Big Stone Gap (20 page)

I eat my french fries and sip my Tab and look at Theodore.

“I want to marry you.”

“Do you love me, Theodore?”

“Of course I do.”

“Well, thank you.”

“So, yes, you’ll marry me?”

I shake my head slowly. I cannot marry Theodore Augustus Tipton. I have changed my mind. My prayer has been answered, but it was the wrong thing to have prayed for.

“Why, Ave Maria? I thought you wanted to marry me.”

“I’m going to try to explain this. I hope you’ll forgive me in advance if the words are inadequate, or I am inadequate.”

Theodore motions to me that I should speak. I love when he does that; it means he’s really listening.

“A while ago Iva Lou told me that I could never trust any man until I understood my relationship with my father. You can take your pick: Fred Mulligan or the mysterious Mario da Schilpario. Since that particular thing was said to me, I’ve made it my business to observe fathers and daughters. And I’ve seen some incredible things, beautiful things. Like the little girl who’s not very cute—her teeth are funny, and her hair doesn’t grow right, and she’s got on thick glasses—but her father holds her hand and walks with her like she’s a tiny angel that no one can touch. He gives her the best gift a woman can get in this world: protection. And the little girl learns to trust the men in her life. And all the things that the world expects from women—to be beautiful, to soothe the troubled spirit, heal the sick, care for the dying, send the greeting card, bake the cake—all of those things become the way we pay the father back for protecting us. It’s a fair exchange. But I never got that. So I don’t know how to be with you. Oh, I guess I could pretend, make it up as I go along and hope that I figure it all out later. But that wouldn’t be fair to you. What if I never figured it out? You deserve a woman who can give all of herself to you. I think you should hold out for it.”

Theodore has pressed and folded the tinfoil wrapper from his hamburger into a silver square the size of a shirt button. He stares at it for a very long time.

“Let’s go home,” he says. I gather up the dinner, clear off the picnic table, and toss the garbage into the can. Theodore stands by the car looking up at nothing in particular. He’s going to be fine. I’m sure of it.

Pearl received the results of her PSATs, and she’s in the top tenth percentile of her class. She shows me the report, but I have to grab it out of her hand in midair, because she won’t let go of it as she jumps up and down. Fleeta is excited for her, even though she has no idea what the test is; she loves when anybody she knows wins.

“Pearl, congratulations! You’re a brain!” I shriek.

“I knew that the day she didn’t mix the analgesics in with the laxatives.” Fleeta winks.

“Mr. Cantrell says I can get into a good school. Maybe Virginia Tech or UVA, or maybe William and Mary!”

“Go to Tech. They got a good wrestling program,” Fleeta promises.

Tayloe’s mother, Betty, comes in with a prescription slip. Fleeta and Pearl fan out to the back to do their chores.

“How you doing, Betty?”

“I’ve been better.”

“You sick?”

Betty answers that she’s not and hands me the prescription. I go behind the counter to fill it.

“Tayloe sure made a magnificent Cleopatra. We were all so proud of her.”

“Some folks thought she done looked better than Elizabeth Taylor herself.”

“I think I’d have to agree.”

I look at the prescription from Doc Daugherty. It’s for prenatal vitamins.

“Congratulations, Betty! A new baby?”

“Not mine. Tayloe’s. She’s done found out she’s pregnant.”

“Oh.” I look down at Doc’s prescription. Sure enough, it’s T. Slagle. I don’t know what more to say. This is tragic. She’s a little girl!

“Can you believe it? She was on the Pill, too. But it’s too late to cry over spilt milk; it’s spilt and that’s all there is to it. We got to clean it up and move on here.”

“How’s she feeling?”

“She’s over the shock, but you know, the same darn thing happened to me when I was sixteen, and I got my beautiful baby Tayloe out of it. So we’re trying to look on the bright side.”

I give Betty the prescription. She takes it and puts it in her bag.

“Kids.” Then she turns to go. “Ave Maria?”

“Yeah, Betty?”

“She’s having the baby in April. Can you keep her part in the Drama open till she’s back on her feet? Playing June Tolliver means the world to her.”

“You tell Tayloe she can come back to the Drama whenever she’s ready.”

Betty brightens considerably.

“Thank you kindly.”

Betty goes. She knows and I know that Tayloe’s performing career is over. But Betty isn’t ready to let go of all the dreams she had for her daughter. I can picture what will happen, because the outcome of this situation is always the same. Tayloe will marry, get a trailer, have her babies, and be a wife. There won’t be time for six performances a week.

Fleeta comes down the aisle, having overheard our conversation.

“That damn Lassiter kid. The halfback on the team. You know, with the bedroom eyes. He done knocked her up. Boys.”

Fleeta goes off to the back. I can hear Pearl, flipping the metal clip on her inventory clipboard. I join her at the makeup counter.

“Her life is ruined, isn’t it?” Pearl asks.

“Of course not. It’ll be hard for her, but she’s a very determined girl. And her mom will help.”

“I don’t ever want to get stuck in a trailer,” Pearl decides.

“Stay away from the Lassiter boys.”

Pearl nods and goes about her inventory. I check my face in the mirror. I have dark circles under my eyes. The lids droop in exhaustion. I’ve lost my sparkle.

The familiar jingle of the door chimes tells us we’ve got a customer, but there is a residual jingle, like the door was slammed after entrance. Somebody’s angry and taking it out on my door. I peer down the aisle. I’m right. It’s Aunt Alice.

“Where are you, you hateful bitch?”

I look at Pearl. “Does she mean you or me?”

“I think she means you,” Pearl says fearfully.

I get out of the makeup chair slowly and take that long walk down the anti-inflammatory aisle toward my aunt, who looks like she could shoot me.

“May I help you?”

She waves a letter in my face. “You done screwed me good. You think so, don’t you?”

“I didn’t screw anybody.” I speak the literal and figurative truth, of course.

“Do you think I will sit back and accept this? If you do, you don’t know me very well.”

“Aunt Alice, if you have any problem with my business dealings, you need to speak to Lew Eisenberg.”

“I am not talking to that feriner! I am talking to you!”

“Have your lawyer call Mr. Eisenberg.”

“If I can’t have this Pharmacy, I’m gonna get my house back. You watch me!”

“You’ll never get my house! Never!” The tone of my voice surprises me. Fleeta ushers Pearl to the back room. That’s when Aunt Alice really lets me have it.

“You’re a whore just like your mother before you. You’re a sponger, a taker. And you’re evil. You may think you beat me out of what’s mine, but I will fight you until my last breath.”

“You need to leave. If you don’t, I’ll have to call the police.”

“This is mine! This is all mine! All of it! You robbed me!” She looks like a sad six-year-old girl who didn’t get the doll she wanted. Her eyes fill with mist. “I never got anything I ever wanted in my whole life!” she cries.

“You got Uncle Wayne.” This is all I can say to her? Where’s my fight? Why can’t I defend my mother’s honor? Where’s the woman who schemed to protect her assets against this cruel woman? I don’t need a doctor to tell me. Something is wrong with me.

I have been exhausted lately, but I blame it on the cold weather and my schedule at the Pharmacy. I started stocking ornaments, lights, and decorations (by customer request), which attract extra business. I feel bad sticking Fleeta and Pearl with longer hours around the holidays, so I cover the extra time myself. Also, folks get the flu and colds this time of year, so I’m on the run constantly filling and delivering prescriptions. Theodore and Iva Lou check on me quite a bit; they’re worried, but I keep telling them it’s just the holiday rush. Maybe I’m especially exhausted because this will be my first Christmas without Mama and I’m not up to facing it just yet. If I could just get some rest, I would feel so much better. It’s gotten to the point where I can’t sleep through the night. I haven’t told anyone. But I’ve been thinking about calling Doc Daugherty. I just haven’t gotten around to it.

I am donating several boxes of twinkling lights to the Dogwood Garden Club for the Christmas flower exhibit at the Southwest Virginia Museum. I’m late delivering them; I had some straggling customers at the Pharmacy. I drive right up on the lawn and park by the door, too tired to walk the few extra feet from the sidewalk. I would’ve asked Theodore to deliver them, but he’s gone to visit his family in Scranton for the holidays. He invited me to join him, but the thought of a long car trip and spending time with a large family was too tiring, so I politely refused the invitation. This Christmas, I just don’t feel like celebrating.

The entrance to the museum is actually the foyer of the only mansion in Big Stone Gap. The museum was the Slemp family home for years, until they donated it to the state in the 1940s. Now it is a sweet homespun museum with dioramas that tell the stories of the miners, quilters, Cherokees, Melungeons, and families of the area. I must be standing here a long time because two of the Garden Club members whisper to each other to fetch Nellie Goodloe. Nellie descends the grand staircase and greets me at the door. Her expression is one of concern. She looks deeply into my eyes.

“Ave Maria, honey, are you all right?”

“I brought you the lights.” I give Nellie the stack of lights, but I miss her arms and they fall to the ground with a clatter.

I wake up in my own bed, in my pajamas. Pearl, her mother Leah, Fleeta, and Theodore stand at the foot of my bed.

“What happened?” I ask.

“You fainted.”

“I was dropping off the lights.” I move to get up, but my legs feel like they’re filled with sand. The group moves toward me. “What’s wrong with me?” I am really scared. “Theodore, aren’t you supposed to be in Scranton?”

“I’ve been back a few days.”

“A few days.”

“It’s December thirtieth, Ave,” Fleeta announces, confusing me. “Christmas is over.”

“But I was at the museum two days before Christmas. What happened to me?”

“Doc Daugherty ain’t sure,” Pearl tells me.

“What do you mean, he ain’t sure?”

“You passed out up there, and since you were close to home, they brought you here. And then Nellie Goodloe came over to the Pharmacy and told me and Fleeta. We called Doc Daugherty and he came right over here. All your vitals was okay, so he said you could sleep it off. And you did. For exactly seven days.”

“Doc told me I couldn’t smoke around you, so I done gave it up,” Fleeta says proudly.

“Good for you.” I’m glad Fleeta could take my medical emergency and turn it into a positive experience for herself.

“Do you remember any of this, Ave?” Theodore asks.

I don’t. I feel refreshed, like I had a nap. I throw my legs over the side of the bed to stand, but I collapse right onto the mattress.

“You got bed legs, is all. Don’t let it fret you. The movement’ll come back when you start using them again,” Fleeta reassures me.

“Let’s go fix her something to eat,” Leah announces, motioning to Fleeta and Pearl that she’ll need their help in the kitchen. They go, and Theodore sits next to me on my bed.

“Am I dying or something?”

“No. Doc thinks you suffered a nervous breakdown.”

“What?”

“He says he’s seen all kinds of them in his life. Some folks function through them, some have blackout episodes, and some sleep it off, like a bear hibernating in the winter. You went the cave route.” Theodore hugs me.

“Help me walk.” I try to stand, and Theodore helps steady me. We walk slowly. We get to the bathroom, where I tell him to wait outside.

My bathroom, with the black-and-white-checked tile, seems huge to me. The skylight in the ceiling has snow on it. It must have been a white Christmas. The bathroom is cold; the fresh towels I hung a week ago are still there untouched. The soap is the same size it was before I went to sleep. This is so odd. I pull the light string next to the mirror. I look at myself.

My face looks like it did when I was a girl. I guess I lost some weight during my nap; my nose seems longer, and my jaw is sticking out ever so slightly. My eyelashes are crusted with sleep; they are gnarled and crisscrossed, but still thick. There isn’t a line on my face, and believe me, there were plenty of them before Christmas.

I don’t remember dreaming. Did a switch just go off in my mind, and I went to sleep? Why don’t I remember anything? Where did my mind go?

“Are you okay in there?” Theodore asks through the door a little nervously.

“I’m fine. I’ll be right out.”

I wash my face and brush my teeth. I grip the sink, then the wall, then the door. I pull it open slowly. Theodore is on the other side, there to steady me.

“Are you hungry?”

“I’ve never been this hungry.” He carries me down the steps to the kitchen.

 CHAPTER EIGHT

Whoever said “Never make any major decisions when you’re tired” was a very smart person. I let January and February of 1979 pass without doing much of anything beyond the basics. Everyone in town is asking me about my Deep Sleep, as it has come to be known, but I can’t tell them much. I still don’t remember a thing. Doc Daugherty is checking me on a weekly basis, and he sees no lasting damage to my physical person; he is pretty certain my mind is fine, too. Pearl and Fleeta manned the store for me while I was under, and Clayton Phipps, a licensed pharmacist up in Norton, came down every Monday and Tuesday and filled prescriptions. Folks appreciated the pinch hitting.

When I do finally start back to work in March, Pearl uses my rejuvenated face as an example of the importance of sleep as a beauty must to all women. There is nothing like slumber to give the face a youthful glow. I believe this is somewhat false advertising. I believe I look so good because I didn’t die. I came through something, and relief perked up my face. Either way, Pearl has been selling Queen Helene hand over fist, telling the ladies that she used it on my face twice a day, every day, during the Deep Sleep.

Pearl kept a list of all the folks who dropped by. She got the idea from Nellie, who explained that all fine families keep a guest book for visitors who pass through. I finally get a chance to look at it. Folks signed in with funny messages: Iva Lou with smiley faces; the Tuckett twins with Bible verses; Doc Daugherty with Latin phrases; the book is full and it makes me laugh. It’s thick, too. Nan MacChesney came twice. I look for Jack Mac’s name. He never made it over.

Otto and Worley took it upon themselves to clean out the roof gutters at the Pharmacy and my house during the Deep Sleep. Pearl tells me they were so worried that I might bite the dust, Otto cried. I give them each a bonus for their initiative and loyalty.

I learned three things about myself after the Deep Sleep. I learned who my true friends are; I learned that I bury my problems until they overcome me in a full-blown crisis; and the biggest thing of all, I learned that I wasn’t happy. It’s a terrifying thing to admit. It puts everyone around you in a state of paralysis, because they think that they are somehow responsible for your sadness and can fix it. Of course, they cannot. I know happiness exists somewhere; and if I knew where, I would go to it and claim it. I realize I have spent my life reacting to things and not initiating them. I let myself go somewhere along the way. And I didn’t miss myself. (Does that sound crazy?) Some days I wonder if something grew inside my heart during the Deep Sleep. I want a change.

March brings the most beautiful spring I have ever seen in Big Stone Gap. Purple and yellow crocuses spring up everywhere, honeysuckle blooms and fills the air, and the mountains turn green, after being gray and brittle for all of winter.

I am finally feeling like myself again. Iva Lou is shocked when I board the Bookmobile. It has been a long time, and it feels like home.

“Hey, girl!” She hugs me, so happy to see me back on the third snap stool.

“I never did thank you for all your visits when I was under.”

“Don’t mention it. You had the whole town rattled.” Then Iva Lou’s face fills with joy. “I was gonna drop by and see you later. I had something I wanted to ask you. Lyle Makin done asked me to marry him, and I said yes!”

Iva Lou and I shriek like sophomores.

“We’re gonna get married over to the United Methodist church. Reverend Manning said he’d be happy to do the service. And I was wondering if you would honor me by standing up for me. Would you please be my maid of honor?”

“Absolutely! I’d be honored, of course. But we can’t call me a maid of honor. Call me an old maid of disrepute.”

“That’s my title. Course I’ll be happy to pass it on to you when I’m a fat and sassy wife!”

Iva Lou and Lyle don’t want to wait long, so the date is set for March 11. I bought a new pink dress and a matching picture hat with illusion netting and a tiny bumblebee nestled in the crown. Iva Lou asked me to wear something colorful, since Lyle likes bright colors.

March 11 turns out to be a perfect day for a wedding. The weather is warm, about seventy-five degrees and sunny. I’m glad my dress has a stole that I can take off, in case it gets hot later on in the fellowship hall.

The mail comes and I’m dressed early, so I start sorting through it. It’s a lot of junk. One of the flyers from the Dollar General Store seems thick, so I shake it out. An envelope falls out and hits the floor. I can see that it’s from Italy. Zia Meoli owes me a letter from a month ago, but the handwriting on this is not familiar. There is no return address. I remove one of my hat pins and slowly rip open the envelope.

The letter begins, “My dear daughter.” I sit down in the chair, a little stunned. I hadn’t made it official to myself, but I had given up on hearing from my father. Maybe that had something to do with the Deep Sleep—I needed to give up hope to move on. But I am so happy to see this letter.

The letter is short but well written, in very simple English. He tells me that Meoli’s husband came to Schilpario to visit him. My uncle told my father all about me, or at least what he knew from letters. He tells me that he has no other children and no wife. He lives with his mother in the center of town. (
His mother?
I do have a grandmother! I can’t believe my good luck.) Mario has been mayor of Schilpario since 1958. He would like me to write to him and has written his address on the back of the letter. I stuff it into my purse. It’s a nice, friendly letter. No revelations. Why didn’t my father ever try to contact my mother after he broke off their relationship? Did she mean so little to him that he could forget her so quickly and forever?

A horn honks out front. Theodore jumps out of the car and comes around to open my door. He whistles at me. “You look beautiful.”

“Say hello to the Strawberry Daiquiri of Big Stone Gap.”

Theodore laughs and I climb in. “What’s new?” he asks innocently.

“I got a letter from Mario da Schilpario.”

He practically stops the car.

I open my beaded clutch (my maid-of-honor gift from Iva Lou) and take out the letter. “It’s okay.” As Theodore drives us to the church, I read it to him.

There’s a big crowd outside the church. Iva Lou didn’t send out personal invitations, but she did run her engagement photo in the
Post
, announcing the time and date and other particulars. This is called an open-church wedding, which means everyone in town is welcome. Everyone likes Iva Lou, so she has a full house.

I haven’t been in the Methodist church since Fred Mulligan’s funeral. I’ve pretty much stuck to my Catholic church. But I know every room inside this building, including the sacristy, where brides wait before going down the aisle.

Iva Lou looks stunning in a peacock-blue gown. She decided not to wear white because it makes her look too washed-out. She, too, wears a picture hat. She is sipping vodka from a small airline-size bottle. She offers me some. I swig it—not because I’m nervous about going down the aisle but because Mario’s letter has put me on edge—and I give it back to Iva Lou. She finishes it off and throws the empty bottle into her makeup case.

“You are so beautiful, Iva Lou.”

“You think?” She squints into the mirror.

“You’re a little piece of blue heaven.”

“Thanks, honey-o.”

“How’s Lyle holding up?”

“He got drunk last night up in Esserville. Thank God his buddies got him home so he could sleep it off.”

“Nerves.”

“Uh-huh,” Iva Lou agrees, as she applies a little more powder blush. Her hand is shaking, so she steadies herself.

“Don’t be scared. You’re doing the right thing.”

“I know that. I just hate crowds. And ministers give me the creeps.”

“Reverend Manning is really nice.”

“I know. I just have to focus on something besides the gravity of all this. It’s too overwhelming for a girl like me.”

A girl like Iva Lou. What a girl she is. Always made up her own rules. Here she is, forty-plus, getting married for the first time, having tasted all the goodies in the county. Good for her. She understood what she needed and went after it. She drove the Bookmobile even though they said a woman couldn’t handle it. She sells costume jewelry, for profit and to give women something small and sparkly that will make them feel good about themselves. She always paid her own way, and she owns her own home. She is very strong and also very feminine. Iva Lou must love Lyle very much, because of all the women I know, she has the most to lose.

Through the crack in the sacristy door I can hear the bellows of the pipe organ. Fred Mulligan bought that organ, and it sounds like it’s been kept up to snuff.

“Iva Lou, I think it’s time.”

“Jesus Christ Almighty on a mountain! I forgot your bouquet. It’s over there in the box.”

I go to the box and remove a beautiful arrangement of tea roses in shades of pink. Iva Lou picks up her bouquet of white roses.

“Nellie. She’s got the touch.” Iva Lou models her bouquet. “Someday, when you get murried, you’ll have to get her to do the flowers.”

“Let’s go.”

Iva Lou and I hover in the vestibule of the church. Nellie is directing the wedding, so she’ll send us down the aisle. I have to remember how these things go in the movies; we didn’t rehearse. Lyle said you would only find his ass in church three times in his life: for his baptism, his wedding, and his funeral. Iva Lou dispensed with the rehearsal.

I take off with the bridal one-step, two-step down the aisle to an eight-track version of “Say Forever You’ll Be Mine” from Dolly Parton and Porter Wagoner. The pews are full, and I get lots of approving glances and winks from both sides of the aisle. Joella Reasor even cranes out of her pew to whisper “Welcome back” to me. Now I know how holler folks feel when they finally make it down to town after the long winter.

As I reach the altar, I smile at Lyle, who looks very happy and extremely nervous. He pivots out ever so slightly to see Iva Lou start her trek down the great white (blue) way. I stop short when I see his best man: Jack MacChesney, polished up like mamaw’s silver, gives me a wink.

I’m going to let Iva Lou have it later. Why didn’t she tell me Jack Mac was the other half of this wedding party? Maybe she noticed that he didn’t come to see me when I was sick. Maybe she thought I’d bow out if I knew he was involved. It’s funny. I don’t hate him when I look at him. I’m just glad I look good in this dress.

The Methodists like their ceremonies short and sweet. This one is practically over before it begins. I’m sure it was the longest eight minutes of Lyle’s life; his face is the color of a cherry tomato. When Reverend Manning introduces Mr. and Mrs. Lyle Makin for the first time, Iva Lou weeps. Her parents are gone, too, and I know she wishes they were here to see how happy she is.

The music begins again, and though we haven’t practiced the recessional, I know the proper thing to do is take Jack Mac’s arm and follow the bride and groom out. I face the congregation and wait for Jack Mac to join me. He does.

“Nice hat,” he says and smiles. Then he extends his arm, I take it, and we go.

Nellie has decorated the fellowship hall in a Victorian theme. There are decorative, hand-painted fans on the walls; the ceiling is festooned with a lace canopy. The tables are covered in white linen. The cake has stacked circle tiers with a bride and groom in an antique carriage on top. Silver trays lined with crisp white doilies are filled with Nellie’s homemade candy wedding bells dusted in blue and pink sugar.

Lyle is relaxed now. Iva Lou is herself again, laughing and talking and making everyone feel at home. Theodore is chatting with a couple of teachers from up at the high school. I dip my cup into the bowl of champagne punch.

“Pink is your color,” Jack MacChesney says.

“Thank you. Lyle’s favorite color is peacock blue, so I’m the contrast.”

“How have you been?”

“I’m coming back strong. Thank you for asking. How are you?”

“I’m fine myself.” Jack Mac looks off. I turn to see what he’s looking at. It’s Sweet Sue Tinsley, escorted by her ex-husband, Mike.

“Are they back together?” I ask bluntly.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jack Mac says quietly.

“You know something, Jack? I’ll buy you a new hunting rifle if you promise never to call me ma’am again.”

“I’m sorry. It’s a habit from my upbringing.”

Theodore joins us at the punch bowl. “Everybody’s meeting for a potluck at Iva Lou’s trailer later. Hope you can make it, Jack,” Theodore offers.

“I’ll be there.”

“I’ll get the car,” Theodore tells me as he places his punch cup on the out trolley.

Theodore goes. I finish my punch and nibble on a wedding bell.

“You’ll be at Iva Lou’s later, right?”

I nod.

“You’re gonna wear the pink dress, aren’t you?”

I look at Jack Mac with a half smile that says,
Yeah, right. I am going to stay in this cinched silk cummerbund and panty girdle the rest of the day.
Little does he know I can’t wait to get out of here and peel it off.