Stardust A Novel (2 page)

I could still smell the smoke and closed my eyes, remembering how, later that day, Mama and Daddy left Mayhaw without me. Handed me over to Aunt Cora and never came back. The smell grew stronger, choking me, and I realized it wasn’t Daddy’s cigar at all, but Mary Frances puffing on a Pall Mall.

At least the funeral cars were moving again. I waved away the smoke and shivered, aware my mind had taken a trip back almost twenty years. Still, I couldn’t take my eyes from the tourist court, each tiny building like a spectator of the funeral procession. And for the millionth time, I wondered why, after all this time, I still didn’t know why my parents had left me. A wavy feeling passed over me. Clutching my white dress gloves in my fist, I glanced at Mary Frances, whose eyes now floated in their sockets.

Blinking, she tossed the cigarette butt out the window and unscrewed the lid from the blue bottle before hoisting it to her lips. She hiccupped and looked at me. “You and the girls are the only things left for me in this entire, whole wide world.” She tilted sideways, resting her head on my shoulder.

A white-hot pang pierced my heart as I took her thin, pale fingers in mine and patted her hand. Clear liquid dribbled from the bottle, making a splotch the size of a fried egg on the upholstery, but Mary Frances didn’t notice. Her soft snores filled the air inside the courtesy car.

The next day, Sheriff Bolander knocked on the front door. All I could think was there must have been another disaster. I pasted on a smile and swung open the screen door. “Howdy, Sheriff. Something I can do for you?”

“Matter of fact.” He jerked his head in the direction of the street. O’Dell’s ’46 Ford Coupe sat behind the sheriff’s car, and in the morning sun, I couldn’t make out who the driver was, but he had the same sturdy build, the same slicked-back hair, as O’Dell. I held on to the screen door for support, my knees as weak as if they’d been shot with Sheriff Bolander’s pistol.

O’Dell? Alive?
Then who in heaven’s name did we bury next to O’Dell’s daddy? My mind spun, a thousand thoughts jammed together, but I realized the sheriff was still speaking, and I hadn’t heard him.

“I’m sorry. Come again?”

“As you can see, they found O’Dell’s car. ’Twas over to Finney’s Landing with the keys under the front seat. Finney thought it unusual to be there so many days running.” He took a dingy handkerchief out of his back pocket and mopped his eyes. “Course, we drove it in and checked it over for evidence of foul play.”

Instantly, I thought he must be fixin’ to tell me O’Dell had been murdered by the angry husband of the woman from Tyler. Or Kilgore. Whichever it was. Maybe her dead body had been stuffed in the trunk. I shooed Rosey, who’d crept up behind me, away. A six-year-old shouldn’t be privy to such gruesome news.

Stepping out on the front porch, I took a deep breath and said, “Well? What did you find?”

I got a one-sided smirk from the sheriff. “Nothin’ incriminating, Georgia. A couple boxes of them there books he was peddling. A briefcase. Nothing to indicate O’Dell had done more than play hooky from work and spent a day fishin’. Only mystery to me is what caused him to capsize unless he’d been in the bayou since that rain week before last. One thing’s for certain: O’Dell knew the ways of the bayou.”

Contemplating how long he’d been there might’ve been important to the sheriff, but not a thought I wished to dwell on. “Did you find the boat?”

“No, ma’am. Even if it washes up somewhere, I wouldn’t count on it being much.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

He shoved a clipboard toward me. “I need you to sign for the car.” He motioned for the driver, who I now saw was Deputy Sam Beggs, to come to the porch.

I signed the paper and took the keys from Sam. Up close, he didn’t look a thing like O’Dell. Sam’s belly hung over his belt, and he had a gap in his grin where his two bottom teeth used to be. I thanked him. And the sheriff, who tipped his hat.

“Don’t know as I ever told you how sorry I am ’bout O’Dell. Crying shame to go so young.”

“Thanks. Kind of you to drop by.”

The girls had crept out on the porch during my conversation. I picked Avril up, licked my thumb, and wiped a dab of grape jelly from her cheek.

Rosey hugged my leg, her curly head hip-high to me. “That’s Daddy’s car.” Her eyes, creamy brown, held a sparkle of what I could only think was hope. Hope that her daddy wasn’t gone. That it had all been a mistake.

“Yes, it is. Isn’t it swell someone found his car and brought it back to us?” I shifted Avril on my hip, took a step down, and lowered myself to the porch.

“I wish Daddy drove the car home, not that other man.”

“Oh, sugar, I wish that, too. I’m sorry…”

I pulled the girls in tight, my gaze fixed on O’Dell’s Ford. Not much to look at, and it probably had a million miles on it. But it was something. Some tiny glimmer that life goes on. At the moment, I had no idea what we’d do or how. I only knew that even though O’Dell Peyton had his flaws, it would be indecent to speak ill of him. His girls would grow up thinking he’d been on a long business trip and died before he got a chance to come home and read them a bedtime story.

The sun warmed my face, my armpits damp from the morning’s dither, but I kept the girls close. Somehow we were going to be okay. Not just okay, but good. I kissed the top of Avril’s head and got a taste of grape jelly. I licked my lips and said, “You know what? I’m starving. C’mon, girls, let’s get you dolled up. We’re going for ice cream.”

[ CHAPTER 2 ]

T
hat evening I called to tell Aunt Cora about O’Dell’s car.

“Yes. Sonny told me.” Sonny Bolander, the sheriff. Aunt Cora’s on-again, off-again beau since his wife died of cancer two years before.

“Sonny, huh?”

She sniffed the way she did when I irritated her. “Yes, he came by to bring the March of Dimes donations from the jars we put out downtown. Been doing that a few weeks now. You and the girls coming to lunch tomorrow?”

“If you’re fixin’ roast beef, we are.”

“I’ll set places for you.”

Mara Lee, Aunt Cora’s home, named after my great-grandmother, had been in the family since before the Civil War—one of the two dozen or so grand houses near downtown, but
grand
describes only the size. Bad investments gobbled up whatever fortunes Colonel Tickle, my great-grandfather, once had, and by the time of the Great Depression, Mara Lee stood tall, but in disgrace. Not unlike Aunt Cora, who was twenty-two years old when she’d inherited the crumbling mansion, the same week she inherited her six-year-old niece—me. I’d grown up in the rambling rooms, and now my girls loved to climb the curved staircase and explore the nooks and crannies.

Which is what they were doing while I helped Aunt Cora make the roast beef gravy and carry the butter and jam to the dining room. Set in the turret, the dining room had tall ceilings with miles of plaster molding that had chipped and never been repaired. The wallpaper, once a delicate violet pattern, was now curled, faded, and worn at the edges of the six-on-six-paned windows that looked out to the heart of downtown Mayhaw.

Aunt Cora plopped the mashed potatoes into Grandma Tickle’s china serving bowl, sending a dollop onto the counter. She had a nervous air about her—chatty but skittish. Perhaps she was sparing me talk of O’Dell and my current state of grief, but I didn’t think so. “So, Georgia, what do you think? Sweet tea or lemonade? Sonny prefers tea, but if you think the girls would rather have lemonade—”

“Milk for the girls. And it doesn’t matter to me. Here, let me help.” I scooped the remaining potatoes from the pan and piled them onto the others in the bowl. “Should we take the hot dishes in or wait until the sheriff gets here?”

“If he’s late, he’s late. Don’tcha think the man could try to get here on time? He knows I like to eat by one at the latest, and here it is, ten after, and he hasn’t arrived.”

“If it bothers you, why do you keep inviting him over?”

“Where else would he eat? Gracious, he eats the most horrid stuff on his own. Sardines in that nasty mustard. Peanuts. Gallons of RC Cola. The only vegetables he eats are what I put on the table.”

“Then why don’t you get married? He’s going to quit asking you one of these days.”

“Phfft. Feeding a man and living with him are hardly the same thing. Besides, I’ve been thinking.” She rearranged the sweet lime pickles in a relish dish, adding a sprig of parsley. “That crackerbox you call home has got to be awfully cramped…” She set her mouth in a tight line when she saw me shaking my head. “Now let me finish before you start telling me all the reasons you and the girls shouldn’t move in here with me. Why O’Dell didn’t provide you with a proper house while he was alive riles the ever-lovin’ daylights out of me.”

“We have… had money set aside for a down payment for something more
proper
—”

“Had? You mean O’Dell took your savings when he left you?”

“No, I’ve been dipping into it for groceries, things for the girls. And now there’s the funeral to consider. But it’s not like I’m destitute or anything. I’ll find a job.”

“I would’ve thought O’Dell’s mother would offer to pay for the funeral, knowing how he ran out on you and the girls.”

“It’s not a topic I’ve discussed with her. She’s in too much of a state.”

Aunt Cora pointed a tablespoon at me. “And we all know what state that is. Think of the girls. We could fix up the place here. Lord knows it could use a coat of paint.”

It wasn’t that I cared about the shabbiness of Mara Lee. It hadn’t bothered me growing up and wouldn’t now. It was more than that, but I couldn’t tell Aunt Cora.

“My savings should cover the funeral. I’m not the first person who’s lost a husband and found herself in tight straits.” I wasn’t sure the money in savings would be enough for the funeral and the fancy casket I’d picked out to please Mary Frances. But even O’Dell deserved a decent burial. “And I’m sure it won’t be hard to find a job.”

“Which will be what? It’s not as if you’re trained to be an assistant in an attorney’s office or work at the courthouse. And heaven forbid you’d wait tables down at Ruby’s Café. You’ll need a stable environment for the girls while you pursue something befitting. Living here in the meantime only makes sense.”

“For one thing, I see nothing wrong with waiting tables. But you’re using us as an excuse not to marry Sonny.”

The back door slammed, and Sonny came sailing into the kitchen, removing his hat. “My ears was burning. What’re you two lovely ladies saying about me?” He pecked Aunt Cora on the cheek, but she ignored the affection and said, “You’re late, Sonny.”

I couldn’t imagine Sonny and Aunt Cora married any more than I could picture the girls and me moving into Mara Lee. Aunt Cora and I had been butting heads since the day I landed on her doorstep. I had no reason to believe things would be different now. And I didn’t necessarily blame her. It wasn’t her fault she’d been straddled with an orphan niece, and she had put food in my stomach and clothes on my back.

A knot the size of Texas wedged into my belly.
Thank you kindly, Aunt Cora. I think I’ll take a shot at raising my own girls.

When he’d finished eating, Sonny folded his napkin and tucked it under the edge of Grandma’s china. “Mayor Sheldon asked me if I had any suggestions for someone to head up the Mayhaw Festival this year. I told him you’d be just the ticket bein’s what a jim-dandy job you’ve done with the March of Dimes campaign.”

“You can’t be serious. I wouldn’t have the faintest idea where to start.” She raised her penciled-on brows at me. “Georgia, this might be something to get your mind off your troubles. Give you a worthwhile project, and since you’d be in touch with all the merchants in town, you might keep an ear out for job opportunities.”

“Actually, I hope to be employed before then. The festival’s not until July, and the only part of the celebration I’m counting on is singing in the talent show. Bobby Carl Applegate’s been playing a new song on the radio that’s got a nice beat.”

“If Bobby Carl’s playing it on KHAW, it’s probably some honky-tonk horror.”