Tomorrow River

Chapter Thirty-five

It’s Independence Day.

There was a parade and potato-sack games and some fiddle music this morning. Mama packed a picnic of pimento cheese sandwiches and yellow Jell-O, so now we’re spread out with everyone else from town. By the creek, where it winds through Buffalo Park. It’s so good to eat our mother’s crummy cooking again, but our blanket’s up against the Tittles’ blanket and I confess to stealing a drumstick out of their basket. Dorry Tittle really knows how to fry. E. J. and Woody are over at the swings acting all lovesick and moony. My mama picks Baby Fay up off the blanket and cradles her in her arms. I am pretending to nap so I can listen in on her and Mrs. Tittle’s hushed women voices. Mama has resisted answering my questions. She doesn’t want Woody and me to be upset. Eavesdropping runs in my blood.

“I heard some of what happened from the gals at church,” Mrs. Tittle says to her. “Our plan didn’t go quite like we hoped, did it.”

Mama stops cooing at the baby and says back, “No, it didn’t.”

I remember how I found her in front of the Oddities tent that night. She was getting ready to run away, that’s why she looked so sad.

“I shoulda come lookin’ over to your place when ya didn’t show up that night,” Mrs. Tittle says with a lot of regret.

I don’t know what Miss Dorry means until I remember how Vera told us that night in the drugstore, “Your mama, E. J., she was gonna borrow the Calhouns’ car and give Evie a ride to the bus station.”

Mama says, “I’m grateful that you didn’t. In the state she was in, I believe… I believe Ruth Love was capable of anything.”

Mrs. Tittle takes that in and says, “After she pushed you down and tried to… choke you… how did you get up to the Colony?”

The baby is fussing a little so Mama brings her up to her shoulder and bounces her. “I’m not exactly sure how I got into the boat, but that’s where I woke up. Blackie was rowing.”

That’s where the rowboat must’ve been all this time. Hidden real good at my uncle’s place. That’s why the sheriff never found it. Despite everything, I think-my father still loves Mama. He could’ve drowned her that night. Thrown her over the side on the way down the creek. Knowing my grandfather, I bet that’s what he urged him to do. I feel proud of Papa for standing up to him.

“I was fading in and out,” Mama continues, “but I remember that Walter was in the boat. Gus, too. Once we got to Blackie’s place, one of them called Doc Keller. He gave me an injection and stitched the cut on the back of my head. Early the next morning, he drove me to the hospital. I vaguely remember Doc telling the admitting staff that I was a patient of his. He left orders for strong, calming medications. Barbiturates and others. They kept me in a fog.”

Miss Dorry calls out to E. J.’s little sisters, “Stay outta that creek in your best clothes.” They must’ve done what she said because she then says to Mama, “I never did care much for Chester Keller. He’s got eyes like a black racer.” They’re quiet for a few minutes and then Mrs. Tittle asks, “And Walter agreed with all this?” With the undying love that E. J.’s mama feels towards her coughing husband, it must be so hard for her to imagine. “To keep ya locked up in the Colony like that?”

Mama says so sadly, “I want to believe Walt tried to persuade Gus to do otherwise… but…”

She knows just like I do that Papa couldn’t help himself, but it must be ’til-death-do-us-part heartbreaking for my mother to admit that her husband, the man of her dreams, the father of her children, would do something so cruel. I sneak a peek over at her. Her face is crumbling. And Bootie Young is standing right at the edge of the blanket in his best overalls.

“Miz Carmody. Miz Tittle. Shen.”

I sit up and smooth down my hair. “Hey, Bootie.”

“Wanna get a drink?” He points over to the metal buckets filled with ice and soda pop.

I look at Mama for permission and she nods.

That handsome boy and I stay close together for the rest of the afternoon and take in the fireworks that get set off when the sun goes down. But even though it’s a dream come true to hold Bootie’s big, calloused hand in mine, I cannot stop thinking about my papa’s soft, small one. He is out on bail, same as my uncle and grandfather. His Honor is probably watching the show from the high hill at Heritage Farm, the way we always did when we were still a family. If he is, he’s smiling extra hard at the orange and green skyrockets. Those are his favorites. I will see him in court on Monday.