happen to notice if he was missing part of a finger?
“He sure was,” I said. “Probably got it chopped off for stealing.”
“That’s Joe Wyatt,” Uncle Tinsley said. “He’s your father’s family. His father was your father’s brother. He’s your cousin.”
I was so stunned, I sat down on the floor.
“And I don’t mind him taking a few peaches,” he added.
Mom didn’t talk much about either Liz’s dad or my dad. All she’d told us was that she had met Liz’s dad, Shelton Stewart, while in college in Richmond, and after a
whirlwind romance, they got married in the most lavish wedding Byler had seen in a generation. Mom became pregnant almost immediately, and it didn’t take long for her to discover that Shelton
Stewart was a dishonest parasite. He’d come from an old South Carolina family, but their money was gone, and he expected Mom’s family to support them while he spent his days playing
golf and shooting grouse. Her father made it clear that wasn’t going to happen, and so, shortly after Liz was born, Shelton Stewart walked out on Mom, and she and Liz never saw him again.
My dad, Mom had told us, was a Byler boy. He was a blast to be around, with this incredible energy, but she and he came from different worlds. Besides, he died in a mill accident before I was
born. And that was all she would say.
“You knew my dad?” I asked Uncle Tinsley.
“Of course I did.”
That made me so nervous, I started rubbing my hands together. Mom’s account of my dad had always left me hankering for more details, but she said she didn’t want to talk about him
and we were both better off if we put it behind us. Mom didn’t have a picture of him, and she wouldn’t tell me his name. I’d always wondered what my dad had looked like. I
didn’t look like my mom. Did I look like my dad? Was he handsome? Funny? Smart?
“What was he like?” I asked.
“Charlie. Charlie Wyatt,” Uncle Tinsley said. “He was a cocky fellow.” He paused and looked at me. “He wanted to marry your mother, you know, but she never took him
that seriously.”
“How come?”
“Charlie was a fling, as far as she was concerned. Charlotte was pretty shaken up when that wastrel, Liz’s father, decided he didn’t want to be a father after all. She went
through a wild-divorcée period and got involved with a number of men whom Mother and Father disapproved of. Charlie was one of them. She never considered marrying him. The way she saw it, he
was just a linthead.”
“What’s that?” I’d heard Mom use the word, but I didn’t know what it meant.
“A millworker. They come off their shifts covered in lint.”
I sat there on the floor, trying to take it in. All my life I had wanted to find out more about my dad and his family, and now, when I’d met someone who was related to him—and to
me—I’d acted like a nut job, calling him names and throwing peaches at him. And he wasn’t a thief. Since Uncle Tinsley didn’t mind Joe Wyatt taking the peaches, he
wasn’t actually stealing. At least, that was one way of looking at it.
“I think I need to go apologize to Joe Wyatt,” I said. “And maybe meet the other Wyatts.”
“Not a bad idea,” Uncle Tinsley said. “They’re good people. The father’s disabled and doesn’t do too much these days. The mother works the night shift.
She’s the one holding the family together.” He scratched his chin. “I suppose I could drive you over there.”
Something about the way Uncle Tinsley said that made me realize he didn’t want to do what he’d just volunteered to do. After all, he was a Holladay, the former owner of the mill.
He’d be paying a visit to the millworking family of the man who got his sister pregnant. It would be awkward for him to drop me off without coming in but probably more awkward to sit down
with the Wyatts and shoot the breeze over a glass of lemonade.
“I’ll go on my own,” I said. “It will be a chance for me to see
“He sure was,” I said. “Probably got it chopped off for stealing.”
“That’s Joe Wyatt,” Uncle Tinsley said. “He’s your father’s family. His father was your father’s brother. He’s your cousin.”
I was so stunned, I sat down on the floor.
“And I don’t mind him taking a few peaches,” he added.
Mom didn’t talk much about either Liz’s dad or my dad. All she’d told us was that she had met Liz’s dad, Shelton Stewart, while in college in Richmond, and after a
whirlwind romance, they got married in the most lavish wedding Byler had seen in a generation. Mom became pregnant almost immediately, and it didn’t take long for her to discover that Shelton
Stewart was a dishonest parasite. He’d come from an old South Carolina family, but their money was gone, and he expected Mom’s family to support them while he spent his days playing
golf and shooting grouse. Her father made it clear that wasn’t going to happen, and so, shortly after Liz was born, Shelton Stewart walked out on Mom, and she and Liz never saw him again.
My dad, Mom had told us, was a Byler boy. He was a blast to be around, with this incredible energy, but she and he came from different worlds. Besides, he died in a mill accident before I was
born. And that was all she would say.
“You knew my dad?” I asked Uncle Tinsley.
“Of course I did.”
That made me so nervous, I started rubbing my hands together. Mom’s account of my dad had always left me hankering for more details, but she said she didn’t want to talk about him
and we were both better off if we put it behind us. Mom didn’t have a picture of him, and she wouldn’t tell me his name. I’d always wondered what my dad had looked like. I
didn’t look like my mom. Did I look like my dad? Was he handsome? Funny? Smart?
“What was he like?” I asked.
“Charlie. Charlie Wyatt,” Uncle Tinsley said. “He was a cocky fellow.” He paused and looked at me. “He wanted to marry your mother, you know, but she never took him
that seriously.”
“How come?”
“Charlie was a fling, as far as she was concerned. Charlotte was pretty shaken up when that wastrel, Liz’s father, decided he didn’t want to be a father after all. She went
through a wild-divorcée period and got involved with a number of men whom Mother and Father disapproved of. Charlie was one of them. She never considered marrying him. The way she saw it, he
was just a linthead.”
“What’s that?” I’d heard Mom use the word, but I didn’t know what it meant.
“A millworker. They come off their shifts covered in lint.”
I sat there on the floor, trying to take it in. All my life I had wanted to find out more about my dad and his family, and now, when I’d met someone who was related to him—and to
me—I’d acted like a nut job, calling him names and throwing peaches at him. And he wasn’t a thief. Since Uncle Tinsley didn’t mind Joe Wyatt taking the peaches, he
wasn’t actually stealing. At least, that was one way of looking at it.
“I think I need to go apologize to Joe Wyatt,” I said. “And maybe meet the other Wyatts.”
“Not a bad idea,” Uncle Tinsley said. “They’re good people. The father’s disabled and doesn’t do too much these days. The mother works the night shift.
She’s the one holding the family together.” He scratched his chin. “I suppose I could drive you over there.”
Something about the way Uncle Tinsley said that made me realize he didn’t want to do what he’d just volunteered to do. After all, he was a Holladay, the former owner of the mill.
He’d be paying a visit to the millworking family of the man who got his sister pregnant. It would be awkward for him to drop me off without coming in but probably more awkward to sit down
with the Wyatts and shoot the breeze over a glass of lemonade.
“I’ll go on my own,” I said. “It will be a chance for me to see
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