Cast a Road Before Me (18 page)

She rewaxed her cloth. “I cain’t understand it. Lee Harding is such a good-lookin’ man, so tall and strong. And all that black hair. How could any girl turn her back on that?”

“Listen to you, talkin’ like a shameless harlot!”

“Well, jus’ ‘cause I’m old don’t mean I’m dead.”

“Huh.” She rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand. “Anyway, Eva’s mighty discouraged. Says Jessie can be awful determined when she puts her mind to somethin’. The devil himself couldn’t stop her.”

“Don’t mention the devil in the house a God! He hears and sees all, you know.”

She flicked a gray wisp from her flushed cheek. “If he sees all, he’ll see that grimy print you missed.”

“Oh, hush yourself. I was gittin’ it.”

They worked in silence
.

“Did you hear that Patsy Walling saw Esther Riddum the other day in Albertsville?”

“Huh uh.”

“It was at the K-Mart. Patsy said hello to Esther and mentioned she and Blair hadn’t been seen around Bradleyville lately. Esther kinda fumbled with her bags and said she had to git to her car. Gave some lame excuse ‘bout how they hadn’t needed to drive into town lately.”

“So they drive all the way to Albertsville?” She was disgusted
.

“Yep. Don’t sound good, does it?” She plopped down on a pew, exhausted. “Whew! I gotta rest a minute.”

Her friend sank down beside her. “Sounds like things ain’t lookin’ good for the mill.”

“ ‘Fraid not.” Sighing, she gazed around the church. “Tell you what is lookin’ good, though, and that’s this sanctuary. I’ll bet the Methodists’ ain’t half as shiny.”

“Amen to that.”

T
he next three weeks were a blur. I worked in Miss Alice’s shop until supper, either on her projects or my own. Six new dresses now hung in a multicolored row in my closet. Combined with the items I’d bought, they constituted an impressive wardrobe. Time and again before I fell into bed I tried on the yellow dress and slipped into my new shoes, gazing at the mature woman before me in the mirror. How like Mom she looked. I could almost feel my mother watching me from heaven, smiling proudly. I also finished Connie’s curtains and matching baby blanket. She and I had chosen the fabric together during a scorching trip to Albertsville that had left her exhausted. I was glad that the excitement over room decorating had lifted her morose spirits. And when I wasn’t sewing, I was at the Hardings, helping Lee paint Connie’s new rooms. I even helped nail down carpet.

When that work was finally done, I hosted a baby shower for Connie, borrowing folding chairs from the church to set around the finished nursery. Lots of women came, from friends her age to widows, lugging presents and baby furniture. The sunny rooms
filled with lively chatter and a mounting pile of baby clothes, torn wrapping paper, and curled ribbon. By the time the last guest left, I was giddily happy and enlisted Lee’s help in pushing the furniture where Connie directed. Then she and I put away the clothes in drawers, marveling anew at the tiny sleeves and footed sleepers. “I can almost see my baby in them,” she breathed, eyes sparkling. When we were through, we stood in the nursery doorway, gazing around. Everything was in readiness and looked so lovely. “I can’t wait,” she said, grasping my hand, “I just can’t wait.” Fleetingly, I thought of the nursery I’d have some day, picturing baby furniture in a house somewhere in Cincinnati.

With all the time we spent together, Lee and I only wanted to be with each other more. As we knelt side by side to unroll carpet and doused paint-flecked hands with turpentine; as he hung curtain rods while I signaled up or down—we basked in the aura of each other. Even when I could not see him in the adjoining room I was aware of his exact location and what he was doing. Darkness did not fall until after 9:00, and by that time we were tired, but we still went for a drive most evenings, parking on an old dirt road about five miles outside town. As soon as his truck rolled to a stop, I’d slide next to him, snuggling against his strong shoulder. Time and time again I thought,
How can I leave him?

One night, I told Lee about my dream and everything it had meant to me. I thought it would help him understand my determination to be in Cincinnati near Hope Center, my anticipation of helping others through my job. Little good it did. After that, through tacit agreement, we did not discuss my leaving anymore. What was left to say? I knew Lee dreaded it. And sometimes, so did I.

Nor did we discuss issues at the mill, even though I saw the constant worry on his face. I knew things were not going well; Uncle Frank related the stories every night. I would listen attentively and encourage him, but as soon as I rose from the supper table the subject was pushed from my head. I simply would not
consider their striking in August. It could so easily lead to violence, and I couldn’t bear to think of Lee or Uncle Frank in danger.

Then, before I knew it, August first was nearly upon us. I had only seven days left in Bradleyville, and time slowed its jig into a gliding dance. My dresses were done; Connie’s rooms were ready. All I had to do was work for Miss Alice, and that took only half a day. Lee and I had more opportunity to be alone together. And those moments began to spin themselves out, subjects previously avoided now pendant between us.

“We have to talk about this,” he said Saturday night over supper at The Roastery, a splurge for us in Albertsville. I had taken nearly an hour deciding what to wear. All those new dresses, yet I couldn’t bring myself to don one for Lee. They represented my life apart from him. I’d finally chosen something older—a blue skirt and cream-colored blouse that set off my hair and eyes. “I can’t understand why you’re still so determined to leave me.”

I touched his hand. “I don’t want to leave
you;
it’s just that I want to
be
in Cincinnati.”

“But you have to leave me to do it.”

“It’s only a six-hour drive. You can visit. And I’ll be back here for holidays.”

“Jessie, you know I’ll never visit.”

I started to protest, but the look in his eyes told me this was no time for games. We were beyond that, and that’s exactly why he would never make the trip.

“If you leave,” he said quietly, “you’ll have chosen a life without me. What good would visitin’ do?”

“Lee, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then don’t.”

I couldn’t reply.

His voice tinged with frustration. “You have everything here—your family, me. Now you even have a job. And I know you love Bradleyville more than you realize. Yet you want to live in a big city where you’ll be alone.”

“It’s the city I grew up in, Lee. It’s the city where my memories with Mom are stored.”

“They’re just memories. Good ones, sure. Important ones. But you got new memories to make.”

I smarted at the word
just
. Food lost its appeal, and I pushed my plate away. “My ‘new memories’ will be built on my old ones. You can’t understand, Lee. You haven’t been through what I have. You don’t know what it’s like to yearn for your mother. Look at you; you moved back to Bradleyville just to take care of your mom. I can’t be near mine anymore. The most I can do is follow in her footsteps.”

He looked away for a moment. “And you say this is what God wants you to do?”

“Yes.”

“Mm. Then how come I think God wants you to stay here?”

I gazed at him with uncertainty, unsure whether he was serious or teasing. I preferred the latter. “Good grief,” I replied, “you sound like Aunt Eva.”

“That bad, huh.”

We both managed a smile.

Neither of us wanted to spoil the evening. Taking up the subject again would only lead to argument, so we said no more. Lee’s eyes flicked around the table as he seemed to wrestle with another issue. “Speakin’ a God, I been meanin’ to talk to you ‘bout somethin’. You remember that sermon a month or so ago? About the rich man and Jesus?”

This subject did not thrill me either. I nodded once.

He toyed with his fork on his plate. “I still think there’s somethin’ to that. Followin’ Christ I mean. Mama and I have talked about it a lot since then. She says all I have to do is pray and tell Christ that I’ll let him lead my life.” He wouldn’t look at me. “I don’t know, though. I think a doin’ that, but then I think I wouldn’t want to do it unless I was serious ‘bout it. It’s not somethin’ to play ‘round with, you know? And I can be a hard man sometimes; got a bit a temper. I don’t show it ‘round you, but it’s
been difficult keepin’ it at the mill lately, what with things the way they are. I’m beginnin’ to feel like Riddum’s nastiness is aimed straight at my family, since if I lose paychecks, that’s who’s gonna be hurt the most. And I don’t take kindly to anyone threatenin’ my family. Anyway, thinkin’ the thoughts I do sometimes, I question if I’m the sort a person Jesus would want.”

I searched for a response, wondering which troublesome issue to pursue. His allusions to the seriousness of problems at the mill sprayed me with fear. As for “following Christ,” that subject had long ago become one that instantly raised hackles of defense within me. But I was most struck by his last sentence. He sounded almost childlike, questioning his worth in God’s eyes. I felt a stab of pain for him.

“But, Lee,” I said, reaching for his hand, “you’re wonderful. Who
wouldn’t
want you?”

Swiftly, his eyes rose to mine and locked. Too late, I realized the irony of my statement. My throat tightened. “Oh, Lee. I
do
want you. You must know that.”

He leaned forward, cupping my chin in his other hand. “I love you, Jessie,” he said thickly. The unexpected words shimmered between us. He looked almost surprised at himself. “There, I finally said it.”

His face blurred. “I love you, too,” I whispered.

So much for an expensive meal. Neither of us touched another bite.

On the way home we took a detour to the hill where we’d had our picnic. Lee pulled the yellow blanket from the back of his truck and spread it over the grass. We sat side by side, arms around each others’ waists, and watched the stars birth in an inking sky.

“Jessie,” Lee’s words were weighted, “we got one week. We need to talk more about everything, okay? Figure out what we’re gonna do. Maybe we can visit each other after all. We have to do
something
. I can’t just let you out of my life when you move. Maybe
we should even pray ‘bout it together. That’s what Mama’s been sayin’ we should do.”

His mama was also in cahoots with my Aunt Eva to get me to stay in Bradleyville. I saw right through Miss Wilma’s pious plan.

“Sure, Lee,” I said, meaning not a word of it. “We’ll do that.”

T
he march of time is an inexplicable thing—relentless and inevitable, while life plays out in a multitude of paces. I sat in a seemingly never-ending church service next to Lee the following morning, listening with closed ears. Monday, I bent a languid head over Miss Alice’s magic sewing machine, yet my thoughts were as swirling as the gathering winds in the streets of Bradleyville.

I tried not to hear the talk as folks poked their heads in the shop to gab with Miss Alice. The more I tried not to listen, the louder their voices grew. Blair Riddum had engineered half a dozen run-ins with various employees Monday, telling them all in one way or another that they weren’t fit for their jobs. By Tuesday afternoon word had already filtered into town about an argument that morning between him and Al Bledger, who’d refused to back down when informed his cuts were ragged.

“Well, Al always did have a bit of a temper,” Miss Alice commented as she huddled with Elsie Mae Waller. Miss Elsie Mae’s husband worked at the IGA, and he’d heard the news from the Clangerlees, who’d heard it from Laura Princeley herself. Miss
Laura had taken her husband’s forgotten lunchbox to him at noon only to emerge shaken by the ominous atmosphere at the mill.

“Maybe so, but Al’s been at the mill for years. He oughta know how to cut wood.”

“True, true.”

Miss Alice’s clothes rustled as she turned to look at me. “Better not say anymore,” she whispered theatrically to Miss Elsie, as if I couldn’t hear. “She’s been quiet all week. Worried ‘bout Lee, you know.”

She was half right. I was worried about Lee. I was worried about Uncle Frank too, and the town. And Aunt Eva was clinging to me in near apoplexy in her own fear. “What if they strike and there’s fightin’!” she’d wailed to me more than once. “I can’t lose Frank; I already lost my only son.” Shoring her up only frightened me more. I’d become so worried and so afraid of what might happen, I just wanted to run away and hide. And I began to dread saying good-bye to Lee so much that I longed to have it over with. The ambivalence was driving me crazy. I almost wished I could leave
that day
. August first was Thursday; I wished I didn’t have to wait until Saturday for Uncle Frank’s help. Who knew what would happen by then? How could I leave Lee in the midst of chaos?

I’d visited his house Monday evening to check on Connie. Her false labor pains had increased, but every time she thought the time had come, the pains stopped. “I want so much to have the baby before you leave,” she breathed, her eyes begging me not to go. “I need you there with me.”

The more I was needed, the more selfish I felt. And angry. I tried to pray to my guardian angel, but it did no good. Then I railed at God as I packed books Monday night. I was
mad
I’d fallen in love with a man I had to leave. Everybody seemed to be turning to me, as if I had undying strength. And because of my mother’s pacifist teaching, I’d advocated patience with a selfish mill employer who now just made me want to spit. I’d never even seen Blair Riddum, but I hated him for what he was doing to me and
the ones I loved. I ranted on in my head, only by sheer will slowing the arm that wanted to throw my books, stilling the foot that wanted to kick a box. After a long exhale, I stacked the books carefully and pushed the boxes into a corner.