Stardust A Novel (12 page)

S
treamers wafted from the gazebo in Mayhaw’s town square when the girls and I arrived. Already a sizable crowd had gathered and milled around the hot dog stand on wheels, some waiting in line for their free supper, others with their cheeks stuffed, talking to neighbors and friends. The smell was robust, the kind that makes your mouth water as you anticipate sinking your teeth into something as ordinary and yet decadent as a hot dog. I felt a pang of guilt that I’d left Peter a bologna sandwich and hadn’t offered to bring him with us even after Sally had invited him. A job and a place to stay didn’t include introducing him to the citizens of Mayhaw.

Hiring him had been a wise choice, I was still certain. He’d spent the afternoon inspecting all of the roofs and reported the construction was solid on the cottages—it was just a matter of taking off the old wood shingles and putting on new ones. He would make up a list and take it to the lumberyard the next day. As the girls and I piled into O’Dell’s Ford, Peter was on top of cottage one with a tape measure.

A soft breeze riffled the flag at the center of the town square. The girls ran like banshees, practically turning cartwheels, and I was afraid the hot dogs we’d wolfed down might come right back up. Rosey squealed hellos to kids from her first grade class while Avril darted among the dozen or so tables sponsored by the various ladies’ circles from Mayhaw’s churches. Lemonade and coffee on one, baked goods on the others.
Free desserts. Donations accepted,
the signs said.

I looked for the table of the Bethany Street Church, the one we attended with Aunt Cora, and saw Hazel Morton waving us over. Shoot. She would ask if I’d called her grandson. I waved back and acted interested in the pecan pralines the ladies at the Missionary Baptist table set out.

“Yoo-hoo! Georgia!” Hazel’s voice rose above the crowd. I nodded that I’d seen her but let the girls take their time picking out a cupcake apiece, then dropped a quarter in the gallon-size pickle jar like the ones Aunt Cora placed around town for donations. Only then did we go over to Hazel’s table.

Hazel eyed the girls’ cupcakes and sniffed. “We have cupcakes here, too, you know.” She crossed her arms. “So tell me, are things going well out at the Stardust?”

“Quite nice, actually.”

“My grandson said you never did call. I think he was expecting to hear from you.”

“I’ve been terribly busy, and now… well, why don’t you tell Joey to go ahead and put in his application around town.”

Hazel let out a soft snort, and I was relieved when Aunt Cora bustled up to the table and held out her arms to the girls.

“Aren’t you two the most delicious sight I’ve seen all day?” She had Rosey turn around. “Why, that cowgirl outfit I got you is cute as a bug. And Avril, oh, my stars, I think you’re getting prettier every day. Got any kisses for your auntie?”

Both the girls giggled and kissed Aunt Cora, who’d bent down to their level. She really was a nice person. Really.

She turned to me. “Glad you could tear yourself away to come out. And you look lovely, too. That tangerine color is perfect with your complexion.”

“Thanks. And sweet of you to say so.”

She held her hand to her mouth and whispered, “Although people might talk about how quick you’ve come out of mourning.”

“Do you think? I hadn’t even thought about it. Since I was in mourning for two months before O’Dell washed up, I figured—”

“Shh. It’s better to be the bereaved widow than the deserted wife. But you do look nice, just remember to tear up and put on your long face if anyone mentions you-know-who.”

“Aunt Cora, I would never—”

Sonny Bolander strolled by arm in arm with Twila Flynn. I gave Aunt Cora a cautious look.

She flicked her hand and leaned toward me. “Best thing Twila ever did—taking Sonny off my hands. Goodness gracious, I was tired of his catfish stinking up my kitchen.”

Someone inside the gazebo hollered for her. She winked at me. “I’ll be fine, and so will you. Thanks for coming.” Then she pinched Rosey’s cheek and said, “I’ll see you chickadees later.”

People had started clustering in the chairs set up in front of the gazebo, so we drifted over as well. Sally waved us over to her spot in the fourth row.

She pointed toward the front of the bandstand. “Look at those posters, would you? Doesn’t it break your heart?”

Oh. My. One showed two young girls, dark eyed and innocent, the smaller of the two helping the other with leg braces. The slogan
You Can Help, Too
marched across the top of the poster. The other had a sweet boy with crutches, a larger image of a soldier in a combat helmet behind him, and the words,
This Fight Is Yours
.

Sally whispered, “That could be Hud’s cousin’s little girl or one of our own.”

“So sad. No wonder Aunt Cora is so dedicated to the cause.” Inside, the images reached a spot I reserved for starving children in China and kittens abandoned by the roadside, but this had a too-close-to-home feel.

Rosey snuggled up next to me. “Look, Mommy. That boy in the picture has on a cowboy hat like me. Can I catch what he did and have to get crutches?” Her eyes were dark, fearful.

“We hope not, sugar. That’s why we’re here, for you to give your dimes to help fight polio.”

“It makes me sad. I don’t think I want to stay here.”

“But you couldn’t wait to come.”

“I just wanted the hot dogs and to put my dimes in the jar.”

Sally leaned over. “Look, there’s the Pearl triplets on the stage now. I think Ozella’s tuning her fiddle.”

And indeed she was, soft, short scritches coming from the strings as she slid the bow across. On either side of her were her identical sisters, Opal on the harmonica and Olive—who was tone-deaf but bouncing with rhythm—on the tambourine. They were around Aunt Cora’s age, and like Aunt Cora, none of them had ever married. I suspected it was because they couldn’t bear to be separated, but their buckteeth and fashions that went out with the horse and buggy might have been responsible. Which was nothing like Aunt Cora, who still caused men’s heads to turn when she walked into a room.

As a matter of fact, as the chairman of the local March of Dimes, Aunt Cora stepped up to a microphone in the middle of the stage in her lemon-yellow suit and sling-back pumps looking like she stepped off the cover of a
Southern Women
magazine. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming.”

Rosey settled back in her chair as Reverend Abernathy from the Presbyterian church gave the invocation and led us in singing the national anthem.

I always tear up at “the rockets’ red glare” and dabbed my eyes as we sang. Next up was someone from the Texas Chapter of the March of Dimes saying the predicted outbreak of polio was feared to reach the tens of thousands, with Texas having hundreds of crippling cases already in the first four months of 1952. She put out a plea reminding us this was only the beginning of the season for the “summer disease.”

A familiar scent wafted by—Aqua Velva—and my stomach turned over. Bobby Carl Applegate. His breath was warm on my neck as he whispered, “You look gorgeous tonight.” I turned around, quirked my mouth in a fake smile, and nearly laughed. He had on a yellow-and-green-plaid shirt that gave a greenish cast to his skin. I turned back around quickly. Sally had her hand over her mouth, but I could tell from her eyes she was laughing.

The Pearls sat in the shadows at the back of the bandstand as Aunt Cora took center stage. “As you all know, we are a town famous for our talent show at the annual Mayhaw Festival, but when I was planning the program for tonight, I had an epiphany. Why wait two months to share your talent? Tonight we’re going to have an impromptu dress rehearsal.”

She went on to explain that for the next five minutes she would take names on slips of paper of those who wanted to participate. You could put in your own name or the name of someone you wanted to hear sing or dance or juggle. The catch was you also had to put an amount you would donate to the March of Dimes for the privilege. Names would be drawn for the order of contestants, with the Pearls serving as accompanists.

Rosey was about to squirm right out of her skin as she looked at me. “Please, Mommy, I want to sing. Put my name in the basket. Please. Pretty please.”

“What do you want to sing, sweetie?”

“It’s a secret.” She pursed her lips, determination in her look.

“You sure?” She nodded. “Alrighty, I’ll put your name in.”

I wrote
two dollars
on the slip of paper with Rosey’s name and decided if she chickened out, I could go with her onstage or else just pay the money, bein’s it was a good cause and all. But when her name was the third one drawn, she sashayed to the stage, fringe swinging on her sleeves like she was the Shirley Temple of the South.

Aunt Cora beamed as she lowered the microphone. Rosey whispered to the Pearls what she wanted to sing, then walked to the mic and said, “This song is for my daddy, who has to watch it from heaven.”

The air swirled around me as Ozella played a couple of beats, then nodded to Rosey. I knew what she was fixing to sing. O’Dell always sang “You Are My Sunshine” in his off-key way anytime we got in the car to dash off to a traveling carnival. Or out for a surprise ice-cream cone. Or when we went down to the bayou to gather Mayhaw berries that, being their nature, grew the best with their roots clinging to the edges of the banks, their branches heavy with fruit. The best way to get them was to shake the bushes, then go out in a rowboat and scoop them from the water with a butterfly net. A wave of panic clutched me as I realized we’d missed Mayhaw season this year, and now Rosey’s voice floating with gossamer innocence across the town square brought it all back.

Tears burned like hot coals behind my eyelids, and if Aunt Cora had been watching she would have been proud that I was playing the grieving widow to perfection. And she couldn’t possibly know that, contrary to what I said, my heart bled its own tears for O’Dell. For what we could have had. Cheat or not, he was the father of two beautiful girls.

Behind me, Bobby Carl breathed on my neck. “Hoo-whee! That girl sings almost as purty as you. What’re you gonna sing when your turn comes?”

I shooed him back with my hand, waiting for her to finish. As the crowd broke out in applause, I turned around and glared at him. “Sorry, no singing from me tonight.”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “Oh, yeah? Someone might’ve put your name in the hat. I know I’d pay a pretty penny to hear your honey voice.”

“You better not have put my name in.”

Rosey had made it back from the stage and threw her arms around my neck. I hugged her long and hard. “Your daddy would be so proud.”

Only now, the simple act of a child felt tangled. Even if O’Dell were alive, he probably wouldn’t have been here to see his daughter. The bitter taste lingered as Zenith Morris sang with great vibrato her rendition of “Blue Moon of Kentucky,” and then Sue Ann McDonnell tap-danced across the stage to the Pearl sisters’ accompaniment.

In the middle of Sue Ann’s dance, a murmur started in the crowd. Sally looked around and scowled as others began fidgeting and whispering. By the time Sue Ann finished, it wasn’t applause that greeted her, but the wail of the fire truck siren. Now everyone turned to watch Mayhaw’s lone emergency vehicle pull out from its bay across the street and turn west. More chattering ensued, and Aunt Cora had trouble being heard over the crowd. No one listened to her, and a few of the men—those who served as volunteer firefighters—hastened away to perform their duties.

The smell of smoke teased the air, growing stronger with each minute. In my belly, a sourness churned. Mary Frances lived in the area where the smoke rose, and while I peered along with the crowd, Sheriff Bolander approached and looked at me, his eyes hooded beneath his Stetson. “Georgia. Bad news, I’m afraid. The place on fire is that of O’Dell’s momma. You might want to come along with me now.”

An icy feeling seized me, froze me to the chair. “Oh, no. Please, no.”

Sally put her arm around me. “Lord, have mercy. What could possibly happen to you next? Go on now. I’ve got the girls. And I’m praying.”

Somehow, I willed my legs not to buckle as I stood and scurried away, following Sonny. And each frantic step drew me closer to finding out what new disaster lay ahead.

[ CHAPTER 14 ]

N
ight sounds from the bayou punctuated the stillness when I returned to the Stardust. With a glass of sweet tea to clear my parched, smoke-tinged throat, I sat on the steps outside my bedroom. An owl hooted off in the distance above the thrum of bullfrogs and cricket chirps that made me think of rusty banjo strings.

I took a long drink and gazed at the inky spot that was Zion. Flickers danced in the trees like fireflies. Lanterns? Ludi had told me they had no electricity, and that she cooked on a woodstove behind her home. What that was like I really couldn’t imagine and only knew she never complained, reminded me even that the Lord had blessed her with a roof over her head and a good man. Neither of which my mother-in-law, Mary Frances, now had.