An old man in faded trousers opened the screen door, his eyes narrowed, studying on his visitors. Then he flashed a wide, toothy grin in recognition and motioned us up onto the porch, his dark skin glowing from the heat of the evening. Bobby led me up the wooden steps.
“Mudas, meet my gramps, Jessum Crow. Gramps, this is my friend, Mudas Summers.”
Bobby’s gramps set aside his cane and clasped my hand in a friendly squeeze. “Pleasure, Miz Summers.” He tipped his head and a smile rippled across weathered, map-lined lips, stretching wide, and then settling comfortably into the corners of his mouth.
“Hi,” I mumbled, feeling my face slowly warm from shyness.
“Have a seat, chil’. Here, Bobby, grab Miz Summers a seat on the porch where it’s cool. And fetch her a glass of sweet tea. There’s a bucket of fresh ice chips in the cold box.”
“Mudas. Please call me Mudas, sir.”
Bobby pulled up a wooden rocker for me.
“How was Boston, Bobby?” his gramps asked, settling into the swing.
“Great, Gramps.” He bent over and gave the old man a hug. “I’ll tell you all about it later. Be right back with that sweet tea.” He ducked inside the house, leaving me and Gramps Jessum smiling awkwardly at each other. I fidgeted with my hands, inspecting my ragged, dirty nails.
“Uh-huh,” Jessum drawled. “Uh-huh, fine Wednesday evenin’ for fine company.” His amber eyes beamed bright.
“Yessir.” I stared longingly at a wooden washstand perched against the porch wall beside me. A white ceramic bowl and a jug bearing lilac flowers sat on top of it, while an embroidered hand towel and bar of soap cozied nearby. A small mirror hung above the stand. I couldn’t wait to get myself cleaned up.
“Yore daddy, Adam Persis Summers,” Bobby’s gramps stated matter-of-factly.
“Uh, yessir, that’s my daddy.”
“Be fine to call me Jessum, chil’,” he invited. Leaning back, he tucked the toes of his worn leather oxfords under the swing, lifted his feet, settling into a soft rock.
“You know my daddy?”
“Known Adam since he was wearing the cloth.” Jessum raised his hands cradle-like, swooping back and forth. “A fine boy, a finer man. Hmm-mmm,” he hummed. “An’ his mama, Miz Essie, lawsy, wasn’t a finer soul on this sweet earth, ’ceptn’ my angel, Sara, God rest her soul. Me an’ my missus used to go over to the Summers Homestead to look after Adam when the folks went down to Nashville. Lawd, he was wearing the cloth, just a tiny little thing back then, yore daddy was.” He lifted his hands again and held them maybe a foot wide. I laughed to think of my Daddy so little, so young. It was hard to imagine. “My Sara passed through the gates shortly after Miz Essie,” Jessum said, standing.
“I’m so sorry. . . .” I paused as Bobby came through the door, handing me a jelly jar full of sweet tea. I sipped it slowly, savoring the flavor. “Bobby, you didn’t tell me that your grammy babysat my daddy.”
“Never knew,” he said, looking up at his gramps in surprise.
“Uh-huh,” Jessum said. “Used to ride him ’round on the tractor in yore backfield. He always loved to stop and play in that ol’ Penitentiary Hole.”
“ThommaLyn and I used to play in that cave,” I laughed, twisting to Bobby. “That’s what they called it. Daddy said his great-grandparents allowed it to be used as a safe haven. Grammy Essie even had this old picture from the 1800s. It’s of a small group of slaves standing at the entrance of the cave. Really neat.” I blushed. “I mean, a neat piece of history, that is.”
“That’s cool having your own piece of history in your backyard,” Bobby said.
“You knew my Grammy Essie, too?” I looked at Jessum. I couldn’t imagine her as a young person either. Somehow I had a feeling she’d always been wise beyond her years. “What was she like when she was younger?” I ventured.
Jessum picked up a glass of water sitting on a stool fashioned from a log and walked over to a hanging basket of leggy, peppermint-swirled petunias. After pinching off a few spent flowers, he slowly watered the plant.
“Miz Essie looked a lot like you, chil’. She was a good mama, too. Toted baby Adam everywhere. Worked hard at the library. When Adam got bigger, he helped her stack the books there. And, on Saturdays, he’d carry books up to the hill here for our youngin’s and our sickly elders. Gave us all those books and them books take us to places we couldn’t ever go. ‘Travelin’, Adam said.’ ” Jessum spread his arms. “Every Saturday morn’. Adam never missed one that I knew of, even when he went to high school. Toting all those heavy books up an’ down this big ol’ hill. Uh-huh. . . . Miz Essie—a fine, thoughtful lady—raised a fine, thoughtful son. Mmm-hmm.” He set the empty glass down and seated himself back onto the swing.
I never knew this about Daddy. A day of wonders. For a moment, I closed my eyes, picturing Daddy toting a big bag of books, just like Santa Claus. Spreading Christmas joy and knowledge to the people of this hill each and every Saturday, in the rain, sunshine, and snow. And my heart was happy and proud—and suddenly a bit lonely for a hug from him, a little mad at myself.
“Gramps, you mind if I take Mudas inside?”
“You chil’un’ go on ahead.” Jessum hiked his arm up on the swing’s chain and rocked.
Bobby held open the door as I stepped into a one-room home. The walls were clean, whitewashed a robin’s-egg blue. A huge potbelly stove hugged a corner of the room. Pine floors gleamed. A cot, neatly made with a coverlet, nestled near the wall under an open window. Breezes trailed through lace curtains and an old box fan’s whirl cooled the room. On the opposite wall, flashes of sunlight bounced off glass whatnots and canning jars on a shelf hanging above a narrow window. An enamel sink with a ruffled bottom curtain stood beneath. Next to the sink, a small wooden table with four mismatched chairs, all neatly tucked under, held a Mason jar full of crimson roses.
Bobby walked over to the stove and opened its heavy door. The heavenly scent of hoecakes laced with onion bits rode the warm breeze, nearly causing me to sway. Bobby flashed a wicked grin, and then crooked his finger, motioning for me to come closer. He lifted the lid off a simmering cast-iron pot that brimmed with mixed beans, onion, a sprinkling of red-hot peppers, and a huge meaty ham hock.
“Smells divine,” I said, turning to Bobby. Sunbeams dropped warm rays across his face. His eyes rested hungrily on my lips, leaving me with a different and greater hunger.
The porch swing creaked and the moment was lost, swiftly magpie’d away.
He shifted his gaze to the door, and said softly, “Guess I’ll set the table.”
I nodded. “Let me help.”
Bobby pulled down dishes and grabbed silverware from the drawer.
“Here,” I said, opening my hands. “Why don’t I take these and you can go out and visit with your gramps. I’m sure he’s missed you. You two can catch up on your trip to Boston.”
Bobby nodded appreciatively. “Thanks. With my truck battery busted, I haven’t had time.”
I stacked the dishes and silver in the drain dry, but not until I took my time washing my face and hands in the sink. I stirred the soup for a few minutes. Then I wiped down the table and set it. I poked my head out the screen door and signaled to Bobby. They joined me inside.
Bobby pulled out a chair for me. I snuck a peek at Jessum, suddenly self-conscious. But if Bobby had told him anything about McGee, Rooster Run, the journal, or Frannie, Jessum didn’t let on. He padded around with a contented smile.
More than once, I found myself drawn to the old man. His face was cut strong, his color, more light brown than dark. It was obvious that he’d been a startlingly attractive young man, and time had been gracious with him. I wondered if Jessum got his looks from his grammy, Frannie Crow. Wondered how he’d feel about Mistress Anderson’s old journal, her confession. I suspected it would all be taken with ease—the gift that comes with age.
Jessum placed two cups of coffee on the table. Then, humming, he shuffled over to the stove,
returning with a huge bowl of bean soup that he set in front of me. Smiling, he moved leisurely back to the stove, filling two more bowls for Bobby and himself, and placing them on the table.
Bobby jumped up to help. I heard the thump of the metal stove door and my stomach growled back in response. The smell of buttery hoecakes wafted heavenly, filling my nostrils.
I spooned up the thick bean soup, eating every last drop. Bobby drained the juice from his second bowl before taking two large hunks of sweet bread from the basket, complimenting Jessum’s cooking after each swallow.
The bread was heavy and sweet, hitting the spot. Full, I forced myself back from the table and raised my hands. “Delicious, Jessum. Thank you for having me.”
A smile blossomed on Jessum’s face. He lifted a mug of steaming coffee to his lips and blew lightly. “Fetch yourself some dessert up on the shelf above the dish dry, chil’. Mighty good bonbons that Widow Brown brought back from her visit with family in Savannah last week. Mmm-hmm! Mighty nice of the widow to think of ol’ Jessum, while she was down there laying Mr. Brown to rest.” He took a long sip.
“Oh, no,” I lamented. “I’m sorry.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Jessum set his coffee onto the table. “Peoples talkin’, sayin’ jus’ a matter of time ’fore the moonshine an’ cigarettes would kill ol’ Billy Brown. Uh-huh, yessum. Always had the thirst of a willow root, an’ smoked like the ol’ Owl Runner freight train, that one did. Uh-huh, his light plumb snuffed, near to the exact day ’fore his ninetieth birthday candles took spark. So, chil’un, best eat all yore bonbons ’fore the candles can spark.” He winked. Then Jessum and Bobby exchanged secret smiles.
I looked back and forth at the two of them. Bobby began to hum a teasing rendition of “Happy Birthday.” Jessum kicked it up a notch, singing the words in a rich timbre. Their voices slowed and blended together in a thick, gravelly, charmed harmony. My eyes filled at their kindness, the bigness of their hearts.
When they finished, I was struck by an overwhelming spasm of homesickness for home. And a family that didn’t exist anymore. I dabbed the corners of my eyes with my napkin. “Thank you, thanks so much for the wishes.” I smiled gratefully, and jumped up and hugged Jessum.
Jessum winked. “Look for the brightest star tonight and toss your wish to the heavens.”
I helped Bobby carry the dishes to the sink. Jessum picked up his pipe, poured himself another cup of coffee, and headed out to the porch still humming my birthday wishes, while Bobby and I washed the supperware. Above the clatter of dishes, we talked about the hearty food, his Grammy Sara, Jessum’s garden, all light conversation after a long day of heaviness. Outside, the porch swing creaked in methodical rhythm, while crickets called the darkness.
Bobby told me Jessum offered his home for as long as I needed; then we talked a little about seeing Sheriff Jingles in the morning.
I hung the dishtowel across the rack and we shared a few of the chewy coconut candies, with Bobby eating the vanilla ones and saving the strawberry ones for me. When we finished, I poked my head out the screen door and thanked Jessum again. “Gramps, you need another cup of coffee?” Bobby asked over my shoulder.
“Nah,” he said. “Might take me a walk over yonder, pay a visit to the widow an’ see how her batch of blackberry wine turned out.” He winked again.
“Okay, I’m going to show Mudas to her room.”
Jessum raised his arm and wagged a good-bye.
Bobby took my hand and led me past the sink to the back door. He pushed it open and stepped aside, letting me walk into a small attached breezeway. The walls were screened at the top half, with a waist-high skirt of wormy chestnut running down to the wooden floor. I laughed when I spotted a hound dog lying atop a narrow iron bed covered with a chenille bedspread.
“Aw, Cassie, c’mon, get off now.” Bobby stepped around me and scooted the big dog off the bed and onto the floor. Cassie peered up at us with somber eyes. Bobby scratched her long, silky ears. She gave a short snort and turned in a circle before curling up on a green braided rug.
Bobby leaped over her and dug into a wicker basket. He pulled out a green T-shirt, PJ bottoms, and two ratty towels. “This is my room when I come and visit,” he explained, his face beginning to color. “Tonight I’ll use Gramps’s sleeping bag and sleep on the porch. I do that sometimes anyway.” He tossed the wrinkled clothes and the towels onto the bed. “Here. They’re clean.” He crossed to the wooden stand beside the bed and tossed me a little package wrapped in cheesecloth. “And take this.” I removed the gauze and brought a heavy bar of sweet-smelling soap to my nose, caught a whiff of flowers, and sighed happily.
“My gramma was a soap maker,” he said, digging into the clothes basket again. “She had two goats on the back of the hill here. Fine goat’s milk soap. Shopkeepers in Nashville would even order it. She made it all out there.” He stood and jerked his thumb over to the screened wall. A dense thicket of trees trailed up, a nature-made curtain of privacy.
I pressed the bar of soap to my nose and drank in long draws of sweetness. “Thank you.” My heart swelled with gratitude at everything Bobby had done for me and I sprang across the room. Bobby lifted me up and I wound my legs and arms around him. His face shone with boyish cheer. Laughing, he spun us around.
Setting me down, he said, “Okay, then. Well, the door’s here.” He knocked on the obvious. “And out back, there’s a water hose and the bathing bucket, and—” He hesitated, embarrassed. “Sorry it’s not inside.”
“Bobby, it’s perfect. Thank you.” I looked up at him. Then I bent in and gave him a soft kiss. He tasted like sweet earth. And the curiosity of everything good.
“Okay”—he took a breath—“I’m going to take a towel and head down to the creek. I’ll be back in a jiff, so be sure and holler if you need anything.” He grabbed a towel and slipped out the door, shutting it quietly behind him.
I brought my fingertips up to my mouth and then pirouetted around the room. All of this felt good. And this room . . . It was like a Grammy Essie hug. Home. I could see her now, padding around her worn but spotless pine floors, rugged over with puddles of sunshine. Standing in her kitchen with the wide, wallpapered border of cherries that popped off of the yellow walls like big ol’ sunny lipstick smiles. Her head bent over the heavy iron skillets that sizzled in tune with the morning song of birds perched on the window’s ledge. Thick jowl bacon and peppered eggs dancing on the skillet and spitting at the air, filling the kitchen with their familiar aroma.
All that changed after she and Papaw passed. Daddy’d said he “fancied some change” and brought renovators into the homestead to change the furnishings and “freshen up” the paint. I didn’t think a new coat of paint was going to change anything. We were still alone. To me, the newness was a reminder of their absence, a symbol of all that we’d lost.
I shook my head, pushing the grief away. No, no, I thought. I wanted to be happy, and I didn’t want to let anything take away my happy. For this day, this minute, even a second, I prayed, dear God, please let me have my happy.
I thought about Bobby, what it would feel like to find that happy in his arms.
Cassie lifted her head and sighed a hound-dog amen. I laughed and bent over and stroked her slick fur, then drank in more of my surroundings. Stepping over Cassie, I ran my hands across the soft, plush bedspread, tracing the needle-tufted yellow flowers, remembering how Grammy Essie used to have the same pattern. I pictured her and Sara sitting, sewing together, talking about life, children, and family. In my mind, I clung to her ghosted apron strings and a warm homecoming swept over me.
I untied my sneakers and gladly kicked them off. Picking up the soap and towel, I walked to the back door and stepped outside. About twenty feet to my right, an outhouse butted up to the steep hill rising behind it, and a well with a red-flaked iron pump stood nearby. To my left, a water hose snaked behind a tightly woven grapevine screen. I spied the spigot at the far end of the house and hurried over to turn on the
water, then followed the hose trail back to the screen.
I stepped behind the thick grapevine and wiggled my toes in the cool grasses, digging them into the thick fescue. Lifting the water hose to my mouth, I gulped—each swallow a sweet charge surging through me like electric nectar. I carried the soap and towel, along with the hose, over to an old wooden bathing bucket lined with thick cowhide, and scooped up the stringed cork stopper dangling off its side to plug the drain. After I tossed in the soap, I slung the spout over the rim and watched as the bucket began to fill.
Taking one last look over my shoulder, I glanced at the grapevine screen, then back to the tree-thick hill rising in front of me, offering privacy. Satisfied, I stripped off my clothes and draped them over the tall screen. A breeze tousled my hair and a rise of gooseflesh crept over my body.
Ever so slow, I dipped my toe into the tub, shuddered, and then forced myself to step fully into the water bucket, gasping at the shock. The water, witch-tit cold, lapped at the hollows of my flesh. I took a deep breath and stared up to the evening sky. Fireflies ghosted light across the dusk as an evening chill floated down the mountain. The sun disappeared behind the hilltop and the silver moon hid behind her shadow.
I shrugged off the cold and washed briskly, eager to escape the frigid water. I dried off and couldn’t help notice the sweet scent that Bobby’s goat soap left on me. I sniffed my hand. Dear Lord, I thought, I hope that what I smell is Grammy Essie’s true scent, and it doesn’t turn sour. I want more than kisses from that man, but I want it to be right, too. Mama’d always said there’s only one first at anything in life, and you get only one chance to do anything the first time, so make sure that when you grab that first, it’s right.
When I walked around the screen in my towel, I found Bobby pacing, holding a bottle of Calamine lotion and a tattered old army jacket, with an oil lantern hooked over his arm. His wet hair was slicked back, and drops of water glossed across his bare chest. “Thought you might need this.” He placed the lotion on top of the screen and rubbed a wet hand on his jeans. “And this,” he said, setting down the lantern and holding up the huge jacket. “I just . . . I reckoned you might get cold,” he blushed.
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