A Far Piece to Canaan (44 page)

The statement was followed by an “Uh-huh” from Jenny, who was giving her husband that look every married man knows.

“I'm just sayin' what was,” said Melvin, turning toward his wife, a sheepish grin on his face. “I was never sweet on her. I liked younger women with red hair.” Jenny gave her husband a secret
That's probably BS but I still like it
smile.

During the next hour we covered a lot of people. Finally, there was no way to avoid the issue. Both of us felt uneasy and it was up to me to ask the question. “What happened to the Mulligans after we moved away, Melvin?”

Melvin shook his head. “Been dreadin' this. Reckon there's no easy way t' tell hit, so I just will. After y'all left, Thelma Jean got hit by a car while she was walkin' on th' highway and was killed. She was just moseyin' along, not payin' attention t' nothin', and it after dark. She wudn't right in the head. Y'all hadn't been gone but a few months.”

My mind immediately resurrected Thelma Jean walking heel to toe up the Dry Branch Road so engrossed in her little world that she was oblivious to everything else. Poor Thelma Jean. That terrible winter night came back to me. I remembered how my hand felt as I stroked her back and hair, and the feel of her hot tears on my belly. “How did the family handle it?”

Melvin raised his brows. “Not too good.”

“How so?”

“Fred's mama, Mamie . . . she just fell apart. For a few days, hit looked like she wudn't gonna make it, but then she come around. Short time after that th' family moved t' Spears, and Annie Lee got a job waitin' tables at a little restaurant. Fred got some work there too, but he wudn't old enough for a regular job. I went down there a time or two t' see him. Hit was tiny, th' place they was livin'. Two rooms and a kitchen attached t' th' restaurant, but they were makin' hit. Then a year later, Mamie died. Fred wouldn't talk t' nobody but Annie Lee for nigh a year. Annie Lee pulled him out of hit, though, and they started doin' pretty good again, Fred drivin' a truck and with what Annie Lee made waitin' tables, everything settled down.”

Melvin stopped and I had the feeling only one shoe had fallen.

Jenny, who was at her gas range preparing supper, sought to rescue her husband. “Where do you live now, Mr. Zelinker?”

“New Hampshire.” Then I turned quickly to Melvin before she could save him again. “More to th' story, right?”

Melvin sighed. “Well, yeah. Annie Lee met a fella. They got married and moved to Arizona. Got to doin' pretty well, I heard. Anyway, Annie Lee never come back.”

Melvin fell quiet and stared down into his plate. There was a foreboding silence. The silence that comes just before a dawn artillery barrage.

“Where's Fred, Melvin?”

Melvin swallowed and his hands moved about the tabletop as though hunting for a place to exist. Finally he looked at me. “Fred killed hisself, Samuel.”

I think my heart stopped. Finally, I was able to ask. “What happened?”

Melvin swallowed, then cleared his throat. “Saw him couple days before he done hit. He was pretty far down, but I'd seen him that far down before. Didn't have any idea . . . he shot hisself in th' head. Feel sorry tellin' you all this 'cause I know y'all were close.”

I felt like I was smothering. “Folks, I need some air. I'll be back.”

“Awful hot,” said Melvin, as we rose from the table. “Maybe you ought not walk far.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jenny look at Melvin and barely shake her head.

“You goin' t' be all right, Mr. Zelinker?”

“Yes ma'am,” I said, then left the house and began walking the fields, my mind in turmoil, my very being slathered in guilt. I had no destination. When I came to a fence I either climbed it or walked beside it. Finally, I stopped on top of a ridge. The view before me, hills, tall trees, and green valleys, was beautiful. Then I recognized where I was—this was the ridge we sat on during the fox hunts. I could almost see the dogs milling around, the men leading them toward a thicket, hear the yodel-like baying of Maude. Most of all, I remembered Fred's grin in the firelight as the evening rested his soul.

I also remembered the first time my father's Lexington friends had passed along the message that Fred would “like to see old Samuel again.” I was in high school and we were at the supper table. I seemed to be perpetually unhappy, and I guess Dad was trying to cheer me up.

“Samuel, I heard from some folks who know Babe MacWerter. Babe told them Fred Mulligan said he'd like to see you. Want to go?”

“No.”

“Why not?” said Dad. “You and Fred Cody were best friends.”

I had shrugged and Dad hadn't followed up. What I had really wanted to tell him was that I never wanted to see hillbillies again. My youth and my desperate attempt to fit in with my peer group provided some semblance of an excuse.

The second invitation from Fred had come directly through Babe MacWerter. I was middle-aged and Dad was an old man who would be dead in a year. We were wandering around the farm looking at the livestock. He seemed hesitant to bring it up, probably because I was having problems at Leland-May and he wanted me to have some peace.

“Samuel, I heard from Babe MacWerter that Fred Mulligan wants to see you. It's only a few hundred miles to Lexington. Why don't we go this weekend? You can spend some time with Fred Cody and I can see Ike and Mr. Gollar.”

I didn't answer immediately, taking a moment to roll it around in my mind. Then I remembered the promise Fred and I had made each other. But I was tired and more than a little depressed. Nora and I had this brief moment away from my turmoil, and spending two days in Kentucky seemed unfair to us. “Dad, I just don't have it in me at the moment.”

Dad had just nodded. The cold truth was that I had buried that part of my life. I abandoned Fred. I had abandoned my best friend and he had killed himself!

I stood in the boiling heat and tried defending my soul. Fred and I were men when this occurred. Our promises had been made during childhood. Somehow, my defense didn't wash with my unforgiving sense of justice.

I needed to know more about the life and death of Fred Cody Mulligan.

A
half hour later I was sitting at the Langley kitchen table mopping my brow and drinking lemonade. I had said little since returning and my hosts were content to wait. Eventually, I decided I could discuss the issue. “Melvin . . . Jenny, I need to know about Fred's life. He was my best friend . . . risked his life for me, and after I left here, I never saw him again. I'd appreciate your being straightforward. Please don't worry about my feelings.”

Melvin and Jenny glanced at each other, then Jenny looked away as if to say,
You decide. He's your friend
.

Melvin took a sip of his lemonade and began talking. As he spoke, he held the icy glass in one hand, put the other hand in his pocket, and stared at the center of the table. “While you were gone, Jen and me talked about what I ought say if you asked about Fred. I wudn't gonna tell th' whole story 'cause I knew you two were close and so many years have gone by. I thought maybe hit was best t' just let hit go. But since you've asked th' way you have, I'm gonna tell hit th' way it happened.”

Melvin took another sip of lemonade, then turned toward me. “After Annie Lee got married and left, Fred had a hard time. Seemed like he was lost without Annie Lee and just stayed away from everybody. He still had a job drivin' a truck but he missed so much work th' company fired him. He started workin' odd jobs an' holed up in a little room he rented. I went over t' see him couple times but he hardly talked. It was really sad. One day I had t' go t' Berman's for somethin', and there he was, leanin' against th' tobacco barn. Well, I went over t' say hi and we talked. He was really down, said he'd lost everybody and would as soon die as live. Said he didn't wanta live th' way he was. I told him that wudn't any way t' talk 'cause we were young and had our whole lives. I got him t' go home with me, and Mom and Daddy told him t' stay with us 'til he felt better. While he was with us, he started doin' better. We went foxhuntin' a few times. Remember Mr. Rick and his hounds?”

I was so anguished by what Melvin was saying that it was several seconds before I realized he had asked me a question. “Y . . . yes. Did Fred ever ask about me?”

Melvin took a deep breath, and stared at his glass of lemonade. “Yeah, he did. He said he wished you was around, that you always helped him when he got down. I told him he ought go up t' Indiana and look you up. He never answered.”

It was a response I knew could only be true. “What happened after that, Melvin?”

“He straightened up and got a job in the construction trade and before long he was makin' good money. He rented a nice place t' live after that, then he met a girl named Sue Ellen Biggs. Few months later they got married. Fred was real happy.”

“Melvin and I went to the wedding. We'd just started dating,” said Jenny.

“What was Sue Ellen like?” I asked her.

“She was a real nice girl,” said Jenny, getting up to check the dinner she was preparing, speaking as she worked. “Sue Ellen was from South Carolina. A few months later, she and Fred moved there. They come for a visit some years later. They had a little daughter, cutest thing you ever looked at. We didn't see them again for . . . how long you figure, Melvin?”

Melvin cocked his head and thought. “Charles Edward had just started going to Middletown for junior high. That would of made hit about . . . thirteen years.”

I was apprehensive about my next question. “How were they doin'?”

“Great,” said Melvin. “Fred was makin' a fine livin' in th' building trades. They had their own home and Fred was driving a new Pontiac. Their daughter was just beautiful.”

“And that was the last time you saw him? I mean before . . .” From the other side of the kitchen, I heard the oven open, and the smell of fresh-baked biscuits joined the odor of fried chicken. “How about us all going in the dining room and having supper?” said Jenny. “We can finish this discussion later with a little bourbon and branch water.”

She's saving him again,
I thought. “Okay. I've never had bourbon with branch water.”

The fried chicken was from young fryers, the pieces small and sweet, but I couldn't eat and picked at my food.

When dinner was over, we sat quietly on the screened-in porch and sipped bourbon and branch water. I was comforted by the drink's soft sweet taste and musty fallen autumn leaves smell as we watched the late afternoon slip into dusk. It was a beautiful evening, and I was with beautiful people whose presence alone lifted my spirits. And drinking a lot of the bourbon and branch water, hoping it would blunt further pain that I knew was coming. Then a moment arrived when the conversation stopped.

Melvin cleared his throat. “You asked earlier if that was th' last time I saw Fred. He come back t' Lexington years later. He was havin' trouble. I went up t' see him. We talked for a while, then he told me what had happened. His daughter was a handful. When she got out of high school, she married somebody in the navy and they moved away from Charlotte. Fred and Sue Ellen almost never saw them. Then one day Sue Ellen had a heart attack and died and Fred just kinda fell apart. I asked him if he'd like t' come and stay with Jen and me for a while, but he said no, he'd be okay.”

“Did he . . . ask to see me, Melvin?”

Melvin nodded. “I knew your daddy was still livin' 'cause him and Babe MacWerter kept in contact. I told Fred I'd ask Babe t' get hold of your dad. He said he'd appreciate it. Reckon you never got th' word.”

Fortunately for me, I was full of bourbon. Then Jenny spoke:

“After Fred . . . died, Alfreda—that was his daughter's name—came t' th' funeral and looked after his affairs. She had a little girl of about two named Lisa June. She was real cute, and stayed with us a lot of weekends. Alfreda was divorced and got a job as a receptionist at Clay House. That's the fanciest restaurant in Kentucky, I think. She made good money. One day she met this rich fella from California and run off with him. I guess he didn't want Lisa June, because Alfreda left her with another couple who were her close friends. That couple split up when Lisa June was about eight. They both left th' state and Lisa June wound up in th' county home. We wanted to adopt her but th' county said we were too old. She spent some time in foster homes, then refused t' go anymore. She asked t' stay with us, but th' county refused us again.”

“Alfreda never came to see her?” I asked.

Melvin shook his head. “What I hear, Alfreda's had a great life out in California. Had a couple more kids . . . didn't want anything t' do with Mulligans or Lisa June or Kentucky.”

“It's a pity,” said Jenny, gazing through the screen of the porch. “Lisa June's a lovely child. Smart too. She's goin' to UK part-time. She wants t' be a schoolteacher.”

I felt as though the governor's call came through with a reprieve just as my executioner was about to push the button. I had to meet this girl. Surely there were things she needed and I could help her. At least I could make up a little for my miserable betrayal of her grandfather. “Jenny . . . would it be okay if I contacted her?”

A faint smile appeared on Jenny's face. “Want her phone number and address? Somethin' I forgot t' tell you—her last name's Winchester.”

“If I see her, I'll have to tell her that I got her name from you. That's not goin' t' cause you any problems with her, is it?”

Melvin laughed. “Them two are close as peas in a pod. Ain't gonna cause problems.”

Jenny asked, “Would you like me t' call her for you, Mr. Zelinker?”