Jenny Wall had seemed so happy an hour ago, buying things for their house, thinking they were out of debt, looking forward to their first Christmas together with their first baby. This was going to shatter her.
24
« ^ » Many are made to believe, that in Carolina, as in Jamaica ... the whole year is one continual summer; but this is a mistake; they have the four revolving seasons as in Britain; the transitions to each are gentle and imperceptible.“Scotus Americanus,” 1773
As usual, Dwight had underestimated the speed with which news still travels. I hadn’t opened my mouth except to say hello to my oldest brother Robert, who was starting up the steps of the funeral home just ahead of me that evening, when his wife Doris said, “You hear about Curtis Thornton? If only we’d’ve known, Haywood and Isabel wouldn’t have had to go all the way to Atlantic City to gamble. They could’ve stayed right here in Colleton County.”
“What you talking?” Robert laughed and gave me a hug. “I doubt Thornton had slot machines and bright colored lights or any floor shows either, and that’s what Haywood loves.”
“Don’t forget room service,” I said, hugging him back.
“What do I love?” asked Haywood, who had appeared right behind us.
“Slot machines and floor shows,” I said. “Robert thinks Curtis Thornton messed up by not running a classier operation.”
“Ain’t that a sight?” Haywood shook his head. Organized gambling’s just fine in New Jersey, but he’s opposed to gambling in North Carolina, organized or amateur.
“And we just heard that Dwight thinks the Wall boy killed Jap Stancil so he could keep all the money to pay his gambling debts,” said Isabel. She clucked her tongue at the idea.
“Well, that’s what happens when you can’t leave it alone,” said Doris, who was one of the ones who disapproved of their trips to Atlantic City.
With a mild glance at the cigarette in Doris’s hand, Isabel said, “Any kind of addiction can be real bad.”
The soft dig went right past Doris. She dropped her cigarette in the ashstand just outside the door and offered around her roll of breath mints as we went inside.
A funeral home visitation is uncomfortably like the receiving line at a wedding reception except that the deceased occupies the spot usually reserved for the bride and groom. One passes through a line of lesser relatives, pauses a solemn moment before the open casket, then passes on to the immediate relatives.
Tonight, there were only three people to represent the family. Allen Stancil stood just beyond the bier, looking decidedly uncomfortable in a necktie and a too-big sports jacket that Pete Grimes had probably lent him. Merrilee Grimes stood next to him and Pete hovered protectively at her elbow.
Jap Stancil had been an ornery old man who’d outlived his wife and son. He had died without grandchildren or any church affiliation and had been considered slightly disreputable by many of his more self-righteous neighbors. As a result, the turnout at Aldcroft’s tonight was rather light and most came to pay their respects to Merrilee and Pete, not because they grieved for Allen, who was relatively unknown to the community, or because they personally mourned the old man’s passing.
Of those who did come for Mr. Jap’s sake, Daddy and Aunt Sister were probably the only ones who remembered him from childhood although my older brothers had certainly known him in his prime.
“He kept our old ’thirty-nine Ford V-Eight running three years past its natural death,” said Haywood of the first car he and Herman owned together, and they got downright lyrical about the way he’d helped them rebuild the engine of a 1950 Studebaker, a car legendary among the boys for its great heart and stamina. It was still up on cinder blocks under one of the shelters at the homeplace, like a trusty old mule let out to pasture.
Despite those memories, there was more talk about the way Jasper Stancil had died than the way he’d lived—especially after one of Merrilee’s Yadkin cousins arrived. The cousin lived in the same trailer park as Billy and Jenny Wall and she described in lurid detail how a patrol car from the Sheriff’s Department had come out and taken Billy Wall away in handcuffs not two hours ago.
The sedate parlor where Mr. Jap lay in unaccustomed state was electrified.
“Billy Wall? Naw, you know not!”
“Billy Wall? I can’t believe it. Why, he was telling me just last week how grateful he was to Jap for letting him grow his corn there with no up-front money.”
“ ’Course you know, Billy was flashing a pretty big wad of cash down at the store yesterday.”
“And I hear tell his wife’s been buying stuff for the baby’s room like she found the money tree.”
“Won’t nobody else with any cause to do him in.”
When it was my turn to speak to Allen and Merrilee, I restrained myself from skewering Allen with Diana Henderson’s name and expressed my formal sympathy to both Grimeses since Pete had been Merrilee’s surrogate whenever she was too busy to run by there herself.
“You were mighty good to him,” I told Merrilee. “You too, Pete. I’m sure it made him rest easy knowing he could count on y’all when Dallas wasn’t there.”
Merrilee smiled bravely and Pete shuffled his feet in embarrassment.
The formality of the occasion had begun to dissipate beneath speculation about Billy Wall on the one hand and discussion of weekend holiday plans on the other. Conversation lost its reverent hush and occasional bursts of laughter punctuated the buzz and hum. Daddy and Aunt Sister were seated at the end of the big room beside Herman’s wheelchair and I joined my sisters-in-law who were standing nearby.
Adam wasn’t at the funeral home. Isabel said that he was spending the night at Zach’s and would be flying out the next day. Evidently, he’d made the rounds that afternoon and said good-bye to everyone except me. There was no reference to any land sale, so I had to assume no one else knew.
“I was hoping Karen and the children could maybe fly over for our Thanksgiving get-together on Saturday,” said Isabel, “but Adam says they wouldn’t get enough time off from school to make it worthwhile. Beats me how it can feel like Thanksgiving or Christmas either with palm trees and going swimming in your own backyard.”
She was confusing San Diego where Frank lived with San Francisco again. In Isabel’s mind, the whole of California was surf and sun three hundred and sixty days a year with earthquakes, canyon fires, and mudslides on the remaining five.
“You get the plates yet?” Doris asked me.
I assured her that I’d already taken care of it. “Plates and napkins, too.”
“I thought if you didn’t, I could pick them up tomorrow. I’m going to Raleigh. Start my Christmas shopping.” She looked at Isabel and Nadine. “Y’all want to come?”
Nadine said she had to work. She’d promised a customer to give him an estimate on wiring a new bathroom. Isabel just smiled patiently. “Now, Doris, you know well and good that Haywood and me are driving over to Kinston tomorrow afternoon.”
“Oh yes. For that plane to Atlantic City.”
The devil was in me and I pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to Isabel. “Play one of the machines for me, okay?”
Isabel smiled and tucked the bill in her purse. “I’ll dedicate tomorrow night to you, honey. Where you gonna be if you win a million dollars?”
“Bet she’s going to New Bern,” said Nadine with a sly smile.
All three of them suspect I’m sleeping with Kidd, but as long as they don’t know for sure, they like it that I seem to be settling down with one man and they’re keeping their fingers crossed that he’ll give me a diamond for Christmas. (It’s never occurred to them that I might not accept one.)