“Hey, Martha,” Leon said quietly. “You shouldn’t carry money around like that. Someone’s likely to steal your purse.”
“Yeah, like me,” one of the other boys said, then snorted a laugh. He was cut off short by hard glares. His face reddened.
“I’ll tell you what. After we finish our drinks, I’ll take you home, okay?”
Martha smiled. “Okay!” Another friend. She glowed inside. She looked at Mike. He smiled, relief flooding through him. Thank God. Leon’s a good kid. Always helping out. Jesus, I don’t want any trouble over this woman.
When Martha had slurped up the last of her root beer and wiped the mustache from her lip, smearing her lipstick and exposing some of the scar, Leon left his friends and walked out into the afternoon sun with her. He held open the door of his old pickup truck parked at the curb and helped her inside.
They bounced their way to the farmhouse, truck squeaking and rattling. “Gee, I better get over here with my mower pretty soon, huh?”
“Yes,” she said softly. “Weeds.”
Leon killed the engine and jumped out, ran around and helped Martha down. He walked to the door with her. “You know, we could fix this place up a little bit.” He looked up at the sagging roof over the porch. “This needs shoring up.” He bounced on his toes. “Porch is solid.” He walked across and looked around the side. “Chicken coop looks pretty sad.”
“Lemonade?”
“Sure, I’ll have some lemonade.”
They went into the cool interior and Leon sat in a kitchen chair while Martha filled two glasses.
“You know, it looked like you have enough money in your purse to fix the roof there by the porch and the chicken coop too. And the whole place needs painting. I’m looking for a job, and I’d sure like to help you out.”
Martha didn’t understand anything he said.
He moved a little closer to her and talked more slowly. “With money,” he pointed at her purse.
“Money, yes.”
“I fix roof and chicken house.”
“Fix chicken house?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” She handed him her purse. He opened it, took out the wad, and counted it. Over five hundred dollars! He took five twenties and rolled up the rest of it.
“I’m going to take a hundred and buy some materials. When the work is all finished, you can pay me for my time, okay?”
She just smiled at him. He put the bills in her hand. “I’m taking this.” He held up the twenties. “You pay me more later.”
“Yes. Okay.”
Leon looked around the little house. “Let’s find some place to hide the rest of this money. He looked at the cookie jar, a big fat bear sitting up. He took the wad from her slack hand and went to the counter, lifting up the bear’s head. “The rest of the money is here, okay?”
Martha giggled. Money inside the bear. “Okay!”
Leon finished his lemonade. “I’m going now to buy supplies. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Back?”
He nodded.
“Which square?” She pointed at the calendar on the wall.
“Tomorrow.”
“Next square.”
“Yes.” He stood up and looked down at her. She was really something. Slow, yes, but there was something else, nice, trusting, like a little puppy.
“You leaving?” She pushed her chair back and got up, came right over to him and hugged him hard. He felt a lot different from Priscilla. She was small and tiny, and Martha’s arms went all the way around her. Leon was much taller, and his back was wide and strong. It surprised her how different he felt.
Leon stood there, unprepared. He looked down into the gray curls; then, helpless to move, he gave her a light hug back.
“Friends hug,” she said. Priscilla had taught her that. Now he understood, and gave her a good squeeze. She was soft and mushy under his arms and against his chest. Not at all like the skinny girls he took to the drive-in movies. They were slim and bony and they slithered around a lot under his hot hands. Martha was a woman, plump, soft, and cuddly. He felt himself push against the inside of his jeans. Jesus, Leon, you adolescent punk. He released her and quickly went out the door, waving.
“See you tomorrow!” He backed around and drove off in a cloud.
Martha sat back down in her chair, her fingers automatically searching out the imperfections in her nose. She thought of Leon, nice, tall boy. He felt good to hug, the place where his body touched hers still felt warm and tingly.
She smiled inside. A new friend, she thought. A whole new world was opening up right in front of her eyes. She’d spent her whole life here in this house with just her mother and father, and now she was finding that there were so many other things out there.
Suddenly she froze, as a vision of her mother, sitting in the next chair, swam up before her. Her dark eyes were piercing. She said, “Do not listen to what your father says about you, Martha. You are a very special child, and you must let those nasty things just slide right over you. He doesn’t understand you like I do. You are very special, and some day other people will understand that.” The image began breaking up, and Martha reached for it, calling her mother. Don’t go away, come back, tell me, tell me. Her fingers clutched only dry air, but for a moment she really remembered what her mother looked like.
The vision made her sad. Special. Like Leon. He’s special. Like Priscilla. She’s special. And I’m special too. And she wished again she could understand, and felt it well up deep inside her, like gas, only it didn’t hurt, it felt more like filling up, like something starting to come up from the very depths of her soul. She groped again for the room of understanding, that which would make her normal, could help her keep up with her new friends, and the snarling growl deafened her as yellow eyes and sharp canines lunged and snapped with threatening viciousness. Her mind shut down. She turned on the television.
As soon as Leon and Martha left the bar, the two boys ordered another round of beers and slithered into the corner booth, out of the bartender’s vision.
“Jeez-us! Did you see that wad of cash?” The words kind of whistled through the space where he was missing a front tooth.
The other boy looked at him. “Yeah.”
“Maybe we ought to go pay her a visit tonight.”
“Come on. She’s just an old retarded lady.”
“Do you know where she lives?”
“Sure. Everybody knows where Martha lives.”
“Where?”
“First farm on the right out the north side of town. Hey, Leslie, you can’t be serious.”
“Serious as a heart attack, my friend. It was your idea, remember?”
“Shit, I was just kidding.”
“I ain’t.” His steely eyes glinted in the dim light of the bar as he sipped his beer and stared into his fantasy.
CHAPTER 6
The daily routine of life became easier for Fern. As the months went by she spent less time with Addie, feeling more capable of handling things on her own. The seasons swept through her life, one by one, all exemplifying their own personalities. Winter was a mean ogre, dangerous and ugly, yet his reign was oddly cozy and comfortable as they rested during this respite from the sweltering summer. Spring was a baby bunny, soft and warm, but skittish, and able to dash into frantic motion in less than a heartbeat of time. Spring was clean. Then summer again, a paper queen of vivid reds, purples, and greens, fading in the sunlight, turning all the colors a sickly yellow while the paper itself became crisp and brittle. Autumn was a deer, beautiful and swift. And winter had come again.
Fern did her chores cheerfully, always busy, mind continually racing on a path of its own, far removed from the repetitive tasks at hand.
She dreamed of becoming a great healer, speaking of God and love to multitudes of people on a grassy knoll. She dreamed of waving her hand over a hospital and having all within healed in an instant. She dreamed of being visited personally by God and all his angels one day while she was baking bread or making jam.