Prayers and Lies Read online

  “I just don’t know what Cleda Rae’s gonna do with Caleb,” Aunt Belle was saying, her voice grim. “What with Noah gone off like he did, it’s all left on her shoulders.”

  “That boy was always trouble,” Jolene said shortly. “The day I married Bobby Lee, when I was getting dressed for the wedding, I caught him peeking in at the bedroom window, watching me.”

  “Well.” Aunt Belle sighed heavily. “Caleb’s a spirited boy, that’s a fact. But Bobby Lee could always keep him in line. And Caleb, why, he just worships Bobby Lee.

  “Probably,” she added, “that’s why he was peeking in at you.”

  “Is that so? I thought it was so he could see my tits,” Jolene said.

  Even from outside I could feel my mother’s dismay, see her lips forming a tight, thin line.

  Aunt Belle burst into a great laugh.

  “Probably some of that, too,” she admitted. “He’s all boy, that one.”

  “What did you do?” Mother asked. “When you saw him at your window, I mean.”

  “I told him if he didn’t clear off, I’d tell Bobby Lee on him. That made him run, I can tell you.”

  “Did you tell Bobby Lee?”

  “No.” Jolene sighed. “Didn’t seem any point. Bobby loves that kid, even though he is a pain in the butt. Besides, I knew he’d be going off to Dunbar with Noah and Cleda Rae right after the wedding.”

  “With Cleda Rae, at least,” Belle added.

  “I cannot imagine what possessed Noah to leave his family,” Mother said.

  “A hundred and one pounds of fun, I guess,” Jolene said.

  “Oh, Jolene, don’t say that. You don’t know that.”

  “I do know, Helen. I know it for a certain fact. Cleda Rae told me when he left, he took his little Pop-Tart with him. It near to broke Cleda’s heart.”

  “I had no idea,” my mother said.

  I imagined she was shaking her head now, the way she did when she was confounded by the sins of the world.

  “Poor Cleda Rae … and now to have so much trouble with Caleb.”

  “Oh, Cleda will get by,” Jolene said firmly. “She always does. When push comes to shove, she just pushes and shoves whatever it is off on someone else.”

  She paused. “I just hope she ain’t planning to push Caleb off on me and Bobby Lee. I already told Bobby, I ain’t havin’ trouble like that in my house.”

  She sighed loudly. “But you know how Bobby Lee is about Caleb. He thinks the sun rises and sets on that kid.”

  Now, all of this was more interesting than pitching sticks into the river, but only just barely. I slid back down the hill again—my shorts were nearly black with dirt by now.

  Mother did not allow us to walk along the river beyond Uncle Hobie’s property. After that, the bank was uncleared. But last summer, Reana Mae told me that she and Harley Boy had cleared a path almost all the way to the beach. Maybe I could find it.

  I stared up at the cabin again, then set my shoulders the way I’d seen my daddy do when he started a big job.

  If Reana Mae could do it, surely I could.

  The way was easy at first. I took a big stick with me and used it to swat at vines and low-hanging limbs. The mosquitoes and brambles were bad—my legs would be a scratched-up mess when I got to the beach—but I plowed ahead. Pretty soon, I’d get to Bobby Lee and Jolene’s place, and their land was cleared, so that would be a break.

  As I pushed on through the brush, I thought how impressed my sisters would be if I could make a path from our cabin all the way to the beach. It was nearly a mile, after all, by road. But going by the river would cut the walk almost in half. At least that’s what Aunt Belle had said when she tried to convince the county government to put in a paved walkway. She didn’t win on that one, but she gave it a good try.

  I could tell I was getting close to Bobby Lee’s place, because the river curved inward slightly. I peered ahead, looking for the clearing I knew would come up soon. But when I spied it, I stopped short.

  In the clearing, just coming down the stone steps from Bobby Lee and Jolene’s cabin, I saw Tracy.

  What was she doing here? She knew Bobby Lee and Reana Mae had gone to town. She’d pitched a fit with Mother that morning about not getting to go along. Tracy adored Bobby Lee—he flirted with all us girls. And when Mother explained that Reana Mae needed some time just with her daddy, Tracy had stalked out, slamming the screen door behind her with such force it rattled the whole house.

  I crouched in the tall brush, watching my sister as she crossed the cleared area onto the lower bank. She was carrying something small in her arms. I couldn’t tell what.

  I watched in dumb fascination as she knelt in the mud at the edge of the river and began digging with a plastic shovel.

  When she had a hole big enough to satisfy herself, she threw the shovel aside and rocked back on her heels. Then she picked up the small bundle she had carried and carefully unwrapped it from a tattered green receiving blanket. My heart missed a beat then. I knew that blanket. It had been Cousin Lottie’s, and now it was Reana’s. She used it for her baby doll—for Essie.

  What was Tracy doing with Essie?

  Tracy grasped the doll’s lumpy waist and shook her so that her tiny head and limbs jerked in a grotesque dance. Then she dropped Essie into the hole and began shoveling dirt onto the doll. She looked around now and then, but she didn’t see me there, watching her.

  When she had filled in the hole, Tracy threw the shovel far out into the water, picked up the receiving blanket, and rose to her feet. Below those angelic hazel eyes, her lips formed a smile that was wicked. Her cheeks flushed bright red.

  I must have made some small noise then, because she looked straight into the bracket and our eyes met. Her smile froze, her nostrils flared, her eyes widened. I backed away, but she charged into the bushes, grabbing me by the hair and dragging me into the clearing.

  “What are you doing here, maggot head?” she hissed furiously.

  “I was just going to the beach,” I whispered frantically. I didn’t want to cross my sister in this mood.

  “You’re not allowed to go that way,” she said, smacking at my head. “I’m gonna tell Mother on you.”

  “Well, I’ll tell what you did to Essie,” I blurted out.

  Immediately, I wished the words back. Tracy was a whirlwind of scratching claws, kicking feet, and biting teeth.

  “Oh no you won’t, you little bitch! Because if you do, you’ll pay for it. Do you hear me? I’ll make you so sorry, you’ll want to die.”

  She was hissing as she pummeled me.

  “Don’t you think I know where you keep Patsy? I’ll chop her into little pieces, and then I’ll do the same thing to you! Some night while you’re asleep, I’ll get Mama’s big kitchen knife and I’ll chop you up with it.”

  I stared into her red, angry face—her eyes wild and mean, her mouth a furious grimace—and I believed her to my very core.

  “Don’t, Tracy,” I sobbed. “I won’t tell. I promise I won’t tell anyone, ever.”

  “Swear it,” she demanded, holding tight on to my wrist. She wrenched me to my knees. “Swear it on Daddy’s life, and seal it with blood.”

  “I swear on Daddy’s life,” I sobbed, “I won’t tell anyone.”

  “Now seal it.”

  She pulled a small penknife from her pocket, the one Daddy had given her last time he came to visit. Smiling coldly, she held it out to me. “Go ahead,” she spat. “Seal it with blood.”

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I drew the little knife across my fingertip and squeezed a drop of blood onto the ground. “I seal it,” I whispered.

  “Just you remember,” she hissed, grabbing back her knife. “You swore on Daddy’s very life.”

  Then she turned and ran toward the hill, climbing the stairs two at a time.

  I sat on the ground, trembling and sobbing.

  I cried till my stomach hurt. Then I slowly climbed the thirty-two stone steps and headed for home
, kicking small stones before me and cursing my sister with every step.

  That evening, I sat at the picnic table in our kitchen, staring sadly at the food on my plate.

  Mother had fried small cubes of Spam and potatoes in bacon fat—usually one of my favorite meals, topped with ketchup.

  But tonight I felt as if a stone sat in my stomach. I pushed the little squares of meat and potato around in a puddle of grease and ketchup, listening to my two oldest sisters chatter.

  Nancy had heard a rumor just before we left Indiana that Paul McCartney’s wife was pregnant. Melinda indignantly pointed out that the latest Tiger Beat magazine had profiled Linda McCartney, with no mention of a pregnancy. Nancy said Tiger Beat wasn’t a reliable source.

  Glancing at my mother across the table, I felt like I could read her mind. How had she raised such a mindless, thoughtless group of chattering, noisy girls? Lord knows she tried hard to teach us. She took us to Sunday school and church every blessed Sunday, she read us Bible stories and parables, she prayed with us morning and mealtimes and night. What more could she do?

  She caught my eye and smiled, reaching across the table to push my bangs from my forehead.

  “What’s the matter, Bethy? Aren’t you hungry?” she asked.

  I shook my head.

  “My stomach hurts,” I lied, glancing at Tracy sitting beside me on the picnic bench.

  My sister was not having any trouble with her dinner. She was on her second helping of Spam, licking ketchup from her fingertips. She met my eyes briefly, then looked at Mother.

  “Did you talk to Daddy today, Mother?” she asked sweetly.

  “No, honey,” Mother replied. “You know I talk to him on Saturdays.”

  “I hope he’s all right,” Tracy said, her brow creasing slightly.

  “Why, of course he’s all right, Tracy. He was just fine on Saturday. He said he was going up to Chicago this week. That’s just a short trip.”

  Tracy set her fork aside and used her napkin to dab at the corners of her mouth.

  “I just don’t want anything bad to happen to him.”

  She kicked me under the table as she said it, but her eyes never left her plate.

  Mother patted her hand.

  “He’s fine, Tracy. You don’t need to worry. Your daddy is just fine.”

  I rose suddenly, feeling like I was going to throw up.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Tracy asked. “You look like you’re going to puke.”

  “Tracy! Please don’t use that word!” Mother rose and came around the table to me. “Are you all right, Bethany? You do look pale.”

  “Can I be excused?” I asked, not meeting her eyes.

  “Surely, sweetheart. Why don’t you go lie down in your room for a while?”

  Before I could move, the door to the house swung open and Reana Mae burst in.

  We all stared in openmouthed amazement. In 1969 in the Coal River Valley, one simply did not burst into another family’s house—and we had never known Reana Mae to burst anywhere at all. But there she stood, red-cheeked and grinning.

  Then, noting my mother’s look, she stammered, “Oh, I’m sorry, Aunt Helen. I forgot to knock.”

  She backed toward the door, her cheeks growing redder by the minute.

  “Nonsense, Reana Mae. Come in, don’t be shy. Family doesn’t have to knock.”

  Tracy’s fork clanked against the pine floor.

  “But, Mother,” she protested, “you always tell us …”

  “Hush, Tracy,” Mother snapped. She walked toward Reana Mae, her arms opened. “Come in, sweetie, and tell us all about your day in St. Albans. What have you got behind your back?”

  Reana was clutching a wrinkled paper bag behind her.

  She ran into my mother’s open arms and they sat on the worn, plaid sleeper sofa.

  “I brought you something,” she whispered.

  She reached into the bag and pulled out a flat, white box tied with silver ribbon.

  “Why, Reana Mae, you didn’t need to bring us a present.” Mother smiled.

  She took the box from Reana, but before she could untie the ribbon, Reana said, “It’s a box of chocolates … from Fannie May’s. I knew you liked ’em.”

  “Well, yes, we do, Reana Mae. We surely do.” Mother kissed the top of Reana’s head. “Thank you, sweetheart. What a lovely thing to do.”

  Mother opened the box, and we could see the assortment of chocolate candies laid out so prettily inside.

  “Who wants a chocolate?” Mother asked, still smiling.

  Melinda and Tracy crowded in to choose a piece. Nancy hovered, declaring she would not have any. She didn’t want to gain weight before cheerleading tryouts in the fall. But she finally was prevailed upon to have just one piece, since Reana Mae and Bobby Lee had brought them especially for us.

  I stood by the table, staring as Tracy chewed the chocolate-covered caramel she had chosen.

  I couldn’t believe she could eat Reana Mae’s chocolates after what she’d done to Essie. Yet there she was, chewing noisily and eyeing the box hungrily, spying out which piece to have next.

  Reana looked up at me eagerly. “Ain’t you gonna have a candy, Bethany?”

  I shook my head, unable to open my mouth for fear I’d scream.

  “Bethany has a tummy ache, Reana. We’ll save her a piece for tomorrow.” Mother’s hand still rested on Reana’s shoulder.

  Reana Mae suddenly bent forward, rustling in the bag again. “I almost forgot. I brought these, too,” she said, holding up several magazines. “Daddy thought you all might want ’em.”

  Nancy and Melinda eagerly snatched the magazines. “Photoplay,” Melinda squealed, “and Teen Beat! Thanks, Reana!”

  The older girls soon disappeared up the ladder to their loft with another piece of chocolate each and the magazines. I knew we wouldn’t see them again for the night. Mother didn’t even remind them to wash the dishes. She sat smiling on the couch with Reana Mae and Tracy, letting her girls enjoy the small holiday.

  “Tell us about your day, Reana Mae,” she said.

  Reana stared adoringly at her.

  “Well, we went to the movie theater and saw Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. And Daddy bought us some popcorn and Jujubes and Coca-Colas. And we had lunch at Woolworth’s. And he bought Mama some fabric to make herself a dress and one for me, too. And he bought me a comb and brush set. You got to see it, Aunt Helen. It’s powdery blue, and the brush is round and soft, and it’s so pretty. And then we had us some ice cream cones at the Tastee Freez and came on home. And Daddy took the turns so fast on the road, we almost touched the ground. But I didn’t squeal or nothin’; I just held on real tight to him, like I seen Mama do. And he said I was almost as brave as Mama!”

  Reana beamed proudly, and my mother touched her hair softly.

  “You are a good, brave girl, Reana Mae,” she said.

  “Shoot, I guess anyone would be brave with Bobby Lee,” Tracy spat. “Anyone can see he’s a safe rider. What’s there to be afraid of?”

  “I think I’d be afraid.” Mother laughed lightly, but I could see she wasn’t pleased. She never let us ride on the motorcycle with Bobby Lee, although sometimes she let us ride in the sidecar. “I hope he didn’t ride too fast with you, Reana.”

  “Oh no, Aunt Helen. My daddy’s a real good rider, you know.”

  “Of course I do. And I’m glad you had a fun day together.”

  “Lord God in Heaven.” Reana stood abruptly. “I gotta get back home. I promised Mama I’d help her put supper on the table.”

  She skittered to the door and was gone in an instant, leaving behind chocolates and ribbons.

  When Reana Mae had gone, Mother made me lie down in bed while she and Tracy washed the dishes. I heard them clatter around the small kitchen, Tracy chattering about what she would do on a day in St. Albans.

  I was still awake when Tracy came in. I lay quietly as she pulled back the covers and crawled into the double bed beside me. Sh
e sighed, pulled the quilt up over her head, and almost immediately fell into the deep, regular breathing that told me she was asleep. Whatever she did or didn’t do during her days, my sister’s conscience never kept her awake nights. She always slept the sleep of the innocent.

  I lay quietly beside her, wondering what I could possibly do. I couldn’t tell anyone what Tracy had done, that much I knew for sure. But what would Reana Mae do without Essie?

  I shuddered, thinking of poor Essie buried under the black mud by the river. I couldn’t leave her there. I would have to go get her … that was all there was to it.

  It seemed like hours before I heard my mother pull out the sleeper sofa in the living room and blow out the kerosene lamp. It was quiet in the house then—quieter than it ever got at home in Indianapolis, where there were always street sounds outside.

  Still I waited, because I knew Mother was at her prayers now. I couldn’t see her in the dark, but I knew she was kneeling beside the sofa, her face buried in her hands, her lips moving silently as she talked to her God. She did this every morning and every night, and woe to the little girl who shouted or laughed or disturbed Mother’s conversations with the almighty Lord.

  At long last, I heard the creaking springs of the sleeper as Mother climbed into bed. And a while after that, I heard her gentle, regular breathing.

  Now there were only the sounds of sleep in the dark little cabin by the river. Tracy wheezed slightly beside me, Mother snored softly in the living room, Melinda and Nancy slept silently in the loft above. Now it was time to go, before I lost my nerve.

  I crept into the living room, fumbled for the key on the hook by the door, turned it in the lock, and slipped out onto the porch. I closed the door again, slid the key under a large rock by the steps, and then I was running down the dirt road, my bare feet slapping the ground, my heart pounding.

  The night sky was lit by a nearly full moon, but below lay a silent, palpable, living darkness. No streetlights shone along the river, no porch lights, no spotlights from car dealerships, no traffic lights. The moon was bright, but off the road on either side, the woods closed in darkly.