“Saturday at 2:00 p.m.?” I glanced at Pearl, and she nodded a yes, tapping the number in the circle on the phone.
“Give this number to him, Honey.”
“Uh, sir, could you give him a telephone number for me?” I peered down, the black numbers typed out on a round white circle, my finger hovering over it.
“What is it?” the man asked briskly.
“785–508, sir.”
Mr. Clark repeated it, mistaking a five for a nine.
“No, sir, it’s 7-8-5-5-0–8,” I said, real slow.
“I’ll put it in his file.” And then he hung up with a loud click, making me recoil.
Had he written it down correctly? I stared out across the hills, the sound piercing like a knife to my heart. Pearl took the receiver and set it in the cradle. “Maybe he’ll telephone you Saturday, Honey.” She patted my shoulder. “I’ll be here all day. I promise I won’t go anywhere, not this Saturday or the next, until you get to speak with your father again.” She sat down at the table and tapped the chair beside her for me to join her.
“Thank you, Pearl.”
“I know you must really miss him, Honey. I dearly miss mine.”
“Where is he?” I said, surprised.
“Father got drafted into the army when I was nine. They sent him off to France to fight in the big war. The house was always quiet, and Mother spent a lot of time in her bedroom, closed herself off. Barely cooking or keeping house. I missed him every day. Eight of my classmates lost their fathers over there. So maybe like Mother, I’d spend hours dreading the knock from the uniformed Western Union messenger, praying he wouldn’t show up with the death telegram.”
“That’s so awful, Pearl. I can’t imagine how hard it was fighting in World War II.” I sat down beside her. “Papa was in prison during some of that time, but they wouldn’t let him join the army after he got out. How long was your papa over there?”
“Too long.” Pearl winced. “Father came home to us three years later. With a busted leg…and a busted heart. They’d amputated his leg over there. He was a different man living as a walking ghost. Father used to sit on the porch late at night alone sipping bourbon. Sometimes, when the stump pains would hit his missing leg and it became unbearable, he’d curse, tear off the leather straps, and throw his wooden limb out into the yard. Then he’d scream and wake us up to get it for him. He never was the same, wouldn’t talk about what happened, except for yelling out in his sleep. God took what was left of him to a better place in the fall of ’51. But really, I lost him long before that.”
I thought about never seeing Papa again and how I would have to bear such. “I’m so sorry for the loss of your dear papa, Pearl.” I went over and hugged her and felt the grief in her quaking shoulders.
***
On Thursday morning, April winds rattled through the leaves like angry paper wasps as I made my way to the Tobacco Top community. I passed by Retta’s home and moments later saw Alonzo in his wagon.
I pulled up beside him, and Junia sent out two short warnings to the man’s ol’ horse. “Good day, Alonzo.”
“Honey, it’s good to see you. I’m off to town.” He pressed down his hat to keep the wind from blowing it off, embarrassed to meet my eyes. “Pretty blue skies but a rather windy day,” he said.
His wagon was packed with his aunt’s furniture, pots, and quilts. “What are you doing with Retta’s things?”
He shook his head. “Don’t have room, thought I’d sell ’em, unless there’s something you want back there.”
Sell it for a bottle or two of panther’s breath, I thought, but kept it to myself. I slid down off Junia. In the back of the wagon, Retta’s beautiful metal glider poked out, and I touched the sweet piecrust pattern, remembering our talks on it.