Semiprecious Page 5

  “But in this heat?” The preacher waved to his wife, who was standing with a group of women in the yard. He pointed to us and made a driving motion with his hands. She nodded and went back to her conversation. “Come with me. I’ll drive you to the station and then take you home.”

  “We don’t want to be any bother,” Aunt Julia said.

  But then Opal turned her baby blues on the preacher, smiled sweetly, and said, “Thank you so, so much, Reverend. We’d really appreciate it.”

  We followed him across the parking lot, past rows of pickup trucks and dusty sedans plastered with Nixon decals and Kennedy bumper stickers, and climbed into the Preachermobile.

  “That’s odd,” Aunt Julia said when we got to the Texaco to find it empty. “It’s not like Harold to run off and leave everything unattended. Anyway, the phone’s back here, girls. Now, don’t talk but a minute or two. Long distance is expensive.”

  She and the preacher went back outside and stood in the shade. Mr. Underwood took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He bought a grape Nehi from the cooler and drank it while Aunt Julia talked.

  Opal dialed the number of the office in Louisiana that would switch us through to Daddy’s ship-to-shore radio. “It’s ringing!” she said at last. I stood next to her with my ear pressed hard to the receiver. I couldn’t wait to talk to Daddy, to say something that would make up for Mama’s bad behavior, and to beg him to come and take us back to civilization.

  The phone rang and rang.

  “Maybe you dialed the wrong number,” I said.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  We waited through ten more rings before Opal hung up.

  “We’ll try again tomorrow,” I said. “We’ll call every day if we have to.”

  Aunt Julia came in. “That was quick.”

  “We didn’t get through,” Opal said.

  “It’s just as well,” Aunt Julia said. “Come on, let’s not keep the reverend waiting.”

  On the way to Aunt Julia’s, the preacher talked about the Sunday school lessons he was writing and about the choir his wife was organizing. “Arlene can’t wait to get started,” he said. “How about it, Miss Julia? You’ve got a fine voice, and altos are in short supply.”

  Aunt Julia stared out the window and fiddled with the clasp on her purse. “My sister is the singer in the family.”

  Just as we reached the turnoff to Aunt Julia’s, a rusted-out truck came tearing along the road toward us. The preacher slowed as it rattled past.

  “That looked like Harold’s truck,” Aunt Julia said, turning around in her seat. “I wonder what he’s doing way out here.”

  Mr. Underwood swung the car into the lane and cut the engine. Aunt Julia opened the car door. “Thank you, Reverend. Won’t you bring your family here for dinner? There’s plenty of food.”

  “That sounds mighty fine, but I’m already late for a meeting.”

  “Another time, then.”

  The preacher drove off. As we started up the steps, I saw a piece of notebook paper taped to the front door. For a wild moment I thought it was a note from Mama. I imagined she’d changed her mind and decided that me and Opal and Daddy were more important than some crazy dream after all. I imagined she’d gone out looking for us. “If I don’t find you down at the church, I’ll come back here,” the note would say. “Wait for me, my precious gems. I’ve come to take you home.”

  If only that had happened, instead of what actually did.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Aunt Julia sat down on the porch swing and unfolded the note. I watched her face go pale as milk, and fear went through me like an arrow. I imagined Mama sick with a fever, or dead in a horrible crash like the Burma Shave victim. But the note had nothing to do with her.

  “You girls don’t deserve this,” Aunt Julia said wearily, “but here it is anyhow. Your daddy’s been hurt. We’re supposed to call a Mr. Hancock in New Orleans.”

  Opal grabbed the note. “Is it bad? What happened? Where’s Daddy?”

  “It doesn’t say.” Aunt Julia rose, and the swing creaked. “Garnet, run down to the orchard. Past the whirligigs and the water pump you’ll see a bat and a kettle hanging from a tree. Bang on that kettle for all you’re worth, and pray Charlie Twelvetrees is at home.”

  I took off through the orchard to send Aunt Julia’s distress signal, my feet pounding on the path, fear pushing against my skin, trying to get out. I found the bat and pounded the kettle until it bonged like a church bell. I hit and hit it until my arms quivered and my shirt was wet with sweat and tears.

  Then Aunt Julia yelled for me to hurry back. Far down the road a cloud of dust boiled up. I reached the house just as a maroon Studebaker pulled into the yard, Charlie Twelvetrees at the wheel.

  “Miss Julia, what’s the trouble?” He reached across the seat to open the door. Opal and I scrambled into the backseat. Aunt Julia told Charlie about the note, and that we had to get to a telephone right away. She introduced me and Opal but didn’t mention that our mama was AWOL.

  “I’m sorry our first meeting is under such unhappy circumstances,” Charlie said, his expression grave.

  He spun the wheel and we headed back to town, the car floating along the road like a clumsy barge. I watched Charlie’s hair blowing in the wind coming through the open car window, thinking that he sure didn’t talk like the Indians on the TV. He talked like a teacher, or a newsman on the radio. His voice was calm and full of music, like water tumbling over rocks.

  When we got to the Texaco, Opal wrenched open the car door and we scrambled out. Charlie said, “Take your time. I’ll wait here.”

  We went into the gas station, and Aunt Julia introduced me and Opal to Harold. He shook our hands like we were grown-ups. “I sure am sorry about your daddy. But I hear they’ve got real good hospitals in New Orleans. They’ll patch him up good as new.”

  He took a couple of Coca-Colas from the cooler, opened them, and passed them to us. We followed Aunt Julia to the telephone. She dialed, waited, and asked for Mr. Hancock. I stood as close to the receiver as I could, but I couldn’t hear anything except Aunt Julia’s side of the conversation, which was mostly “I see” and “All right.” She scribbled the name of a hospital and a couple of phone numbers on the back of the note, nodded her head like the man on the other end could see her, then said goodbye and hung up.

  “Why’d you hang up?” I cried. “I wanted to talk to Daddy.”

  “He can’t talk now,” Aunt Julia said. “There was a fire on the ship and he’s badly burned. But he’s in a good hospital, getting the best of care.”

  Too scared to cry, I said, “I want to see him.”

  “That won’t be possible for a while. He’s in a special room until the risk of infection is past. Mr. Hancock says we’ll know more in twenty-four hours.”

  Opal slammed her bottle on the table so hard that Coca-Cola sloshed onto a pile of gas receipts and order forms lying on the counter. “It’s Mama’s fault.”

  “Now, Opal, you know that isn’t true,” Aunt Julia said.

  “Yes, it is! If she hadn’t run off, Daddy wouldn’t have been worrying, and he would have been paying attention when the fire started. Now we don’t know where the heck she is, Daddy’s practically dead, and we’re stuck in this stupid hick town with—”

  “That’s enough, Opal,” Aunt Julia warned. “You girls have got a tough row to hoe, all right. But you may as well get over the notion that life is fair and the things that happen make sense.”

  She turned to me. “Go tell Charlie Twelvetrees I’ll be there in a minute.”

  But I stood there like I’d turned to ice. The thought of having to shoulder one more sorrow made me too tired to move.

  “Go on.” Aunt Julia gave me a gentle push toward the front of the station, where Harold sat eavesdropping while pretending to read a Superman comic book. “You too, Opal.”

  She took the key to the ladies’ room off the hook by the door. Me and Opal left our Coke bottles on the cou
nter next to the fan belts and motor oil cans, and went out to the car. Charlie had opened all the doors to let the breeze through and was sitting sideways in the driver’s seat, carving a bird from a piece of shiny black wood. I could see the bird’s head, its tiny beak, and the beginning of a wing.

  “What happened?” he asked, without looking up.

  “A fire on my daddy’s ship,” I said. “He’s burned, and we can’t see him until he’s better.”

  Charlie stopped whittling and looked up at me. “I’m sorry.”

  Opal stalked off and stood in the sliver of shade beneath the red and white Texaco awning. Charlie went back to his whittling. I watched his hands turning the wood and the curly shavings falling onto his high-tops. He had such a calm way about him, I felt like I could tell him everything, even though we’d just met.

  “I’m afraid he’ll die.” My words came out in a dry whisper.

  A long silence followed, during which Charlie’s knife flashed in the light and the bird’s wings, ready for takeoff, emerged from the wood. Then he said, “Death is a part of life, and not to be feared. Some say it’s life’s last great adventure. But I don’t think it’s your father’s time yet.”

  “How do you know?”

  He looked at me in a way that made me ashamed for asking, and instead of giving me a simple answer, told a story about an Apache warrior who survived a brutal battle, a raging blizzard, and a gunshot wound, any one of which could have spelled the end for him, but the Great Spirit protected him because his purpose on Earth wasn’t finished yet. It was such a good story that for a moment I nearly forgot my worries. Charlie handed me the finished carving, still warm from his touch. “Keep it.”

  Aunt Julia came outside and we started home. I sat in the backseat beside Opal, the little bird resting in my palm. I was way too old to believe in magic, but that fact didn’t keep me from wishing that the Great Spirit would watch over Daddy, and that somehow the carving held special powers that could put our torn-apart family back together.

  “Aunt Julia?”

  She turned in the seat to look at me.

  “We can’t just sit here and wait until Mama takes a notion to send us a postcard. Somebody has to find her and tell her about Daddy.”

  “As if she cares,” Opal muttered.

  Aunt Julia mopped her face with a wadded-up tissue. “I don’t know what to do, short of calling the highway patrol.”

  “That’s exactly what you should do,” Charlie said. “Give them her license plate number and they’ll be on the lookout for her.”

  “Do either of you know the tag number on your mama’s truck?” Aunt Julia asked.

  “I don’t,” I said.

  Opal shook her head.

  Charlie pulled into the yard. “I could call the state license bureau. They can look it up.”

  “Thank you,” Aunt Julia said in a wobbly voice. “I wish we’d thought of this before we left the station. Now you’ll have to make another trip.”

  “The bureau is closed today,” Charlie said. “But I’ll be in town tomorrow to pick up feed for my chickens. It’s no trouble.”

  He dug around in the side pocket of the car door and handed Aunt Julia a scrap of paper and the nub of a pencil. “Write down a description of the truck, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  “The license is probably in Daddy’s name,” Opal said, leaning forward in her seat. “He’s the one who took care of everything. That truck wouldn’t even have a license plate if it was left up to Mama.”

  Aunt Julia wrote down all the information. Charlie stuffed the paper in his pocket. We got out of the car.

  “Much obliged for the lift,” Aunt Julia told Charlie.

  He raised his hand in a funny salute, turned the car around, and drove away.

  In the kitchen black smoke was pouring out of the oven, curling onto the ceiling.

  “My roast!” Aunt Julia opened the oven door, grabbed a box of baking soda from the cupboard, and sprinkled it over the flames. The fire died, but it was too late. The roast, and the potatoes and carrots, too, were burned to a crisp.

  Aunt Julia stumbled to a chair, laid her head on the table, and sobbed. I truly hated my mother then for all the misery she’d caused. She’d said there was a price to be paid for dreams, but it seemed like everyone but her was paying it. Opal and I were stuck in Willow Flats, Aunt Julia was at the end of her rope, and Daddy was clinging to life hundreds of miles away, all because Mama was convinced Nashville was her destiny. I imagined her driving barefoot along some winding road, the radio blaring, a cold Co-Cola tucked between her knees, tickled to pieces to be rid of us all and on her way to a brand-new life. But her destiny would just have to wait, I thought. Once the highway patrol found her, she’d have to turn around and come back for Opal and me. Then we’d go home and take care of Daddy.

  Opal got a pair of pot holders out of the drawer and lifted the burned roasting pan onto the counter. I held the garbage pail while she scraped the burned meat and vegetables into it. Then Opal squirted some dishwashing liquid into the pan, ran some hot water into it, and left it to soak. Aunt Julia got over her crying spell, and we made lemonade and grilled cheese sandwiches and ate lunch on the porch.

  Afterward Aunt Julia went in to take a nap. Opal went upstairs to get her magazine. I sat in the porch swing and held on to the magic bird so tightly his beak pricked my palm. “Okay,” I told him. “Do your stuff. Make my daddy well. And bring Mama back.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Monday morning the highway patrol tracked down Mama’s truck at a motel on the Tennessee border and told her an emergency was brewing back in Oklahoma. But she kept going until she got to Nashville, then sent Aunt Julia a telegram. There was no phone in her room at the hotel for ladies where she was staying until her recording contract came through, but there was one at the end of the hall and she promised to call us at two o’clock the next day at Sunday Larson’s store.

  Opal pretended she couldn’t care less what Mama had to say, but I couldn’t wait to talk to her. I was sure once Mama heard what had happened to Daddy and how miserable me and Opal were in the shack at the end of the world, she’d come to her senses.

  After lunch I helped Aunt Julia wash the dishes. Opal was lying on the couch with a damp towel on her forehead, nursing a headache and flipping through A Thousand Hints for Teens. I wished for some hints on how to make a runaway mother come back.

  “Garnet,” Aunt Julia said. “It’s almost time to head for Sunday’s place. Run out to the shed and fetch my wagon.”

  Opal came off the sofa like a shot. “I am not going to be seen in public riding in a wagon.”

  “Don’t worry. You wouldn’t fit.”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s a Radio Flyer. I use it for hauling groceries and such.”

  Opal groaned. “We’ll look like people out of The Grapes of Wrath. What if somebody sees us?”

  “There’s no shame in being poor, Opal,” Aunt Julia said. “But I won’t force you to go. Your mama will be disappointed, though.”

  “Good!” Opal yelled. “I hope she is disappointed. I hope she’s sick with despair at not getting to talk to her precious gem!” She grabbed her magazine off the couch. “But I wouldn’t count on it. The only one Mama cares about is herself.”

  She pounded up the stairs and slammed the door so hard it scared the cat.

  “My, my,” Aunt Julia said with a long sigh. “Well, she is fourteen.”

  Like that explained everything. I went out to the shed and pulled the wagon around to the front porch. I wasn’t thrilled with the idea myself, but my need to talk to Mama outweighed my embarrassment. So what if somebody from Willow Flats saw me hauling sacks of cornmeal and cans of evaporated milk in a red wagon? So what if my sourpuss aunt wore clodhoppers and clothes that went out of style when Truman was president? By the time September rolled around, I’d be long gone from Willow Flats.

  Aunt Julia jammed her straw hat on her head and hollered up the stairs
, “Opal? We’re going now.”

  Me and Aunt Julia started up the road, the wagon bouncing along behind us. Aunt Julia didn’t seem inclined to talk, so I concentrated on what I wanted to say to Mama. I had to plan it just right. If I acted too excited that Daddy’s accident was bringing her home, she’d be mad. If I acted like I wasn’t worried about him, she might decide it was okay to leave me and Opal right where we were. If I said everything was going just fine with Aunt Julia, Mama would think I didn’t need her, and her feelings would be hurt, even though she was the one who left me. It was a lot to think about, and I started feeling panicky in my chest, feeling that whatever I said would be the wrong thing.

  Aunt Julia stopped beneath a scraggly tree, took off her hat, and fanned herself. “Whew! It’s a scorcher today.”

  “My feet are burning,” I said. “How much farther?”

  She pointed. “Just past that bend in the road is Crowly’s Bait Shop, and next to that is Sunday Larson’s. It won’t be long now.”

  When we got to the store, Aunt Julia left the wagon on the porch and we went in. A frizzy-haired woman wearing faded overalls, a white shirt, and a pair of high-top basketball shoes just like Charlie’s came out from behind the counter to meet us.

  “Julia, are you all right?” she asked. “Harold said somebody had an accident.”

  “My brother-in-law, Duane,” Aunt Julia said. “This is his younger daughter, Garnet.”

  The woman shook my hand. “Sunday Larson. Glad to meetcha! Sorry about your daddy, though.” She turned back to my aunt. “What happened, Julia? Is he hurt bad? Where is he? Have you heard from Melanie? Is she in Nashville already?”

  Her questions came out like shots from those army guns you see on TV. Aunt Julia explained everything, including Mama’s plan to call us at two o’clock.

  Sunday glanced at the red and white Coca-Cola clock on the wall. “You’ve got time for iced tea, then. I made it fresh this morning. Garnet, you want a Nehi? I’m all out of Coke.”

  Sunday dumped a package of chocolate chip cookies onto a plate, fixed two glasses of tea, and handed me a cold bottle of grape soda. I was so thirsty I drank half of it in one long swallow, until I saw Aunt Julia frowning. Then I set the bottle down and dabbed my mouth with a paper napkin that had pumpkins and Pilgrims printed on it.