The Truth According to Us (51 page)

I tried to console myself by saying that at least I'd saved Jottie, that Jottie was better off because of what I'd done, but I wasn't sure about that. She told me that she was going to marry Mr. McKubin and he was going to come live in our house and everything was going to be grand. She kept saying that, over and over. How we'd have a wonderful new life, wonderful. How Bird and I would have everything nice. Well, that was fine, I supposed, but I didn't care much about it, so I didn't say anything back, and after a week or so, Jottie stopped talking about our wonderful new life. She went on flying around like she always did, but sometimes I'd catch her standing stock-still, watching at nothing. Maybe she was thinking about her wonderful new life. Or maybe she was missing Vause Hamilton. I didn't know. I didn't ask.

Another thing I'd tell myself was at least Miss Beck didn't have Father any more than we did. But that was a poor scrap. He was gone, and I'd lost him.

I hated Miss Beck then. Oh, how I hated her. I knew it was my own fault he was gone, but I had to share out some hate. I already had too much for myself. I suppose I could have blamed Jottie, for she'd sent Father away. But I could never hate Jottie, I could only love her. So I settled on Miss Beck and hated her. I hated her so much I thought I might burst into flames, which sometimes happens, I've read about it. I sat at the dinner table with my eyes on my plate so I wouldn't look at her and die of my hatred. It was too much to expect that I would eat, too, but Jottie didn't know that, and she got more and more worried about me, piling my plate with spinach and beets and other awful things.

I couldn't explain. I was too tired.

The night Father left, I had a dream. It became a dream I had nearly every night, and that was why I was tired. I stayed awake, trying not to have it, and then I woke up after it with my heart pounding and couldn't go back to sleep. In my dream, Father came home. I could hear the soft thump of his hat falling onto the hook, even though I was up in my room. “I'm home!” he called, just the way he always did. And, along with knowing he'd come back, I knew he wouldn't stay very long. So I had to rush, rush downstairs to see him before he left again. I could hear Bird and Jottie, Minerva and Mae and Emmett, all coming out to greet him, surprised and happy. But then, in my dream, just as I was running out of my room, I looked down and saw that my dress was dirty or torn—something was wrong, and I didn't want Father to see me like that, so I had to change. My fingers fumbled at my bureau and slipped off the drawer handles, my clothes dropped off their hangers to the floor, and I scrabbled around to pick them up. “I'm coming!” I called. “Wait for me!” Sometimes I'd find a dress that looked all right and slip it on, only to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and find that it had turned to rags, that my hair was tangled, that there was lipstick on my mouth, that my face was dirty. And all the while I could hear him downstairs—usually, he was laughing. Every time, it was the same. When at last I got my clothes on, yanked the door open, and raced downstairs, I'd find everyone in the front room, everyone except Father. “Oh,” they'd say, “Felix? He just left.”

August 23, 1938

Mrs. Judson Chambers

Deputy Director, Federal Writers' Project

1013 Quarrier St.

Charleston, West Virginia

Dear Mrs. Chambers,

Enclosed please find the complete Editorial Copy of
The History of Macedonia
. I have submitted the same to the sponsor, the Town Council of Macedonia, for their approval.

Yours sincerely,

Layla Beck

“How about I take it to the post office for you?” said Jottie, eyeing Layla's crumpled dress. “I could use the walk.”

A moment passed before Layla looked up. “Oh. Yes. Thanks. Thanks.” She handed the manuscript in its envelope to Jottie and subsided back into her chair.

Jottie glanced through the back-porch screen to see Willa drifting across the yard toward the red oak tree. Jottie watched, frowning, as Willa placed one palm against the trunk of the tree and rested there, motionless. It's like living with a ghost, she thought. Two ghosts, she amended, looking back to Layla.

It was a relief to leave her haunted house behind, and, despite the soupy heat of the afternoon, Jottie dawdled along Academy Street, interesting herself in Grandma Pucks's hydrangeas, the dead-empty windows of the Casey house, and Seneca the dog, currently sporting an abscess on his ear. “You shouldn't fight with cats, you dumb old thing,” Jottie said to him. She passed over Academy Creek Bridge, leaning over the stone parapet to note the spot she and Vause and Felix had favored for digging worms to fish with.

Three ghosts, really.

For now Vause was hers again, and each night after she kissed Sol and waited to hear his shoes slap, slap away on the sidewalk, she flew upstairs to her bed so she could raise Vause from the dead and remember, unfettered, everything, every tiny thing, every beautiful thing.

It's adultery.

No, it's not, she argued. That's only if you're married. And I'm not, yet. Plus, he's dead. It can't be adultery if he's dead and I'm not married. I'll stop when I'm married.

It's deceitful. It's dishonest.

Yes.

Sol's an honest man, a good and honest man. He loves you. He's given you a new life. Everything you wanted. He deserves your love and loyalty. You should be ashamed of yourself.

Yes. I am.

Conscience-dogged, Jottie hurried down Council Street and then rushed up Prince to the post office. Feeling boiled, she plunged headlong through the massive doors and collided powerfully with a hard pink bosom.

“Well! Heavens! What on earth—” exclaimed Mrs. John Lansbrough.

“Oh my! Are you all right?” exclaimed Jottie at the same moment.

“Oh!” said Mrs. John, recovering herself quickly. “Jottie Romeyn! Goodness!” She put her gloved hand on her chest and trilled with laughter. “Aren't we a pair? John's always telling me, Watch where you're going, honey, and I guess he's right!” She gave Jottie a sparkling smile. “You all in one piece?”

Astonished, Jottie groped after her manners. “Why, I'm just fine, Mrs. John. It was only a bump. You?”

“Oh yes!” sang Mrs. John. She paused, turning her head slightly to give Jottie a roguish look. “I heard a little something about you,” she whispered.

Jottie goggled at her. “Oh, yes?” she said finally.

Mrs. John smiled. “Well,
I
wish you the very best. Both John and I do. We're old friends of Sol's.” She gave Jottie a friendly tap on the arm. “We'll have to have you up to the house for a little dinner party, after the happy event. You know, to celebrate.”

“Why”—Jottie swallowed air—“that'd be real nice. Such a nice thought!”

“We'd just be thrilled.” Mrs. John wrinkled her nose, indicating thrilled-ness. Jottie felt her lips catching on her teeth as she smiled in response. Mrs. John leaned forward confidentially. “You heard what that Auralee Bowers wants for the next meeting?”

“Next meeting?” asked Jottie.

“Of the Daughters,” explained Mrs. John. Then, seeing Jottie's blank expression, “Daughters of
Macedón.”

“Oh!” Belatedly, “What?”

“She wants to talk about that Mr. Gandhi.” Mrs. John gave a little rippling shudder. “Which is all right with me, I said, as long as I don't have to look at him.” She chortled. “He wears just about nothing at all!”

Utterly at a loss, Jottie found herself chortling back, and a wave of self-loathing washed over her.

“Well,” Mrs. John's voice dropped to a piercing whisper, “don't you forget—John and I want to be the very first to invite Mr. and Mrs. McKubin to dinner!” Twinkling, she nudged Jottie and swept away.

“I'll look forward to it!” sang Jottie, hating herself more and more. I'll see you in hell first, Wanzellen Bucklew, she said to herself as, with numerous waves, she moved toward the counter. But even dire imprecations failed to comfort her. She had truckled to a known foe. She was a hypocrite and a liar. But the most loathsome thing of all was that she had attained her goal. She had been accepted. She was an eminent gentlewoman of Macedonia. Prestige had been granted, instantly, automatically, by virtue of her engagement to Sol. And it stung. Why? Because she hadn't earned it herself. Because she was being rewarded for seeing the error of her ways, for changing horses and choosing a winner, for shucking off her misguided loyalty to Felix. As though what she had been before was shameful.

Well, she said to herself, aren't you a one? You
were
ashamed. You
wanted
Sol's prestige. You were desperate for Sol's prestige. And now you have it, you're ashamed of yourself for wanting it? That makes no sense atall.

But she was lying to herself, she knew. It made sense. Because it made her no better than Wanzie Bucklew, who had cleaned herself of her dirty past when she married John Lansbrough, cleaned herself so thoroughly that she kept her mother locked away so nobody could see what she had come from and by doing so made herself far, far dirtier than her childhood had ever made her.

Sol's an honest man, she recited, a good and honest man. He loves you. He's given you a new life. Everything you wanted. He deserves your love and loyalty.

“Miss Romeyn?” said Harlan Kasebier, the clerk, beckoning her toward his postal altar. She had known him since he was three and had dimpled knees. “Well,” he said, his official face breaking into a smile, “I heard something real nice about you.”

—

Jottie trailed out of the post office. Dispirited by her own failings and blinded by the glare of the sun on the macadam, she didn't notice the Lloyd boys sitting on the stairs until she nearly fell over them.

“Miss Romeyn!” squawked Jun. “Y'all right?” He leapt to his feet and held out his hand to steady her. “I'm sure sorry! Gee!”

Jottie smiled into his sweaty, sorry face. “It's all right, Jun. I'm fine. I seem to be banging into everyone I meet today.” Her eyes moved over the three brothers. They were arrayed in their Boy Scout finery, and she could see that their shirts were turning their necks blue.

“Jun,” said Dex meaningfully. He looked hard at Jottie.

Jun swung around and tried again. “You
sure
you're all right?” he asked. “I ask because we can help if you're not. All right, I mean.”

Jottie's heart lifted. To the Lloyd boys, at least, she had intrinsic value. Obligingly, she slumped. “Well, I do feel kind of dizzy, Jun. It's awful close, you know?” He nodded vigorously. “I'd feel a lot better if you boys would help me across the street.” She tried to look pitiful.

“I'll do it!” yelped Frank, leaping to his feet.

“You get out!” cried Dex. “It was me she tripped over.”

“Oh,” said Jottie hastily. “I'd feel better if it was all of you.” She swayed.

Jun grinned at her. “Thanks,” he said in an undertone, as he stiffened into a military posture. “Get on over to her side, Dex! Whatsamatter with you?” he barked. “Frank, get her elbow!”

With Dex and Frank supporting an arm apiece, and Jun grandly striding ahead to stop traffic, Jottie tottered into the crosswalk.

A car slammed against the curb, and Sol slung himself out into the street with his face askew. “Jottie!” he called, rushing to her side. “What happened?”

Jottie saw the Lloyds exchange glances, expecting betrayal. She was glad to have the opportunity to redeem herself. “Oh, Sol, I was feeling real flimsy from the heat, and these nice boys said they'd help me across the street. Aren't they good boys?”

“Yeah.” Sol nodded cursorily at Frank. “Thanks, fellas. I'll take her from here.” Without even knowing he did so, he nudged Dex out of the way and slid his hand under Jottie's arm. “Come on, let's get you in the car, honey, and I'll take you right home.”

Jottie cast a helpless look at Jun. “Thanks!” she called to him. He nodded bitterly.

“Don'tcha want a glass of water, even?” yelled Dex.

Sol glanced at him and then turned away without answering as he opened the car door for her. “There you go,” he said, as she settled herself on the seat.

She turned to wave at the Lloyds. “Thanks, boys!” It was the best she could do. “Sorry!” she called.

Sol took his place behind the steering wheel and turned to inspect her soberly. “You feel dizzy? You look a little pale.”

Jottie doubted it. “I'm fine, Sol. It was a—” The impossibility of explaining it overcame her and she fell silent. Even if she could explain it, he wouldn't think it was funny. “It was nothing.”

Sol nodded sympathetically. “It's damn hot. Let's get you home where you can put your feet up. I stopped there a few minutes ago to find out where you were.” A pause. “I wanted to tell you my news, honey. I wanted you to be the first to know.”

She knew then, but she turned to him expectantly. He took her hand. “Shank's out,” he said. “And guess who's in.”

“Oh, Sol, that's wonderful,” she said, squeezing his hand. “You deserve it, you truly do. You'll be a wonderful president.” He would be, she knew.

He let out a long, amazed breath. “Honey,” he said in a low voice, “I have everything I ever wanted.”