JEWEL

by LOTT, BRET

  He’d given us the money within the week, told us we could move out any time that month.

  Then, two days before we were to move there was nothing to pack, nothing for any of us to do but just wait until Leston’s and Billie Jean’s last days to work Annie and Brenda Kay and me met Billie Jean at the bank so we could spend her lunch hour shopping for new clothes for us all.

  Wilman dropped us off, him having driven his daddy into work that morning. He was headed over to Babs’ house for one last dinner with her family before leaving.

  All we Hilburn girls walked down Juniper to Main and on into Bancroft’s Dress Shop, all of us sopping wet by that time from the heat, and’ we bought clothes. We bought four outfits that matched from head to toe for Brenda Kay, though I wouldn’t permit, would never again permit, anything other than pants for her, enough people ogled my child every time we left the house, whether for Sunday Meeting or Wednesday night supper or just to buy flour and coffee, I didn’t need her scarred legs adding to what they saw.

  We bought three pairs of cotton slacks, pink and blue and yellow, and a pair of navy blue cotton overalls with a winged dove applique at the bib, two white blouses embroidered at the collar and along the front, and two plain-front blouses, one pink, the other pale blue. With each pair of pants I held up to Brenda Kay, Myrtle Bancroft, proprietor, stood back, put her hands on the hips of her green silk dress, and said, “How wonderful, how becoming, ” the words lost entirely on my daughter.

  Myrtle acted as though Brenda Kay were trying to win men, which just showed me that, like everyone else, she had no idea what to do with a retarded child, had no idea how to talk or act around her. Finally, after I’d had Brenda Kay try on the third pair of pants, Myrtle’d pulled me aside, whispered in my ear, “Don’t she like dresses? ” and I’d whispered right back at her, “She doesn’t think she has the ankles for it, ” my small joke lost on her.

  Annie bought skirts, though, red and navy and white, even a seersucker blue and white one, cut close to her hips and straight, something I would’ve never dared dream of wearing or of letting Billie Jean wear.

  But we were off to California now, where I figured most every girl had skirts like that.

  Billie Jean moved slowly through the racks of dresses in the shop, touched things here and there, once in a while pulled something out and held it to her. But it wouldn’t be more than a second before she’d shrug and smile, file it back on the rack, take hold of her purse with both hands again.

  Then I pulled out a dress for her, a light summer dress with a full skirt and short sleeves, the pattern on the material all kinds of pink orchids. I left Brenda Kay with Annie, went to Billie Jean across the shop from us, and held it up to her. I said, “You try this on.”

  “But Momma, ” she said, and she smiled, dipped her head a little again.

  “This just isn’t right.”

  “What do you mean? ” I said. “What’s wrong with this dress? ” I pulled it away from her, made like I was examining the hem and sleeves for flaws in the stitching.

  “There’s nothing wrong with the dress, ” she said, and looked down at it, smiled a smile that let me know she really wanted it, wanted plenty of what she’d looked at so far.

  “Then you get this dress, ” I said, and pushed it at her, “and don’t you be worrying over whether or not this is right.”

  Slowly she lifted a hand from her purse, took the dress. She nodded, said, “Yes ma’am, ” though there was no heart to those two words. She was twenty-two now, a woman with no need for a momma pressing clothes to her body like she was ten, and suddenly the words I’d used on her seemed top heavy and too loud in this small dress shop on the main street of Purvis, and I’d had to swallow touch a hand to my chest, look around to see who’d heard me.

  But there was only Annie and Brenda Kay across the room from us, Annie on tiptoe and pulling down a gray felt hat from the shelf above the dresses, Brenda Kay next to her, hands loose at her sides white high-top shoes on.

  Billie Jean ended up buying only that dress, along with a slip and a plain white blouse with pearl buttons. I’d said nothing more to her on it, finally figured she knew what she was up to.

  That night Leston and Wilman and Billie Jean all came home from the last day at their jobs in the Plymouth, a huge and fat and beautiful car pulling up behind the house so that I thought it might have been the man who’d bought the place, out here again to have a look in a kitchen drawer.

  By the time I made it out onto the porch, my Leston and Wilman were already climbing out the car, and it took me a moment or two to see exactly what was going on. Wilman brought me down the steps, and I saw early evening summer clouds reflect up off the hood saw on the other side of it Leston smiling and smiling, Billie Jean leaning out the back-seat window, smiling just as big, all of them looking at me.

  Annie banged past me, placed both hands on the hood, pulled them back at the heat. “A brand-new car! ” she hollered out. “I can’t believe it!

  I can’t believe it! ” “You best believe it, ” Leston said, the cigarette in his mouth bobbing with his words. “No way in hell we’re heading cross-country in that junkheap truck we had.”

  “Leston, ” I said, “watch your mouth, ” though I was smiling at him, smiling and moving toward the passenger-side door, Wilman standing there and holding it open for me like a chauffeur. Leston’d never said word one about buying a car. Not a word. I’d figured we’d drive from here through to California in the truck, just limping from service station to service station. But a new car.

  “Pardon my language, ma’am, ” he said, and nodded at me. “Nineteen Fifty-two Plymouth, ” he said, and slapped the hood. “Sixteen hundred dollars cash money.”

  He grinned. He took out the cigarette, held it away from the car, flicked off the ashes.

  I took a big breath, shook my head. “That’s a lot of money, ” I said.

  “It’s a lot of car, ” he said. We were all quiet a moment, the only sound the start-up whirr of the cicadas in the trees.

  Brenda Kay said, “Huh, huh, ” her forced laugh as always pitched and twisted in her throat, and suddenly we all laughed right along with her, no matter none of us could know why she’d started.

  “How does California sound? ” Wilman said.

  I went to the car, touched the chrome handle, climbed in. He pushed the door to, clicked it closed. The window was down, and he squatted next to the car, looked in at me.

  “Sounds fine, ” I said. “When do we go? ” “Not soon enough, ” Leston said from his side, and climbed in next to me. He said, “Everybody in.”

  We drove and drove the back roads that next-to-last evening in Mississippi, drove and drove, Leston and me in front, Wilman and Annie each at a window, Billie Jean in the middle with Brenda Kay on her lap.

  Wilman and Annie talked away, Wilman about which roads back here would take us where, Annie about how fine the car would look rolling into Los Angeles, about the clothes she’d bought, about anything else crossed her mind. Leston only smoked and drove, the smell of the new car mixed with that smoke something magnificent. Every now and again I’d feel a touch at my hair, turn to see Brenda Kay’s hand up, stubby fingers spread, her eyes on my head. “Momma, haah! ” she shouted every time.

  And there, behind her, sat Billie Jean, turned to a window and smiling, just looking out at the countryside fast growing dark on us.

  The next evening we were doing the last straightening up of the house, me scouring the sink, Annie grabbing at whatever cobwebs she could find with the broom, Wilman and Leston outside, the hood of the car up, the two of them peering into the engine like it might speak.

  Billie Jean’d been gone all afternoon, picked up at lunchtime by one of her girlfriends at the bank, Ruby Sit well, who drove a pickup not much different from the one we’d just gotten rid of the day before. They were giving her a farewell party, Billie Jean’d told me as she ran down the front porch steps, her eyes, I’d seen, blinking an
d blinking at tears coming up. She climbed in the cab, the two of them giggling and crying already. Then Billie Jean’d leaned out the window, blew me a kiss, and the two of them had headed off down the road.

  Near sunset I finished scouring the kitchen sink, and turned to see I I’s l Billie Jean just inside the kitchen from the front room. She stood with her arm looped in the arm of a man we’d only met twice before, one Gower Cross, a plump man whose face seemed too red, maybe even flushed, whenever he talked. He smiled what I figured was entirely too much, but he was a salesman for a tractor-trailer operation out of Jackson, was starting up an office here. All that smiling, I figured, just went right along with the job. He’d been over to dinner a month ago, the first time a month before that, but that was it, and he and Billie Jean’d gone out a few times otherwise. Nothing serious, as far as I could see, she’d had boyfriends on and off, boys I could only recall by how they’d acted around Brenda Kay, some wouldn’t come in the house, some smiled too much and patted her head like she was a strange breed of dog, others stood with their hands behind their backs, their eyes never falling on Brenda Kay.

  Gower Cross’d been of the smiling variety, just smiling and smiling those times he was over, hesitating with his fork between his plate and mouth a moment or so when Brenda Kay’d smack her lips too loud, or when she’d let fall from her mouth a piece of gristle she wanted rid of, all of it her general manners at the table, no matter how hard I tried to teach her different.

  “Gower, ” I said, and nodded. “Here for dinner? Because all we’re having is sandwiches. Tomorrow’s ” “Momma, ” Billie Jean said, and she pulled him even closer. She had on the orchid dress we’d bought the day before, her eyes and lips and cheeks made up. Then I saw Gower’s hair was greased and combed, and he had on a painted tie, his white shirt crisp and starched and clean, nowhere near the rumpled and tired it would’ve been had he worn it all day. His face was more red than I’d seen it either of the nights he’d been here. Billie Jean glanced up at him, then at me, grinning.

  “You two are married, ” I whispered.

  “Oh, Momma, ” Billie Jean whined out, “you spoiled it, ” and she let go his arm, came to me, held me and hugged me hard.

  I hadn’t even the time to react, only stood there with Billie Jean’s arms tight round me, my eyes wide open and on this Gower Cross, who stood now with his hands together in front of him, smiling.

  Then the force of what’d already happened without any bit of help or hindrance from me took over, and I closed my eyes, held her myself, and I started crying, crying at the shock of it, at the grief of it, at the joy. And I cried, I was surprised to find in myself, at the relief of it. Now I knew what’d been on her mind all this time, even since May when she’d been rinsing dishes and giving what I saw now was a smile she felt obliged to give, right on up to her not buying any clothes, and last night sitting silent in the back seat of the car. Another of my children’d been taken away from me, three down now, the family growing smaller, it seemed, with every day.

  I opened my eyes, patted Billie Jean’s back, heard her own crying. She pulled away from me, her hands on my shoulders, and we both looked at each other, crying and laughing now, too.

  Then she held up her left hand, wiggled her fingers to show me the thin gold band on her finger. She was married.

  We turned back to Gower, who was rocking on his heels now. Annie stood back by the kitchen door, her mouth open wide as her eyes. Brenda Kay, oblivious, had gotten hold of an old piece of steel wool from the garbage can, sat on the kitchen floor with it cupped in her hands, looking at it.

  “Oh, Brenda Kay, ” I said, and laughed, went to her.

  Gower cleared his throat, said, “I’ll take good care of your daughter, y’all can bet.”

  I squatted next to Brenda Kay, took the steel wool from her, and heard steps up the porch.

  Leston pulled back the screen door, stepped in, wiping his hands on one of the old rags from the shed. He looked at Gower as though he were the only person could be in his kitchen right then. He stopped, Wilman just behind him and with a rag of his own. Leston tucked his rag in his back pocket.

  Billie Jean had her arm looped in Gower’s again. She’d stopped crying, but gave out a few quick huffs, getting back her breath.

  “Won’t be any bets about it, ” Leston said. “I heard from outside.

  And you will take good care of her.”

  He put out his hand, his face straight and stone, held it out there in the middle of the room.

  Billie Jean gave Gower, who’d suddenly lost his smile, the smallest of shoves. “Oh, ” he said. “Oh. Yes sir, ” and the smile came back, and he went to Leston, took his hand, shook it hard.

  I waited for something else, some other words or movement, anything.

  His words, the surprise of his blessing, had startled me, too, and I wondered whether there would come from him any more words, or even a hug for his daughter, my new husband, the one resolved to take charge of this family, capable of anything now.

  But he only stepped back, nodded again. He reached into his front pocket, pulled from it the roll of bills that was everything we had on this earth, and I watched as he peeled off five twenty-dollar bills, and handed them out to Gower.

  “Mr. Hilburn ” he said, and Billie Jean cut in, “Daddy ” “You take it, ” he whispered, “and you do with it what y’all see fit. No more arguing over it.”

  “Take it, ” I said, my eyes on Billie Jean’s, hers brimming again. She looked at me, tried to smile, and I nodded. This was the way, I saw, my husband believed he could best bless his children, his loss of work, his selling bundles of kindling for so long a humiliation only overridden by money, and what it could promise.

  Gower went to Leston, slowly brought up his hand. He took the bills without looking at them, put them in his pocket. He shook Leston’s hand again, pumped it hard and hard, his face so red I thought it might burst.

  Wilman stood next to Leston, held out his hand to Gower, who quick dropped Leston’s, started in on Wilman’s. My second son only nodded at Gower, Wilman’s deep brown eyes never blinking, no smile coming across his face. He could have been Leston thirty years ago, I thought, his face so straight and serious, the perfect mirror of his father’s right then.

  Finally Gower let go his hand, and Billie Jean stepped in, hugged her daddy, who hesitated a moment before he brought his own arms up, wrapped them round his daughter, and smiled. He smiled, his eyes closed, and I could see inside him some same sense of relief I’d felt, here was another one gone.

  Then Billie Jean hugged Wilman, then Annie, whose mouth still hung open, and then she squatted, hugged Brenda Kay, still on the floor, legs spread.

  Billie Jean pulled away a moment later, turned and pointed to Gower, still smiling and with his hands in front of him. She said, “Brenda Kay, this is your brother-in-law, Gower.”

  Brenda Kay turned to the garbage can again, reached in, but Billie Jean caught her hand, pulled it out. “Gower’s part of our family now, ” she said, looking into Brenda Kay’s eyes.

  “Bijen, ” she shouted, and smiled. Then she lost the smile, reached up and touched at Billie Jean’s eyes as though they’d been wounded, as though maybe, I thought, she’d been burned too, her eyebrows knotted up, and she made an O with her mouth.

  “I’m okay, darling, ” Billie Jean said, and sniffed. “I’m fine. I just want you to say hello to your new brother, Gower.” She turned from Brenda Kay, looked at her husband.

  Brenda Kay followed her gaze, finally settled her eyes on Gower. “Gow?

  ” she shouted.

  “Yes, ” Gower said, and rocked on his heels again. “Yes, hello, Miss Brenda Kay.” He brought up a hand, gave a short wave, almost a salute.

  “Gow, ” Brenda Kay shouted, “you fat! ” And the news and shock and surprise of it all was over, none of us able to hold back. The laughing started right up, though I’d said “Brenda Kay” as stern as I could, and though Gower Cross l
ost his own smile a few moments, a hand going right to his stomach and touching it like he was trying to hide.

  Even Billie Jean was laughing, a hand covering her mouth as her shoulders shook. Then Gower took it up once he’d seen there was no fighting it, and he laughed, laughed and laughed too loud and long, but he laughed.

  Above it I could hear Brenda Kay’s “Huh huh huh! ” again and again, tuneless and disconnected, but laughter all the same.

  A few minutes later they drove off in Gower’s truck, a black company-issue Ford, Billie Jean’s hand waving the hankie out her window.

  We were all on the front porch, and once they were gone we were silent.

  Annie and Wilman and Brenda Kay turned back to the house, went on inside, leaving my husband and me out there in the growing dark.

  “Well, ” I said. “Another one down.” I turned to Leston, saw him staring off after the truck, though it’d already disappeared. His hands were in his back pockets.

  He turned to me. I could see only half his face in the light from inside. He was smiling. He shrugged, then leaned over, kissed me on the lips. He hadn’t even taken his hands out of his pockets.

  He said, “Not much time to worry over them. We got our own lives to go.”

  He paused. “We’re going to California tomorrow.”

  I only looked up at him, surprised at his kiss, his smile, at his saying in words we had a life to worry over.

  He turned, went to the screen door, held it open. “Miss Jewel, ” he said, “after you.”

  That night we slept on mattresses on the floor, and near morning a storm rolled in, filled the house with low thunder and the soft call of summer rain, chilling down the air round us all. At five we got up, washed our faces, ate cold biscuits and sausage I’d cooked the night before, and we left.