It was only 10:04 when I came back inside, but I was afraid I might have missed Culler’s call. Maybe I hadn’t heard the phone ring over the howling wind. I tried him again.
“Hello?”
“Culler.”
There was silence. “Oh, hi, Fern.”
“How are you? It’s been a while.”
“Right. How are you?”
“Actually, I’m doing great. I got an acceptance letter today.” My heart was beating fast in telling him. “At Transy. I can start class in January.”
“You want to go to college?”
“Yes, I want to take some chemistry, biology, classes to help me out at work.”
“I didn’t know that.”
His curtness and lack of enthusiasm hurt me a little. “I was keeping it a secret until I heard something. The letter came today. Isn’t that great?”
“Yeah, that’s great.”
He sounded strange, as if he didn’t know who I was, even. “Culler, is something wrong?”
“No, nothing.” He paused. “I’m just so busy with school, that’s all.”
“You’re not still upset about my Dad, are you? I figured you’d just blow that off. You know that’s the way he is.”
“What about you?”
“What do you mean, what about me?”
“Isn’t he giving you a bad time?”
“I’m just not paying him any mind. But guess what? I have some good news. I don’t live there anymore. I moved into Grandma’s little house up the hill a ways.”
“By yourself?”
“That’s right. Carrying on my own. That reminds me of something I wanted to ask you.”
“What’s that?”
“I was wondering what you and Connie are doing for Thanksgiving dinner. You’re not going home to Florida, are you?”
“No. Not until Christmas.”
“Then, how about you two coming over here? We’ll have sort of a housewarming, Thanksgiving, celebration dinner. I’ll even cook. What do you say?”
Again, there was silence on the other end.
“What, are you scared of my cooking?”
“No, it’s not that. But I’m afraid we can’t. It sounds nice, though. Really. I’m sure you’re a great cook.”
I waited for him to explain why they couldn’t come, but when he didn’t, I asked, “What about this weekend, then, do you want to come over? Or me come there?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, either, Fern. I mean with what happened and all.”
“What do you mean?” My stomach felt weak.
“I just don’t think it’s right to keep seeing each other, under the circumstances.”
“What circumstances?”
“You there, me here.”
“But it’s worked so far. And, I’ll be going to school there.”
“But your family, they’re against it, too.”
“Who cares? They’re against everything I do unless it’s something for them. It’s me this time. I’m thinking of me. Besides,” I said softly, “I thought last week, Halloween, I thought that meant something … You said it did.”
“I know. It was nice, and it did mean something, at least then it did. I really thought so, up until that night. But I wasn’t thinking clearly when … well, you know when. We both had a lot to drink. And I’ve been thinking about it a lot since then. It just could never work.”
It was hard to believe what I was hearing. I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Nothing I could say would change his mind about me, he sounded so matter-of-fact, hardhearted. His words, his whole attitude, were biting. I held the phone, holding back tears.
“Fern, congratulations, on the letter, I mean. That’s really good. You’ll do great in school. I know you will.” His voice was shaky. “And I’m sorry. Bye now.” He hung up.
The lump in my throat caused my ears to throb. I had not expected this at all. Things weren’t happening as they were supposed to. I’d just wanted to take it slower, not end it. I picked up my letter, crumpled it, threw it at the wall. What good was the news without someone to share the excitement.
I didn’t even brush my teeth, just took off all my clothes, climbed into bed. The sheets were cold, and I crawled way up under the covers and closed my eyes. I squinted hard to stop the tears. My throat still ached and my eyes stung.
The hurt felt very much the same as it did the night I’d moved out, only this was ten times worse. I really loved Culler. And he had me loving myself. I turned to face the pillow next to me, the one that I sometimes, real late at night, would pretend was Culler. The emptiness hurt.
Then I grabbed the pillow, stuffed it tightly under my raised knees. I lay in silence a while, listening for the soft snowfall. The cold wind sounded lonely, as if it was sharing my misery. I missed the creeping Charlie on my window back at home.
I moved the pillow to my stomach under the sheet, imagined being pregnant with Culler’s baby. I wondered what Florabelle was doing right then; I missed her shortsighted fussing. I remembered her once telling me, before she found out she was pregnant, what I was missing by never going all the way with a guy. So this was it.
I moved the pillow behind me, propped myself up, tried to pray. But I felt like a fool, trying to say the words. I was angry with God. This was His way, I decided, of giving me a clear message, the sign I’d prayed for. I had justified my action with Culler by telling myself it was an expression of real love, not lust, and tonight I’d learned the hard truth; Culler didn’t love me at all. It was all my own fantasy. What I’d done had been wrong. I had strayed, and I was being punished for it.
Then suddenly, everything welled up inside, all my sorrow overflowed, and I bawled relentlessly into the darkness. I cried not only for me, but for Momma, Daddy, Clem, Jimmy, the sheep, Culler, Brother Brewer, Grandma, even Mossie. For the first time yet, in my whole life, I released my pain.
Heidi, hearing me, came into the bedroom. Her nails clicked across the floor. She felt her way to the bed, nosed my hand. Sensing that I was upset, she grew nervous. Between my own sobs, I could hear her labored breathing. When I finally stopped crying, she, the brave bearer of greater pain, settled down, listening for my safety. Her company wasn’t as comforting as Florabelle’s had once been, but it lessened the grief. I realized, just then, how safe I felt in the company of a brave, blind bitch.
Until well after midnight, I lay with my arms crossed under my small breasts, staring at the flypaper hanging down from the ceiling. I couldn’t and didn’t want to sleep. I was afraid I’d dream about a black sheep, sizzling in the fire.
38. One Little Indian
When I got home from church, I made myself a cold-cut sandwich and put on a Christmas record. I had bought a turntable off of Dwayne, who’d bought one of those new stereo consoles that takes up a whole wall.
When I’d climbed up in the closet to get down my albums, I saw my Indian costume from the Halloween party and got depressed. Here it was Thanksgiving day, and I was a lonely pilgrim. I lay on the floor, cried to myself for about an hour.
Then I got the idea to go back to the church and try and catch Reverend Whitaker after the eleven o’clock service. Maybe confessing would help.
“What kind of sign?” asked Reverend Whitaker, counting the offerings.
“I can’t really say,” I told him, “but it was a sure one. I think it was because of a sin I may have committed.”
“You may have or you did?”
“That’s just it. At first I didn’t think what I did was so bad, but now bad things are happening to other people because of it.”
“What kind of bad things?” He was separating the quarters into stacks on his desktop.
I sat there silent for a minute. I didn’t want to talk about Clem’s situation until it was determined for certain what had happened that night, but I wanted to be right with the Lord in the meantime. Grandma always taught us to fear His wrath, and I was afraid He may make me turn around and set someth
ing else on fire, just as punishment.
“Well, for one, I’ve disgraced my family. They don’t want me in the house anymore. I moved out.”
The reverend leaned forward in his big vinyl desk chair, twisted his lips to think. He really wanted to help, I could tell. “Fern, you know how I feel about you and your family. I know your daddy has a lot of unrest buried in his soul, but as a good provider, I respect the man. Your momma, too. I think whatever it is you’ve done, they’ll come around; they’ll forgive you.”
“Maybe. But there’s other people involved besides them.”
“Fern, if you’re trying to tell me something, something you think I’ll hold against you, you know better. I’d forgive you, too. And most important of all, the Lord promises us all forgiveness. If you’ve come to confess, well I suppose you’ve dropped enough hints that He’s got the picture, but if you’ve come for advice, I need to know more specifics.”
“I can’t talk about it. Not yet anyway. Until I get an answer on something.”
“An answer from God?”
“No, not really. From the county actually.”
The reverend leaned back, folded his hands behind his head, stared across the desk at me. “Let’s see if I’ve got this straight. You say you got this sign, some kind of message from God, but you’re waiting on the final word from the government.”
I nodded. “But I’ve been praying about it a lot, too.”
He frowned, removed his glasses, rubbing his face. “Fern, I don’t know what this sign of yours was, and I’m not the one to judge whether or not you’ve sinned. But I’ll say this. You have to decide in your own heart what’s right and wrong. No one else can tell you. I believe you may be confusing signs coming from the Holy Father with the ones your father in the flesh might be sending you.” He stood up, walked around the desk, put his arm on my shoulder. “Fern,” he continued, “you’re going through some changes right now; you’re taking on new responsibilities, adjusting to living on your own. That takes some getting used to.”
“But you still don’t even know what it is I’ve done.”
“And I think you want to tell me but you’re afraid. I don’t have to know, though. I suggest you spend some time alone with the Lord. Times alone are times of growth. You have to quit trying to second-guess Him, though, looking for these signs. ‘Wait on the Lord’ it says in Psalms Twenty-seven. The real sign will come, and it will be clear as day to you.” He walked me to the door. “Answers come not in urgent prayer, but as naturally as light comes from a lit candle. You go home, wait in silence on the Lord, he’ll light your candle.”
At around six-thirty, Birdie showed up at the door with a flashlight and a paper plate full of turkey scraps. She only stayed a little while because she had a head cold, and Momma wanted her to come straight home and get to bed.
I was disappointed she had to leave. I really could have used the company. Holidays are lonely, pointless, without family. And only one little Indian had come to share blessings. She was the last of my tribe.
39. Home Cooking
Around eight o’clock, I pulled back the tinfoil. It was the traditional Thanksgiving trimmings, baked turkey and dressing, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, cranberry Jell-o, and a roll. I sat down in my living room chair, said grace, and ate my dinner. I tried to do what Reverend Whitaker had suggested; I sat in silence, eating a turkey sandwich, waiting on the Lord.
When I’d eaten everything but the Jell-o, there was a knock at the door. I wrapped a blanket around me and went to the door. Heidi was whistling, nosing under the doorway where the freezing air seeped through.
“Who is it?” I asked, expecting Bird again.
“It’s Clem.”
My heart stopped. I didn’t know what to say, but I opened the door.
“Can I come in?” Clem shivered in the wet snow, holding a pumpkin pie in his hand.
I stepped aside, motioned him to come in. “Sit down,” I said, pointing to the chair.
He handed me the pie. “My wife sends you this. She heard you was living alone up here, figured you could use some home cooking.”
“Thanks,” I said. My pulse was going a mile a minute. “Can I serve you up a slice, some coffee maybe?”
“No, no thanks,” he said, taking off his coat. “I’m stuffed to the gills. I just wanted to stop in for a minute, talk about few things.”
I hung his coat in the kitchen. The jacket was cold, it smelled of him, a combination of Brut cologne and gasoline. I’d really missed him.
“How are you making out up here?” He looked around the little house. “I see you painted the outside of it. Looks real nice.”
“Thanks,” I said, leaning against the doorway to the kitchen.
Heidi had gone over to Clem; he scratched at her throat. “I see she’s all healed up.”
“Yeah, she’s hanging in there. I’m keeping her in here, out of the cold, until all the hair grows back.”
“So that job Erikson fixed you up with, taking care of them animals, it’s working out all right?”
“Doing fine.”
He sat quietly a minute, petting Heidi. Then he looked up at me and said, “I guess you know all about the fire.”
I gulped, nodded.
“It hasn’t been easy … folks I’ve knowed all my life suspecting me of starting it myself, thinking I could do something like that to get the money. That stung pretty hard.” He looked back down at Heidi, patted her hip, sent her away.
I wanted to say something, say everything, but I couldn’t think of how to begin.
“I came up here to ask you something,” he said.
I let myself slide down the woodwork of the doorframe that I was leaning against, sat down in front of him. “What, Clem, what do you want to know?”
He let out a heavy sigh. “I came to ask you if you could ever forgive me. I mean for being so sore. When I first heard you took that new job, I was angry. Well, see, I was hurt. Business was slow, money was scarce as hen’s teeth, and I needed your help.”
“I know,” I said, “I felt bad leaving, Clem.”
“I couldn’t look at what you were doing through your eyes,” he continued. “I didn’t see it as a good thing for you, I only looked at what your leaving would do to me. I lost sight of things.” He looked up at me, eyes glassy. “Well, by acting like I have, ignoring you and all, what I gone and done was lose a friend.”
I felt myself wanting to cry, but I knew he wasn’t through with what he had to say. I only nodded, bit my lip.
“You see, I realized, during all this mess about the fire, how some folks stood behind me, my wife, Grover, your daddy, and a few others. Then there was some folks who I thought I could trust who turned on me, spread gossip. They thought maybe I was depressed, getting senile. Said I just couldn’t handle failure and plotted to do something about it, so I burned the place down. That’s pure hogwash, and that hurt.” He rubbed his chin, looked away a minute. “Then I got to thinking who my real friends were, who I could really trust. And well, you see, that’s when I got to missing you.”
Heidi had her head in my lap, I was scratching her bald spot. “I’ve missed you to, Clem, but I just didn’t know how to—”
“—I know, I didn’t make it easy. But I’ve come to say I was sorry, and I hope we can pick up where things left off. I want to make things right between us again.”
“So do I,” I said, my throat tight. “I’m glad you came by. But there’s something I have to tell you.” Then I started crying.
“No, let’s just put it all behind us. Let the sleeping dogs lie.” He got up, came over to where I was sitting, patted my back.
This display of affection coming from Clem, who had never done more than wink at me, made it worse. I sobbed on.
“Don’t you worry,” he said. “It’ll all work out.”
“But I think I can help you,” I said, hesitating, searching for the right words.
“No, ma’am,” he said, shaking his
head. “You’ve done enough already. It was your smarts and hard work that kept enough already. It was your smarts and hard work that kept the business above water as long as it was, and it turns out it was your smarts that’s going to make me a rich man.”
I frowned at him, startled. “What do you mean?”
“Let’s just say, this Thanksgiving I had plenty to be thankful for, I mean besides my true friends.”
“What, Clem?” I was anxious, a nervous wreck.
“See, they found my kerosene lantern, where it looked like it had been burning, but they couldn’t really prove nothing. Remember that Pepsi machine you talked me into installing out front, the one that never did end up even paying for itself? Well, they finally detected lightning had hit it. It was a prime target. After searching the place over time after time for the cause, turned out to be that damn soda machine. The only thing left standing out there now. A goddamn lightning trap.”
I was dumbfounded, speechless.
Clem was up again, pacing around the small room. The floor shook with his excitement. “So, now I got my money, more than I owed. I’m going to buy me a new truck and open a fish camp. Then I’m going to take the grandkids on a trip somewhere; they’ve been begging to go to Disneyland. May just go.” He stepped over me, went in the kitchen to get his coat.
“I’m so relieved, Clem. I mean I’m happy for you. That it all worked out this way.”
“So our trouble’s water under the bridge, now?” He asked, “I’m forgiven?”
I stood up, slowly, though, shaky from the news. “Sure, Clem, as long as you forgive me.”
“Like I said, I only got you to thank. If you hadn’t talked me into buying the damn pop machine, I would’ve come out on the little end of the horn.” He opened the door, stepped out. “Whoowee, it’s as cold as a mother-in-law’s heart out here. You take care of yourself up here, now, call us if you need something.”
Natural Bridges Page 21