The Sweet Gum Tree (2 page)

I was mortified by this news. Sure, I’d done some things that tended to get me noticed, like waltzing up the center aisle at church and stretching out on my stomach with my chin propped on my hands as I listened to Reverend Green’s sermon. But that had been years ago and I was hoping people would quit bringing it up every chance they got. Having a reputation can be tough when you’re eight. It was time to change the subject.

“I’m going to catch a wowzer cat this afternoon,” I bragged. “It lives under the trestle down at the railroad tracks.”

One of his eyebrows shot up. “What’s a wowzer cat?”

“It’s a fifty pound cat with eight legs and nine bung holes, and it’s meaner than a gar. But I’m going to tame it and take it home with me.” This time his teeth showed when he grinned. “Even if it was real, why would you want to take something like that home?”

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The Sweet Gum Tree

I wasn’t about to admit I felt sorry for it. “To scare my Aunt Darla.” I hesitated.

“You don’t think there really is a wowzer cat?” He stopped at a battered blue pickup and took out a crowbar to pry up the hood.

“Who told you there was?”

“The Judge.”

One of his shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Maybe he was trying to scare you into staying off the tracks. They’re too dangerous for a kid to play on.” He moved around the truck to lean over the fender well, his too-small shirt riding up his back with the movement, and suddenly I forgot all about wowzer cats and my reputation as I stared at the raw welt he’d exposed.

The only time I’d ever been hit by an adult was when Mama swatted my bottom for saying a cuss word that I’d heard the Judge use, in front of a church elder, and then I cried for two hours. Mama felt so guilty she cried with me and promised to never spank me again. Next time I cussed, she’d just wash my mouth out with soap and have done with it. But I knew instinctively what the mark on Nick’s back was. It was two inches wide and curved around his side, the edges of the strip laced with cuts, most of it dark blue in color.

Lifting one finger, I touched the mark gently. “Does it still hurt?” His body jerked and stiffened as he spun to stare at me, his eyes going the same shade of black-gray as the sky when it’s going to storm. I stared right back, not willing to give an inch, but inside a mixture of horror and sympathy filled me. None of it showed on my face, though. I understood pride.

“Why did he hit you?”

Nick’s hand tightened around the wrench he was holding. “He doesn’t need a reason.” He glanced toward the tin building. “Look, don’t say anything to anybody, okay? Most of the time I stay out of his way.”

“I won’t tell, I promise. But you need some medicine on it.” For once I was willing to take Aunt Darla at her word. Uneasy visions of gangrene, tetanus, and infection bounced inside my head.

“Don’t have any. Besides, it’s getting better.” Maybe, but I wasn’t taking any chances. “I’ll be right back.” I headed for the truck at a run, and once there, rummaged frantically through the glove box until I found the small round tin I was searching for. Bee balm.

Wherever the Judge went, there was sure to be bee balm nearby. He bought it in bulk, twelve tins to the box, and swore the salve could cure anything. I knew from firsthand experience that its powers were nothing short of miraculous. The Judge had slathered it on me for everything from a splinter wound to a skinned knee, and each time I had healed with no permanent damage. The only unhappy incident connected to the salve was the time I thought it must be a balm to soothe bees and applied it to the back of a honeybee gathering nectar from the clover in our yard. Unfortunately, the 9

Katherine Allred

salve stuck the bee and me together, and I wound up getting stung. Obviously, it was not meant to soothe bees, because that one was pretty ticked off by the experience.

Nick had one end of the fuel pump off by the time I slid to a stop beside him. “Hold up your shirt.”

He paused, eyeing the tin in my hand. “What’s that?”

“Bee balm. It will keep you from getting an infection.” I ignored the gleam of amusement in his eyes as he straightened and lifted his shirt just enough to expose the welt.

Keeping the honeybee in mind, I dipped out a tiny bit of salve and went to work on his back. His skin was hot under my hand, and in spite of his scruffy, worn clothes I could smell the clean scent of soap coming from him. He watched me, his expression hooded as I moved around his side and finished where the welt ended on his stomach.

“There. All done.” I put the lid back on the tin and held it out. “You can keep it.

We’ve got lots more.”

Still watching me, he slid it into his shirt pocket. “Are you gonna be a nurse or something?”

“Nope. I’m going to be a writer.”

His expression turned to one of intense interest. “It takes someone special to write books.”

“Well, I’m special, then, ‘cause that’s what I’m going to do.”

“You may be right, Peewee.” He lifted a hand and tugged on one of my dark pigtails. His tone was so warm that I couldn’t take offense at the nickname. Coming from him, it sounded more like an endearment than another slur on my size.

“Do you like to read?” I asked, leaning on the fender as he went back to work.

“When I can. The old man thinks reading is a waste of time. He’d rather spend his money on liquor than books.”

This attitude boggled my mind even more than his wounded back. Everyone in my family read. Books were as necessary to us as food or sleep. I don’t know how old I was when I started reading, but I know my mother accidentally discovered my talent when I was four. She had bought me a new fairy tale, promising to read it to me that night when I went to bed. Unwilling to wait that long, I was reading it aloud to my dolls when she came into the room. From the amount of excitement this feat generated, you’d have thought I’d found the cure for cancer. I couldn’t imagine anyone who thought reading was a waste of time.

I was still thinking about this weird behavior when I caught a movement from the corner of my eye. Lindsey Swanner was standing a few cars down from us, one finger in her mouth as she watched Nick. Her hair was tangled around her shoulders, and she was barefoot.

“What’s she doing here?”

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The Sweet Gum Tree

“Waiting on me.” He finally freed the fuel pump and pulled it out from under the hood.

“Why?”

He shrugged one shoulder and wiped an arm across his sweaty forehead. “I take care of her.”

“Why?”

“Because nobody else does.”

“Is she your sister?” I asked, my curiosity growing.

He gave me a wary look, but shook his head. “No, her daddy was Paul Nyland. He died in an accident at the lumber mill before she was born. They moved here right after that.”

A sudden surge of pity hit me and I turned and marched up to Lindsey. Nick followed, his stance suddenly restrained and defensive. I should have paid more attention to his attitude. If I had, I might have saved myself a lot pain further down the road. But at eight, I only knew one thing. Mother said God put each of us on this earth for a purpose, and that day I decided mine was to save Nick Anderson. If that meant helping Lindsey at the same time, I was more than willing.

Lindsey cowered as I faced her, her blue eyes huge.

“We’re having a church social tomorrow,” I told her. “There’s going to be lots of food, and singing and games. You don’t have to get dressed up, and you don’t even have to go to church first if you don’t want to. It’s going to be at the park. You make Nick bring you. I’ll be waiting.”

At the time, I was unaware the Judge had watched the entire thing through the small grime-encrusted window of the tin building. He remained thoughtful as we drove back through town.

“You like that Anderson kid?”

I was sitting on my knees, wondering if I could talk him into stopping at the Mercantile for a soda when he asked me the question. “He’s okay, for a boy.”

“You may be right, Honey pie.” He rubbed a hand over his crew-cut. “But you be careful with him. Don’t let your soft heart overrule your common sense.” I sighed as we passed the store without slowing. “I asked him and Lindsey to the church social tomorrow. Was that all right?”

“I reckon. But you best tell your mother about it, and don’t be disappointed if they don’t come.”

“Yes, sir.”

My mother, Ellie, was the youngest of the Judge’s daughters, and the only one who’d gotten married. Aunt Darla was the oldest, with Aunt Jane, the quiet one, falling somewhere in the middle. They all lived with the Judge in the big old two-story house that sprawled on our small farm about a mile from town.

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Katherine Allred

I knew they had an older brother, my Uncle Vern, but I’d never met him. He’d moved away a long time before I was born and married a woman the family didn’t approve of. When he was spoken of at all, it was in hushed whispers, by everyone but my mother. She had no problem bringing his name up on a regular basis, to Aunt Darla’s irritation.

“He’s my brother and I’ll talk about him when I want to,” I heard my mother calmly pronounce as I bounced through the kitchen door. She was at the table, putting the finishing touches on a lemon icebox pie. Aunt Darla was at the sink, washing vegetables. Being wise, Aunt Jane had already fled the area.

“Whether you like it or not, Sister,” my mother continued, “Vern is still part of this family. I think it’s a shame we never get to see him and his children.”

“Shame is right,” Aunt Darla retorted. “Vern’s ashamed of that woman he married, as he well should be. Imagine, marrying someone who danced in a bar.” These discussions were nothing new to me. Trying to keep a low profile, I took a glass from the cabinet and edged toward the pitcher of lemonade on the table. I didn’t get far before Aunt Darla paused in her tirade and sniffed suspiciously.

“Is that gasoline I smell?” She leaned closer to me and sniffed again. “It is! Alix, where have you been?”

“I went to the salvage yard with the Judge. He had to get a fuel pump for his car.”

“I swear, the Judge should have better sense than to take a little girl to a place like that. Ellie, are you going to let him keep this up?” Mama smiled at me, her blue-green eyes that were so like my own, sparkling. “It looks like she survived the trip.”

I made it to the lemonade and poured a glass before sitting down. “Mama, I invited Nick Anderson and Lindsey Swanner to the church social. The Judge said I should tell you.”

To her credit, she barely blinked. “That was very kind of you, Alix. We should have thought of inviting them a long time ago.” She shot a glare in Aunt Darla’s direction and I glanced over my shoulder in time to see my aunt’s mouth snap closed.

Not only was Aunt Darla our first line of defense against dirt, she was also the staunch protector of our respectability. Any indication that our position in society might be threatened sent her into a quivering fit of righteous indignation and a lecture on the rules of proper behavior.

While nothing was ever said in my presence, I knew my mother’s divorce and her insistence that both she and I use her maiden name had caused something of a scandal in the family. But although she was the youngest, my mother was the only person alive who could quell Aunt Darla with a single look.

I turned back to my mother. “Is it okay if I give Nick some of my books? His daddy won’t let him buy any.”

From behind me Aunt Darla snorted, but I paid no attention.

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The Sweet Gum Tree

“They’re your books, Alix. You can do whatever you want with them.”

“Thank you, Mama.” I jumped up. “I’m going to pick some out right now.” As soon as I reached the stairs, I stopped and turned to listen. I’d found out that the really interesting conversations always happened shortly after I left the room. Nor was I to be disappointed this time.

“You’re making a mistake, letting her get involved with that boy.” My aunt’s voice floated through the door. “You know what Frank Anderson is like.”

“Yes, I do.” Mother’s voice was calm. “I also know it’s not the boy’s fault. Would you visit the sins of the father on the son, Sister?” My aunt sniffed. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Give him another year or two and he’ll end up just like his daddy.”

“And if he does, who will be to blame? We’ve known from the beginning that Frank Anderson wasn’t fit to raise a child, but we’ve all looked the other way. So who’s doing the right thing? Us by ignoring that boy, or Alix by caring enough to try and reach him?

If he does show up tomorrow, I fully intend to invite him to this house whenever he wants to come.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“Yes, I would. I’m not turning my head anymore. Maybe we can show that young man there’s more to life than what he’s learning from Frank.” Oh, sweet bliss. I shut my eyes as vindication rolled over me. Mama was on my side. She was going to help me save Nick. Together, how could we fail?

I paused with a guilty jump on the bottom step. Aunt Jane was standing at the top of the stairs, arms crossed over chest as she watched me. Lifting a finger to her lips, she tilted her head toward the bedroom.

Next to Mama and the Judge, Aunt Jane was my favorite person in the whole world. I often wondered where her looks came from. The rest of us all had dark hair and light eyes, but Aunt Jane’s hair was a warm honey color, her expressive eyes dark as night. Mama said she was the spitting image of her great-grandmother, but since there were no pictures of the lady, I had to take her word for it.

I had picked up snippets of conversations that led me to believe Aunt Jane had once been deeply in love, but, through circumstances over which she had no control, had lost the man of her dreams. This made her a tragic figure in my eyes, a Sleeping Beauty waiting for the awakening kiss of her prince.

As soon as we were out of earshot from the kitchen she put a hand on my shoulder.

“Alix, you know it’s not polite to listen to other people’s conversations.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” I hung my head.

She put her finger under my chin and tilted my head back up until I looked at her.