Lily of the Springs

by Carole Bellacera

  Pressing a hand to my tummy, I climbed up the stairs and headed down the hall to the Wilkes’s bathroom. I slammed the door and leaned against it, my head spinning. Whether it was the result of those few sips of the whiskey-laced cola or the shocking news JR had delivered, I didn’t know. But one thing was certain. I felt like I was about to throw up all over my brand new polka-dot dress. Sinking to the floor in front of the toilet, my full skirt billowing around me, I gagged, but nothing came up. Not even the stupid drink I’d just had. After a couple of deep breaths, my stomach began to settle.

  When the nausea had passed, I closed the lid of the toilet and sat on it, folding my hands in my lap. I stared around the bathroom at the gigantic claw-footed tub, the mirrored wall, and the fluffy white towels hanging on a brass rack.

  This had been the first indoor bathroom I’d ever seen, and that had been only eight years ago. The Wilkes’s were one of the first families in the county to get indoor plumbing. Two years after I first saw Katydid’s indoor bathroom, Daddy got the factory job up in Louieville for the winter, driving up there every Sunday after church and back home on Friday night, and as soon as he’d saved up enough money, he put in our own indoor plumbing. But ours was about a third of the size of the Wilkes’s, not much bigger than a large closet, and that’s the way it had remained.

  I sighed and got to my feet. I’d been comparing myself to Katherine Ann Wilkes my whole life, and always came up short. Why would tonight be any different? After all, Katydid had a boyfriend who loved her, one who would never, ever disappear with the likes of Pat-Peaches Huddleston.

  I stared at myself in the mirror, my brown eyes wounded, bottom lip trembling. How could Chad do this to me?

  Pat-Peaches was a redhead, really stacked, and she was as loose as a goose lapping up prune juice, as Mother would say. She was, to put it mildly, Russell Springs High’s “scarlet woman.” Everybody knew Pat-Peaches would crawl in the back seat with anybody who wore britches and had a bit of stubble on his face. Why, that’s how she got the “peaches” nickname in the first place, I’d heard. Not that I understood it, exactly, but one boy, long graduated and gone now, had told one of his buddies that Patricia Huddleston was “as tasty as a ripe peach,” and from then on, everyone had called her Pat-Peaches. A name that, apparently, she took pride in.

  And Chad—my Chad—had gone off with her?

  My chin lifted. No. I simply wouldn’t believe it. Well, he might’ve gone off with her, but he wouldn’t actually do anything with her. Why, a couple of years ago, rumors had been flying around the school that Pat-Peaches had cooties! Chad was an all-American, clean-cut boy. Surely, he couldn’t stomach touching that trashy girl.

  A new thought occurred to me. Maybe Chad was just trying to make me jealous. Yes, that was it! He was trying to teach me a lesson. Boys were immature like that.

  I dug into my pocketbook for my lipstick and smoothed another layer of the creamy red color on my lips, then I fiddled with the curls on my head, rearranging them for maximum effect.

  I’ll just bet you’re down there in the basement right now, Chad Nickerson, just wondering where the heck I am, and why your idiotic plan isn’t working.

  With one last glance in the mirror, I left the bathroom and headed back toward the basement stairs. But just as I got to threshold of the living room, the front door opened, and a feminine giggle floated in, followed by a throaty drawl, “Honey, there’s more where that came from. Why don’t you let me show you right now?”

  I stiffened and hugged against the wall, holding my breath. That was Pat-Peaches! But surely the boy with her wasn’t Chad. It better not be!

  The male spoke in a soft rumble, but I couldn’t make out what he said, and it wasn’t enough to know for certain if it was Chad. There was a long silence, followed by a soft sigh.

  “There, now,” said Pat-Peaches. “I’ll bet you don’t get kisses like that from Miss Goody-Two-Shoes Lily Rae Foster.”

  My heart skipped a beat; I could almost feel the blood drain from my face.

  “Bet she’s never even slipped her tongue in your mouth, has she? Much less massaged your dicky-doo like I just did. Sure you won’t change your mind, Chad? Let’s go drive down to Rock House Bottom. I know a spot there where nobody goes.”

  My pulse was racing now, and I knew the color had returned to my face. In fact, my skin felt as hot as a firecracker. I didn’t think; I just acted.

  “Yeah, Chad,” I said smartly, whirling around the corner to confront the couple. “Why don’t you take Pat-Peaches up on her offer? Crawl into the backseat of your car with her and do what you have to do. I’m sure it’ll be worth risking a case of the crawling cooties.”

  Chad and Pat-Peaches stared at me in shock. His face and neck were smudged with lipstick—the same hot pink shade the redhead wore on her kewpie-doll lips. She had her arms wound around his neck, her curvy body pushed up against his. Her long red hair streamed around her shoulders in a Veronica Lake style, and as I watched their reaction to my appearance, the totally silly thought that it didn’t look dirty or cootie-infested at all went through my mind. The blood had drained from Chad’s face, and he finally disengaged the floozy’s arms from his neck and stepped away from her.

  “You got the wrong idea, Lily Rae,” he said, taking a step toward me.

  I backed up, glaring. “Oh, yeah. I got it wrong. Am I dreaming, Chad? Finding you kissing Pat-Peaches is just a figment of my imagination, I suppose?”

  Pat-Peaches’ expression of surprise had turned to one of smug satisfaction. But my anger was directed at Chad. He knew better.

  A flush had spread over his handsome face; he took another tentative step toward me. “Nothing happened, Lily Rae…not much, anyway.” He reached out a hand to me. “Look, sweetheart, I had a little to drink. I was upset about our fight, and Pat-Peaches, here, just…” His voice drained away, and his hand dropped to his side.

  I gave them a bitter smile. “She felt bad for you, and was just trying to make you feel better, huh?”

  Pat-Peaches threw me a mocking smile, and I saw that her two front teeth were starting to decay. The sight made me feel even sicker. How could Chad kiss something like that?

  “I do what I can to help out,” the redhead said in a thin, sarcastic voice.

  I wanted to punch her. Instead, I ripped off Chad’s class ring. “You can both just go to the devil!” I flung the ring at him, hitting him in the chest. It clattered to the floor. “As far as I’m concerned, you deserve each other!”

  With my head high, I swept past them and out the front door. I kept my shoulders straight as I descended the steps of the front porch, grateful that the disgusting twosome couldn’t see the tears streaming down my cheeks.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The orange oval of the Gulf station sign glowed in the gathering twilight. I saw it through a curtain of tears. At first, I didn’t know why I felt drawn to the beckoning light of the gas station. By the time I reached it, my fashionable spiked heels felt like torture devises designed by the Gestapo. Tears had dried on my face, but my eyes still burned from crying, and I thought they probably looked as red as the polka-dots on my dress.

  And then I saw him, and knew why I’d felt drawn to the place.

  He stood at the pump, dressed in his light blue Gulf uniform, one tanned hand clamped on the pump’s nozzle as he filled the tank of an older model black Buick. Under the splash of light from the bright station, Jake’s wind-tossed hair gleamed with golden streaks. The boss must not be there, I thought, or Jake would be wearing his Gulf cap. I had a feeling he liked showing off his hair. He wore it longer than most boys, which was just another indication of his rebellious nature, but I’d always thought its length suited his angular, tanned face. He hadn’t seen me yet; he was too busy talking to the car’s occupant, his teeth flashing white in the growing darkness.

  It had always amazed me, his teeth. They were so straight and white, like a movie star’s. Most folks around here had lots of problem
s with their teeth, mainly because the closest dentists were in Columbia or Somerset, or they just couldn’t it.

  I stood in the shadows and watched Jake as he worked. Uncertainty swept over me. What was I doing here? What was I supposed to do now? What was I supposed to say to him, this childhood playmate who was now a stranger?

  I knew I couldn’t go back to Katydid’s. My face grew warm as I thought of Chad and Pat-Peaches in each other’s arms. How many people had seen them together? The thought of seeing the pity in my friends’ eyes would just be too much to bear.

  Jake leaned across the hood of the Buick and briskly cleaned the windshield with a cloth, still carrying on a conversation with whoever was in the car. Probably a pretty girl. Jake wasn’t so personable with other boys. When he finished cleaning the windshield, he took the money and tipped a forefinger to his head, grinning, as the car moved off.

  Heart thumping, I stepped out of the darkness. Our eyes met and for a moment, he looked like the young boy I’d known before my father had ended my visits to the swimming hole. But then a mask seemed to drop over his face. Even though his lips still wore a grin, his eyes took on a look that made it seem like he knew something I didn’t. It was the same look I’d seen in his eyes when he’d given me the ride to school yesterday morning. Like he knew some deep, dark secret about me, maybe one that even I didn’t know. His eyes scanned me in a way that brought heat to my cheeks.

  Lord above, I could almost believe he could see straight through my dress to the lacy push-up bra and garters I’d secretly ordered from the Sears Roebuck catalog with some of the money I’d saved from working at Grider’s Drugstore last summer.

  Jake took an oil cloth from his back pocket and began to rub at his hands, still watching me. “What brings you here, Lily Rae?”

  I took a step closer, breathing in the thick, oddly-pleasant scent of gasoline. “I…just…” My bottom lip quivered. To my horror, fresh tears welled in my eyes, and my throat tightened. The grin disappeared from Jake’s face, and even in the dim light, I saw his blue eyes deepen with genuine concern.

  That did it. I burst into sobs. With three long strides, Jake crossed the asphalt and took me into his arms. I cried into his shirt as he held me silently, his big, oil-stained hands pressed to my back. It felt good, and I didn’t even care if he was messing up my new dress.

  But even as I gave myself up to the heartbreak of Chad’s betrayal, and sobbed out my pain into the tear-dampened cotton fabric of Jake’s shirt, I inhaled the mingled fragrances of motor oil and gasoline, along with the tangy, slightly-animal scent that was purely Jake. And I knew, somehow, that I’d just crossed a line—that I was teetering on a cliff above Lake Cumberland, and if I fell, the path of my life would take a sharp detour.

  And even with that knowledge, I knew I was ready to jump.

  ***

  “This’ll only take a minute,” Jake said, slipping out of the car. The door closed with a soft thud. He stuck his head back in through the window and grinned. “Don’t run off, now. I’ve heard tell there’s a bogeyman in these here woods.”

  I rolled my eyes and tried to act unconcerned, even though I felt a slight chill on the back of my neck. “Oh, go on, Jake! Your bogeyman stories don’t scare me anymore.”

  He winked. “Is that right?” His head disappeared, and a rustling sound marked his progress as he walked off into the underbrush.

  I glanced uneasily into the dark woods, and couldn’t help but think of those age-old stories where a mad-dog killer would loom up out of the darkness with a deadly hatchet and kill the first pretty girl he saw sitting in a car waiting for her boyfriend. Darn that boy for putting pictures like that in my mind!

  I took a deep, calming breath and folded my hands in my lap. That Jake really knew which buttons to push, didn’t he? Back in the days when we’d played together, he would entertain me by telling ghost stories that both scared and fascinated me. Judging by his cocky grin, he hadn’t forgotten that, either.

  I looked out the passenger window and wondered where in tarnation he’d brought me to? Somewhere still in Russell County, I reckoned. It hadn’t seemed like we’d driven that far out of town.

  I’d always known these hills and hollows were thick with bootleggers, but this was the first time I’d actually been with someone who’d gone looking for one. Why hadn’t I just insisted he take me home before he went out looking for liquor?

  Because, you idiot, you wanted to be with him. Why don’t you, for once in your life, Lily Rae Foster, be honest with yourself?

  After I’d finally calmed down back at the station, Jake had ushered me into the little office, and brought me an ice-cold bottle of Dr. Pepper. As he attended to the occasional customers, I glanced through an old issue of Look Magazine and sipped the soft drink. The spicy cold liquid felt good on my throat, still tender from my crying jag. At ten o’clock, Jake began closing down the station, and I meekly asked him if he might give me a ride home. He threw me a look that made me think my question had been the stupidest thing ever uttered by a human being since the dawn of time.

  “Well…I reckon I can,” he’d said finally, a trifle mockingly, in my opinion.

  But instead of going towards Opal Springs, he’d headed out Jamestown way onto an old, graveled road that had bounced my bottom so hard against the seat cushion, I believed I’d surely be misaligned for the rest of my life. And still, I hadn’t uttered a word of protest, not even when he’d flashed a grin and said, “You don’t mind if I make a little stop at the ‘package store’ before I take you home, do you?”

  So, here I was, sitting in Jake’s blue Plymouth, windows open because it was so darn hot--even at night--crickets chirping, frogs from a nearby pond croaking, and the occasional ghostly call of a hoot owl floating on the breeze. Fireflies flickered in the woods, and I felt joy at the sight, remembering nights of running around the yard, gathering them with Landry and putting them into old canning jars for use as a nightlight. The insects were out early this year, fooled, I supposed, by the unusually warm temperatures.

  As the minutes stretched on, I became increasingly uneasy, as one scary thought after another meandered through my head. Maybe Jake was just going to leave me out here in the wild. Just for meanness’ sake.

  No, he wouldn’t do that. He might leave me, but he sure as shootin’ wouldn’t leave his precious car. But what if…

  Another thought stopped me cold, and a curl of fear snaked its way through my stomach. What if some wild-eyed old moonshiner took Jake for a revenuer, and decided to pistol-whip him and ask questions later? Lord Almighty, I’d heard stories about them moonshiners and how they protected their stills like a mama wolf protected her pups. Folks had disappeared in these hollers, never heard from again, or so the stories went.

  The racket of the crickets and frogs grew deafening, pounding through my head with each beat of my heart. Durn you, Jake Tatlow, what’s taking so dadblamed long?

  I reached out and turned on the radio to help muffle the scary sounds of the night. Bluegrass music blared from the speaker. I grimaced and fiddled with the tuner. Lord! What self-respecting 19-year-old boy listened to that old hillbilly music? That was a Tatlow for you. Hillbilly through and through.

  It took a while to find a decent station; there wasn’t much to choose from out in the middle of nowhere—not if you wanted to listen to something besides hillbilly or static. But finally, I found a fairly strong station playing Kay Starr’s “Wheel of Fortune.” Probably Cincinnati or Louieville. I hummed along with Kay, trying to convince my nerves to settle down, but still, I found myself reaching for Chad’s class ring which was so conspicuously absent. I frowned and folded my hands together, tucking them into the folds of my dress between my knees.

  Drat that boy! Drat all boys! Every last one of them is a low-down, good-for-nothing, no-account…

  I stiffened. What was that sound? Some kind of rustling nearby. Lord help me, what if it’s some kind of wild animal or something? I knew for a fac
t there were all kinds of wild varmints roaming these woods. The Kentucky Wildcats hadn’t just pulled their name out of a hat, had they?

  Warily, I looked out my window, then out Jake’s, but didn’t see a thing except the dark leaves of the trees and bushes swaying gently in the light breeze. The glimmer of a crescent moon cast dancing shadows on the hood of the Plymouth, and even though common sense told me there was nothing supernatural about it, it still gave me a spooky feeling. The Hatchetman loved nights like this when he was on the hunt for a victim. And even if there weren’t no such bogeyman lurking around, it was for dad-burn sure that a wildcat didn’t much care what kind of night it was, or even if his supper was all decked out in the prettiest red polka dot dress ever seen in Russell County, as long as she tasted sweet.

  With trembling fingers, I reached over to the radio dial and turned the volume down. Head cocked toward the window, I listened for a moment, but heard only the rapid thud of my heart. That didn’t reassure me a bit, though. My sixth sense—or “the sight,” as Granny Foster called it, was working over-time tonight. There was somebody…or some thing…out there in the darkness.

  Maybe Granny was right, and I did have “the sight,” because just like that, I saw a picture in my mind of Jake Tatlow gloating over the tom-foolery he’d pulled on me, and relief washed over me like a cool bath on a sticky August evening.

  Jaw clenched, I glared out my window. “Jake Tatlow, is that you out there? Doggone it, Jake, why don’t you act your age? I ain’t scared, you hear me? And I don’t think this is one bit funny!”

  I held my breath and listened to the drone of crickets and frogs, a distant hoot of an owl and the husky rustle of tree branches scraping together in the balmy breeze.

  And then, unmistakably, I heard a sound that made my skin crawl—footsteps crackling through the underbrush. A jolt slammed through my heart, and I rolled up the window as fast as I could, and in the same movement, pushed down the lock button.