Deep in the Heart of Me (12 page)

They sing all the way home. Sobe is on the bench with them. She's got two years on Elsie, and it shows believe me.

I sit across from her nearest the tailgate. I've elbowed Ebbie twice because he won't stop staring at her. You'd think he'd never seen a girl so pretty like Sobe. Well, he hasn't. But still, some self-control is fair.

Even Pee-Wee is acting crazy. He's plastered in the window staring past his sisters, sucking on his blanket and looking at Sobe. It's embarrassing.

"You're staring," Elsie says to me.

"What?" I say pulled from staring at Sobe and how pretty she is in the sunlight with her hair blowing about her happy face.

"You're sweet on her," the gaggle says right there in front of God and all. In front of Sobe. Their sounds go up—"Um and oh," and if we weren't in the great wide world I'd be holding my bleeding ears. As it is I have to put up with them because Dad is looking back with a big smile and he'd drive right into a ditch, or the like were I to start tossing my sisters out one by one.

So this is how it will be here. They plan to torment me, and it will not be seen as anything but them being cute. Everything they do is cute. I have never been cute in my life. Every mistake I ever thought of making is life and death, and God help us all.

I sit back and fold my arms. I look over the tailgate at the road.

"He's going to jump," Ebbie says, and I glare at him, and the smile drops off his face. I may have to put up with it from them, but not him.

"He's turning red," Martha says, and Mary repeats it.

Those two. God above.

I glance at Sobe, and she is biting her lips and looking wary too.

"Be glad you're an only child," I say loudly to Sobe. I have to nearly yell to be heard over them.

"An only child?" they are repeating. It's far from the first time I've said that.

"Um. Mom said you can't say that anymore," Martha scolds.

Thank God we're to our road. Dad slows for the corner, and I jump out, and Joseph sees, and he stands to jump, but I wave at him and shout, "No," and he slowly sits.

"You're not supposed to jump out Tonio-io-io," Mary says, and they pick it up, the io-io-io they love to say. Usually, I yell at them to stop.

But today I put my hands in my pockets and take my time and the truck bumps along pulling Sobe away from me. She is watching, and she waves a little, but not me. No not me.

I reach the yard I don't go past the house, I go around so they won't see, and I enter the barn, and it's always right in here.

It doesn't change, it's its own world.

I go to the ladder and climb up there. Right off I see Shaun sleeping off his troubles in the mow. And a couple of swallows take flight and return to the nest when they see it's me.

I go to the wide double doors where we lift in the hay, and I look across the yard then, at the house, and she's in there.

Sobe Bell.

"They say the swallows take the souls to heaven," Shaun says.

He's maudlin. Mom says it's the grief. He's ornery with it.

I picture the swallows coming for his wife and child. The sky is so blue today, the clouds so white. The mother held the child and the swallows lifted her by the shoulders of her nightdress, and she looked up, eager, her feet dangling because she wouldn't walk the same. She'd fly now. She'd be an angel or a ghost.

If it were me…if it were my child, my wife….I look back at him. "They're all talking," I say.

"Well," he sits up and rubs his face. Blood has soaked through his bandage. "I've given them plenty to chew on this year, eh?"

I look back at the house. Maman should go to hospital this time. I'm going to insist. I'll take her myself. I won't let it happen to her or one so wee.

Shaun gets up and walks slowly to where I stand looking out…at everything.

"It's a fine day in the heart of America," he says.

I look at him to make sure he's not mocking Dad. My father says that all the time.

"It is," I say.

He snorts.

Just then the door of my house opens and out they come. The gaggle. But it's not just them. Sobe is with them. They are holding the egg baskets.

"There they are," Shaun says. "Oh…we've got six now."

Yes, an extra. They are around her, all talking at once. Elsie holds her hand. The younger girls hurry ahead with the feed.

Shaun and I don't speak. We are watching.

"She's pretty," he says grinning at me.

She does not look like the others, like a child. She is a grown girl, and he can see it same as me.

She is skipping all of a sudden, just a couple of steps, laughing, swinging her basket. I could watch her forever. She tips back her head and laughs at something Elsie says.

"You sweet on her?" he says, big grin. The blood and his pale face. He looks like the devil rolled him good.

"She's just a girl." I mean she's young, that's all. Too young for him.

"How old is she?"

"She's the sheriff's daughter," I say sternly.

"I didn't ask about her daddy, did I?"

We stare. He breaks into a laugh.

"Look at you. Boyo," he says quietly. He gets a smoke then. Not allowed up here, but he does it anyway and if Dad catches him….

He lights it and takes a deep pull. Sobe and the girls are all the way to the henhouse now. There is a commotion of squawks and laughter.

"Tonio…I know who did it. Last night."

"Who did it?" I ask him.

He keeps smoking, looking after the girls, not answering. "You gonna help me get them?" he says.

"Me? You don't even say who they are."

"You handled yourself like a champ at the school."

I take a quick look at Sobe. I did handle myself. My face and along my ribs, still…I handled myself.

"Who is it?" I ask.

"Smiths."

He's been gambling. Dad told him that wasn't his answer…Shaun's answer…for the grief. But he's angry mostly. He's mad.

Tillo's dad Otto runs a crooked game and only a fool and his two-bits gets involved in it, that's what Dad says. He says it to Shaun and Pat and Mike and Bill and anyone else he thinks needs to hear it.

But they've come on our farm, our land, our home where my sisters live, my mom and Granma. "You owe them? How much?"

"Fifty," he says.

"Fifty," I repeat like it's more than I'd imagined because I'd been ready to hear him say twenty, but fifty, holy smokes.

"It was more, twice that, but with what he took…." He doesn't finish, but I feel his anger. "You gonna help me?"

"Do what, rob a bank?"

I don't need more trouble with the sheriff. The reason why is coming out of the chicken yard, the gaggle around her.

My dad has no wish to see me in that jail again. And I've no wish to be in it.

"But they came on Clannan land," he says.

"You have to tell Dad," I say.

"No," he says angry. "I'd die first. Tell him and listen to his holier than thou speeches all day long?"

"Just go then. Go back to Arkansas."

He's looking off and shaking his head. "I can't run."

I don't know why he can't. Either he was in trouble there or…maybe it's too sad for him without his wife.

"I want to hurt Otto Smith…but I have to be careful," he says.

"How bad?" I ask. "How bad you want to hurt him because I can't chance it, getting pulled in." I am looking at Sobe again.

No, I can't chance being a gangster in the eyes of her father. I remember him asking me that when he took me to jail.

"I don't want him to know it's me. I want him to wonder. There must be something I can do, something to hurt him," Shaun says pulling that smoke down.

"That girl down there is mine," I say firm.

He laughs. "She know that?"

"She will." It's not hard to hold his eyes at all.

"Okay," he says. He puts that smoke in his mouth and offers me his hand, and we shake.

"You want to hurt him there's one thing he cares about most," I say.

Shaun thinks a minute then he grins. "His mule."

"We can load it at night, drive it to Glen Arms and sell it," I say. "You pay him with his own money."

For a minute, he just stares at me. Then he breaks out laughing. "Boyo," he says clapping my shoulder, "you're genius."

"Otto loves that mule…more than his own sons," I say.

Sobe sees me now, standing in the doorway. The girls all call-up, and Sobe waves.

"She sweet back?" Shaun says.

"Maybe."

"You kissed her yet?"

"Not yet," I say smiling as she walks toward the house.

But soon.

Dinner is a big affair. Dad made table one and as the babies kept coming he made table two. Now the two slabs of oak sit end to end and go on forever. Both sides are filled with people and food. Long benches are used in place of chairs, except at the narrow ends where Mom and Dad sit.

Pee-Wee is perched on the big German Bible that Granma reads while Dad reads out of the English one. Sobe and Shaun are not our only guests. Sundays are that way. Dad always invites someone over. Uncle John usually and sometimes Patrick or Mike and more rare Bill. But they've heard we have Sobe over so naturally they are here. And they want to play baseball, or throw horseshoes or play Stinker's croquet which always makes the girls cry, and they pretend to be sorry for sending the wooden balls into the trees. Then they laugh their heads off.

Maman says they are wild boys. They are men. But my Aunt Christah does not come with them. She does not leave her house. She is kind as can be when you visit. But she does not even go to meeting. Maman says they have broken her spirit, but Dad says she has always been stubborn, and she's still Catholic at heart and Uncle John won't 'kiss the Pope's ass,' as he says and so Aunt Christah lives in protest.

So they come without her, like usual, and we have to put up with them. When I was younger, I loved following them around, and I thought everything they did was pretty fine. I was learning many things I should not have—like how to roll a smoke or say curse words. But now…soon as I get opportunity, I will get Sobe away from them all.

The way they carry on, Sobe is not used to so much noise. But she seems to weather it. She just gets prettier by the minute, and they notice.

They have brought John's wine, but they're drinking Dad's as well. We make this every year around this time when the grapes are ready, and we smash them and add sugar and strain out the pulp and skin and seeds and bottle the juice, capping each one off with a levered machine. Then we set the bottles in the cellar to cure.

Dad offers a glass to everyone who comes here--parents and a small glass for their children.

We are given some as well, on special occasions like today. My feelings are hurt if I am left out. I have never been drunk, and the wine makes me a little sleepy. But not today. I am not sleepy. I am watching Sobe, and she is watching me.

"So Miss Sobe what do you think of this part of the country?" Pat says.

We're all silent for a minute. It's uncommonly sensible, that question.

"It's very flat," she says once she has finished chewing and swallowing. She looks all around the table. "And quiet. Until I met you all."

As if to remind her what a braying bunch this family is, everyone laughs, and Pat slaps the table and the dishes dance.

I am across from her. We are looking at one another—Sobe and me. I smile a little, and she does too.

"Did you boys hear about the tax man who came around snooping on Old Man Smith's farm?" Dad says.

I look at Shaun, and he eyes me too. Dad always puts familiar names in his jokes, but it's funny he'd mention the Smiths on this day.

"He asked what old Otto paid his hand, and Smith said, "Twelve fifty a week and room and board.

"Next, he asked what he paid the farrier.

"Smith said, two-fifty for shoes.

"Anyone else? the tax man asked.

"Smith said, there's the dimwit. He don't get paid so often, has rheumatiz in his back and legs and works an eighteen hour day and the wife likes to give him holy heck.

"Oh, the tax man said. And where will I find this dimwit?

"And Smith said, you're looking at him."

Here it comes again, their big laughter. Sobe blinks a little they are that loud. I've always noticed it, but it's never bothered me as much as it does now. We're just disgusting.

"Is there more wine Mother?" Dad says down the table.

"I'll get it," I say as I stand.

Maman is not sure we need more, but Dad says two more bottles. So I look at Sobe, and if there is any understanding between us, she has to know what I'm thinking. She has to. So if she follows me, I'll know.

I take the empty bottles and put them on the back porch in the case for such, and I'm disappointed she hasn't followed.

So I go out and go around to the cellar doors which Ebbie left open when he got the full bottles in the first place. I go down there and get the bottles, and when I come out the door to the bottom of the stairs she is standing at the top, the wind moving her hair and her dress.

I swallow some and take the steps up, and her shadow covers me.

"I said I had to…I just said excuse me," she whispers like they will hear.

I smile at her. Whatever I think is there, I hope is there…it is.

"Wait here," I say, hurrying past her and into the house with the wine. They are talking about playing croquet. I sit the bottles by Dad, and I quickly go back outside. Sobe is standing right where I left her. I walk quickly and grab her hand, and then we run.

She is giggling, barely keeping up. "Wait," she laughs.

But I don't wait very much. We get to the fence, and I leap over and turn and help her over, and that gives me an excuse to hold her waist for a moment, and I can't believe how she's made, scooping in here and swelling out there, not that she's more than a dollop, but what there is…she's beautiful. And I'm tired of sharing her looks and smiles and ears and words. I just want Sobe.

I take her to my grove, my pecan trees. "These are mine," I tell her, huffing a little, but walking now. I've taken her hand again.

She is quiet, looking at the trees. "How do you know they are yours?" she asks.

I think she's joking, but she isn't. "Dad planted them for me. Before I was born even, he ordered them. They've grown same as me. Almost fourteen years now."

She searches out the nuts and finds an easy handful. "I love these," she says.

"I'll give you all you want," I say proudly.

"I didn't mean…I wasn't hinting."

"I don't worry about that," I say. I wasn't accusing her of anything. I'll gather them and shell them too. I'll pick them clean for Sobe.

"You're so lucky," she says.

"Lucky?" I want to hold her hand again. "Maybe since you're here," I say. I don't know where I'm getting it, but I can tell she likes it. And I mean it.

"Come on," I say, and I do take her hand.

"You're the luckiest boy, Tonio," she says. "You are. Your mother knows."

"Maman? I'm just the first. It…means something."

"Tonio this and Tonio that. You're loved."

We stop then. They watch my every move. They have something to say about everything I do and everything I should have done and didn't.

"I don't want to talk about them. Tell me about your life before you came here," I say.

"Tell me about all of these cousins," she says.

Why does she want to talk about them? "We just escaped them," I say. "They're all right, I guess. Do you want to go back there to see them or something?"

She smiles. "They're very bold. Do they have sweethearts or wives?"

I laugh. "No. Who'd marry their likes?"

"But Shaun was married," she says.

"Do you like me the best?" I ask.

"Yes Tonio," she says gravely.

"Well, I know they are older, but I'll be a better man than them when I'm older."

"I have no doubt," she says.

"I mean…I won't waste time and money on…foolish things," I say.

"They do that?"

"Some," I say.

"Oh."

"And I'll just have one girl. A wife," I say.

Her eyes are so serious, and they grow bigger. "You'll be a farmer. That's what you are."

"Well, yes," I say. But I have no idea. "What about you?"

She laughs nervously. "Someday I might want to live in the city again."

"The city?" I say too loudly. Why does she want to do that? Why does she want to go away? From me?

"Well, yes. I like the city very much."

"Then why are you in the country?"

"Dad wanted to try being a small town sheriff."

I know she's here because her dad has to go where he can find work.

"What else has he tried?"

"Many things. All…important."

"You don't really say anything. I ask you a question, and you don't answer," I say.

"I don't mean to. Dad's always been in the law." She looks away from me. "Oh, there's Tibby." She points to the paddock.

Tibby is grazing, her long tail swishing.

I like the notion of riding with Sobe on Tibby again. "Come to the fence," I say. I go over the fence and walk slowly, and Tibby sees me and lifts her head and comes to me and huffs while she sniffs over my shirt. I let her sniff me, even my hair which makes Sobe laugh. Then I take hold of her mane and jump on her back. She shakes her head and whinnies.

I pet her neck, and she gentles, and I use my legs to encourage her to move toward the fence.

I get close to Sobe, and it gets interesting. Sobe balances on the middle rung, the top against her legs. As soon as I'm close enough, she lifts her arms, and I bend to scoop her right up and instead of riding behind, this time, she is in front, sitting sideways. I have my arms around her holding to Tibby's mane, but I don't need to, not really.

Well, she looks at me, but our faces are so close she turns away and looks forward. "Tibby is so tall," she says.

We've already talked about that. I'm trying to get used to this and just be calm. I've ridden my sisters hundreds of times, and they all ride well enough. But Sobe is not one of my sisters, of course.

I think I could marry her right now.

We follow the fence, and she asks me if I know any songs, and I say I do, and she asks if I sing like my sisters, and I say, you mean like a girl? And she laughs so hard I think she's going to fall off Tibby. But she says no, silly.

Well she has settled into me now, and I was holding my arms out, but now I've relaxed them against her. There was a kid in Dewberry got married at thirteen, that's what I heard. Well, I'm nearly fourteen. And I'm big for my age. Well, I could shave right now, or any day too, and three of the milk cows are mine.

"Well, what's so great about the city?" I ask.

She sighs and I feel it, feel her lungs go empty and fill again. "It's very busy, so you don't feel lonely hardly ever, and there are shops and vendors and plays even. And libraries. And the food. I love to eat dinner in a restaurant."

Maman said a girl like Sobe would want things. Is this what she meant?

"You can buy donuts on a stick," she laughs. "And see a zebra in the zoo. You ever saw a zebra?" she says.

"Sure. St. Louis has a zoo and a bird cage left over from the World's Fair. Seen one zebra you've seen them all. Just a striped donkey," I say.

She laughs.

"You saw a giraffe?" I say because they had one at the circus that came through one time.

"Yes. Next year they are opening an exhibit for hippos…."

"Who is?" I say.

"I don't know. Something I read."

"In St. Louis they still have the trolley cars," I say. "I've meant to ride one sometime."

"I want to see St. Louis. Dad says he will take me."

"I could take you," I say boldly. I've no idea how I plan to do this, but that's just because I haven't figured it out.

She turns and looks at me. We are nearly nose to nose. The thing about Sobe, the closer you get to her the more you get caught in it…her beauty.

"You would take me Tonio? Could we eat in a restaurant too?"

"Well, we could do whatever you want," I say.

She sighs a little and settles against me like I'm the back of a chair. If this is how it's done…big foolish promises I don't have figured out, then I am prepared to keep going forward.

She's mine then. I just need to know if she realizes…."Sobe," I say, "we are…you, and me are…."

"Dearest friends," she says, and her hand lifts to cover one of mine tangled there in Tibby's mane.

"Like you and Elsie then?" I say too sharply.

She lifts from me and looks at me.

"You're a boy," she says not all that friendly.

"Oh, you see that?"

"I said you're the bravest."

She did say that. "Should I take you back to the house? Pat was being his charming self for you."

"Let me off, let me off," she says a flurry of legs and skirts and hair in my face.

She is off Tibby so quickly, and I stare down at her. "Come here," I say.

"No. No. You're mean, and I won't put up with it," she says turning from me and stalking through the grass.

I am off Tibby at once and catch her easily. "Sobe…."

"No." She's crying. I've made her cry. "We move, all the time. Sometimes at night." She's crying now, the one that takes a while, the one you can't talk a girl out of. I know with five sisters. I know.