A Death On The Wolf (6 page)

Miss Rosemary was getting out of the car. Dick had heard the scream and left the brake job he was doing over in the bay to investigate. Before he could even get out to the pumps, Miss Rosemary was pointing at me. “Richard Tillman,” she said to Dick as he walked up, “do you see what he has done?” Her bony finger was wagging up and down in my direction.

Dick pulled a red shop rag from his back pocket and started wiping his hands. He looked at Miss Rosemary, then me. I just shrugged. I didn’t know what she was talking about. “What’s he done?” Dick asked.

Miss Rosemary got an exasperated look on her face, like she was dealing with two nincompoops. She pointed to the gas pump, the Regular gas pump, the one from which I was filling her tank. I closed my eyes and shook my head because I knew what she was about to say. “He has put Regular gasoline in my car!” she exclaimed. “Regular! He knows I always get Hi-Test. This was the Judge’s car and he said it must always have Hi-Test. He said it knocks on Regular.”

Dick looked at me and I couldn’t tell if he was mad or trying to keep from laughing. If it was the latter, I didn’t think it was funny. If it was the former, which I was certain it was, I was scared I was about to get fired. “I’m sorry about that, Miss Rosemary,” Dick said. “It was an honest mistake. It won’t hurt the Judge’s car, I promise.”

Miss Rosemary turned a hard gaze on Dick, moving her head like a pigeon in full strut as she tried to get him focused in her tri-focals. “I want you to drain every bit of that inferior gasoline out of my tank and refill it with Hi-Test.”

Now I was sure I was getting fired. Dick stepped over to the pump and looked at the numbers on the meter. I had put exactly seven tenths of a gallon in her tank. “Miss Rosemary,” Dick said, “it didn’t even take a whole gallon. I think your tank holds almost twenty-five gallons. I promise you with that little bit of Regular in there you won’t notice a thing. And it won’t hurt the engine. If it does, I’ll buy you a new one.”

I could see Miss Rosemary was thinking it over. To seal the deal, and get her on her way, Dick added, “I think you’re about due for an oil change, so when you come by next week for your fill-up I’ll do that for you, no charge.”

Miss Rosemary’s resolve was softening. “Well, if you say it won’t harm anything, I suppose it will be all right…” she turned her octogenarian gaze on me and added “…this time.”

“
I’m really sorry, Miss Rosemary,” I said. “It won’t ever happen again.”

“
See that it doesn’t, young man.” She turned to get back in the car.

I quickly removed the nozzle and replaced her gas cap. As I was sticking the nozzle back in its holder on the pump, Miss Rosemary started up the car and pulled away. Dick looked at the meter on the pump and said, “You owe me thirty-seven cents.” He pointed at me with the hand still holding the red shop rag and added, “That oil change is coming out of your goddamn pay next week.” He turned and headed back to the bay and the brake job. “Get your head out of the clouds, boy,” he said over his shoulder, “or you’re gonna wind up owing me money come payday.”

When I got home at 6:30, I was surprised to see Daddy’s pickup sitting in the backyard. Evidently, this was one of those rare days for him when he actually got off work on time. As I motored the Honda into the empty side of the carport beside the Batmobile, Bear came running up from wherever he’d been napping. “Hey, boy,” I said and petted him on the head as I climbed off the bike. “Have you had your supper?” I asked. I went over in front of the car and opened the big trash can where we kept the dog food and scooped some out and put it in Bear’s bowl, which was on the ground beside it. His water bowl was full. Bear immediately began to devour the crunchy nuggets and I headed for the house and left him to it.

“
I fed Bear,” I said as I walked into the kitchen. Aunt Charity was at the stove, turning something in the iron skillet.

“
I already fed him half an hour ago,” she said without looking up.

I laughed. “Well, he’s eating dessert, then. What are we having?” I walked over for a peek at what Aunt Charity was tending to on the stove.

“
Pork chops, collards, and creamed potatoes,” Aunt Charity said. “Go wash up, it’s ready.”

“
Where’s Daddy and Sash?”

“
In the living room watching TV. Let them know that dinner is ready, please.”

I went to the living room to find Daddy sitting in his recliner. My sister was in his lap and they were both asleep. The TV was not on and a copy of
The Little Engine That Could
was in my father’s right hand. Under the expert tutelage of Aunt Charity, my sister could already read at the second grade level and she had long outgrown this book. But she loved it, and she loved for our father to read it to her. “Daddy?” I said, and reached down and touched his shoulder.

He opened his eyes and blinked and looked up at me. “Hey, sport. Guess I fell asleep.” He looked down at Sachet in his lap. “I guess she did, too,” he added.

“
Aunt Charity says dinner is ready,” I said.

“
Okay.” He nudged Sachet. “Come on, baby girl, it’s time to eat.”

I heard my sister’s loud yawn as I headed to the bathroom to wash my hands.

When we all sat down to dinner, I noticed there were only four places set at the table. “Where is Mary Alice?” I asked.

Aunt Charity looked at my sister. “Sachet, would you say grace, please?”

We all bowed our heads as Sachet began to pray. “God is great, God is good. Let us thank Him…”

But I wasn’t listening. I was wondering why Mary Alice wasn’t here with us. As soon as I heard the “Amen,” I repeated my question: “Where is Mary Alice?”

“
I’ve already taken her dinner over to her,” Aunt Charity said.

Daddy was handing me the platter with the pork chops on it. “You mean she’s eating over at your house?” I asked. I took a pork chop and put it on my plate, then passed the platter past Sachet to Aunt Charity.

“
I want one,” my sister said, eyeing the platter as it went by her.

Aunt Charity looked at me as she took one of the smaller chops and put it on Sachet’s plate. “Yes, Nelson, she is eating at my house. Why?”

I stood up and glowered down at my aunt. “She’s over there by herself? Alone? She’s eating alone?”

“
Sit down, son,” Daddy said sternly.

Aunt Charity was staring up at me with a look of bemusement. “Mary Alice is not an invalid, Nelson. She’s fine. I’m going over and check on her shortly.”

I was still standing, trying to keep my dismay at this breach of hospitality from rising to the level of genuine anger. Something was very wrong here. When words finally failed me, action set in. I reached for the bowl of mashed potatoes and doled out a double helping into my plate. I did the same with the collard greens. I grabbed a piece of cornbread, scooped up my napkin and flatware, picked up my plate, and headed for the door.

“
Where are you going?” Daddy asked.

I stopped just as I went through the open door onto the back porch. I turned around to see all three of them staring at me from the table. “I’m going over there and eat with Mary Alice,” I said, and fixed my eyes on Aunt Charity. “I can’t believe you would make her eat by herself.”

As I walked over to my aunt’s house, all sorts of things were going through my mind, not the least of which was how bad I would feel if I were in a strange place and left to have my evening meal by myself. But Mary Alice was blind, which, in my juvenile ignorance, made it doubly worse. What in the world could Aunt Charity be thinking? If she was going to treat the poor girl this way, she should have left her over at the Masonic Home in Poplarville. I was sure she didn’t have to eat alone there.

The garage door was open, so I went in through the door from there that opened into Aunt Charity’s kitchen. I expected to see Mary Alice sitting at the breakfast table in the kitchen, the last place I’d seen her earlier when I walked her into the house, but she wasn’t. It was nice and cool inside, thanks to the central air conditioning. I stepped into the kitchen and closed the door behind me. “Mary Alice?” I called out.

“
Yes?” she answered, her voice coming from the dining room.

I walked down the hall off from the kitchen and entered the dining room. The chandelier was ablaze over Aunt Charity’s formal dining table, which would seat ten, and Mary Alice was sitting down at the far end. The room was quiet and still. I could faintly hear the fan from the central air conditioning and the tick of the grandfather clock in the hall.

Mary Alice was still wearing the pink sundress from earlier in the day. Again, I was dumbstruck by her quiet and simple beauty as I watched her slowly cut a sliver of meat from the pork chop on her plate then raise the fork to her mouth. Yes, she was alone. But it was obvious she was fine, fully capable of caring for herself in something so routine as eating a meal. She was, as Aunt Charity had said, no invalid.

“
Hello, Nelson,” she said as she felt for the plate in front of her so she could rest the fork there.

“
How did you know it was me?” I asked.

She smiled, but her eyes did not come to me, to the sound of my voice. She continued to stare straight ahead. “I recognized your voice,” she said.

“
Oh. I came over to eat with you, if that’s okay,” I said.

“
That would be nice,” she said.

I went over to the table and sat down at the first place to her right, setting my plate and utensils in front of me. I watched Mary Alice’s hand move across the highly polished cherry wood until it just touched her glass of iced tea resting on a coaster. She picked up the glass, slowly moved it to her lips, and took a sip. She went to place it back on the coaster and her memory of distance was almost perfect, but I could see she was about to set the glass askew on the coaster, which would cause it to spill over. I started to reach for it, but then she hesitated and made the necessary correction using her little finger as the guide. My help was totally unneeded.

“
You’re not eating,” Mary Alice said as she picked up her fork and took it directly to the mashed potatoes. She took a bite, and I watched a repeat of the performance with the glass of tea, except this time no final correction was necessary; she set the glass back down squarely on the coaster. I was fascinated, and totally in awe of this delicate creature who seemed so poised and confident. She was a petite girl of fourteen, blind, and she had the manner and grace of a
grande dame
of the Old South.

I finally managed to begin eating my dinner, which was rapidly becoming cold in Aunt Charity’s 68 degree house. “What did you do today?” I asked.

“
I took a nap after you left and then I read most of the afternoon. Miss Charity took me around the house so I could get used to where everything is.”

“
How can you read?” I asked.

“
Do you know what Braille is?”

I felt like an idiot. “Yes, I wasn’t thinking about that.”

Mary Alice smiled. “I brought several of my books with me.”

“
That explains why your suitcase was so heavy,” I said.

Mary Alice laughed, and it was a magical, mythical, laugh; a Siren’s call tugging at my heart. I was determined right then and there that she would never eat alone in this room again. “You know, you don’t have to eat over here by yourself. Our house isn’t as nice as this, and it’s not air conditioned, but I’d like it if you ate with us…with me.”

“
Thank you, Nelson. I don’t mind about the air conditioning, I’m not used to it and I’m freezing right now.”

I looked at her bare shoulders covered just by the thin straps of her sundress, and what I presumed was a bra—though Mary Alice didn’t have much in the way of breasts that I could see. I got up and went into the den where I knew Aunt Charity had a throw folded across the back of the rocker in front of the fireplace. I came back into the dining room, unfolded the throw, and draped it over Mary Alice’s shoulders. She jumped a little. “Is that better?” I asked.

She reached up and put her hand on mine. “Yes, thank you. You are very sweet, Nelson.”

I waited to see how long her touch would linger, but it was a fleeting encounter, and she went back to eating. I sat back at the table. “Are you really just fourteen?” I asked. I knew it was a dumb question, but this girl was unlike any female close to my age I’d ever met. Her accent told me she was from Mississippi; her mannerisms and diction told me she was from another time, another place, where girls were made of finer things.

“
I’ll be fifteen in December,” she said with a smile. “How old are you?”

“
I’ll be sixteen next month. Can I ask you something?” I said, and started carving a piece off my pork chop.

“
You mean something else?”

“
What?”

Mary Alice laughed again, and I could tell she was playing with me. “You’ve already asked me something,” she said. “Now you have to ask me something else.”