Rain (8 page)

It was at night, after the ten o'clock news or after an evening at the Starlite, that Tommy Lee proved his real worth to his grandmother. For he left the door to his room open, and at any time of the night Queenie could rise, walk into the hallway, and see him there sleeping. Queenie did that often. And Tommy Lee's presence in the house, as his grandmother had predicted, kept Carl away.

The summer passed quickly for both Queenie and Tommy Lee, and soon the time neared for Tommy Lee to go back to school. Grace and Lucille began talking about his returning to Gavin Pond Farm, and Queenie began to speak of the superiority of the Perdido school system over that of the one in Babylon.

"It's up to Tommy Lee," said Grace at last, when it became apparent that a sort of stalemate had been reached.

Tommy Lee decided to remain with his grandmother. He transferred to the high school in Perdido, and all during the fall of 1959 and the winter and spring of 1960, he spent five days a week in Perdido and Saturdays and Sundays at Gavin Pond Farm.

Every night, however, he slept in the bedroom next to Queenie's. Carl Strickland remained at bay.

This development was remarked upon widely in Perdido. Yet another Caskey offspring had been given away. In the whole history of the family, the only child to have remained with its parents was Frances, and Frances was now dead. Lilah, though she lived in the same house as her father, belonged not to him so much as to Elinor. When Frances drowned in the Perdido, Lilah had become her grandmother's child; Billy Bronze became a sort of uncle to his daughter. He took no more part than that in her upbringing. Elinor gave permission, Elinor refused requests, Elinor decided what might or might not be done; Elinor bought Lilah's clothes, and paid for Lilah's pleasures. Billy watched hia daughter grow up with affection and interest, but not with the love or involvement of a parent.

Perdido rather hoped that Miriam Caskey Strickland would conceive a child—she was nearing forty, and there wasn't much more time for her—because Perdido wanted to make bets on who would end up with it. Miriam, of all Caskeys within memory, was least likely to want to hold on to a son or a daughter if anyone were to step forward with an offer. The often-heard remark was that if it was a girl, she'd trade it for diamonds; if it was a boy, for oil-company stock.

Perhaps that was what Miriam would have done, had she had a child. But Miriam didn't conceive, though she and Malcolm went at it with the application that Miriam brought to everything. Malcolm had been surprised by his wife's change of heart, and even went so far as to question her about it. "You didn't always want a baby, you know," he pointed out. "You said you'd use its head for a pin-cushion."

"Married people have babies," Miriam replied, a little uncomfortably. "So I changed my mind, that's all. I decided that if I was gone go to the trouble of marrying you—and Malcolm, there never was a man who was more trouble than you—then I might as well go on and do the other thing, too." Yet no child came, and it began to look as if no child would.

This irked Miriam. She didn't like being thwarted, and that it was her own body that was proving recalcitrant was a double insult. Malcolm tried to point out to his disappointed wife that a child was only likely to prove a burden to her. Pregnancy itself was likely to interfere with her work; the child would demand time and attention that Miriam would probably resent not giving to the mill and the oil business.

Miriam wasn't consoled. "I could still go to the office if I got pregnant," she said. "And if once in a while I couldn't, I could tell you and Billy what to do and I suppose you would get it done. Once the child came, I'd hire a girl to take care of it." All Zaddie and Ivey's brothers had been long married, and already there was a third generation of female Sapps, just pining to be hired on by the Caskeys. "And if that didn't work out, I could always send it out to Gavin Pond Farm or over to Elinor's. They'd all leap at the chance for another baby. After all, there hasn't been a baby around here since Lilah was born."

But Miriam still didn't conceive, and finally she was convinced by Malcolm and her own body that it would never happen. This didn't, however, lessen her desire to have a child. She looked next door, and saw how Queenie had stolen Tommy Lee away from Lucille and Grace. And when Miriam looked the other way, what she saw was Lilah Bronze, just ripe for the plucking.

Lilah was thirteen, in the eighth grade, and was like no one so much as Miriam herself: starchly handsome, proud of her position, enamored of jewels and worldly things, slightly contemptuous of those her own age. In short, Lilah was a child after her aunt's heart. There was already a certain intimacy between them on account of Miriam's jewelry collection, which Lilah passionately coveted.

Miriam saw no reason why she should not have Lilah for her own. Certainly, following Malcolm's arguments, that would be better than giving birth to a child herself. There was no pregnancy to worry about, no infancy to be endured, and there was not the uncertainty of personality to contend with. She might, after all, have given birth to a child who would turn out to be just like Malcolm—or, worse, like Frances. Just because a woman had carried a child in her womb was no guarantee that she would feel any sympathy with it.

But here was Lilah, and Lilah—to Miriam—was the perfect daughter.

Once she had come to this conclusion, and without having conferred with Malcolm, Miriam lost no time in beginning the task of getting Lilah away from her father and her grandmother.

Christmas of 1960 was held at Gavin Pond Farm in order to celebrate the new facade that had been raised against the old farmhouse, a feature that obliterated the last vestiges of the original humble old house. The house now had high tall windows and a wide front porch with soaring columns and brick flooring. There was a triangular pediment over the double doors. Grace built a new addition every year or so, and by the time that Lucille had succeeded in properly furnishing and decorating the new rooms, Grace was planning the next enlargement.

Now, one whole room was filled with the Christmas tree and gifts, and the Caskeys had to sit on chairs in the hallway and in the dining room in order to open their presents. Most family members gave each of the others about five gifts—even if Elinor had to buy and wrap all of Oscar's presents from him to her, the gifts were still there.

From Miriam to Lilah, however, there was but a single gift, a small box, hidden away near the base of the tree, and this was brought out at the last. Lilah, expecting scarcely anything of consequence from her aunt, who was known for the inappro-priateness of her gifts, was astonished to find inside a brooch of diamonds surrounding a ruby that must have been of at least two karats.

"Is this real?" Lilah exclaimed, holding the bauble high in the air for everyone to see. "Miriam," she cried, looking at the tag to make certain that it was indeed from her aunt, "is this real?"

"It is," said Miriam.

"That cost a fortune," exclaimed Queenie. "Or is that just one of yours?"

"I bought it in New York last month," pronounced Miriam. "Especially for Lilah."

"You're too young to wear a thing like that," said Elinor.

"But it's mine," said Lilah, closing both hands around it and pressing those closed fists happily against her breast.

"Open a safety-deposit box for yourself," said Miriam. "By the time I was your age, I was already on my second. You've got some catching up to do."

"I am not going to spend good money on jewels for that child that she will never wear," said Elinor pointedly.

Miriam laughed. "You cain't insult me, Elinor. And you cain't stop me from giving Lilah more when I want to."

"No, I can't," said Elinor. "You want to give gifts away like that, go right ahead."

Afterward, at the dinner table, Lilah contrived to sit next to her aunt. "Why did you give me this?" Lilah asked, still clutching the brooch. "I love it."

Miriam answered in a voice that was meant to be heard by all the table, "I gave it to you because I want you to move next door with Malcolm and me."

Lilah's mouth fell open. She turned her head and looked, not to her father, but to her grandmother, seated at the head of the table. Grace and Lucille had happily relinquished their usual places to Elinor and Oscar, as heads of the family.

Elinor said nothing.

"Close your mouth, Lilah," said Grace dryly. "You'll catch flies."

Lilah shut her mouth.

"Malcolm and I are lonesome," said Miriam. "Aren't we, Malcolm?"

"We sure are," said Malcolm obediently from his forgotten corner of the long table.

"You've had Lilah for thirteen years, Elinor. You ought to let me have her for a little while."

"Lilah belongs to Billy," Oscar pointed out from the end of the table opposite his wife.

"Lilah does what she wants," sighed Billy, bowing out. "Or what Elinor wants."

"Lilah," said Queenie, "what do you want?"

"I don't know," said Lilah thoughtfully. "I'd just be moving next door, wouldn't I?"

No one bothered to answer that question.

"Lilah?" said her grandmother. Nothing in Elinor's tone gave the child any clue what she wanted to hear.

"Maybe if I just stayed for a few weeks... until spring vacation or something, so Miriam and Malcolm wouldn't be so lonely. Then I could come back."

The Caskeys all looked at one another, each with complete knowledge. Elinor had allowed Lilah to speak, and Lilah had proclaimed her doom. Caskey children, once given up, were never returned. Lilah Bronze, in that one heedless moment, was lost to Elinor forever.

Miriam smiled, and squeezed Lilah's hand. "Just for a few weeks," said Miriam. "And then I'll let you go back. Elinor won't rent out your room, I guess."

No more was said of the matter at the table. Lilah, who thought herself prodigiously smart, understood nothing at all. The occasion—outside of Lilah's own happiness at the prospect of more jewels—turned not somber, but solemn. Something momentous had happened, altogether unexpectedly, and everybody—except the child who would be most affected by it—knew it. Luvadia and Melva continued to bring out plates of hot rolls and to take away empty dishes, and there was talk still of renewed oil leases and proposed trips to Houston and New York. At one point Oscar sent Sammy out to start the car so that it would be warm by the time he wanted to drive up to the golf course in Brewton, but no one thought of anything but Lilah, who had been stolen away in the twinkling of Miriam's acquisitive eye, more quickly and more cleanly than long-armed gypsies could have done it by reaching in an unlatched window and snatching her sleeping from her cradle.

Oscar didn't wait for coffee; he and Tommy Lee and Sammy drove off to Brewton. Lucille and Queenie went to help Luvadia and Zaddie clean up the mess in the hallway. Grace and Billy started to pack the cars with all the gifts. Elinor remained at the head of the table, with her cold coffee before her. Miriam was on her third cup. She had an arm around Lilah, weary and happy in the chair next to her.

"You didn't fight," said Miriam.

"Fight about what?" asked Lilah.

"Shhh!" said Miriam.

Elinor slowly shook her head.

"Why not?" asked Miriam curiously. "You could have fought. You might even have won."

Elinor paused a long time before answering. One hand was crossed over her breast, the other fingered the black pearls about her neck. "When I gave you Mary-Love's wedding ring..."

"Yes?" said Miriam, holding up the hand that bore the ring.

"It wasn't enough, was it?"

"No," said Miriam, "it wasn't."

"Wasn't enough for what?" asked Lilah.

"Be quiet," said Miriam in a slow whisper, pinching Lilah's arm as she did so.

"But now," said Elinor, "we're even."

"Yes," returned Miriam. "I guess we are. How's that, Mama? After thirty-nine years, I forgive you."

Elinor said nothing, she just sipped her cold coffee.

For the first time in her entire life, Miriam had called Elinor Mama.

L
ilah moved into one of the guest bedrooms of Miriam's house later that Christmas day, "just for a few weeks." Only Lilah herself—of all the Caskeys and most of Perdido—was deceived into thinking that she would soon return to her grandmother and her father.

Those few weeks passed, and Lilah said to her grandmother, "Miriam and Malcolm said they cain't do without me. May I stay for just a little while longer?"

"I'll send your things over," said Elinor.

Lilah's clothes went next door, and soon there was no thought whatsoever—even in Lilah's mind—of her returning. She belonged to Miriam and Malcolm now, and though all the Caskeys atetlinner together at Elinor's every evening, and Lilah saw almost as much of Billy as she had before, she was quite a different child. Miriam pampered her niece, oddly, by neglecting her. Elinor had always kept a tight rein on her granddaughter, for Lilah tended to be forward and precocious, protective of her prerogatives as a Caskey and the richest little girl in the entire county; she was apt to be imperious toward the servants. Elinor had kept these tendencies in check. Miriam did not even try to do so. In her niece, Miriam saw the child she had herself been. She trusted Lilah as she trusted herself. What Lilah wanted was what Lilah needed; what Lilah did was exactly what was required by the situation in question. Lilah, in short, grew unbearable. Yet Miriam saw nothing of this, or perhaps she chose to see nothing. For all the child's arrogance, she was still dear to Miriam, and perhaps dearer to Miriam as she became less and less pleasant to others.

Oscar saw all this, and remonstrated with his wife and son-in-law. Elinor and Billy, he said, ought to step in before the child was completely ruined. Elinor and Billy, however, would do nothing. Lilah now belonged to Miriam and Miriam was raising her as she saw fit.

"It's none of my business anymore," said Billy. "It might be if Lilah still lived here, but she doesn't."

"Oscar," Elinor pointed out, "Miriam is treating Lilah exactly the way Mary-Love treated Miriam. Lilah will be a carbon copy of Miriam. Everybody in town sees that. It probably would have happened anyway. There's nothing that I can do about it—and even if there were, I probably wouldn't do it."