When the Tide Ebbs: An epic 1930's love story (A Grave Encounter) (12 page)

Relieved to see the lines on her face diminish, I breathed easier when she said, “Well, I hadn’t looked at it in that light, sugar. Maybe I was being a bit overwrought.”

When the rain started back, she pulled the burlap curtain away from the window. “Would you look at how it’s coming down in sheets? If this keeps up, we’ll have to pack some garments in front of the door to keep out the water. We’ve certainly had our share of rain.”

Didn’t bother me. No sound on earth could comfort me like the sound of rain pounding on a tin roof.

A streak of lightening lit up the room, just as someone knocked on the door.

Bad weather made Mama skittish. She looked at me wide-eyed. “Now, who could be out in weather such as this? Quick, Kiah let ’em in.”

I snatched open the door and my jaw dropped when I saw Dabney standing there dripping wet. I stood gaping. Did she know I was the one who left the perfume? Maybe she came to bring it back. I wouldn’t blame her for not wanting to accept a gift from me. Not after the way I had talked to her.

If she didn’t already know I was the donor, she’d know soon, because Mama would want to show her what she got for Christmas. I cringed. I could imagine the jokes that would surface as soon as word got out that I gave Dabney Foxworthy perfume. What was I thinking? If I had to give her something, why of all things did I have to choose something so personal?

“Who’s at the door, Kiah?” Mama asked.

I swallowed hard. “It’s Dabney, Mama.”

“Well, for goodness sake, don’t leave her standing out there in the rain. Invite her in.”

She had a newspaper draped over her head. The mystery of the Sunday funnies was solved. I stepped aside and motioned her in with my hand.

She giggled. “The bottom fell out of the cloud, just as I shut the door behind me. I tried to run fast to keep from getting drenched, but I’m too wet to come inside.” She shoved a plate covered in tin foil toward me. “I brought you something.” Her face turned red. “I mean I brought your mama something.”

I was fine with that. Fine she was too wet to come in and fine she didn’t bring me anything. I would’ve been finer if only she’d left before Mama had a chance to invite her inside.

Mama yelled, “Come on in, sugar.”

Dabney cut her eyes toward me, and blushed again. Why did she keep blushing like there was something between us? If she had a notion I’d given her the perfume because I was sweet on her, she was as nutty as Mama’s brittle.

She crooked her neck and looked past me. “Fennie. I wanted to bring you a little something. Merry Christmas.”

Mama walked to the door and her face lit up, seeing the plate. “Why bless your heart, honey, what do we have here?”

Dabney lifted her shoulders. “Shucks, it ain’t much. Really. Just a fruit cake. I used my Grandma’s recipe. I couldn’t afford the candied fruit. I don’t much care for it anyway, so I added lots of nuts and raisins. I hope you like it.”

I groaned. What was it with women and raisins? “Yes!” The word shot out of my mouth as if it had been sitting on the edge of my tongue, waiting to escape.

Mama looked at me strangely and I could tell she was waiting for an explanation.

My face burned. “I mean yes, I like raisins. That’s what you were about to ask, wasn’t it, Dabney?”

Dabney shook her head and blushed again. “I’m sorry. I shoulda asked.” She shrugged. “I reckon since I like them I assumed everybody else does.”

How could I have been so stupid? I swallowed hard, knowing the worst was yet to come. She hadn’t mentioned the perfume.

Dabney placed her hand on the doorknob. “Well, Merry Christmas, folks.”

Mama walked over and put her arm around her. “Dabney, sugar, you got kin joining you for the holidays?”

I groaned, fearful of what Mama was up to.

“No ma’am.”

“Well, then Kiah and I insist you spend the day with us. Don’t we, son?”

What could I do but nod?

Dabney shook her head. “Thanks, Fennie. You’re sweet, but Christmas is for families. I don’t want to butt in.”

Mama chuckled. “Butt in? Why, you’re practically family, sugar. It’ll seem more like Christmas, with an extra plate set at the table. Ain’t it the truth, Kiah?”

I feigned another smile. My mouth was beginning to hurt from the stretch.

Mama said, “Kiah, stoke up the fire and pull a chair up to the hearth so Dabney can dry off. She’s soaked to the bone.”

I swallowed when Mama said, “Dabney, shug, you’ll find a bathrobe hanging on a nail beside my bed. Get off those wet clothes and wrap up in my robe before you catch your death o’ pneumonia.”

“I’m okay, Fennie. Really.”

But whenever my mama got a bee in her bonnet she couldn’t be reasoned with. She took the gray flannel robe from off the hook and handed it to Dabney. “Now, you get out of those wet rags, sugar. Your teeth are chattering.”

I rushed over and pulled the curtain. “You can dress over on the other side.”

“Thanks,” she said in a hoarse whisper.

I stoked the red embers with a poker, though my mind wasn’t on the fire in the hearth. What was Mama thinking? The anger inside me burned hot. What if someone should have reason to come calling . . . and find Dabney Foxworthy inside my house, wearing a housecoat. Though the thick flannel robe covered her completely, I still couldn’t get it out of my mind that she wasn’t properly dressed. Didn’t seem decent. Didn’t seem decent at all.

Worried about Dabney’s wet head, Mama coaxed her to stand near the fire. I groaned when she backed up to the fireplace, and lifted the back of the robe, exposing her lower legs.

“Ah,” she said. “Don’t you love a fire? The way it pops and crackles, and sends a raw, ruddy glow about the room?”

I rolled my eyes. If there was a raw, ruddy glow in the room, the ruddy could’ve been coming from me and the raw from her, seeing how her clothes were hanging on
my
curtain and she was prancing around in
my
living room in nothing but a housecoat. It was hard to believe the robe was the same one I’d seen on Mama, day in and day out. Sure looked different on Dabney.

Dabney helped Mama get the food on the table. The rain stopped, and when she saw we only had two tea glasses she told Mama she needed to run home and would be back shortly.

If I’d been in good standing with God, I would’ve prayed hard for her not to return, but she was back at the door before I had a chance to slice the ham. She was wearing a dress, and had Mama’s robe in one hand and a flour sack under her arm, although I could tell it wasn’t flour in the bag. Her wet hair was brushed out, and hung over her shoulders. With the make-up washed from her face, she didn’t look a day over sixteen.

Mama said, “I declare, sugar, you didn’t have to go to the trouble to fix up for us, but you look plumb pretty. Don’t she look pretty, Kiah?”

I pretended not to hear and Dabney handed the flour sack to Mama. “I brought you another present, Fennie.”

Mama reached in the bag and pulled out four jelly glasses. She carried on over them as if they were fine crystal.

“Dabney, honey, I declare if these ain’t the prettiest glasses I believe I’ve ever seen. Ain’t they pretty, Kiah?”

They looked like all the other jelly glasses I’d seen at Goodson’s Grocery. I flinched, seeing four eyes on me, waiting for my response. I nodded in agreement they were super-duper jelly glasses.

We were halfway through lunch, when Mama said, “Dabney, you won’t believe what my sweet son gave me for Christmas. I’ve never been so surprised in all my life. Guess. Just guess.”

I sucked in a deep breath, and waited for what was about to come. Dabney appeared nervous.

“Talcum powder?’

Mama smiled and shook her head. Guess again.

“Stockings?”

Mama grinned. “Nope.”

“A handkerchief?”

“Shucks, you won’t ever guess. I’m telling you what’s the truth, Dabney, you coulda knocked me over with a tail feather, when I saw what was in that box.” Mama slapped her hands on either side of her face, as if shocked all over again. “Honey, he bought me a bottle of Evening in Paris perfume.”

I squirmed in my chair.

Mama beamed. “You know the kind I’m talking about, Dabney? Comes in those fancy little blue bottles. You’ve probably seen ‘em in the store.”

I closed my eyes tightly, wishing at the moment I knew how to pray.

Mama said, “I told him he ought not to spend his hard-earned money on frivolous things for me.” She pointed to her neck and leaned over toward Dabney. “Smell.”

Dabney leaned in and sniffed. “Smells lovely. That was very sweet, Kiah.”

I didn’t want Dabney Foxworthy calling me sweet. I wasn’t sweet. Sweat popped out on my brow as I waited for her to tell Mama about
her
gift. Mama wouldn’t have trouble guessing where it came from.

Needless to say, I was stunned when Dabney said, “Fennie, your perfume smells so good, I just may do something frivolous myself. Would you be offended if I decided to get me a bottle of Evening in Paris?”

“Goodness, no. I think you should, sugar. You’ll be surprised how it lifts your spirits.”

“Well, that settles it. We’ll be the envy of every woman in church next Sunday, when they get a whiff of the two of us.” She glanced my way, though her gaze didn’t linger.

That was the day I gained a real respect for Dabney Foxworthy. She was a swell kid and I was a dope for not recognizing it before now.

Chapter 9

The week after Christmas was the longest week of my life. Eager for school to begin again, I was waiting on the school steps thirty minutes early, our first day back.

I hoped I suffered from a mild case of paranoia and there was a simple explanation for why Zann’s parents didn’t want me to see her. Maybe her father wasn’t angry at me, but worried because his daughter was ill. That being the case, I could certainly understand his concern. I tried to convince myself that if it was anything serious, I would’ve heard. Word travels fast in little towns.

When the bell rang and her desk was empty, my fears returned with a vengeance. Something terrible must’ve happened for her to miss the Christmas party, the pageant and not be back for the first day of school.

Mr. Thatcher called the roll. “Zann Pruitt? Zann?” He glanced over the top of his spectacles. Almost as if he were pondering her absence, I heard him mumble, “She’s had perfect attendance, until now.”

Mary Alice Jenson spoke up. “She wasn’t at the pageant Saturday night, Mr. Thatcher, and Mama asked Parson Pruitt if she was sick. He nodded his head but I don’t think he ever said what ailed her.”

“Thank you, Mary Alice. We have four absent this morning. Perhaps the weather has brought on colds.” He reached in his desk drawer and pulled out a math book. “Please turn in your workbooks to Chapter Fourteen. I’d like to start where we left off before the holidays.”

His words expressed my feelings exactly. That’s precisely what I wanted to do. Start where we left off. She loved me. And I loved her. So why did I feel so anxious?

The next twenty-four hours were long. I arrived at school early and waited by the door for Zann to arrive. When the bell rang, and she was not in sight, I lumbered into the room and slumped down in my desk.

Mr. Thatcher stood and went through the usual “Good morning students,” routine.

Maybe for him. I wasn’t in the mood for such cheerful chatter. I looked up, when I heard him say, “Welcome Parson.” I jerked around in time to see Zann take a seat at her desk. She cut her eyes at me, smiled faintly, then quickly looked away. What was going on?

Mr. Thatcher walked to the back of the room where Zann’s father stood, leaning against the wall near the door.

I watched out of the corner of my eye. Mr. Thatcher held out his hand. “Parson, did you need to confer with me?”

The parson’s response was so low I couldn’t hear it. Moments later he left, and Mr. Thatcher commenced with the lesson for the day.

I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. I could tell she’d been sick, for she looked a mite peaked, though I determined it wasn’t anything serious, else she wouldn’t be back in school. I watched the big clock above Mr. Thatcher’s desk, counting the minutes until lunch.

When the lunch bell rang, I went into the cloak room and took my syrup bucket from the shelf. I couldn’t wait to share my ham biscuits and peanut brittle with her. I walked back into the school room in time to see her heading out the door with her father. Confused, I decided she was sicker than I realized, and her father had returned to take her home. Disappointed, I lumbered over to the big live oak, where Zann and I shared lunch so many times.

I’d almost finished my lunch, before I noticed the parson’s car never left. Zann sat in the front seat of her daddy’s jalopy, eating a sandwich. After months of coming to school alone, why did the parson now feel it necessary to escort his daughter to school? And why had he returned to have lunch with her? But the question troubling me most had nothing to do with Parson Pruitt. Why was Zann treating me as if I were a leper? Was she angry because I didn’t meet her at the bridge the day school let out? If she’d only give me a chance to explain.

The following day, she showed up several minutes after the bell rang. Her father walked her to the door, left, then returned at lunch. My curiosity turned to anger. What a sap I’d been. She was no different from all the other goody-two-shoes who felt they were too good to wipe their feet on me. I had no one to blame but myself. I knew better than to fall in love. And with a preacher’s daughter, no less. If he considered it necessary to bring her to school to protect her from me, he could forego his trouble. I was through. Through with Zann and through with the whole female race. Zann Pruitt could jump in a big fat lake.

For the next two weeks, her father continued to act as a body guard. I had an urge to tell him he had no need to worry. I wouldn’t touch her with a six-foot hoe.

But two weeks after school began, I saw her walking to school alone.

I sat on the school steps, waiting for the bell to ring. I held my head down to keep from looking at her. Then I felt her hand on my shoulder. Shivers sneaked up my spine.

Her voice was barely audible. “Kiah, we need to talk.”

“Ha! After giving me the cold shoulder for two weeks, you now feel we need to talk? I’m not sure I have anything to say to you, Zann Pruitt.”

“I don’t blame you for being angry, Kiah, but you don’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand, all right. I learned the facts of life early. At the tender age of eight, to be exact, when three church ladies came to our home to explain to me and Mama what the Bible has to say about good Christian folks like yourself associating with folks like us. So if you’re here to teach me that Bible lesson, you can forget it. I know it by heart.”

Her face reddened and her eyes filled with tears. Before she could respond, the bell rang.

I rushed out the door with my syrup bucket at lunch. I didn’t want her to think I was lollygagging around, waiting for her. I sat down and leaned against the oak tree. I reached down for a biscuit when my eyes focused on two dainty feet, next to the syrup bucket.

“Mind if I sit down?” She asked.

“Suit yourself.”

“Kiah, the music box is beautiful. I love it. Thank you.”

I made a puny shrug. I’ve never known how to handle compliments, I reckon because I haven’t had much chance to practice. I reached in the bucket and pulled out a pint jar of buttermilk and a biscuit.

She unwrapped a sandwich. “You like bologna and cheese?”

I liked bologna and cheese but it riled me when she had the gall to wave it in front of my nose. I wasn’t some starving mutt, looking for her to toss me a bone. I had plenty to eat. Good stuff. I figured if the state fair ever added a biscuit category, Mama would win the blue ribbon. Yet, I won’t deny the bologna and cheese sandwich smelled better than a rib-eye steak.

Zann’s beautiful arched brows lifted. “Well? Do you? Like bologna and cheese, I mean.”

“I reckon,” I muttered

“Good. I brought an extra.”

I bristled. One part of me wanted to reach for it, yet another part wanted to give her the what for. I barked back at her. “Zann, I don’t need your charity. I have a good job and enough money to buy all the bologna and cheese I want. So quit feeling sorry for me, okay?”

She began to blubber and I wanted to kick myself. “Aw, shucks, Zann, stop crying. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” I winced at my words. She was a girl. How did I expect her to react? I reared my head back and closed my eyes. I sucked in a deep breath and in a low, calm voice, I said, “Zann, I’m sorry. It’s just—”

“Kiah, you have every right to be angry. But if you’d listen, I think I can explain. It’s not like you think.”

Determined to remain calm, I sucked in a heavy breath. “What am I supposed to think? Your father refused to let me see you, and then he got the notion you needed an armed guard to protect you from me.”

“Kiah, you have it all wrong. Daddy won’t be escorting me to school anymore. Mama convinced him he can’t guard me twenty-four hours a day. I know you don’t understand, but trust me when I say it has nothing to do with you.”

“And you expect me to believe that?” I bit my lip and waited.

She turned her head, as if she couldn’t look at me when she said, “I can’t let you go on thinking it has something to do with you.”

I watched as tears filled her eyes.

“Kiah, a fellow . . . well, he made improper advances toward me and Daddy went berserk when he found out.” She dropped her head and sobbed.

I wanted to believe I’d misunderstood. As the words sank in, I broke out in a sweat. “Who? Tell me who he is, Zann, and I promise you the sorry rascal will never bother you again. Who is he? Was it Arnold? It was, wasn’t it?”

“Kiah. Forget it. Please.”

“How can you ask me to forget it? Did he . . . did he hurt you, Zann? Because if he did, tell me and I’ll pulverize the big galoot and spread him out for rat poison.” It was a good thing Arnold was absent, because all I could think about was the day he grabbed her at the bridge.

She shook her head. “I can’t tell you who he was. Please don’t ask. I shouldn’t have told you. Can we not talk about it? I just want to forget it ever happened.”

So maybe I was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t Arnold. Whoever he was, even if he hadn’t hurt her physically, the creep scared her. If only she’d tell me his name, I could guarantee her she’d never have to worry about him bothering her again.

I recalled Mr. Thatcher’s words when he said, “Let’s start where we left off.” Starting over sounded good. My chance had come and there was no gain in letting it pass me by. I winked and said, “Got another one of those bologna and cheese sandwiches in your basket?”

A broad smile spread across her face.

Zann and I no longer met at the bridge. Her father insisted she go home after school. Although I didn’t like it, I understood why he felt the need to be protective. Maybe he had more reason than he realized to demand she go straight home after school. The little bird circling my head had become harder and harder to shoo away.

In the coming weeks I kept getting horrid images of a faceless boy taunting Zann to let him kiss her. Though I tried not to think about it, the mental pictures tormented me both day and night. Did he merely make an attempt, or did he hold her tight and kiss her? Would she tell me if I dared to ask? For her sake, I needed to let it go and stop dwelling on things I couldn’t change.

Although we could only be together at school, it was better than nothing. I dreaded summer coming, thinking I wouldn’t be able to see her at all, but she came up with a grand idea.

“Kiah, Mr. Hogan, who owns the drugstore, goes to our church. I’ll apply for a job as a soda jerk, and maybe you can stop in and see me there.”

“That’s a swell idea. The men at the stockyard eat there often. They say they can buy a hot dog for a dime and a coke for a nickel. You get that job, and I’ll eat there every day this summer.”

She laughed. “I have a feeling you’ll be tired of hot dogs by fall.”

When Mr. Thatcher called me up to his desk and said, “Kiah, scholarships are available for bright students who can’t afford college, and I’ve never had a student more deserving than you,” I thought my heart would leap out of my body. He said, “I’ve sent in applications to both state schools. I’m sure you’ll be accepted and will have the option of choosing your preference.”

I wanted to run home and tell Mama the good news, but what if he was wrong, and I didn’t get accepted? I decided to wait and surprise her after I received confirmation.

On April 1, we were standing outside the school building when I asked Zann if she applied for the job at the drug store. If it hadn’t been April Fool’s Day, I might have taken her response seriously. But I assumed she was jesting when she said, “Kiah, I won’t be in Pivan Falls this summer. I’m going to Louisiana. I’ll be spending the summer there.”

I laughed. “Oh, you are, are you? Well, have fun. I’m taking a European Cruise.”

She didn’t crack a smile. “I’m serious . . . I have an aunt who lives there. I’ll be staying in New Orleans until next fall.”

This was no longer funny. My jaw tightened. “So you have an aunt in New Orleans. Why do you have to spend the entire summer with her?” I suppose I growled, though I didn’t intend to sound so gruff.

Tears streamed down her rosy cheeks.

I bristled. “Your daddy’s idea, I presume.”

She nodded. “Don’t be mad, Kiah. I can’t stand for you to be angry with me.”

I pulled out a handkerchief and wiped her face. “I’m not angry with you, Zann. I’m angry with the situation. I’ll miss you something awful.” Her lip trembled.

I tried to sound upbeat to lift her spirits. “Maybe it’s for the best, sweetheart. If you were here, I’d want to be with you every minute of the day. With you away, I’ll work all the hours I can get at the yard this summer. Next year we’ll apply at the same college. Mr. Thatcher’s confidant I’ll be offered scholarships to both state colleges, so I’ll let you pick the one we should attend. I want to be where you are.”

The bell rang and we walked back into the little school house. It was going to be a long summer.