Under the Mercy Trees (8 page)

“You're a big help.”

He carried the box out into the schoolyard, to the worn place at the edge of the woods where the deer path began. His body was as trim as when they were teenagers, arms wiry, back strong. Liza wished he still were that boy and would turn around and call out an invitation for her to walk with him to their clearing of twisted trees.

*  *  *

After school the day Mr. Samuels assigned them the yarn circles, Liza went swimming with Martin and Hodge in the creek near the clearing. It was the perfect place to swim. The creek was less than fifteen feet across, but where it forked it was four to five feet deep, deep enough to play in, with a gentle current that pulled at their legs as the water debated whether to flow left or right. The water was freezing. Long grass softened the bank. The warped hardwoods screened them from anyone walking through. Younger trees, wild cherry and mulberry, bent over the water, some trailing their fingers in it. In warm weather, Liza and the boys went there whenever they could sneak away. Having no mother meant Liza got to do what she pleased. The first time she swam there, her body was straight and long legged. By the beginning of their senior year, a woman's curves showed under her modest bathing suit, and Martin and Hodge had hair on their chests.

When they got there that afternoon, she and Martin went right into the water, heads under, to take the sting out of the cold. Hodge stepped in up to his ankles, then stopped, with his arms crossed over his chest. His belly, painfully white, stuck out over the band of his cutoff dungarees.

“Come on in, Hodge. It's not going to get any warmer.” She blew water out of her nose and turned over on her back to float.

“Didn't seem this cold last time.” Hodge ventured out a little farther but stopped before the drop-off, the water now up to his shins.

“Get in or I'll pull you in,” Martin said.

Hodge worked up his nerve and finally eased in up to his shoulders but kept his hair dry.

“Get your head wet, Hodge,” Martin said.

“Naw, I gotta leave soon. I told the preacher I'd help him set up for the revival this evening. I don't need wet hair.”

“Another revival?” Liza and her father went to the Episcopal church in Whelan. Things Baptist fascinated her. “Didn't you just have a revival?”

“Yeah, Hodge, how many times you gonna get saved?” Martin said.

Hodge was too good-natured to take offense. “Oh, Lord, save me from these heathens.”

They paddled around until Hodge said he had to go. He got out, shook himself like a dog, and went behind a tree to change into dry overalls. He emerged and walked to the edge of the water to wring out his cutoffs. “Come by the house later if your daddy will let you,” he said to Martin. Hodge rarely got to spend time with Martin without Liza.

“Yeah.” Martin didn't sound hopeful. Once he got home his father would put him to work.

“Bye, Liza,” Hodge said.

“Enjoy your revival.” She lifted her toes out of the water in front of her.

Hodge turned and walked down the path that led back to the school. “Pray for our souls,” Martin called after him, and swam over to Liza. “Are you getting too cold?”

“No.”

He dove down to the creek bottom. She leaned back against tree roots that stuck out into the water, letting her legs float on the water's surface in front of her, her eyes half-closed. Martin surfaced, holding a handful of the rich gray clay that lay beneath the sand on the creek bottom. He dribbled some of it onto her bare thigh. It beaded where it landed, like mercury from a broken thermometer. She gave him a look and closed her eyes.

“Mr. Samuels seems all right.” Martin let more clay squeeze from his fist to her leg.

She opened her eyes and lowered her legs into the water to wash the mud off. “He's bound to be better than Miss Yates.” Miss Yates, the woman who had taught them since the eighth grade, had left to marry a lawyer in Asheville. “I feel like I hardly learned anything last year, she spent so much time scolding the younger kids. We need somebody who can get us ready for college.”

“College,” Martin said. “Not sure I'll be able to go.”

“Of course you'll go, silly.” She lifted her feet out of the water and put them on his chest and pushed him over backward. He came up sputtering. She stood up from her nest in the tree roots, giggling.

“I'll get you for that.” He dove under and grabbed her by the ankles, tipping her over. He came up and she started to run away, in slow motion, squealing when he grabbed her around the waist. The water lubricated their bodies, so that every touch was slick, his forearm along her rib cage, his hand on her hip, her shoulder against his chest. They made excuses for more, pushing each other, wrestling.

“Hey,” she said. “Let me get on your back. I think I can reach those grapes.” She pointed to a wild muscadine vine that hung five feet above the water, clinging like a parasite to a tree branch.

“Get on.”

She climbed on his back and wrapped her chilled legs around his torso. “Not high enough.” She hooked her right leg over his shoulder, then her left, so that she rode on his neck. She could feel her pubic bone against the back of his head as she stretched to reach the grapes. His hands rested on her thighs. He looked up at her. She moved so that he could see the curve of her breasts under her conservative bathing suit, the white underside of her arm. She tugged off part of the vine. The grapes weren't quite ripe, their taut skin black with a sheen of green. She looked down at Martin, her left hand resting on the top of his head. “Take us over to the bank.” He waded over, holding her lower legs to steady her. Her body glided against his as she slid off his back.

“You weigh a ton.” He lay back on the grass, pretending to be exhausted. His chest was muscular, a man's chest.

“Your reward.” She held a grape over his face and lowered it to his mouth. He wrapped his lips around it, popping the skin with his teeth to suck out the fruit, swallowing the seeds. She dabbed his lower lip with her little finger. “Grape juice.” She leaned over him. “I don't think I got it all.” Her wet hair fell in a slow curl in front of her shoulders. She leaned in closer, until her hair touched his chest. She kissed him, licking the grape juice off his lower lip. His lips were full and soft. She could feel her pulse all over her body.

Something nudged her through Martin's cutoff dungarees. She looked down at the rise in his cutoffs and laughed, resting her hand lightly on his crotch. “Now, what is it I'm supposed to do with this? I know there's something.” She slid her fingers under the waistband of his cutoffs and pulled them down, then wrapped her hand around his penis and left it there, still. Sophistication abandoned her. She didn't know what to do next. Neither did Martin.

Still holding him, she leaned in to kiss him again. Their bodies were cold from the water, but their breath was warm. He moved his hips almost imperceptibly, his tongue pushing hers. She dragged her kiss from his mouth to his chin, to his chest, along the hair that grew down to his navel. The yearning she felt terrified her. She opened her mouth and pressed his warmth against her lips and tongue, the roof of her mouth. Martin's breath caught. He raked his fingers through her hair, pushing her head down roughly with both hands. She moved to the rhythm he chose, clumsy at first but then losing herself in Martin's low moaning, the scrape of her teeth against skin, the pulse of hot liquid when he cried out into the air, frightening birds out of the trees.

He held her head down, still moving. “Don't leave.”

She wouldn't leave. He let go of her head, and she lifted her face. He pulled her up so that she lay along his chest. He kissed her, a thousand tastes mingling in their mouths. Her whole body felt swollen. She rubbed against him, thinking she would die if he didn't touch her, but his arms rested passively alongside hers. She took his hand and pushed it into the warmth between her legs, pressing it hard against the thick fabric of her bathing suit until pleasure surged over her. She let go of his hand and relaxed on top of him. Their two hearts pounded at each other, unsynchronized.

Her bathing suit strap had slipped. Martin wrapped his hand around her breast and entwined his legs with hers. She nestled her head against his chest. She could feel the storm-bent trees close by, nonjudgmental, beneficent. Water whispered through the grass along the bank. Far away the Owenbys' sawmill droned in the summer air.

*  *  *

She and Martin were children then. She thought that day was a beginning, that they would do it again and do more. Instead, after that, they rarely did more than kiss. The not-doing was delicious in its way. When she was near him her skin felt electric, the high-voltage current that encircled them giving out an almost audible hum. But Martin always had a reason not to go where she so badly wanted to: the imagined steps of someone who would discover them, Hodge's constant presence, a pretended concern for her honor. It was years before she understood why.

Across the schoolyard, Martin put the cardboard box down and pushed it over with his foot, then ran toward her. The bat flitted into the bushes. Martin was winded when he reached her. “My good deed for the day,” he panted.

She pointed to the head of the deer path. “Let's go down to the clearing.”

He looked toward the break in the rhododendron. “No. Not today.” He turned to face her. “I've got to meet Eugenia and Zeb at Bojangles'. Besides, I just released a rabid bat into those woods.” He started across the yard in the direction of her truck.

“Good point,” she said to his back, but her feelings were hurt. She wanted him to remember what she remembered. She wanted it to matter to him.

12

Martin

Martin got Liza to drop him off in the parking lot of the Whelan Bojangles' restaurant. It was only eleven forty-five, but Eugenia's burgundy Mercury Grand Marquis was already there. His relatives ate early. He went around to Liza's side and lifted his suitcase out of the back of her truck.

Liza rolled her window down. “How long do you think you'll be in town?”

“Not sure. I'd like to get some news on Leon. At least a few more days.” If he could stand it.

“Come to dinner at our house day after tomorrow. I'm sure Raby would like to see you.”

Martin was a little afraid of Liza's husband. Raby always greeted him with a grin and a crushing handshake that told Martin Raby could kick his ass if he wanted to. “That'll probably work. I'll call you.”

She squinted up at him. “It really is good to have you home.”

“You and Hodge make it bearable, Liza.”

After she drove away, Martin put his suitcase and coat on the backseat of Eugenia's unlocked car and went into Bojangles'. The heavy smell of chicken grease hung in the air. Eugenia and Zeb sat side by side in a booth near the entrance, eating chicken and biscuits. Eugenia waved him over. “Martin, make sure you ask for the senior citizens' discount. You get ten percent off and a free small drink.”

Martin was horrified. “I'm not a senior citizen.”

“They give it to anybody over fifty.”

He went up to the counter to order. He didn't ask for the discount, and blessedly the big girl working the register didn't offer. “The number two combo, with green beans, mashed potatoes, and a large iced tea,” he said.

“That'll be two forty-nine.”

He handed her three singles. Money went further here than in Manhattan. He lowered his voice so Eugenia couldn't hear. “Can you tell me where the nearest liquor store is?”

The cashier pointed. “About four blocks that way, on Main Street. It'll be on your right, next to a antiques store.”

“Walking distance?”

“Everything's walking distance around here,” she said.

He moved down the counter to pick up his food and carried it to the table, trying to figure out how to get to the liquor store and smuggle a bottle into Eugenia's house before evening lockdown. He wasn't going to go another night without a drink.

His brother-in-law, Zeb, had always moved in slow motion. He chewed his biscuit as if it were a cud, periodically raising a heavy finger to swipe crumbs off his face. His mind worked in slow motion, too. If he contributed to a conversation at all, his remarks were likely to pertain to something someone had said ten minutes earlier. Zeb and Eugenia together were like a hippopotamus and one of those tiny, quick birds that live on hippos' backs. Somehow their symbiosis had worked all these years.

Eugenia saw Martin's large drink. “Martin, you didn't ask for the discount.”

“I was thirsty.”

“It must be nice to have money to throw away. When you're on a fixed income like us, you'll take any discount you can get.” She sighed. “I just can't stop thinking about Leon, wondering what happened. He went through enough in life. It's not right.”

“What do you mean, ‘he went through enough'?” Martin bit into his chicken.

“The war, of course. You were too young to remember, Martin, but he had a hard time.”

Martin remembered a letter saying Leon was injured but not bad enough for the army to send him home. “How did he get hurt?”

“A piece of shrapnel. It about sheared his breast off.” Eugenia traced a curve under her own small breast to demonstrate. “Opened him up like a can of tuna. Left a flap of skin and muscle an inch thick.” She shuddered. “When he told it, you could see how bad it had scared him.”

“I never heard him tell that story,” Martin said.

Zeb cleared his throat. “I don't reckon he told it to us but the one time.”

“A scare like that would turn some men to Jesus, but it seems like it scared Leon away from religion even more.” Eugenia's eyes watered, and her sharp little nose turned pink. “I do worry about his salvation, Martin.”

“After he got back he never would work without a shirt on, because of the scar,” Zeb said. He finished his biscuit and washed it down with the last swallow of his small Coke. “Social Security just gave us a increase. Six dollars more a month.” His straw hit the bottom of his empty cup, and he slurped air until Eugenia glared at him. He put the cup down, looking as if he wished he'd used his extra Social Security money to buy a bigger drink.

A woman about Eugenia's age approached their table and patted Eugenia's shoulder. “Eugenia, I'm just so sorry about Leon.” Eugenia looked up. “Oh, Peggy, thank you.” Her eyes filled with tears. “We're just doing the best we can.”

“I know it's hard.”

“Peggy, do you remember my brother Martin? Martin, this is Peggy Sasser, used to be Peggy Gaylord.”

Martin stood up to shake hands.

“Why, Martin, you were just a little thing last time I saw you,” Peggy said.

Martin had no memory of her at all. He sat back down.

“Honey, you just let me know if I can do anything for you,” Peggy said.

“Just keep us on your prayer list,” Eugenia said.

When Peggy had moved toward the exit Eugenia said, “She was so slender as a girl, do you remember, Martin? And now look how much she's put on.”

“I don't remember her,” he said.

“They lived just over in the next cove.”

He shrugged.

“Well, they were Methodists,” she said, as if that explained why he wouldn't remember. She wiped her fingers on a napkin and stacked her trash in a neat pile on her tray. “Zeb and I have a church supper tonight. You're welcome to come, Martin, or I could pick you up a frozen dinner.”

“Don't worry about me. I'll figure something out. Maybe I'll give Steven and Trina a call.”

Eugenia raised a thin eyebrow. “I know you're close to them, but Steven scares me to death. That temper. I can't help but wonder if he might have done something to Leon.”

“Now, Eugenia,” Zeb spoke up.

“I'm serious,” she said. “You know, the sheriff found Leon's gun still in the house. But nobody ever found Leon's knuckle knife. You know the one I mean?”

Martin nodded. Leon had brought the homemade knife back from the war. The blade was seven sharp inches, with brass knuckles welded to the handle for gripping. “He probably had it with him when he disappeared,” he said.

“It was awful big to carry around. I just have a terrible feeling about it. Like somebody, Steven maybe, got mad at Leon and used the knife on him.”

Zeb coughed, blowing biscuit crumbs across the table.

Martin added his trash to Eugenia's. “I'm sure Steven had nothing to do with it. He and Leon got along well.”

“Well, Bobby, then. You heard what Steven said at the meeting the other night, about Bobby being mad that Leon wouldn't let him put a trailer up there.”

“Bobby can be a pain in the ass, but I don't think he'd hurt a family member,” Martin said.

“If he is family. Bobby was born nine months to the day from the time Bertie left James. To the day, Martin,” Eugenia said.

Martin looked around for the garbage can. “That's just silly. Bobby looks more like an Owenby than I do. Like Pop, with hair.”

“I'm just saying.”

They got up to leave. Martin dumped their trash, and they stepped outside. It had warmed up to a crisp Indian summer day, the temperature in the sixties. “I'm going to walk around town for a while. You can take my things on to the house. Let me just get my coat.” He opened Eugenia's rear car door.

“You won't need your coat. Let us take it back to the house with your suitcase,” she said.

“It might cool off later.” Martin needed the coat to hide the booze he was about to purchase. He grabbed it out of the backseat and bent to give Eugenia a quick kiss on the cheek.

“You sure you want to walk back?” she said.

“I'm sure. See you in a couple of hours.”

Zeb went around to the passenger side and held the door open while Eugenia climbed in. “Y'ought not to talk about family like that,” he muttered to her.

Martin waited for them to pull out of the Bojangles' parking lot, then headed up the street toward the liquor store, thinking about Leon's war story.

*  *  *

Plenty of young men from Willoby County fought in that war. On Veterans Day when Martin was a senior in high school, Mr. Samuels offered extra credit to anyone who went to Whelan for the local celebration. A parade honored veterans of the two world wars and any from the Spanish-American War who might still be hobbling around. Liza and Nancy Gaddy were marshals. They stood up in the back of Liza's convertible, waving white-gloved hands at the crowd while Dr. Vance drove. The silk sash that draped from Liza's shoulder to her waist made her look like Miss America. After the parade was over, the mayor of Whelan called for men who had served to step up in front of the crowd. Mr. Samuels walked forward. So did Leon. At least twenty men, of various ages, went up. From where Martin stood, no more than six feet away from Mr. Samuels and Leon, he could hear them speak. Mr. Samuels offered Leon his hand. “You're Martin's brother. I'm Robert Samuels.”

Leon took the offered hand. “What was your division, sir?”

“Eighth Armored. You?”

“First Infantry.”

Martin wanted to hear more, but they had said all they planned to. Both turned to face the crowd. Mr. Samuels stood at ease, low autumn sun flecking his hair. As the mayor finished his remarks, Mr. Samuels's eyes locked with Martin's, the way they sometimes did in class. Martin met Mr. Samuels's gaze, feeling a kind of power over the teacher, until Leon caught their exchange and scowled.

After the Veterans Day speeches, Mr. Samuels gave Martin a ride home, telling Martin that he reminded him of a young Thomas Wolfe. The teacher's nervous hand reached out to him, then drew back, then reached out again to rest on Martin's leg, where Martin let it stay. They parked on a side road, and Martin allowed Mr. Samuels to put a hand down his pants and stroke him there, then touched Mr. Samuels the same way, feeling pleased and terrified when the teacher climaxed, losing all dignity.

Martin hoped Mr. Samuels hadn't left because of what they did together. He hoped he had simply decided to go in search of a place big enough to have crevices and folds, hiding places for men like that. Men like Martin. Willoby County, for all its mountainous topography, was as flat as Kansas when it came to places of privacy.

*  *  *

Martin spotted the brick facade of the liquor store, squeezed between an antiques store on one side and the Junior League Bargain Box on the other. He quickened his pace. When he pushed through the door a bell announced his entry, and the clerk called a greeting from the back. All those nice, full bottles. He felt himself relax. He arranged his coat on his arm, figuring out how best to cover his Scotch bottle on the walk back to Eugenia's.