He looked almost embarrassed. “Somethin’ like that.”
I crossed my arms and looked out the window. “Well, if that sounds good to you, maybe that’s what you need to do, then.” Why did I sound so petulant?
“Hmm,” he grunted again. I shot him a look. We pulled up in front of the house. “Later, maybe.” He put the truck in park and twisted in his seat to face me. “Right now, I’d rather be kissin’ you.”
The petulance fell away. I rolled my eyes. “Right here, Mr. Harding? In front of the whole town?”
He made a point of looking around. “I don’t see anybody.”
“That’s because they’re all hiding behind their windows. Look carefully, you’re bound to see the curtains pinched back.”
“So is that a ‘no’?”
I lowered my eyes coquettishly. “Well, only for now. For right here.”
“So you will go out with me again.” He looked pleased with himself, like a lawyer who’d just scored a major point in court.
“Who said I wouldn’t?”
“Nobody.” His expression turned. “But you are leavin’ in a few weeks.” He paused, as if waiting to hear that I’d changed my mind.
“That’s true,” I replied softly. “I am, Lee. You know I have to go. Don’t you?”
He took a deep breath, nodding his head once. “I know. You got your job, your plans.”
“It’s more than that.” I’d told him so little, really. “It’s … what I’m supposed to do. What I have to do to follow God.”
Confusion flicked across his face. I reached for his hand. “I haven’t told you about it—the dream I had of my mother after she died, and what she said. And how that dream, and the way she raised me, has pointed me in this direction.”
He gazed at me with intensity, his face falling. Without knowing the details, for the first time he seemed to grasp how unfailing was my purpose in leaving Bradleyville. He withdrew his hand and turned back to the steering wheel.
“Well, we’ll talk about it soon.” The forced lightness of his voice did not conceal the hurt. “Right now, I gotta go; there’s a lot a work left to do on the house. Plus I got some people to call ‘bout the mill. Things aren’t goin’ well there at all.” He rubbed his face wearily.
I stood on the sidewalk and watched him drive away, a tightness in my chest.
The rest of the day, I sewed on my third dress, a yellow one with a white, broad collar. I barely lifted my head from the machine, so intent was I on finishing the dress that day. Even Aunt Eva sensed I was in no mood to chat. Her imminent questions about my date with Lee the previous evening would have to wait.
Futilely, I tried to push thoughts of Lee from my head. The louder those thoughts clamored, the harder I worked, banging down the scissors and threading the machine needle with brow-tugging focus. I could not open my heart any more to him; I could not. I’d only had three dates with him, anyhow, so why should I even be worrying about such a thing? Three dates. What were they, compared to my plans, my life. Not to mention our incompatibilities. Now he was even talking seriously about Pastor Frasier’s sermons, for heaven’s sake.
Lee phoned around 3:00. When Uncle Frank appeared in my doorway with the news, I impatiently pulled my foot from the sewing machine pedal. The needle’s whirring slowed to a stop. Staring at the yellow cloth spread before me until it blurred, I considered what to do. Talking to Lee would just make me feel worse. And yet I sensed his phone call was like an outstretched hand, seeking reassurance that I did feel something for him.
“Tell him I’m call him back,” I replied after a moment. “I can’t stop right now.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.” I pressed my foot against the pedal, and the whirring resumed.
Toward the end of the afternoon, when I knew Aunt Eva was out visiting, I took a break to pour a glass of iced tea in the kitchen. It had grown terribly hot in my room, and I stopped to inhale air-conditioned comfort from the unit in the living room window. The house seemed dark. I peered toward Uncle Frank’s lounge chair, where he sat reading the paper. “Look at the clouds. It’s gonna rain.” As if in answer, thunder sounded in the distance.
“Good,” he muttered. “Cool things off.”
I took a drink. “Who’s Aunt Eva visiting?”
“The Matthews.” He lowered the paper and eyed me. “You call Lee back?”
“No.”
He raised his eyebrows, the sports section rustling in his hands. “You goin’ to?”
I shrugged. “Sure. Later.”
Clearly, he wondered whether or not to pursue the subject. Aunt Eva would have had no such compunctions. “Did you … have a good time last night?”
“Yeah. The picnic spot was beautiful. We could see Bradleyville.”
“Good.”
“Uncle Frank,” I said quickly, “does your offer still stand to help me move?”
“Of course.”
I walked around the rectangular coffee table and perched on the edge of the couch. “The problem is, August first is on a Thursday.”
“Uh-huh.” He folded the newspaper section and tossed it on the carpet. “It can wait till Saturday the third, can’t it? We can load the rental truck the night before and leave early in the morning. I’ll stay the night and head back Sunday.”
“But if I’m not there on the first, they might rent out the apartment to someone else.”
“No, they won’t, Jessie,” he replied, amusement tingeing his voice. “You’ve already paid your deposit. Just tell the manager you’ll be arrivin’ on the weekend.”
I rested the iced tea glass on my knee, feeling its coldness. He was right, of course. But I didn’t want to wait two extra days; I should leave the very first moment I could. Maybe even earlier than I’d planned. An irrational panic that my departure would never arrive filled my chest.
“Jessie, it’s the only thing to do. You can’t drive your car and the rental truck too. Plus you gotta have help movin’ in, even if it is only bedroom furniture.”
“I know.” Good grief, I thought, I’m going to cry.
Uncle Frank was searching my face. “Honey, what’re you worried about?”
A sheet of rain swept suddenly, darkly over my car and down the street. “Nothing. I just … really want to go. I have lots to do there before I start work. Get the bedroom painted. Rent the rest of the furniture. I want time to drive around Cincinnati. Visit the Center….” My words died away as a picture of Mom reading to children, cross-legged at her feet, flashed before me. I blinked as I caught myself staring at the torrent outside.
“Hey.” Uncle Frank leaned forward. “We don’t want you to leave, you know that. I personally believe God’s got a few things to teach you before you step out into the world. And I pray that when you do leave, it’ll be to follow a plan centered around Christ. But, Jessie, nobody can keep you from going, if that’s what you’re bound and determined to do.”
My throat was tightening. “I know.”
“Then what is it? Is it Lee?”
Another image hit me in the chest. The image of Lee waving in the pouring rain as I drove away. “Six hours away isn’t the edge of the world, you know,” I said. “We could maybe see each other once in a while.”
“Sure you could.”
“And I’ll come back for holidays and things.”
“Uh-huh.”
Slowly I reached for a section of the paper, put it on the table, and set down my glass. “Anyway.” My smile was forced. “Saturday the third sounds fine. Thanks for taking a whole weekend to help me.”
His eyes followed me as I rose.
For the rest of the day, I worked diligently on my yellow dress, far too busy to call Lee. Shortly after midnight it was finished, hanging crisply in my closet. I fell into bed and was instantly asleep.
chapter 22
The next morning I was back at it, sewing my fourth dress. I’d planned to spend the entire day working. Now, besides keeping my mind off Lee, I h
ad another reason to occupy my brain. At breakfast, Uncle Frank had asked Aunt Eva to pray throughout the day that the temporary agreement at the mill would hold until August first. Evidently, Lee had called again in the evening, this time to tell my uncle of phone conversations he’d had with some of the employees. Tempers were rising, and things sounded tenuous. At the news, I’d prayed too—both to my guardian angel and to God himself. I worried about my uncle and Lee in the midst of the agitation. And, selfishly to be sure, I worried about getting caught up in the contention myself, through my ties to both of them. Enough had already happened since I’d come back to Bradleyville. And all I’d wanted was a little peace!
By the time my aunt and uncle left for work, I was already cutting out my pattern. The gentle snip-snip of the scissors sounded louder than usual in the quiet house. A niggling worry kept worming its way into my head. After Lee’s conversation with Uncle Frank, why hadn’t he asked to talk to me?
The phone jangled in the living room, and I jumped. Flicking the scissors from my fingers, I hopped up to answer it. Maybe Lee had found some way to call me from the mill.
“Hello?” I said, expectant.
“This is the day!” crowed a familiar voice.
I let out a disappointed breath. “Hi, Thomas.” His statement sank in. “How do you know?”
“Jake’s gone into Albertsville.”
“Ah.” Albertsville. I’d forgotten I might have to drive there today. I was low on the blue thread I needed for my dress. It was a depressing thought, possibly having to take that extra time.
“So, you goin’ with me to Tull’s, ain’t ya?”
My eyes closed. “When?”
“Should be there by noon, I’d say.”
“Well, I was working on a—”
“It’d be nice if you picked me up. Kinda hot to walk today; the rain just made it more humid than ever.”
There was a part of Thomas that would never grow up.
“Celia’d like to come along.”
“Okay, Thomas, okay. I’ll be there at quarter till.”
I hung up the phone with a sigh.
“Good day, Thomas. Got your girlfriend along, I see.” Mr. Tull moved birdlike as he efficiently whipped up two strawberry shakes for us plus a Coke float for Celia. She tugged at my hand and grinned. Hank Jenkins, Thomas’s second-oldest friend, was waiting nearby, sucking noisily on a Mountain Dew.
When he’d reached sixty, Mr. Jenkins had retired from the mill. He was tall and skinny, with big ears protruding from beneath an ever-present, sweat-stained red baseball cap. None of his seat-worn pants quite managed to cover his ankles. He was three years younger than his two best friends and got more kicks from their renowned arguments than anyone else in town. He would guffaw and slap his bony knees at their antics, head swiveling back and forth at the volley of words.
Orders filled, we stepped back into the heat.
“Where’s Jake?” Mr. Jenkins asked as he eased into his chair under the awning. Thomas was already ensconced in his own. I’d drawn up another to form a loose semicircle, leaving Mr. Lewellyn’s chair empty. Celia sat next to me, cross-legged on the sidewalk.
“Went to Albertsville for somethin’. He’ll be along soon.”
I cast Thomas a pointed look. He scratched the side of his nose, feigning innocence.
Downtown Bradleyville seemed oppressed somehow, and it wasn’t the heat. Watching people come and go, I sensed a disquiet. Numerous times the snatches of conversations I heard were grumblings about husbands’ woes at the mill. All ears, Mr. Jenkins pumped us for the latest news. A preoccupied Thomas answered that the men were “tryin’ their best” to wait it out till August, hoping for a permanent solution then. Celia added that her mama was tired of hearing about it and got mad whenever Granddad mentioned it. “Now, Celia,” Thomas responded, peering up Main, “don’t be airin’ your laundry on the street.” She went back to spooning ice cream from the top of her float.
Fifteen minutes later, I’d finished my milk shake. Mr. Jenkins was nearly dozing, and Thomas looked dejected. Celia was playing with a ladybug on the sidewalk.
“I’ll be right back,” I said, placing my empty glass beside her. “I’ve just got to run into the dime store for a minute.”
“Hurry back,” Thomas put in, “you wouldn’t want to miss nothin’.”
“Lot to miss,” Jenkins snorted, rubbing his eyes.
The dime store was out of the thread I needed. Drat. I did not relish going all the way to Albertsville for it. Shading my forehead as I recrossed the street, I caught sight of Alice Eder through the window of her sewing shop, three doors up from the drugstore. She should have the color; perhaps she’d sell me an extra spool. I veered in her direction and stepped inside, a bell above her door tinkling.
Alice’s Tailoring commanded one large room of an old redbrick building that housed studio apartments on the second and third floors. Miss Alice and her husband owned the building, living frugally in a three-bedroom apartment on the fourth floor. Their collected rents and her shop were their main sources of income, Luke Eder having suffered a heart attack seven years ago that had forced his early retirement from the mill.
“Hi, Miss Alice! Looks like you’re keeping busy.” I gestured toward numerous pieces of clothing hanging from a portable aluminum rack. Stretched across a worktable was a length of flowered chintz, ready for cutting into curtains. I stepped over to feel the fabric. “Pretty.” I could imagine them ruffled and draped, framing a large window.
“Oh, you have the eye, all right,” she laughed, running her hand over the fabric. “Your Aunt Eva’s tol’ me how good a seamstress you are.”
“Yes, I like it. I find it … calming.” Wondering at my use of the word, I let my eyes drift to her sewing machine. “That looks like a wonderful machine!”
“Oh, it’s the best. Fastest you can find.”
I examined it with awe. “Lots of stitchings, huh.”
Miss Alice sank with purpose into one of two ruby-colored chairs angled near the front window. “Sit down, won’t ya, Jessie. Funny you stoppin’ in here today; I been meanin’ to call ya.” Her wrinkled hands rested on the arm of the chair, her blue eyes dancing. Miss Alice was a petite woman, smaller than I, and had held her figure well even though I guessed she must be close to seventy. Her hair was curly and almost pure white. A pair of glasses dangled from a golden chain around her neck.
I obliged.
“See, it’s like this. I been wantin’ to slow down. Luke’s health is fragile, you know, and besides, I been workin’ all my life. Got grandbabies I’d rather be seein’ and other things. Anyway, I been thinkin’ a hirin’ somebody to help me out maybe four, five hours a day. So I asked God to help me find somebody. I was thinkin’ I’d find a mother to come in while her kids’re at school. But right now it’s summer, and kids’re at home. Then God reminded me a you. I know you’ll be here through July. Think you could help out until then, earn yourself some extra money?” She smiled brightly.
I smiled back, hiding my fluster. It’s not often someone announces you’re their answer to prayer. But I couldn’t imagine accepting her offer. I still had three dresses to make for myself. My hesitation dulled her expression.
“I know this is unexpected,” she added hastily, “but it wouldn’t be for long. Any help you could give me, I’d much appreciate.”
Regardless of Miss Alice’s sincerity, I sensed the specter of Aunt Eva at work.
“Miss Alice, I’m really flattered at your offer; I know this shop means a lot to you. Tell you what. Let me think about it for a day or two.”
She sighed, satisfied. “All right then. You do that.”
Once outside her shop I turned to wave good-bye, and she wagged her fingers at me with enthusiasm. Too late I remembered the blue thread I needed. I started to turn back, but at that precise moment I saw Jake Lewellyn’s long green Buick glide down the street.
“Jessie, come on back now!” Thomas called.
&nbs
p; I hesitated. Thomas beckoned furiously. Throwing a final smile to Miss Alice, I hurried back to my chair.
Not five seconds passed before all peace was shattered.
Mr. Jenkins was just beginning to brag about the whopping size of his brother’s tomatoes when Mr. Lewellyn pulled up to the curb, heaved himself out to slam the door, and declared with a shake of his chubby finger, “I know it was you, Thomas Bradley!”
“Oh, gracious,” Hank Jenkins breathed midsentence, “what now.”
Celia clutched the remains of her Coke float to her chest, shrinking toward me. “He looks like a bulldog, doesn’t he?” she whispered.
I tried not to laugh. “Never thought about it, but you’re right.”
“Thomas Bradley!” Mr. Lewellyn was yanking checkered pants over his round belly. “Let me tell you somethin’: this time you’ve gone too far! As if the town ain’t got enough trouble nowadays. I’m not goin’ to stand for it!”
I patted Celia reassuringly on the head. Thomas was taking a long slurp from his near-empty milk shake.
“Aahh,” he sighed, wiping his mouth. He smacked his lips and looked Mr. Lewellyn up and down. “Why don’t you set down in your chair, Jake; take a load off. And I do mean a load.”
Hank Jenkins suppressed a giggle.
Mr. Lewellyn hopped around the sidewalk like water droplets on a hot griddle. “Don’t give me none a your straight-faced lyin’, Thomas. You know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout.”
“You hear that, Hank?” Thomas said. “He’s callin’ me a liar, and all I did was invite him to set down.”
“You painted a new number on our sign!” The words exploded from Mr. Lewellyn’s mouth, shaking his fat, red jowls. “That’s defacin’ city property, ol’ man, and it ain’t legal. No matter what your last name is!”
Bradleyville’s city limits sign on Route 622 was a symbol of pride for the town. Jonathan Bradley had carved the first one years ago on a glossily finished rectangle of oak, mounted on top of a tall two-by-four. Ever since then, Bradleyville had insisted on this hand-hewn display of independence, eschewing the ugly metal sign issued by the state. And every five years, the town conducted its own census, celebrated by a new sign, donated by the mill, which declared its name and current population in large black letters.
Cast a Road Before Me Page 11