“How . . . could you? You’ve shamed us as this family has never been shamed before.”
Chris snorted.
Mrs. Austin’s eyes filled with tears, and her lips trembled in a way that had always before been effective in getting her menfolk to do as she wanted.
“It’ll be all over town, all over the county, that you’ve . . . you’ve been seen with that hussy and her bastard. We didn’t raise you to chum up with . . . trash!”
“How do you know that she’s trash?” Chris felt a burst of anger, but kept his voice calm. “You’re taking the word of that old gossip, Mrs. Miller.”
“Don’t blame Mrs. Miller for seeing what’s plain as the nose on your face. That girl had a little bastard, didn’t she? She’s not married, is she? How much plainer can it be?”
“Did you ever stop to think that maybe Opal had been raped?”
“Ha! Is that her story? Raped! I’ve never heard of a whore being raped. Don’t you dare leave when I’m talking to you,” she said angrily when Chris got to his feet. “I had such high hopes for you. There are plenty of
decent
girls you could have had.”
Chris looked at his father. He was staring down at his half-empty coffee cup.
No help there.
“Since I was in high school you’ve done everything you could to force me on Henry Ann. You could never understand that we were
friends
and nothing more.”
“There is no such thing as
friends
between a healthy male and a young female.”
“Godamighty!”
“Don’t you swear in my house!”
“That’s just it, Mama. It’s always been
your
house, not
our
house.” Chris threw up his hands. Tonight he was seeing his mother as he’d not seen her before. He had always known that she was overbearing and manipulative, but now he realized that she was also mean.
“I’ll admit that I was wrong about Henry Ann. She’s Dorene Perry’s daughter after all. She would’ve never been allowed to carry on with a
married
man if Ed Henry had lived. Breaking up that poor woman’s home with her sick in bed is a shame, is what it is.”
“What in the world are you talking about?” Chris demanded, his hands going to the back of the chair. He leaned over the table to glare at his mother’s angry face.
“You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. She’s had Tom Dolan’s boy living with her for over a month now. Everyone knows he slips over there at night and . . . makes himself at home.”
“Tom Dolan goes to see his boy. Mrs. Dolan is too ill to take care of him. Instead of praising Henry Ann for doing a good neighborly deed, you accuse her of having an affair with a married man.”
“That isn’t all. Your daddy said someone’s been in that old shed at the end of the woods. He found a pair of women’s drawers there. It’s a handy place for Henry Ann to meet her lover,” Mrs. Austin said spitefully. “Wait until the church folks hear that Karen has been a party to what’s going on over there.”
“And what else is going on?” Chris asked calmly.
“That brother of Henry Ann’s isn’t worth shooting. I never saw a half-breed that was. Pete Perry hangs around over there, and everyone knows what he is. She took in a hobo off the road, didn’t she? What for, pray tell? I offered to send you over to help her. And I declare. I never thought a Henry would sink so low as to take a colored in and treat her like a member of the family. How could you sit there on the porch and eat with a darkie?”
“It was easy, if you must know.” Chris glanced at his father who sat with his head bowed, then back to his mother. “So
you
offered to send me over to help Henry Ann. That was generous of you, Mama. How do you feel about this, Daddy?”
“I’ve . . . not given it much thought, son.” Mr. Austin looked pained.
“I’ll never forgive Henry Ann for ruining your reputation by inviting you to her home with that woman there and not explaining to Mrs. Miller that . . . that it was an accidental meeting.”
“Why should she do that? It wasn’t an accidental meeting. She invited me to come for ice cream, and I took Opal with me. She wasn’t obliged to tell that old busybody anything.”
“You . . . took her in
our
car!” His mother gasped and looked as if she would swoon.
“Yes, Mama. It may shock you to know that I consider that car as much mine as yours and Daddy’s. The money to buy it came from this farm. I’ve worked my butt off here since I was big enough to walk behind a plow.”
“You were fed and clothed and—”
“It’s a waste of time to argue with you. You’ve made up your mind about Henry Ann as well as about Opal, and there’s nothing I can do to change it. I’m going to bed.”
As Chris left the room, his mother broke into a storm of weeping.
* * *
On Mud Creek, Pete Perry sat at the kitchen table and sipped whiskey from a fruit jar. His eyes were swollen and ringed with dark bruises. The cut on his cheekbone had stopped bleeding. Hardy had pulled it together and held it there with a strip of sticky tape.
“Feller musta been some fighter,” Hardy remarked.
“It wasn’t fair. That old road bum wore leather gloves.” Isabel sat at the table restringing the glass beads she had taken from Henry Ann’s room.
“Shut up harpin’ ’bout it not bein’ fair,” Pete snapped. “It was fair. I got whopped, and I ain’t denyin’ it.”
“But he wore . . . gloves.”
“I could’ve wore gloves. Didn’t have any.” He flexed the fingers on his right hand. “I’m gonna get some.”
“Will we still dance at the marathon?” Isabel asked timidly.
“Use your brains. Of course we’ll dance at the marathon.”
“Ain’t no reason to snap at the girl,” Hardy growled, and sprinkled loose tobacco into a cigarette paper. Then to Isabel, “Hand me that box of matches, honey.”
Pete snorted with disgust. “Honey! You got the hots for her, Hardy? Ain’t she a mite young even for you?”
“Yore ma was fourteen when she had you, and I wasn’t the first to get to her. Issy, here, is a mite older’n that.”
“Yeah? How old was Jude’s ma?”
“Don’t likely remember. Som’er’s around there.”
“You like that tender stuff, don’t you, Hardy?” Pete asked nastily.
Hardy knew that his son was in a fighting mood. His pride was hurt when he was whipped in front of Henry Ann, yet he was man enough to admit that it had been a fair fight. Hardy knew when to hold on to his temper. He did that now.
“Issy says that Opal and her kid were at the Henrys’ with Austin.”
“Yeah? What about it?”
“Ain’t he gettin’ in yore henhouse, boy?”
“It botherin’ you that Opal’s got a feller?”
“I don’t give a shit if she’s got a hundred fellers!” Hardy’s control snapped, and he shouted so loudly the dogs began to bark. “She ain’t the only willin’ woman on Mud Creek.”
“She ain’t willin’! Damn you to hell! I been tellin’ ya that!” Pete shouted back then winced as it hurt his jaw to open his mouth so wide. “Stay away from her.”
“What the hell’s the matter with ya, boy? Ya ain’t got a rope on ever’ woman in the county jist cause most of them is willin’ to spread for ya.”
“I ain’t got a rope on
ever
’ woman, just a few. But them that’s mine is mine, old man. You can have Issy after the marathon.”
“Ain’t I gonna have no say in that?” Isabel blurted. The men ignored her.
“Cousin Wally come on to a pretty woman along that creek that runs by the Henry place.” Hardy spoke after a small silence. “She was sitting on a quilt a combin’ her hair. He said she was right friendly.”
“That’d be Tom Dolan’s wife. She’s pretty but somethin’s screwed up in her head. She’s got a loose spring. I ain’t never seen a woman who wanted a man so bad ’cept maybe for a whore who needed to pay the rent.”
“Cousin Wally wouldn’t care if somethin’ was wrong with her head as long as the other end was in working order.”
The screen door opened, and Jude came in. For a moment he stood looking at them.
“Where’ve you been?” Hardy growled.
“Well, let’s see. The governor invited me to a party. Didn’t see you there, Brother. You must’a been busy somewhere else from the looks of your ugly mug. Did you finally meet up with somebody you couldn’t bully?”
“What do you care?”
“I don’t. Just wish I’d been there to see you get busted in the mouth.”
“Yore smart mouth is goin’ to get yore jaws slapped,” Pete threatened.
“Yeah? Well, it’s happened before.” Jude picked up a knife and cut himself off a hunk of meat from the pan on the stove. “All we ever have anymore is beef. Why don’t we have potatoes and bread and garden stuff?”
“Potatoes are in the cellar. Cook up a mess anytimes ya want.” Hardy said.
“Why don’t you make
Miss Issy Belle
cook?” Jude pointed the knife at Isabel as he chewed. She stuck her tongue out at him. “She ought to be good for something beside dancing and whoring.”
“Watch your mouth, boy,” Hardy snarled.
“And I’m getting tired sleeping on the porch. I want my bed back. Let her sleep with Pete. It’s what she come here for,” he said, ignoring his father’s warning.
“You’ll get yore bed back as soon as she and Pete go to the marathon.”
“When’s that going to be?”
“Another week, Mr. Smarty,” Isabel said. “I’ll be glad to see the last of you. You ain’t nothin’ but a wet-eared kid.”
“So you’re not coming back here? That’s the best news I’ve heard since Hardy broke the spring on the Victrola. What’er you going to do? Set up your own house with a red light out front? You’ll starve. Who’d want to hump your skinny bones?”
“Enough!” Hardy shouted so loud that Isabel winced. “You show a little respect. Hear?”
“Respect?” Jude stuck the knife back in the hunk of meat in the pan, put his hands on his hips and glared at the older man.
“Ya heard me!”
“Are you plannin’ on makin’ that little twister my new stepmama, Hardy? Huh? Huh?”
There was no answer, and Jude stomped out.