Then in October she wrote of something different.
October 25th, 1900
Today I drove with Grandpa to Putnam's Crossroads to pick up his mail from New York. On the way back, he let me take the reins for most of the ride. Around Gibson's Creek, he asked me what I knew about Daddy's injury. He has asked Aunt Sally and other people around the property what they know of that day, but Aunt Sally and her two daughters were off delivering dinner to the men and boys working across the river when it happened. I knew he would ask me eventually.
He was watching me sharply while I answered. I told him I didn't see how Papa got hurt. He asked me if I knew what happened to Isaac Cooper. I told him that I saw Isaac run away toward the river and then I tended to Papa until the doctor came. I couldn't tell if he believed me or not. He studied me a good long minute before he looked back at the road ahead. Then he asked me where I was when Willie left home. I told him Willie left in the middle of the night, and I was in my bed when he did. Everything I told him is true. May God forgive me the sin of omission!
I reached for the photo album and took another look. In so many ways, Elizabeth Theodora Conley was one hell of a young woman. I put down both books, took off the glasses, and rubbed my eyes. I needed a break.
What happened next I still can't explain, except to say that technology makes it really easy to do stupid shit. I picked up my phone, thumbed through the received calls, and when I got to Ellie's number, I pressed the button to call her. The phone rang and was immediately answered.
“Hello?” said a man's voice. “Eleanor's phone; how may I direct your call?”
“Uh,” I began, which was a great beginning considering I was now fully flummoxed. I had no idea what the hell I was doing, let alone what I should say. I hung up.
The phone rang immediately from Ellie's number. I let it ring once... twice... thrice... ah hell. I answered it. “Hello?”
“Hi. Did you call this number for Eleanor Hubbard?” It was the same man's voice.
“Did I?” was all I could think of.
“Yes, you did.” Silence for a second. “Would you like to speak to her? She's right here.”
“Uh, sure.”
“Hello?” Ellie's voice was very cool, very professional.
“Hi there. I'm doing some research on the Conley family, and I was told to contact you.”
“Yes sir, but the best time to catch me is during business hours at the White Horse Tavern. If you come by then, I'm sure we can help you out. Monday through Friday, eight 'til five. Yes sir, thank you for calling.” She hung up.
What the hell did I just do? Surely that was Dr. Greg Hubbard's voice on the phone. I couldn't believe he'd called me back. Why did he do that? Why would he think my call had been anything but a random misdial, unless he had scrolled through the phone's memory and found a dozen calls to and from the same number? While he was out of town. No doubt about it: I'd just screwed up, big time. I heard tires in the driveway. I looked down to see Veronica parking her car. I went down to chat.
“Hi, Veronica!” I greeted her. “What have you been up to today?”
She looked tired. “Hi, Addison. I went to see my folks.”
“I thought your folks were dead.”
“They are.”
“Oh. Where are they?”
“A little church cemetery outside Jonesboro. It's where they met and got married.”
“At church?”
“It used to be much more common. You want to come inside for a drink or something?” She sounded tired, too. I accepted her offer, and we went inside.
Fifteen minutes later I'd caught her up on everything I'd learned about Elizabeth Burroughs, ending with my impulsive phone call to Ellie and the return call I should not have answered.
Veronica just nodded. “Let me know how that works out for you. I can't say I expect much, but I'm sure you'll do your best.”
“Thanks for the moral support,” I said.
“Don't talk about morals. Come on, Addison. You're having an affair with another man's wife. You tell me how this ends.”
“With two people finding happiness?”
“And the third?” She looked at me steadily, unblinking. “And you're the one who gets to glide in like a snake from the garden and break up a marriage? How does that feel?”
“I don't feel like I broke it up. She must have been looking for someone when I came along.”
“My guess is that she'll be looking for someone after she's through with you.”
“We'll find out now, eh? I probably just screwed everything up, but we'll see. You know, Veronica, this is the first time I've really wanted to settle down with a woman and raise kids, and Ellie made me feel that way. I can't believe you're not supporting me.”
“Don't take this the wrong way, but you could transfer that feeling to the next decent-looking woman who's nice to you. Yes, you could settle down and be happy with someone else. You'd probably stand a better chance with someone else, too. But what do I know? I'm just an old lady whose kids only call her to bitch, whine, or beg. I used to be married. I had a husband. Then, after I'd made a decent, sober man out of him, some little shit came along and stole him instead of finding her own, and do you know who gets the blame for that? Me. I must have been a lousy wife, since I couldn't keep their father at home in my bed. And because I was a lousy wife, they had to grow up in a broken home, and now they have issues. My daughter can't keep a husband, and my son can't keep a job. And it's all my fault.” She stared out the window.
“You weren't ignoring your husband, were you?” I asked. “Leaving him home alone for days and weeks at a time?”
“I see a pampered bitch who gets to have two men fighting over her, and I don't like seeing you used.” She turned to look at me again. “But I do hope I'm wrong. I hope she's the one. And if she's not, you just keep looking, and don't worry. The right one will find you.”
“Thanks for the advice.” I thought a moment without coming up with anything to add to that, but I was hungry, so I asked, “Zesto's?”
“Yeah sure, why not?”
We locked up and walked to the heart of Little Five Points. Zesto's is an Atlanta chain of restaurants specializing in, as the signs say, “Not fast food, but good food fast!” Any honest aficionado will tell you that the burgers are good, the onion rings are better, but the shakes are fantastic. They're made with real ice cream, real milk, and real fruit syrups. The same goes for their splits, sundaes, floats, and malts. That's right: malts. Eating anything from the ice cream menu is a joy worthy of sharing with a good friend, but that night we sat eating our burgers and shakes in silence.
Something had changed. Veronica looked away from me as I pondered why. I hoped she wasn't actually opposed to my marrying Ellie. Veronica was wrong about her, of course, but I knew how Veronica was, and I knew that only time would change her mind, and there was no point in further conversation. Conversely, how conceited was I to imagine her silence had anything to do with me? My gut told me something else was in play here; something else happening on some other level, but I couldn't put my finger on what.
The silence continued, for the most part, all the way home. When we reached the kitchen door, Veronica said goodnight without inviting me in as she usually does. I told myself her kids were the most likely cause of her funk, the ungrateful little shits. She'd be better by Friday, when I returned.
I climbed the stairs to my bedroom and picked up the diary again. I frowned at indecipherable squiggles, then remembered the reading glasses. Much better. As I thumbed through the pages, the handwriting became smaller and tighter; the excessive loops and curlicues dropped: the handwriting of a young girl becoming a confident young lady. In the spring, her elegant hand reported on the success of her rose garden and her grandparents' wholehearted approval of the project. In one entry she wrote how her grandfather had ordered a wheelchair for her father and had a ramp built down the side of the house, so that he could roll from the porch out into the
yard. He saw the rose garden but made no comment. She also wrote that her father's drinking had increased to the point that he rarely left his room even to take meals, and as a result, she saw him less and less.
She wrote of her grandmother's support for women's suffrage and equal rights for women in all areas of public and private life, and I rolled my eyes, imagining what the rest of Sweeney County would have thought. She wrote of her grandfather's love of Mark Twain and the hours he spent in his office, reading his New York newspapers and magazines and writing letters. She wrote about the coming new century and the further wonders promised by electricity, as gleaned from her grandfather's magazines. She predicted that Sweeney County would have electricity by 1910. And she wrote about Dickie Polk.
July 2nd, 1903
Today Dickie Polk asked me to marry him. I was not expecting company.
He arrived in a fine rig pulled by a pair of matching bays. I was tending my garden when Aunt Sally's boy Caleb came to tell me he had arrived. I was for sending him away, but Grandma said that would be as rude as his arriving unannounced and uninvited. She thought I should change from my gardening clothes, but it was only Dickie, and I have known him forever. Besides, I had more work to do on the garden to prepare for invited guests coming day after tomorrow. Grandma and I received him in the front room, and Aunt Sally served us tea, so I was not wholly uncivil nor impolite to him.
He came straight to the point. I would soon be eighteen, and he wanted to formally ask me to marry him. I thought of taking the opportunity to formally refuse him, once and for all, but when I glanced at Grandma, it was if she could read my thoughts, and if her face were any measure, she disapproved of such directness. I thought a moment, then I told him that I am flattered by the offer of marriage, but I feel I have family obligations to consider first. I told him I would talk to my family and respond to him after my birthday. He has grown into a reasonably handsome young man, and I know his family rivals ours for wealth and holdings, so I have no doubt that he would be a reliable provider. In truth, I have not spent much time with him since Papa's injury, but those few times he was less obnoxious than when we were younger. The longer I looked at him, the more possible the idea seemed.
Grandma and Grandpa like it-- that is, they appear unopposed to it. Grandpa said it was inevitable that I should marry someone, and I might as well marry a nice young man from a prominent family. Grandma came to my room to remind me privately that I am already a woman of substantial wealth and that I should only marry a man I love and who also loves me. She also thinks my husband should be willing to allow me to keep all my property and should sign a contract to that effect prior to marriage. But how can I know if I love someone if I rarely see him? He is coming to my birthday party in a week. I shall see what I think of him then.
July 4th, 1903
Today we celebrate our nation's birth in 1776. Grandpa threw a party to which he had invited all the town's notable men, including several with whom he served in the War, but only Dr. Wilborn and Mr. Burroughs came out. Mr. Burroughs is Grandpa's former partner in the cotton brokerage. He brought his grandson, Joseph. Joseph is tall and dark, with beautiful deep brown eyes and wide shoulders. He is very well-dressed and very polite, and he spent a great deal of time engaging me in conversation. He was born in Washington, DC. He told me the people there make a great deal of July Fourth, with flags and bunting everywhere and big parades, torchlight processions, and speeches from morning until midnight. He was surprised that it is not celebrated with such enthusiasm here. I confess that the whole subject was new to me, and consequently had no idea what to say, so I said it sounded grand, and I should like to see it some day. He told me he should like to show it to me. His grandfather said he fought in Cuba with the Rough Riders, but Mr. Burroughs declined to discuss the war with me. He said he had learned all one could know about ugliness, and now he wanted to devote his life to learning about good and beautiful things. He insisted I show him my rose garden and explain my every choice. I will also remark that he is a graceful dancer. I have never enjoyed myself dancing with anyone as I did upon his invitation.
The rest of the attendees were our tenants, and we were invited to a large party in Reynolds County. We could not attend, but we made sure to send our sincere thanks for the invitation. We roasted a hog and fried several dozen catfish from the river, and every woman who arrived brought a dish to add to the table. Aunt Sally was fit to bust, she was so pleased and proud. The general feasting, singing, and merrymaking went on until dark, after which we all gathered to watch a fireworks display that was brief but exciting. The party broke up then, and everyone went home.
Mr. Burroughs remarked that he had a wonderful time and was pleased to have met me. I feel exactly the same. I watched his grandfather's carriage until it rolled out of sight. I have thought of nothing but him since. If only Dickie Polk looked and danced like Joseph Burroughs, a girl could have the best of everything.
July 7th, 1903
Today I am eighteen. I wish Mama were here and Willie were here.
Grandma and Grandpa threw me the most splendid party. Eighteen guests came, and they all brought presents.
Dickie Polk arrived in his rig, bringing Jimmy Parker with him from town. Dickie brought me a box of hard candies and Jimmy a box of taffy from the store there, and I was ever so grateful for the sudden indulgence in sweets. I thanked them both, and Dickie had the nerve to ask me in front of Jimmy if I had thought about his proposal. I demurred and said it was no time to discuss such things. The party was great fun and went on for hours. When it was over, Dickie said he would not leave without an answer from me. At least he said it in private, in my rose garden.
In truth I could not even think about his proposal without seeing Joseph Burroughs in my mind. My heart would not let me tell Dickie yes, but my head recognized that Joseph was not asking, Dickie was. I don't know why I did it, but I suddenly told him that my only hesitation concerned my father. I told him Papa's condition was getting worse, and I needed to be with him through the difficult times. He asked how long I thought that would be, and I told him no more than a year or two. He said he understood, and that as long as I wasn't promised to anyone else, he would wait until then. Of course I told him that we cannot tell Papa or anyone else of this just now, because it would worry Papa to think he was keeping me from getting married, and that would only hasten his demise. Again he said he understood, and he would depart in peace if I would but grant him one single kiss to seal our bargain. It seemed a small price to pay for the extra time it bought, so I kissed him. It was not unpleasant, as I imagined Joseph kissing me, instead.
Elizabeth was not only beautiful and brilliant, she was also a stone-cold player! I laughed out loud at her audacity and frankness. I looked at her photo again. The more I knew, the more I liked her.
18. Dr. Hubbard Meets Frankenstein
The next day, with Steve at the wheel of the Mighty Ford, I returned to Sweeney County. I had spent the entire drive studying paperwork and planning our week. To his credit, Mike did not tell me precisely what to do each day. He told me what results he expected. How I got those results was my problem to solve. I always liked that part of working for him. See? I can be nice.
He expected quite a pile of results. I was to finish the tree survey, finish filling in the holes in the GPS network, and help Jack and Randy survey the highway bridge and a quarter-mile of road on either side. I also had until Friday to produce a Conley heir. I hoped to make the best possible use of every moment.
I had Steve drive straight to the Old Home Place to finish counting trees. We worked like dogs from about ten until five-thirty, when I tied my past piece of flagging, and the data collector totaled two thousand, seven hundred and forty trees big enough to count in ten acres of land. I could check my first task off the list. We rolled down the highway to Carswell in a celebratory mood.
“You buying beer tonight?” Steve asked as we slowed to thirty-five at the edge of town.
“
Sure, man. How 'bout I give you the money and you drop me off at the History Center?”
“Only if you promise to tell me about the second night.”
“Promise.”
“Deal.”
When I glanced through the window and saw her at her desk, I felt all silly and crazy and horny again. I wondered if she would have this effect on me the rest of our lives, should we spend them together.
“Hi there,” I said upon entering.
“Yes sir, may I help you?”
The Dead Hand of Sweeney County Page 25