Cast a Road Before Me (15 page)

“Jessie, come on back now!” Thomas called.

I hesitated. Thomas beckoned furiously. Throwing a final smile to Miss Alice, I hurried back to my chair.

Not five seconds passed before all peace was shattered.

Mr. Jenkins was just beginning to brag about the whopping size of his brother’s tomatoes when Mr. Lewellyn pulled up to the curb, heaved himself out to slam the door, and declared with a shake of his chubby finger, “I
know
it was you, Thomas Bradley!”

“Oh, gracious,” Hank Jenkins breathed midsentence, “what now.”

Celia clutched the remains of her Coke float to her chest, shrinking toward me. “He looks like a bulldog, doesn’t he?” she whispered.

I tried not to laugh. “Never thought about it, but you’re right.”

“Thomas Bradley!” Mr. Lewellyn was yanking checkered pants over his round belly. “Let me tell you somethin’: this time you’ve gone too far! As if the town ain’t got enough trouble nowadays. I’m not goin’ to stand for it!”

I patted Celia reassuringly on the head. Thomas was taking a long slurp from his near-empty milk shake.

“Aahh,” he sighed, wiping his mouth. He smacked his lips and looked Mr. Lewellyn up and down. “Why don’t you set down in your chair, Jake; take a load off. And I do mean a
load
.”

Hank Jenkins suppressed a giggle.

Mr. Lewellyn hopped around the sidewalk like water droplets on a hot griddle. “Don’t give me none a your straight-faced lyin’, Thomas. You know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout.”

“You hear that, Hank?” Thomas said. “He’s callin’ me a liar, and all I did was invite him to set down.”

“You painted a new number on our sign!” The words exploded from Mr. Lewellyn’s mouth, shaking his fat, red jowls. “That’s defacin’ city property, ol’ man, and it ain’t legal. No matter
what
your last name is!”

Bradleyville’s city limits sign on Route 622 was a symbol of pride for the town. Jonathan Bradley had carved the first one years ago on a glossily finished rectangle of oak, mounted on top of a tall two-by-four. Ever since then, Bradleyville had insisted on this hand-hewn display of independence, eschewing the ugly metal sign issued by the state. And every five years, the town conducted its own census, celebrated by a new sign, donated by the mill, which declared its name and current population in large black letters.

“Aw, Jake, you’re actin’ like a chigger in tall grass, jumpin’ ‘round like that.” Thomas was stirring his shake. “This ain’t Miss Turner’s fifth grade class the day someone put a tack in your seat. Why don’t you just calm down and set a spell.”

Mr. Lewellyn’s glare was ferocious. “I can see you won’t be reasonable. If I was still a policeman, I’d haul you off to jail—”

Thomas threw back his head and laughed.

“Just like Miss Turner sent you to the principal’s office.”

A sour look stole over Thomas’s face.

“As it is, I aim to report this immediately to Bill Scutch, and he can do the honors.”

With that, Jake Lewellyn turned on his heel and stalked across the street toward the police station, nearly getting run over by a truck heading toward the sawmill.

“Tell him to bring his cuffs!” Thomas called. “I ain’t goin’ easy!”

“Whoo, what a show.” Folding his hands across his stomach, Mr. Jenkins tipped back his chair. “I don’t s’pose you know anything ‘bout that sign, Thomas.”

“Granddad, you aren’t goin’ to jail, are you!” Celia cried. The ice cream in her glass had long since melted, her Coke float resembling slushy snow.

“Don’t you worry, missy,” Thomas replied. I squeezed her hand.

It wasn’t long before Mr. Lewellyn was headed back across the street, dragging Policeman Scutch with him. Bill Scutch was about thirty years old, a handsome blond with hazel eyes and a quick smile. I’d had a crush on him years ago, when he first became the Bradleyville policeman, but I’d been too young. He was now married, with two kids. I knew he thought Thomas walked on water, and they often went to the school basketball games together.

“Hello, Jessie, Celia.” He winked at the little girl as he eased over the curb.

Thomas nodded. “Bill. Nice day. Buy you a drink?” He lifted his glass.

“No thanks.” Bill cleared his throat. “Jake tells me our town sign’s been painted over. Frankly, I ain’t seen it myself.”

“Well,” Thomas shrugged, “if Jake says so, it must be true.” He smiled grandly at Mr. Lewellyn.

Hank Jenkins jumped up to pull over an extra chair. “Have a seat.”

Mr. Scutch settled himself reluctantly, Mr. Lewellyn pacing under the awning, sweat running off his nose. “Eight years,
Thomas,” he muttered. “Eight years earlier, and I’d be comin’ after you myself.”

“That’ll be the day, Jake,” Thomas laughed, “when you
quit
comin’ after me, town policeman or not.”

“We’re not kids anymore!” Mr. Lewellyn stormed. “When’re you goin’ to grow up! I had my own grandboy born three years ago, just after our last census; you don’t see
me
changin’ that sign. There are limits, Thomas, even for you.”

Mr. Lewellyn suddenly looked exhausted. He pulled his chair forward and plopped into it, fanning his face with a beefy hand.

For a moment, no one spoke. I glanced sideways at Bill Scutch, wondering what he’d do. The slightest flicker of a smile curved his lips, then was gone. He stared at Mr. Lewellyn, rubbing his forehead, eyes narrowed.

“My stomach hurts,” Celia whimpered.

I leaned over to put my arm around her shoulders.

“You’re right, Jake,” Bill pronounced. “It’s not fair for one person to deface town property. If everybody did that, this place’d be as messy as Albertsville.”

“Now hold on a second,” Thomas interrupted. “This is just one a Jake’s accusations, and he’s been accusin’ me a things since the first day a school. Nobody can prove I did anything.”

Bill Scutch puckered his chin. “That’s true.”

“We all know you did it, Thomas!” Mr. Lewellyn jumped to his feet again. “No other baby’s been born lately in this town, and certainly nobody else would think hisself so important that he’d change the sign that belongs to all of us just for his own grandboy!”

“Now hold on, Jake,” Mr. Scutch held up a hand. “I think I have a solution.”

“The Lord punishes sinners. Put him in jail until he pays for it; that’s the only solution!” Mr. Lewellyn’s scarlet cheeks were shaking again.

“Yeah, we could do that.”

Thomas looked not the least bit worried. “Let’s hear your solution,” he said, leaning over to set his empty glass on the sidewalk.

“We could paint over the sign again.”

Mr. Lewellyn slid to a halt. “Don’t worry ‘bout fixin’ that sign back, Bill; we’ll have to git a new one made. But I want
him
to pay for it—with money
and
with a night in jail.”

“No, gentlemen. What I mean is …,” Bill Scutch leaned forward. “That last number on the sign woulda been changed from a two to a three, right?”

“S’pose so.” Thomas sniffed.

“Well, then, it’s simple. We’ll paint over it again. Change the three to a four.”

“Huh?” Hank Jenkins’s jaw flopped open, and Mr. Lewellyn stared at Bill Scutch as if he’d gone mad. Even Thomas’s eyebrows shot up before he caught himself. “What in the world for, Bill?” he asked.

“It’s like Jake said, Thomas. It’s not fair the sign changed just ‘bout the time your grandboy was born. Regardless a who changed it. At any rate, the harm’s already been done. So until 1970, when we git ourselves a new sign, we’ll just paint over that last number one more time. This one’ll be for Jake’s grandboy.”

Thomas slid a look at the policeman, his surprise dissolving into poker-faced perception. When he turned back to Mr. Lewellyn, his expression was one of utter betrayal. “Bill Scutch,” he declared, “whatever’s gotten into you? Some vandal’s gone and wrecked our town sign, and now you’re advocatin’ wreckin’ it some more?”

Bill held Jake Lewellyn’s astonished gaze. “Well, Jake?”

“Uh, I don’t know.” He gripped the arms of his chair and slowly lowered himself into it. “I never woulda thought a that.”

“Aw, forgit it, Jake.” Thomas sounded disgusted. “You’re just mad ‘cause I still got your marble. You want me to spend a night in jail, I’ll spend a night in jail, whether I done anything’re not. I been in far worse places in my fightin’ life; it makes no never-mind to me.”

A change spread across Mr. Lewellyn’s face, as if he’d sucked to the middle of sour candy and tasted sugar. “No, now wait a minute, Thomas. You don’t need to be sleepin’ in jail, with your old bones. And Bill’s right, that sign’s already ruint, so one more paintin’ over’s not goin’ to hurt it none.” He nodded his head once. Firmly. “I think it’s a good solution. Let’s do it.”

Thomas sucked on his teeth. “I don’t know, Jake.”

“It’s the best way. And it’ll put you in your own bed tonight.”

I watched Thomas’s fingers drum against his chair. “And just when do you suppose we’d take care a this little assignment? I got to get my grandgirl home in time for supper.”

Bill Scutch raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

“Well,” Mr. Lewellyn said, “we could do it right now, I s’pose. Wouldn’t take long. The hardware store’s right across the street; all we need is a brush and some black paint.” He stood suddenly, pushing back his chair. “In fact, I think that’s the best idea—do it now and git it done.” He fished in a pocket and pulled out his car keys. “I’ll drive. Hank, Bill, you both come along to see it’s done right.” He jerked his chin toward the hardware store when Thomas failed to move. “Well, let’s go, ol’ man. Let’s git this unpleasant business over with so you can git home.”

Thomas had linked his fingers under his chin and was gazing up at his adversary.

“Git a move on, Thomas!”

He would not budge.

“Would you come on! We got a sign to paint!”

A long silence. Slowly, Thomas began to shake his head, back and forth. “I never thought I’d see the day,” he said, clicking his tongue against his teeth. “Jake Lewellyn—my boyhood friend who grew up to wear the Bradleyville badge for thirty-five years. Who was honest as the day is long. And now”—he pressed his lips together—”now after retiring with honors, you’re fixin’—with great excitement, I might add—to buy some black paint and a brush and vandalize the sign a the town my daddy founded. Lord help us, what
is
this world comin’ to.”

I pressed fingers against my mouth. Mr. Jenkins burst into laughter, then tried to cover by coughing into his fist. Bill Scutch valiantly clung to a straight face. Mr. Lewellyn’s jowls were turning purple. “Now you hold on!” he yelled. “This wasn’t—!”

“Jake,” Thomas pronounced, “you said it yourself. You know very well our town sign’s not changed every time a baby’s born. We counted everyone in 1965 and we’ll do it again in 1970, and until that time you’re just gonna have to wait.” He turned to Bill Scutch. “What sort a punishment would be appropriate for our fallen brother?”

Mr. Lewellyn’s mouth was opening and closing with no sound uttered, like a fish flopping on the riverbank.

“Let me see.” Bill Scutch sighed and rubbed his chin. “I guess a night in jail oughta do it.”

That did it. Jake Lewellyn recovered enough to let loose a few words that Celia should not have heard. When he stomped away, I could have sworn the sidewalk shook. We all watched as he yanked open his car door, shoved himself inside, and roared away.

“And I still got your marble too!” Thomas hollered after him.

“Whoooeee!” he cackled, leaping from his seat to slap Bill Scutch on the back. “The wisdom a Solomon, I do declare; I done taught you well.” Grabbing my hands, he pulled me up and jigged me around the sidewalk. “The town’s needed somethin’ to laugh at, Jessie Callum. Just wait till it hears this!”

S
o you were right in the midst of that brouhaha, I hear.” Aunt Eva ladled peas onto her plate, pushing them together into a small mound.

It never ceased to amaze me how fast word buzzed around Bradleyville. But then, working in the post office all day, Aunt Eva did tend to sit in the center of the beehive. “I was there, all right.”

“Thought you were gonna sew all day.”

I sank my fork into the first bite of mouthwatering meatloaf. I’d hardly eaten anything all day, and after I’d put it in the oven to bake, its tantalizing aroma had seeped all the way into my bedroom as I sewed. “I was. But Thomas called and asked me to go to Tull’s with him. Plus, I promised Celia I’d see her sometime this week, and she was there.”

“Mmm.” Aunt Eva eyed me with curiosity. I could practically see the wheels turning in her head. Uncle Frank was busy dressing a baked potato with butter and sour cream. His mind seemed elsewhere. “You were awful busy sewin’ yesterday,” my aunt pressed. “Not a minute to spare, even for a telephone call. Now today you’re runnin’ ‘round with Thomas.”

Savoring the peppery meatloaf, I remained silent. I wasn’t quite sure what she was getting at—my reticence to talk to Lee or the depth of my involvement in Thomas’s shenanigans. Or both.

“So did you know all that was comin’?”

Pure innocence pasted itself on my face. “How could I have known? We were already there when Mr. Lewellyn came roaring up, mad as could be.”

A tiny smile played over Uncle Frank’s lips. He spread the sour cream with a knife, quickly glancing at me, then back to his plate. I sniffed and took a drink of iced tea. Uncle Frank always did have the uncanny knack of seeing right through me.

Aunt Eva opened her mouth again, and by the look on her face, I knew she was going to ask me about Lee. Without thinking, I jumped in. “Guess what. I saw Alice Eder while I was downtown, and she actually offered me a job for the next few weeks.” As soon as the words were uttered, I could have kicked myself. Out of the frying pan, into the fire.

“It’s a
great
opportunity for you,” my aunt gushed, showing no surprise at the piece of news. “Why don’t you take it?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I have a lot of sewing to do here. Three more dresses. Plus I’ve been looking forward to these weeks of not having to fit into anybody else’s schedule.”

“Sounds good to me,” Uncle Frank put in. “You been workin’ awful hard the past five years.”