"A Painted House"
My father and Pappy were at the trailer, weighing cotton for the last time that day. It was almost five, and the Spruills had gathered with their heavy sacks. The Mexicans were nowhere to be seen.
I managed to pull my father aside and explain the situation. He said something to Pappy, and we trotted back to the house. Gran was gathering supplies-rubbing alcohol, towels, painkillers, bottles of nasty remedies that would make Libby forget about child birthing. She was arranging her arsenal on the kitchen table, and I had never seen her move so fast.
"Get cleaned up!" she said sharply to my father. "You'll drive us there. It might take some time." I could tell he was less than excited about getting dragged into this, but he wasn't about to argue with his mother.
"I'll get cleaned up, too," I said.
"You're not going anywhere," my mother said to me. She was at the kitchen sink, slicing a tomato. Pappy and I would get leftovers for supper, in addition to the usual platter of cucumbers and tomatoes.
They left in a rush, my father driving, my mother wedged between him and Gran, the three of them off to rescue Libby. I stood on the front porch and watched them speed away, a cloud of dust boiling behind the truck until it stopped at the river. I really wanted to go.
Supper would be beans and cold biscuits. Pappy hated leftovers. He thought the women should've prepared supper before tending to the Latchers, but then, he was opposed to sending them food in the first place.
"Don't know why both women had to go," he mumbled as he sat down. "They're as curious as cats, aren't they, Luke? They can't wait to get over there, and see that pregnant girl."
"Yes sir," I said.
He blessed the food with a quick prayer, and we ate in silence.
"Who are the Cardinals playin'?" he asked.
"Reds."
"You wanna listen to it?"
"Sure." We listened to the game every night. What else was there to do?
We cleared the table and placed our dirty dishes in the sink. Pappy would never consider washing them; that was work for the women. After dark, we sat on the porch in our usual positions and waited for Harry Caray and the Cardinals. The air was heavy and still dreadfully hot.
"How long does it take to have a baby?" I asked.
"Depends," Pappy said from his swing. That was all he said, and after waiting long enough, I asked, "Depends on what?"
"Oh, lots of things. Some babies pop right out, others take days."
"How long did I take?"
He thought for a moment. "Don't guess I remember. First babies usually take longer."
"Were you around?"
"Nope. I was on a tractor." The arrival of babies was not a subject Pappy cared to dwell on, and the conversation lagged.
I saw Tally ease away from the front yard and disappear into the darkness. The Spruills were settling in; their cooking fire was just about out.
The Reds scored four runs in the top of the first inning. Pappy got so upset he went to bed. I turned off the radio and sat on the porch, watching for Tally. Before long, I heard Pappy snoring.
Chapter 16
I was determined to sit on the front steps and wait for my parents and Gran to return from the Latchers'. I could almost see the scene over there; the women in the back room with Libby, the men sitting outside with all those children, as far away from the birthing as possible. Their house was just across the river, not far at all, and I was missing it.
Fatigue was hitting hard, and I almost fell asleep. Camp Spruill was still and dark, but I hadn't seen Tally come back yet.
I tiptoed through the house, heard Pappy in a deep sleep, and went to the back porch. I sat on the edge with my legs hanging off. The fields beyond the barn and the silo were a soft gray when the moon broke through the scattered clouds. Otherwise, they were hidden in black. I saw her walking alone on the main field road, just as moonlight swept the land for a second. She was in no hurry. Then everything was black again. There was not a sound for a long time, until she stepped on a twig near the house.
"Tally," I whispered as loudly as I could.
After a long pause, she answered, "Is that you, Luke?"
"Over here," I said. "On the porch."
She was barefoot and made no sound when she walked. "What're you doin' out here, Luke?" she said, standing in front of me.
"Where've you been?" I asked.
"Just takin' a walk."
"Why are you takin' a walk?"
"I don't know. Sometimes I have to get away from my family."
That certainly made sense to me. She sat beside me on the porch, pulled her skirt up past her knees, and began swinging her legs.
"Sometimes I want to just run away from them," she said, very softly. "You ever want to run away, Luke?"
"Not really. I'm only seven. But I'm not gonna live here for the rest of my life."
"Where you gonna live?"
"St. Louis."
"Why St. Louis?"
"That's where the Cardinals play."
"And you're gonna be a Cardinal?"
"A Painted House"
"Sure am."
"You're a smart boy, Luke. Only a fool would wanna pick cotton for the rest of his life. Me, I wanna go up North, too, up where it's cool and there's lots of snow."
"Where?"
"I'm not sure. Montreal, maybe."
"Where's that?"
"Canada."
"Do they have baseball?"
"I don't think so."
"Then forget it."
"No, it's beautiful. We studied it in school, in history. It was settled by the French, and that's what everybody speaks."
"Do you speak French?"
"No, but I can learn."
"It's easy. I can already speak Spanish. Juan taught me last year."
"Really?"
"Si"
"Say something else."
"Buenos dias. Por favor. Adios. Gracias. Senor. Como esta?"
"Wow."
"See, I told you it was easy. How far away is Montreal?"
"I'm not sure. A long way, I think. That's one reason I wanna go there."
A light suddenly came on in Pappy's bedroom. It fell across the far end of the porch and startled us. "Be quiet," I whispered.
"Who is it?" she whispered back, ducking as if bullets were about to come our way.
"That's just Pappy getting some water. He's up and down all night long." Pappy went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. I watched him through the screen door. He drank two glasses of water, then stomped back to his bedroom and turned off the light. When things were dark and silent again, she said, "Why is he up all night?"
"He worries a lot. Ricky's fightin' in Korea."
"Who's Ricky?"
"My uncle. He's nineteen."
She pondered this for a moment, then said, "Is he cute?"
"I don't know. Don't really think about that. He's my best buddy, and I wish he'd come home."
We thought about Ricky for a moment as our feet dangled off the porch and the night passed.
"Say, Luke, the pickup left before dinner. Where'd it go?"
"Over to the Latchers'."
"Who are they?"
"Some sharecroppers just across the river."
"Why'd they go over there?"
"I can't tell you."
"Why not?"
" 'Cause it's a secret."
"What kinda secret?"