Love and Lament (31 page)

“No, ma’am,” he replied. “Far be it from me to accept the generosity of a Methodist household and proselytize for my own brand of the faith.” It was meant as a light joke, but only Amanda laughed, in what seemed to Mary Bet a sarcastic way.

“I liked what you said this morning about sinners learning how to swim … what was it?” Mary Bet asked.

“Ah, swimming downstream toward the lake of fire. I don’t like scaring folks, but sometimes you have to paint a vivid picture to get ’em to pay attention.”

“Well, I paid right close attention. Didn’t you, Amanda?”

Amanda glanced up. “Yes, I did,” she said. “I thought it was interesting how you said to watch out for the smooth talker, because it might be the Devil in disguise.”

“I thought I saw the Devil when I was a little girl,” Mary Bet interjected, surprised that Amanda had said so much, and surprised at herself for cutting her off. She started to laugh and say he was a Presbyterian minister; instead, she took another bite, feeling a little wicked.

“Did you?” he asked, smiling patiently.

“Oh, children are always thinking the most absurd things,” Amanda said. “You wouldn’t believe some of the things I used to think. But isn’t it nice that we’re all grown up now?”

“You said we oughten to fear death,” Mary Bet said, because she really did want this young preacher’s opinion, and something about the way Amanda stared at her made her unable to stop herself. “But I am afraid of it, and I don’t know if that makes me a bad person.”

“No, Miss Hartsoe,” he said, his fingers going to the black cravat at his neck, “allow me to explain what I meant. What I said was
that we must be prepared for the Lord’s imminent arrival, because we don’t know when that might be. It could be today, or next year. All we know is that he will come, and that his heavenly kingdom awaits—for those who have faith.”

“It’s just that some nights I lie awake worrying about things—I’m not scared exactly, but it feels all black and … empty. And there’s nobody to talk to. Daddy’s gone away now, and …” She glanced over to Amanda, who smiled at her now, and to her cousin and boss, the sheriff, who was quietly eating. His elongated, handsome features and gentle manners were pleasingly familiar. Yet none of these people had known even a single untimely death in their families. How could they understand? “I just worry about things I may’ve said and done.”

“We all have things we’re not proud of,” Mr. Jenkins said. “He that is without sin among you, you know. But without faith in our Lord and savior Jesus Christ, we can be blameless and still be denied the kingdom of heaven.”

Hooper interrupted, “I think we ought to let Mr. Jenkins rest. He’s had a long, busy morning and I’m sure he’d prefer to relax.”

The preacher smiled in a way that said he was giving in to the host. After the pecan pie with ice cream, Hooper invited them into the parlor for coffee. Amanda, clearly eager to be up and moving, struggled to her feet and, by putting her plate between two fingers, was able to manage the handles of her braces and hurl herself toward the kitchen.

“I do this all the time,” Amanda said to Mary Bet in the kitchen. “Really.” Her birthmark was a cold purple lichen, her crossed eyes large and angry in the watery depths of her glasses. She let the dish down onto the kitchen table with a little clatter, then grabbed the table’s edge to steady herself. “I don’t see why you monopolize his time like that,” she hissed, “and then say you have no friends.”

Mary Bet shook her head in bafflement; she had never seen Amanda act this way. “What in the world? I didn’t say—”

“I wanted to talk to him, but I couldn’t say a word. And he was so nice to me. He has a warm handshake and a nice smile.”

“I thought his hands were too soft.” Mary Bet could see Amanda relaxing a bit; from the dining room came the drone of the preacher’s even-keeled voice. “And moist.” Mary Bet wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like that in a man’s hand.”

Now Amanda laughed a little. “Oh, you just don’t know anything,” she said. “He’s not a farmer. I like him.”

“Well, you can have him then.” On seeing Amanda’s stain darken, she added, “Why don’t I finish clearing, and you go on in.”

“I couldn’t sit there with him, and your cousin. He has to be five years younger than me. I don’t know what I’d say to him.”

“Talk about the weather and the daffodils and how fast you can type. Or just listen. He likes to talk.”

“No, it’s no use. I don’t know what the matter is with me today. I don’t—I haven’t acted like this in … I’m sorry, Mary Bet. Just let’s go home, can’t we? I’m tired, I need to lie down.”

They went back into the dining room and Amanda sat silently and dully, waiting until Mary Bet had finished. Then they joined the men in the parlor and listened to them talk about politics and the weather, and after twenty minutes, Mary Bet said she and Amanda had to get on home. Mr. Jenkins glanced at them both, as though just remembering their presence. Hooper jumped up and apologized for being such a bore, and said that the next time maybe he’d have some people over to play music. “We’ll have us a great time,” he said.

On the way home in Mary Bet’s top-buggy, Amanda told her that her reputation was ruined after an insurance salesman made love to her and promised to marry her and then left town. “There,” Amanda said, “now I’ve gone and told you everything. Except one
more thing. I was gone for a month after that to visit cousins in Virginia, and there was a rumor that I went away much heavier than I came home.” She paused to wipe her brow with her scarf. “But it wasn’t true, and if it was it wouldn’t have been anybody’s business.”

Mary Bet regarded her friend, hidden behind her deformities and her suffering, and decided there was something noble about her.

CHAPTER 19

1907–1916

O
VER THE NEXT
few months Mary Bet fell into the routine of her new life, turning twenty in June and wondering whether she would become a permanent boarder in Mrs. Gooch’s house. She and Clara continued visiting back and forth, but there was always something on the weekends to keep her from going out to see her father. At last she admitted to herself that she found the trips depressed her in a strange way akin to grief for a dead loved one, except that the grief was stunted and could never fully flower into a thing that would drop from the vine. Some nights lying in bed she would talk to him in whispers, begging him to forgive her. “I failed you,” she would say, tears flowing, purging the guilt and fear of eternal punishment. “I lied to you. I told you I wouldn’t leave you there, and I did, and I knew I would.” She tried to hear his voice, and sometimes he would say, “It’s all right,” though she wondered if it was only her willing him to say it. She would try to keep herself awake to prolong the suffering in her heart, but she
would always fall asleep. And in the morning she would forget her lonely vigil as she readied herself for the day ahead.

Twice Mr. Jenkins invited her to church socials, the invitations coming in elegantly penned letters a week before his scheduled monthly preaching engagements in Williamsboro. Amanda was angry with her for turning down the first invitation, so she didn’t mention the second.

After church following that second invitation, she tried to hurry around him in the vestibule while he was shaking hands with a garrulous old veteran named Hiram Hill. But Amanda wanted to wait and shake his hand and say how much the sermon had meant to her. So Mary Bet had to stand there and watch while Mr. Jenkins, seeming to understand that she was stuck, kept holding Hiram Hill’s hand and giving him his full attention, leaning down to catch every word. Lord, the time you could spend in delicate situations.

“Ah, Miss Tomkins,” he said at last, reaching out to squeeze Amanda’s upper arm. He seemed now to stretch time like a rubber band, as though punishing Mary Bet and, at the same time, savoring the moment of anticipation when he would at last take her hand in his. She knew enough of lust and denial and Mr. Jenkins to understand that. When he finally did grasp her hand and speak to her, it was as though he had not known she was in line behind Amanda, yet his watery blue eyes tried to pry deep into hers, accusing her and demanding satisfaction.

“That was a right nice sermon,” she said, her eyes skidding off his.

His thin eyebrows lifted; his straw-colored hair—perfectly oiled, combed, and parted—fit him like a baseball cap, and his nose was pinched and thin—he was not bad looking, just a little too girlish. And his hand was soft and clammy as he held hers, like damp laundry. “What part did you like, Miss Hartsoe?” he asked, putting his other hand atop their clasped hands.

“Well, I think that part about not judging a man by his appearance was right important,” she said, her face warming.

He looked closely at her, but didn’t seem to notice the blush. “Yes, I have you to thank for that. Your comment about the Devil in disguise made me go back to that passage in Matthew. I’m glad you found some comfort in it.” Just as she was pulling away, he added casually, “I hope the prayer meeting this evening is fulfilling and not too onerous.” She had been expecting this, so she nodded—a little fib to a preacher couldn’t be any worse than a fib to a regular person, could it?

Amanda overheard and, on the steps outside the church, asked Mary Bet what he’d meant. “I didn’t know you had a prayer meeting this evening.”

“I don’t,” Mary Bet said, quietly, so no one would overhear. They moved slowly down the walkway toward the street where Amanda’s buggy was parked.

“You mean you lied to a preacher, and used a made-up prayer meeting for an excuse? Honestly, Mary Bet, I’m shocked.”

“No, you’re not. You’re just a little disappointed. I don’t intend going out with him.”

“Well, neither do I,” Amanda said, lifting her face with an arch little smile and squinting in the sunlight. “In fact, I’m going for a buggy ride this very evening.” Mary Bet was not sure how to respond, so she said nothing. “Don’t you want to know who with?”

“Of course I do,” Mary Bet said. “I was just waiting for you to say.”

“Mr. Hennesey. He said he was a good driver and he’d like to take me in my buggy out to look at the old farm he grew up on. He’s very nice and old-fashioned, and when he dresses up he looks ten years younger. I don’t mind if he drinks a little—all men do.”

“I didn’t say anything against him.”

“But I can tell you don’t approve.” Amanda pulled herself up into the buggy and got herself situated on the box and took the reins.
Quiet and self-effacing around people she did not know well, she managed fine on her own. She clicked her tongue, and the white-tailed sorrel leaned into its traces and the buggy rolled forward.

“I’m very happy for you, Amanda.”

Now Amanda smiled faintly and her complexion lightened. “We’re just going riding out in the country. It doesn’t mean anything.” A minute or two later she said, “I guess I have you to thank. I don’t think he’d said two words to me before you came. Sometimes having another person around—having you around—livens things up. I just can’t wait to see Mrs. Gooch’s face when she finds out. Oh my, I just thought of something.”

“What?”

“She’ll think it’s improper, she won’t let us live under the same roof.” Mary Bet started to say that she doubted Mrs. Gooch would throw out a good, reliable boarder, but she wasn’t so sure, and, anyway, Amanda seemed a little thrilled with the prospect.

Mary Bet’s own prospects seemed less than thrilling, at least in the romantic field, but she finally did accept an invitation from Mr. Jenkins.

It was a beautiful early summer Sunday, the soft air sweetened by lilacs and jasmine and birdsong. Since she never bought herself a new hat—she could afford it, but she thought it a waste—she decorated her black brimmed hat with a piece of light blue ribbon. She wore her navy faille dress and best black shoes, and after church she walked by herself to her cousin’s house.

It was just Hooper, Mr. Jenkins, and herself, and, as though by prearrangement, her cousin excused himself immediately after the pie to go down to the courthouse. “What, working on a Sunday?” Mary Bet asked, half hoping he’d ask her to come along.