live the way you do, Roy. That maybe it ain’t too late for you and Lila to—”
“Why are you so intent on Lila being the one I should marry, the mother of my children, and all that?”
“ ’Cause I know she’d be a good one. Wife and mother. Comes from good stock.”
“Good stock? She’s not a heifer, Dad.”
“Don’t answer me in that smart way, Roy.”
“You know the point I’m making.”
“Well, here’s my point,” my father said. “I know Lila comes from good folks. ’Cause I knew her mother back in the old days. Betty Cutler. She was the best friend of another girl I knew. Girl I used to squire around a little. Deidre, her name was. Deidre Warren. And, like I said, Betty was her best friend. Always together, them two.People used to say it like it was one name, like they was just one person. ‘Here comes Betty-and-Deidre,’ they’d say. And sure enough, there they’d be. Betty-and-Deidre out for a stroll. Betty-and-Deidre having ice cream at the company store.”
“So this was when you worked at the mine?”
“That’s right. Betty was a miner’s daughter. A miner I worked with back then. Harry was his name. Big feller. Cussed all the time.” His eyes lowered to his hands again, the mangled fingers that he couldn’t shape into a fist. “When you started going up to see Lila, I knew who she was. Knew she was Betty Cutler’s girl. From good stock, like I said. Salt of the earth.” He nursed his thoughts briefly, then added, “I guess this thing with Spivey, him living on Lila’s land, I guess that brought it all back. Them old days up in Waylord.”
During the long summer of our courtship, he’d never said a single word against Lila. The reason had always seemed obvious to me. Lila was a girl from the hills, from fabled Waylord, a girl whose family name my father had instantly recognized. A pretty girl. A smart, lively girl. From the first glimpse of her, he’d given every evidence of being pleased to see her, even honored by the fact that I’d presented her to him, though even then he might well have guessed why I’d done it. That it had come from my need to show him that I’d won a girl more beautiful than my mother had ever been, a smarter girl, more ambitious. I’d waved Lila like a red cape in my father’s face. Take that , I’d thought as I’d drawn Lila beneath my arm, Take that, old man.
She’d worn a dark green dress that night, her longhair falling to her shoulders. My father had risen from his chair to greet her.
“So you’re Lila,” he said. He drew the cigarette from the corner of his mouth, slapped a bit of tobacco from his taut belly. “Excuse my appearance. I wasn’t expecting Roy to bring nobody by.”
“That’s okay, Mr. Slater,” Lila said gently.
“You’re mighty pretty.” His gaze was oddly wistful.
“Thank you, sir.”
A light burned softly behind his eyes. “Take care of her, Roy. You only get one chance.”
“He seemed nice,” Lila said later.
Even as she’d uttered the word, I’d seen his shadow like a stain on the grass as he’d handed Archie the pistol, Scooter barking madly now, twisting about, his tail wagging furiously, a memory that had sent a poison through my nerves.
And so I’d told Lila the story of how, several years before, Archie and I had run away, then related the gruesome details of what my father had done about it, the terrible punishment he had devised. “Nice?” I’d repeated starkly at the end of it. “Believe me, Lila, you don’t know him.”
Nor had I ever known him either, I thought now, watching as he withdrew back into himself, lighting his first cigarette of the day, waving out the match.
“Leave me be now,” he said.
I nodded and left the room, and with it the old mystery of my father, the coal-black stone from which he had been formed.
Chapter Six
I was sitting in the living room, trying to close out the steady drone of the television in my father’s bedroom while I read one of the
“Why are you so intent on Lila being the one I should marry, the mother of my children, and all that?”
“ ’Cause I know she’d be a good one. Wife and mother. Comes from good stock.”
“Good stock? She’s not a heifer, Dad.”
“Don’t answer me in that smart way, Roy.”
“You know the point I’m making.”
“Well, here’s my point,” my father said. “I know Lila comes from good folks. ’Cause I knew her mother back in the old days. Betty Cutler. She was the best friend of another girl I knew. Girl I used to squire around a little. Deidre, her name was. Deidre Warren. And, like I said, Betty was her best friend. Always together, them two.People used to say it like it was one name, like they was just one person. ‘Here comes Betty-and-Deidre,’ they’d say. And sure enough, there they’d be. Betty-and-Deidre out for a stroll. Betty-and-Deidre having ice cream at the company store.”
“So this was when you worked at the mine?”
“That’s right. Betty was a miner’s daughter. A miner I worked with back then. Harry was his name. Big feller. Cussed all the time.” His eyes lowered to his hands again, the mangled fingers that he couldn’t shape into a fist. “When you started going up to see Lila, I knew who she was. Knew she was Betty Cutler’s girl. From good stock, like I said. Salt of the earth.” He nursed his thoughts briefly, then added, “I guess this thing with Spivey, him living on Lila’s land, I guess that brought it all back. Them old days up in Waylord.”
During the long summer of our courtship, he’d never said a single word against Lila. The reason had always seemed obvious to me. Lila was a girl from the hills, from fabled Waylord, a girl whose family name my father had instantly recognized. A pretty girl. A smart, lively girl. From the first glimpse of her, he’d given every evidence of being pleased to see her, even honored by the fact that I’d presented her to him, though even then he might well have guessed why I’d done it. That it had come from my need to show him that I’d won a girl more beautiful than my mother had ever been, a smarter girl, more ambitious. I’d waved Lila like a red cape in my father’s face. Take that , I’d thought as I’d drawn Lila beneath my arm, Take that, old man.
She’d worn a dark green dress that night, her longhair falling to her shoulders. My father had risen from his chair to greet her.
“So you’re Lila,” he said. He drew the cigarette from the corner of his mouth, slapped a bit of tobacco from his taut belly. “Excuse my appearance. I wasn’t expecting Roy to bring nobody by.”
“That’s okay, Mr. Slater,” Lila said gently.
“You’re mighty pretty.” His gaze was oddly wistful.
“Thank you, sir.”
A light burned softly behind his eyes. “Take care of her, Roy. You only get one chance.”
“He seemed nice,” Lila said later.
Even as she’d uttered the word, I’d seen his shadow like a stain on the grass as he’d handed Archie the pistol, Scooter barking madly now, twisting about, his tail wagging furiously, a memory that had sent a poison through my nerves.
And so I’d told Lila the story of how, several years before, Archie and I had run away, then related the gruesome details of what my father had done about it, the terrible punishment he had devised. “Nice?” I’d repeated starkly at the end of it. “Believe me, Lila, you don’t know him.”
Nor had I ever known him either, I thought now, watching as he withdrew back into himself, lighting his first cigarette of the day, waving out the match.
“Leave me be now,” he said.
I nodded and left the room, and with it the old mystery of my father, the coal-black stone from which he had been formed.
Chapter Six
I was sitting in the living room, trying to close out the steady drone of the television in my father’s bedroom while I read one of the
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