The Last Road Home (10 page)

C
HAPTER
18

M
r. Wilson stopped by the house after church the next day. We sat on the porch, discussing the farm. He wanted to make sure I knew what to do and when. “You want to ride to Pittsboro tomorrow and get yourself a couple of pigs?”

At the auction, I bid on two Berkshires Mr. Wilson recommended, and got them for twelve dollars each. He bought four for himself, and we loaded the baby sows into the pen on the back of his truck. When we got home, I opened the gate to the wire box, grabbed one by the hind legs, and pulled her out. She hollered like I was killing her until she dropped over the fence. I hefted the other one, and they got busy investigating their new home.

Mr. Wilson and me leaned on the gate. “You patch the hog lot so they won't get out?”

“Took care of it a month ago.” His bossing tone didn't set well with me. “Hope I'll be able to drive myself places one of these days soon.”

“I'll take you to get a license in June.”

“I'd appreciate that.”

* * *

A little after dark, Fancy stepped inside the porch, wearing a brown homemade dress and a man's hat curled up in the front.

“What 'cha doing?” She poked her head around mine, nudging her chin up and down on my collarbone.

“Figured I'd eat what's left of this chicken and such. Don't suppose you could make some biscuits.”

Fancy turned her back and sashayed around the kitchen. “Could if I wanted to.”

I pleaded a little. “Help me out here.”

She put one hand on her hip. “What are you going to do for me?”

I grabbed her waist, picking her up off the floor. “I'm going to beat your butt if you don't.”

She squealed and pulled at my arms. I let her down and slapped her on the backside. She punched me on the arm. I went for her again. She tripped into the cupboard, and we ended up nose to nose. She quit laughing. Her arms went around my neck; mine went around her back, and our mouths slammed together, tongues searching and bodies pressing. I knew she could feel me against her.

We broke and backed away. “What was that, Junebug?”

“I don't know.”

Her black eyes rolled up and down. “I reckon it was your jisim talking. I told you it was going to back up. Does your balls hurt?” She looked down at the front of my overalls.

My face turned red. “No, and I'd appreciate it if you quit worrying about them.”

We went at it again. Sweat popped out on my forehead. I pulled my head away. “What do we do now?”

She moved me backward with one finger, grinning. “Don't know about you, but I'm fixing to make some biscuits.”

After cleaning up the dishes, we went to sit on the living room couch. I didn't know what to say, so I lay my head back and silently counted pine knots in the wood ceiling. Fancy picked at a loose string on one of the sofa cushions. We sat and listened to the clock tick.

She broke the silence. “Okay, Junebug, what about these feelings we're having for each other?” Her face was natural except for a bit of faint red lipstick.

It was embarrassing to look her in the eye. “I know it ain't right, but I can't seem to help myself around you.”

She pulled my chin up. “We're both getting old enough to have urges, Junebug. I ain't against them. I've started to develop feelings for you that are more than just friends, like I can't wait to see you from one time to the next. Do you think the same way about me?”

I swallowed hard. “Yes. So what do we do?”

She sat back against the couch cushion. “We can consider it some more. One of these days, when we're ready, the Lord will send us the answer.”

I laid my head against the top. “Hope He don't wait long.”

We kissed some more. “Mrs. Wilson said you were going to show me how to churn butter.”

Fancy pushed the tip of her nose against mine, our eyelashes almost touching. “Bet she didn't have in mind churning like this.”

I let my hands drift lower on her back. She talked softly into my mouth. “Soon as you've saved up enough cream, it won't take long to make.” Her teeth bit down on my lip. “I'll come over Monday after school if you want me to teach you.”

“You could stay for supper.”

She whispered in my ear. “What are we having?”

My insides were about to bust. “What you best be doing is getting home, wouldn't want any bogeymen chasing you.”

“How about you drive me?” Fancy folded her arms around my neck.

“You know I ain't got a license.”

“Then you need the practice.” We rode, Fancy snuggled against me, my arm around her.

I shut off the lights before reaching the Wilsons' driveway and stopped. The kissing and moving against each other got intense again. Finally, she pushed open the door. “You think about me tonight, Junebug.” Fancy slammed the truck door and took off running.

C
HAPTER
19

I
paced the house and yard all day, trying to find something to keep myself busy, abandoning each thing because my mind wasn't on it. I'd cleaned the wooden churn twice, and debated about where to place it, then decided on the kitchen floor between two chairs.

Fancy showed up after school Monday afternoon. She was wearing a clingy blue cotton dress that showed the outline of her underwear. Her hair was pulled straight back and tied with a rubber band. “Hey”—she smiled—“ready to do some churning?” She wiped the palms of her hands down her dress three or four times.

“I reckon.”

Fancy skimmed off the cream in the milk bucket, arranged the dasher stick in the churn, and fit the stick through the hole in the lid. She sat down and started moving the plunger up and down slowly as the liquid began to turn solid. We took turns. I watched Fancy's breasts while she worked the plunger. She cut her eyes at me a couple of times, making me blush. After one last push, she stopped. “I think it's done.”

I stood close behind and pretended to watch while she put the fresh butter in a cloth and slowly twisted the bundle, squeezing out the liquid, relaxed her grip, and squeezed it twice more, each time gently rounding the ball.

Fancy glanced over her shoulder, and I could see her cheeks were flushed. She opened the pouch, pinched off a small piece, and turned around. Holding my eyes with hers, she reached out with her finger and slowly rubbed the butter over my mouth. Blood began to pound in my ears. Fancy lightly touched her lips to mine, tasting the salty cream with her tongue. We'd been playing with this fire and now it was burning us up. I pushed her against the counter.

“Wait.” Fancy put a hand against my chest, her eyes asking a question. “You really want to do this?”

“Do you?” I knew my answer but didn't say it.

Her black eyes glistened like shiny coal. She stared at me, then gripped my arm. “Come on.” There was determination on her face.

In the bedroom, Fancy pulled back the covers and unbuttoned her dress, dropping it to the floor. She waited. “I ain't going to stand here naked by myself.”

I was spellbound by how light through the window made a contrast of shadows on her body. She was beautiful. I swallowed like a thirsty camel at a water hole. I'd fantasized about this moment so many times, and now I prayed not to be awful at it.

We lay down on the bed facing each other. I kissed her as softly as I could, trying to not be anxious, to go slow until I could figure out how this was going to work. When I ran my tongue over the tip of her breast, Fancy gripped the hair on the back of my head and twisted. I threw the going-slow stuff out like an old pair of underwear, pretty sure I wouldn't make it through a long warm-up. I moved my hand down her body, over her belly, and below. Her hips flexed when my finger found the right spot. “Ahh.” She sucked in a sharp breath, and arched her back.

Whatever was going to happen needed to happen now. I moved between her legs and Fancy's hips rose to meet me. After some fumbling we connected. I was enveloped in warmth and sensation unlike any I'd ever been able to imagine. We lay still for a minute, then began an awkward search for a rhythm. Slow went to urgency, then thrashing and bucking in a flurry of arms and legs, mouths glued together. I felt my stomach tighten. The fierceness of the release left me gasping for breath. “God, Fancy.” It was all I could say. I couldn't move. Those trips behind the barn were never anything like this.

Fancy's arms were locked around my neck; her legs stretched over mine and her heels forced their way into my calves. “Junebug”—her voice choked—“for the rest of our lives this belongs just to us.” We clung to each other in a silence that wasn't awkward or embarrassing, unwilling to turn loose. Eventually we shifted to lie face-to-face, kissing easily and lovingly.

“I see now why folks are always talking about sex,” I said.

Fancy giggled, ran her fingernail down my stomach and beneath my belly button.

“Want to try it again?”

“Don't think I'm able to right now.” I nuzzled at her neck, pulled her leg over my hip, and eased into her again. “But we can try.”

Fancy arched her back. We found a slower, deeper place than before. The end took longer to reach, but it was just as desperate, trying to drain every drop of pleasure possible.

When it was over, our bodies snuggled so tight we could have been glued together. “Thank you, Junebug.” Fancy's voice was soft.

“For what?”

“For being gentle and kind, the way I thought you'd be, not making me feel like some kind of whore.”

I put my finger to her lips, “You hush. Don't ever think that way about yourself.” I traced around her eyes, down her nose, and circled her mouth. “Fancy, you're so beautiful. I don't know why you even want to be with a dumb hick like me.”

She looked deep in my eyes and stroked the side of my face. “You know, Junebug . . . I wonder the same thing.” She rolled on top of me, wrestling and tickling and laughing.

We teased and explored and played until it was time for her to get home. Both of us knew we had stepped over a line that had no U-turn. Maybe it was fear of the secret we'd have to keep, or understanding of the commitment pledged; all I knew for sure was our world had now become a completely different place.

C
HAPTER
20

I
walked up to Mr. Wilson's the next morning, and found him with the hood up on his truck. “Ain't having troubles with the engine, are you?” The freshness of mid-April sunshine made for near-perfect weather.

He stuck the dipstick back in. “Just piddling. What you up to?”

“Wanted to ask about letting Roy, Clemmy, and Fancy help me plant tobacco this week.” I leaned my elbows against the fender.

He pushed down on the hood to be sure it was locked. “Reckon I can spare them Saturday. Roy's in the low ground if you want to ask him.”

The field was behind a stand of woods below Mr. Wilson's house. Roy was busy plowing. I waited for him to finish the end of the row. “How you doing, Roy?” After last night, I was nervous being this close to him.

“I'm all right, Junebug, you?” He squatted and picked up a fistful of the dark sandy soil, letting it sift between his fingers.

“Trying to keep up with things. Come by to ask about you, Clemmy, and Fancy helping me plant my tobacco field on Saturday.”

Roy pulled off his straw hat and wiped his head on his sleeve. “Reckon we can do that. How come you need three of us?”

“Fancy suggested maybe her, me, and you could work the field while Clemmy fixed dinner. She came to the house yesterday to help me make some butter so I could stop wasting so much milk.”

He surveyed the bright sky. “Then I guess we'll be there Saturday morning.” Roy turned back to me. “You making out all right staying by yourself?”

I sat on the ground beside him. “Gets to be lonesome, but I know things take time. Wish I'd learned to cook better.” I gave him a grin.
Lonesome as long as I ain't doing it with your daughter
lay on my tongue, which I figured was probably forked by now.

He smiled back. “Clemmy or Fancy can help you with that. Fancy is about as good a cook as her momma.”

“When she came over yesterday she fixed some biscuits and dang if they wouldn't compare to Grandma's.”
And then we got in the bed and had sex.

He grinned with a daddy's pride. “That gal sure can make a biscuit.”

* * *

Roy, Fancy, and Clemmy showed up early on Saturday morning. Low clouds had come across early, but had kept going toward the south. I finished hooking Sally Mule to the wagon. A big barrel filled with water and fertilizer was already loaded, and the plants were stacked in the back. Roy took the reins and headed to the field while I showed Clemmy around the kitchen. Fancy pointed out the canned vegetables in the pantry and the butter and milk in the refrigerator. “I helped Junebug make the butter yesterday.” Clemmy eyed the two of us. From her look, I considered maybe it wasn't Roy I needed to worry about.

In the field, I hand-pegged the holes, Fancy dropped in the plants, and Roy came last with the water. Once we got a rhythm, we made good time, not a lot of talking. Our shadows had started to stretch when Roy looked at the sun. “I'm guessing it's about dinnertime.”

I unhooked Sally Mule from the wagon, and she trotted straight to the barn and waited for me. I dropped a couple of ears of corn and a handful of hay in her stable box, staying a while to scratch her nose. While she munched, Sally watched me with her soft brown eyes, contented to have a rest and a meal. I wondered, if she could talk, what would she say?

“Are you lonesome, girl? I bet you miss Granddaddy and Grandma as much as me, don't you? If you won't so dang big, I'd let you come stay in the house.” I laughed out loud, imagining Sally in the bed and eating at the table. “One question I've always wanted to ask you, Sally. What do you have to live for? The only future you got is working pulling a plow or a wagon until you drop dead. That don't seem fair to me.” It was sad to think about.

She moved her head up and down, shook her ears, and tried to bite my fingers that were in the stable box beside the last ear of corn. “Sore subject, huh?” I scraped my fingernails up her neck and patted her with gentle slaps. Sally went back to eating and I headed to the house, my own stomach growling for lack of food. I could smell collard greens cooking all the way out to the yard.

I stepped inside the screen porch and started to wash my hands at the water bowl. “Smells mighty good, Clemmy. Where's Fancy and Roy?”

She spooned food into bowls. “They're outside setting up the table for us to eat.”

“Clemmy, don't you believe it's silly for me to sit in here by myself and y'all out there? We ain't strangers.”

She stopped, a hint of a smile on her face. “What in the world would folks think?”

“We're the only folks here, and the only ones that matter.”

She gave me a look that was like a patient momma with a foolish child. “You want to come outside with us?”

“Wherever you say.”

Clemmy studied me. “Then why don't you help me tote this food and we can enjoy the sunshine.” She was a woman who walked with her head up and looked a person in the eye when she talked. I figured Fancy got her gumption from her momma.

“I'll bring the buttermilk Fancy helped me make the other day.” I felt I'd won a little battle.

Roy gave Clemmy a stare when he saw us coming, and Fancy's eyes got wide. “Move your plate over, Roy. Junebug, sit beside Fancy.” We got busy on the food, the only sounds were spoons and forks scraping.

Roy smacked his lips. “Clemmy, you make this buttermilk?”

“Junebug said Fancy made it.”

“It don't taste right.” Roy turned his head and spit out what was in his mouth. “Fancy, did you put any fat-curd in the buttermilk?”

She stopped the fork of food on the way to her mouth. “I didn't put anything in it.”

“You didn't put fat-curd in to take out the poison?”

“What are you talking about?” Fancy set the fork on her plate.

Roy grabbed his throat, hacking and coughing. “Oh Lord, she's killed us.”

Fancy grabbed my glass and threw it on the ground, then reached for Clemmy's. “Momma, you never told me nothing about that!”

Roy poured another glassful from the jar and drank it down, leaving a big ring of white over his upper lip.

Fancy stood staring, her cheeks turning red. She grabbed a piece of corn bread and threw it at him. “Kiss my butt.” The laughter felt like family.

By midafternoon the work was done. I took fifteen dollars from my pocket and handed the money to Roy.

“You know you ain't got to pay us, Junebug. I said when your grandma died I'd help you with anything I could, so I figure we're just being neighborly.”

“To me a day's work gets a day's pay, so I'm asking you to take it.” White neighbors helped each other because it was expected they would get help in return. No colored folks had their own farms so it was only right to pay with money.

“I'd like to ask you something, Roy. It's a lot harder than I thought taking care of all the things Grandma did, like keeping the house up, washing clothes, and cooking. Maybe you would consider, on the days you don't need her, if Fancy might come and help. She could earn some extra money and it would be a big relief to me.”

Fancy got busy with some bug in the grass. Roy looked at Clemmy. “Reckon I'll allow she can come every couple of days after school. But you remember the talk we had, Junebug?”

“Yep.”

“Ain't nothing changed.”

“Won't no harm come to her as long as I'm around.” I wanted Fancy, and was determined to do whatever it took to keep her.