I hate that Marris knows some of my business. It’s what she don’t know that’s the bad.
She don’t know I locked Walter outta the house in the meanest thunderstorm these mountains saw in a long time. He had kept on drinking till he passed out in the mud.
She don’t know I come outta the house and worked his limp body cross the yard and leaned him on the iron plow at the edge of the road, him loose and heavy, slipping from my wet hands so I gotta pull him by the very belt he beat me with.
She don’t know I got the piece of tin from under the porch that went on a old doghouse long before. Laid it over Walter like a blanket and held it down with a felled tree branch, with him leaning on that rusty plow. The howl in the woods from that storm was like screams of a banshee let loose and the haints that live in this house of Walter and mine saw what I done and don’t stop me.
I put him in the path of danger and turned my back on Walter, is what I done. Went inside my house, closed the door, and looked out that front door window at the storm that stirred the world into a frenzy. Rainwater dripped off me and puddled on the floor at my feet, and I shivered with a chill that rattled my teeth, but I stayed put.
I prayed hard to the devil cause my prayers to God won’t never answered. I tried to find somewhere else to lay my eyes besides that tin blanket over Walter. I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t turn away for nothing. It’s like my feet growed roots, and my eyes watched till lightning found him and lit up the night. The very next minute that storm turned tame and calm as you please, all the fight gone out of it now that the deed was done.
I went out to him, folded over a towel, and grabbed the edge of the charred tin that’s hot. Dragged it off Walter’s body and burned my fingers through the towel, but don’t let go. Pulled that blackened tin in back of the house, cross the creek, and up the hill. Stashed it behind a felled tree and piled on dead leaves. Then I come in the house, climbed my steps, and crawled into my bed in all my wetness. Wrapped my quilt over my head and put my fingers in my mouth cause they burned something bad…but they don’t burn like Walter.
Marris come up on him next morning.
? ? ?
Last night’s wanderings back those years let me know sins don’t go away. I don’t want Marris to look clear through me to my weak spot.
I whisper, “Go home. I need time to myself,” and my ragged voice bout tears in two. I’ve collected the same worrisome thoughts for so many years that they’re stuck deep in my marrow, and today they hurt almost more than I can bear.
“You got time to yourself every day. I won’t go nowhere just yet.”
She sets her mouth in that way of hers that pisses me off, but today in a good way.
“Talk to me, Gladys. I’m your friend.”
“I’ll say what I wanna say when I wanna say,” I answer gruff and take my time, surprised I let her stay in my house when I feel like this. I’m putting things together.
Times like these I wonder if I ever been happy. From the start there’s been a film of dingy on my days. I’ve always done woman’s work; man’s work, too. Woke up with work to do and went to bed before it got done. I see some folks walk easy and carry peace on their shoulders, but I been chained to a iron life.
Marris stays this morning, and when I can’t hold it in no more, out pours the bucket of broke-down things in this old house I can’t fix. Marris listens careful while my fears fill the kitchen and my voice grows thick. I bout drown in my grief, and I let this woman see my insides. I tell her a lot of things cept I know when to stop.
“Gladys,” she says. She reaches her hand cross the table to touch mine. I snatch my hands back. Put em in my lap, grip em closed, and hold on to the familiar hurt. Pretty quick, the heat goes outta me and I’m spent. Like on those three stillbirth days when I worked so hard, and the babies come out dead.
I say to Marris, “Can’t change things, so don’t pretend you can.” I end with, “A body lives a life bout as good as she can. Then what?”
Marris stands and does what she does best: moves with purpose round my stillness. She slices vegetables and rolls the crust for shepherd’s pie, and while the pie cooks, she washes my dirty dishes and sweeps the floor, then sets the table for two and opens the window for fresh air. She steps outside and brings back a bunch of ironweed and puts em in a canning jar on the table. Then she sits and delivers comfort.
“A body lives a life as good as she can, Gladys Hicks, one day at a time.” She pats the back of my hand and I let her cause I like the warm. “And that’s enough. You done all right up till now. You’re gonna keep doing all right. And that’s that. Let’s eat.”
We sit at the table and let the pie cool, and Marris says, “I can’t believe I plumb forgot a piece of gossip you gotta hear. You was in such a mess when I come, I got distracted from it.”
“Go on. Spit it out. You know you’re dying to.”
“Okay, let me get to my start place.”
Got no choice but to wait for her to find her start place, when any place will do. I nibble at the shepherd’s pie. It’s good and I’m hungry.
“I was at the Rusty Nickel. You know how I like to go there on Wednesdays for Swap Shop Day. Mooney turns on his radio at noon, and whoever’s there gets to…”
I got no choice but to wait while Marris rambles, and I sip on coffee, feeling better now with that load off my mind and food on the table.
“…nicest voice, so sincere. Eddie Broom’s his name. I might make him a pie, but I don’t know how…”
I roll my eyes and finish my helping of shepherd’s pie. I use my fingernail to scrape dried egg off my vinyl tablecloth. Notice a new burn hole and wonder when it came to be.
“…Wednesday last, I sit there with Sadie and Fleeta and Jolene Dillard. Sue Sorrels showed, too, with a nasty case of hives…”
Marris talks to hear herself talk, and I spoon more pie on my plate. I switch it with her cause hers is cooled. It’s strange how some folks tell a tale. They go round and round cause the story is a little biddy thing that needs a lot of fluff to make it big enough to be told in the first place. I hate this part of gossiping.
“…the girl gone missing. That’s the mystery is what it is. Somebody say her name’s Darla or Darlene. One of them D names.”
What? I missed a piece of her talk cause my ears shut down.
Marris sips her cold coffee and puts the first taste of pie in her mouth.
I ask to buy time and get filled back in, “Who was her folks, this missing girl?”
“Nobody we know that I could tell. She must have been a looker. She worked in that hoochie place out at Danner’s Cove.”
“Well, no wonder she’s gone missing. She hangs with lowlife. The girl got what she had coming to her.”
“Well, that won’t the big news, Gladys. The big news includes you.”
I almost choke on my pie. “Me for pity’s sake? I never even heard of this girl, so how do my name get sullied? Who spreads lies bout me?”
“It won’t you, exactly. It’s sort of your grandgirl, Sadie.”