs.

  Ellie followed Daddy to the truck. She wanted to know if he was coming back soon. “Don’t worry,” he said. He climbed in and looked out the window at her. “I’m not going far.”

  On the way to the store I asked him if he was going back to work for Mr. Rhinehart.

  “I never left.”

  “But where are you staying?” I asked.

  “Don’t you worry. I’m a big boy and I’ve slept in worse places.”

  Worse than what? Where could he possibly be sleeping? But Daddy wasn’t saying much. Just that he would pick me up and take me home again at the end of the day.

  As far as everyone at the store was concerned, it was an ordinary Saturday. Only Mrs. Whitener raised her eyebrows when I went in. Evidently Jean had told her I might not be coming.

  At eleven o’clock Otis came in and had his dill pickle same as usual. Then he sat on a straight-backed chair and joined two farmers talking about raising chickens and selling eggs. One of them was a war veteran named Joe. You’d think Otis would’ve learned by this time that Joe wasn’t interested in talking about the war. But something about eggs got Otis on the subject of starvation and concentration camps.

  “Forget it!” snapped Joe. “Leave it be! There ain’t no good in carrying it around on you the rest of your life!”

  Otis just lifted his hat and scratched the top of his head. Then he stood and walked to the door. I thought Joe had shut him up. But before he left, Otis turned to Joe. “The way I figure it,” he said, “a body can carry it around the rest of his life if that’s what he wants. Or he can get it off his chest. Which one are you doing?”

  And just like that, he went out the door.

  Nobody said a word. Except Otis’s words were still there. And what he said made a lot of sense to me.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said to Mrs. Whitener. She was sitting at her sewing machine in the corner, but she was so interested in Joe and Otis that she’d forgot about the dress she was working on. I went as fast as I could toward the door.

  And right when I went out the door I heard Mrs. Whitener saying to those men, “Well, look at that—our little polio girl is running.”

  “Otis! Otis!” I started to run toward the highway.

  Otis turned and looked at me, and then he ran back. He grabbed my arm. “Crazy girl!” I guess he thought I was fixing to run into the traffic. He pulled me toward the store building.

  But I didn’t want to be near the window where the people in there could hear us.

  “Let’s go across the road,” I said. We waited for a car to pass and he helped me across. I sat in the grass next to a barbed-wire fence. Otis sat too.

  “What?” he asked. “What do you want?”

  “You. I want you to talk to my daddy. He needs someone who’s been through the war. It keeps following him around and it’s scaring my momma and us kids real bad.”

  I told Otis about Momma’s black eye and about Daddy slamming Ida up against the wall and Momma kicking my daddy out of the house. And how our home wasn’t a safe place anymore.

  “I don’t know where he is right now,” I said. “And I don’t know where he slept last night either.” But then, right when I said that, I had an idea. “Wait a minute,” I said. “There were pine needles on his box of clothes. That’s it! He slept in Wisteria Mansion.”

  Well, you should’ve seen the look on Otis’s face—I could see that my daddy sleeping in a mansion didn’t make sense to him. So I explained everything I could about Daddy and the playhouse we built in there and how he was a real good man before the war but now he wasn’t the same. And could Otis please do something about it.

  “All you gotta do is come back this afternoon,” I said. “And
ride home with me and Daddy. Then I don’t care what you do. Go somewhere and talk. You can talk about concentration camps and people getting their heads blowed off, for all I care. I know it will help. I just know it. Because I went to Warm Springs and it done wonders for me being there with people who understood exactly what I’d been through. And some of them was much worse off than me.”

  The words came pouring out of me like water from a wide-open spigot. I didn’t know what I was going to say before I even said it. But I knew it was true, and I knew if anyone in the world could help my daddy it was Otis.

  Somehow I convinced him to give it a try. Maybe he just needed to talk as much as my daddy did. Because that afternoon he was back at Whitener’s Store a whole fifteen minutes before Daddy got there.

  35

  Otis

  April 1946

  When Daddy got to the store, I didn’t wait for him to come in and get me. Instead Otis helped me carry the groceries that Mrs. Whitener was paying me with. A loaf of light bread, a bag of dried pinto beans, and a MoonPie each for Ida and Ellie.

  Otis opened the door of Daddy’s truck and that’s when I remembered the pasteboard box full of clothes. “Daddy,” I said, “I invited Otis to ride along with us, but I forgot about this box. Do you reckon we can put it in the bed of the truck?”

  Daddy squinted at me and then at Otis. He wasn’t going to be rude and refuse to give him a ride, but I could see I had some explaining to do. He gave Otis a little nod.

  I just pushed on the box a little and started climbing in the truck. There wasn’t much else my daddy could do, so he got out, shut the pasteboard flaps up tight, and put the box in the back. I noticed he had changed into his old garden shoes and they had fresh dirt on them. What was he doing all day?

  I scooted myself to the middle of the seat and Otis climbed in too. He offered Daddy a cigarette. Just like that, I was riding toward home with Daddy on one side of me smoking and Otis on the other, doing the same thing.

  I talked the whole two miles about who came in and out of the store that day. When our mailbox was in sight I told Daddy why Otis was with us. I told him about Otis wanting to talk about the war and Joe telling him to let it go.