With Patsy gone, Mama wandered the old house endlessly like a ghost looking for its haunt, calling the bones of their dwelling awake with her restless pacing throughout the nights, her breaths of despair filling wall-to-wall, rinsing the corners and crevices with her tears.
Flannery knew the house itself was miserable. It shifted differently, popped and screeched, wriggling its bones from the weight of all that sadness. Flannery begged Mama to have the ladies over so the two of them could bake cookies and forget about Patsy, just for a while. Asked to go to town so she could see some kids from school since they lived too far out for classmates to come calling.
“Come on, Mama. A little company. Please,” Flannery whittled. “Or, let’s dress up in those pretty little circle dresses you made last fall. Put on our gloves and go to town. We can take a ride to Lexington and see the window dressings downtown. Maybe a trip to Joyland—”
“I’m too tired, Flannery.” Mama brushed the thoughts aside. “And it’s stingy to think of yourself when your sister could be in trouble out there.”
Flannery hadn’t been to Joyland since Honey Bee’d passed. She thought of holding Honey Bee’s strong, leathery hands, strolling amongst the booths, seeing the rides and all the happy folks with the smells of summer lit in cotton candy, hot dogs, onions, and sweaty excitement.
He’d taken the whole family many times, mostly on the last day of the season when the park would give away a shiny new automobile to one lucky visitor.
Patsy and Flannery had ridden the carousel with the big, sparkling gold and blue horses. Flannery loved the carousel. On the hottest days, the horse and saddle felt cool on her skin. And always later the girls would dare each other to ride the big wooden Wildcat roller coaster.
They’d go off together on the Pretzel canal ride favored by the older kids, eagerly climbing inside the metal cart that promised a mysterious trip into a cool, dark tunnel. In the channel they were spooked by the sudden and loud, creaky noises, panicked by loudly clanging cymbals, and unnerved by the film of thin, creepy hanging threads, until the cart glided around the last bend for an abrupt but terrifying glimpse of a wooden cutout of a bucking billy goat. Flannery always had to beg Patsy to ride it with her. She just couldn’t do it alone even though Patsy was sure to suffer nightmares for a week or more after.
Nothing changed over the years, but going to Joyland always seemed like her very first visit. And nothing beat the pool either. During the summers the twins had taken some free swimming lessons offered by the park. Though Flannery had learned to swim in the river, it was still a blast to dip into the big Joyland pool whose signs boasted that swimming in it was like “swimming in drinking water.”
At night, Joyland brought in famous singers like Duke Ellington and Benny Goodman to their dance hall. For a fifty-cent admission adults could have themselves a big shindig.
One summer, a townswoman, widow Nester Parrish, joined the Butler family at the park. After a full day packed with swimming and rides, Mama and Honey Bee went dancing that night inside the Joy Club, leaving the twins in Nester’s care.
Flannery and Patsy got to see the amusement park all lit up, and when Nester wasn’t looking, the girls peeked inside the dance hall and saw Count Basie playing to a packed dance floor full of twisting, hopping, jitterbugging adults.
The girls had caught the fever too, all riled up, shimmying and dancing together under the twinkling Ferris wheel lights, giggling and singing until Nester threatened to turn the little heathens over her lap and whoop them a good one.
Thinking about the old days like that made Flannery press Mama again.
“Mama, come on, let’s go back to Joyland. Please,” Flannery said, digging in harder. “It’s too sad waiting around like this. Joyland’s a short drive. A fun day away. Summer is nearly gone. It’ll be fun, and if Patsy comes home—”
“Flannery Bee.” Mama warned the discussion was wearing her.
“We could have your ladies over and chat some?” Flannery pushed harder. “Please, Mama. I’ll make some Benedictine sandwiches and mix the punch for your card game. You can fix your deviled eggs, and oh, some of your orange pound cake would be nice. Please.”
Mama wouldn’t budge and dug deeper into her despair.
It nearly drove Flannery crazy, and at times she was sure she’d done went and caught it. Sometimes Flannery slipped outside and ran down to the barn. Inside, Flannery would kick and cry her pent-up howls, soak the worm-worn rafters and dirt floor with her helplessness, cursing Patsy for the nightmare she’d left Mama and Flannery to live with.
“Patsy,” she’d cry, “how could you do this to us, how could you? Damn you! Damn you to Hell for leaving me. Come home now!”
And in a while Flannery would plead and beg God, “Bring her home, Lord, bring Patsy back to us. Keep her safe and lead her home.”
Then splintering her pleas, Flannery’d bargain. “I promise to be the best sister. Promise to take care of her and treat her like the queenie she is if You’ll only just return her to us. Just please, please give me back my sister, and I’ll never be jealous or angry with her or You again. Please, God, please.”
One day, Mrs. Henry stopped by. Flannery rushed out to the porch to greet the sheriff’s wife before Mama could snatch her daughter back inside. It didn’t look like Mrs. Henry was faring any better than Mama. Or herself. She had a dish in her unsteady hands. “I brought you and Jean some of my chicken corn casserole.”
“Mama’s resting,” Flannery told her, dying to know if she had any news.
Mrs. Henry handed Flannery the dish and pushed back the flowery scarf covering her head, letting it hang off her shoulders.
Flannery could tell Danny’s mama had been “resting” too. The worry over her missing son had kept her confined to the house, left her with dark bags under her eyes. Mrs. Henry stood there balling up the side of her pretty, blue-blossomed dress. She looked frailer than the last time Flannery had seen her at Spanks Grocery a few weeks before.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Flannery said. “Uh, is there any word about my sister? Danny?”
Mrs. Henry shook her head. “No, I thought I could ask the same?”
“No, ma’am. Nothing.”
“Flannery, I’ve been thinking. Is there anything Patsy might’ve said that night about leaving Glass Ferry? Hinted where she might’ve gone?”
The question struck a nerve. Flannery and Hollis hadn’t rehearsed that one. It made lots of sense for Patsy to have hinted, to have packed something if she and Danny had planned to run away. It’d be best to take the easy way out. “I don’t recall Patsy saying anything about leaving, ma’am.”
“Are you sure they didn’t mention where they were headed to?” Mrs. Henry looked at Flannery, her soft brown eyes desperate. “Anybody say—”
“Nuh-uh. I . . . Uh, no, ma’am.” Flannery felt the lie bloom on her cheeks. “I’ve been here, helping Mama.”
“Have ya heard anything? Any kids talking? Anything? A letter from her?”
For a second, Flannery wanted to tell. Tell Mrs. Henry everything she and Hollis hadn’t. “Nothing, like I told Sheriff. Maybe Hollis knows some of Danny’s friends who might know more?”
“Hollis has left for the university. He hasn’t called much. His father is still looking for the missing automobile—and no one’s seen it.”
For the first time ever, Flannery thought about leaving too, thought about going to school in the city. Getting herself a higher education to snag one of those fine secretarial jobs like the ones the teachers raved about. Leave this old town. Maybe go to work at the Stagg distillery downriver. Flannery’d heard the talk, how the company was getting bigger, and liked hiring educated folks and smart females for their secretaries. Who knew, maybe she could open a liquor store and saloon, get herself a bartending license like Abraham Lincoln had done over in Illinois. After all, if a president could do that, it surely was a smart thing to do.
“We haven’t heard a word, Mrs. Henry. Sorry, ma’am.”