Tru and Nelle

by G. Neri

  “Course not.” Nelle pointed at the man in the glasses. “That’s him. That’s A.C.”

  Nelle’s daddy checked his pocket watch. He seemed like a serious, thoughtful man.

  “A.C.? What kind of name is that?” asked Truman.

  “A.C. stands for Amasa Coleman, but people just call him A.C. ever since I can remember. He’s a lawyer and a deacon . . . and the editor of the Monroe Journal.”

  Truman felt a pang of jealousy pass through him.

  “Psst!” Nelle tried to get her daddy’s attention. “A.C.!”

  A.C. ignored her. He checked his watch again and considered the empty chair beside him.

  “You don’t call him Daddy?”

  “Naw. Everyone calls him A.C., why shouldn’t I?” she said. “Hey, look, something’s going on.”

  A.C. approached the judge, who then called the other lawyer up to the bench as well. They spoke in hushed tones, back and forth, occasionally looking at the empty chair.

  The judge banged his gavel. “Is Mr. Archulus Persons in attendance?” he asked gruffly. “Bailiff?”

  The policeman spoke up. “No, Your Honor. Mr. Persons has not yet been seen today.”

  The judge nodded, making a note. “Very well. A warrant shall be issued for his arrest this afternoon . . . Is the next case ready?”

  Nelle looked disappointed. “Holy cow. Looks like the suspect fled! Hey, that should be exciting—”

  “We should go,” Truman said softly. He acted as if he’d seen a ghost.

  “Oh, come on, another case is coming up. One’s as good as the next. Why, last week, Mr. Cooper was accused of stealing Miss Anna Mae’s peach cobbler from her window—”

  Truman suddenly jumped up and headed for the stairs.

  “Truman! Where you going?”

  He disappeared down the steps, but she was right on his tail. “Tru! Wait!”

  He ran through the lobby, down the courthouse steps, and right onto Alabama Avenue. When she finally grabbed him by the elbow in the middle of the street, she was so winded and confused, she didn’t even see the automobile barreling down on them.

  6

  A Close Call

  The blaring horn and skidding tires chilled them to the bone—they found themselves suddenly staring straight into a pair of headlights.

  “Truman! There you are!”

  Truman blinked and saw a shadowy figure standing up in the convertible, peering at him through the flurry of red dust that had been kicked up by the tires.

  “Daddy?” he said, in shock.

  Nelle let go of his arm. She’d wet her pants.

  While she stood there red-faced and unsure what to do next, Truman walked around to the passenger side, and there was his father, sporting a straw Panama hat and grinning ear to ear.

  “Daddy,” he said breathlessly.

  “Come on, son,” he said, opening the passenger door for him. “We got to go. Now.”

  Truman climbed into the car and dove into his father’s arms.

  His dad squeezed him tight as he glanced around nervously. “I wanted to surprise you. Are you surprised?”

  Truman nodded, unable to believe his eyes. He hadn’t seen his father in two months.

  “I’ll say he’s surprised!” said Nelle, turning her embarrassment into ire. “Just where have you been? Why, if my daddy ever left me alone for so long, I’d just—”

  “Who’s your charming friend, Truman?” he asked. “He’s quite a feisty kid.”

  Nelle’s face turned even brighter red. “I’m a she, darn it! Just ’cause I don’t wear a dress don’t mean I ain’t fit ta wear one!”

  Truman’s daddy tipped his hat. “Well, you must be queen of the tomboys, aren’t ya, darling?” He nudged Truman. “Never mess with a feisty woman, Tru. I learned that from your mother. Now, we really got to go—”

  Truman jumped up, excited. “Is Mother here too?”

  His father started up the car, grinding it into gear. “More or less . . .”

  Truman looked up at him with puppy-dog eyes. “Does that mean we’re all going home together?”

  The color drained from his father’s face. “We’ve got family business to discuss, Truman. Let’s go back to the house.”

  The man tipped his hat to Nelle once again. “Nice to have met you, little fella. Name’s Archulus Persons.”

  Nelle blinked. “Wait a sec . . . Archulus?”

  He gunned the engine and left Nelle standing in the road.

  “Glad to see you’re making friends,” Arch said as he quickly steered off the main road and headed up an empty alleyway. He seemed nervous.

  “Are you taking me home?” asked Truman.

  Arch hemmed and hawed. “Truman . . . I know it’s been hard on you, son. If your mother wasn’t so stubborn, we’d all be back together again. But she has all these ideas of moving to an expensive big city like New York . . . she thinks we’re millionaires!” He moaned. “Oh, I just don’t know what to do.”

  They drove in silence. Truman had so many questions. But this one popped out: “How come you were wanted in court?”

  Arch raised his eyebrows. “What are you talking about, son? Why would they want ol’ Archulus in a court of law?”

  “That’s what I thought. But when the judge called your name in the courtroom—”

  Arch’s face turned beet red. “Oooh . . . that. That was nothing. Simply a disagreement that happened over in Burnt Corn—or was it Cobb Creek? Was there a woman there who was dressed like she was from India?”

  Truman thought about it and remembered such a woman. “With gold and black robes?”

  “That’s the one. She was the Great Hadjah’s widow, unfortunately,” he said, nervously looking over his shoulder. “God rest his soul.”

  “Who’s he?” asked Truman.

  Arch acted incredulous. “You mean you’ve never heard of the Great—” He slapped his forehead. “No, of course not. He passed before we had a chance to perform here in town.”

  Truman’s eyes lit up. “You ran a show?”

  Arch grinned. “Show is selling it short. Extravaganza is more like it. ‘Buried Alive!’” he proclaimed, just like P. T. Barnum himself. “The greatest miracle of modern times!”

  “You buried him alive?”

  “You should’ve seen it, Tru. See, I found this Egyptian fella over in Mississippi. Could hold his breath for long periods. He’d slow his heart rate down until he went into a state of hibernation for hours!”

  “Really?” said Truman, amazed.

  “Well, for one hour, at least. He’d show up dressed like an Indian prince and we’d bury him for an hour in a coffin right in the town square! People ate it up, betting he couldn’t last the whole sixty minutes, but he always did. Made a fortune!”

  “So what happened to him?”

  Arch wiped his brow. “Well, the last show, we drew such a huge crowd that by the time I took everyone’s money and wrote down their bets, almost two hours had passed . . . and so, sadly, had the Great Hadjah.”

  “You mean . . . he died?”

  Arch nodded glumly. “Turned out an hour was about as long as he could go. Who knew? Poor fella. Unfortunately, I lost everything too. And now this woman is trying to sue me for her husband’s share. Ridiculous! He was the one always bragging about how long he could last underground. But who’s always left holding the bag in the end? Old Arch, that’s who.”

  He pulled up by the animal-bone fence behind Cousin Jenny’s house and shut the engine off; the car rattled to a stop. He sat there a moment looking at the house. “Now, Truman, not a word of this to your mother. She’s mad enough at me as it is. I don’t need her knowing we might lose even more. But I’ll make it up to her. I’ve another scheme in mind. There’s this boxer—”

  But Truman was already out and running toward the house. He had this overwhelming feeling that if his mother just saw his face, she’d realize how much she missed him, and the family might come together once again.
r />   7

  Running the Gauntlet

  When Truman’s daddy drove off, leaving Nelle alone in the middle of the street, she didn’t know quite what to do. It wasn’t until she saw Twiggs Butts standing in front of Dr. Fripp’s general store that she knew something was wrong. He seemed puzzled—that is, until he started giggling at her.

  “What’s so funny, Butts?” said Nelle, getting ready to wipe that grin off his face.

  He pointed at the front of her pants. Her eyes wandered down till she saw the spot where she had wet herself. Unfortunately, red dust was now sticking to the wetness.

  She gasped and turned an even darker shade of red. She tried wiping the dirt away, but that only made it look worse. She wanted to hit Butts, but that would have to come later.

  Instead, she ran.

  She wasn’t thinking straight and just barreled right down the middle of the road, trying to keep her hands in front of her. Everyone seemed to be staring at her. The more people she recognized, the faster she ran.

  Luckily, she lived only two blocks from the town square. When she came to her street, she ran straight past Bud, who was smoking his pipe at the edge of his yard. “Top of the day, Miss Nelle—”

  It was a good thing the front door to her house was open, otherwise she might have plowed right through it. She ran straight into her room. There, to her horror, her two older sisters, Weezie and Bear, were sitting on the beds chatting away.

  She froze right in front of them, and of course their eyes went straight to her embarrassment. They both burst out laughing.

  “Honestly, Nelle, if you’re gonna wet the bed, you should probably be in bed when you do it.”

  “It was an accident!” she shouted. Her eyes quickly scanned the room for new clothes before they could make another joke. Unfortunately, the only clean garment sitting out was the dress her mother had made for her that she had never worn.

  The sisters started laughing even harder when they realized her predicament. She clenched her jaw and grabbed the dress. It was better than spending another second wearing what she had on.

  “Goodness! Nelle wearing a dress? What is this world coming to?” cracked Bear.

  When Nelle ran into the hall closet and slammed the door, they laughed even harder. She was so embarrassed and angry at herself. Maybe she would just stay in there forever and see how they liked that!

  She took off her overalls and threw them to the floor. She stared at the dress in her hands. She hadn’t worn one since . . . her mother’s birthday, two years ago. She remembered hating that dress so much that afterward, she deliberately ripped it so badly that it couldn’t be repaired.

  She sat down on an old suitcase next to her dad’s golf clubs and covered her head with the dress. She wasn’t gonna cry. Instead, she took a deep breath . . . and suddenly, she could smell her mother’s scent on the outfit. That made her remember some other things about her mother’s birthday. Like how she had tried to help her with a crossword puzzle that morning. Or how her abundantly plump mother had danced gracefully around the living room as the sunlight poured in through the bay window. And how they tended to her favorite flower boxes on the front porch together and picked some winter lilac and lavender-edged roses for her party. But most of all, she remembered how beautifully her mother had played the piano and how, in the middle of the party, in front of all the guests, Nelle sang “Tea for Two” while her mother played along.

  It was the only time they’d ever performed a song together.

  8

  The Cold Hard Truth

  The back door to Jenny’s house was wide open. Truman ran in and stopped in his tracks. The kitchen was empty. He listened, but all he could hear was the sound of his heart racing. Then he heard voices. They were coming from the front sitting room.

  He walked slowly toward them. The house was quiet, the bedroom doors all closed. Women were talking in hushed tones.

  One of them was Sook. The other was his mother.

  Just the sound of her voice made Truman smile. He thought maybe he’d sneak up behind her, wrap his hands over her eyes—and then she’d shriek with delight and hug the daylights out of him.

  Then he heard what they were saying.

  “He’s missed you so, Lillie Mae,” whispered Sook. “Sometimes I find him crying in bed and I just hold him for a good hour till he falls asleep. He needs his mama. He needs you.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Sook,” said his mother. “I don’t wish to sound mean but . . . but I just can’t stand the sight of my son—it’s like he’s not even mine.”

  There was silence for a moment.

  “That’s a horrible thing to say—and it’s nonsense, Lillie Mae! I saw you birth him myself!” said Sook.

  “That’s not what I mean. I know it’s loathsome of me, but that boy is so outlandish. He does not act like a normal boy should. He’s just like his con man of a father—living in a fantasy world and dragging me into it.”

  “You can’t be serious, Lillie Mae. He’s just a child.”

  “The idea of settling down with him and Archie makes me feel like a trapped animal—it’ll never work!” There was a pause and then she added, “Because of that, I’ve decided: Truman’s going to live here from now on.”

  “Oh, Lillie Mae, Jenny won’t stand for it. I don’t think you know what this will do to the boy. It’ll send him over the edge.”

  “Well, I never asked for a child! Look what he’s done to my figure. I’m only twenty-six but I feel ragged beyond my years. Time is wasting away and the last thing I need is to be stuck at home with that precocious little—”

  She looked up and saw Truman standing in the doorway of the kitchen. He was fighting back the tears.

  She sighed, putting on a fake smile with her ruby-red lipstick. “Truman. You’ll be happier here, darling. Trust me. I’m just no good as a mother.”

  He didn’t want to hear it. He ran back through the house, down the steps, and straight into the arms of his father.

  “Whoa, whoa, little fella. What’s wrong?” He felt Truman’s tears on his neck. When Arch looked up and saw Lillie Mae standing by the door, he grew angry. “Really? You couldn’t wait for me to come inside before you told him?”

  She shrugged and lit a cigarette. “He overheard me. What can I say?”

  Arch picked Truman up and walked him to the side of the house. “Hey, buddy, I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have heard that.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Truman, his eyes shut tight.

  Arch sighed. “All I can say is, every cloud has a silver lining, so . . . I’m gonna give you yours now.”

  Truman opened one eye. “You’re not going to leave me?”

  Arch grimaced and knelt down so Truman could stand. “Look, son. I know we said this would be temporary, like a summer vacation. But the truth is . . . me and your mom . . . both want different things out of life . . .”

  “And what about me?” whimpered Truman. “Don’t you want me?”

  Arch couldn’t look him in the eye. “I will do what I can to come back and get you. I just need time. I have some new ideas that I think will make us a fortune, but I can’t have you tagging along.”

  “But we worked on the steamboats together . . .”

  “That was then. Now . . . you belong in school, where you can grow up and become smarter than your old man. I know it’s not what you want to hear . . . but I hope this will help make you a little happier for now.”

  He spun Truman around to face a rather large object covered with a tarp.

  “I know how much you followed Lindbergh and his flight across the Atlantic. I figure that by the time you grow up, the world will be looking for another Lucky Lindy and maybe you can be just as famous . . .”

  Arch slowly pulled off the tarp and revealed a miniature bright green Ford Tri-Motor airplane with a red propeller. It was big enough for Truman to sit in—kind of an oversize tricycle with wings. The way the sun gleamed off the propeller made it look as beauti
ful as anything Truman had ever seen.

  “Is that the one from the store?” asked Truman.

  Arch reached into his pocket and pulled out an aviator’s cap and goggles. “Sure is, the very same one you wanted when you was a pup. That’s from me to you. You’ll be the envy of every kid in the neighborhood. And as soon as I make my mark and get enough money to settle down again, I’ll come back for you.”

  “Do you promise?” asked Truman.

  “Of course, buddy.”

  “You promised me a dog last time.”

  Arch nodded. “Now, that was your cousin Jenny’s fault. ‘No dogs in my house!’” he said, imitating her. “But she didn’t say no airplanes. So why don’t you go try it out before it takes off without you? That’s the top of the line!”

  He put the cap and goggles on Truman’s head. “And you’re way better-looking than that Lindy fella too!”

  Truman climbed into his plane and felt the controls. It looked like what he imagined a real plane looked like. It felt good. He gave the thumbs-up to his daddy and pulled the goggles down over his eyes. “Contact!” he said.

  Arch made a big show of spinning the propeller, and off Truman went, cycling the plane into the street as if it really could fly. He imagined building up enough speed until the wheels actually left the ground and he was suddenly airborne, flying out into the wild blue yonder.

  There’s Cousin Bud in his cotton patch! And there’s Hatter’s Mill with Edison jumping into the deep end. And there’s Billy Eugene, that scoundrel. Truman would dive-bomb him and his friends and chase them off the path.

  Truman was having so much fun in his imagination, he didn’t even notice Arch and Lillie Mae driving away.

  9

  A Secret Plan

  Truman was moody for the longest time after that. Nelle couldn’t even get him to come out to play. She begged him to let her ride his Tri-Motor plane but he flat-out refused. He wasn’t being mean; he just didn’t feel like seeing anyone. Instead, he stayed in his room for weeks on end.