Gramps picked up the shotgun and opened the chamber, as if to check for shells. Cody sucked in a sharp breath like Gramps might really fire the thing, and Peter T. hightailed it over to that spring faster than a snap. I put my hand over my mouth to cover my grin. If this fella was anything like the others that had come sniffing around Katie in the last few years, there was no way he’d go through with it. But there stood Katie’s new beau, splashing water all over his Sunday bests. Every once in a while he’d look over his shoulder at the porch.
“The armpits, too, boy!” Gramps yelled. He stood and made the motions of someone lathering his underarms. “Get ’em good and wet, now.” I tried to make my shoulders stop shaking.
“Mr. Tipton, sir,” Cody whispered, “don’t be too hard on him.” Gramps waved him off.
After about ten minutes of soaking, Gramps nodded at Peter T., who slopped back over to where we rocked. He was wet but darned determined.
“Sir, I—”
“Son, you think I’m gonna let you in my house like that?” Gramps waved his wrist at poor Peter T. “You’re wetter than a sip of water. You sit right down on that rock over there”—he pointed at a huge boulder pushing out of the yard—“and dry out. Ain’t no sponges comin’ in my house today, sonny.”
I spit a giggle. A little of the fight left Peter T.’s eyes, and he turned and squished toward the rock. He climbed atop it and wrung out his necktie.
A few minutes later, Cody shifted in his rocking chair. “Mr. Tipton? He looks drier now, doesn’t he? Whyn’t you let him off the hook?” Gramps either ignored him or didn’t hear him.
After a good half hour or so of rock squatting, old Peter T. was starting to get a mite squirmy. Course, it’s durn near impossible to get comfortable on a rock.
Gramps beckoned to the boy. “Son, you look to be less wet now. You ready for me to call out my girl?”
Peter T. sprang to his feet and raced to the foot of the stairs. “Yessir!” There was no denying that he was itching to see his Kathryn.
“Whoa there, hotfoot!” Gramps eked down the stairs and adjusted Peter T.’s shirt at the shoulders. “Don’t you think you’re a bit empty-handed?”
Peter T. looked at his hands dumbly. Gramps rolled his eyes. Cody rapped his feet on the porch—tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.
“Flowers, son!” Gramps said. “You think a romantic girl like Katie—er, Kathryn—don’t want flowers from her beau?”
Peter T. looked like he might cry. Gramps wiped a wrinkled hand down his face, pulling the loose skin around his mouth taut. I couldn’t tell if he’d have mercy on old Pete or not. I could tell Cody wanted him to. Real bad.
Gramps slung an arm around Peter T.’s shoulders. “They’s a patch of trillium down by the bridge.”
Peter T. nodded till it looked like his head would bob off. He dashed down to the bridge, hastily grabbed a handful of white flowers, and scurried back to the porch.
“Now hang on there, son,” Gramps said, and picked a petal off one of the flowers. “These look a mite droopy to me. . . .”
“Sir!” Cody shouted, and sprang from his chair. His eyes were squinched closed behind his glasses, like he was afraid of seeing what would happen next. “Isn’t anything ever good enough for you?”
It was so loud and so sudden, it felt like a shotgun had exploded and my ears were still ringing. I knew Cody meant this here situation, but those words served to underline what I reckon everyone in the Cove had been thinking secretly for weeks: Gramps had lost their everything.
Cody jiggled some rocks around in his pocket. “My dad, he shucked some red corn once, too,” he said. I gathered he meant his parents had met the same way Katie and Peter T. did. It was the closest he’d come to mentioning his mama since the telegram.
Peter T. finally broke the long silence. “Sir, I’m here to accompany your lovely granddaughter on an outing.”
Gramps’s face slowly pulled into a wide, yellow grin. “Now that’s more like it, son,” he said. His hand was on Peter T.’s shoulder, but he was looking at Cody. “I like a man that’ll stick up for hisself.”
13
I do things different.
It helps to remind
yourself of that
when you usher
your sister toward
that fancy
honeymoon suite at
the Wonderland
Motel in Gatlinburg.
Things started disappearing around the cabin, but I didn’t say nothing. It wasn’t much at first: a silver teapot here, an old shotgun there. Then bigger stuff: the old plow rusting next to the barn, a fat hog ready for slaughter but from which we never saw meat. I thought maybe Mama was swiping these goods to pay for groceries, until I stumbled upon what appeared to be a secretive meeting in the barn-turned-hotel between Gramps and some smallish outsider sporting a bowtie. Gramps had gone and hired some expensive Knoxville lawyer and was hocking his stuff to foot the bill! Here’s what I overheard:
“Mr. Tipton, I have to say our chances of winning don’t look very good.”
“You think I don’t know that, Mr. Polk? But I gotta do somethin’.”
“I understand. That’s why I decided to take your case. You and your neighbors haven’t been treated fairly.”
Gramps snorted. “Oh, we been treated fairly. Fairly rotten.”
Every time I turned around, there were Peter T. and Katie—canoodling on the front porch, near the barn, next to the creek. Mama kept her eagle eyes on them, demanding that she be able to see the Holy Ghost between them at all times. But if Mama turned her head for one second, Katie would nuzzle up under Peter T.’s chin like a kitten. Peter T. beamed like the North Star.
So it was a surprise when one day after school, while Gramps and I were gathering honey from the beehives, Peter T. approached us by himself. Gramps grinned at him and dusted his hands on his overalls.
“Why, Peter T.! I was beginning to think that you couldn’t walk without my granddaughter hooked on your elbow.”
Peter T. blushed and scratched his chin. “If I might have a word, sir?”
Gramps nodded and looked at me as if to dismiss me. I turned to set down the crate of Ball jars I was holding. They clinked like tiny church bells as I did.
“Autumn, you can stay,” Peter T. said, and smiled. I think it was the first time he’d spoken to me directly. His eyes met mine, and I noticed they were a surprising shade of amber like the honey we’d collected. “I’d like your blessing, too.”
I was more than a little taken aback that he wanted me to stay, but I didn’t let on. Most of Katie’s beaus don’t even bat an eyelash at me. I set the crate down on a tree stump and folded my arms across my chest to hear him out.
Peter T. took a deep breath, and the words came spilling out of him like water through a sieve. “I really love your granddaughter—your sister, Autumn—and I know that most times a man is supposed to wait and ask permission from the father about these things, but he’s gone so much and I just got this job offer in Maryville, see, so I’d be moving next month and I’d like nothing better than to take Kathryn along with me as my bride.”
He was so winded at the end of this confession that I drew in a deep breath for him. Then I looked at Gramps. I expected some teeth sucking, followed by a string of embarrassing chores put upon old Peter T. But instead Gramps turned to me, head cocked.
“Autumn—you know more ’bout Katie’s past beaus and whatnot to be able to tell: is Peter here a stand-up guy?”
My throat tightened up. I was gonna be the one to grant this fella permission to propose to my sister? No. I couldn’t let Katie go. She’d been the only one on my side since this park mess began. We were in this together, she and I. Together we worried about Pop’s job. Together we helped keep Mama from being so lonely. Together we were gonna move to Knoxville, make new friends. I didn’t want to go it alone.
Peter’s amber eyes fell on me, and I don’t think I’ve ever had another human being look at me like that. The longing i
n those eyes was as dark and deep as Tuckaleechee Caverns. It was almost as if my answer would echo off him.
I do things different. It helps to remind yourself of that when you feel the power over the fate of others pulling at the tip of your tongue.
I reeled in my heartstrings and felt a grin spread across my face. “Yep. This one’s a keeper, Gramps.”
Two weeks later, I thought I might upchuck every time I caught a glimpse of myself. I looked like a dandelion. No, wait—too simple. A baby chick. No—not frilly enough. I looked like a baby chick in a tutu made of dandelions perched on a yellow-frosted cup-cake setting on a yellow lace doily. Yep, that’s it.
’Twas my sister-of-the-bride dress. Jeez!
I eyeballed myself in the mirror in our bedroom one last time—I’d probably looked at my reflection more today than I had in the rest of my life combined. It’d take every last bit of gumption I could muster to parade down the aisle of the Missionary Baptist Church in this getup. But it was for Katie. I could do it.
“Autumn! How’s my favorite season?” I whirled around to see Pop filling the doorway. He threw back his blond head and laughed his big, hearty chuckle.
I leapt toward him and gave him the biggest hug my arms could give. “Looking more like summer, I’d say.” I scowled down at the yellow poof.
Pop tweaked the huge bow resting atop my head. “Summer’s nice too, you know.”
I hadn’t seen him since the night of the school-house meeting, when he’d had to hightail it back to his job site before his supervisor noticed he was gone. I was so full of questions I thought I might bust. “Pop, what’re we gonna do when—”
“Father,” Katie said. Pop and I turned and watched her drift into the room like a warm breeze. Her long blue organdy dress kissed the floor, just hiding her feet. The ring of daisies in her hair made her look downright angelic. It looked like she was floating. I think she was. Funny thing, too, ’cause Katie’s never been known for her grace. She’s tall and big-boned, as Mama likes to say, but today she looked airy and fragile.
Pop’s green eyes glistened. “Katie,” he sighed, and gave her a huge hug. “You look like a dream.”
“Thanks, Daddy,” she whispered. They hugged for a full minute before Pop straightened.
“Mighty quick courtship, you and Paul,” he said.
“Peter.” Katie rolled her eyes. She licked her thumb and swiped at my already-scrubbed-clean cheek. It took everything I had not to tackle her and give her an Indian burn.
“So why the rush, Katie-pie?” Pop asked.
“Daddy,” Katie said, “you know full well that Peter’s job in Maryville starts next week.”
“Hey, speaking of jobs—” I started.
Mama rushed through the door, all spinning and sputtering and dizzy. “Katie, Autumn, Gus—get your tails in the wagon this minute!” Boy, she must’ve been flustered, to use the word “tail”! “We’ve got to get to the church and set up the games before it gets hotter than Hades!” Wow—“Hades,” too! This was going to be some day.
I linked my arm in Pop’s and led him toward the door. “Sit by me, Pop. I gotta ask you about—”
Pop gave my hand a quick squeeze. “Later, bug,” he whispered. “Today is Katie’s big day.” He hoisted himself into the back of the wagon. Mama, Katie, and Gramps rode on the bench up front. We weren’t but a mile or so down the road when the horse right in front of Katie shifted his hindquarters and relieved himself.
“Eeeeewww!” Katie shrieked. She stood and fanned herself with her fingertips. “I’m gonna stink!”
Mama glared at Gramps. “What on earth are you feeding these horses, Daddy?” Gramps grunted and shrugged.
Pop tilted his head back and inhaled a big whiff, like horse manure was the freshest-smelling thing since French perfume. “Boy, will I ever miss this place,” he whispered.
It made me sad knowing that Pop would never live here again. He’d only moved to Knoxville a few months back. Before that, he’d lived in the Cove his whole life. Born in the house right next to the one where Mama was born. Now both those houses had been torn down.
I leaned toward Pop so no one on the bench could hear me. “I’m sorry we didn’t get the chance to sell our art, Pop. That sure would’ve been a nice job.”
The tip of Pop’s nose turned bright red, just like mine does right before the tears well up. But he clenched his jaw, straightened his shoulders, and smiled down at me. “They’s always more jobs, Autumn. They’s but one Cades Cove.”
Katie and Peter T. jumped the broom, and Pop had to skeedaddle to get back to work before his supervisor docked his pay. He didn’t say another word about the park or his job or nothing, but don’t think I didn’t try. I got the impression he didn’t answer my questions because he couldn’t answer my questions. And don’t think that made me feel at ease.
It was a fine November day, all blue sky and puffy clouds dotting the mountaintops. The biddies bustled around, each one making a bigger fuss over Katie than the last, and Katie soaked it all up like a dishrag. Uncle John and Uncle John Too and the boys broke out their fiddles, and Mama didn’t even stop them. She was too busy placing the last few sprigs of wild-flowers atop the wedding cake. Yu! My sweet tooth had been pining for that cake ever since Peter T. dropped to one knee.
All the folks who came to the wedding—everyone in the Cove, plus a few of Peter T.’s kin from the Sugarlands—played Whoopee Hide in the cemetery behind the church after the wedding. I just watched. Boy, was I ever glum.
Tilly McBroom snuck over to me and flipped open a tin can, one that used to house bandages. Inside were tiny plugs of chewing tobacco. I cut my eyes around the churchyard before sneaking a pouch between my bottom lip and gums. The tobacco tasted icky-sweet and naughty—kinda like our whiskey syrup.
“Don’t let your mama see I give you that,” Tilly said, and spit onto the grass. Suddenly I wasn’t sure where I should spit, this being the church grounds and my sister’s wedding and all, so I just swallowed.
Things were quiet a moment before she added, “Tell your gramps I said thank you.”
At first I thought she was being sassy about the park, so I turned on my heel toward her. “What?”
“I knowed it was him that left that wad of money on my doorstep. He’d never admit it, though. He thinks he owes us something ’cause he talked us into supporting that park. He don’t owe us squat. But that money sure come in handy about now.”
A trickle of tobacco juice slid down my throat. Part of the money Gramps was getting from hocking all his stuff was going to our neighbors? I knew an awful lot of his stuff had gone missing, but I thought all of it was going to that fancy-pants lawyer.
“Autumn, honey, run in the church and grab that basket of eggs and a fistful of spoons.” Mama appeared, shaking me out of my doldrums. “ ’Bout time for the egg races to get under way.”
I nodded and ducked inside the cool church, scooping out the plug of tobacco and flinging it into the dirt before I did. It took a few seconds for my eyes to regulate from the bright sunlight outside. The church smelled like both dust and dust polish, if that’s possible. It was empty, save for the limp decorations and strands of wildflowers we’d strung up this morning. I plunked down in a pew, covered my eyes, and sprawled out. Heaven help me for putting my feet up on a pew, but I felt like God might understand.
My stomach clenched up as I took yet another tally of all the things I’d lost or would lose in the next few weeks:
My pop’s job
My old house
Gramps’s farm
My neighbors (though their trust seemed to be intact, which was more than I’d given them credit for)
My new house in Knoxville
And now my sister, who I’d always thought I’d love to see married off, but as it turned out . . . I didn’t. She was the only one who was always on my side with this park. I didn’t know who was on my side anymore. Truth be told, I didn’t even know what my side was. But Katie alway
s seems to know where she stands.
And then, as if she’d heard me being nice to her in my head, Katie said, “Autumn Winifred Oliver! You get your feet off that pew this instant.”
I opened my eyes to see her hovering over me like a crow over a dead possum. I sat up, and when I did, tears slid down my cheeks. I hadn’t even known I’d been crying, it’d been so long since I’d done it.
Katie pushed me gently on the shoulder. “Scootch.” I scooted down the pew and she dropped in next to me, her wedding dress draping over my poofy skirt. She started tugging on her earlobe the instant she sat down.
“You can come see me in Maryville.”
“It’s a two-day trip.”
She shrugged, but it was more of a yeah . . . shrug than a so? shrug. “I’ll write you every day.”
I snorted out a laugh before I could stop myself. Katie writing letters! I smiled. “You gonna balance the ledgers, too?”
A grin snuck across her face. “Okay, so I won’t write you every day. But, um . . .” She reached over me and grabbed an egg out of the basket next to me. “Got some ink?”
I wasn’t sure what she was up to, but I found some ink and an old-timey quill in the table behind the altar. Katie dipped the quill and wrote on the egg:
Autumn Winifred Oliver
Cades Cove, Tenn.
Write me!
“Katie—”
“Shush, now.” Katie grabbed my elbow and pulled me out the door into the searing sunlight. She scanned the yard, then yanked me toward Jeremiah Butler. He looked like he’d been tipping back some happy juice, based on the smile he was sporting. (Or syrup, perhaps.)
“The blushing bride!” Jeremiah slurred, then hiccupped. “And her hooligan sister.” He tried to whisper that last part, but it came out just as loud. My stomach flopped over. I didn‘t feel so hot.
“Jeremiah,” Katie said, grabbing one of his shoulders, “sell this egg at market tomorrow, will you?” She put the egg in his hand.
“I can’t sell this.” He held the egg up to the sunlight and tried to read Katie’s handwriting. “It’s all . . . gaumy.”
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