Cast a Road Before Me (11 page)

“Hey there,” he smiled, looking wonderful. I wanted to touch him but dared not. The eyes of Bradleyville were ever-watchful.
Tonight
, I thought,
tonight
. “I noticed this as you were drivin’ up.”

He squatted down to run a finger over my right front tire. “Looks pretty bald. You should get it replaced. Before you leave.”

His last sentence pulsed. I bent over him, my hair brushing his shoulder. “Okay.”

Lee’s house was not air-conditioned, and I noticed his mother’s discomfort as she huffed over to hug me in the doorway, her good
hip rolling with the strain of hauling the other. My heart went out even more to Connie as she panted with the effort of greeting me, her stomach huge under a tent dress, cheeks mottled with heat. Her hands and feet were swollen. “It’s hard to breathe,” she apologized. “No room for my lungs.”

I urged her back onto the couch, lifting up her feet. Miss Wilma took her cane in hand and struggled toward the kitchen until Lee and I insisted on fetching the iced tea and sugar cookies. Gratefully, she fell into her arm chair.

Once out of sight, Lee pulled me into his arms and kissed me. I melted into him. When we pulled apart, I couldn’t hide the concern on my face. “What?” he whispered.

“They look so uncomfortable in this heat.”

Defensiveness flecked his forehead. “I been wantin’ to buy an air conditioner. But with all the money goin’ into the addition….”

“I didn’t mean—”

“We’d a had it by now if I’d gotten a raise.”

“I know.” Once again I saw the reality of Blair Riddum’s greed. My own household was comfortable enough with its two incomes. How sheltered my outlook had been.

I turned toward the table, keeping my voice light. “Here.” I handed him the plate of cookies. “You take these and one glass. I’ll bring the rest.”

Back in the living room, Lee sat with us for a few minutes, then reluctantly announced he had to get back to work. “Come say good-bye before you leave?”

I nodded.

“Would you help me up, Lee?” Miss Wilma held out a hand, smiling at me in apology. “I just need to make a quick trip down the hall.”

Connie breathed heavily in the silence after they left. She looked so forlorn and lost. “Here, eat something, Connie,” I offered, handing her a cookie. I pushed her iced tea glass closer so she could reach it easily, then regarded her with helplessness. “I
wish I could do something for you—take the heat away, the discomfort.”

Her smile was rueful. “Not much anybody can do right now. Even me. All I can do is wait.”

The “wait” seemed to refer to more than her delivery. I wondered if she hoped her ex-husband would return. “Your baby’s going to be beautiful, Connie. It’ll bring you so much joy.”

“I know. I know it will.” Her brow furrowed. “This is all just hard for me right now. Thank goodness I’ve got Mama and Lee—especially Mama. She’s here all day for me. We’ve talked a lot.”

This was the most Connie had ever said to me. I wanted to keep the conversation going. “What have you talked about?”

Her shoulders lifted. “Life. Babies. Men.” She paused. “Most of all, God.”

I couldn’t suppress a smile. “Aunt Eva talks to me about God a lot too. Sometimes I think she should have been the preacher, rather than Pastor Frasier.”

Connie nodded. “Yep. She and Mama are a lot alike. They’re praying women, and lots of times when your aunt comes to visit, they talk about Christ in their lives. I know they both have been praying for me.”

On cue, my guard came up. I reached for a cookie and bit into it.

“Anyway, I did what they have been praying for,” she ventured almost hesitantly. “Asked Christ into my life, I mean. And ever since then, things have been easier to handle.” She raised her eyes to mine with self-consciousness. I admired her fortitude in stating her beliefs, especially given the fact that we’d not mentioned religion during my prior visit. My own reticence at the subject lifted; the last thing I wanted to do was make her uncomfortable.

“That’s good. I’m … glad you have something that helps you.”

She gazed at me intently, gauging my personal understanding of her words. I pinned an encouraging expression on my face.

“Now Mama’s praying for Lee,” she added.

“Because of the sawmill, you mean?”

“That too. But mostly that he’ll understand he needs Christ in his life. ‘Cause bein’ a Christian is more than just goin’ to church and believin’ in God, isn’t it?”

I smiled a polite agreement, taking another bite of cookie.

“He’s crazy about you, you know.”

A crumb caught in my windpipe, and I coughed. “Who, God?”

She laughed throatily. “No. Well, I mean, sure. But I meant Lee.”

“Oh.” I took a purposeful drink of iced tea.

“He talks about you all the time. And when he’s not talkin’, he’s got this dreamy look. I’ve never seen him like that before.”

“Maybe he’s just thinking about all the work on the house.”

“No.” She wiped sweat from her forehead. “It’s you.”

Her candor was embarrassing. “Hasn’t he had girlfriends?”

“Plenty. At least, that’s what the girls thought they were. My friends used to go nuts over him. But he was never interested in very many. And not anybody like you.”

“Well, I think he’s … very nice also.”

A sudden grimace rolled across Connie’s face. Her hand went involuntarily to her belly.

“Are you okay?”

She closed her eyes, holding her breath. I grew alarmed and started to rise. “I’ll call Lee.”

“No, no.” She held up a hand. “It’s all right.” Exhaling slowly, she carefully shifted her position. “I been gettin’ these pains lately. Used to think I was goin’ into labor, but Mama says they’re just puttin’ me in practice for the real thing. She had ‘em with both her kids.”

“How will you know when they’re real?”

Her eyes fell on me, and in them I saw her vulnerability. “Cain’t rightly say. Since this is my first time.”

Half a cookie was still in my hand. I put it on a napkin. “You’re right; I’m glad your mom’s here for you.”

“Yeah. She’s been such a help. And Lee too; he takes care a us both. He’s a good provider.”

Connie had a gracious subtlety that her mother and my Aunt Eva lacked. No expression gave her away, no particular tone of voice. All the same, I saw a flash into her soul. It was not the “selling” of her brother to me that was surprising. It was the fact that she did it so unselfishly in her own time of need.

“I’m sure he is,” I mumbled.

Fortunately for me, Miss Wilma shuffled back into the room about that time.

The three of us talked for more than an hour, fanning our sweating faces with napkins. I found myself admiring Miss Wilma more and more. She was so down-to-earth in her outlook and even joyful amid the hip pain she tried to hide. Unlike Connie, she showed no self-consciousness in mentioning Jesus. His name seemed to slip into her sentences whatever the subject—her healing hip, struggles at the sawmill, Connie’s future, Lee’s talents. The depth of her devotion to her faith left me wondering and somewhat envious. The closest God had ever seemed to me was during my dream about my mother, and that had been more than seven years ago. A tiny voice inside whispered that Miss Wilma seemed to know something I didn’t. It was an uncomfortable thought, and I pushed it away.

I’d stayed long enough. “I’m sorry I have to go,” I said, rising, “but I’d like to get in a couple hours’ sewing. Before my date tonight.” I added the last sentence with a knowing smile, just to see their faces light up.

Before leaving, I threaded my way through the addition and found where Lee was working. He was on his knees, multicolored electrical wiring in his hands. “Hi,” I said, stopping to lean in the doorway. He smiled at me as he searched my face. “I love them—your sister and mom. They’re wonderful, wonderful women, Lee. They deserve you.”

He put down the wires, dusted both knees, and rose. Silently, he took me in his arms.

W
hat happened to Connie’s husband?” I asked Lee that evening. We were sitting on his blanket, spread buttercup-yellow upon deep green grass on a hill overlooking Bradleyville. Leaves from a gnarled oak shaded us from the setting sun. Pushed off the blanket were the remains of our sandwiches, tea, and dessert along with an old wicker basket of Aunt Eva’s. A slight breeze tickled my arms as I wrapped them around my legs, gazing at lights twinkling on in the town. Drifting on the wind were the smells of honeysuckle, apple pie, and Lee’s lime aftershave.

“Ex-husband, you mean.” He watched the hills across the valley. “Not sure. But he won’t be comin’ back.”

“How do you know?”

“I just know.”

“Sounds like there’s more to it.”

“There is.” He flexed his jaw. “But somethin’ tells me you wouldn’t approve.”

“Oh, come on, am I that judgmental? Tell me.”

He turned toward me, his expression almost challenging. “All right, I’ll tell you. The reason I know is because I told him if I
ever saw his face ‘round here again, I’d bash it in. And I’m a lot bigger’n he is.”

“Oh.” Immediate disapproval swirled within me. “Why would you do that?”

Flickering leaves danced shadows across his profile. “It’s a long story. There was this girl named Tammy who lived next door to Connie and Bart in Albertsville. She was still in high school. Bart took up with her. Connie was too ashamed to tell us what was goin’ on till I heard the whisperin’ around town. She near had a breakdown. I coulda killed the man. I told him he’d better stop or he’d have me to deal with. But he didn’t stop at all. Then what was I gonna do. I’d shot off my mouth, with no way a backin’ it up without gettin’ myself in trouble. Then Connie found out she was pregnant.” He shook his head. “She was thrilled, thinkin’ that would stop Bart. By then he wasn’t even tryin’ to hide it. But the news didn’t change a thing. So I went to see him again. And I gave him the surprise a his life—five hundred dollars, all my savings. Told him to take Tammy and hit the road and don’t dare come back. If he wasn’t gonna change, at least he wasn’t gonna flaunt it in front a my pregnant sister. About that time I came back to Bradleyville to live. I brought Connie with me.”

Oh, boy
. My notions about the complexity of Lee’s personality were proving true. It was hard to imagine the hothead he’d just spoken of being the same man I’d watched calm the mill workers at our house night after night. He’d certainly meant what he’d said about protecting his own.

“Does Connie know?”

“Yeah.”

“Was she mad at you for what you did?”

“It was over, Jessie; she’d lost him. She just didn’t have the strength to leave him.”

“So you did it
for
her.” I couldn’t keep the accusing tone from my voice. Why should the end of his sister’s marriage have been
his
decision?

“I protected her,” he replied levelly. “I did what she was incapable of doing.”

Maybe she didn’t want your protection
, I started to say, but thought better of it. My toes dug into the blanket as I tried to assimilate this side of Lee.

He nudged my arm. “Still like me?”

I managed an unconvincing smile.

We sat in strained silence.

“I knew I shouldn’t tell you,” he said finally.

I thought of poor Connie then, and my heart twinged. She was so sweet and unassuming. I’d be furious too if I saw someone treating her so badly. At least Lee hadn’t given in to his inclinations and beat the guy up. He’d never laid a finger on the man. He’d simply found a way to rid his sister of a bad husband—at his own expense.

“It doesn’t matter,” I heard myself saying. “I don’t like what you said to him, but you ended up doing the right thing, bringing Connie home.
Without
fighting. I’m sure she’s better off here. Imagine her going through this pregnancy in Albertsville, knowing her husband was sneaking off to be with someone else.” Scooting closer, I put my hand on his arm. “I think you’re a wonderful big brother. She thinks so too. You should hear her bragging on you.”

Relief washed over his face. His eyes told me he understood my risk in stretching beyond familiar bounds. When he wrapped his arms around me, I laid my head against his chest.
I don’t care
, I told myself.
So what if he has a bit of a temper
. I even sent a little prayer heavenward, asking my guardian angel to understand. It was inexplicable, really, this sudden willingness to blur the boundaries of my mother’s teaching, like brazenly coloring outside the lines. But I didn’t have time to pursue that thought.

“Tell me,” he was saying, his lips brushing the top of my head, “tell me why you’re so afraid of violence.”

My breath stilled. I could hear his heartbeat through his shirt. “I told you before. It’s what my mother taught me.”

“I think there’s more to it than that. I saw it on your face when we talked about it. Did you see someone get hurt, a person killed at that homeless center or something?”

I raised my head. “No. Nothing like that.” What I’d seen had been much less—and far more—than that, for it had cut to the very core of me. I’d never told anyone the story, for words would bring renewed clarity to a scene too hurtful to dwell upon. What’s more, how could I make anyone understand how the occurrence had molded me, weighting my mother’s mere exhortations with the stark reality of example?

Lee brushed hair off my cheek. “Come on, Jessie. I want to know
you. Inside
your heart.”

He would hear no further protestations. And so, eventually, I did tell him. Sitting beside him on his yellow blanket, my eyes focused on the twilit valley below. I told him of the November day when I was ten years old, when my mother and I had received an unexpected letter from my grandmother, inviting us to drive to their home in Columbus, Ohio, for Thanksgiving.

“Let’s go!” I’d cried. I’d dreamed of meeting my grandparents, had pestered Mom about them many, many times. All my friends had at least one grandparent who sent them money for birthdays, presents for Christmas. Why couldn’t I have my own; why did my mom refuse to take me to see them? We hadn’t heard from them in years; now they’d asked us for Thanksgiving! Mom and I didn’t have the money for a huge meal, but I was willing to bet they did. Maybe Grandma would serve those wonderful candied yams and homemade bread and lots of stuffing. Maybe they’d even give me an early Christmas present.