Stardust A Novel (23 page)
With all the waiting I’d done over the years, nothing compared to the fear that crawled under my skin, more oppressive than the heat that shadowed our town and crept into my dreams.
This time I wasn’t waiting for someone to return, though, but praying that polio wouldn’t.
O
n Monday, I needed groceries for the fish fry, so I called Sally to see if we could come by on our way to Brookshire’s.
“I’d love to see you, Georgia, but I’ll have to pass this time. I’m on my way to the beauty shop.”
“Okay. I just had a free moment and thought we’d get the kids together while we chatted.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m keeping my kids inside. Hud thinks it’s best now that… well, you know everyone’s worried, and you… you especially know that with what all’s happened.”
“It’s okay, Sally, you don’t have to explain. We’ll get together some other time.”
Like next winter.
“I’m really sorry. The Magnolias think it might be best if we don’t come out and do the usual maintenance that we do on our projects. Weeding, watering, et cetera.”
“No problem. I think I can handle it. You’ve done a lot, and I appreciate it.”
They didn’t owe me, and yet it felt like a snub. I shook it off and hollered at the girls to get in the car.
The aisles of Brookshire’s played out in a similar fashion. People who knew me waved, then turned their grocery buggies around like they’d forgotten something in the cheese section. I told the girls to stay close and not touch anything as I zipped along, trying to get out as soon as possible.
Hazel Morton hollered from one end of the baking aisle. “Georgia, thought you’d like to know my grandson, Joey, got a job mowing lawns.”
“Glad to hear it.”
She cupped her hand around her mouth like a megaphone. “Sure am glad it didn’t work out with you hiring him since you got the polio out there at the Stardust.”
I winced and sped up so we could speak in normal tones, but she put her buggy in overdrive and whisked around the corner.
Shake it off.
I knew it wasn’t personal, that fear now pulled the strings of all our lives. I put an extra carton of Neapolitan ice cream in the cart and went to the checkout. Rosey saw a boy from her class—Stewie French. She ran over to him, but when Mrs. French saw her coming, she practically yanked Stewie’s arm out of the socket getting away.
Rosey turned to me, tears brimming in her eyes. “Momma, why’d she do that?”
“I think she must be in a hurry. And it’s time we got out of here, too. We don’t want our ice cream to melt.”
The Stardust felt like a haven when we returned. I gulped in a big breath and sent the girls to find Ludi while I carried in the groceries. When Ludi came to the back door, I invited her and her children to stay for the fish fry.
“Miz Georgie, you think that be a good idea? You know how people talk.”
“You know, Ludi, I don’t care what people think. Y’all are like family. The girls adore Merciful, and Peter gets a kick out of Catfish and his stories. Besides, I bought your favorite Neapolitan ice cream.”
“You shore do know my weakness. If’n it’s all right with you, I’ll go on over to Zion when I be done here and check on my momma, but we’ll be back. Yes’m. For ice cream, Ludi will come back.”
Peter helped Mr. Overstreet with the fire while Catfish whittled on a cypress knee—a rounded piece of wood from the bayou. I’d grown up seeing the protrusions clumped at the edges of the water in proximity to the towering, moss-cloaked mother trees. When I was a child lying in bed with the windows open, I would imagine the sounds coming from the bayou were the knees telling each other stories. The smooth, twisted roots did indeed look like miniature bald-headed people, and Catfish had a real knack for carving them into lifelike creatures.
He’d carved a couple of smaller ones, eight or ten inches long and slim enough to hold in his palm, and presented them to the girls: a frowning catfish for Avril and a warty frog with webbed toes for Bonnie. His long fingers held the small knife expertly as he shaved tiny curls away, working on a “special” one for Rosey.
Mary Frances was in a good mood, puffing her Pall Malls, feet up on the chaise lounge we’d brought from her cottage. Her face glowed, and I was glad I’d not told her that Fiona had been O’Dell’s lover. The evening was too perfect to throw a damper on it.
When the men declared we’d be eating soon, Ludi and I got the cold dishes from the kitchen. We spread quilts and blankets on the ground and ate out of tin pie plates, having a real picnic. Malcolm Overstreet, wearing bib overalls and Old Spice, took his plate piled high with food and sat on the grass beside Mary Frances.
“So tell me, Mrs. Peyton… is that what you want me to call you?” The slanting afternoon sun glinted off his hair, giving it a russet look. In spite of the gray fringes, he was still a handsome man.
“Oh, please, Malcolm, call me Mary Frances.” A bit of color flushed her cheeks, and inside I smiled as Mr. Overstreet asked her what brought her to the Stardust. I didn’t want to eavesdrop so I gathered the girls and seated them on a quilt and brought them plates.
Peter set the cooking utensils aside and stoked the fire. “We’ll have marshmallows later if you remembered to buy some.”
“I sure did. Come on now, get some supper.”
“As you wish.” He sat cross-legged, Catfish on one side assuming the exact same posture as Peter and Sebastian on the other, head between his paws, tail swooshing.
Ludi groaned and let her body down. “Y’all are going to have to get a rope and pull me if’n I cain’t get up.”
Her children snickered, but I turned to Catfish. “I saw you whittling a while ago. How do you pick which cypress knees to carve?”
“It’s easy. I only pick the ones what done broke off under the water. My daddy told me it’s a sin to break one off.”
“Really? Why’s that?”
“The knees that’s attached be connectin’ one cypress tree to the next and the next. That’s how the trees get their air and feed. Cuttin’ one off is the same as a person cuttin’ off his arm where he cain’t be feedin’ hisself.”
“I’ve always seen the knees, but I figured they were part of the root system.”
“My daddy say cypress knees is like people. We’s all connected someway or another. ’Cuz you be here right now don’t mean you ain’t connected to someone down the bayou.”
Ludi nodded the whole time her son talked. She winked at me. “Catfish ain’t got much book learnin’, but he’s a smart one, that be a fact.”
“And an artist, too, from what I’ve seen.”
Catfish wiggled his bottom, sitting up taller. “My daddy taught me how to use a knife, but he don’t know nothin’ about how to make somethin’ purty.”
“You do have a gift.”
He ran his fingers over the cypress knee in his hand, making an adjustment or two, and presented it to Rosey.
Her eyes grew round. “What is it?”
Catfish lowered his head, his voice barely a whisper. “It’s a mermaid.”
She held it in her palm, her fingers tracing its delicate lines. It wasn’t a fish or another critter from the bayou, but a perfect likeness of Rosey’s face. Swirls were carved in imitation of her hair, and near the bottom, the natural twist in the wood made a perfect mermaid’s tail.
A grin broke out on her face. “How’d you make it look like me?”
“That’s what comes from down here.” He pointed to his chest.
She passed it around for everyone to see. Mary Frances shook her head. “No doubt about it, Catfish is a genius.”
Fireflies began their evening dance in the pale indigo that had fallen. I leaned back and stretched. “Anyone ready for ice cream?”
Peter popped up. “I’ll help you.”
After fetching the bowls and Neapolitan from the quarters, I dished it up from a small serving table and surveyed our gathering. Like the quilts where we sat, we were a patchwork bunch. Different in a dozen ways and yet connected. Like cypress knees.
Peter went to fetch his guitar, and as he strummed, he looked at Ludi. “Sing along, okay?”
He played a short lead-in to “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.” Ludi hummed the first line, warming up, then in a rich, mellow voice sang the next line, then a verse. She motioned for us to join in the chorus. Merciful had a childlike version of her mother’s warm, clear voice when we sang “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad” and then “You Are My Sunshine,” which Rosey requested. While we sang, Bonnie crawled into my lap and twirled a strand of my hair around her finger. The sweetness of the melodies didn’t stop the ache that crept into my heart for Bonnie. Although she didn’t put into words the loneliness and fear I’m sure she felt, sadness lived in her eyes. I remembered that feeling and pulled her tight against my chest, aware that Peter was now singing alone.
Goose bumps prickled my arms and legs. His voice, deep and clear, sang an old sweet song.
Georgia. Georgia on my mind.
A lump filled my throat, and I let my tear-filled eyes wander to Catfish, who’d flipped over on his back and rubbed a cypress knee like it was a worry stone. My heart swelled as Peter’s voice faded with the last strains.
Our eyes met, and silence, like a breath held, hung in the air. Stars twinkled overhead, a sliver of moon peeking through the leaves of the sycamores. The dying embers of the fire turned from orange to red like a living molten lava. A stick of wood burned thoroughly to ash broke in half, sending up a spray of red-hot sparks.
Shivers tracked the length of my spine.
W
hile I was catching up on my book work, Sheriff Bolander appeared at the office door, one hand twisting the knob, the other hitching up his britches.
“Georgia, you got a minute?”
“Certainly. Come in.” A warning buzz started in my stomach and fanned quickly to my arms and legs. I put the books in the drawer and locked it, then turned my attention to Sonny.
Sweat beaded up on his forehead under the brim of his Stetson.
Fiona. Something’s happened.
I crossed my bare arms to rub the tingles from them. “What’s on your mind?”
“If I had a nickel for everything that’s crossed my mind the last three days, I’d be headed to Florida to retire in luxury. We’ve got us a situation.”
“What’s that?”
“Aside from all the people you’ve riled in this town, there’ve been other developments.”
“Well, tell me straight then.”
“If I only knew where to start.”
For a moment I felt sorry for him, that what he was fixing to tell me hurt him, too. I took a deep breath. “Is it Fiona? Is she going to be okay?”
“Last I heard she was in an iron lung, unable to breathe on her own. They put one of those holes in her throat. Tracheotomy, I think they call it. Said she couldn’t swallow and was drowning in her own spit. Worse case they’ve seen in Tyler. So no one knows if she’ll be okay or not. My guess is not. Which leads to another thing. The kid.”
“Bonnie. Her name is Bonnie.”
“Yeah, we might’ve made a connection to her relations. Them dog tags in Fiona’s purse belonged to her husband, Rusty Callahan. He died three weeks after he arrived in Korea. I reckon when they sent him home, she was given the tags. The burial was in Green Oak, Arkansas. I’m waiting on a call to find out if anyone from there might take the girl in.”
“Bonnie said she had an aunt Teddy. What if they can’t take her? Are there other options?”
“Temporary custody in one of the church orphanages is the best bet, but I doubt they’d be too keen on taking her with the polio thing—too much risk of starting an epidemic.”
He leaned against the doorjamb and swiped his free arm across his forehead. “There’s one other thing…”
“I’m listening.”
“We found photographs in Mrs. Callahan’s purse. A soldier in one of them. And another one…”
I knew what was coming. The picture with O’Dell that confirmed his association with Fiona. Although it still stung, there was nothing I could do so I told the sheriff Peter had told me about the snapshot. “Was the man in the photo O’Dell?”