A Short History of a Small Place (38 page)

According to Mrs. Phillip J. King, Mr. Wallace Amory could just barely fit into Mr. Alton’s back seat, which was made more for suitcases than for anybody, and she said soon after Mr. Alton arrived at the Pettigrew’s in all of his dazzlement and in all of his swarthy splendor he lit out again with Miss Myra Angelique to his right side looking very queenly and appropriate, Mrs. Philip J. King called it, and with the most of Mr. Wallace Amory to his backside except for those parts and attachments that could not be squeezed or wedged or otherwise forcibly introduced into the backseat and so hung over the door panels or stuck straight up into the air. So Mrs. Phillip J. King said even though Mr. Alton was just as splendorously swarthy when he left as when he had arrived and even though Miss Myra Angelique was just as splendorously queenly beside him, the general departure lacked the majority of the dazzlement of the general arrival entirely on account of the mayor who was mostly kneecaps and shoetops and appeared to be sprouting out of the back of the car like a weed. But Mrs. Phillip J. King said Mr. Wallace Amory got his fill of Mr. Alton’s backseat after two dinners in Winston-Salem, a brunch in Greensboro, and a handful of campaign feetas in Raleigh and consequently left off prizing himself between the trunk and the seatbacks which allowed for a return of what dazzlement had seeped away on account of the flagrant untidiness of the major’s appendages, Mrs. Phillip J. King called it. And she said with the dazzlement back along with the splendorous swarthiness and the splendorous queenliness to complement it, the sight of Mr. Alton and Miss Myra Angelique traveling in Mr. Alton’s magnificent machine along the arbored streets and byways of the fair city was enough by itself to set your heart to quivering.

Mrs. Phillip J. King said they were a supremely handsome couple and there wasn’t anybody in all of Neely who did not believe that the two of them were made for each other, not even Mr. Phillip J. King who Mrs. Phillip J. King said was about as romantic as steel wool. Of course the mayor thought it was a marvelous match, at least he did at first, and Mrs. Phillip J. King said whenever Mr. Alton and Miss Myra Angelique would go off together in Mr. Alton’s touring car the mayor would set out from the Pettigrew mansion and stroll uptown before all the quivering could die away where he would accept the congratulations of most everybody since most everybody was pleased for Mr. Alton and pleased for Miss Myra Angelique and pleased for the mayor who was equally pleased himself, at least at first. And according to Mrs. Phillip J. King every once and again Mr. Alton would wheel into town all splendorous and sparkling and would not make off with Miss Pettigrew but would remain in the Pettigrew mansion with the mayor and with Sister where they would all take dinner together and then retire to the ballroom for the remainder of the evening. And Mrs. Phillip J. King said Mr. Wallace Amory would throw open the window sashes and the draft would draw the ends of the milky sheers outside across the sill and Mr. Alton would pop the cork on a bottle of champagne and Miss Myra Angelique would start up the phonograph and set the needle down on Miss Ethel Merman’s rendition of “The Lullaby of Broadway” which she was particularly fond of and so always commenced with. And as Mrs. Phillip J. King figured it, the music and the golden light from the ballroom and the mild October night air all conspired together to attract most anybody with feet and a will to move them, and consequently Miss Merman could hardly get through the refrain twice before the first few arms would pass between the palings of the imported wrought iron fence out front. And Mrs. Phillip J. King said eventually whoever was pressed up against the fence would find people at their backsides pressed up against them who in turn would get pressed up against themselves, so by the time Miss Myra Angelique could set the needle down on Mr. Bing Crosby’s “Swinging on a Star” folks would already be backed up into the street to watch her and Mr. Alton glide past the open windows and on around the ballroom. But Mrs. Phillip J. King said Mr. Alton by nature was more of a swiller than a dancer which put him mostly in the company of the champagne bottle and left Miss Myra Angelique to tour the dance floor with the mayor who did not much care for Mr. Bing Crosby but showed a marked preference for his brother Bob’s lively version of “The Big Noise from Winnetka.” So sometimes it was Mr. Alton and Miss Pettigrew and sometimes it was Miss Pettigrew and the mayor and sometimes, after they had popped enough champagne corks between them, it was the mayor and Mr. Alton who whirled past the ballroom windows with their cheeks pressed hard together and their arms around each other while Miss Myra Angelique cackled and clapped her hands and left the record to spin on the phonograph platter until the needle bump bump bumped against the final groove.

Mrs. Phillip J. King did not know how Mr. Wallace Amory found out when he at last did find out, she did not know who he knew in Burlington or who he knew in Neely who had relations in Burlington and thereby got secondary access to what it was Mr. Wallace Amory discovered. All Mrs. Phillip J. King could tell me and Momma was that the mayor did find out, found out before October was up and intercepted Mr. Alton at the Pettigrew front door one Tuesday evening, which left off being just Tuesday evening once Mr. Alton got intercepted and became instead the mournful night of reckoning, Mrs. Phillip J. King called it. She said Mr. Wallace Amory hauled Mr. Alton on into the study and slid the towering twin mahogany doors tight shut behind them. Then he spun on his heels, Mrs. Phillip J. King said, and confronted Mr. Alton directly, asked him outright was he or was he not freshly divorced.

“Freshly divorced?” Momma said.

“Yes ma’m,” Mrs. Phillip J. King told her. “It was a pure and absolute revelation to him, Inez. Mr. Alton had never let on, had never whispered a breath of it, and of course Mr. Wallace Amory was scandalized to find it out for himself. After all, Inez, we are talking about the man’s very sister.”

“Freshly divorced,” Momma said.

“Yes ma’m,” Mrs. Phillip J. King told her.

And according to Mrs. Phillip J. King, Mr. Alton could not manage an answer at first so Mr. Wallace Amory reconfronted him all over again and demanded that he make reply, Mrs. Phillip J. King called it, and Mr. Alton traveled all roundabout the question for any number of minutes before he finally did admit he was divorced but not all that freshly. And Mrs. Phillip J. King said just the admission of the divorce alone even without the freshly threw Mr. Wallace Amory into what she called a fit of passion which apparently gets thrown mostly with the feet and the hands since Mr. Wallace Amory stomped throughout the study and beat on most anything that looked like it would not beat back. Mr. Alton of course tried to justify himself, tried to explain Miss Sissy and tried to explain Miss Sissy’s mingling, but Mrs. Phillip J. King said it was most always near impossible to talk sense to a man in a fit of passion, so once Mr. Alton finished up his defense Mr. Wallace Amory said he believed he’d throttle him anyway and the two of them set in to scuffling across the floor and into the furniture with Mr. Wallace Amory having the upper hand right off since Nances were about as much given to scuffling as they were to fisticuffs.

Now when the scuffle itself broke out Miss Myra Angelique was upstairs in the middle of her twalet, Mrs. Phillip J. King called it, and ordinarily she would have heard all the grunting and the banging around since the study was fairly much directly underneath her, but Mrs. Phillip J. King said as it turned out the night of the mournful reckoning was particularly tumultuous weatherwise on account of an inky cloud that had settled in over Neely along about dusk. And Mrs. Phillip J. King said by the time the mayor grabbed hold of Mr. Alton’s lapels and threw him into the settee, which was the first place he threw him, the rain was coming down in sheets and torrents and bucketfuls and the profound inkiness of the evening was getting some relief from the lightning bolts which rent the night sky in fiery jagged slashing streaks, Mrs. Phillip J. King said, and which of course drew along with them a whole chorus of great rolling thunderclaps that shook not only the Pettigrew window panes but the sashes too.

“A thunderstorm?” Momma said.

“Yes ma’m,” Mrs. Phillip J. King told her.

“In October?”

“Yes ma’m.” Mrs. Phillip J. King said it was a lower level atmospheric disturbance of the most violent and unusual kind. Consequently Miss Myra Angelique did not hear any of the beating and banging around that was going on directly underneath her, and since she had a whole half a twalet ahead of her when the scuffling commenced the mayor got to toss Mr. Alton most all throughout the study before Miss Pettigrew ever touched her dainty foot to the top stairtread and set about gliding on down to the main floor.

According to Mrs. Phillip J. King, the majority of the scuffle had run fairly much like the outbreak of it with Mr. Wallace Amory doing most of the beating and Mr. Alton doing the best part of the banging. But she said near about the time Miss Pettigrew got halfway down the stairway Mr. Alton forgot himself momentarily and delivered what Mrs. Phillip J. King called a telling blow to the boney part of the mayor’s nose which somewhat compounded and inflated the mayor’s fit of passion and turned it into an outright rage, especially once Mr. Wallace Amory put his fingers to his nostrils and drew back a tiny smear of blood. So Mrs. Phillip J. King said by the time Miss Myra Angelique hit the foyer, Mr. Wallace Amory had already backed up to the mantelpiece and fetched down from over top of it his great-uncle’s naked sabre which was all bestudded about the handle with jewels and gems and which had been carried to several operas and toted in any number of parades but had not ever before sliced up a Nance which was what the mayor seemed to have in mind when he took hold of the hilt with both hands and raised the blade up over his shoulder. And as Mrs. Phillip J. King understood it, the mayor was all set to advance on Mr. Alton and filet him when Miss Myra Angelique slid open the towering twin mahogany doors and let herself into the study. And according to Mrs. Phillip J. King, once Miss Pettigrew drew up short and saw what there was to see she let out a wild anguished cry that rent the night pretty much like the lightning did, and then Mrs. Phillip J. King cut loose with a wild anguished cry of her own to show us what one sounded like.

Daddy must have heard it, even through both front doors, and must have decided right off to come into the house and on back to the breakfast room to watch Mrs. Phillip J. King suffer whatever variety of calamity it might take to draw that sort of shriek out of her. So he was already parked against the doorway between the kitchen and the breakfast room when Mrs. Phillip J. King collected up enough breath to tell me and Momma and now Daddy too how Miss Myra Angelique flung herself at the mayor so as to keep him from swinging the naked sabre against even the most insignificant little swarthy piece of Mr. Alton. But the mayor cast Miss Pettigrew aside with one mighty hand, Mrs. Phillip J. King called it, and with the other waved the pointy end of the sabre at the tip of Mr. Alton’s. nose. “This man is divorced,” he said. However, as Mrs. Phillip J. King recollected it, Miss Myra Angelique did not waver for even a second before she flung herself at the mayor all over again and wrapped both her arms around his legs. “Run!” she screamed. “Save yourself!” and apparently that was about all Mr. Alton needed to hear since he was already straddling a windowsill before the sound of the words could die off altogether. And Mrs. Phillip J. King said Miss Pettigrew managed to keep ahold of the mayor until Mr. Alton got clear of the window and partway around the house, and even when Mr. Wallace Amory did free his legs, Miss Myra Angelique grabbed him around the waist and got dragged on out through the front door and onto the porch where she was finally deposited in a heap when Mr. Wallace Amory had had enough of the extra baggage. So Miss Myra Angelique lay on the porch decking and sobbed while the mayor proceeded on out into the front yard and stood under the lightning rent sky in the sheets and torrents and bucketfuls of rain and waved his great-uncle’s naked sabre over his head as he hollered after Mr. Alton who brought his touring car away from the curb and disappeared down the boulevard.

And Mrs. Phillip J. King drew a luxuriously long breath. “First Miss Sissy,” she said, “and then this. What a tragic figure.”

“Such a tragic figure,” Momma said and let out about as much air as Mrs. Phillip J. King had taken in.

And Daddy, who had not bothered to say anything just yet, finally opened his mouth and told the both of them, “He was a slimy individual,” which stood Momma straight up out of her chair and spun Mrs. Phillip J. King full around in hers and together they pretty much wailed at him, “Louis Benfield!”

 

 

ii

 

 

Mr. Russell Newberry told me and Daddy he believed it was a Louisiana tag, but he’d hardly closed his mouth good when Mr. L.T. Chamblee and Mr. Raford Britt’s eldest boy, Coley, said it was not any such thing. Mr. Chamblee recollected the outline of a palmetto tree behind the numbers and so insisted it was a South Carolina plate, while Coley Britt, who could not recall any specific vegetation, said he’d been reading ever since he was nine and guessed he ought to know the words West Virginia when he saw them. Along about then Mr. Covington came out through one of the service bay doors wiping his hands on a rag, and before he could even tell me and Daddy how do you do, Mr. Newberry and Mr. Chamblee and Coley Britt were all over him wanting to know was it Louisiana or was it South Carolina and especially was it West Virginia since Coley Britt had fairly much put his education on the line. But Mr. Covington just looked at the three of them as he finished wiping his hands and then stuck the rag partway into his back pocket and said, “Whut?”

“Where was it they come from?” Mr. Chamblee asked him.

“Who?” Mr. Covington said.

“That man and his wife,” Coley Britt told him. “Just where was it they come from?”