Clover (10 page)

It becomes real that there is something about our house that is not all that happy. It kind of reminds me of a thick morning fog. It's there, you can see it, yet you can't put your finger on it. Like the fog, a strange, uneasy feeling has filled the house, and settled down upon us.

There is just the two of us. A stepmother and child.
Two people in a house. Together, yet apart. Aside from the music, the house is too quiet. We move about in separate ways. We are like peaches. Peaches picked from the same tree, but put in separate baskets.

I guess you would call me a scared little girl, all alone with a scared woman. I suppose there is nothing all that strange about a stepmama and a stepchild living alone. In our case, I guess it's just how we happened to end up together.

People get killed every day, get stepmothers all the time. But in this case it all happened on the same day. Only minutes after my daddy married Sara Kate he was killed.

So here we are. Two strangers in a house. I think of all the things I'd like to say to her. Think of all the things I think she'd like to say to me. I do believe if we could bring ourselves to say those things it would close the wide gap between us and draw us closer together. Yet the thoughts stay in my head—stay tied up on my tongue.

Maybe my stepmother has the same fear I have, a fear of not being accepted. In a way it reminds me of a game of Monopoly.

If Sara Kate and I ever forget who we are, and sometimes we do, then we are at ease with each other and we have a pretty good little time together. Sometimes we even laugh.

Just maybe we could learn something from each other.
Especially Sara Kate since she's the one new to the house. At least she will learn that the sound that sometimes goes boom in the night is only a shutter slamming shut. All houses have their own creaky sounds.

Right now there is hardly a sound in the house. It is so very, very dry. The drought has sucked up all the wind. Just like in the poem . . . “No wind, no rain, no motion.” It's been so hot, Mr. Barnes' old rooster has stopped crowing. It seems it's even been too hot for the crickets and insects to join the nightly choir and sing.

You just wait until the fall comes. Sara Kate is going to be scared out of her wits for sure when the hoot owl cranks up. It even gives me the chills. My grandpa couldn't stand to hear the hoot owl. He used to turn a boot upside down on the fireplace hearth to quiet it down.

I guess if Sara Kate ever saw that, she'd think she had married into a completely crazy family. She probably thinks it already. I think the wake they held before Gaten's funeral all but blew her away.

On the other hand, I'm sure there are things I can learn from Sara Kate. Like what she's thinking when she purses her lips, knits her brow together and stares blankly out of the window. I just might learn that in spite of her curious ways, she might want to be my friend—that in some small way, she might even like me.

If I had answered the telephone and hung up when I was supposed to, I would have never been trapped into listening in on Sara Kate's conversation with her mother. I still don't believe I would have eavesdropped if she hadn't laid the phone down. “Hold on a second, Mother,” she said. “I must take my muffins out of the oven.” Baking muffins happens to be something Sara Kate likes to do. She can make pretty ones, all right. They look like a picture in a magazine. They might would taste as good as they look, and be fit to eat, if she ever learns to put enough sugar in them.

I wanted to hang up when Sara Kate picked the phone up again, but all I needed was to have her think that I was listening on purpose. She may have thought I made it a habit to listen to her phone calls. I had sense enough to know I could not set that phone down without her knowing it. So you see I was truly trapped. I honestly had no choice but to listen.

Sara Kate seemed delighted that her mother had called. “Why don't you come down for a visit, Mother?” she asked after they'd talked for a while.

“Why, my darling,” her mother said in that same rushed, girlish voice Sara Kate has, “I've gotten things all ready for you to spend some time here. You surely have no reason to stay there now.”

“There is a child, Mother.”

“Oh my God,” her mother gasped, “please don't tell me there is a child on the way. Don't give me a heart attack. Say you are not pregnant, Sara Kate.”

“Mother, I am not pregnant. Remember, Gaten had a child. A little girl.”

There was a deadly silence on the phone. A cold silence without an ounce of feeling in it.

“Come to think of it, dear, I do remember your mentioning it,” said her mother.

Sara Kate's voice sounded far, far away. “Gaten's daughter is named Clover. She is a precocious ten-year-old. A darling little girl. But I must admit, it's quite a challenge for me to learn how to care for a ten-year-old.”

“I'm afraid I can't help you there, dear. You see, I've never had a ten-year-old stepchild. Besides, she is really not your . . .” Her mother's voice broke off. She didn't finish the sentence, there was no need to.

“Well, if you remember, Sara Kate,” her mother continued, “from the very beginning, I warned you to take a long hard look at the price you may have to pay for what you called love. Then ask yourself if it was worth it. If love happens to carry problems, then find someone without them. Problems take away love. That was and still is my advice for you.”

“Good-bye, Mother,” whispered Sara Kate. She then eased the receiver down so gently it hardly made a click.
Maybe she was trying to prove to herself how cool she could be.

When she passed me in the hall rushing to her room I could see silent tears creeping down her face. Sara Kate had tears, but she wasn't crying. It seemed like the same air of sadness that filled her lungs when Gaten died was vacuuming her crying into its silent self.

Maybe her mama was right. Maybe Sara Kate didn't have a reason to stay in Round Hill.

I hope Sara Kate is not sad she got tied up with Gaten and ended up with me. I hate it when she is sad like that. It's really hard on me. Because, you see, a lot of the time, actually, most of the time, I'm sad also. Really sad.

It sure surprised Sara Kate more than it did me when Chase Porter showed up at our house one Sunday afternoon.

I think he started liking her the first time he saw her. And to think Sara Kate wasn't even pretty then, like she is now. Purple and black bruises, fringed with white flesh, were all over her. She looked like a Band-Aid jigsaw puzzle. After all, it was only three days after the car wreck.

I watched Chase peep in his pickup mirror, run a comb through his hair and reach for his hat. He is some fine.

He told Sara Kate that he used to always come to our house when Gaten was alive. “Gaten was my friend,” he said. But as far as this friend bit goes, they were not all that good of friends. Chase would come to look for a covey of doves so he could shoot his fool head off. Then he'd brag about how many he killed. Sometimes he'd talk about the
peach crop. He's been inside our house one time. I know for a fact Gaten never set foot in his.

Chase Porter didn't say very much. He just looked at Sara Kate and grinned his slow grin. He's got to know he's kind of cute when he grins.

Sara Kate sure was happy he came over. He's been the only one to visit her outside of our kinfolk. Of course I'm not counting people who come to sell stuff. They've been coming ever since the day Gaten died. Yes, people do think when a man dies, he takes his wife's sense to the grave with him. They think Sara Kate hasn't got a bit of sense left over.

Chase Porter is a good catch for any woman. At least that's what Miss Katie says. “Every widow, old maid, and young girl in Round Hill has tried to get him. Even some married ones,” she laughed.

I know that Chase Porter ain't hardly got all that money he makes out to have. True, he stands to get all that money his daddy's got when he dies, but old man Porter isn't dead yet.

I like Chase all right and enough. It's his daughter I can't stand. She thinks she's too much for me with her fat spoiled self. She is only ten years old and is as big as a house.

The way her daddy keeps looking at Sara Kate has gotten me to thinking. Just maybe her daddy is trying to court Sara Kate. If they get married, his daughter is dead meat if they try to hang around here.

Chase is wearing light blue jeans, a light blue dress shirt, open at the collar, and a pair of cool shades. I guess he's got on his dress-up boots on account of it being Sunday.

“You didn't happen to see my horse around here, did you, Clover?” I shake my head. Chase knows good and well he's not about to let that high-priced horse get loose. That's just an excuse to come see Sara Kate.

In a way, it's good he did come. Sure helps to spruce up Sara Kate. Having to watch him look at her with that sly grin of his makes me feel kind of funny. I don't want him to think I'm scared to stay on my own front porch just because he's there. So I say, “Care for some ice tea?” I got that from my aunt.

I pour two glasses of tea and stick a piece of lemon, all fancy-like, on the side of the glasses. I filled them so full, the tea spilled all over my hands. I had to walk real, real slow. Sara Kate looked at me, but didn't say nothing. She can't stand it when I fill something too full.

Chase is leaning against a post. His hat is kind of pulled down over his eyes. Not to keep the sun out or anything. He just thinks it's sporty, that's all. He looks down the quiet, quiet road. “Seems like everybody is in church except us,” he grins. “I won't run the risk of going to church, because if I show up, the Lord might think it's time to bring the world to its end.”

A whole week has passed. It's Sunday again. I'll bet you anything, sure as shooting, Chase Porter is going to bring his grinning self over here.

In a way, I guess it's good he comes. At least, all that sadness that balls up in Sara Kate's eyes sometimes will go away. I tell you, a person would have to be blind not to see she likes Chase.

“You should go out more, Sara Kate,” Chase tells her. “My aunt says she'd love having you over for tea sometimes.” I think to myself, your aunt ought to ask her then.

Sara Kate smiles. “Your cousin, Mary Ellen, promised to invite me to a dinner party.”

Chase scratches his head and grins some more. “She is not likely to ask you, either,” he says. “You see, she thinks she's pretty uppity-crusty now. Before she married my cousin, she didn't have two dimes to rub together. The high-and-mighty Mary Ellen once had to work as hard as a damn nigger woman, just to pay her rent.”

Sara Kate winced when he said that right before me, and sucked in her breath. The corners of her mouth tightened.

What Chase said brought on a strange quiet. Then after it had a chance to sink in, in a rambling sort of way that made no sense at all, Chase sort of tried to apologize. To try to undo a thing he didn't at first even realize he'd done. Poor old dumb Chase. Now that it had sunk in what he'd said, he was so ashamed. He couldn't even hold his head up. Just kept his eyes fastened on his fancy boots.

For what seemed like a long time Chase kept his head down. Then he raised his eyes and looked to see if Sara Kate had been hurt by the word, nigger.

Sara Kate's face showed she'd heard him all right. Yet her face didn't show anger, just her disappointment in him. Her face just sort of closed down. She didn't choose to make something out of it. She didn't say anything and neither did Chase.

Shame had played, my daddy would have said, “its most magnificent role for Chase Porter.”

Any further hurt anyone could have given wasn't necessary. I believe Sara Kate got away with him more than if she had gotten him told.

Daniel said there's a lot more ways to hurt somebody than getting them told. Like using spit for instance.

It's funny, but all this time Daniel and I thought Sara Kate would make a slip someday and say nigger. If she ever did, Daniel said, all I'd have to do is hint that folks spit in stuff people eat or drink if they say nigger. He said you don't have to even do it. If they think you did, they'll vomit the rest of their life.

Daniel couldn't fool me up to do that, though. My daddy and Grandpa would haunt me for the rest of my born days. That's way too nasty to even think of.

I don't think we'll see too much of Mr. Chase Porter with that slow easy grin for a long time.

At least after this Chase thing, I've learned a thing or two more about Sara Kate. She's not all that good and sweet all the time. She's got her mean streaks, too.

Like sometimes when she thinks Chase Porter is calling her, she will let that telephone almost ring off the hook. She will be sitting right there looking at it and she won't even pick it up.

But you know, it serves Chase right. Looks like with all the stuff you see on TV, Chase should know you can't even say something unkind about black folks today and get away with it. Much less use the word nigger.

Sara Kate has stuff spread all over the kitchen table when I come in from the peach shed.

She glanced up at the wall clock. A worried frown crossed her face. “Oh, dear, I had no idea it was getting so late. I'll clear this away and start lunch. We'll shop for food as soon as we're finished.”

“Some of those little pigs in a blanket you have in the freezer would go good,” I say, adding, “we can throw some Tater Tots in the microwave, too.”

“Oh, all right,” Sara Kate said. For a change she didn't say we had to have a vegetable or salad.

I put on water to boil for ice tea. I can't drink the stuff when Sara Kate makes it. She doesn't put a drop of sugar in it. Just puts it into the fridge to get cold, then puts sugar on the table so you can sweeten it. It takes almost the whole bowl of sugar to get the cold stuff sweet.