Authors: Olive Ann Burns
Grandpa stopped to move a little and his face twisted with pain. But he went on. "Jesus meant us to ast God to hep us stand the pain, not beg Him to take the pain away. We can ast for comfort and hope and patience and courage, and to be gracious when thangs ain't goin' our way, and we'll git what we ast for. They ain't no gar'ntee thet we ain't go'n have no troubles and ain't go'n die. But shore as frogs croak and cows bellow, God'll forgive us if'n we ast Him to."
"He will also help us be forgiving," said Miss Love, smiling. "Rucker, why don't you try to forgive Clem Crummy? You really ought to take your name off his hotel. You got even with him. Isn't that enough?"
Grandpa laughed. "Not quite. I want to rub his face in the dirt a while fore I let him up, Love. Somebody's got to learn him better than to cheat folks, else he's liable to land in jail. Besides, me and God ain't got time for Clem right now. We too busy tryin' to make a challenge out a-them broke ribs and this here twisted knee. And I'm busy tryin' to accept the loss a-my dignity."
Out there in the cool hall, afraid even to wiggle my foot lest they hear me, I wondered if I could ever accept Lightfoot McLendon marrying Hosie Roach.
"Well, Miz Blakeslee," Grandpa said, running his hand down the side of her waist and hip and thigh, "do you think thet's what Jesus might a-meant? Don't it make sense?"
She thought a minute. "If you talked like this at a Wednesday night prayer meeting, Rucker, most people would walk out. They'd say you're not a Christian and shouldn't be allowed to speak in God's house. But to me it makes beautiful sense. Thank you for it."
"Remind me to tell Will Tweedy, hear."
I slid down to the floor. Just by peeping around the door frame, I could still see them if I wanted to. But what I wanted to do was ponder what all Grandpa had just said.
Then Miss Love changed the subject and I had to listen instead of think. "Rucker, do you know they've made up a committee to find a new name for Cold Sassy?"
"I heard. But they'll change Cold Sassy over my dead body."
"What if they named it Blakeslee? Wouldn't you like that? Our name being on the map might help us sell cars."
He laughed. "Blakeslee is too much like Blakely. Thet's a town in south Georgia. Anyhow, the Blakeslees warn't nothin' special to the town."
"You're special to the town."
"Yeah, but not like Miss Mattie Lou. Now she was descended from two pioneer fam'lies, the Toys and the Willises both. But Toy would be a silly name for a town, and Willis ain't much better." Grandpa paused. "Will Tweedy's name ain't William, you know. Hit's Willis."
Trying again to get comfortable, Grandpa moved his arm up from Miss Love's stomach and by gosh let his hand rest right between her bosoms! And like she didn't even notice where his hand was, she moved her head over on his shoulder. Her breath quickened as his fingers traced the curve of her neck and wandered careless toward the soft flesh below.
"God hep me, Love," he said softly, "I ain't so bad hurt I don't feel nothin'!"
She didn't say a word. The smile left her face and her lips parted.
If you thought about it, me spying on them through the slit of space between the open door and the door frame was right humorous. But what was funny as heck was Grandpa with that bruised, swelled-up nose, the big knot like a horn on his forehead, the black eyes like a dern raccoon's mask, the scab over one eye like a sword slash on a pirate, the itchy three-day sprouting of gray whiskers—and Miss Love gazing at him like he was Prince Charming come to the costume ball dressed up as a toady frog.
"What do you think about Enterprise?" she asked sleepily. "Or Progressive City? What about Sheffield? Those were suggested in last week's paper."
"Any one a-them names on a postmark would bore me to death, jest like Commerce does. They say a Englishman come th'ew Harmony Grove in nineteen aught-one, sellin' silverware. The next year he come th'ew agin and like to had a fit when he seen 'Welcome to Commerce' where it used to say 'Welcome to Harmony Grove.' He'd sent in Harmony Grove to name a new park over in England and it won him a five-hundret-dollar prize, but over on this side a-the ocean, folks thought it sounded tacky and countrified."
"Cold Sassy wouldn't win a prize anywhere," Miss Love said. "Admit that."
"Naw, it wouldn't. But it suits the town."
"You suit me, Rucker." Her eyes all shiny, she looked at him and murmured, "The last few months with you..." Her lips trembled. "Dear Rucker, I think you know, but I want to say it. This has been the only really happy time of my whole life."
Grandpa smiled and touched her hair. "I cain't say it's the onliest happy time for me, ma'am. But they shore ain't never been any to equal it!"
She giggled. "Now quit sayin'
ma'am
to me. That's what people call old ladies, or their betters."
"You're my better."
"No, I ain't, I'm just your—" A look of surprise crossed her face and she burst out laughing. "Good Lord, Rucker, I just said
ain't!
Before you know it I'll be saying
hit ain't!
"
He tried not to laugh, to save his ribs. "Well, come 'ere, honey. Learn me how to talk right." Wincing, Grandpa pulled her close and kissed her, hard. Then, keeping his mouth on hers, he loosed the pins from her hair. Just as it fell around her neck in a wavy brown mass, he jerked away. "Yore dang nose!" he yelped. "Hit hit my nose!" Quick tears filled his eyes. Then he whispered, "Didn't hurt a-tall," and kissed her again—but a lot more careful.
Long minutes later, I heard her whisper, "If I held you tight as I want to, Rucker, your nose and your ribs and your knee couldn't stand the pain."
"Then don't do it," he whispered back, kissing each freckled cheek. "I can tell you, pain don't do nothin' for ro-mance!"
"Remember that when you rub stiff whiskers on my face and I say
ouch
instead of
oh darling.
"
He rubbed his chin against her cheek. "Well'm, they ain't stiff now."
"Don't say
well'm.
"
"All right'm." He laughed, and kissed her again.
"Oh, dear, dear man. I love you. I love you."
They quit talking then, and drifted off to sleep, and I tiptoed out.
I was ashamed of myself, and embarrassed. But by golly, I had my missing last chapter. If Grandpa and Miss Love weren't already living happy ever after, they would be soon as he got well.
***
But the last chapter wasn't finished.
By middle of the week, Grandpa was coughing and running a little fever. By Friday it hurt him to breathe and it like to killed him when he coughed. Mama went down and stayed all day. Doc came by every chance he could.
Saturday morning, just as we sat down to breakfast, here came little Timmy Hopkins, saying Miz Blakeslee wanted Mr. Hoyt to ring up Dr. Slaughter. Said tell him Mr. Blakeslee was having a bad chill and he'd coughed up some dark, rusty sputum.
I
WENT
in the Cadillac to fetch Doc, who began fussing at Grandpa before he got in the room hardly. "I don't care if it does hurt to breathe, Rucker, you got to git some air down there." He put his hand on Grandpa's forehead. "Hot as a firecracker!"
Despite all the blankets on him, Grandpa was shaking like a dog pulled out of a frozen pond. As Dr. Slaughter bent over him with the stethoscope, he asked, "Wh-wh-what you th-think I g-got, D-Doc?"
"Shet up, Rucker. I cain't hear with you a-talkin'.'
Doc listened all over his chest and his back, too. "Where does it hurt when you cough?"
"B-b-between my sh-shoulder blades. You r-reckon it's a t-tetch a-pleurisy?"
Doc straightened up. "Naw, it's a tetch of pneumonia, Rucker. More'n a tetch, tell you the truth. I can hear the rales. But you're strong as a ox, you know. You go'n pull th'ew all right."
Out in the hall, though, Dr. Slaughter told us he was worried. "Rucker's tough, but losin' all thet blood ain't go'n hep, and he shore could do without them broke ribs. He could do without the pneumonia, for thet matter." He sighed.
"I don't understand," said Miss Love, dazed. "I thought I was doing all I should for him. But he got worse so fast."
"Hit ain't your fault, honey. Thet's the way pneumonia is. Hit comes on with a bang, then it has to run its course, and we won't know which way it'll go till the crisis comes." Doc put on his hat. "Now listen to me, Miss Love," he said. "Rucker's fever is aw-ready a hundret and five. Hit could go lots higher. For shore, he's go'n git lots worse fore he gits better. So you let Mary Willis and Loma come up here and hep with the nursin'. You hear me?"
"I couldn't ask them to do that."
"You ain't got to ast'm. You jest got to let'm. Soon as he gits over the chill, y'all go'n be spongin' him off night and day. We got to keep his fever down, else it might cook his brains. You understand, Miss Love? And keep the windows open. He needs fresh air. Don't let the whole dang fam'ly set in there around the bed, usin' up the oxygen."
My mother and Aunt Loma arrived right after he left, just as Doc knew they would. After school I went to the store as usual, but Papa told me to go on to Grandpa's and stay there. "Get the chores done," he said, "and be there in case they need to send for hep. Too bad Miss Love ain't got a telephone."
It was awful, listening to Grandpa cough and hack and moan. I was glad to go get busy outside. In my mind I can still picture Granny's rose garden that day, the bushes decorated with buds and blossoms. But at the time I just glanced at the garden and went on to the barn to see after the animals.
While I was pitching hay, Miss Love came out and stood by the pasture gate. I climbed down from the loft to see if she needed anything, but she just shook her head, watching as Mr. Beautiful galloped up and put his head over the railing to be petted. She rubbed his ears and stroked his neck, but her mind wasn't on him.
"If your grandfather dies," she said bitterly, "I won't stay in Cold Sassy any longer than it takes to sell the house. I hate this town. It's like life. It gives, and then it takes away."
I couldn't bear the thought of Cold Sassy without Grandpa or her, either one. As we started back to the house, I begged her, "Ma'am, don't give up on him. Like Doc said, he's strong. He's go'n get well. Hear?"
That night we were all there for supper, even Mary Toy and Campbell Junior. Miss Love sponged Grandpa off while the rest of us ate.
Mama was just leaving the table to take her turn with him when we heard Grandpa say, real loud, "Miss Love, you better git on back to the store now...." He paused for breath. "We're much obliged, but Miss Mattie Lou don't need no more hep."
Forks clattered onto plates as Papa and Aunt Loma and I jumped up and dashed to the sickroom, leaving Mary Toy and poor little Campbell Junior sitting there, confused and scared. We got to the bedroom door in time to hear Grandpa say, "Best go on now, Miss Love. They short-handed at the store."
"But I live here, Rucker! Remember? I'm your—"
"Miss Mattie Lou?" Looking toward the door, not seeing us at all, he said brightly, "You want to serve Miss Love some cake? She's got to get back to the store terreckly."
Grandpa had a bad spell of coughing then. Soon as he could speak, he said, "Did you ever git Miss Pauline's hat finished, Miss Love? She come in yesterd'y, astin' bout it."
"Call me Love, Rucker," she begged, kneeling down by the bed so she could look right in his face. "Please, call me Love!"
Trying hard not to cough again—it hurt so bad—and looking right at her, he asked Miss Mattie Lou for some water.
At that, Miss Love rose to her feet, tears streaming down her cheeks. My mother reached out like to a hurt child, and Miss Love stumbled into her arms.
I couldn't stand it. I fled to the back porch, knelt down by the tall slab table, and begged God to let Grandpa get well.
Mama and I stayed all night, her taking turns with Miss Love at the sickbed. The fever raged despite all the sponging, and Grandpa couldn't sleep for coughing and talking. Sometimes he just mumbled gibberish. Other times it was real sentences, but they didn't make sense. Then again he'd speak clear as anything, telling jokes or carrying on a conversation with some person we couldn't see.
For a while Grandpa was back in the War with his daddy. There would be a handful of words; then he'd get quiet and Miss Love would say he's gone to sleep, thank God. But soon he'd take up where he left off. I remember him mumbling something about a battlefield. "Hit was awful, Pa.... All them dead Yankees layin' there. I tried to find you ... some boots, but they jest warn't none left.... Our boys had done hepped theirselves."
He talked about seeing a Yankee balloon. "Pa, you reckon they spotted our battle-ments? Ifn they did, Lord hep us!" And Grandpa sat bolt upright in the bed. I helped Miss Love ease him back down on his side. "Who're you, ma'am?" he asked as his eyes focused.
Remembering that Grandpa had been a boy like me in the War, she said, "I'm your nurse, son. They—uh, they brought you to the hospital."
"Where's my daddy at?"
"Uh, on the next cot. But let's don't wake him up. He's worn out."
"We ain't go'n march t'morrer?" He pulled nervous at his whiskers.
"No. Don't talk anymore now. Try to rest."
I brought in another pan of water. Miss Love wrung out the towel again and slowly, so weary, she wiped his back and his neck, his face and arms and then his legs. After while he seemed to sleep, but in no time was coughing again and talking.
He wasn't in the War now. He was with Miss Mattie Lou—coughing and mumbling disconnected sentences picked out of the air from this or that time in their life. He was a Graphophone record kept on a shelf for thirty years and getting played again now. His eyes were unnatural bright, his breathing short and fast and difficult, and what he coughed up was tinged with bright red blood.
About ten o'clock, Mama talked Miss Love into lying down a while, "even if you cain't sleep."
As Mama bent over the wash basin on the floor to wring out a towel, Grandpa fixed his eyes on her. But it was Granny that he saw. "Miss Mattie Lou ... they's something I got to confess, hon.... You deserve ... to know what kind a-man ... you done pledged yoreself to marry."