A Long Time Gone (10 page)

Adelaide Walker Bodine

INDIAN
MOUND,
MI
SSISSIPPI
JUNE
1923

I
stood in front of the tall, thick stems of my okra plants, clipping off the pods, while Aunt Louise waited behind me with her basket. The heat seemed to have turned on the growing clock, because if I didn't harvest the okra daily they'd just keep growing until they fell over and I'd have to stake them. It was only nine o'clock in the morning, but the sun had already begun to wilt my red dahlias, which I'd placed with a few geraniums in planters by the back porch. Aunt Louise's broad-brimmed hat flopped over her forehead, drooping just like my flowers.

Despite the heat, Aunt Louise and I found being outside preferable to being inside, where Uncle Joe and Willie argued constantly about everything—specifically about investing in land down in Florida. Willie, back from his first year at Ole Miss, said the families of his friends were making fortunes down there in land development because of this new thing called air-conditioning, but Uncle Joe said it was like burning money in the fireplace. He believed that owning land and growing crops—not building big fancy houses on good farming land—were the only real roads to financial security.

I'd ignored Willie's glance in my direction. The fact that I owned
the house and land while my uncle ran the place was like the last piece of cake—everybody noticed it but nobody wanted to talk about it. I knew Uncle Joe got paid by the bank for farming the land—by somebody called a trustee, which I didn't really understand—so it wasn't like he was working for free. And he and his family got to live in the house with me.

But Willie hated farming, hated having to get up at sunrise and live for days without sleep during the planting and harvest times. He hated the dirt and the mules and the itinerant farmers who were happy to live in the shacks without plumbing or electricity at the back of the fields.

The discussion had been going on for more than six months now, ever since Sarah Beth's father had invested in a place called Boca Raton and had doubled his investment already. This morning the argument had begun at breakfast, and Uncle Joe and Willie were still at it an hour later, which meant that it was time for Aunt Louise and me to find something else to do.

I gave her a handful of okra pods, then moved on to the next plant, with my bare hands—something my aunt lamented—enjoying the crisp feel of the plants, the solidness of the vegetables as I held them in my palms. A lot of people, including Aunt Louise, were sensitive to the okra skin, breaking out in rashes, but I wasn't. It always seemed to me that it was the garden's way of telling me it liked me back.

“These are just beautiful, Adelaide. Just beautiful. I don't know how you do it. All of my friends in the garden club say this year the stinkbugs got to their okra plants before they could do anything about it. Ate up the whole plants. You definitely have a gift.” Softly, she added, “Your mama and grandmama had the gift, too. They were both presidents of the Garden Society, you know. When you're a little older, I'll be happy to sponsor you for membership—not that you'll need me, of course.”

I smiled at her to show my appreciation. I loved my aunt. Loved the way she tried her best to be my mother, and never said an unkind word about my mother or how she'd died. But I could tell she thought I was too much like Mama, my emotions worn too close to the surface of my skin, my way of looking at what came next with high expectations, leaving us unprepared for disappointment. I knew this by the way Aunt Louise always talked about the future, as if to reassure us both that I'd still be here.

I leaned forward to pluck a weed out of the soil. “Oh, I don't know. Your good name is bound to open all sorts of doors for me.” Assuming my association with Sarah Beth wouldn't immediately close them despite the fact that her father was the president of the bank and her mother on every committee.

“You're a sweet girl, Adelaide. If it hadn't been for the circumstances that have brought us together, I'd be completely happy.”

I nodded, blinking hard at the ground. I didn't like talking about my mother, and each year it just got harder. This past Christmas was the first one where I didn't accompany the family to her grave to pay our respects. It was set outside the cemetery gates, in unconsecrated ground. Sarah Beth had been the one to explain why, and I kept waiting for Aunt Louise or Uncle Joe to tell me. Maybe they just kept thinking that I hadn't noticed.

I felt closest to her in the garden, remembering being here with her, planting seeds and harvesting the fruits and vegetables we'd grown together. Sometimes I thought she'd been preparing me for her leaving, teaching me about how there was a time to reap and a time to sow, just like it says in the Bible. Every time I dug my fingers into the dirt, I felt like I was asking a question. And each spring her answers appeared in a bountiful harvest.

The sound of a car honking made us both pause. “What on earth . . . ?” Aunt Louise looked to me for an explanation.

I wiped my hands off as I stood. “Mr. Heathman bought Sarah Beth her own automobile for her seventeenth birthday and taught her how to drive. She said she'd swing around here this weekend to show me.”

Aunt Louise pursed her lips. Under her breath, she said, “I don't know what her father was thinking. She's too wild as it is.” She placed the basket of okra on the flagstone walkway and began patting her hair. It was braided and coiled into a neat bun at the back of her head, like she'd always worn it, and how all the old ladies in Indian Mound still did. She'd finally allowed me to bob my hair like Sarah Beth's, but I had to wear it with a barrette instead of marcelling it. Aunt Louise said that all those waves made a girl look cheap, and looking cheap always led to a fast reputation.

The horn honked again, and I began running toward the garden gate before Aunt Louise's voice called me back. “You will wait until she
comes to the front door. It is very ill bred for her to think otherwise.” Ever since Mrs. Heathman had blocked my aunt's membership in the Indian Mound Historical Society since she didn't own any property, my aunt used Sarah Beth's behavior as an example of the Heathmans'—especially Mrs. Heathman's—poor parenting skills.

Picking up the basket, she walked toward the kitchen door, not even bothering to look back to see if I was following. I took the chance to walk past my aunt when she paused to put the okra on the kitchen counter, only to halt abruptly when I entered the foyer.

The front door was open wide and Uncle Joe and Willie were on the front porch moving toward the bright, shiny red automobile in the circular drive. Sarah Beth was behind the wheel, a silk scarf tied around her forehead, and there was a man wearing a boater hat sitting next to her. I froze, recognizing John Richmond.

“Oh, no,” I said, looking at my gardening dress and apron, my dirty hands and perspiration-soaked hat, then back to the front drive, where John was already climbing out of the car and walking over to Sarah Beth's side. She gave him a wide grin and I felt a little sick.

“What's the matter, Adelaide?” My aunt peered past me through the door and her eyebrows shot up. “Who is that young man?”

I wanted to run up the stairs before anybody could see me, but Aunt Louise was blocking the way, and Sarah Beth and John were already halfway up the porch steps. Uncle Joe stood in his shirtsleeves and vest with his hands on his hips—which is what he did when he was disappointed in someone's behavior—staring at the red car while his head moved slowly from side to side.

“Well, ain't that just the bee's knees, Sarah Beth. Is she yours?” Willie barely glanced at my friend as he rushed down the steps to inspect the vehicle more closely.

John hovered right outside the door, not noticing me yet, and I considered for a moment bolting back into the kitchen. I had seen him about half a dozen times since our first meeting—always orchestrated by Sarah Beth. She had developed a terrible habit of breaking her strands of pearls or needing them to be shortened or lengthened. And she made a habit of bringing me with her when she had to visit the jewelry shop.

He was always the perfect gentleman while also being an absolute
flirt. Still, he never asked me out for a milk shake or a picture show, and I wondered if it was because I was so young. On one visit Sarah Beth had put lipstick on me and marcelled my hair to make me look more sophisticated, and loaned me a pair of her silk stockings, since I didn't own any. I felt like a Christmas goose, all trussed up and glazed, and after John's eyes had widened in surprise when he saw me, I'd left the store, waiting down the block until I saw Sarah Beth leave. I hadn't seen him since.

Sarah Beth saw me and squealed, rushing toward me with her arms outstretched as if it had been more than a day since we'd last seen each other. “Adelaide! I told Daddy that I just
had
to take the car out and get some wind blowing on my face to cool off. It's a
thousand
degrees outside. And then I remembered that John had the day off, and that it would be just ducky for the four of us to go for a swim.”

I made myself turn my head and met John's eyes. They were wrinkled at the corners in a sort of secret smile meant just for me, as if he found Sarah Beth as brash as my aunt Louise did. I felt my aunt's disapproving stare and hurried to make the introductions.

John shook hands with my uncle and nodded respectfully at my aunt, his beautiful smile thawing her a little. “I apologize for this intrusion into your Saturday afternoon, but Sarah Beth barely gave me time to put on my bathing costume under my clothes before she was flying off again.”

I noticed for the first time that he held one hand behind his back, and he quickly whipped out a beautiful bouquet of white lilies. I looked away so as not to laugh. I recognized the lilies from the vase in the Heathmans' foyer. They were Mrs. Heathman's favorite flower, and fresh lilies were in vases throughout her house regardless of the season.

I watched my aunt soften like butter left too long on the table. “Oh, Mr. Richmond. You are too kind. These are just beautiful. Let me go find a vase for these. . . .” Her gaze settled on my hair and she stopped speaking.

“Don't move, Adelaide. Keep perfectly still.”

I did as she asked, knowing what she must be seeing. I'd been stung by a yellow jacket twice: once when I was two and I stepped on one—and my heel swelled up like the nose of a clown—and the second time when I was eleven and I nearly stopped breathing. The doctor told me
that I should wear gloves and long sleeves when gardening, because any more stings could be more serious. Despite Aunt Louise's pleadings, I never did, simply telling her that I'd be careful and stay away from any stinging insect. I simply refused to believe that something as small as a bee should be so much bother.

I closed my eyes as everybody stopped talking. A rush of air on my forehead made me pop them open again to find John standing directly in front of me, squeezing his fist tightly while rubbing his fingertips against his palm. “It was just a little bee,” he said, excusing himself for a moment to go dust off his hands on the front porch. He returned wiping his hands on a linen handkerchief.

Sarah Beth waved her hands in the air. “Adelaide simply gets red all over and swells up like a whale when she gets stung; isn't that right?” She turned to me for a moment, but didn't pause long enough for me to answer. “Hurry up, Adelaide. I'm just dying of heat prostration. You've got to come with us for a swim and a ride in my new car. Isn't it just divine? And your parents have to say yes because it's my birthday.”

I stepped forward to see the car better, horribly aware of my shabby dress and dirty hands and John watching me. “I don't know. I've got more work to do in the garden, and I'm just filthy. . . .”

“Don't be such a silly goose. You can wash off in the pond. I was thinking of that swimming hole right by the old Ellis plantation. They say there aren't any snakes there because the ghosts keep them away.”

I heard Uncle Joe behind me snort through his nose while I stared suspiciously at Sarah Beth. She knew I had an enormous fear of snakes, and it would take a bald-faced lie to get me into water so dark I couldn't see the bottom.

“I'm just teasing.” Sarah Beth batted her eyelashes. “We're going to Max Greeley's house and swimming in his new pool. It's just the cat's meow—it's so clear you can see all the way to the bottom.” She paused. “Unless you'd rather swim in the river,” she said innocently.

I hated the river, hated the strong current that pulled you along whether or not you wanted to go. It reminded me a lot of my friendship with Sarah Beth.

Aunt Louise's lips were so tightly pressed together that they almost disappeared into her face. Her disapproval of Sarah Beth had only grown stronger in the past year. True to their word, the Heathmans
had sent Sarah Beth to boarding school up in North Carolina. But I knew, even if they didn't, that you couldn't make Sarah Beth do anything she didn't want to do and that she'd be back for good before Christmas. And she was. She'd been expelled for smoking and being out after curfew with a boy—although she swore the boy didn't mean anything and that she just wanted to make Willie jealous. But she'd come back even wilder than when she'd left, like a bird who'd been let out of its cage and had no intention of returning.

As if sensing my aunt's mood, Sarah Beth said, “Don't worry, Mrs. Bodine. I've brought Bertha's girl, Mathilda, to chaperone.”

I stepped forward, seeing now the entire roadster, the chrome and red paint so bright it was like I'd died and gone to heaven. A rumble seat at the rear of the car was open, and inside it Mathilda sat unprotected from the elements, clutching an enormous picnic basket on her lap. She wore a red kerchief, its edges dark with sweat, and her eyes were closed as if in prayer or misery.