The Road to Bittersweet

by Donna Everhart

  One day after we come to a crossroads we’d passed a few times, Papa took a turn and drove a ways before pulling off to the side of the road for the night. Without a word, I rolled out of the stuffy truck. It was cold, but it felt better outside, fresher, and easier to breathe. Papa got out and stretched while Momma stood looking around as if trying to figure out how to settle herself somewhere, only her look said, Where? Laci got out and sat on the footboard of the truck, and began playing, as if she was trying to make up for lost time. Papa had parked close to the woods, and I took off to go collect firewood and water. Too often it had occurred to me living like this won’t much different than being at Stampers Creek.

  After I got the wood and water, I said to Momma, “Can I go explore a little?” I wanted some time alone, if I could get it.

  “Don’t wander off too far. It’s getting on towards dark.”

  It didn’t take long to lose sight of them, or the truck. I stayed close to the creek, as good a guide as anything. The deeper I went, the quieter it got, until a noise come, faint at first, then a bit louder as I continued. I kept stopping to listen, certain I was hearing a waterfall, and I began to wonder if I would find it before Momma would get to worrying about how long I’d been gone. I hurried, appreciating there was no snow, the ground a bed of fallen leaves, which made it softer to walk on. The noise got louder, turning into the familiar roaring I was used to back home. Soon, I made out the ridges of a rocky area through the trees.Within seconds I come to a clearing where a calm pool lay, and above it, a waterfall of about forty feet.

  What I couldn’t quite comprehend was the person standing right at the edge of the rocky outcrop. He held his arms above his head, like he was stretching, only it was what he did next that took my breath straight out of my lungs. He dove off the edge, falling with the water, straight down. I screamed, and clapped my hands over my eyes, certain he’d set out to kill his self. He landed with a loud splash. I didn’t want to take my hands from my eyes, only he might need help. I dropped them and looked, expecting a body floating in the water. He popped up and shook the water from his head, before turning his head this way and that, like he was listening. Somehow, above the roar of the fall, he’d heard me. I scurried backwards, ducking behind a large boulder, my heart skipping along like I was jumping up and down. He crawled out of the pool, and stood, casting his eyes about. I didn’t dare move.

  He called out, “Hey? Somebody there? Hey!”

  I eased my head around the edge of the boulder and got a glimpse of him coming in my direction, wet and shivering. I shrank from view. The rustling sound of him searching got louder as he got closer. I had to see how close. I dared peek out again only to find him facing the rock, and I shriveled up tight against it. I quit breathing. I shut my eyes. I heard the crunch of sticks and dried leaves. Suddenly, there was a damp odor like creek water with a hint of fish.

  I flushed hot when he said, “I’m looking right at you.”

  I let out my breath and opened my eyes. He was smiling at me, hands on his hips, head cocked with curiosity. He was tall, lean, with sandy hair, long on top and short on the sides.

  I gestured weakly at the falls. “I seen you jump. That fall’s got to be thirty, or forty feet! I thought you was trying to kill yourself.”

  His head went back and he laughed. I felt like a fool.

  My face went hot and I crossed my arms. “Well? What person in their right mind jumps off a waterfall when it’s near bout winter?”

  He stopped laughing, yet didn’t lose his smile.

  He swept one arm in front, bowed slightly, and said, “Clayton Jones, High Diving Act for Cooper’s Family Fun and Shows. Count this your lucky day! You got to see me perfecting my act for free! Actually, I use this waterfall whenever we’re in Oconee County to practice, see.”

  “Cooper’s Family Fun and Shows? What’s that?”

  “A traveling carnival. Ain’t you ever seen one?”

  “ No. ”

  “What’s your name?”

  “I got to get back to my folks.”

  “Sure, okay, but can’t you tell me your name?”

  I hesitated, unsure. Momma would tell me to mind my manners. Papa would say I ought not be talking to strange boys. I decided he won’t a stranger, not anymore. He’d told me his name, and a bit about his self. And he looked friendly enough.

  “Name’s Wallis Ann Stamper.”

  “Wallis Ann? I sure do like that. It’s different.”

  I didn’t know what to say, other than thank you. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.Where you from?”

  “A place called Stampers Creek. North Carolina.”

  “Stampers Creek? Never heard of it. I’m from here, well, not here exactly, but South Carolina. I caught on with Johnny Cooper and his crowd about four years ago when Mom died of the cancer, and Pops, he got to carrying on with someone he decided to bring home. Her name’s Doreen, and he tried to say she was only gonna keep house for him, but it was more than that, and I decided I had to go. I jumped a train and got off in Greenville. Seen the show there, and started working for them, doing odds and ends. They had this high dive act, and when the guy broke his leg falling off the ladder before he even got to the platform, I said I’d do it. I been doing it ever since. I’ve always been a bit of a daredevil, guess you could say. I like this way a living. It ain’t like real work. It’s fun.”

  I listened, wishing I could think of something interesting to talk about. As he told me his story, I watched his face, the way he moved his hands in big gestures, how he shifted from foot to foot. Up close, he had eyes like that old hound back at Uncle Hardy’s, soft brown. Gentle. Next thing, I was comparing him to Joe Calhoun. Tall, blond-haired Joe. Clayton was a little bit taller, and whereas Joe was solid built, thick through his body and limbs like a sturdy tree, Clayton had a stealthy like movement what reminded me of an old barn cat we used to have. Clayton talked like he’d known me a long time, and Joe, although polite, was quiet, not talking near as much.

  Clayton turned a smile on me, his expression quizzical.

  I said, “It was nice talking to you. I really got to go. I told Momma I’d only be gone thirty minutes or so.”

  “You ain’t told me nothing much about yourself.”

  I could see him trying not to stare at my dirty clothes, and shoeless feet. I tucked my limp hair behind my ears, all too aware of my state.

  I motioned slightly, a weak flip of my hand in the direction of our camp. “Not much to tell. I’m with my momma, papa, and my sister, Laci. We’re sort a traveling around, I guess you could say. We do some singing.”

  “Singing? You mean like an act?”

  “It’s not what we usually do, I mean yes, we sing, just not the traveling part. We had us a place and there was this bad storm and then come a flood. We lost everything. Papa decided this was what we needed to do for the time being.What we had to do really, with winter coming and all.”

  “What do you all sing?”

  “Folk music. Gospel. I really got to go. Nice to meet you, Clayton.”

  I turned and started going along the path the way I’d come, hurrying away from him while trying not to appear too anxious to put distance between us. My entire body felt awkward and uncomfortable, aware he was likely staring after me, and maybe judging for himself the nature of our situation.

  He called out, “Hey! Wait!”

  I hesitated before I stopped and turned to look at him.

  He come running and stood beside me, still wearing the same smile, and it suited him, and his ways. He seemed like a sunny kind, a lighthearted, fun-loving person, and it was nice to be around somebody who was happy. I found myself wanting to smile at him.

  He said, “I practice here most every day. The show’s set up near Tucker’s Branch, and it’ll be there long as the money’s coming in. Come watch me here anytime, if you want. I don’t own the waterfall.”

  His invitation eased my mind, and I grinned at him, and it see
med a long time since I’d done that. My face felt all tight and hot, and he kept staring at me, which was fine, although I couldn’t imagine what he was seeing, until he made another comment.

  He said, “Shoot, Wallis Ann, them dimples a yours remind me of my old sweetheart, Janie Mae.”

  Him saying such a thing so quick had me going all wobbly legged like a newborn foal.

  He began walking the other way, jumping up to swat at a tree branch before yelling, “Say you’ll come back!”

  I hesitated, and before I could think, “Okay, I will!” flew out of my mouth.

  I run fast as my bare feet would allow, following the creek, noting the deep shadows cast before me, the sun having dropped below the ridgeline and making the horizon flare like a red-hot stove. Momma would be having herself a spell, and Papa was liable to make good on his threat once and for all, and actually switch me. I’d been gone at least an hour. Soon enough I seen smoke from the campfire, and heard the thin reedy tune of Laci playing a song. I swooped into camp and found Momma and Papa in a heated argument, not even worried about me and where I’d been after all. Laci put her fiddle down and scurried over, back to dogging my every footstep. Finding Momma and Papa in a spat made me want to slink back into the woods where it was quiet, and peaceful. Nothing had been cooked, and I tuned into what the argument was this time, not surprised when Momma repeated the usual.

  “We have nothing over our heads, and little more to eat than before.”

  Papa said, “We’ll be fine, Ann. We’ll go back to Hardy’s before I let you or the girls go hungry.”

  “Huh. I’d rather go hungry than stay with him. My point is, we’re no better off.”

  That’s where the argument ended. Quietly I began putting together a little bit of supper. Some beans. Some corn pone. That night around the campfire there was no prayers, no asking the Lord to bless us and keep us safe.

  Chapter 16

  Papa insisted on going a bit further south each day, driving through little smatterings of towns here and there. Those who even bothered to listen to a bunch of scrappy-looking folks sing till their throats was raw must’ve believed we was off our rockers. At the end those long days, I urged Papa to return to where I’d met Clayton, telling him water was convenient and besides, no one had chased us off like before. Momma was withdrawn most of the time, and when she did speak up, she’d comment on money spent driving hither and yon. Papa turned her off like a radio most days.

  Clayton was always at the waterfall, and always entertaining. His confidence sat well with his good humor. I’d never had a friend like him before. Not even in school. These times with him was special, and the more I spent alone with him, the more I wanted to escape from our worries.

  “Watch this!” he’d yell, and then do some ridiculous dive as if entertaining me was the most important thing he had on his mind. Afterwards, he’d get serious, and would practice till his mouth, fingertips and toes was blue. Clayton had more energy than anyone I’d ever seen. He couldn’t sit still a minute. Somehow, at some point, our time together would end with him chasing me around the woods, ducking behind trees only to spring out, grab me and swing me around. It was like a game, only I realized he was doing this so he could put his hands on me. I was more than happy to follow suit, and would run from him shrieking, until one day I got dizzy, and had to stop. I stooped over, my hands on my knees, I broke out in a cold sweat and feared I might throw up right at his feet.

  “Wallis Ann? What’s wrong, you all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You sick? Should I go get your folks?”

  “No! I’m fine. I didn’t eat much today.”

  “What do you mean? Why not?”

  I shrugged. “It’s nothing. I’m all right.”

  “You don’t look all right. You’re white as the inside of a biscuit.”

  I flipped my hand, dismissing his concern, wishing I had the biscuit he talked about.

  He said, “You sure?”

  I figured out a little lie. “Momma says I have iron poor blood.”

  “Oh. Maybe you should eat more.”

  Would, if I could.

  Eager to move on, I asked him, “What do you want to do now?”

  Clayton was still giving me the once-over.

  “Sit. Tell me more about your family. You ain’t ever said much about them. You said you had a sister? What was her name, Laci?”

  “Yes.”

  “She older?”

  Hesitant, I rubbed my hands across the tree trunk we sat on. “Yes, she’s older and she’s . . . different.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I don’t want to talk about Laci.

  Clayton only looked curious, and I relaxed.

  “She don’t talk. Never has. She can play any instrument you give her though. Piano, fiddle, banjo, dulcimer . . . no telling what else.”

  “Really!” Clayton sounded impressed. “And you sing?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sing something.”

  “Now? It would sound better with Laci and her fiddle.”

  “So, bring her next time.”

  I wished I hadn’t said that. I didn’t want to share Clayton. I didn’t want to admit it, but that was the truth of it. Had it been anybody else, I wouldn’t have minded bringing Laci. I liked having Clayton looking only at me, trying to get to know only me. There won’t no chance of him comparing the two of us if he didn’t never see her. No chance of me fading and disappearing into the background like usual. I was sure this is what would happen. He’d get to thinking about how pretty she was. He’d get to thinking, Well gee, Wallis Ann here, she’s kind of a plain old gal—if I liken her to her sister. Them thoughts was doing me no good, yet I couldn’t help but feel possessive about Clayton; he was my friend. His suggestion to bring her along, although innocent on his part when he had no idea of my inner turmoil, sort of riled me up and my voice was dismissive, hard when it come out.

  “I don’t know about all that.”

  Clayton leaned back a little studying my face, which was not helpful. “Okay, well sing then.”

  I began singing parts of a song I liked, called “Careless Love” by Bessie Clayton. I’d heard it on the radio down at Dewey’s store a few times. When I finished Clayton sat quiet, staring down at his hands, and I couldn’t tell what he’d thought of it, good or bad.

  “I reckon you didn’t like it none.”

  “I did like it. A lot. Anyone say you ought to be singing on stage?”

  “No.”

  “Well, you should.”

  “Shoot, I ain’t that good.”

  Clayton snorted. “You ain’t good? You are too. I’m telling you. Don’t you believe me?”

  “I don’t know. I guess so.”

  We sat quiet for a few minutes. In truth his words made me happy, and though I’d been told before I had a good voice, coming from him was different.

  Clayton broke the quiet spell when he said, “Look, I got to get back. If the show goes like last night, there’ll be a big crowd, and I got to help feed the miniature ponies, and all.”

  “Miniature ponies?”

  “Miniature ponies, a two-headed sheep, and a pretty big snake, to name a few of the animals the show’s got.”

  Clayton’s world certainly won’t like mine.

  I said, “It sounds like an odd place.”

  “Sure, it’s a bit odd, but odd is ordinary at a carnival. Hey, tomorrow I’ll bring you some spun sugar.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You never had spun sugar?”

  “ No. ”

  “You wait. You’ll be begging me to bring you some every day. Will you be here?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Hey, Wallis Ann?”

  “What?”

  “You remember what I said the other day.”

  I shook my head, unsure of what he was getting at.

  Clayton smiled. “You don’t?”

  “Well, I don’t know. You
say lots of things.”

  “I said your smile reminds me of Janie Mae. You remember me mentioning her?”

  The water rushed over the edge of rock, crashing onto the jagged ones below before settling into the cove. My blood pumped through me the same way, as if it was rushing through my veins only to collect into the center of my chest where my heart beat. Clayton looked at me with expectation, and I in turn considered him. I won’t quite sure what he wanted. We sat side by side on a fallen tree trunk and he unexpectedly leaned over and planted a kiss on my cheek. It caught me unawares, and I placed my fingers on the spot that tingled like a thousand butterflies had landed there. My eyes flicked in his direction. He was grinning, and I quickly looked away. For October, the air felt heated, not cool as it had been before.

  Clayton cleared his throat. “Didn’t you like that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Clayton spoke with his ever-present confidence. “You did. I can tell.”

  I shook my head, denying it.

  He won’t bothered at all. “Well then, I’ll have to do better next time.”

  “If there’s a next time.”

  Clayton didn’t look so sure anymore. It did me some good to know I could control this situation more than I’d realized, until he dipped his head down again and kissed me directly on my mouth, his arms going around me tight like he thought I might run. And I might would have, it scared me so bad. And then, something happened. I started kissing him back. I let him press his lips to mine, let him open my mouth with his, and do what I’d only read about in the romance magazine I’d kept secreted away from Momma’s eyes, forever lost now to the river water. I got dizzy for reasons altogether different than hunger. I pulled away, and covered my mouth with both hands.

  Joe Calhoun. He unexpectedly invaded my thoughts the way Clayton invaded my mouth. I shouldn’t think about Joe. Especially since Papa couldn’t stand a Calhoun, no matter how nice he’d been. I forced the memory of him away. Clayton kissed me again, and it was like the first time had been to see if he liked it, and the second time to show me he did. After a minute or so, he pulled away.