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CHAPTER 4

I hadn’t returned to school after you’d come and gone. I don’t think anyone noticed, or if they did, they didn’t let on. No notes from the teachers to my parents informing them of my absence. No meetings in the headmaster’s room. No room at the inn.

It took approximately two and a quart’ hours to walk from the cotton field along the creek, down to the back of the mill. I’d timed it, so that by the time I got to the creek, I could cut across the water, into the clearing, and lie there looking up at the sky, timing myself how long I could stare at the sun. One Mississippi, two Mississippi. Daisy and I hadn’t got much further than two Mississippis last year, but I wanted to show her I could do it.

Bert had told us once that if we could get to six Mississippis that we’d be closer to the Lord and He would grant any wish we wanted. But no matter how fast I counted, I still turned my head at two Mississippis. If I could get a second closer to my wish, I knew it’d be OK. But the bright light that penetrated my pupils forced me to look away and however many times I tried, however fast I counted, however much I wished, I just knew that Jesus wasn’t looking.

I’d lie there until the sun had gone over the back of the woods and then I’d wander along the water, taking off my shoes and socks, strolling through the brook. I knew that if I walked at a steady pace, then I’d get to Jefferson Hill just before lunch, where I’d usually climb up.

If you stood on the very top, you’d be able to see the school across the town, where everyone would be playing. You couldn’t really make out faces, but I knew where she usually hung out and I could kind of see Daisy with a couple of the other girls. They’d play hopscotch until the bell had rung and then dart back inside for the afternoon lessons. As the lunch bell rang and the last dot disappeared from my view, I’d gaze across the houses, the fields, way beyond the town, and I’d search for you. I knew you were out there, bundled up tight in somebody’s arms, clutching someone’s finger. Not mine.

My breasts still leaked with milk, aching for your lips. I’d look out and think of you, carried across some state or other, where my Ma said you’d gone. I peered as far as the eye could see and I imagined your tiny fingers, reaching out for mine – our hearts engorged, my blood running through your veins.

I felt the sweltering heat beat on my back. I paddled through the creek to cool me down. When I crossed back over to the other bank, my stomach would always roll over, partly from hunger ’cause I never took anything to eat, and partly at the thought of returning to the town, where people could barely lift their heads to look at me.

I’d spend my days skulking around the house, keeping from under my Ma’s feet. Suppertimes became more silent and the sense of my family’s detachment became stronger as each day passed. My brothers would continue in their boisterous manner, teasing my Ma and arm-wrestling my Pa, whilst I sat silently waiting for them to tickle me, ruffle my hair, and do the things they used to do.

However, I knew deep down inside the disgrace they felt. I noticed how my Ma would wait until my Pa had left for work and then she would often catch the bus to the next town for her groceries, to avoid folk whispering the way they do.

Don’t get me wrong, Pa Bell was still a strong presence in Springfield, and I’d heard them congratulate and backslap him right there in front of me, about his good Christian values and how Jesus would be proud of them supporting me the way they did. It was my parents’ faith that kept my room open for the time being. Not faith in their daughter, but in the Son of God. Thank the Lord, for the roof over my head. Good Christian values are the bread and butter of society.

But I saw in my Ma’s eyes the shame and humiliation I had brought to their home, and no matter how many Mississippis I counted, I knew I’d be blind before my wishes would be granted.

I decided to set my alarm a good hour before the house awoke. The sun had already begun to rise and I could hear the faint sounds of the mill in the quiet of the morn. Tiptoeing downstairs, I shut the kitchen door behind me, opened the window for a little breeze, and set to. I had helped my Ma prepare breakfast over the years, but I had never cooked it all alone. I wanted today to be just perfect.

Perching on the chair, I reached to the back of the cupboard and pulled out the white linen cloth that my Ma used for Sunday best. I laid it out on the table. Setting out the plates and cutlery as quietly as I could, I then hurriedly prepared their coffee and juice, when I heard the first stirrings upstairs. I knew the creaking of the boards meant that my Ma had awoken, so anxiously I poured her coffee into the hand-painted china cup her aunt had left her, brushed my apron down, and waited to hear her gently pitter-patter down the oak stairs. Despite the sun that was streaming through the window, I sensed it must’ve been a little chilly that morning, as I’m sure my hand began to shake.

I knew I’d surprised her, because as soon as she opened the kitchen door she stopped dead in her tracks. Offering her the cup and saucer, I felt a bead of sweat trickle down the side of my face. I hoped she’d take the cup from my hand, so that I could open the window further to get some more fresh air. But after what seemed like a minute, she snatched it from me and poured it down the sink. After gently washing the china cup, she dried it and placed it back in the top cupboard, where it had sat for almost ten years. Whipping the cloth from the table, she re-laid it with the usual grass mats I had left in the drawer, and without a word she prepared the boys’ breakfast.

After the boys had gone to work and the quiet of the house rested heavily on my Ma’s shoulders, we worked through that day’s chores. I offered to sweep the front of the house, so as not to get in her way. I spent the morning clearing up as much of the dusty road – that had drifted onto the porch – as possible. No matter how gently you swept the broom along the wooden slats, the grit would dance up into the air and into your eyes, causing them to itch and water.

Nearing lunchtime, I saw through the window that my Ma was preparing my Pa and brothers’ food, which she would take over with a bottle of cool soda for each of them. Creatures of habit, my brothers would close up the garage at midday and sit in the shade eating their subs with their oily hands, playing cards, day in, day out.

My Ma tapped on the window and beckoned me in. Resting the broom handle on the doorframe, I skipped into the house, hoping she had poured me an ice-cold soda too, so that I could wash away the dust that had covered the back of my throat; but instead she passed me my brothers’ and Pa’s lunch bag and told me to hurry over there before they left for the auctions.

Grabbing the bag and running across the back of town as fast as I could, my eyes began to water more. Through the blur, I could see the garage gates still open. Situated between the launderette and the wrecker’s yard, the old rusting sign ‘Bell’s Autos’ protruded into the blue sky like a beacon. I could see my Pa’s pickup wasn’t parked outside, but peering around the side of the entrance, I spotted a pair of dirty overalls poking out the end of a car.

Assuming it was Bert or Samuel – as my Pa usually took Payton out to the auctions to show him the ropes – I gently tapped the greasy feet with my shoe and placed their bag of food on top of the car bonnet. Everywhere I looked was cluttered with tools and cans and papers. Expecting Bert to huff and puff his way from under the car, as though I’d stopped him from ever mending it, I backed out of the yard, ready to run all the way home.

‘They’re still up at the auction in Jonestown. Went this morning instead.’

I didn’t recognize the voice at first, and only when I turned and saw his bright red hair, did I blush from head to toe. I remembered my Pa had mentioned taking on an extra pair of hands. Since the mechanics in Mallory had shut down in the spring, Pa had been inundated with repairs. Despite him having my brothers to help, there still appeared to be enough work for more.

I remember I stuttered a lot and tried to think of something smart to say, but seeing as it had been a while since someone had actually spoken to me, I merely looked down to my shoes with my blurred vision and awkwardly rubbed my eyes.

‘Got summat in your eye? Want me to take a look?’

I think as he stepped forward, I stepped back and tripped over my own darn feet. Gaining my balance again, I pointed over to the bag of food I’d left on the bonnet and hoped he’d realize why I’d come over.

He turned to see what I was pointing at, then he looked back at me and smiled, and I tell you, the dryness in my throat almost trapped my swallow like a cobra. I hadn’t had a smile from anyone in months and my heart just about knew it. As he stepped further forward, I remember hearing the pickup nearing, but I didn’t turn to look as I just wanted to see his grin for a moment longer before it disappeared. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three …

I should have known they’d toot the horn, but it still didn’t stop me from jumping out of my skin. I heard them all laughing and jeering as per usual, as they tumbled out of the truck. All those times when I was growing up, I’d hate them ruffling my hair or picking me up and swinging me around as they clowned around in front of each other, but my Lord, how I missed it now.

As soon as I saw Tommy turn back to the car, I spun around and ran from the garage, taking his smile with me. Skipping along the main drag, past Mrs Kelland – who when not peering into her gin bottle, washed the town’s dirty laundry at the launderette – and back towards the house.

Pausing for breath, I finally managed to swallow. Glancing back over my shoulder, I looked up to the sky and saw the garage’s rusty sign shadowing the piercing sun. Taking a deep breath, I watched and waited until it popped back out from behind the sign, and I continued back on home.