A Long Time Gone (37 page)

As if he hadn't heard John, Angelo used his pinkie to point at something in the jewelry case. “That's a lovely pair of emerald earrings. May I see them, please?”

With tightened lips, John retrieved the keys from behind the counter, then opened up the case. Angelo reached in and held up the earrings, his head moving from side to side as if he were picturing them on his bride-to-be. His eyes moved to me.

“Would you mind, Adelaide? Perhaps if I saw a beautiful woman wearing them, it would give me a better idea of what they would look like.”

I didn't dare look at John. Instead I placed Bootsie, who'd fallen asleep, back in her carriage and reached for the earrings. Using one of the mirrors that sat atop each case, I clipped on the earrings, then shook my head to allow the sunlight to sparkle through them.

I faced the men. “What do you think?” I asked, smiling brightly to
lighten the mood. John's lips tightened even more, but Angelo nodded appreciatively.

“Lovely,” he said. “Just lovely. A beautiful woman should have beautiful things to complement her loveliness. And those emeralds match your eyes as if they were made for you. Don't you think, John?”

John didn't look at him as he replied, “My wife is beautiful enough.”

Angelo seemed to notice for the first time the necklace I wore. “That's an interesting piece,” he said with a raised eyebrow.

“Thank you,” I said, lifting the ring to show him. “Bootsie has the other half.” When I saw his furrowed brow, I said, “When they're put together it reads, ‘I love you forever.' John designed it for us.”

“Your husband is a very talented young man. He'll go far in life.” Angelo's face grew serious. “He just needs to learn a little more patience.”

John's eyes snapped with anger and his fists clenched. I'd never seen him like this, and it frightened me. “Take those off,” he said, indicating the earrings. “I think we're done here.”

I began taking off the earrings while Angelo pulled his wallet from his pocket, fanning out a large amount of money. “I'll take them,” he said, counting out bills before laying them on the counter. “Do you have a box?”

Without speaking, John took the earrings from me, then went into the back for a Peacock's box, sliding it in Angelo's direction without even counting the cash. The Italian pocketed the earrings, smiling again.

“I'm here as your friend, John. I hope you know that. Nobody sent me. I just thought it important that somebody spoke with you about having patience. I've said it before—I'm not the man in charge. I'm like you—just a workingman trying to make everybody happy. I cannot protect you if you do something that upsets the apple cart. If you tip it, I can't promise you that I'll be there to pick up all the apples.”

He turned and headed for the door, stopping to admire the sleeping Bootsie in her carriage before facing me. “You are an intelligent woman, Adelaide. I hope you will speak with your husband to make him understand the wisdom of my words.” He took my hands in his and kissed the tops of each.

He reached for his hat that he'd left on one of the cases and slipped
it on his head. His hand was already on the doorknob when he spoke again. Turning slightly in my direction, he said, “You might also tell your cousin William that he and his Klansmen would be better off focusing on philanthropic causes rather than busting up my stills. Besides being hypocritical on his part, it's upsetting to those businessmen who rely on a steady supply from our associates in this neck of the woods. For your sake, I'd hate to see him hurt.”

He tipped his hat to me, then opened the door and left, the cheery jingling of the bell jarring in the heavy silence.

I stared at the closed door for a long moment, listening to my daughter breathe and thinking on Angelo's parting words. I'd long been suspicious of Willie's activities, of his odd hours and secretive behaviors. How he kept his bedroom door locked now, with strict instructions that nobody, especially Mathilda, have entry. But ever since my mother's death, I'd been afraid of facing the truth—either real or imagined—and had chosen to look the other way so I wouldn't be forced to confront something unpleasant.

“Is what he said true?” I finally asked. “About Willie being involved with the Klan?”

John walked over to me and put his hands on my shoulders. “He's more than involved, Adelaide. He's a kleagle, responsible for recruiting members in this area. He's been pressuring me to get involved, too, but I want nothing to do with it. That's why he's started messing with my local moonshiners, because I've refused.” He pressed his forehead against mine and I heard his exhausted exhale. “I'll talk to him. Again. If that doesn't work, maybe we need to speak with your uncle Joe.”

He drew me into his arms. “I'm sorry you were here and had to listen to all that.”

I pulled back, meeting his eyes. “Angelo is our friend, John. He wants you to wait a little longer. If that's what it takes to keep us safe, I'm willing to wait.”

“Maybe we should move to Missouri, where I still have family. Leave all of this behind us and start anew. We can do it. Together.”

I touched his face, looked into his weary eyes. “I'll go anywhere with you, John. And if you want to move to Missouri, I'll go without a glance back.” I swallowed, trying to find the right words. “But this is Bootsie's home, too. She has family here who love her. The house and
farm will be hers one day, the same house and farm that's been lived in by her family for generations. If she wants to leave when she's older, I'd let her, because then it will be her choice. But I think it would be the wrong thing to take her away now.”

Emotions warred in his eyes. I gently reached up and smoothed his eyelids with my thumbs. “If you still want to leave, we'll leave. But I'm willing to wait it out, too. It can't be that long, can it? And like Angelo said, then we'll be free to have the lives we want. With Bootsie, and any other children God will give us.”

His eyes opened, making my breath stop with the bleakness I saw there. But then he leaned forward and kissed me, the look gone so quickly that I wondered if I'd imagined seeing it at all.

“You're right, my sweet Adelaide. How could I think of taking you and Bootsie from the only place where your roots are so deep. Forgive me. Sometimes I just need to be reminded about how you make me stronger, and how we can face all of this together and come out on the other end better for it.”

I glanced up at one of the large clocks on the wall, set to the exact time. “Uncle John will be here to pick me up any minute, and I told him I'd wait outside so he wouldn't have to park. Come say good-bye to your baby. Just don't wake her up. It's almost time for her to eat, and I don't want her to wake up just yet to be reminded.”

He waited with us until Uncle Joe pulled up to the curb, then loaded the carriage into the bed of the truck. I held Bootsie in the front seat and looked back at John as we pulled away. He waved. But as I watched, his smile fell with his hand, and from a distance he looked like a lonely old man with no more choices in front of him.

I faced forward, the image haunting me long past the time we returned home to the yellow house and the saturated fields, and despite the warmer temperature and bright sun, I felt very, very cold.

Vivien Walker Moise

INDIAN
MOUND,
MISSISS
IPPI
MAY
2013

I
was on my second cup of coffee when Tommy entered the kitchen, doing an exaggerated double take when he spotted me at the kitchen table. A stack of old newspapers was spread around me, a notebook and pencil to my side with my chicken scrawl exploding diagonally across the page. Despite what my teachers had claimed—that my imagination and creativity made me a great writer—I'd always made less than stellar grades in English because of poor penmanship. It ground my grits to know that they weren't even teaching penmanship in the schools anymore. If I had any say about Chloe's education, I would make sure she learned proper penmanship.

“What're you doing up so early, Booger?”

I put down my coffee mug. “Did you know that you're a peculiarity in our family? You're like the only male and one of only a very small handful of siblings. Obviously you were a mistake.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Right. And you were planned.”

I lifted my mug and took a sip so I wouldn't have to concede that he had a point.

He shook the nearly empty coffeepot. “Should I make another full one or are you about done?”

I looked at the clock. “Might as well make a full one. I've got a few more hours before Tripp gets here to take us fishing.”

He started filling the pot with water from the tap and glanced over at my outfit. “What's with that?” He indicated with his chin.

I'd decided that since I was already awake at five thirty in the morning, I might as well do something productive, so I went for a run—which quickly turned into a walk. I'd had to rummage through my closet to find my old running shoes and an Indian Mound High School Cheer Squad T-shirt with cutoff sleeves. I refused to wear the Daisy Dukes out in public and had instead found a pair of old sweatpants that I'd made into long shorts with the help of a pair of scissors.

I'd thought about going to the high school track, where I used to run, but didn't want to be seen or, even worse, recognized. So I'd headed up to the highway, planning to run on the shoulder for one mile and then turn back. But I'd been stopped so many times by motorists asking me if I needed help or a ride somewhere that I'd just given up about a quarter mile into my first leg and come home and made a pot of coffee.

“Long story that involves a thwarted desire to exercise. I've been cooling my heels while waiting for Tripp by looking at these old newspapers.” I spun one of the newspapers around so he could read it and see the photo. “Look what I found. It's Adelaide's wedding, in 1924.” When I'd turned a page and seen it, I'd been startled to see her face again. She'd been so happy in the photo, her husband looking at her with such love. But even as I looked at this reminder of such a happy day, I couldn't help but remember that in three short years Adelaide would be dead, her body in the arms of the cypress roots. I had stared at her for a long time, my fingers touching her face.
Who killed you, Adelaide? And why?

I wasn't even sure why the answer was so important to me. It had happened more than eight decades ago, and somebody had gotten away with the perfect crime. But I kept thinking about the heart ring, and how much she'd loved her daughter. And how Bootsie had died believing her mother had intentionally left her behind. I felt the need to prove that Bootsie had been wrong. That maybe we'd all been wrong.

Tommy leaned in, studying it closely. “She looks like you. And Mama. Although it's pretty grainy and in black and white. But I'm sure she was much prettier than you.”

“Thanks, Tommy. It's so nice to have a brother.” I leaned forward and pointed to the people in the photo. “Look at the woman standing next to her, holding the bouquet. The caption says it's a Miss S. B. Heathman. That last name sounds so familiar to me—any idea why?”

He shook his head slowly, then stopped, frowning. “There's a plaque over at the bank with the name Heathman—can't remember the first name, but I'm pretty sure it's a guy. He was the first president or something. But that was back before the big crash in 'twenty-nine. Probably lost everything, or killed himself, because that's what they did back then.”

I frowned, confident that the name I'd seen hadn't been in reference to the bank. I took another sip of my coffee, hoping the caffeine would jog my memory banks.

“Off to the fields?” I asked.

He seemed to be concentrating a lot more intently than needed to scoop coffee into a filter, and didn't answer right away.

I leaned back in my chair, a smug smile on my face. “I remember Carrie last night saying something about Bo having a baseball game this morning. You're coaching, right?”

With deliberate precision he placed the carafe into the coffeemaker and mashed the “on” button. “Just until they can find a permanent replacement. Guy they had got a job transfer and had to bail.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, enjoying watching him blush. “I never thought that red was a good color for you, but I'm starting to think I like it.”

He shook his head, then turned to get a mug from the cabinet. “You're one to talk. I've seen a lot of Tripp Montgomery sniffing around ever since you got back.”

“He's the county coroner, and we found a dead body on our property. He's supposed to be sniffing around.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, mimicking me. “I think he's being waiting around all this time for you to come back.”

“Right. Do you mean to tell me that he hasn't dated anybody in the last decade?”

Tommy shook his head. “Nope, wouldn't say he's been living the
life of a monk. I think he had a serious girlfriend at Duke, and one during his short stint in med school. And there've been a couple of girls around here since he moved back. But they never seemed to stick.”

He leaned his elbows back on the counter, waiting for the coffeemaker to finish. “Did I tell you I dated Claire for a bit? Right after she graduated from vet school she came home for a summer—before she decided that she wanted to marry the guy who's now her husband and moved to Michigan.”

“Ew, Tommy. She was my best friend! Besides, she's almost ten years younger than you.”

He shrugged. “I always liked her, once she stopped being my little sister's best friend. She's real nice, and smart. Funny thing is, we mostly just talked about you.” The light blinked on the coffeemaker, and Tommy poured himself a cup before bringing it over to the table. I brushed the newspapers out of the way, petrified of what Mrs. Shipley would do to me if coffee dripped onto any of them.

I looked down into my mug, at my reflection in the coffee, too embarrassed to look up and meet Tommy's eyes.

“We talked about Tripp, too, and about his string of girlfriends and why none of them ever lasted. You know what she said?”

Our eyes met. “No, what?”

“Because none of them were you.”

“I wish you hadn't told me that.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, well, I figured you needed to hear it.” He slapped his hands against the table. “I should get goin'.” After pulling back from the table, he went to the coffeemaker and refilled his cup.

“Don't leave that mug on your desk, Tommy. We were running out in the cabinet, and when I went over to the shed I found seven half-filled mugs. Either return them or I'm going to forbid you from using them and make you buy Styrofoam cups.”

He surprised me by crossing the room, then bending to kiss the top of my head. “It's good to have you back, Vivi. I missed you.”

“I missed you, too, Tommy.” I looked up at him, trying very hard to tamp down the prickle of tears behind my eyes.

He ruffled my hair as if I were eight years old again, then headed for the door. “See you later, Booger.” I heard him laughing long after the door had slammed shut.

Two hours and three and a half cups of coffee later, I was still in the kitchen, having read through the majority of the newspapers I'd brought from City Hall. I'd filled three sheets of paper from corner to corner with headlines and names, all great ideas for future newspaper articles, should I decide to write them. But except for the photograph from Adelaide's wedding and the article regarding her disappearance, I'd found nothing new that might help me figure out why she'd been buried in her own yard. And who'd put her car in the river so that it looked like she'd been just one of the many flood victims.

There were still three newspapers I hadn't read yet, but as I reached for one of them Chloe entered the kitchen, dragging both feet, with her eyes nearly closed as if they were still asleep even if the rest of her was upright. I hid my smile as I admired her outfit.

We hadn't had a chance to go shopping yet, but in a fit of inspiration, I'd dug into the back of my closet for the clothes I'd worn when I was Chloe's age. Bootsie, having lived through the Depression, had never thrown anything away that had any chance—no matter how small—of being used again. But I'd been about the same size and shape as Chloe when I was twelve, and I knew there'd be a selection of one-piece bathing suits and soft cotton shorts with elastic waists—my summer uniform. I'd felt not just a little satisfaction at her shock that not only did the clothes fit her, but that they'd once fit me.

She'd chosen the bright blue bathing suit that I'd worn on the summer rec swim team the summer between seventh and eighth grade. I was laughed at on the first day, because I was chubby and slow and could barely swim. I'd hated the cold water and the mean girls, but I'd shown up every day just so I could get better. I'd even stay after practice, doing hours of laps on my own while Bootsie waited patiently in the stands for me to finish. And it had been my turn to laugh when I was winning ribbons by the end of the summer. As an added bonus, I'd also lost fifteen pounds.

The unnamed dog pranced in by Chloe's side, with Carol Lynne right behind them, wearing one of her jeans-and-floral-shirt outfits. She stopped in the middle of the kitchen, looking like she wasn't sure what she was supposed to do next, while Chloe slid into the chair vacated by Tommy, the dog lying at her feet.

“Can I have some coffee?” Chloe asked, her voice muffled because she was facedown on the table.

“No. It'll stunt your growth.” I had no idea if that was true, but it was something Bootsie had said regularly. I stood and pulled out a seat for my mother. “Come sit, and I'll get you both breakfast.”

Carol Lynne did as she was told, but when I put two bananas on the table, she asked, “Am I hungry?”

“It's time for breakfast. I'm going to make scrambled egg whites and wheat toast for Chloe and me. Would you like some?”

She smiled the same vacant smile I was becoming used to. I patted her shoulder. “I'll make you some, too.”

I pulled a carton of eggs and a loaf of bread from the fridge. “Did the dog like his new doggy bed?”

Chloe quickly took a bite of her banana so she wouldn't have to answer.

I put my hand on my hip, sensing an uncanny resemblance to a memory I had of Bootsie standing by this same stove. I dropped my arm. “I told you no dog on the bed—or any of the furniture. It's a bad habit you don't want to start.”

She swallowed. “Yeah, but you said he might not be here for long, and I figured if he slept on my bed a few times it would be okay. Besides, every time I put him in his bed he'd jump right back onto mine.”

I cracked an egg. “Did he at least stay at the foot of the bed? It's not sanitary to let the dog sleep on your pillow.”

She took another big bite from her banana and I rolled my eyes. I supposed this would be just another battle best left unfought.

I was in the middle of chopping a red pepper—trying to get as many nutrients into Chloe as possible without her knowing it—when Tripp knocked on the back door and entered the kitchen. He stopped when he saw me. “Nice outfit, Vivi. I wasn't aware the circus was having auditions today.”

I took in his own outfit of flip-flops, camouflage hunting pants cut off above the knees, and a Charlie Daniels concert T-shirt that fit nicely over a muscled torso and tanned arms. “
Duck Dynasty
just called. They said either grow a beard or they want their clothes back.”

Chuckling, he stepped into the kitchen and kissed my mother on the cheek before greeting Chloe and the dog.

“This was Vivien's bathing suit,” Chloe announced.

Tripp nodded appreciatively. “I was going to say it looked familiar. She looked pretty fine in it, as I recall. But may I say that the blue brings out the color of your eyes?”

Chloe's face underwent a contortion as she fought between scowling and smiling. In the end, she took the last bite of her banana so she couldn't do either. I speared her with a look, and with her mouth full she said, “Thank you, sir.”

I turned back to making breakfast so I wouldn't roll my eyes at both of them. “You're early,” I said.

“I know. But I ran out of coffee and thought I could grab a cup here.”

I nodded toward the coffeemaker. “Help yourself. I think my head might spin off my shoulders if I have another.” I turned toward my mother. “Carol Lynne, would you like a cup?”

She looked at me with vacant eyes. “Do I like coffee?”

I stared back at her, and I imagined my eyes were as vacant as hers. “I don't know,” I said truthfully. “Why don't I get you both some orange juice?”

Tripp sat down at the table, sliding the newspapers out of the way so he could put down his mug.

“Tripp, if you don't mind, could you move those papers off the table? They're from the archives, and Mrs. Shipley will probably have me arrested if anything happens to them.”

“Sure.” He pushed back his chair, but before he could grab them, my mother noticed the one I'd left on top, opened to the studio photograph of Adelaide and Bootsie.