If Wishes Were Horses (22 page)

“Oh, look!” she cried and excitedly showed Latrice a five-dollar bill she found in her handbag. “It is a miracle.”

Latrice said. “We’d better pray for another miracle, and that’s for Mr. Arthur givin’ us credit.”

Etta snapped the five-dollar bill back into her handbag and thought longingly not only of coffee but of sugar and cocoa for making chocolate fudge or pudding, for which she had developed a powerful craving. She craved it so badly that she had actually prayed for some. After all, the Bible said to pray about everything.

Johnny drove them in his pickup truck. He’d been eager to do things for them in the days following his episode of poor behavior. This eagerness had had the perverse effect of causing Etta to refuse to allow him to do anything.

“I can do it,” she would say tersely when he offered to feed Little Gus, or change a light bulb, or gather onions from the garden. She didn’t really intend to be so cold to him, but she could not seem to help herself. She would not have asked him to take them to the store, but on that particular morning Obie’s truck broke down.

When she came out of the house all dressed up, he stared at her, and she was pleased to know he found her pretty.

“The seat’s a little dusty,” he said, jumping quickly to jerk open the passenger door and wipe a handkerchief over the seat.

Latrice came out, saying she was ready. “Let’s hurry this up. I want to get back to see my soap this afternoon.” Then she got herself up onto the middle of the truck seat.

Etta had a little trouble with the tall step. Johnny took her hand to help. She saw his face blush like it always did when he was faced with her bulging belly. He looked away quickly, slammed the door, and went around to get in behind the wheel.

They drove along the lane and turned onto the highway. Etta kept her window rolled down and her face turned toward the wind, inhaling deeply of the scents of spring full blown.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the side-view window. Her hair blew wildly around the yellow ribbon. She saw her cheeks were rosy, her eyes brilliant. She recalled how Johnny had looked at her moments before. It seemed a long time since a man had looked at her like that.

“I’m gonna get a pop,” Johnny said when he pulled to a stop in front of the store.

He headed over to the dented red chest sitting at the corner of the porch, while Latrice and Etta went on through the screen door with the Orange Crush sign across the middle. Seeing the sign, Etta had a sudden craving for sweet orange anything. Orange candy covered with chocolate sounded especially good.

“You go get the coffee and cocoa,” Latrice instructed, keeping her voice low and thrusting a canvas hand basket at Etta from the stack at the entry.

Etta nodded. They were acting rather like robbers, she thought, stepping lightly and quickly to get their needs, and hoping to get out without much notice at all.

As always happened at such times, however, it appeared every woman Etta would rather not have seen had picked that particular morning to come and get groceries. She ran first into Adelaide Trueblood, the woman who owned the rose bushes Johnny’s horses had trampled that day. Next she came upon Sally Mae Freeman, an old friend of Roy’s mother’s, and then Caroline Fudge, Walter’s wife, and one of her daughters-in-law, Mary Ellen.

Etta said a polite hello to each woman and suffered their intensely curious looks. She was truly glad to see Mary Ellen; she and Mary Ellen had recognized each other as being outsiders right from the beginning. Mary Ellen was from California, and even though she had married into the Fudge family and lived for ten years one-half mile down the road from them, the Fudges would always call her the Californian.

Etta kept on moving, reminding herself of Alice as she snatched things from the shelves. When Latrice peered into Etta’s basket, she raised an eyebrow.

“We might as well get as much as we can this trip,” Etta said.

They set their baskets on the dark, worn counter, and Latrice took a step behind Etta, falling into playing the role of colored housekeeper in deference to white employer. Whenever they went shopping together this was the way it was played, and Etta always thought it silly and annoying. Latrice called it facing facts and getting successfully through life.

Arthur Overman greeted them in a friendly manner—he was one of those gentle giants who could not he unkind if he tried a lifetime. He gave Etta an appreciative look, and as he began to ring up their purchases, Etta thought the ribbon in her hair had likely been a good addition.

Arthur would have extended credit, Etta was certain of this. But then his wife, Noreen, who had no doubt seen them enter the store and been lurking at the edge of the back room, jumped out and put her foot down.

“I’m sorry, Etta, but we just can’t carry you any longer. You’ll need to pay for this today, if you please.”

For a moment Etta just stared at the woman. Then she said, “I am not hard of hearing, Noreen.”

That set the woman back a smidgen. “Well . . .” Speaking more moderately, Noreen shifted her stance, “We’ll need payment, and we’d like some toward your account, too. It’s goin’ on three months past due.”

Etta stared at her, and Noreen said she was certain Etta could understand their position. They were operating a business, after all. Noreen's s voice was rising again; she was a shrill woman with a shrill voice, and Etta suddenly just wanted to get away from her.

“Yes, of course I understand,” Etta said and brought up her handbag, digging into it. “I’ll write you a check.”

“I’ll need cash for this bill today,” Noreen said.

Etta looked up into Noreen’s face. Then she slowly straightened, slipping her checkbook back into her handbag. She could not think of anything else to do but leave her cocoa and marmalade there on the counter and walk out. Get as far away as possible from the way the woman was looking at her and the humiliation squirming in her chest.

Her gaze fell on the coffee, fell to the cocoa, and she thought of the five-dollar bill in her purse.

“What’s it come to?”

Etta jumped at the voice sounding from behind her left shoulder. Johnny. His eyes shone steely and bright from his tanned face.

When Noreen, her mouth looking like she’d eaten an early persimmon, just stared at him, he motioned at the groceries and asked again the total. Noreen told him, and Johnny pulled bills from his worn brown wallet with his callused hands, while Arthur hurriedly sacked the purchases. Then Johnny tipped his hat and picked up the sacks.

Poor Arthur got carried away and said, “Thank you all now, and come back.”

Etta took great care not to let the screen door slam. Johnny went to the rear of the truck and lowered the sacks into the bed. Latrice got herself up in the middle, and Etta stood a moment, holding tightly to the door handle and looking back at the store.

She imagined herself getting behind the wheel of the truck and driving it right through that window.

But it was Johnny’s truck, and then he was behind her, waiting to help her up in the seat. His hand was warm and gentle on her arm. Etta looked over and saw Latrice's outstretched hand. She took it and got up into the seat. Her gaze met Johnny’s, and words stuck in her throat. He gave her a soft look that made her want to cry, and then he shut the door.

Latrice patted Etta’s hand with her own. Etta glanced at her and then looked away.

Johnny got in behind the wheel, started the engine, and backed out. Gravel pinged as he headed onto the highway.

Etta blinked in the glare reflected from the hood of the truck. She thought of how people said money wasn’t everything in life, but those that said it the loudest were those who had the most. She thought of how she had once before known life without money and was now knowing it again, and she did not like it and would not say that it added to her virtue. In fact, many people who went without money just seemed to keep getting smaller and smaller, as if all their virtue was squeezed out of them.

Her gaze dropped to the side of the road. Gravel and red dirt and green grass melding into a spinning blur. She stared at it, and the urge welled within her to open the door and throw herself out. She imagined her body hitting and being pummeled by the ground.

Startled by such a thought, she jerked her gaze upward and straight ahead and held on for dear life to the open window frame. Such thoughts were foolish in the extreme. Latrice would be highly put out. Etta throwing herself out the door of a speeding vehicle would simply make a lot more work for Latrice.

Realizing she still hung tightly to the window frame, it came to her that she had been hanging on to life ever since she was a child.

She hung on to life, she thought, but she had never fully learned how to live it. She was still just hanging on—and usually to the wrong things.

The tense silence from the women worried Johnny. He had thought himself the hero of the day, that he at last redeemed himself, as he had been trying to do ever since he had gone crazy with drink. But Etta wasn’t acting like he was a hero. She had not thanked him or given him so much as a tender look. He realized he must have stepped on her pride. He had done the wrong thing again, he thought morosely.

Feeling edgy, he said, “I think those people were right rude.” He thought maybe he just had to give Etta a chance to realize his heroism.

Latrice said, “Noreen Overman was not taught manners. I knew her mother; I delivered her older sister. Her mother was stupid. She had no mealtimes but simply let the children run around the table at all hours of the day and eat off plates left there.” She added, “And she went right into her neighbor’s houses without knocking and was found more than once going through their things.”

The picture of children running around a table, grabbing food off plates, popped into Johnny’s mind. The practice seemed messy and uninviting, but he wasn’t certain it was rude, at least if the children did it only in their own home.

“The Overmans have a right to want what’s owed them,” Etta said. “They have to pay bills, too, like everyone else.”

The flat tone of her voice drew Johnny’s gaze, and he saw her staring out the windshield in a manner that unnerved him further.

Latrice said, “Noreen Overman generally cannot see her own shortcomings because she is so busy pointing out those of other people. She is a jealous woman. Mr. Arthur was happy with things—with lookin’ and chattin’ with you. That’s what the whole thing was about. Noreen didn’t like Mr. Arthur lookin’ at you—not today or the days before.”

Etta’s head swung around. “At me? Oh, good heavens, I am goin’ on eight months pregnant.”

“Well, that doesn’t make any difference. It was Mr. Arthur’s happiness in looking, which is only natural, but Noreen can’t stand for him to be happy, when she herself rarely is.”

The idea that the storekeeper had been looking at Etta perturbed Johnny, and so did the fact that neither woman had thanked him for saving the day. He thought that he had been trying and trying to please Etta, and he didn’t know why he kept doing so.

In his nervousness over the situation, he broke out into whistling. He didn’t even realize he was doing this until a movement caught his eye, and he glanced over to see both Latrice and Etta frowning at him. He quit whistling.

When they got back to the house, Johnny carried the sacks into the kitchen table. Miss Latrice asked for him to dig out the coffee so she could make some right away. As he did this, he saw Etta turn and go through the swinging door. He gazed after her, watching her particular soft sway.

He jerked his attention back to the bags of groceries. That he kept being drawn more and more to Etta’s sway concerned him. He definitely did not need to be attracted to a pregnant woman, although in this case, he could not quite figure out why. She was not a married pregnant woman.

He got out the coffee and, after a bit of uncertainty of what was required of him, sat at the table. He thought he would have a cup of Miss Latrice’s strong coffee before going out to get started working the horses.

Keeping his mood up the past days had been difficult, with Etta ignoring him and without a drop of whiskey. Johnny both wanted whiskey and didn’t want it at the same time, and this confusion was wearing. He absently rubbed his knee, and his gaze kept straying to the swinging door through which Etta had disappeared. He hoped she returned and maybe sat at the table with him.

Johnny was taking his first sip of coffee when Etta reappeared through the door, awkwardly bearing a big cardboard box. He jumped up to take the box for her and set it on the table. Glancing inside, he saw things wrapped in cloths.

As Etta disappeared through the swinging door again, Latrice looked into the box. When she moved the cloths, Johnny caught a glimpse of silver, a jewelry box, piece of glass. Latrice gave out a faint “Hmmm.”

At that moment, Etta returned, carrying her purse. She said, “Johnny, would you drive me up to Oklahoma City?”

The request startled him. He looked over at Miss Latrice. She quietly regarded Etta. The two women did this all the time, a silent communication that often got him all confused, because Miss Latrice would start a sentence and Etta would finish it up. This time, however, Miss Latrice didn’t say a word.

“Well, sure, Miz Etta. I guess,” Johnny said, becoming pleased that Etta was requesting his aid for a second time.

He got Etta and the box settled into the seat of the truck, and he was turning the key when Miss Latrice called, “Wait!” and came running out with a silver platter and a crystal serving dish. “Take these, too. This dish is true lead.”

When Johnny pulled the truck out on the highway, Etta asked, “Do you know where to find a pawnshop in Oklahoma City?”

“Well now, I haven’t been to Oklahoma City in a long time, but I imagine I can find one.” After a minute he said, “You don’t have to go all the way to Oklahoma City for a pawnshop. They have one of those in Chickasha.”

He thought he should mention that, although he had sort of begun to be thoroughly pleased with the idea of driving all the way to Oklahoma City, being alone with Etta for that long and away from the farm.