Earthly Vows (32 page)

“God changes the landscape?”

“And life, life changes.” He did believe God was that involved, but as to how much theology Walt could soak up, he didn’t
know. “The fact is, as Fern said, Anna is still here. There are things about her, all women actually, I mean, that take a
long time to find out. We have to go after knowing those puzzling things with the same zeal we did when we were young and
chasing after work. And it seems to be in the cards that they won’t tell us everything at once. You wish they would.”

“But they don’t. Now why is that?”

“Trust.”

“I don’t follow.”

“We have to earn their trust. When they open up, you know, give us a bit of themselves that we hadn’t known before, then they
wait.”

“What are they waiting for?”

“To see how we react.”

“There’s a problem. I don’t know the right questions to ask.”

“I know. I know.”

F
ERN WORKED ONE MORE DAY AT THE
school in Ardmore. The Blooms insisted she move on in and she was too worried sick about Angel to teach, she said. Jeb took
Monday afternoon off and helped her move some of her clothes into Sybil’s guest room. The rest of her belongings she wanted
moved into the parsonage. There were some linens Abigail bought, she said, for their wedding. But no need to leave good linens
in Ardmore.

Jeb kept saying, “Of course” and “Why not?”

The hall closet was empty, so she folded and snapped linens until she filled the shelves with towels and sheets. She made
a list of things they would need, like an ironing board. He used the bed. It seemed fine. But he had also hung the picture
of Jesus in the hall and she took it back down, promising to find a good place for it.

The picture of Jesus could go. What he wanted was the sound of her rattling around the parsonage, her bare feet next to his,
small blond strands of hair left in the bathroom sink.

There was another box she opened. It was full of small cloth bears. They made a row across the fireplace mantel, some arms
crossed in front, or looking down.

“I’m trying to decide where all my bookcases will go,” she said. Those she left at Abigail’s. She invited him to the sofa,
to help her plan the room. “You’ve put your study desk in a dark corner.”

He saw the small nook as the perfect fit for the desk, as though one had been made for the other.

“You want your desk near the window.” Light, of course, he hadn’t thought of, no more than the ironing board. Her hand was
soft, but for the small calluses on the inside of her thumb and forefinger, her golfing calluses. He liked running his fingers
over even the calluses.

“We have to talk, you know,” she said. That was the way it was, when things were changing. She had those things that she had
to say, like he told Walton. He knew not to say anything, so he sat back, waiting.

“Willie and Ida May,” she said.

He waited a bit more.

“They can’t run around all day like wild kittens, Jeb. Why aren’t they in school?”

He had forgotten. “School here?”

She sighed.

“They can’t live with Claudia. You want them here with us, Fern?”

“You’re the one that has been trying to get rid of the Welbys, not me.”

“For you.”

She removed her hand from his, clasping and unclasping her fingers. “I’ve never asked for that.”

He tried to remember. If he was wrong, she’d tell him. Back at the bus depot, when Angel was put on the bus with Claudia,
wasn’t she relieved? There was the time when he was going to take Angel to live with her mother in Little Rock. “You’ve never
…”

She shook her head. “I’ve known since I first laid eyes on you.”

Even he had not known. “How did you know?”

“Women know.”

Of course it was like what he was telling Walton. Fern had not been asked. “I want Angel home,” he said. “Do you?”

“I’ve been crying my eyes out since she left.”

He took her hand again. “I think the bookcases need to go against that wall in the hall. They’ll be between the living room
and the bedroom, nice and easy to get to,” he said.

“I like to read in the bedroom. It’s quieter.”

“Bookcases in the bedroom then. Ironing board in the closet. Picture of Jesus out in the storage shed,” he said.

The sun was taking forever to come up. A couple of cars had pulled in, guests checking in early. She unstuck the window shade
darkening the room. Nash was still sleeping, not even flickering a lash. Breakfast was going to be served, what with the arrival
of more guests. She couldn’t leave him, though, not until she was certain he was going to keep drawing another breath. He
moaned softly.

She took the chair next to him, bending over him, and then saying his name.

“I hurt,” he said.

“I did the best I could, Nash. You need a doctor.”

“Not going to happen, sweet cakes.” He couldn’t get up.

He was going to have to stay in the bed for days, she thought. There was the bullet on the nightstand, red like a trophy,
but a hole in his side. “I’ll go down and buy a breakfast, bring it back up.”

“Don’t leave. I’m not myself.”

“What happened? I want you to tell me.”

He made a hissing noise, grimacing. “I called Uncle Bill yesterday morning.” She knew that. Mrs. Pierce told her.

“He was hot on busting into a bank up the road, called it a pushover. It was Sunday. I kept telling him that … that we didn’t
know enough about it. It was in a quiet part of town, like everything around here, all of these bumpkins. What do they know?
Nothing, they just let things be taken and they’re sleeping and letting it happen.”

“Was there a guard?”

“A yokel. Couldn’t hold his gun right. We had the loot in Charley’s car. Piece of cake, it was so easy that I could have done
it in my sleep. We’re climbing in the car and out runs this guy, he thinks he’s a cowboy. He takes aim. I see Charley pulling
out his revolver, like he’s going to blow him away. ‘No!’ I think I screamed. I can’t remember. I’m so thirsty. The guy’s
gun goes off. The last thing I see is this surprised look, like he can’t believe he hit me. Charley runs around and fires
on the guy. I can’t see too good. If the guy got away, I couldn’t tell you. But Charley pitches me into the car. His car is
hot, we hear sirens. He has to drop me off, we have to separate. I’m blood, he says, and he don’t want me in jail, doesn’t
want my father to know what he’s gotten me into.”

Angel said, “That bag. Is that the money?”

Nash laughed. “He knew the heat was on him. Wanted me to stash it. We could hide out here for weeks with the loot in that
bag.”

She made him roll on his side, to have another look at the bandage. It was blood soaked, like the one she changed at four
o’clock. “What if we get you out of here, not now, but tonight. We drive far away, find some country doctor.”

Nash closed his eyes. “Better look out. You’re starting to think like a gangster’s wife.”

She applied a fresh bandage. He closed his eyes and took it, not complaining or saying anything. “Can I know something?” she
asked.

“Anything, just don’t touch me again with Mrs. Pierce’s antiseptic.”

“Was I another Guan-yin to you?”

“You mean, was I going to sack you, leave you?”

“I’d like to know.”

“It’s sappy, but I’m not in my right mind. I never knew about love, so I was afraid that when it hit me, I’d miss it. When
I met you, even back in that hayseed town where you rooked me out of a soda, I felt something different. Maybe I wanted to
see if you were the one.”

She had not noticed his eyes until now or the way his small finger crooked when he waved his hand. He was telling her the
truth. “I’m getting you to a doctor.”

Mr. Pierce knocked at the door. She had not taken him the bill or tried to pay it. She opened the door a crack to apologize.
“Morning, Mr. Pierce. I was about to come down and pay you.”

“The wife, she wants to know if you want breakfast.”

“Two, and I’ll bring them up to the room if that’s all right.”

“She’ll go for that, what with your husband’s situation,” he said. “I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

Nash came up onto his elbows. “I’m glad to say I’ve known you, sweet cakes.”

“I’ll be right back with breakfast. You stay in bed.” She was backing out of the room and he watched her go, the smile back
and his eyes dark and blue.

The guests must have stayed downstairs for breakfast. Two of the doors were standing open, the linens taken off. Mrs. Pierce
hadn’t made it upstairs to change out the rooms. There was a skylight over the staircase and sunlight poured straight down
through the glass. The staircase was white, washed in the overhead light. She would open the shades and let Nash see out,
that the day was nice and not so cold as last night. Reaching the bottom step, she remembered that she was supposed to pay
Mr. Pierce for the room and, of course, ask to stay another day or two. She turned to go back up the stairs and would have,
but a man standing at the bottom of the stairs, she thought waiting for Mrs. Pierce to make eggs, said her name. She wasn’t
sure, so she waited until he said it again. “Angel Welby?”

Nash said she ought to watch her back, to not give out names, but this man knew it. Her heel lifted, taking the step backward.

“Mrs. Pierce has your breakfast ready. I’m starved myself,” he said. “I’ll join you, if you don’t mind.”

He walked Angel to the dining room, even had a chair waiting for her. There were no other guests in the dining room, and as
she looked around for Mr. and Mrs. Pierce, she could not find them. “I was supposed to pay for the room,” she said.

“Mrs. Pierce left our breakfast here. You look hungry. Have you eaten?”

She asked his name. He was more interested in the plate of eggs and sat down and commenced eating. She sat across from him.
Since her belly was hurting, she thought it best to eat too. “Are you a cop?” she asked.

“Your daddy said you was a smart girl.”

He startled her. “You know my daddy?”

His cup was empty. He tapped it against the tabletop and then went searching until he found Mrs. Pierce’s coffeepot. She had
left it on the sill of the kitchen pass-through. “He’s been looking for you.”

It was hard to believe after all this time. Even Claudia didn’t know where he was. “Where is he?”

“Oklahoma City.”

“How did you find me?”

“It was your daddy who helped. I don’t think he meant to be so much help. Knew more than he gave himself credit. I’d say he’s
got a lot of humility. Loves you.”

He was talking too fast and none of it was making any sense. “You talking about my father, Lemuel Welby?” She hadn’t said
his name in three or four years.

“Jeb Nubey.”

“Did you find him? I mean, I lost him and Ida May.” A tear trickled down her face. “Miss Coulter, did you find her? I been
sick with worry, no place to go back to.”

The front door opened. A cop dressed in blues poked his head into the dining room. “We can’t hold them off any longer, Deputy.
You going to get this girl out, or aren’t you?”

“Girl’s got to eat,” he said. He offered Angel his hand. “I’m Deputy Abner Faulk. I promised Reverend Nubey I’d find you and
bring you back.”

“You can’t let them take Nash, Deputy. He’s not bad.”

“I got a bank guard in the hospital says otherwise.”

“Nash keeps his gun in the trunk. He doesn’t load it, because he never wanted to use it.”

“He’s upstairs, I take it,” he said.

“Can I go to him, be the one to tell him? He’s in the bed and he needs a doctor.”

“I promised to take you out of here and that’s what I have to do,” he said. “The whole FBI’s out there, Angel, and you don’t
want none of that.”

She stared up the stairwell as the deputy walked her out of the house. She told the cop on the porch, “He isn’t armed. He’s
in the bed, shot in the side. He can’t hurt anyone.” She was led out to Faulk’s car, parked under the upstairs window.

“I’m going to see about Anna,” said Fern. “Willie, you and Ida May can go ahead and take your bed linens upstairs.”