Authors: Olive Ann Burns
Later I couldn't help but try and imagine what it would be like dancing with Lightfoot McLendon. In my mind I saw her in a silk ball gown, smiling up at me as I held her, and us circling and whirling.
I still thought about Lightfoot a lot, and still wondered sometimes if she hated me for kissing her. But I was too busy to moon over it much. Things had got real bad at the store.
Aunt Loma kept pestering Grandpa for a job. He didn't pay her any mind, but he did start saying he had to hire somebody. One morning before school I was stacking big sacks of cow feed and guano outside against the brick wall of the store when Grandpa ambled out, spat brown tobacco juice through a crack in the board sidewalk, and said, "Will Tweedy, you know the mill boy thet come in here a while back wantin' a job? What's his name, son?"
I knew right off who and what he had in mind, and it made me mad as heck. But all I said was, "Hosie Roach?"
"Thet's the one. Is he in school this term?"
"Yessir."
"How old you reckon Hosie is? He ain't a real big boy, as I recollect. But he's some older'n you, ain't he?"
"Yessir. He's prob'ly twenty. Maybe twenty-one." I couldn't help adding, "And still ain't finished school."
"Well, he seemed right smart to me." Grandpa had sense enough to know the reason Hosie hadn't graduated was that he worked a lot at the cotton mill and couldn't get to school regular. "I liked thet boy. Tell him to come see me this evenin', son. I got to git me some more hep."
I told Hosie what Grandpa said. He didn't jump up and down about it like I thought he would. Didn't even let on he was excited. But he couldn't hide the deep flush that came on his face.
"Tell Mr. Blakeslee I cain't come today," he said, putting his scaly hands in the pockets of his dirty, ragged overalls. "Tell him I'll be by t'morrer."
"He ain't go'n like it, you not comin' when he said to." I spoke hateful. "He's used to folks sayin' yessir when he tells'm something."
Hosie flushed again. I swear he looked like my dog T.R. when he's ashamed and trying to wag his tail and drag his belly at the same time. "Will," said Hosie, "be shore and say I'll see him t'morrer, hear. Tell him I'll be by fore school takes in."
I fell in step with Grandpa next morning as he left our house after his snort. "I'm goin' by the store and get me a pencil," I said.
Crossing North Main, with T.R. trotting ahead, I decided to speak up about Hosie Roach. "There ain't but four things wrong with him, Grandpa."
"What, son? Besides he's a mill boy."
"Some folks in Cold Sassy will think when it comes to workin' at your store, him bein' a linthead is enough and too much." I was being real smart-aleck. "Main thing, sir, he's got cooties and the itch and he stinks."
"He was clean as you thet day he come in astin' for a job."
"Well, he ain't clean when he comes to school. He don't grow much beard, but his hair's so long and tangled and dirty it looks like a dern cootie stable, haw!"
Hosie was waiting in front of the store when we got there. I didn't hardly recognize him.
Naturally he was barefooted, and his feet were cracked and bleeding from the cold. But he had on new overalls and a clean long-sleeved denim shirt. His face was shaved smooth and scrubbed raw, the tow hair clean and wet-combed.
I knew now why Hosie wouldn't stop by yesterday. He was too proud to show up dirty. He must of scrubbed himself from suppertime to midnight.
"I come to see about the job, sir," he said as Grandpa unlocked the big door. "Sir, I hope you ain't a'ready hired somebody."
"Come on in, son." I knew Grandpa was surprised at Hosie being so clean, after what I said, but I could see it pleased him.
While he went behind the counter to unlock the cash register, I walked over to the rack where the tablets and pencils were. But of course all I really had on my mind was Hosie Roach.
If he got hired, it wouldn't be Uncle Camp he'd be replacing. It would be me. He'd get the floors swept and the stock put out every morning in no time. Within a week he would find a hundred ways to make himself useful. Without being asked, he'd get the chickens crated up to ship to Atlanta, and the cars washed, and I don't know what all. Lord, smart as Hosie was, it wouldn't be any time before he'd know how to drive and start taking people out for demonstration rides. And unless folks didn't want his hands on their foodstuff, he'd soon be weighing up sugar and flour and drawing molasses out of the barrel.
Hosie wasn't any better worker than me. But whereas I always had to go home in time to milk and bring in stovewood, he could stay all night if Grandpa wanted him to. And whereas my daddy always asked how much Latin or geometry I had to do that night, and lots of times made me go home early to get at it, Hosie would of course quit school if he got the job.
Bad as he wanted to leave the mill and amount to something, Hosie would be equal to ten of Uncle Camp plus maybe two of me, and Grandpa would respect him. Jealousy rose in me like a pain as I heard them talking terms.
Grandpa had sense enough to know how cheap a linthead would work. However little he paid, it would be more than Hosie made at the mill. He would cost more than me, since I didn't get paid anything, being in the family, but he would be cheaper than Uncle Camp, who had to be paid enough for him and Aunt Loma to live on.
The whole idea of it made me mad.
I was fixing to call the dog and go on to school when I heard Grandpa ask Hosie if he had cooties.
Hosie would of hit any town boy at school who even mentioned such. I stood there hoping he'd hit Grandpa. Because if he did, that would be the end of that.
"I ain't wantin' to shame you, boy," Grandpa said, propping his left elbow on the oak counter top and leaning forward. "I jest got to make shore. If'n we bring cooties in here, or the seven-year itch, I ain't go'n have no customers."
"Yessir. I unner-stand, sir." And Hosie turned to leave.
"Wait a minute now. I ain't said I cain't hire you, son. But most folks gits the itch now and agin, so lemme tell you what to do—if'n you got it or if'n you git it. Will Tweedy?" Hosie jerked around. He must not of known I was still there. "Go in the storeroom, Will, and open up thet case a-Siticide. Bring me a bottle for Hosie."
Why did he have to say that? Oh, well, let him make Hosie mad. Nothing I'd welcome more than to take on Hosie Roach at recess today.
"You heard about Siticide?" asked Grandpa.
"Naw, sir."
"Well, it's itch medicine. Use it at night, not when you comin' to work, cause it's the stinkin'est stuff you ever come acrost in yore life. Got sulfur in it. Makes the skin yaller and you'll smell like a rotten aigg. But by dang it'll cure the itch. Dr. Lem Sharp over in Harmony Grove invented it—Commerce, you know. Dr. Lem ships the stuff all over the United States of America, so it's got to be good."
"Yessir." Hope was rising in Hosie's face.
"Now bout cooties. I ain't a-sayin' you got'm, but we cain't be too careful. What you want to do is git yore ma to cut yore hair short—short as mine. Wash yore head with lye soap ever night for a while, and use you one a-them fine-tooth combs to git the nits out. Y'all got one them combs, boy?"
"Naw, sir."
Grandpa reached up on the shelf back of him, but the comb box was empty. "I'll order some from the wholesale house, son. We do a real good bizness in fine-tooth combs. Lots a-town folks got trouble with them critters." He didn't say that town people with cooties were usually teachers or children who'd caught them at school from lintheads.
Hosie bent over to pet T.R., I guess so his red face wouldn't show. Finally he said, "Mr. Blakeslee, I can start work today. I'm ready and willin', sir."
"Naw, not today," said Grandpa. "Naw, you go git squared away at school, son, and git yore hair cut and all. T'morrer will be jest fine."
Like I said, Grandpa could get away with anything.
And he had finally done what the school superintendent never could. He'd made Hosie Roach willing to quit school.
Mama had a fit when Papa told her about Hosie being hired. She said Grandpa was crazy to think town folks would accept a mill boy in the store. "Well, maybe y'all can keep him in the back," she decided. "You really got to have some hep."
Papa and Cudn Hopewell Stump opened up next morning, but Hosie was there ahead of them. He had found a broom out back and was sweeping the board sidewalk in front of the store when they walked up. "Lord, Mary Willis, we didn't know who he was!" Papa said at dinner. "That boy was bald as a newborn babe!"
Hosie hadn't just got his hair cut. He'd shaved his head. I really resented him wanting to please all that bad. Especially after Papa asked could I spare an old cap so Hosie wouldn't look so funny.
Papa was real impressed with Hosie.
***
The next week Miss Love told Grandpa the store ought to have a milliner, and offered to teach Loma. She thought Loma might have a real knack for hats. Grandpa didn't exactly promise the job, but he said it shore would be nice if she could earn her keep, which may of been what Miss Love had in mind. Anyhow, it wasn't long before the two of them came down to the store and set up the millinery table again, and Miss Love put a sign in the window saying Mrs. Loma Williams was under her tutelage and was ready to accommodate customers for new Easter hats at a special low price.
Loma was in hog heaven, being out in public again. I never knew she could act so nice to people. The ladies of Cold Sassy were only too glad to help her get started, knowing Miss Love would lay a hand on every hat, and all the men asked Grandpa how come he waited so long to bring his pretty daughter into the store.
"Jest never thought to," said Grandpa, grinning proud and draping his arm around Loma's shoulders. "Ifn she'd a-been a boy, I'd a-had her down here from the day she was born."
Loma looked pleased. I hadn't really hated her for a good while, but I hated her right then. I knew if she worked hard she could worm her way into Grandpa's good graces. And the same with Hosie. Between the two of them, Grandpa might not even notice when I went off to the University.
And would the store ever be quite the same, now that two of the people I couldn't stand were there every day?
I
SHAVED
for the first time on my fifteenth birthday. Went to school with little pieces of paper stuck on my face to stop the bleeding.
That was the thirtieth day of April. Peonies and flag lilies and poppies were blooming in people's yards, and roses and sweet William, mountain laurel and bleeding heart. And boy howdy, I was fifteen years old!
Smiley and them gave me fifteen licks at recess, one for each year. Then after school they rubbed smut on my face. When I went to the boys' washroom to get it off, I looked in the mirror and, gosh, it was like I'd grown a black beard.
What it was, they were jealous of me being the first to shave.
I like to of never got the smut off. My face was still streaked when I headed for the store. I was already late, and as I hurried by the Presbyterian church, a girl's voice called from behind a big beauty bush in full bloom. "Will?"
It was Lightfoot!
"Will, kin you talk a minute?" She peeped around the beauty bush. "You got time? Jest for a minute?"
Glancing quickly up and down the street, I ducked around where she was. Gosh, she looked pretty! Her face wasn't pinched from thinness and sorrow like the last time I saw her. The ivory skin glowed against the deep blue of her dress. Like in my dreams, her hair hung loose and shone like platinum.
"Lightfoot?" I'd thought so many times what I'd say when I finally saw her again, but now I was tongue-tied and embarrassed. "Uh, you all right?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. I knowed you ne'ly always come by here goin' to the store from school, but I 'as jest fixin' to give you up. You must a-had to stay in."
"Naw, I just had to wash my face." I rubbed my chin. "Boys put smut on me. It's my birthday today. I'm fifteen."
"Well, thet's nice. I 'as fifteen two months ago."
Gosh, I hadn't thought about her being older than me. "Uh, you gettin' on all right, Lightfoot?" I asked again.
"Pretty good. How you doin', Will?"
"Fine. Uh, my grandpa bought a Pierce car and I drive it for him."
"Yeah, I heerd."
"You did?"
"Hosie told me."
"Oh. Well, uh, with the weather gettin' nice I reckon we go'n be takin' trips again soon. Uh, Lightfoot, I been hopin' to see you again. I wanted, uh, I mean I owe you a apology for—you know, in the cemetery that day. I didn't mean to do it. I—"
"Thet's over and done with, Will." She put her hand on my arm. "And it's one reason I come. You so nice, I knowed you'd feel bad bout thet day. I shore was sorry the lady had sech a fit at you, but I ain't sorry you wanted to comfort me. Maybe I oughtn't to say it, but I ain't never go'n forgit thet time with you."
I dared to put my hand on her hand that was on my arm, and where it had seemed like a million years since I kissed her, all of a sudden it was no more than a day. "Lightfoot, if you ain't mad, why'd you wait so long to say so? Why you sayin' it now?"
"Will, uh—" She flushed and pulled away. "I jest wanted you to know before—" She faltered. "Uh, how's Miss Neppie? She 'as real nice to me."
"She's fine. But she ain't my teacher now. You go'n get to come back to school next year?"
"No. But I been studyin' Hosie's books, Will. I ain't go'n quit larnin', no matter what."
"School ain't been the same with you not there."
Smiling, she put her hand in her pocket and held out a big buckeye. "Would you take it, Will? For luck, and to remember me by? I brung it with me from White County when we come down here. I, uh, I ain't a-go'n need it no more now."
Something about her tone made me suspicion what this was all about. "Lightfoot, are you sayin' good-bye to me?"
She said. "Will, I ... I mostly come to make thangs right betwixt us, whilst I'm still free to. I wanted you to know I never thought hard a-you for—you know. And yeah, I reckon thet's it. I come to say good-bye."
"Where you goin'? Back to White County?" I thought I couldn't stand it, not ever to see her again.