The Truth According to Us (13 page)

“That's not what I—”

He didn't hear her. “You want to pretend Daddy's still the president of American Everlasting, don't you? You want it all back again. Forget it. It's over, and none of it was ever worth a damn, anyway. None of it was worth a nickel.”

Oh, Felix, she thought, why do you take it so hard, what Daddy was? In spite of everything, old pity released its warmth into her veins, and she reached out to pat his fingers. “It wasn't worth a nickel,” she agreed soothingly.

“I should have left,” he said bitterly. “After the fire and Vause, I should have gotten the hell out of here.”

“But I needed you, and you stayed,” she said. “I couldn't have borne it without you.” It was the truth.

“I'd rather have gone,” he snapped. “I'd've lit out faster than you can spit if you hadn't needed me. If you're saying now you don't want me here, I'd be happy to leave. I'll do it tomorrow.”

“No, Felix, I don't want that—”

“I'd be glad to see the back of this town,” he spat. “I'd be glad if the whole damn place and everyone in it were blown to kingdom come.”

He was so angry. She was the only one who could help him stop; it had always been that way. She owed it to him, and she would owe it to him forever. “Shh,” she murmured. “You don't want to get like that. Everything's fine.” Gently, she patted his fingers again. “Why, the
church would fall right on your head if you went, anyway.” He glanced at her, grateful as always for the reprieve. “And the Elks? You'd bring the whole order to its knees, you know you would,” she said. “You'd teach them all dirty songs and curse words, and the boy Elks would raid the lady Elks and”—she shook her head—“nine months later there'd be a whole slew of bastard Elks. It doesn't bear thinking about.”

“That's right.” He exhaled slowly, returning to himself. “It's no good trying to reform me.”

He'd be all right now. She smiled at him. “You'd better start saving if you're going to buy your way into heaven. It's going to cost you plenty.”

He dropped his face into his hands. “I wouldn't know anyone anyway,” he mumbled through his fingers. Then, with a sigh, he rose.

When he was gone, Jottie lay back against the pillows, exhausted, but her mind skittered like a mouse: He'll never change, he'll never change.

I'll have to do it all by myself.

June 11, 1938

Miss Layla Beck

47 Academy Street

Macedonia, West Virginia

Dear Miss Beck,

As Head Councilman of the Town Council of Macedonia, I hope you will allow me to welcome you to our town and express my hope that your stay here will be as pleasant for you as it doubtless will be for us.

The town of Macedonia this year celebrates its 150th Anniversary, and in order to suitably commemorate the occasion, we seek a dignified yet lively recounting of its history. In turning to the Federal Writers' Project for the creation of a short book or “booklet” on this topic, we hark to the call of national duty, but as a proper and elevated treatment of the subject must be of the first importance to all truehearted Macedonians, who are after all the sponsors of this project, we wish you to be guided in all particulars by those who have been selected for the task, namely Mayor Silver, myself, and my wife, Belinda.

With this requirement in mind, I herewith present to you the material necessary of inclusion in
The History of Macedonia
. To wit:

Macedonia's history begins in 1758, with General Magnus Hamilton, whose valor and derring-do cleared this area of Indians in six short years. As I and my wife, Belinda, are both descendants of the General, you may look to us for historical papers and artifacts which are in our home. Several of my fellow council members are likewise possessed of valuable documents and relics of Macedonia's “Golden Age,” and I have been authorized to inform you that they will make themselves and these important historical possessions available to you, when you are writing.

The history of General Hamilton will represent the Colonial era. Other historical events to be included are the Revolutionary War, the incorporation of Macedonia in 1788, not excluding General Washington's famous compliment to the town (“I know of no other town so well situated as Macedonia”), the religious renaissance of the 1820s and '30s, with particular attention to the Presbyterian, Methodist, Episcopal, and Baptist churches, the contributions made by Macedonians in the building of the B&O Railroad in the 1830s and its effect on local industry, the valiant struggles of the town during the War Between the States (no favor to be implied to either side, if you please), and the founding of the West Virginia Academy for the Blind by Doctor T. Wiffen White in 1889. The opening of the American Everlasting Hosiery Company in 1900 may also be discussed.

In a separate chapter, we wish to have detailed descriptions of Macedonia's finest edifices and public buildings, some of which are held to be the best in eastern West Virginia, including the recently completed Fire Station No. 3, the Union Hotel, the Race Street School, the Second Presbyterian Church, and the Equality Mill. Indian Creek Cemetery, as the final resting place of the late Governor Alexander Spurling, should not be overlooked, nor should the statue of “Charity,” by renowned sculptor Isaiah Michael Biggs, in Flick Park. The Academy Building is worthy of notice, as is the
Town Hall, recently built at great expense. The American Everlasting Hosiery Factory is considered to be a superior example of an efficient modern factory; it should be described. There will be no need to include downtown shops, as they are of generally low quality. Other areas that are not of interest are the neighborhoods on the southeast edge of the town beginning at Zackquill Avenue, sometimes called Cake Creek, and the area bordered by Unity Street and Prince Street, known as Leadbend.

In addition to historical epochs and public buildings, the Town Council has agreed that the book or “booklet” should include accounts of Macedonia's First Families and their homes, which in many cases are genuine monuments of architecture. In view of the great deeds and storied pasts of these Macedonians, we believe a brief chronicle of each of these families will add a pleasing informality and “human interest” to the book. The notables of Macedonia have graciously agreed to open their homes to you in order to discuss their ancestors and allow you to see family heirlooms of historic value.

In order to assist you in this endeavor, we have drawn up a list of Macedonia's most illustrious families:

Mayor Eugene Silver and Mrs. Eugene Silver

Mr. and Mrs. James Beville

Rev. Dr. Leviticus Dews and Mrs. Leviticus Dews

Mr. and Mrs. Holmes Cladine

Mrs. Alexander Washington

Dr. and Mrs. George Averill

Mrs. Hartford Lacey

Mr. and Mrs. Walter McKubin

Mr. and Mrs. Arwell Tapscott

Mr. and Mrs. Sloan Inskeep (not the Arnold Inskeeps)

Dr. and Mrs. Casper Tare

Mr. and Mrs. Tyler Bowers

Mr. and Mrs. Wyncoop Rudy

Mr. and Mrs. Ralph Shank

Mr. Tare Russell

Mr. and Mrs. Baker Spurling

Mr. and Mrs. John Sue

Mr. and Mrs. John Lansbrough

Mr. and Mrs. Parker Davies

Some mention should also be made of civic and natural sites of moment, such as Flick Park, Morgan Creek, Spurling Square (often called Town Square) as well as the sulfur-spring water fountain there, the Caudy House (Macedonia's oldest structure), Pella Plantation (once the estate of the Hamilton family), Mount Level, False River, Dolly's Ford, Sandy Mountain, and the site of the former roundhouse. You may enumerate schools, roads, and other local sites of interest as space permits.

I propose that you begin your work by meeting with me and my wife, Belinda, at the soonest possible date. You would be wise to obtain a good map of Macedonia. It is possible that Miss Romeyn can oblige you in this matter.

I look forward to the early commencement of
The History of Macedonia
.

Yours truly,

Parker Davies, Esq.

“Well”—Miss Betts exhaled, handing the letter back to Layla—“Mr. Davies leaves nothing to chance, does he?”

“Not much,” said Layla.

Miss Betts gave the letter a disdainful look and lifted her shining glasses to Layla. “I am a believer in artistic liberty, myself. How shall we begin, Miss Beck?”

Not wanting to disappoint her crusader, Layla said cautiously, “Well, I'm engaged to have tea with Mr. and Mrs. Davies later this afternoon, and—uh—I was hoping that you could give me some background on the early history of Macedonia.”

“Certainly! We will prepare you to face the Davieses head-on,” Miss Betts said, energetically resettling a hair comb. “Now, as Mr. Davies rightly notes, the recorded history of Macedonia starts with General Magnus Hamilton. He settled slightly to the north of the—good afternoon, Willa,” Miss Betts called with resounding clarity. “Back again already?”

Layla turned with a friendly smile. “Why, Willa! Fancy meeting you here!”

Willa paused uncertainly at the door. After a moment, she swallowed and stepped toward Miss Betts's desk, determination written on her face. “Yes'm, good afternoon,” she said to Miss Betts before turning brightly to Layla. “Hi, Miss Beck. I'm just here to do some research.” She nodded. “I do that a lot. Researching. Today it's Albania. That's what I'm looking up. Albania.” A toothy smile stretched to include Miss Betts. “I saw where that King Zog—of Albania—he just got married.” She looked probingly at Layla. “King Zog of Albania,” she enunciated. “So that's what I'm going to look up. In the encyclopedia. The royal kingdom of Albania.”

Layla nodded, baffled.

“You'll find the encyclopedia on the reference shelf,” said Miss Betts, suppressing a smile.

“That girl he married, she's twenty years younger than him,” Willa continued conversationally. “They call her the White Rose of Hungary, can you imagine?” Again, she looked probingly at Layla. “Can you?”

Layla frowned in perplexity. “Can I what?”

“Imagine being called the White Rose of Hungary,” pressed Willa.

“No,” said Layla. “No, I don't think I can.” Her smile grew fixed as Willa continued to watch her closely. Whatever was the child thinking?

Suddenly Willa's face flamed. She took a half step back. “ 'Scuse me,” she mumbled. “I'll—I'll—just go.” She lurched toward the stacks, her shoulders hunched, radiant with embarrassment.

Layla turned to Miss Betts in amazement. “What happened?” she whispered.

Miss Betts's penetrating blue eyes softened as they followed Willa's coltish figure. She shook her head ruefully. “The awkward age,” she murmured. “Poor child.”

“Do you know what she was talking about?” asked Layla, curious now.

Miss Betts shrugged. “No idea.” She lowered her voice and leaned across her desk. “A very bright child. Voracious reader. She's close to having read through our entire collection, not that that takes a lot of doing.” Miss Betts's gaze circled her small domain before returning to Layla. “Anyway, she's quite imaginative—”

“I guess so. Albania,” interrupted Layla, casting her eyes upward.

Miss Betts smiled. “Yes, but I expect there was method to her madness.”

Layla hesitated. “The family seems—well, they've been very kind.”

Miss Betts's smile broadened. “Seems a bit unusual, you were going to say. Yes, I suppose. To the outsider. And the insider, as well, in a way. To be clever in a town like Macedonia is something of a social hazard—”

“Mr. Romeyn, you mean?” interrupted Layla eagerly. “He
does
seem quite sophisticated for a town this size, and well traveled, too. I understand he's been to France and—”

“I was referring to Jottie,” said Miss Betts.

“Jottie? Miss Romeyn?” Layla said. “Really? I would have thought—well, she seems quite pleasant. And she's certainly a good cook.”

Miss Betts sighed. “The epitaph of the spinster.”

“She was never married?” Layla asked, wondering how long she would be obliged to dwell on Jottie before she could reintroduce Felix.

“Never married.” Miss Betts looked at Layla severely. “And therefore without interest?”

“I didn't say that!” Layla replied, irked. “Really, Miss Betts, you're putting words in my mouth.”

“I apologize.” Miss Betts blinked remorsefully. “As a spinster myself, I am perhaps sensitive to the imputation of dullness.”

Layla smiled. “I don't find you dull.”

“Thank you.” Miss Betts gazed at her blotter for a moment and added, “The Romeyns were—and still are, to some degree—a very prominent family in Macedonia. Figuring in some of our most historic and…well, I suppose you could call them dramatic episodes.”

“Dramatic episodes?” asked Layla, raising her eyebrows. “Do tell.”

Miss Betts was not to be seduced. “There is a fine line between history and gossip, Miss Beck,” she said. “I believe I'll confine myself to history.”

Layla nodded, abashed. “Yes, of course.” There was a moment's pause, and then she ventured, “They aren't on Mr. Davies's list—what he called Macedonia's first families. I know it's silly, but if they're prominent, why—” Miss Betts lifted her eyes to the shelves among which Willa was presumably standing, and Layla, following her, blushed. “Never mind,” she said hastily.

“I believe you mentioned yesterday that you intended to learn how to do research,” murmured Miss Betts. Then, louder, “Let us take up the cudgels of history.”

As the two women bent their heads together to speak of George Washington, his survey, and Lord Fairfax, Willa, well-hidden inside a capacious dictionary stand, sat as still as the dictionary above her, scarcely breathing, her eyes fixed blindly on the small forest of chair legs that obstructed her view. An hour ticked by as she waited, futilely, to hear more of dramatic events and first families, gossip and history.

Only after Layla took her leave did Willa extract herself, rise, and begin to move, crabwise, around the perimeter of the library. Fondly believing herself inconspicuous, she looked up in astonishment when Miss Betts called out a ringing “Did you find Albania?”