The Truth According to Us (40 page)

“What about Felix?” asked Miss Beck quickly.

“Wasn't there,” said Mrs. John. “Did not attend.”

“Oh. Well. I guess since the mill belonged to his—well, it must have been a shock.”

“I suppose so.” Mrs. John sounded hard. She was back to normal. “Now, how did we end up on
that
? Goodness! Talk about history! What I
wanted
to show you is right over here. John bought it last—oh, I guess it must have been March—off one of those Spurlings—they've come down in the world, let me tell you. See?”

“Mmm,” said Miss Beck. “Is it—isn't that Prince Street? Oh, I see—Spurling Square.”

“Painted in the year 1872.” You'd think Mrs. John had painted it herself.

“How interesting,” Miss Beck said.

“I knew you'd think so!”

I slipped back up the stairs and stood outside Mrs. Bucklew's room, trying to figure out what Miss Beck wanted. Something about Father, it was clear. Something about him and that fire. What was it? She'd asked whether he was there. Why would he be? If he'd been there, he would have stopped Vause from starting it. Miss Beck was a tricky one. Sometimes
I thought she was in love with Father, and sometimes I thought she suspected him of something. She was devious. Father was lucky, though, because he had me, and I was keeping watch over him.

I opened the door. Mrs. Bucklew was still asleep, stretched out on her bed, but she had rolled over so that her face was pressed into her bedspread. I slipped into her room and sat down in her chair, to think.

On the other side of town, Jottie passed expertly among the gravestones of the cemetery, weaving through names she had known all her life, until she arrived at her own. Romeyn. James. Forrest. Helen Arantha. St. Clair. Caroline. Charles Loy.

Footsteps squashed the grass behind her. Sol was always punctual. She turned, making an effort to smile.

He was—effortlessly—beaming. “Sweetheart.”

“I'm so sorry,” she began, as she'd rehearsed.

His face fell. “Why?”

“About your job,” she said. He frowned. “You got fired,” she added, as his expression remained cloudy. “It was my fault. And I'm sorry. Awfully sorry.”

His face grew cloudier still. “Is that why you called me?”

“Well. Yes,” she said. There was a silence. “I'm apologizing,” she explained.

“For what, exactly?” he asked.

“Because you came out to—uh, tell me to go home. Didn't you?” she asked, suddenly unsure.

He nodded.

“And Ralph fired you. And now you don't have a job,” she clarified,
as though he might have forgotten. He looked like he had forgotten. “I'm sorry to have caused you such trouble, Sol.”

For a moment, he said nothing. Then he lifted his face to the fan of leaves above. “The lady tempted me,” he said at last.

“What?”

His blue eyes dropped to hers. “I lost my job because of you.”

“I know,” she said guiltily. “I can hardly bear it.”

He reached for her hand. “You owe me.”

She regarded him in confusion. He seemed awfully cheerful about it.

“You have to comfort me,” he went on. He lifted her chin with his forefinger and kissed her.

“Sol!” she sputtered.

He shook his head. “The truth is that Shank was spoiling for a fight all week, ever since the strike committee told the board they wanted to negotiate with me. If looks could kill, I'd be dead already. I'm glad to get shut of the place.”

“But it was your
job
. What'll you do?” Jottie asked.

“Oh, I'm taking a little time off,” he said casually. She searched his face for anxiety and found none. Time off? But what about money? Nobody just took time off. “I expect I'll get another job pretty soon,” he added.

What job? “Where?”

He shrugged.

Could Zena have been right? “President of the mill?” she whispered.

He laughed lightly. “Yeah, president of the rumor mill.” His evasion was well oiled and utterly out of character. I'll be damned, Jottie thought. Sol's going to be president.

Instantly, a thousand doors to a thousand hallways flung themselves open in her mind, and she gazed through all of them.
I could have it all back again
met
Sol's crazy about me
met
Felix would never speak to me again
met
Would he take the girls away from me
met
He can't take care of them himself
met
Am I going to let Felix rule my life forever
met
I'd be able to give them anything they wanted
met
Daddy would be happy
met, at long last,
I want to be wanted
—.

She lifted her face and smiled at Sol. “You were real chivalrous to come out and rescue me from those peaches.”

“I couldn't believe it when I saw you there in that mess,” he said, scowling at the memory. “Of all times to pay a visit to the mill.” He brightened. “But I was chivalrous, wasn't I?” He picked her up and set her atop James Romeyn's grave. “So what's my reward?” He bent to kiss her.

“I can't kiss on my own grandfather's dead bones!” she protested.

“Fine,” he murmured, close to her ear. “Let's go kiss on my grandfather's bones. He's around here somewhere.”

“No.” She smoothed her skirt, flustered. “Only teenagers neck in cemeteries.”

He grinned. “I'd be glad to neck somewhere else. You name it.”

She put her hand on his chest. “Sol, if we are going to see each other again, we have to be…discreet.”

His face darkened. “Why? Because of Felix?”

“A little,” she admitted, wondering how she would ever bridge the chasm between them. It would take more than tact, more than diplomacy or honesty or memories of long-ago friendship, to reconcile them. Maybe they would just settle for a non-aggression pact, she thought hopefully. Like Poland.

Sol flushed. “I don't want to be discreet. And you know what? I'm not afraid of Felix. You know that, right? I'm not afraid of Felix.”

“You should be,” she said grimly.

“Goddammit.” He turned from her with an angry movement and then wheeled around again to face her. “Don't you mind, Jottie? Don't you want to have what other people have? Just the regular things, you know, like a date or a kiss or a marriage?”

“I have some things.” She sighed. “And haven't you ever noticed, Sol? Nobody Felix cares about has what other people have.”

“He doesn't care about me, so I should get what I want,” said Sol petulantly. “Which is you.”

“Oh, he cares about you,” Jottie said, feeling as though she were a hundred years older than he. “Felix cares plenty about you.”

“Yeah, I know. He spends his leisure moments thinking up new ways for me to die. Listen, Jottie”—he took her purse off her arm and dropped it on a grave marked
Baby
—“let's get married. Right now. Today—I guess we can't today, but, okay, soon. Let's just say the hell with it and get married.” He bent down to look at her. “Felix'll come around. Or maybe the shock'll kill him. No”—he caught the look on her face—“I'm just kidding. Don't mind me. Just—marry me, will you, Jottie? Please? Aw, hell, you're not crying, are you?”

“No,” she whispered, wiping the tears from her face with the heel of her hand.

Sol examined her. “You sure look like you're crying, honey.”

She shook her head violently.

“Josie?”

No, she pleaded. I can't bear it.

Vause propped himself up on one elbow and smiled at her. Dreamily, she watched light and shadow play on his face. The only sound was the river, slapping itself arrhythmically against the stones, and the faint creak of the trees above them. Vause bent over her again
.

“Stop that.” Felix's shoe prodded at Vause's shoulder. “Stop that, or I'll call you out.”

Vause pulled away reluctantly. “I'm going to put a bell around your neck, Felix.”

“He's just jealous,” said Jottie, sitting up. She smoothed her hair and patted her kiss-disordered mouth. “He's jealous because there's not a girl left in town who'll go to the corner with him.”

“Back numbers,” said Felix briefly, dropping to the grass. “There's not a girl in town I'd want to take to the corner.”

“We thought you'd be along before this,” said Vause
.

“That's because you don't know how important I am,” said Felix, shrugging off his jacket. “I'm a linchpin in the machinery of prosperity.”

Jottie giggled. He was quoting their father. “I always knew you were a linchpin,” she began, but he closed his eyes and shook his head. He was pale, she noticed. For him, he was pale. “Was it so bad today?” she asked softly
.

“All is vanity and a striving after wind,” he said without opening his eyes.
“Yours of the fourth inst. received and contents noted. We take pleasure in sending you six pair of finest ladies' woolen stockings, pale, under separate cover.”

“I can see how you might take pleasure in that,” said Vause sympathetically. There was a silence. “At least you're not working for my father.”

“Son, I'd like you to see to these accounts. Yessir.” Felix's eyes popped open. “Got anything to drink?”

Vause sat up and shuffled in his pocket. A silver flask arched through the space between them, and Felix caught it neatly in one hand. Jottie thought, They've done that a thousand times
.

“I'd rather be in the army again,” Felix said, eyes fixed on far trees. Absently, he rubbed the flask back and forth against his knee. “I'd rather be stuck in mud up to my waist with a German coming over the wire to blow my brains out.”

“Oh honey,” began Jottie. She couldn't think what to say next. “Why don't you…”

“Why don't I what?” he said roughly
.

“Quit. Leave. You don't have to stay at American Everlasting, or in Macedonia, either. You could go anywhere.”

He smiled at her. “Smart girl, my sister.” He unscrewed the cap of the flask and took a swig. “Why didn't I think of that?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Where're you going?”

He laughed. “Vause?” he inquired
.

Vause eyed Felix thoughtfully for a moment. “We had a—a sort of a plan, Felix and I. When we were decommissioned. We thought we'd light out pretty soon. Take off to someplace else.”

“Where?” she asked quickly
.

They exchanged glances, and Felix shrugged. “Chicago, Ottawa
—”

“Ottawa? Why Ottawa?”

Vause snickered. “That's what I said. I think it's some girl.”

Jottie started up to her knees. “California!”

Felix burst out laughing. “Listen to her! She's dying to get rid of me. You want my room, is that it?”

“No, no.” Her voice rose in excitement. “All of us, the three of us
—
let's go together! Vause, let's! Think how much fun we'd have!”

The boys exchanged looks again. Felix said, “You're the reason Vause wouldn't leave.”

She swung around to Vause, withstanding the momentary percussion of his handsomeness, the split-second disbelief that after all those years, he loved her back. “I can go with you.”

“You're supposed to go to college next month,” he said, frowning
.

She leaned forward to curl her fingers around his lapel. “I don't care about college!” She did, of course. College was hard-won. It was her theater, her chance to make herself new, the one step she could take that might lead her someplace else. But against lighting out? With Vause? It couldn't hold its power. Lighting out, a brilliant cataclysm of light, eclipsing everything. She grabbed Vause's other lapel. “Take me with you! Please, please, Vause, let's go together. All three of us!”

His eyes slid to Felix and back to her. “We weren't thinking about a vacation, honey.”

“It's forever, Jottie,” Felix said simply. “No coming back. If we go, they'll write us off. Daddy and Mama and everyone. They'll hate us.”

She could see that satisfied him. He wanted them to hate him, or at least, that's what he thought he wanted. Even more, she knew, he wanted them to see that he hated them, that he could throw away everything they'd given him without a backward glance. He wanted their father to crumble under the blow. “Maybe they won't,” she said. “Hate us. Why should they? We're going off to seek our fortunes. Maybe they'll think we're plucky. Maybe.”

Felix shook his head. He wouldn't have it. “Scion of Local Family Bolts,” he said
.

“Two scions,” said Vause. He squeezed her hand. “And girl, eighteen.” He frowned again. “You're only eighteen, honey.”

“Take me,” she said breathlessly. “I've never been anywhere. I want to see orange groves and
—
and—all those other things in California.” She couldn't think what they were, but she wanted them. She was desperate for them. She plunged on. “And we'll be together, the three of us, and it will be
new. It will be filled with people we don't know—people we haven't known all our lives. I'm so sick of Macedonia and all the folks watching and talking and tattling every time we see each other.” She squeezed the cloth of his jacket in her fist, the idea growing larger and larger inside her. To see Vause every single day and to see new places and to be with him and Felix—she was sick with longing. What if they wouldn't take her? What if Vause wanted her to be a lady? What if he left without her? She would die of it
.