It tires Daddy out, makes him shake his head and dig the palm of one hand into the flat spot between his eyes to see Abraham coming. Abraham has been particularly insistent since Juna marked her day of ascension a few months ago and swore to him she saw his face in that well. She said something different to me, and something different still to Daddy and to Dale and to the Brashears, who live down the road, and to their granddaughter, Abigail Watson. Juna has had a different story for every person who would listen.
As eager as Daddy is to rid his house of the likes of Juna, he is more afraid of making her angry. Just one time, that’s all it took. Juna made a face like she was tasting a sour apple when Abraham Pace stood on our porch and tapped on our door. That was sign enough for Daddy, and he didn’t dare rankle Juna by forcing on her a man she did not want. The push and pull is the thing Juna needs. Daddy always pulling. Abraham Pace always pushing. Juna has no intention of trading Daddy’s house for Abraham’s house, but she has said more than once that she doesn’t have to marry Abraham to take what he’s offering. That must be why she told Abraham she saw his face down in that well. So he’d keep offering.
“I could go for the blackberries, Daddy,” I said, cutting into another tomato, and as quick as I did, Dale snatched it up. “If I go for berries, Juna and Dale can go to the field.” And then, because I knew that first juicy tomato dribbling down his son’s face and getting blotted away with a napkin was testing Daddy’s temper, I said, “I’ll see to it Dale puts on something more fitting for the fields.”
I had been thinking more and more about Abraham Pace, and at that moment I was thinking it might be best if he didn’t find Juna. I should have told him months ago that if Juna has been telling him she loves him and wants to be with him if only Daddy would allow, then she’s telling him lies. Same as Juna has claimed to see any number of men down in that well, she’s enjoyed the touch of just as many. Abraham is something to fend off the boredom, nothing more.
“You especially like the early berries,” I said to Daddy and poked at the fire that was already hissing and spitting, which made me glance at Juna because I was wondering if she had stirred up those flames. Juna tipped her head the littlest bit, her blond hair falling over one shoulder, those large black eyes stretched wide, so I would believe she did.
I was thinking of Abraham Pace, that’s true enough, and trying to spare him a painful outcome, but I was also thinking of Ellis Baine. I didn’t often have reason to be walking along the side of the road first thing in the morning, but if I were to have a reason, and if I were walking there early enough, Ellis Baine would happen by in the Baines’ pickup truck, he and all his brothers, and they’d offer me a ride.
“Today ain’t the day for me to work those fields,” Juna said and said it like she knew something we didn’t, as if she could see trouble coming. “Dale should be here with Sarah. It ain’t the day for going to the fields.”
As Daddy sat, chewing his biscuit, he studied Dale because he didn’t dare look at Juna. Even though Dale is old enough to take on a few chores, do some toting or gathering or even topping the tobacco if it hasn’t grown too tall, he still has dimples on the backs of his hands and his cheeks are pink. He has blond hair too and blue eyes, and he is polite when told to be so and says please and thank you and ma’am and sir.
“Take the boy,” Daddy finally said to Juna. “Take the boy and go on to the lower field. And you,” he said to me, “you go for those berries.”
Ellis Baine keeps on hollering at the brother who forgot the pegs. They’re already late getting this tobacco in the ground, and they damn well can’t set it without the Goddamn pegs. I listen to the sound of his voice through his chest. And the angrier he gets and the louder he yells, the more his chest lifts and lowers. I let go of the railing and leave my hands to hang at my sides. He smells of sweet tobacco and fresh-brewed coffee.
The engine slows, the road evens out, and when I open my eyes, one of the brothers, one who is a year or so younger than me, is staring at me and shaking his head.
Ellis drops the arm he had stretched across me and leans back against the railing where he started. My neck and chest are damp from our having been pressed up against each other.
“You get off here too,” Ellis says to the brother who is still looking for those pegs. “You can damn well walk back and get them.”