by ANDREA SMITH
“What is wrong with you people?” Olive hollered.
“Must take stupid pills,” Jess Sinclair put in.
“So, what you tryin’ to say,” Tilde stood up, “is that we may never find out who killed this po’ chile?”
Pine looked at his hands folded in front of him. “The case’ll stay open,” he said.
Another groan rippled across the room.
“I’m ’fraid that ain’t enough!” Tilde said simply. “And the onliest reason you called us here with a tale ’bout some gal and her grandmama is ’cause ya’ll ain’t got a damn thing!”
“She was a promisin’ lead,” Pine argued.
“Promisin’, my ass,” Tilde spat. “Could be that the woman took her chile and gone.”
“Or maybe she wanted to get away from that triflin’ man,” Delphine yelled. Some of the women nodded their heads in agreement.
“We ladies did what y’all asked,” Tilde went on. “We stayed out of it and left things in the hands of the law. But now it’s time fo’ the community to get involved.”
“You need to keep leaving things in the hands of the law,” Pine insisted.
“An innocent chile is dead!” Tilde charged. “And y’all ain’t found nothin’! Not a goddamn thing!”
“Sound like Tilde ’bout to step up on her soapbox,” Thora whispered to Bonnie.
“I think we should all check ’round the Three Sisters,” Tilde yelled. “We should find out who been pregnant and who ain’t got no baby no mo’. Then we oughta show this woman jes’ what it feel like to be left to die.”
Tilde’s remark brought the room to its feet in support. But Bonnie couldn’t share in the fervor of the others. She acknowledged it was deeply unsettling that a child killer was out there, and it was even more disturbing to know that it could be someone who lived in the Three Sisters. Yet she had to wonder just what would drive a woman to kill her own infant. And if caught, should she be thrown in jail for the rest of her life, or worse, put to death? Bonnie looked at Tilde Monroe, who, once again, had stepped into the spotlight. She knew that this was where Tilde was happiest, even when she was rousing the town to lynch some woman who might’ve been desperate enough or just plain crazy out of her mind.
“Ladies and men,” Tilde yelled, “we oughta start a committee. And we should canvass the town…and I mean all a the area, as far no’th as Hooley and as far south as Taliliga.”
Bonnie glanced at Delphine. She could see the exhaustion in the woman’s body. The enormity of raising six children was present, even in the way she sat, slumped back in her chair. Tilde ranted and Delphine kept her eyes on her four-year-old boy, Lee-Abbot, who sat in the seat next to her. On her other side was her eight-year-old girl, Ree-Ree. Delphine looked up from her lap and caught Bonnie’s eye. Again, the shame of her circumstances was evident.
“The Ladies of the Blessed Harvest and the Brethren of Good Faith should get out there,” Tilde went on, “and we should check the hospitals for any gals that might’ve give birth in the last few months. We need to find out where these babies are and where they ain’t! That’ll stir things up! Never know what bad apples might fall from them trees.”
Bonnie suddenly thought of the woman in the Big Buy and her desperation, a beleaguered mother’s desperation. Certainly, Bonnie could never support a person who drowned her child, but somehow she felt the woman shouldn’t be hunted down and slaughtered. Bonnie moved to the edge of her chair. In the middle of Tilde’s rant, Bonnie stood up. Tilde looked at her curiously but kept on talking. Even Naz appeared a little taken aback when he saw his wife waiting for the crowd to quiet. Bonnie clutched her hands together to stop them from shaking. She had no idea what she’d say, and when she started, her voice barely rose above a whisper.
“I…agrees with Tilde,” she began. “I mean…ain’t no excuse fo’ what has happened…”
“Damn right,” Tilde yelled.
“Whoever did this was wrong…Lord know she was wrong.” Bonnie glanced through a sea of distressed faces. “But…what if this woman…what if she felt like she ain’t had no choice…”
A thoughtful silence fell over the room.
“What’s that s’posed to mean?” Laretha yelled out.
“What the hell you sayin’, Bonnie Wilder?” Tilde asked.
“Let Bonnie finish,” Miss Idella put in.
“I just mean that the woman who did this,” Bonnie went on, “maybe she was in some awful pain…”
“I don’t give a damn ’bout how much pain she in,” Tilde yelled. “I’m the mother of fo’, and I can tell you that it ain’t no easy thing, raisin’ kids. And with all due respect, Bonnie, you ain’t got no children, so you might not understand.”
Bonnie felt her heart sink but she held her head up.
“Bonnie don’t need to be no mama to have pity on some crazy woman,” Thora yelled out.
“Pity,” Tilde said incredulously. “You ain’t got no kids neither, Thora Dean…so maybe you and Bonnie should both—”
“Aw, now, Tilde,” Pine put in.
“Look a h’yere,” Tilde went on, “if you don’t have no babies, then you don’t know! Sometimes you wanna ring they damn necks,” Tilde argued, “but hell if I would harm my children for any reason.”
“But you have Cal to help you,” Bonnie said, “plus family, neighbors and friends. Maybe this woman felt she ain’t had nobody…no choice!” Bonnie took a breath. “All I’m sayin’,” she went on, “is that instead of tryin’ to find the person to lynch her up, maybe we need to get help for her.”
“You tryin’ to defend somebody that done killed a chile, Bonnie Wilder?” Laretha asked.
“You know I ain’t!” Bonnie was beginning to wish she’d never stood up in the first place. Still, her conviction gave her strength. “But maybe folks need a place to bring they baby when things get bad. Some safe place so that they won’t feel like stickin’ ’em in the creek is the answer.”
“Like where?” Tilde asked. “Where a mama s’posed to bring a child she don’t want?”
“I don’t know,” Bonnie stuttered. “Maybe the county home…”
A murmur of dissent rippled through the crowd. She turned to her husband for support but Naz looked like he wished she would stop talking. Like he wished she would sit her ass down.
“You’ve seen them kids from the orphanage,” Tilde yelled. “They come to our Christmas party two years in a row and act like a pack of wild animals.”
“Well, take the chile to the church…to a neighbor,” Bonnie said helplessly. “Hell, bring the babies to me.”
“What?” Tilde said in shock.
“Bonnie,” Naz whispered.
“Better than drownin’ ’em in the creek!”
“Set on down, girl,” Thora said, pulling her arm. “Forgit these people!”
Bonnie was shocked by her own words; she hadn’t meant to go this far.
“You done lost yo’ ever-lovin’ mind, Bonnie Wilder,” Tilde called out.
“No lie,” Laretha put in.
Naz stood beside his wife. The room went silent. Naz Wilder rarely spoke out, but when he did, he was always dead-on.
“Y’all know what Bonnie tryin’ to say,” he started. “And y’all know her to be merciful and kind. So don’t sit there puttin’ evil words in her mouth. I know ever’body excited and upset…and we oughta be. But that ain’t no reason to turn on each other ’cause somebody might see the situation different than you. We all need to do what we can in our own way.” Then he sat back down and tugged his wife’s arm until she did the same.
Thora squeezed Bonnie’s hand and gave her a sympathetic smile.
“Look, folks,” Pine called over the crowd, “ain’t nothin’ changed. Let me know if you see or hear anythin’.”
The crowd began to break up, though many gravitated to the corner where Tilde was holding court. Bonnie and Thora quickly headed toward the door. Some avoided Bonnie’s eyes and a few shook her hand but quickly left.
“Jes’ a dirty, stinkin’ crime to disagree in this town,” Thora said.
“How in the world do you do it?” Bonnie asked her.
“Like I give two cent ’bout what these people think of me?” Thora sucked her teeth. “I ain’t studyin’ ’bout even one.” Thora pushed Bonnie’s shoulder like she was proud. “You the onliest true and decent soul in this whole room.”
“Please.”
“Ever’body else set up in church like they’s doin’ somethin’. Go out and collect clothes and stuff, talk ’bout Jesus this and Jesus that. I like what you said,” Thora went on. “You crazy as hell, but yo’ heart’s in the right place.” Thora gave Bonnie a quick hug. “Come on, Sister Sarah, let’s wait in the car. I need me a cigarette.”
“You go on,” Bonnie said. “I’m gon’ find Naz first.”
The truth was, Bonnie now regretted speaking up. Though no one was outright angry, she sensed there had been a shift in the room against her. It was like she had stepped out of her place. Bonnie had always been respected and well liked in the community, and, unlike Thora, she didn’t have the constitution to withstand the town’s ill will. She gestured to Naz, who was standing with Pine and Horace, then slipped on her sweater and was about to leave the hall.
“Bonnie?”
She turned to see Ruby-Pearl Yancy standing behind her. Ruby-Pearl was a young woman, no older than twenty-eight, who had lost her husband and daughter in a car accident two years before. Ruby-Pearl was severely hurt herself and her once pretty face still showed scars of the accident. She now had a slow eye and her right cheek drooped. Ruby-Pearl wore a kerchief, obstensibly to keep the sun away, but Bonnie knew that the scarf was more to cover the disfigurement. Even worse than the scars was the guilt that the woman carried with her. Ruby-Pearl had been driving the car that killed her family.
“Good to see you, honey,” Bonnie said.
Ruby-Pearl’s smile tugged against the taut skin on the side of her face. “Every Sunday,” she started, “every Sunday in church I always mean to stop and say hey. But you know me, Bonnie. I like to get right outta there.”
“If I didn’t have a husband that had to talk ’bout huntin’ and fishin’ all the time, I would leave a lot sooner myself.” Bonnie smiled.
Ruby-Pearl tilted her face down when she spoke. “I heard what you said in there. And you weren’t jes’ talkin’ to the wind.”
“Thank you, dear,” Bonnie whispered.
“Such sins,” Ruby-Pearl said, shaking her head. “Folks tho’ing away precious babies, and here me and you would do jes’ ’bout anything to have one.”
Bonnie was a little taken aback by Ruby-Pearl’s candor.
“It ain’t no secret,” Ruby-Pearl said gently. “My good friend Letty, she live up in Hencil—she trying to have one too. Sometimes it jes’ don’t happen that way.”
Bonnie nodded.
Ruby-Pearl went on, “I want you to know that I heard every word you said. And I agree.” She moved closer. “But you know as good as me that the squeakiest wheel gits all the grease.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Bonnie laughed. She took Ruby-Pearl’s hand. Bonnie realized that it was so easy to miss the woman in crowds like this, for Ruby-Pearl tended to fade into the furniture. “Why don’t you come a visitin’ sometime,” Bonnie said. “We’ll have us some lemonade.”
“I’ll do that.”
Bonnie knew she wouldn’t. The most Ruby-Pearl Yancy did was go to work at the tackle shop, go to church and then go home. It had to be hard to accept, Bonnie thought: to be a young, pretty wife and mama one day, then alone and disfigured the next. Bonnie walked her outside and watched Ruby-Pearl get into her car. She had to wonder how the woman had the courage to drive after all that had happened.
Bonnie peeked in the hall again. Naz and Horace were still standing with Pine and now the lodge brothers. They had clearly moved on to another topic, because the men were examining Lo Baker’s new hunting rifle. Tilde Monroe was still in the middle of an animated group. Bonnie took a long breath. As much noise as there was today, and as silly as her remarks were, she knew that, like most everything else in the Three Sisters, people would be in an uproar for a few days and then life would go on.
PART II
FOUR
Canaan Creek, 1985
Bonnie opened her door to a man dressed to the nines. She wasn’t used to seeing a gentleman looking so good and smelling so sweet on an early Friday evening…or any evening. Bonnie had to look twice at the gray suit and gold-striped tie, shiny black shoes that surely pinched his toes and the cuffed pants that sat a bit too high above his ankles. In the absence of his mail sack, the only thing that looked familiar about Tally Benford was the beer belly protruding way beyond his swank leather belt.
“My, my,” Bonnie said.
Tally looked bashfully at his own feet.
“You ain’t had to dress up fo’ no mint jelly, Tally Benford,” she teased.
“Alright now,” he mumbled.
She grinned. “You look as good as a fi’ dollar piece. Comin’ from Friday service?”
“No, ma’am,” he replied, then quickly added, “Not that there’s anythin’ wrong with the church…I mean, the late service and all…”
Bonnie had never seen Tally this ill at ease. He glanced over her shoulder.
“Thora in?” he asked.
Tally looked even more uncomfortable when a tiny smile swept across Bonnie’s face.
“I…come to see if…maybe I can set with her this evenin’.”
“So you finally got the nerve?”
He shrugged. “Figure I ain’t gittin’ no younger,” he said. Then he whispered, “And neither is Thora.”
“You are sho’ly right ’bout that,” Bonnie whispered back. “But I’m afraid she ain’t here. She went to town to see a movie.”
“I knew she ain’t seen every film.” Tally slid his hands in his pockets. “Didn’t know Thora was keeping company.”
“She ain’t,” Bonnie assured him. “Thora sit in the cinema house all by herself.”
Tally looked relieved.
“Why don’t you come on in,” Bonnie said. “She be back soon enough.” He wiped his shoes on the welcome mat. Tally had been in this house practically every morning for the past five years, but it seemed that his formal clothes and the reason for his visit gave him manners that Bonnie had never seen before.
“She been gone all afternoon,” Bonnie said as she led him into the living room, where he took a seat on the sofa. He looked like a stranger without his postal uniform. “Can I get you some sweet tea?”
“That be fine, thank you, ma’am.”
Bonnie was about to walk into the kitchen when she noticed that Tally had rested his hat on the couch beside him. “You know better than that, Tally Benford,” she scolded.
“’Scuse me,” he said, snatching up his hat.
“My house is po’ enough,” she said, taking it from him and placing it on a coat stand. Bonnie then went into the kitchen. She suddenly wondered how Thora would react to Tally Benford coming to call. Probably not well at all. But Bonnie had to admire the man for even trying.
“What she go to see?” Tally called out.
“That new show started today,” she hollered from the kitchen. “That there…movie where all them old folks is turning young.”
“Cocoon?”
“That’s the one.” Ice clinked as Bonnie filled two glasses to the rim. “Sometimes I go along,” she said, returning to the living room, “but today I wasn’t in the mood.”
“I know how that be.” He took a swig of tea, then reached for a cork coaster from the stack on Bonnie’s coffee table. “That gal ever call you?” he asked. “You know, the one from the Christmas letter?”
“Not so far.”
“Letter come…what, three weeks ago,” he said. “Sound like she was chompin’ at the bit.”
“Jes’ as well. Ain’t got much to tell the woman.” Bonnie h
oped that Thora would return soon. If she didn’t, Bonnie wondered if Tally planned on waiting the whole time. Good manners prevented her from inquiring.
“I been meanin’ to ask you,” Tally said. “Thora…” he started. “Why she so…?”
“Direct,” Bonnie cut in. “Thora Dean always been that way. Tell you ’bout yo’self in no uncertain terms. Tell you ’bout yo’ mama too if you push her.” Bonnie chuckled. “I’ve known her since we was gals and I’ve always ’preciated her ways. I guess her manner got even mo’ salty after she lost her husband.”
“I’ve sang that song myself.”
“Horace Dean died from a stroke ’bout fifteen years ago,” Bonnie went on. “That man treated Thora like a queen…and if he didn’t, she’d be the first to go upside his head.”
“I know that’s right,” Tally laughed. “Kinda like my wife, Grace. She passed befo’ I even moved to the Three Sisters. Had that cancer, you know—cancer in her woman parts. And I ’clare, she was jes’ as obstinate as Thora…and I mean she was that way befo’ the cancer even come along. But, Lord, she was a fascinatin’ woman.” He shook his head proudly. “Had that same fire as Thora.”
“You call it fire?” Bonnie said.
“That’s what it is. And at our age, to find someone that make you feel alive, well…”
For the first time since he walked through the door, Bonnie took his visit seriously. Thora was her oldest and dearest friend, and Bonnie had assumed that she was the only person who could see warmth in the woman. Clearly, she’d been wrong. Tally Benford wasn’t the best-looking man and he didn’t have much. But he had driven his old heap of a Bonneville all the way from Manstone to visit a woman who would sooner spit on him than receive him with kindness. He was here to visit with Thora because he liked her heart.
The phone rang, puncturing this brief moment of intimacy. When Bonnie answered, she could hardly make out Thora’s panicked words.
“Thora?!” Bonnie said into the receiver. “Wait…jes’ calm down, honey.” Bonnie faced Tally as she spoke. “Say the tire blew?”
Tally stood right up. He took on that look of purpose that Bonnie saw every morning. “Tally is here,” Bonnie said. “Oh, I’ll explain it to you later,” she said, “but I’ll have him come and carry you home. No, no…jes’ set right there in the diner and he’ll be along.” Bonnie hung up the phone. “She a little nervous, you know.”