To Tuscany with Love (6 page)

She started up again, with her cries. His mother moaned, a low, gasping moan, rising in pitch and volume. Then she screamed. “Oh God, oh God, help me! Help me!”

Stillman knew better than to run inside to her bedroom. He couldn’t help her. Only the doctor and God could help her now. Thank goodness his daddy was at the church, so he couldn’t hear her cry to God.

At last. The gray puffs appeared on the horizon. Stillman ran back to his mother’s bedroom.

“Mama?” He stood outside her door. Her moaning stopped. “The doctor’s coming. He’ll be here soon, Mama.”

“Come inside, honey.”

Stillman stood by the door. She never asked him to come in alone.

“I need to ... ” Her frail voice faltered.

Stillman pushed open the door. The smell hit him harder than the sight of her. Stale, sour air filled the dark bedroom. He saw the window blind behind Mama’s lace curtains pulled down to the sill to block out the daylight.

Mama’s thin frame was curled on the bed, facing the door. She lifted one hand. Her fingers waved him toward her.

Stillman moved to the bed. He held her hand in both of his. “Do you need water, Mama?”

She shook her head. Her eyes took hold of his and jumped right inside his head. “He’s”—her free hand patted the air over the bed next to her—“not your daddy. You hear me, honey? He’s not your daddy.” Her eyes wouldn’t let go of him. “He’ll take care of you, though. I made him promise ... he promised on the Bible.” The scratchy words seemed to make her chest cave in, as if she had to push them out one by one. “I loved your daddy.”

This made no sense. His mama squeezed his fingers. Not his daddy?

As if she could read his mind, she nodded. “Your daddy was a college boy, from the North. Chicago. A big city, big as Atlanta. He was here for a year of college. He went to Emory.” She smiled, like Stillman should know about Emory. He could see her pride. She collapsed back into her pillow.

Stillman bent over her. He rested one palm on her chest. “You need to rest, Mama. The doctor will be here any minute. We can talk later.”

She shook her head, her lips in a tight line as if she’d caught him stealing a cookie before dinner, back when she had strength to work in the kitchen.

Her eyes closed for a second, then her hand fluttered in his, reminding him of a trapped butterfly. “He sold books door-to-door on weekends to help pay for his college. That’s how we met. He came to town one fine, autumn day. The breeze that day was as gentle as a baby’s whisper, and the night cooled down right proper. Cool enough for a sweater. I wore his.”

Stillman had never heard his mother string so many words together in a row. Somehow, he knew she’d said these very words to herself many, many times.

“We saw each other every weekend after that. We loved each other. What we did together wasn’t wrong. Don’t ever believe him if he tries to tell you it was, preaching some Bible verse at you. No. It was beautiful. It’s not a sin to love someone with your whole heart and body, that is, if you’re not married to another person.”

Stillman heard the doctor’s old Ford pickup turn into the lane. He’d be here soon. Mama’s hand tightened on his. She had heard it, too.

“You’re smart, like your daddy. Study hard.” Outside, the pickup’s brakes squealed, and the engine stopped. The sound of the pickup door slamming closed seemed to sap Mama’s last strength. She slumped back against the flat pillow. She nodded and her eyes flitted toward the bedroom door. She slid her hand out of his sweaty palm.

He turned to go.

“Stillman?”

He turned around. Her lips were pinched together.

“You study hard, and you’ll get out of here. You can go to a big city.”

“I will, Mama.”

“Be a good boy. When you love someone, you do right by them.” Her eyelids closed and opened, and then they closed and opened again like the long, swinging jump rope the older girls played games with on the playground. “Promise me.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.” His fingers drew a big “X” over his heart.

The doctor’s fist rapped against the door. “Good afternoon.” Stillman heard the door open and went to greet the doctor. The tall man’s white hair was parted and slicked back like a movie star’s. He bent down in front of Stillman and dropped one knee to the floor to look him in the eye. “I understand your mother’s not doing well today.”

“No, sir.”

“Well then, maybe I should go visit her. Is that all right with you?”

“Yes, sir.”

The doctor stood up. His fingers touched the top of Stillman’s head, and then they scratched back and forth to muss his hair. Stillman looked up and smiled. His daddy—the preacher—never touched him except when it was time to punish him.

“All right, son, I’d best go tend to your mother.” He carried his black bag into the bedroom and closed the door behind him.

Hours later, after his preacher-daddy had come home, Stillman sat on the porch steps again, wondering about the man who was his real daddy. He figured he shouldn’t tell the preacher about Mama’s story. Why else would she say those things when he wasn’t around to hear? No, he’d best hide that all in the back of his brain and never, ever tell a soul. Stillman had a hunch that telling Mama’s story would lead his preacher-daddy to bring out the leather strap, and he knew he didn’t want that.

The fireflies had come out of hiding and tiny stars had appeared by the time he heard the men come out of the bedroom.

The doctor eased himself down on the step next to Stillman. His white dress shirt had big sweat rings under the armpits. His watch had a sweep hand that seemed to hitch onto every second mark and rest a moment as it circled on around. Stillman stared at that watch so hard he thought his eyes would bug out. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the doctor’s face.

The doctor cleared his throat, a raspy noise that sounded as if he needed a glass of water. Stillman watched another minute go by on the watch. Click-click-click.

“Your mama, Stillman, she’s resting in heaven now.”

Stillman nodded. His eyes burned as if he’d gotten soap in them. He could feel the tears and tried to blink them away. They kept coming, and he had to use the back of his wrist to clear them off his face.

The doctor put his arm across the back of Stillman’s shoulders. The door to the house squeaked open and closed with a thud.

“Son,” his daddy said, sounding perturbed, “what are you doing settin’ here when there is chores that need doing?”

Stillman put his hands on the step to push himself up. He felt the doctor’s arm heavy on his shoulders, pushing him down. The doctor’s hand squeezed Stillman’s shoulder. It felt right, somehow, sitting on the step next to him.

“The chores can wait. You don’t have cows that need milking or animals to be fed. His chores can probably even wait until morning, if need be.”

“I said now.”

Stillman tried to push up, but the doctor wouldn’t let him. He felt the big hand pat his shoulder, and then the doctor stood up and turned to face his daddy.

“I think the boy should come with me tonight,” the doctor said. “I’ll drive him out first thing in the morning. He can do his chores then.” He stepped closer to Stillman’s daddy and lowered his voice, but Stillman could still hear what he said. “That’ll give you a chance to take care of things in the house. You can call the undertaker after we leave. He’s only a child.”

Stillman was afraid to turn around and look at the two men. He heard his daddy suck in air like Mama’s vacuum and then snort it out.

“He should be here,” his daddy said. “With me.” The voice wasn’t his Sunday preaching voice, or even his discipline voice that meant the strap. No, this was like the rattlesnake Stillman startled last summer when he crossed the ditch; it had hissed and reared its head up, its tongue flicking in and out.

“John,” the doctor said, his voice low, but serious, “I’m taking him, and you’re not stopping me. I did you and his mother a favor years ago, so I figure you owe me one or two favors back. You can count this as one.” The doctor’s big shoes stepped across the porch and he knelt beside Stillman. “Come on, son, you’re coming with me.”

The shakes came over Stillman, as if the weather had turned freezing cold, only it hadn’t.

“Go on now.” His daddy spit out the words.

Stillman stood up; afraid his daddy would change his mind, he tumbled down the porch steps and ran to the pickup.

Later, after a bath in the doctor’s tub—and it wasn’t even Saturday—Stillman stood in the little room that the doctor used as an office, right next to his examination room. Books lined half of one wall. He’d never seen so many books outside of the library. They had worn leather bindings; the doctor must read them often.

He reached out to touch one. His fingers traced the gold letters on the spine:
Anatomy and Physiology
. There were two books with that same name, one right next to the other—a worn one and a new one, with a spine that had hardly any creases in it.

Stillman jumped back from the books when he heard the floor creak behind him. He bowed his head and waited for his punishment.

But none came. “Which book interests you most?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Sure you do. Please call me Dr. D.” He chuckled. “Delacroix is a mouthful.” He rested his hand on Stillman’s shoulder. “Was it the
Anatomy and Physiology
?”

Stillman nodded. Then his words jumped right out of his mouth, although he hadn’t intended to speak. “How come you have two? Is one better than the other?”

Dr. D reached up and pulled down the worn book. “This one is my favorite of all the books on the wall.” He cradled the spine in his big palm. “I’ve studied it so often the pages are coming loose from the binding, so I bought a new one. I know it’s frivolous, but I couldn’t bear the thought of looking for a page and having it missing. Here,” he said, opening it to pictures of naked bodies, “let me show you.”

Stillman sucked in his breath. He knew he should look away, but his eyes stayed glued to the pictures. He’d go to hell for sure now. And if he was doomed to eternal damnation, he might as well get a good look, since he’d already sinned.

“This is a teaching book, not a sinful one.” Dr. D must have read his mind. “Come closer, so you can read the captions. There is nothing more beautiful than the naked human body.”

Stillman sat next to Dr. D on the upholstered bench in his office. Dr. D showed him one page and then another, sometimes explaining in his quiet, low voice and sometimes letting Stillman read and study it for himself.

“What do you want to be when you grow up, son?”

Stillman thought of his mama’s words. Hot tears sprang to his eyes. He blinked hard and finally had to use the back of his hand. He lowered his chin and shook his head. “Don’t know. But I’m gonna study hard.” He gulped. “I promised my mama.”

“Of course you will. You’re a bright boy, just like your daddy.”

Stillman’s wide eyes shot up to Dr. D’s.

He nodded solemnly. “I met your real daddy before he went back up North. He was book smart, but a fool to leave and not marry your mama.” Dr. D stood up. “Time for bed. It’s been a long day for us both, and I promised the preacher you’d do your chores in the morning.”

Preacher. Dr. D knew his mama’s secret. He scrambled to his feet.

The next morning, Dr. D drove him home early, while the dew still shone on the leaves of the weeping willow in front of the church.

The preacher stood on the porch, waiting for them.

Dr. D had his arm across Stillman’s shoulders as they walked up to the porch.

“John,” Dr. D said, “your boy is ready to do his chores, just as I promised. But before you send him out, I want you both to hear what I’ve got to say.”

“Say it, then. He’s got a passel to do today—two days’ worth of chores—and I want him to sweep out the church, too.”

“Then I’ll be quick.” Dr. D walked to his pickup and reached under the seat. He came back carrying his worn copy of
Anatomy and Physiology
. “Stillman,” he said, holding out his prized book, “I want you to have this. You have a curious, bright mind. You’d make a good doctor. This book is for you to read and study.”

Stillman clutched the big volume to his chest. His? To keep? He’d study it, too. Study it real hard, for Mama.

“John, I have two copies, so I’m giving the boy my old one. I know he’ll respect it as a teaching book, to read and study, not to ogle or parade in front of other boys. Isn’t that right, Stillman?”

Stillman looked at Dr. D. He nodded up and down three times. “Yes, sir. Thank you. I’ll take real good care of it, so none of the pages drop out.”

Dr. D leaned into the preacher until his mouth was right next to the preacher’s ear. His voice got real quiet, but Stillman heard every word. “Don’t even think about taking his book away, John. I’ll ride you out of town myself if you do.”

The preacher’s face got white and puffy, then red as a wild strawberry.

“Stillman, you better take your book inside now and get to those chores.” Dr. D patted Stillman’s head.

Stillman clutched his book in one arm and hugged the doctor with the other. “It’s the best present I’ve ever gotten.”

After Stillman put the book on the center of the wooden crate beside his bed, he hustled out of the bedroom to start his chores. He heard Dr. D’s pickup drive away from the house.

The preacher stood in the kitchen, his face even redder than it had been outside. He whacked the back of his hand so hard against Stillman’s cheek that Stillman’s legs buckled. His knees smacked the floor.

“After you’re finished here, you’ll sweep, then scrub, the church floor. You’ll scrub that floor on your knees, boy. While you scrub you can ask the good Lord’s forgiveness for saying that blasphemous book was a better gift than the Bible that I gave you for your birthday.” He kicked Stillman’s bottom, pushing him toward the door. “Now git, before I have to use the strap on you.”