The Truth According to Us (57 page)

People drove in from miles away for the sesquicentennial of Macedonia; I'm not sure why. It was a beautiful day, and I suppose that had something to do with it. The sky was bright blue, and for all the air was warm, you could feel fall on the other side of it. I liked fall. I guess everyone else did, too, because the crowd was tremendous. By ten-thirty in the morning, all the ladies were having conniption fits about not enough food, even though they were charging a quarter a plate. There were hundreds of people in Flick Park, surging around, eating on benches and rocks and the fenders of their cars. I saw Sonny Deal eating in a tree. He waved and pretended to throw a cookie at me, but he didn't really. It was nice to know there were no hard feelings.

“Listen”—Jottie sounded tense—“if we get separated, and I don't see how we won't, I'll just see you at home, all right? Do you hear me?” She peered into my face, and I nodded.

“I hear you,” said Bird, but she was already straining to get away. I think she saw Berdetta Ritts in the distance. “Can I have some money?”

Jottie unexpectedly pressed a quarter into each of our hands. “That's supposed to be for lunch,” she said. “But do as you will.” Bird lunged off in pursuit of Berdetta. “You want to stick with me, Willa?” Jottie shouted as the Rotary band began to play. I nodded and held tight to
her hand. Carleton Lewis had got his drum out of hock, and the noise was enough to wake the dead.

Jottie and I wandered over to watch the ladies at the long tables. Mrs. Fox and Mrs. Dews and the others looked like windmills, their arms pumping up and down to slap potato salad and fried chicken and pie on hundreds of plates. “Think I'll eat when I get home,” Jottie said in my ear. I agreed. That pie looked a little careworn. Some of the country people had brought their own box lunches—probably they didn't have a quarter to spend on food—and they looked content, munching on bread and apples with babies laid over laps and men squatting on the ground.

“Lord, what a crush!” said Mrs. Tapscott, grabbing hold of Jottie's arm. “I'm about ready to faint dead away. Listen, Jottie, will you tell that girl I'm just wild about her book? I never would've thought an outsider could do it, but she did a real nice job. Real nice.”

“I'll tell her, Inez,” said Jottie. “She'll be pleased.”

“I'm going to send it to my cousin Cincy down in Romney.” Mrs. Tapscott giggled. “He never would believe Jackson stayed in Mother's house. That book will just shut him right up.”

Jottie laughed, and Mrs. Tapscott blew away with the crowd. “Bye, honey!” she called to me as she went.

Jottie looked down at me sideways. “Guess we should have charged to get in that book, huh?” I nodded. “Let's see if we can get us some ice cream,” she suggested. “Armine Statler said he was going to set up a booth somewhere.” She was under the impression that I didn't know she was trying to feed me up. “That is the Lord's own racket,” she muttered, heading away from the Rotary band.

“Jottie.” It was Mr. McKubin. He put his hand on her arm. “How's this suit?”

He stood back a little ways so she could see.

“You're a vision,” said Jottie. She poked my shoulder. “Isn't he?” I nodded, even though he didn't look any different than usual. “They won't hear a word you say,” she added. “They'll be so struck by your suit.”

Mr. McKubin had to make a speech and he didn't want to. He'd
practiced saying it on our porch the night before, and he'd made a lot of faces while he was doing it. The speech was called “Labor and Honor,” and it was about how working made you better, and the more you worked, the better you got. The strike was over. Mr. McKubin had decided that the workers could get up a union if they wanted to, and he threw them a big party to celebrate the fact. All the strikers came and ate cake, and everyone was happy until the TWOC sent in a man who said they should be getting more money. Mr. McKubin said there wasn't any more money to get. He also said the whole damn thing was Emmett's fault when you got right down to it and he couldn't believe he was marrying into a hotbed of Communism. Then Emmett said he didn't know which was better for the sock business, dying on your feet or living on your knees, and everyone laughed.

But Mr. McKubin wasn't laughing now. He said, “I'd better go on up there.” He looked real glum. “Wish me luck.”

Jottie patted him on the arm. “You don't need luck, Sol. You'll do better than you think.”

That made him happy, I could tell. He was smiling as he turned to go.

“Come on, honey, let's find Armine,” said Jottie. We started toward Prince Street, but a lady in a green hat blocked our way.

“Jottie,” she said, kind of haughty.

“Anna May,” said Jottie.

“I haven't seen Felix in a while.” She didn't look at Jottie's face when she said it. She looked at the top of her head.

“No. He's on an—an extended business trip,” said Jottie. She closed her mouth tight, looking a little haughty herself.

“Ah,” said the lady. “Well.” She turned and walked away without another word.

“Honest to God,” muttered Jottie.

I looked up at her and raised my eyebrows.

“Puh!” she said indignantly. “If you can't be bothered to talk, you can't expect to find everything out!”

I decided I didn't care.

The crowd was getting thicker. Jottie ran into Harriet, and then Mrs. Sue came along, and pretty soon the knot of ladies was big enough to stop traffic. They didn't notice, though. They were busy talking. I could see Geraldine far away, across Flick Park, stomping toward some blackberry canes that grew by the side of the creek. She looked important and busy, with her brothers and sisters scuttling after her. It seemed like a long time ago that we had played together.

I yawned. Jottie and her friends were talking about the price of hats. Jun Lloyd loped by. I wondered if he'd ever buried Neddie that day.

The knot of ladies unfurled itself into a straggling line of attention. Mayor Silver was about to give his sesquicentennial speech, and there were lots of preliminary squawks and blasts as Carl Inskeep adjusted the microphone on the stand. Someone's magnified laugh washed over the park, followed by a wave of laughter from the crowd. Mayor Silver climbed the stairs to the bandstand and smiled—he looked a little nervous. “Thank you,” he said, which reminded everyone that they should clap, so they did. “Thank you, thank you,” he cried.

I jerked on Jottie's sleeve. “I'm going home,” I said.

She was so pleased to hear me say something that she nodded enthusiastically, as if she couldn't wait to see me leave. “All right, honey. I'll be along in a while. I think I saw Emmett with Layla, so there's no one at the house. You don't mind, do you?”

I shook my head and left. I didn't want to hear Mr. Silver say thank you again. I didn't want to hear him say anything.

That microphone had a terrible echo, but once I turned up Council Street, all the sounds fell away. Everyone was at Flick Park, and the rest of Macedonia was deserted, which suited me fine. I liked it peaceful.

I turned from Council to Kanawha Street.

“My God, you walk fast,” someone said behind me. “Nobody's going to believe you're sick when you walk that fast.”

My heart almost choked me and I stopped dead. I didn't dare look around.

“Unless you have Saint Vitus Dance.”

“What's that?” I asked very quietly.

“Saint Vitus Dance? It's a disease. A dread disease that causes excessive movement of the limbs. I think it's going to be a tough sell, though. You don't look sick.”

I spun around then, and there he was, smiling at me.

“You look fine.” He opened his arms and I crashed into them. “Hey,” he said, rocking me back and forth. “Hey, Willa.”

“I missed you,” I choked out. “Something awful.”

Father nodded, holding tight to me. “I missed you, too, honey. Especially when I heard you were sick.”

“I'm just tired,” I said, but my face was pressed up against his shirt, so he couldn't understand me.

He held me a little away. “What?”

“I'm—I was just tired. That's all.”

He was looking all over my face. “Tired? Jottie let you stay home from school for that?”

I nodded. He looked pretty tired himself. His eyes were bloodshot.

He shook his head disapprovingly. “I had to fall down and practically knock my brains out before they'd let me stay home from school. Had to be almost dead. Jottie's a patsy.”

“Will you come home?” I begged. “Please?”

“You know I can't,” he said. “I seem to recall you were present at the hanging.” He tried to smile, but it didn't turn out.

“Please.” I couldn't stop begging him. “Please, just for a little. No one'll know. They're all down at Flick Park, all of them. And I won't tell.”

One eyebrow shot up, and I remembered that he didn't have any reason to trust me.

“I'm sorry!” I burst out, hiding my face in his shirt again for shame. “I'm sorry for telling—I couldn't stand for Jottie to cry like that.”

“I know,” he said, stroking my hair. “Don't fuss. It's better she knows.”

“I didn't mean to tell. If I'd had another minute, I would have thought of something else,” I mourned. “I should have figured out a way.”

He put his hand under my chin and lifted my face to look at his eyes. “I never figured out a way, and I worked on it a lot longer than you.” He patted my cheek. “You did fine.”

It was forgiveness, but it sounded like good-bye, too. I clapped my hand over my mouth to keep from sobbing.

His shoulders sagged a little. “Don't, sweetheart. Don't take it so hard.”

A wail escaped from under my hand. He was going to leave again.

“Oh God,” he breathed. “Tell you what.” He took my hand away from my mouth and wrapped it in his. “Let's go sit on the roof. Just for a little bit. Just this last time.”

I clung tight to his hand. “Really?” I hiccuped. “I've never been on the roof.”

He was appalled. “What? You've never been on the roof?”

“Jottie said she'd skin us alive.”

He made a disgusted sound. “This is what comes of letting other people raise your children.”

“Jottie's not other people.”

“Well, obviously she is. Don't sit on the roof! She spent half her childhood on that roof. Roof's the best part of the house.” We walked together along Academy Street, swinging our hands between us, and I tried not to think that it would end. When we got to the house, he moved right past the front path to the cellar door and pulled it open. “Come on,” he called to me.

“Why don't you go in the front door?” I asked, even though I was already following him.

“You said there was no one home, but you don't really know,” he explained. “You can't be too careful.”

Inside the cellar, he fished himself an apple from the bin and then skimmed up the stairs and through the kitchen so fast I was hard put to catch up with him. “Wait,” I panted. “Wait for me.”

“I'm trying to stay on the right side of the law,” he said over his shoulder. “For once. Hurry up.”

“I'm hurrying,” I gasped. I caught up with him at the door to his
room. “It's all right in there,” I said, breathing hard. “Nothing's changed.”

He nodded and moved across the room to the window, opening it wide. “Out you go,” he said, gesturing for me to go first.

“After you,” I said. I was a little nervous. Dex Lloyd had broken his arm, and that was only falling out of a tree.

Father laughed softly, the way I loved. “What nice manners you've got, honey.” He swung his legs over the sill and then helped me out, taking my hand so I wouldn't be scared. There was an almost-flat part outside his window—it was the roof of the porch, really—and we sat down there, facing east so we could look along Academy Street. Some of the trees had yellow leaves already. He took off his coat and sighed in a contented way. “Ah, thank God. Home,” he said, stretching out and wadding his coat up under his head for a pillow. Then he glanced over at me. “You don't have a coat.”