by G. Neri
Truman looked at Nelle as A.C. undid the latch. He opened it and revealed something that looked like an accordion on its back. But it was, in fact, an old black Underwood #5 typewriter.
“I learned how to write on this typewriter,” he said wistfully. “Now I’m giving it to both of you. Maybe it’ll be a reminder that perhaps you’re better off typing your tall tales, rather than getting into other people’s business. Leave that to the likes of me and the law.”
Nelle jumped up and felt the keys. “Our very own typewriter?” she asked.
“Yes.” He nodded. “Now you can write your own stories. Who knows—maybe that’ll take you somewhere other than the courthouse.”
Truman grinned. Christmas had just come early.
31
Writers and Beauty Queens
For days and weeks and months after, Truman and Nelle met up to write stories. One day, they’d write in A.C.’s office, Truman dictating and Nelle typing. Other days, they’d meet at Truman’s, and he’d be at the keyboard with Nelle making up stories. Sometimes they met halfway, hauling that typewriter up into their secret headquarters (not an easy trick, but they devised a rope-and-pulley system to do it). Usually Truman had to pressure Nelle into writing, but once she got going, she was good. Big Boy wanted to join in, but he really didn’t have the imagination for that kind of thing. Instead, he often sat nearby with Queenie on his lap, listening to the stories they wove.
And what stories they were. Mysteries and crime tales featuring themselves as detectives. Or adventure stories where they’d travel to exotic locales and get mixed up in intrigue and high jinks. Or just simple stories about busybodies in town who got into trouble by spreading gossip and rumors.
Truman was very protective of their stories. He kept them locked up in a trunk under his bed and wore the key on a chain around his neck. On cold nights when snow dusted the street in front of the house, he would recount a story in front of the fire as if it were true. Jenny and Callie didn’t care for his fibbing but they found themselves laughing just as hard as Bud did at Truman’s anecdotes. He told stories about Sook on Thanksgiving and Christmas that made her teary-eyed, and he saved his wildest yarns for New Year’s Eve.
After the New Year, Nelle’s mother came back unexpectedly, recuperated after her time away. In moments of quiet, Nelle would tell her some of their tales—mostly funny stories and mysteries, anything to keep her mind off her troubles. She listened attentively, trying to guess (and usually getting it wrong) what the punch line would be or who the culprit was. She enjoyed this, liked it much better than being in the hospital, especially when A.C. joined them for a listen.
The kids were having fun, racing home from school with new ideas. Monroeville was still boring, but at least they were able to live their adventures on the page, which was the next best thing.
Nelle’s mother was not the only one to show up unexpectedly. One day, Truman and Nelle were cleaning up his precious Tri-Motor plane when Truman looked up and saw his own mother standing in the doorway.
It had been many months since she’d visited. He’d almost forgotten he had a mother. But seeing her in the flesh brought all his feelings rushing back into his head. He ran up and hugged her around the waist.
“I have a surprise for you,” she said.
“What?” he asked.
She pulled an award certificate from behind her back. “Aren’t you proud of your mother?” she said, showing it off.
“What is that?” he asked.
“Well, it’s a prize that I won!” she said.
Truman and Nelle gazed at the award. It said Elizabeth Arden Beauty Contest, First Prize: Lillie Mae Persons.
“You won a beauty contest?” Truman asked, confused.
“I just sent in my photo and they picked little old me.” She blushed.
“Who’s Elizabeth Arden?” asked Nelle.
“Only one of the wealthiest women in the world who just happens to own the biggest cosmetics company in the States,” she said. “And they’ve invited me to come up to New York City and enroll in a free beauty course. New York! Can you beat that?”
Truman looked depressed. “So . . . you’re moving?”
“Oh, don’t be a fuddy-duddy, Truman. This is your mother’s big chance. I’ll be back in a couple months. Be happy for me for once, dear. You can say your mother’s a beauty queen.”
“I think you’re pretty, Lillie Mae,” said Nelle.
“Why, thank you, Nelle. And when I come back, I’ll do a makeover on you,” she said, looking at Nelle’s dirty hands and feet. “Heaven knows you need one.”
She left without giving Truman a hug. He looked downright grim.
32
Reprieve
In the cold dampness of February, Truman was lying in bed, restless. He tried to sleep but all he could think about was his mother in New York. He imagined her all dolled up and walking down a fashion-show runway under the gaze of cameras and flashbulbs.
He heard the telephone ringing.
Truman listened as Cousin Jenny came down the stairs to the hall phone. He could faintly hear her talking but couldn’t make out any words. There was a long silence, then he heard footsteps in the hallway. Finally, his door opened and Jenny poked her head in.
Truman pretended to be asleep. She crept slowly up to his bed and nudged his shoulder. “Truman,” she whispered. “It’s your father.”
Truman opened his eyes. “Daddy?” Why was he calling?
Truman rubbed his eyes as Jenny led him to the phone. She handed him the receiver, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to talk.
“Go on, Truman.”
Truman took the call. “Hello?”
“Truman!” Arch’s voice sounded far away.
“Where are you?”
“. . . On the road . . .” His answer was garbled by the static.
“Where?”
“Truman, I need you to pack your bags. I’ll be there in the morning.”
Truman couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Where are we going?”
“A little father-son adventure. I think you’re old enough to see . . .” Again, the words were lost.
“A trip? Tomorrow? What about school?”
“School can wait. Time alone with my son is more important, especially since your mother—”
The line went dead. “Hello?”
Truman handed the receiver back to Jenny. She listened but there was nothing more. “What’d he say?” she asked.
“I think he wants to go on a trip with me. Tomorrow.”
Jenny shook her head and put down the receiver. “I don’t know, Truman.”
“Please? It’ll probably be for only a few days. And Callie could give me some homework to do on the road.”
She sighed. “Well, I can’t stop you. He is your father.”
Truman beamed and ran back to his room. He went rummaging under his bed for a suitcase.
Sook woke up, of course. “For goodness’ sake—what are you doing, Truman? It’s the middle of the night.”
“Looking for my suitcase. I’m going on a trip with Arch.”
There was a long silence. “You’re missing school?”
“Callie will catch me up—gotcha!” Truman pulled out the same old brown suitcase he’d come to Monroeville with.
As soon as Sook heard Arch wasn’t coming till tomorrow, she went back to sleep, willing to deal with it in the morning. But Truman was wide awake now. He stayed up all night, packing clothes and making a list of things they would talk about while driving. He imagined maybe they would go up to New York to see Mother. Or get back on the steamboat like old times. Either way, it would be a grand adventure.
When the sun came up, Truman was exhausted but dressed and ready. Little Bit found him sitting on the stoop of the front porch as she came in. “And where are you going, Mr. Truman?”
Truman yawned. “On a trip with Arch!”
Little Bit rolled her eyes. “Don’t get into it,” she mum
bled to herself. She smiled and went inside.
Nelle and Big Boy stopped by on their way to school. “Well, come on, Truman, we’re gonna be late,” Nelle said.
“I’m not going. I’m going on a trip. With Arch.”
Nelle grimaced. “Where you headed?”
“Wherever the wind takes us.”
“Lordy, help me,” she said under her breath.
Big Boy just smiled and pulled her away. “Sounds great, Truman. I guess we’ll see you when you get back.”
Callie dropped a stack of homework on the porch next to him. “Who takes his child out of school for no good reason . . .” was all she said as she headed out.
Truman didn’t care what anyone said. He was going to have fun. He sat there and watched the horse carts carrying deliveries from the underwear factory nearby. He watched the cooks and handymen walk to work from Mudtown. He watched the schoolchildren come and go.
Sook found him asleep on the porch several hours later. She picked him up and put him to bed.
Archulus Persons never showed up.
33
Banished
Many more months passed, and life in Monroeville continued at its slow but steady pace. Spring came, with Nelle’s birthday and the flowering of blue hydrangeas and King Alfred daffodils, followed by summer and its oppressive, wilting heat. Truman’s Tri-Motor plane mysteriously disappeared one day and was found wrecked by the roadside. Somehow Big Boy was able to rebuild it so it looked almost like new, despite the broken arm that he’d somehow acquired. But that’s another story.
Truman and Nelle continued to write and share tall tales and enjoyed not having to go to school. When Truman’s ninth birthday rolled around, in September, and neither Lillie Mae nor Arch appeared for the birthday dinner, Nelle knew something was up. There were rumors of divorce, but nobody, especially Truman, ever spoke of it.
One day, shortly after that, Truman didn’t show up in class, nor was he at the treehouse afterward. Nelle went looking for him and found Sook sitting in the backyard hugging Queenie. Instead of being her usual happy self, she was crying.
“What’s the matter, Sook?”
Sook wiped her eyes with her apron. “Oh, Nelle. We’re gonna lose him.” She moaned. “This’ll kill him for sure . . .”
A chill went down Nelle’s spine. “Lose who?”
“My little Truman . . . what am I going to do without him, Miss Nelle?” Tears flowed as she petted Queenie.
Nelle couldn’t believe her ears. “What? Truman’s . . . dying?”
Sook shook her head. “No, Miss Nelle. Worse. Our Tru has to go to boarding school after Halloween. His mama’s getting remarried and wants him to move to New York!”
Nelle blinked. “He’s moving?”
Sook nodded and buried her face in her hands. Nelle refused to believe it. She raced into the house to Truman’s room, where she found him in bed, staring out the window.
“Is it true?” she asked. She almost couldn’t breathe waiting for his answer.
“Yes,” he whispered. “I am dying.” He feigned his tragic demise until Nelle came over and punched him in the shoulder.
“You’re leaving me?”
He rubbed his shoulder. “That hurt . . .” he muttered. “And, yes, Mother has sent for me. She met a new man, Joe Capote, and she wants me to come to New York to live with them.”
“Sook said you were going to boarding school.”
Truman kept staring out the window, his mind working. “No. Unfortunately, they couldn’t find one that would take a kid as smart as me. So I will live with Mother and learn only by reading books from now on.”
“You’re such a liar,” she said and then immediately regretted it. Nelle still couldn’t believe he was leaving, but the sadness in his eyes was real. She decided to cheer him up. “I can’t believe you are going to the big city. Isn’t that what you always wanted? To live with your mother, where all the action is? Think of the grand balls they have up there, the parties and the shows. Why, there’ll be plenty of gangsters and nefarious deeds going on to write about!”
Truman frowned. “Yes, all that’s true, I suppose. But I don’t really want to leave here.”
Nelle would have none of it. “Nonsense. There’s nothing happening down here. There’s no nightlife, no social scene that the papers write about. You’ll be living the real thing. Think of all the stories!”
Truman rolled over in bed, facing away from her. “But I won’t have you,” he whimpered.
Nelle’s heart broke in two but she knew she had to be the stronger person. She sat next to him, putting her hand on his shoulder. “Ouch,” he said and she pulled her hand away.
He grabbed it and held on. “It’s not my shoulder that hurts,” he said.
She sighed. “You’ll make new friends up there. Everyone likes you, Tru.” She barely got it out before her voice cracked.
“You and I both know nobody likes me. I talk funny and I dress too fine,” he said. “I’m a curiosity around here and you know it. People only like me when I tell my stories. I’m just a court jester to them.”
“Well, so what if that’s true? That’s enough. Plenty of people wish they could tell a story as good as you. You’ll be a great writer one day, Tru. And everyone will read your books and love you for them.”
Truman perked up. “Do you really think so?” he squeaked.
“I know so.” She nodded.
He thought about it, letting the images churn in his head. “I’ll make you a deal: I’ll write, but only if you promise to write as well. Then we can mail each other our stories,” he said, hopeful.
Nelle didn’t have the gift that Truman had, but she knew she had a good tale—or two—inside her. “You won’t even care about me after a few years, Truman. You’ll be so famous you won’t have time to write to me. You’ll be the hit of New York, going to big costume parties with anybody who’s anybody, and you’ll be all over the society pages in the newspaper—”
Truman suddenly sat up. “That’s it!”
“What?” asked Nelle.
“If I have to leave, why, we’ll just have to throw the biggest going-away party Monroeville has ever seen. It’ll be a real humdinger!”
“Really?” said Nelle.
“I’ll throw such a party, they’ll never forget me. And every time you show a postcard from me around, people will say, ‘Do you remember Truman’s Halloween party? What a night! I’ll never forget it!’”
Nelle smiled. That was a fine idea.
34
The Last Hurrah
Truman would be leaving around Thanksgiving, so he, Nelle, and Big Boy spent the next afternoon after school concocting a party so magnificent, people would remember it for a hundred years.
The first idea Truman had was to make it, of course, a Halloween party. Since they had missed celebrating last year, the motion was immediately approved. The second idea he had was to have it on a Friday night.
“But no nine-year-old has a party at night,” said Big Boy.
“Exactly,” said Truman. “That’ll make it memorable by itself. Besides, who wants to have a Halloween party in the day?”
“Oh!” said Nelle. “If it’s a real Halloween party, then we’ll all get to wear costumes!”
Truman laughed. “Of course, silly. It’ll be a masquerade ball! Everyone will be required to dress up, even the adults! And we’ll have a big contest for best costume and I’ll be the judge.”
“What about us?” asked Big Boy.
“Well . . .” Truman scratched his head. “How will you win best prize if you’re a judge?”
Big Boy hadn’t thought of that. “Will there be candy?” he asked.
“Of course! The winner will get . . . chocolate! As much as he can eat!”
Big Boy was already drooling. “Oh, I wanna dress up, then. Can we do bobbing for apples too?”
“Yes! And bobbing for apples too!”
“What about,” Nelle said, “building a ride fo
r your Tri-Motor airplane?”
Truman hemmed and hawed. His precious Ford Tri-Motor airplane was his most prized possession, especially after it had been wrecked and rebuilt. He was willing to let Big Boy and Nelle ride it, but everyone?
Truman sighed. “Well . . . okay, I guess I could ask Bud if he can build us a ramp . . .” he said, his imagination percolating. “Maybe the ramp could shoot down the back steps from the porch. And then the plane will build up so much speed, it’ll actually . . . start to fly!” Nelle and Big Boy cheered.
“This’ll be the best party ever!” said Nelle.
“Of course, we’ll need Jenny on our side,” he said. “I don’t think she’s ever had a party here, let alone the biggest party Monroeville has ever seen.”
“Well, the adults can have their own party, in the living room,” said Big Boy. “They can drink punch and listen to her Victrola record player.”
“That’s a swell idea, Big Boy.”
“Why, Jenny can invite the most important people in town . . . maybe even the mayor,” said Nelle.
Truman had stars in his eyes. He could see it all—a hundred kids and adults having the time of their lives. They would set up a carnival in the backyard, complete with circus acts and games of all kinds. “Queenie can dress up as a circus dog and I’ll get Black John White and Little Bit to perform!”
Black John had a white suit and hat that Bud had given him for a gift out of gratitude for all the years he’d worked for him. He wore it only inside his shack on his wedding anniversary. Nobody had ever seen him in it except Truman, who’d walked in on John and his wife by accident. Truman thought that with a little white makeup, Black John would look just like a fancy ghost.
Aside from being a voodoo priestess, Little Bit also on occasion sat on the porch and played an accordion her father had left her when he passed. She too could dress up like one of the spirits she was always going on about. (Later, when Little Bit had her doubts, Truman reminded her that on Halloween, all spirits like to dance. She came around to seeing it as a way to get on the ghosts’ good side.)