Homefires (42 page)

Tillie missed choir practice the next five Thursday nights. I’d caught on that Zelda Diggers’ ill will toward Kirk extended to me when I called her house and asked to speak to Tillie. She hung up on me. So, I kept praying Tillie would contact me.

It was on the sixth Thursday night of Tillie’s absence that Moose staggered into the choir loft’s back row and plopped down, looking like a fugitive from Hell. He’d been looking less than swooft for months, since he’d chosen to not re-up in the Air Force, but tonight, his glassy-eyed gauntness alarmed me. I’d been so engrossed with Tillie’s dilemma I’d missed Moose’s swift decline. I knew he’d taken morning and evening jobs to make ends meet. He’d had to miss some practices and Sunday services because of revolving work schedules. I rushed over to him and whispered, “Moose, what’s wrong?”

He looked at me as if I had two noses. “Nothin’.”

Callie moved to stand beside me, scowling at him. “You look ghastly,” she whispered.

He reared back and gave her a mock glare. “Thanks a
lot,
Cal.”

“Anytime, pal.” Callie gave him an in-depth, slant-eyed assessment.
“Sshheezz.”

I touched his shoulder, keeping my voice down as others filed into the loft, laughing and talking. Thank God the choir, so far, did not seem affected by the cold war fallout. And despite Tillie’s no-shows, I wasn’t convinced her heart had changed toward me.

“Ahh, Moose. I know you’re working your tail off at two jobs, trying to make ends meet. But – ”

“Three.” Moose’s thick fingers inserted themselves between us.

“You’re crazy, Moose,” Callie snorted. “You got a death wish or somethin’?”

“Roxie needs things, Cal – ” He suddenly switched to address me, seeing Callie’s lack of sympathy for Roxie. “You know, like clothes and new shoes.” His eyes half-mooned suddenly.
“Woman’s gotta be pampered some, Neecy. That apartment we live in is a real dump and I need to – ”

Callie’s disgusted snort signaled her retreat and I noticed everybody heading for their appointed seats.

“I know.” I patted Moose’s arm and gave him a sympathetic smile. “Please, just take care of yourself. Okay?”

“Shore, Neecy.” The eyes dissolved behind his grin and he reached up to pat my hand on his shoulder. “You know me. Strong as a danged moose.”

I went to the podium, fighting my disgust with Roxie’s demands. I arranged my music, silently miming Kirk’s brushaside manner, his “that’s Moose’s problem. He’s gotta decide things for himself.” But, for me, they were only words. I closed my eyes for a long moment, struggling for composure.
Tillie... Moose...rejection...
everything crashing, crashing,
crushing my spirit as one would a roach bug.

Tears gathered behind my closed lids and I heard the silence settle in. Felt the curiosity. Or was it concern? At this point, I didn’t know. Did it matter?

Pray
. The command was succinct.

“Stand, please.” My steady voice belied the inner turmoil. “Charlie, lead us in prayer, please.” I reminded myself that Kaye’s spouse – of the clan – remained loyal to me
.
Others, perhaps a third, of the clan did as well. But the scowling, palpating disapproval of those dissenting ones served to erode joy and spontaneity.

Charlie Tessner rose. “Lord...please meet us at the point of our need tonight. And – especially endow Janeece with an extra portion of strength because you know how much her work here blesses us and all those around. Thank you. Amen.”

“
...especially endow Janeece....”

I opened my eyes and smiled, buoyed for the moment.

For now, that was enough. “Let us begin....”

Our family’s weekly Saturday night eat-out at Bessinger’s BBQ Restaurant now included Callie, Moose and Roxie. After Moose’s choir loft admission that he felt pressure to pamper Roxie, Callie barely concealed her disgust for ��Sweet Thang.”

“Need to go?” I politely asked Roxie as Cal and I excused ourselves from the table.

“Huh uh,” she droned and leaned her face into her hands to hang on to every word of Kirk’s funny golf stories. That she managed to always seat herself beside him was funny to me. Not to Callie, whose eyebrows shot up higher each time Roxie plunked herself next to my husband. I’d teased Kirk about her little crush at first. But he always looked disappointed in me, saying Roxie was simply childlike and anyway, she loved Moose. That statement, at times, strained my imagination, but I always repented and gave her the benefit of a doubt.

Actually, I had to admit Roxie
had
changed. Compared to earlier courtship times, she now seemed to, at least, acknowledge Moose.

“She’s changed, Cal,” I insisted, yet not fully believing it myself.

“She’s a
slut
, Neecy. Moose deserves better.”

“Cal, you’re gonna have to hide your feelings more,” I gently coaxed as we made our way to the ladies’ room.

“I can’t help it,” Callie hissed. “She’s a—a…”

“Don’t say it. Please, Cal, try to keep peace.” The bathroom was occupied so we stood outside the door, waiting. “You know how bad things are for us right now anyway – what with Zelda’s grievances and all.”

Callie’s ebony eyes flashed fire. “That woman’s an old biddy. And you
know
I could say worse. Lots and lots worse.”

I laughed and gave her rigid, crossed arms a playful smack. “Do I
ever
know how
charitable
that term is? From
you,
who at one time could have turned this air
blue
.”

“Darned right.” Callie raised her chin and stared at the wall as though she wanted to take it apart.

I gently elbowed her in the ribs. “Know what you and I used to say, ‘
sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never harm me
,” I singsonged to lighten her up.

Her frown loosened and her lips curled up at the corners. “Yeah. You’re right.”

An elderly lady emerged from the enclosure, smiled at me and washed her hands.

Callie went into the stall and I felt relief that I’d humored her into letting go of anger.

Now, I just had to convince
me.

That Christmas, Dad, Anne and the kids drove down to spend the holidays with us.

“To play with Punkin’,” Dad cooed at Dawn, who climbed all over him, lavishing him with hugs and wet kisses and tugging him hither and yon to explore all her domain. He loved it.

Anne got, quote, ‘leftovers.’ She giggled and gooched Dawn into hysteria every chance she got. Trish and Gene came down the day after Christmas to spend a couple of days.

“When are
you
going to have us one?” Daddy kidded his baby girl. Trish didn’t laugh, hadn’t for a long time. Daddy sobered and hugged her tightly. “Sorry, honey. I forgot.”

“It’s okay,” Trish kissed his cheek. “I’m used to it. Gene’s family is merciless with their jokes.” She shrugged and mugged. “I’m doing all I kin, but it jus’ ain’t working, ya’ll. Anyway,” she did a funny clown’s waddle across the room to pull Dawn from Anne’s lap, “I gots my own baby
ri’chere!”

Dawn giggled and scrooched up to Trish, enjoying every little squeeze and smooch.

“C’mon, Lynnette,” Toby called on his way to the back door, “let’s go ride bikes.”

My sister rose from my lap, where she still occasionally sat, even though her feet now touched the floor. Our affection remained spontaneous and relaxed.

“Coats!” I called, because though milder than upstate, lowland weather still chilled.

“You get more handsome every time I see you, Cole.” I patted the vacant seat beside me on the den sofa. “Come sit next to a good-looking woman.” He grinned and planted himself next to me. Heather soon plunked down beside him.

Dale, now fourteen, sat on my other side and browsed through photo albums, pausing at Krissie’s pictures. He did this every time he came. Afterward, he would hold my hand for long spells as the entire clan talked back and forth, carrying on several conversations simultaneously.

Sometime during the afternoon, the front doorbell rang. Anne answered it. “It’s Moose”.

“Tell him to come in and join us,” I called.

“He wants to talk to Kirk.”

Kirk went outside just as we all gathered around the piano. Heather played and we sang everything we knew from
Oh Bury Me Not On the Lone Prairie
to Dawnie’s current favorite
Itsy Bitsy Spider.
Then Toby and Lynette came in with red noses and cheeks that had them looking like painted wooden nutcracker soldiers.

“Do
Delta Dawn
!” Toby requested. Heather immediately modulated into the country tune and while we adults fumbled our way through the unfamiliar lyrics, the younger ones nailed every word, grinning ear-to-ear with shameless pride. The next tune,
Sentimental Journey
, provided payback time. Daddy’s rich baritone gave life to the melody, with Heather and Cole’s alto and mine and Trish’s second- oprano smoothly blending into a passable imitation of the 40’s Modernaires.

“Sing something
we
can sing, too,” Toby whined after we finished.

“Yeah,” Lynette chimed in.

After a mad, Three-Stooges’ huddle, we plunged into a rousing rendition of
You Ain’t Nothin’ But a Hound Dog
that would’ve done Elvis proud. Halfway through, the phone rang.

I rushed to answer it.

“Chuck! It’s so – so good to hear your voice.”

“What’s all that racket there?”

I laughed. “Us. The whole family’s here. Except you.”

“Except me, huh?”

“Yeh.” Long moments passed as the rock’n roll beat wound down. “We miss you, you know.”

“Yeh? Well, I’d a come if I’d been able, Neecy. I mean that.”

“Kidney infection no better?”

“Nah. But you can’t keep a good man down long, ain’t that right, Teresa?” He laughed and I heard Teresa’s low response in the background.

“How is Teresa?” I asked out of politeness.

“She’s doin’ great. Come’ere, Teresa, Neecy wants to say ‘hey’ to you.”

I clenched my teeth, knowing in my gut she wouldn’t give Chuck – or me – the satisfaction. His hand muffled the
mouthpiece, then, “Ahh – she’s frying steak and can’t leave it but says to say ‘hey’ to everybody.”

“Sure will. How’s Poogie?” He put adolescent Poogie on the line, who, in turn, awkwardly shifted the brunt of conversation to me. A sweet girl, Poogie knew little of us and I felt her uncertainty. “Love you, Poogie,” I said from my heart.

“Me, too.” Muffled mouthpiece. “Here’s Daddy.”

“Chuck? Wouldn’t you like to speak to Daddy?”

“Mmm-nah. That’s okay. He sounds busy.”

“He won’t mind.” I turned to get Dad’s attention. “Da – ”

“Don’t interrupt him, Sis. Let ‘im sing. I’ll be going now, hear? Give everybody my love.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, exhaling disappointment.
Why?
“I will. And Chuck – take care of yourself. Bye.”

“Who was that, Mama?” Heather asked over her shoulder as she pulled a southern gospel hymnbook from a pile of music. I knew she wanted to hear from Ralph Stevens, a boy she’d recently begun to like.

“It was Chuck.” I saw her eyes cloud, then Dad’s face fall. I added quickly, “He said give everybody his love. He’s not well.”

I went on to explain Chuck’s kidney crisis, seeing Dad’s hurt turn to alarm.”I wish he’d call and let us know what’s going on,” Dad murmured, but absent was the characteristic anger.

I didn’t know which was worse, seeing him angry or worried. I quickly decided
worried
was better.

“He’ll be okay,” I insisted, “You know Chuck. Strong as an ox, to hear him tell it.”

Dad’s face relaxed a mite. “Yeh. That kind of attitude carries folks a long way toward healing.” He thumbed through the songbook, pressed back the pages and set it on the piano. “Heather, let’s do this one. You sing alto, Trish, and you do second soprano, Neecy. Rest of you do what you want to.”