Cold Sassy Tree (38 page)

I
F THE GOVERNOR
of Georgia was coming in, he wouldn't of drawn a bigger crowd around the Cold Sassy tree at the depot than Grandpa's surprise. I saw lots of country people in mule-drawn wagons. The town was full of cotton-buyers and they came. And so did just about everybody who lived in Cold Sassy, white and colored.

Looking for Miss Love and Grandpa, I saw some mill people and wondered if Lightfoot was there. But if she was, I couldn't find her in the crowd, which well before train time had swelled bigger than for our Southern Independence Day Parade on the Glorious Fourth.

Papa soon drove up in the Cadillac, Mary Toy in Mama's lap, Loma and Camp in the back seat, all of them dressed to the nines and Aunt Loma waving to the crowd like she was the queen of England. Mary Toy was wearing her funeral outfit. Everybody knew that underneath Mama's linen duster she had on mourning clothes, but she looked smart and stylish all the same.

But where were Grandpa and Miss Love?

I was really getting worried when here he came without her. He had on his old black trousers and an old white shirt and string tie, and he was mad as heck. Motioning Papa to park the Cadillac, he stalked onto the loading platform where I was waiting. "Where's Miss Love at, sir?" I asked, anxious. "And why ain't you got on your new suit?"

"Cause I don't feel like puttin' on no airs," he said, ignoring my first question. "Miss Love, she can carry off sech, but I feel like a dang fool in them fancy clothes when I ain't goin' nowhere but downtown.... Howdy, Mr. Horace. Howdy, Miz Boswell, how y'all gittin' on?"

I tugged at his sleeve. "Sir, where's Miss Love? She's go'n be late for the train!"

"She ain't a-comin'."

"Ain't comin'?" I couldn't believe it.

"She said she couldn't sleep last night for thinkin' what folks are go'n say. Said they'd say she talked me into buyin' thet big artermobile."

"Gosh, Grandpa. Gosh."

I wanted to ask him more, but he was busy greeting folks. "Howdy, Jedge. Howdy, Miz Landrum. Y'all doin' all right? Well, if it ain't Cudn George! I heerd you got li'l Sara Ann married off." His mouth stretched like he was smiling, but he wasn't. Waving and nodding to folks in the crowd, not looking at me, he said, "I told her to good-gosh-a'mighty let'm talk. I said she had to come. She said it wouldn't hep sell artermobiles if she did. I said I didn't care. She said she did."

A farm boy called up to him, "Mr. Blakeslee?"

"Yeah, son, how's it goin' with yore ma?"

"She's gittin' better. What's yore surprise, sir? Air it a thang or a person?"

Grandpa grinned. "You'll see, son. You'll see." Then he muttered to me, "Dang woman wouldn't budge. Said she'd walk to the store with the crowd. I said I ain't a-go'n let you humble yoreself like thet, but she said she was sick and tarred a-bein' called names."

Poor Grandpa. All the fun had gone out of it for him. But Miss Love was right. If folks saw her perched high and mighty beside him in the back seat of a shiny motorcar, they'd call her snooty, or grave-snatcher. They'd recollect that all Miss Mattie Lou ever had to ride in was a buggy pulled by a mule—unless you counted Mr. Birdsong's glass-sided hearse pulled by fine black horses that she'd rode to the cemetery in.

"Thet woman is stubborn, great goodness!" Grandpa sputtered. I knew the real reason he didn't wear the new suit was he was mad at her. Also, I could smell he'd had a snort.

Just then Grandpa sighted the train. "Here she comes, folks!" he shouted, excited despite himself, and the crowd cheered. As Mr. Tuttle motioned everybody back from the tracks, the town band struck up "Waltz Me Around Again, Willie," and Grandpa called, "Hoyt, y'all git up here on the platform! Here she comes!"

As "Waltz Me Around Again" faded out, the Negro band took over, root-a-toot-tootin' and rat-a-tat-tattin' from their mule-drawn wagon. Every man played a different beat and a different tune, but the music meshed together into one big happy sound.

Loomis wasn't on the bandwagon. He was up on the loading platform with some other colored men, all of them grinning big and waving to friends, white and colored. It being their job to get the surprise out of the boxcar, they would be the first to see what it was.

"Where's Miss Love at, Mr. Blakeslee?" my daddy asked. It was like he just mouthed the words. You couldn't hear them. His question was lost in noise as the train engine screeched to a stop, brass bell ringing and steam belching over the rails. That's when Grandpa yelled into Papa's ear about the Pierce.

"You want me to drive it, sir?" Papa yelled, so excited he hopped from foot to foot.

"Naw, Will Tweedy's go'n drive."

"What'd you say, sir?"

"I said
WILL TWEEDY
! He's go'n
DRIVE
!"

I couldn't tell if Papa heard that or not. Like everybody else, he was watching Mr. Tuttle signal the engineer. Grandpa's boxcar stopped right where it was supposed to at the platform, and Mr. Tuttle helped Loomis open the big door. The crowd hushed as the big Negro took a quick peep inside. He shouted, "Lawdy, Lawdy, Mr. Rucker! Ain't you de one! Bless Jesus, you done got yo'se'f a chariot!"

As the colored men rolled the automobile out and down the ramp to the ground, I pulled the Pierce instruction book out of the pocket of my new Sunday suit and handed it to my daddy. While he studied it, I put on my linen duster and the driving cap with goggles, and big Loomis flipped a towel over the black sedan like he was shining a millionaire's boots. He bowed as the crowd whistled and whooped.

Grandpa didn't waste any time. After helping Mary Toy into the back seat, he climbed in beside her and stood waving as the crowd cheered. Papa had opened up the hood. We looked good to see if it was much different from the Cadillac, then I jumped behind the steering wheel and Papa leaned in to help me locate the ignition switch, gas feed, choke, brakes, and all like that.

With men crowding around to congratulate him, Grandpa got up on the back seat, raised his hand for silence, and shouted for everybody to follow us down to the store. After the word
store,
Mr. Goosby took it on himself to hit the big drum—and kept hitting it every time Grandpa finished a sentence. "I want y'all to git a good look at this here artermobile, folks!" —
BAM
— "See how she works!" —
BAM
— "I ain't aimin' to have the only Pierce in town for long! I'm a-go'n sell all y'all one!"
BAM
!

Seeing the question mark on Papa's face, Grandpa reached down and shook my daddy's hand. "Thet's right, Hoyt! I got the Pierce dealership, and we go'n sell Caddy-lacs, too. Folks, a new day's a-dawnin' for Cold Sassy!" —
BAM
— "We go'n put ever man in town behind a dang artermobile wheel!"
BAM
!

The crowd clapped and whistled like they thought Grandpa was giving motorcars away. He raised his hand again. "Now, let's git on to the store! I got free thread for the ladies and lick-rish and peppermint sticks for all you chi'ren! Will Tweedy, son, start my dang artermobile!"—
Drum roll
—"Hoyt, start yore'n! Mary Willis? Loma? Y'all set? I'm ready to lead the dang parade!"
BAM, BAM, BAM
and another drum roll, and the bands struck up "Dixie."

I was scared to death the Pierce might not start. Turning the switch key, I pulled out the choke as Papa motioned big Loomis to turn the crank. The engine sputtered. He cranked again. The motor flipped over, sputtered, caught! The car shimmied and shook. Grandpa leaned forward and blew the horn, loud and long.

"Sit down, Grandpa! Here we go!" I yelled, and we were off. With drums beating, horn tooting, Mary Toy squealing, and Papa and them in the Cadillac right behind us, the crowd pushed forward toward Cold Sassy's new day dawnin'.

Except for me and Grandpa, I don't think a soul cared that Love Simpson wasn't in the party. But I expect a lot of folks noticed.

***

"You see her?" Grandpa asked, standing up to look as we chugged to a stop in front of the store. His eyes scanned the crowd. "I thought Miss Love would aw-ready be here, waitin'."

"I don't see her, sir," I said.

Mary Toy caught aholt of his knotted sleeve and tugged at it. "I saw her, sir, after you made your speech. She was goin' towards home. Why didn't Miss Love want to ride with us, Grandpa?"

He didn't answer.

In the store a few minutes later, Aunt Loma said to me, real smug, "I reckon Pa wouldn't let Love horn in on his big day."

"It wasn't like that," I said. "Miss Love, she—she's sick this mornin'."

"Well, good for her!" said Aunt Loma, pleased. "That's poetic justice, considerin'."

I thought Miss Love would come in after while, but she didn't. And nobody seemed to mind she wasn't there, especially not Mama and Aunt Loma, who got busy giving out thread samples and candy and had a swell time.

The store did a big trade in everything but cars that day. Lots of folks said they'd sure like to own one, but it was after five o'clock before anybody actually talked business. The man who did was Mr. Sheffield, president of the mill. He rode up on his white Thoroughbred.

Those crowded around the two cars parted for Mr. Sheffield as he kicked his horse up to the Pierce. Folks white and colored watched, silent and curious, as the rich man dismounted, leaned in, examined the seats and the steering wheel, ran his hand over the horn, then tied up his horse and went in the store. I saw him motion to Grandpa.

Five minutes later he came out with my daddy for a ride in the Cadillac. Then I took him out in the Pierce, with Grandpa in the back seat, shouting over the engine's putter that artermobiles is a dang marvel.

As Mr. Sheffield got back on his horse, he said he thought he'd rather have a Hanson touring car.

We all felt let down.

Just before dark, Grandpa told me to drive his car home and park it in the barn. Coming out to watch me crank up, he slapped his hand on the shimmying hood. "Be up home fore sunup, Will Tweedy!" he yelled. "You go'n learn me and her how to drive this here thang!"

"Tomorrow, sir? Tomorrow's Sunday!"

"Thet's right. Better tell Loomis to milk for you, son, cause we got to git a early start or we go'n run up on all them buggies and wagons comin' in for preachin'."

The sky was barely getting light and the birds just beginning to wake up and sing when I tiptoed downstairs in my Sunday suit and my new linen duster. Queenie hadn't even gotten there yet. After washing down a cold biscuit with some sweetmilk, I put on my driving cap and goggles and had just sneaked out the back door when Papa leaned out of his bedroom window upstairs. "Will?" he called softly.

Seen through my driving goggles, he looked dim in the half-light. "Sir?"

"Watch the time and don't be late gettin' back for Sunday school. You hear?"

"Yessir."

I ran all the way up to Grandpa's house.

Thirty minutes later we were on the Jefferson road, and it could of been Christmas, we were so excited.

There was no sign of leftover bad feelings between Grandpa and Miss Love. He had his new clothes on under his duster. Miss Love's gray fall suit barely showed under hers, and she wore the dust veil over her red hat. She said we looked like a fashion advertisement in the newspaper. But as the sun rose and the mist burned off, we really warmed up in our fashionable get-ups.

Grandpa was sitting up front with me to watch what I did. "Maybe we don't need the dang dusters!" he yelled, looking back at Miss Love.

Her answer was lost in the wind.

"What you say?" he yelled.

"I said somebody might see us!" she shouted, leaning forward. "The man said part of selling cars is looking the part! Wearing the uniform! Remember?"

When we got to a long stretch of newly graded road, I shut off the engine, and the sudden silence sounded like noise. "Sit forward so you can see, Miss Love," I said, feeling important. "I'm go'n show y'all where the foot brake is, and the hand brake and gas feed and switch key." When I thought they understood it all, I got out to walk around the car and Grandpa moved over to the right side behind the wheel. Stepping onto the running board and seating myself, I said, "Now, sir you got to get all these dohickies set right or else she ain't go'n start up."

I knew he didn't have the faintest notion why he was doing any of it, but he said, real impatient, "You ain't got to tell me but once't, Will Tweedy. What's next?"

"Next you got to give the crank a few hard turns."

"You go do thet for me."

"Sir, you need the practice. Crankin' up is part of drivin'."

Miss Love had been watching closely, her arms on the back of the driver's seat. As Grandpa stepped out, she said, "You forgot something, Mr. Blakeslee."

"I ain't forgot nothin'." He walked toward the front of the automobile.

"Yessir, you did, Grandpa," said I. "You didn't turn on the ignition."

"Gosh a'mighty, son, what's the ignition? You ain't mentioned thet'n."

"Yes, he did, sir," said Miss Love. "The ignition is what you turn on with the switch key."

"Well, doggit, whyn't you say so? Miss Love, reach over and turn the dang key."

She did. But as Grandpa bent to crank up the engine, she reached forward again and, with a chessy-cat grin at me, turned the switch back off! Naturally nothing happened when Grandpa cranked. Disgusted, he straightened up and bit off a plug of tobacco. "Hit must be outa gas-lene, Will Tweedy."

"Cain't be," said I, winking at Miss Love. "Come see if you set everything right, Grandpa." As he started toward us, head down in disgust, Miss Love quick reached forward and turned the key on. Grandpa leaned in, studied the board a minute, then said, "Will Tweedy? Everthang you told me to do, I done done. You see anythang I missed?"

"No, sir. I reckon you just ain't crankin' hard enough, Grandpa."

Soon as he turned his back, Miss Love shut off the switch again. We like to died, holding in laughter. Grandpa repeated his quick jerks of the crank, all for nothing. After he'd wore himself out up there, he kicked one of the front tires and said, "Giddy-up, you dang fool!"