Maud's Line (29 page)

Maud put her hand on a wagon wheel. She nodded. Her mouth moved but no sound came out. Viola said, “No use you staying up. Come with me.” She had her arm around Maud's waist and turned to go, but Maud resisted. Viola said, “Come on, now. You've had a shock, and it ain't over yet. It's just begun. You haveta preserve yerself.”

She tugged Maud again, and Maud went with her, weeping.

The next morning, Nan, Ryde, and their children joined them. Maud sat with her grandfather and Viola in the seat of the wagon that carried Lovely's remains. Ame rode in the bed next to the body. The rest of the family except for Early, who rode his horse, piled into Ryde's wagon, on the seat and in the bed. They turned the wagons west at the section line cross, passed the snake lakes, and turned into the lane of the cemetery. When Maud saw the mound of dirt, she started crying again. When the wagon stopped, she wouldn't get off. Finally, Nan and Lucy convinced her she had to, and each one of them stood beside her at the edge of the empty hole. The men held the quilts by their edges. They lowered Lovely's body slowly.

Maud had picked some verses from Ecclesiastes that Lovely had liked, but she couldn't get the words out. Early took Gilda's Bible in his hands, and said, “Which ones?”

“Chapter three, down to thirteen.”

“I'll give it a whirl.” He stumbled only on the word
laboureth
and handed the book back to Maud.

Then Viola threw some crumpled-up leaves over the quilts. She said strong Creek-sounding words that Maud didn't understand. After that, everybody who wanted to speak said whatever was on his or her mind about Lovely. Everybody except Maud. When her turn came, she shook her head and buried it into her aunt Nan's shoulder.

Bert threw in the first shovel of dirt. They'd decided to bury Lovely fast and explain later what had happened to him. They had a bunch of good reasons for that, the top one being that another eaten body would remind Sheriff Talley of the earlier two. They wanted to collect their wits to tell the story the way they wanted it told. They talked about that at dinner and again at supper, and it fell to Maud to break the news to Gilda and Mr. Singer. But the next morning was Sunday, and Maud knew Sunday wasn't a day to spread bad news. So she went home after dinner. She found Billy had left her a note of a single word,
Where?
As she stared at the letters, she realized the day before had been August 18. She'd been standing at Lovely's grave when she should've been marrying Booker. Now, she was holding a note from Billy. He seemed like the only future she had, and that future seemed as heavy and black as a kettle.

She went to the front porch and sat in a rocker. She couldn't think in a straight line. She put her hand on her belly. She felt a little curve growing there. That made her heart sink deeper. She looked at a chicken scratching in the dirt by the steps. She looked at the live oak tree. At the pump. At Gourd's house. At the horizon beyond the wild and the river. She would never see a real city. Never Charleston with a man in a sweater. Never wear a dress that stopped at her knees. Never wear tassels or bob her hair.

Maud began to feel a growing hatred for who she was and where she lived. She was sick to death of dirt, sick of chickens, sick of guns and snakes, and, most of all, sick of dead bodies gnawed by animals. Her only chance for escape had been that bright blue canvas rocking her way. She cursed Booker out loud. She stormed at his character until she remembered he'd left her a letter. She just didn't know what it said. But that didn't really matter. He hadn't come back for their wedding. That told the words.

Maud stirred her misery until she whipped it so hard she couldn't bear to sit in a rocker or anywhere. She walked the yard. She picked up rocks and threw them. She went to the pump and washed her face. She walked to the barn and back. Looked at the house and thought she'd lose her mind like Lovely had done. She didn't blame him one bit. He was smarter than she was. He'd found a way out. She shouted loudly, “Good for you, Lovely. You go on. Land somewhere else. Have a real life. Goddamn this dirt.”

She couldn't say why that outburst made her feel better. She sat down on a step, put her elbows on her knees, and looked at her hands. She'd never done her nails. They were strong and well shaped but without color. If she had a bottle of Cutex, she could paint them. But she didn't even have that. Didn't have anything she really needed or wanted. Except scissors. She did have scissors.

She jumped up from the step, let the screen door bang behind her, and opened the bottom drawer of the chest. She lifted out her mother's sewing basket. Between spools of thread and a pin cushion was a shiny pair of scissors. She went behind the sheet and lifted the mirror off the wall. She carried it and the basket out to the porch. She set the basket on the steps and put the mirror on the post nail where the men hung it to shave. She stood in the yard and peered in the glass. She held up her hair and turned her head to both sides. Then she picked up the scissors and started cutting.

She cut her hair into a bob with bangs. When she finished, she wasn't even sure she was looking at herself. But she decided she'd get used to it and like it, and that everybody else had better do the same. She left her cut hair on the ground to be blown by the wind and went to milk the cow. When she got back, she got water out of the rainwater barrel and washed her bob. She was standing at the edge of the porch marking a dress with chalk to cut it shorter when she heard the beat of hooves. She looked up. Billy. He waved his hat in the air.

He pulled up his horse at the trough. Walking toward her, he stopped midstep. His eyes grew round. He took his hat off and scratched his head. He turned and looked at his horse. He put his hat back on and then turned around again and looked at Maud. He said, “I'll shore miss Lovely.”

“How'd you hear?”

“Early. Saw him on the way down.” He took his hat off again, rubbed the brim with both hands. He looked off toward the barn.

Maud sighed. She didn't care if he liked her hair or not. It was hers to cut. But maybe he was just overcome about Lovely. She said, “I brought home some of Viola's cooking.”

They ate on the porch. Billy talked about a horse he was breaking at work. Maud thought about her hair. She was thinking she'd made a mistake. She put her hand to the back of her head and felt her bare neck. She shook her head. Billy kept talking about the horse. She finally said, “Do you notice anything different?”

“Didja put a little color on yer cheeks?”

Maud threw her plate out toward the yard. The food went higher than the dish. The chickens squawked, fluttered away, and then rushed back, squabbling over the bits. She stood to speak. “You can just get out of here!” She pointed toward Billy's horse.

He grinned and leaned back in his rocker. “I sorta like a high-tempered woman.”

Soon after that, they started making love against a porch post. They heard the beat of hooves in midthrust and moan, but they couldn't stop until they'd come all the way. Then they saw Early standing on Gourd's porch, staring toward them. Early waved. Maud said, “I don't give a rat's ass. Nothing he hasn't seen before.” Billy waved back.

Inside, they lay on the bed and stared at the crack in the ceiling. Then Billy rolled over onto his side, propped his face in his palm, and said, “I wasn't shore I'd like making love to a boy.” He caught some of Maud's hair between his fingers and pulled it a bit.

“You better get used to it. And I'm gonna cut my dresses down. Show my knees.”

Billy ran a hand down her thigh and rested his palm on the scar on the back of her leg. “I like yer knees.”

They made love once again and slept through the night like the dead. When Maud woke, Billy was standing over her, his elbow working. She said, “What're you doing?” He smiled. Then he reached for her arm, pulled her toward him, and said, “Open yer mouth. Put it in.”

He came so fast he didn't get his penis much past the tip of her tongue. She pulled back, put the tips of her fingers to her lips. She swallowed. “It's salty.”

“So I hear.”

“You've done that before?”

Billy sat down, put his arm around her waist, drew her to him, and kissed her tenderly. When he pulled back, he said, “No, not really. I heared tell. Men talk, you know.”

Maud didn't believe him. He'd had another girlfriend. She had big breasts. The thought of those breasts stabbed her with jealousy. “If I catch you talking about me, I'll do the same thing to you I did to my hair.”

“Oh, Maud. Cross my heart. I won't talk about you.” Billy paused. “I won't have to. Early'll do it fer me.” He started giggling.

Maud pushed him down on the mattress and stood up. “I'll make a gelding out of Early, too. It's morning. Time to go to work.”

Once Maud saw Billy out of the house, she went about her chores, focused on the conversations she needed to have with Mr. Singer and Gilda. Speaking with Gilda would be the hardest; Mr. Singer might make her feel better. When she headed out, talking to them in that order was her plan. She carried in a sack pulled to her chest Gilda's Bible and Mr. Singer's books. She stopped in to visit with Nan, took iced tea and pie there, explained her haircut as wanting to try something new, and found out that her grandfather had gone into town to register Lovely's death. When she got to the section lines, Mr. Beecher, headed out in his wagon, gave her a ride into Ft. Gibson. She dallied there, putting off calling on Gilda until after dinner so that the Starrs wouldn't try to feed her. She wanted to tell Gilda and get away fast.

Gilda's first reaction was to Maud's hair. But she quickly said, “You look all hollow in the cheeks. What's the matter?” She took Maud's sack and set it on a table. She put her hands on Maud's upper arms and looked her over.

Maud started to cry.

“It's Lovely, isn't it? Tell me. Take a seat.” Gilda nodded toward a sofa.

But Maud didn't feel she could sit until she'd said what she'd come to say. “You better sit yourself.”

Gilda did. She looked up at Maud and said, “Tell me.”

“Lovely passed away. He'd been poorly since the rabies shots. Couldn't get over them.”

Gilda's mouth fell open. “He died of his shots?”

Maud wanted to run out the door. But to get the rest out, she figured she needed to sit. She settled on the arm of a chair. “No. He was afraid he was going mad. We have a cousin that happened to. I guess he didn't want to be put away. I don't know, really.” She shook her head. “If I'd known, I wouldn't have taken my eyes off him.” Tears welled up. She wiped them away with a handkerchief.

Gilda turned her head. She shuddered. She looked back at Maud. “He killed himself?”

Maud stood again. Her voice caught as she spoke. “It's not your fault. Don't take any blame. If it's anybody's, it's mine. I should've tried to help him more. I didn't know what to do or how bad it was.” She shook her head.

Gilda looked down. Maud thought she was praying. After what seemed forever, Gilda lifted her face. “He's with the Lord now,” she said, but she was crying.

Maud wanted to escape. “Yes, yes, he is.” She didn't believe that, but she didn't not believe it. And she would've said whatever it took to get out of the house. She handed Gilda her Bible and told her they'd read from it at the service. That the verses had been a real help and were what Lovely would've wanted. They tried to comfort each other with hugs and reassuring words. But as soon as she thought she could go with any grace, Maud got out the door.

She felt relief as soon as she got to the street. She threw the sack of books over her shoulder, and by the time she reached the center of town, she felt better than she had when she'd arrived. And she realized that, beyond her guilt, she, too, felt Lovely was better off where he was. He would've been haunted in his head for the rest of his life. Why was mysterious and beyond her reach. She didn't understand it. She didn't think anybody did.

She was given a ride out of town on the back of a horse ridden by a boy she knew. He took her all the way to the potato barn, dismounted when she slid off, and tried to talk to her about going off to the oil fields. Maud endured that as long as she could. Then she abruptly told him Mr. Singer was expecting her, turned, and marched toward the barn. But in there, the potato odor flew up her nostrils and down to her stomach. She suddenly became sick and retched in a corner. She didn't think that was related to the baby. She thought it was due to having to tell Gilda. She remembered her mother's death going to her gut. She sat down outside in the barn's shade until she was sure nothing else was coming up. Then she walked to a rainwater barrel and washed her mouth out. She scooped water with her palm onto her arms and neck to cool them down from the heat.

A few minutes later, she cupped her hand against the summer kitchen's screen door. The room was dark and a large table sat in the center, a fireplace at the far end. Lizzie wasn't in there, so Maud went to the back door of the main house and knocked. Nobody came. But the porch was shady, and she was exhausted. She sat down on a rocker with cushions on its seat and back, and fell asleep. Sometime later, she awoke to the sound of her name. Mr. Singer was standing inside his screen. “I didn't hear a knock. Then you looked so tuckered out, I let you sleep. Feel better now?” He opened the screen and stepped out.

“Yes. I'm sorry.” She started to get up.

“Keep your seat. I'll lean against the post. An old man sits too much. Need to stir my blood.”

“Thank you. I brought your books.” Maud put her hand on the sack on the table beside the chair. “They were good, especially the Sherlock Holmes.”

Mr. Singer nodded. “I can read about Holmes late into the night. Often do.” He patted his chest and reached into his shirt pocket. He drew out an envelope. “You might be interested in this.” He handed it to her.