"There are some things folk don't like to talk about," she said quietly. "I reckon it was awhile back when I heard something vague, but it was so nasty that I put it out of my mind. No one likes to think that sort of thing goes on next door or down the road. I just figured it wasn't true and that I wasn't going to repeat it, not even to you and Estelle."
"Nobody wanted to talk about it, not even Hammet." I gently shook his shoulder and said, "But sometimes it needs to be talked about, to be brought out like all the other dirty laundry."
"I promised," he said. "I wanted to tell ya, but I promised. Lissie made me swear to keep it a secret. She said she tried to tell her teacher, but the dumb sow didn't believe her and she had to miss recess for lying."
We were on an island in the middle of the noisy crowd. I could hear my heart beating, and I thought I heard Hammet's, too. His eyes filled with tears and he flung his arms around me, his body convulsed with painful sobs. Once he'd calmed down, I told him where I was going and why, then told Ruby Bee that the game was postponed. Indefinitely.
"Guess we showed him," Kevin cackled as he and his honey bun sat on the porch swing, enjoying the breeze. "Did you see how he fell on his knees? He was so red, he looked like a fire hydrant, didn't he? I'm just sorry a dog didn't wander by and lift a hind leg."
"Don't you go talking like that again, Kevin Fitzgerald Buchanon," Dahlia said. She polished off the last crumbs of chocolate cake, put the plate down in the respectable area between them, and gazed at him until he started to squirm, which didn't take long. "Now if'n I agree to rebetroth with you, you got to swear you ain't gonna act all crazy ever again until we're married and have our own cozy little house."
She may have said house, but Kevin would have sworn on his great-granny's urn on the mantel that she said bed. It was unfortunate. Not only had he been deprived of his darling dumpling's soft, warm body all these long months, recently he'd been obliged to listen to all sorts of gossip and look at photographs that had left some real vivid images in his head.
He glanced over his shoulder. In the living room, his pa was watching television and his ma was clipping coupons out of a magazine. He gave the swing a little push, then said, "Do you happen to be wearing something other than your best blue blouse, my sweetness?"
He was astonished when she slapped the living daylights out of him. He was so plum astonished that he couldn't for the life of him think of anything to say, which was probably for the best.
Mrs. Jim Bob made one list after another. Groceries; chores Perkins's eldest had best do next week-if she intended to keep her job, that is. Refreshments at the next missionary society meeting. Pieces of furniture to have re-covered. Bible verses that could be used as weapons. The Ten Commandments, all of which Jim Bob had violated in the last week. Well, maybe not failing to honor his father and mother, since they were buried side by side in the old cemetery down by Boone Creek. She scratched that one out and wrote, "Thou shall not humiliate thy wife in front of everybody in town."
She put the other lists aside. This was the one to work on, she decided with a grim smile. When Jim Bob came back, she intended to sit him down on the newly re-covered divan for a long while and go over each and every commandment as many times as it took. By the time she finished with him, he was going to wish he'd been tarred and feathered like that disgusting Lamont. It would seem a minor inconvenience compared to what she had in store for him.
Then, she told herself, she would have to do her Christian duty and march right down to the trailer next to the Voice of the Almighty, because she had some questions and was going to get some answers. Her lips tightened as she recalled the bright pink doll, and she grabbed for another piece of paper.
The telephone rang, and she was feeling brightened enough to answer with a brisk "What is it?" She listened for a minute, then said, "No, neither of them's coming in to the bank today. Last seen, my husband was chasing a giant skunk toward Cotter's Ridge. The man at the other end seemed to want to discuss it further, but she didn't, so she replaced the receiver and went back to Jim Bob's list. She had him on adultery, taking the Lord's name in vain, coveting, and at least partially on some of the others.
Mrs. Jim Bob fixed herself a nice cup of tea and went to work.
When Plover and I returned from Farberville, I admitted I couldn't face the PD or the magpies eagerly awaiting a choice morsel to devour. We drove down to Boone Creek and parked under a clump of oak trees. October was nearly a month away, but the relentless heat had turned some of the leaves brown, and we could hear them rustling above us. The water was low, exposing mud bars and expanses of rough yellowish-green rocks.
Plover called the sheriff's dispatcher for an update. Lamont had last been seen scampering into the brush in the direction of Cotter's Ridge, with Jim Bob hot on his heels and bellowing some highly creative threats. The dispatcher conveyed Harve's apology for letting the two get past his deputies, but none of us was terribly perturbed. Cotter's Ridge was a rocky, brambly wasteland. The dispatcher assured us that all the roads were being watched, then told us to have a nice day.
I replayed the last two hours in my mind. The scene at home plate had had a certain charm, but what had happened at the hospital had not. "I'm glad he admitted it," I said, sighing. "The last thing I wanted to do was to confront him with his own daughter. Gawd, I wish I'd caught on sooner, but I was listening so hard to the ludicrous gossip that I missed the subtle messages. Both kids afraid of him, defending him, and denying he did more than raise his voice. Lissie saying she had to be a big girl, worrying about being accused of making up stories. Martin lying about being beaten."
"We all missed the messages."
I let my head fall back against the seat and glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. "Nobody did a thing to keep that poor little girl from being sexually abused. Martin tried to tell his grandmother, but she refused to believe him. He did the only thing he could."
Plover took my hand and squeezed it. "It's a good thing he didn't taste too much of the roach powder before he laced the coconut cakes in his pa's coat pocket."
"Guess he wanted to know if it had a weird taste. We can write off his grandmother's death as accidental, since he was trying to…stop his father."
"She refused to believe him. He may have suspected she might eat one of the cakes."
"No, he didn't. I'm not about to charge a twelve-year-old with homicide, or even manslaughter. Those kids don't deserve to go through any more ordeals. A caseworker from the Department of Human Services will be here tomorrow to take them into protective custody-and she's not going to hear a single word about coconut cakes and roach powder. God, I hope some therapist can help Lissie understand why he did it. All his pitiful excuses about being so lost and frightened after his wife died, being so lonely, being so desperate for love and physical affection"-I slammed my fist on the dashboard-"those aren't excuses. There is no excuse for what he was doing to that child!"
I shoved open the car door and stalked down the side of the road, grinding my fists into my pockets and kicking the clumps of weeds. When I heard Plover's footstep behind me, I wheeled around and said, "No one listened, damn it. That kind of thing's not entertaining-so we've made it unspeakable." My voice rose an octave. "Let's talk about Kevin and Dahlia in the porch swing, or turn Lamont Petrel into a rapist, or anything worthy of a three-part miniseries on television-anything that has no more than a tiny kernel of truth, because the truth's too damn unpleasant. What the hell-let's bury our heads in a travel book, pretending to be on another continent where everything is romantic and carefree!"