I pulled back to see if he was fooling, and he looked different enough, so I fell into his arms. I was a fool hanging hope on a weak man I thought would stand tall if we got married.
That Thursday afternoon in late August, with soggy clouds squatting in the hollers, we drove the truck down the long, winding mountain, through countryside I’d never seen before or since. We crossed the county line, passed the cutoff to Burnsville, into the town Roy said was called Spruce Pine, with stores lining the main street on both sides and the North Toe River flowing by like a wide creek. We found a justice of the peace by a sign in his yard, who answered the door with a napkin tucked in his collar, us interrupting his supper of liver and onions from the smell of it. I wore a off-white dress with a coffee stain on it from breakfast and a tear from getting caught in brambles. Roy wore a T-shirt and a tight grin.
After we said a quick I do and Roy paid him two dollars, we bought nabs and co’colas at the filling station when Roy got gas, then drove back home in the dusky quiet, not saying a word, shocked to see our names tied together on a legal piece of paper.
Back at Granny’s, Roy waited in the truck, looking straight ahead. I rushed inside to pack a cardboard box of my things, hands shaking, part of me scared Roy was gonna drive off and leave me. When I called out to Granny I was married legal and leaving, she don’t even come outta her bedroom to say good-bye or a fare-the-well.
Fifteen days has gone by since that piece of paper got signed. Roy beats on me pretty regular cause nobody stops him. I thought we got married for a mighty reason. I thought I was special to him.
I musta made it all up, cause none of it’s true.
? ? ?
Daddy’s spirit voice pulls me back from silly memories. He says, “Don’t let your guard down, girl. Roy sold his soul to the devil long ago. Make sure the devil lays claim to it soon.”
I nod and raise my nose to sniff Daddy’s cigarette smoke that’s sometimes here. I rolled his cigarettes for him since I’m five, and I’m good at it. Today there’s no smoke to smell, just mold in the corners and yesterday’s fish.
I step back in the kitchen and start supper. It won’t do for Roy to come home and find nothing to eat. I put on a pot of beans, heat the iron skillet, and drop pieces of rabbit flesh in hot lard. The smell of grease gags me, and I press my knuckles against my mouth so I don’t throw up. Drop a dishrag on the floor and use my foot to wipe up the smear of blood from this morning. Pick up the plastic pieces of my broke radio and throw em in the trash. When food’s ready, I keep it warm in the oven and sit on the sofa, working on a plan while daylight leaks outta the sky and the wind moans low through the cracks round the windows.
“You done right fixing supper.” Daddy’s words sound down the hall. “A hungry man’s a mean man. Roy’s mean enough with a full belly. What you gonna do now?”
Let me think for myself, Daddy.
When I don’t say nothin right off, Daddy raises his voice. “Girl? You hearing me?”
I hear you. Don’t yell.
“What’s it gonna be?”
I don’t answer and he goes away.
Fifteen days since the trip to Spruce Pine to get married, and there still won’t a ring on my finger to cool the shame. I study the scorch on the tile floor where a skillet of fried chicken got dropped my second day as Roy’s wife and smoked up the place bad. Roy won’t happy one bit, but he don’t hit me on my second day as his missus.
The thing what got me beat today was I got careless. I got used to acting easy the past week Roy was off at the still or Lord knows where, but letting me be by myself. When he was gone, I keep my radio out and sing along and bake blackberry cobbler I eat outta the pan. I fill a canning jar with wildflowers like Aunt Marris does.
I forgot to watch out for that man.
I was singing with my radio and got a wooden spoon in my hand, pretending I’m at the Grand Ole Opry standing right next to Miss Loretta Lynn in front of folks to please. Her and me is singing together like this was what I was born to do, me swinging my be-hind to the beat and my foot tapping. It’s her hit “Don’t Come Home A Drinkin’ (with Lovin’ on Your Mind)” we’re singing, and I know every word by heart. That woman writes songs for me—even if I don’t call what Roy does to me loving no more.
The first time I seen a picture of Miss Loretta Lynn was in the Country Song Roundup magazine a coupla years back. She was on the cover, and Mooney showed it to me cause he knows I love her so. His copy of that magazine was as dog-eared as the Sears and Roebuck catalog he keeps on the counter. He told me the words of Loretta Lynn’s story inside while I looked at her pictures.
That’s how come I know she was raised in a log cabin in a Kentucky holler just like Baines Creek. In that magazine picture, she was sitting on a sofa stacked high with fancy pillows. Her dark hair had thick curls spilling over her shoulder. She showed her dimple and had diamond sparkles on her fancy dress. Said she sang at more than two hundred shows a year, riding from one place to another in her own tour bus. She had four babies before she was eighteen and is already a grandma. Miss Loretta is rich, but she’s my kinda people. She won’t turn up her nose at a simple life like mine. She could be my friend if she ever knocked on my door.
? ? ?
This morning, Roy musta come up the trailer steps quiet while I was singing with the radio cause I don’t hear him. He opened the door, sneaky. I feel a chill drift in and turned, still holding that silly spoon up to my mouth. When I saw him filling up the doorway, I stopped singing, but Miss Loretta kept on.
Without a hello or what the hey, that man pulled back his long arm and hit me upside the head with the flat of his hand. I grabbed my baby belly when I fell back against the sink, but, like a dern fool, I staggered back to my feet. He brought his arm down on my shoulder, and I dropped to my knees like a sack of feed. He kicked me in the back and rolled me over to my front with the toe of his muddy boot. Got down on one knee so I could see his devil eyes up close.
Roy drew back his fist clenched so tight the skin turned white, his temper trembling up and down his arm, and me trembling too. The smell that rolled off him was rotten. He held the terror there for me to see. I watched till I did something I never done before: I closed my eyes.
The place turned quiet cept for Miss Loretta ending her song and Roy breathing fast like a horse what’s been run hard. Then he stood and, quick as lightning, picked up my prized radio off the kitchen table, with the man saying, “That was Loretta Lynn, folks, Queen of—” and it crashed against the wall. That precious green plastic radio broke to smithereens and rained down on me. I stayed down with my eyes closed while he counted to ten to show he won.
Now, at the end of fifteen days tied legal to Roy Tupkin and me beat up three times for no reason I can figure, his supper sits warm in the oven and I’m working on a plan to get free. I’ll bide my time to make it right. When that day comes, Roy Tupkin’s gonna be sorry he ever messed with me and Loretta Lynn.