Spencer's Mountain (11 page)

Mr. Goodson, after his unfortunate introduction to the community, had succeeded in only a short time in winning
the favor of his congregation. He had proved to be an agreeable, intelligent and pleasant man and the God he brought to his followers was a softer, more forgiving deity than the harsh and ever-watchful, ever-stern Saviour his predecessor had presented for their worship.

Now Miss Parker, Mr. Goodson and Clay-Boy sat in the living room and groped for something to say. Finally Miss Parker's eyes fell on the ferns that Olivia kept on stands underneath each window. They were rich, full plants that Olivia had dug up in the woods and brought indoors last fall to provide some greenery through the winter.

“Somebody has got a green thumb around here,” observed Miss Parker. “Did you ever in your life see such luxurious ferns, Mr. Goodson?”

“I never did,” said Mr. Goodson.

“Mama likes to grow things,” volunteered Clay-Boy.

“I certainly must ask her the secret of her success,” said Miss Parker.

“It's cow manure mostly,” explained Clay-Boy. “She says it's the best kind of fertilizer.” Clay-Boy bit his tongue.
Cow manure
was something you just didn't say in front of Miss Parker. She glanced away, but the first signs of a blush were beginning at her throat.

“Sunshine is the biggest thing with plants, though,” continued Clay-Boy in desperation.

“Sunshine is the salvation of us all,” said Miss Parker. “I am looking forward so much to sunshine once the spring finally decides to stay with us.”

“Is your father going to be with us this evening, Clay-Boy?” asked Mr. Goodson.

“I hope so,” said Clay-Boy. “Sometimes he has to work late.”

At that point Olivia walked in the room. She had changed into her good dress, the green silk one she had made herself and wore only to church or for special occasions. She had used no lipstick or rouge, but she had combed her hair and powdered her face and looked so young and pretty it seemed impossible for her to have borne and raised her enormous brood of children.

“I'm glad to see you,” Olivia said to the guests, shook hands with both of them and sat down. “I'm sorry Clay-Boy's daddy can't be here. He had to go down to Howardsville to see a man about some pigs he's buyen.”

Clay-Boy cringed and wished that he and his mother had agreed on a story beforehand, but then he forgot his original embarrassment as the source of an even greater one strode into the room. Pattie-Cake, her pajama bottoms in her hand and her little rear bare, walked into the center of the room and looked around uncertainly.

“I did a big wee-wee, Clay-Boy,” she announced. “Now, can I go to bed?”

Clay-Boy could have gladly shaken the meat from her bones, but instead he picked her up firmly and marched into the hall. At the foot of the stairs he stopped long enough to put her pajama bottoms back on and then started up the stairs only to find his way blocked by Matt, Shirley, Becky, Luke, Mark and John.

“What are you doing out of your beds?” he whispered ferociously.

“Listenen,” said Becky.

“Go to bed. Every one of you.” His anger frightened them and each child scampered off to his room. He laid Pattie-Cake down in her bed and said, “If you get up another time tonight I'm going to spank your behind so shiny you can see yourself in it.”

“I want you to kiss me good night, Clay-Boy,” was Pattie-Cake's answer. He bent over the bed, gave her a quick kiss and then descended the stairs.

As he walked into the room he saw that the business of the evening was at hand. Miss Parker had just turned to his mother and said, “Did Clay-Boy tell you anything about our talk today, Mrs. Spencer?”

“A little bit,” answered Olivia. “Mostly he just said that you and Mr. Goodson would be comen by tonight.”

“I won't embarrass him by telling you in front of him what an exceptional boy Clay-Boy is,” said Miss Parker, “but his record at school has been something to be proud of.”

“Well, Clay-Boy's always been just as smart as a tack,”
his mother answered. “These others I nearly have to take a broom to 'em before they'll do their homework, but Clay-Boy just sits down and does his. Always has.”

“Do you and Mr. Spencer have any plans for him after graduation?” Miss Parker asked.

“Well,” said Olivia, “his daddy has spoke to some people over at the DuPont Company in Waynesboro. His daddy worked over there for them during the Depression when the plant closed down here, and he always thought high of the DuPont Company. You see, we're both hopen he won't have to go to work in the mill. There must be somethen better he can do and still make a liven.”

Miss Parker nodded her head vigorously. She herself was at constant war with the mill. All too often she had watched some promising child, some boy with a quick inquiring mind, and had waited for him to reach her class only to have him snatched from her hands to take some menial job at the mill. And it would break her heart to go past the place and see the boy in later years, pushing a wheelbarrow or bent over a stone-cutting machine or else snickering with the other workers over some joke she was well aware concerned herself.

“What would you think of Clay-Boy's going to college?” asked Miss Parker.

“Lord, Miss Parker,” replied Olivia. “We never thought of anything like that. We always vowed we'd put every one of the children through high school, but even that's a strain. We've got nine of them to feed and clothe and I'll tell you the honest truth, we just have to stretch every penny as it is.”

“But,” said Mr. Goodson, “if a way were provided, would he be allowed to go?”

“Well, certainly he could go if he wanted to,” replied Olivia, “but let me say one thing here and now; I don't want to see this boy get his hopes all up and then be disappointed.”

“That is something we will have to risk,” said Miss Parker. “And you must understand that, Clay-Boy.” She looked at Clay-Boy and he nodded gravely.

“Just what did you have in mind, Miss Parker?” asked Olivia.

“It seemed to me such a crime that Clay-Boy's education
should end with high school that I mentioned it to Mr. Goodson. He suggested that we apply for a scholarship and he has taken the liberty of finding out what scholarships are available at the University of Richmond. Mr. Goodson went there himself and I also happen to know that it is an excellent school.”

“I found that a limited number of scholarships are still available,” said Mr. Goodson. He hesitated a moment and then continued. “However, these scholarships are of a rather specialized nature.”

Clay-Boy braced himself. He knew that the qualification that was to follow was a ticklish one.

“What Mr. Goodson is trying to say,” said Miss Parker, “is that the only scholarships left are ministerial.”

“I don't know too much about scholarships,” said Olivia. “What kind is that?”

“It means that if Clay-Boy were to receive one he would be obliged to become a Baptist minister,” replied Miss Parker.

Until now Olivia had worn a look of bewilderment mingled with hope, but now the hope vanished completely.

“You mustn't refuse us until you've heard us out, Mrs. Spencer,” said Miss Parker.

“I'd be wasten your time to let you go on,” said Olivia. “I've heard enough now to know that it's something that just can't be.”

“I fully understand that Clay-Boy has never felt any special call to be minister, and we would be playing a small deception on the University to pretend that he has, but it does offer a way for him to go to college, and even a ministerial education is better than none.” Miss Parker cast an apologetic glance at Mr. Goodson, but he was nodding quietly in agreement.

“Oh, I realize all that,” said Olivia, “but it just can't be.”

“Maybe not,” said Miss Parker, “but it's worth a try.”

“No,” said Olivia. “We can't even do that.”

“I don't understand why not,” said Miss Parker. She was determined to overcome any reasonable objection.

“The reason is,” said Olivia, “his daddy would have a fit.”

“If Mr. Spencer is willing to make the sacrifices you've already mentioned to put his children through high school, he must have a great respect for education,” said Mr. Goodson.

“Oh, he's got respect for education all right,” said Olivia, “but if there's anything in the world he can't stand it's the Baptists.”

“I know that Clay is not what you might call a formally religious man, but I don't see why he should let that stand in the way of Clay-Boy's education.”

“My husband might go along with it if it was anything but Baptist, but you just mention the word and he sees red.”

“What exactly has Clay got against the Baptists?” asked Mr. Goodson.

“I wouldn't blacken my tongue by sayen some of the things he says against the Baptists,” declared Olivia. “You don't know how it worries me. Sometimes when I think of all these little children comen along to hear the things that man says. It's awful.”

Their attention was drawn suddenly to someone who appeared in the doorway. She was looking at Mr. Goodson and she announced to him in a grave voice, “I got to poop.”

Clay-Boy rose and grabbed Pattie-Cake angrily by the hand and led her into the bathroom.

Sitting on the toilet and looking up solemnly at him with her big brown eyes she said, “You goen to be a preacher, Clay-Boy?”

“No,” he growled, “and don't you ever let me hear you say that again!”

“All right, Clay-Boy,” she answered, but she continued to regard him with troubled eyes.

“I don't want you to go away, Clay-Boy,” she said.

“Don't worry about that,” he said harshly. “I'm never going to get away from here. I'll rot right here in New Dominion for the rest of my life.”

“That's nice.” said Pattie-Cake.

“Aren't you through yet?” demanded Clay-Boy impatiently.

“No,” she said, and put her elbows on her knees, cupped
her chin in her hands, and looked blissfully off into space. Clay-Boy went to the door, put his ear to the keyhole, and tried to listen to the conversation in the living room, but the voices were muffled and he could not hear what they were saying.

“I hear my Daddy,” squealed Pattie-Cake all of a sudden. In the same second she jumped from the toilet and tried to run past Clay-Boy and out of the room.

“You wait a minute,” he said and grabbed her. “You can't go out there without any pants.”

As he was putting Pattie-Cake's pajama bottoms on her, Clay-Boy listened and realized that she was right. Somewhere down the road his father and a group of the men he worked with were on their way home. They were singing a song that Clay-Boy had heard them sing before. The opening lines were:

The closing lines of the song were extremely suggestive.

Clay-Boy spent the next few minutes praying that temporary deafness might visit his schoolteacher and the minister, but when he walked into the living room he could see that they had heard and understood every word of the bawdy song.

Everyone had been intently studying some spot in the linoleum that covered the floor. Olivia rose suddenly.

“Excuse me,” she said and went through the hall and out onto the front porch.

“Clay,” she called and then again, louder, “Claaaay!”

From down at the gate Clay separated himself from the group of men he had walked home with and called over his shoulder to them as they walked on up the road.

“That woman loves the tar out of me. Can't wait for me to get home.”

A chorus of good nights and farewells followed his unsteady progress up the walk. At the foot of the steps he stopped and looked up at Olivia.

“If I can make it to the top of them steps,” he said, “I'm goen to haul off and kiss you, old woman.”

“You behave yourself,” she admonished. “There's company in the house.”

Suddenly he bounded up the steps and grabbed Olivia up in his arms with her feet off the floor and waltzed around and around the front porch with her. Paying no attention to her pleas to be put down he kissed her again and again.

“Clay, there's company inside. You stop it,” she implored.

“I love you, woman,” he declared and slapped her happily on the behind.

Clay was so intent on expressing his love and Olivia was so busy trying to release herself that neither of them heard Doctor Campbell walk up on the porch. He regarded them with amusement and was grinning broadly when Clay grew tired of his loving and lowered Olivia to the floor after giving her one final bone-breaking hug and a kiss that was intended for her cheeks but landed somewhere near her ear.

“Good evening,” said Dr. Campbell.

“What are you doen here, Doc?” asked Clay, as he released Olivia.

Doctor Campbell held out the piece of paper containing Clay-Boy's message. “According to this note Donnie has a broken neck.”

“Oh God,” wailed Clay and turned to Olivia. “Is that what you were tellen me?”

Composed now, Olivia explained, “Donnie fell out of his high chair a while ago and knocked himself out. He's all right now.”

“Perhaps I'd better take a look at him just to be sure,” offered Doctor Campbell.

“That's real good of you, Doctor,” said Olivia, “but I'm sure he's all right. Why don't you come on in, though? Maybe you'd like a cup of hot coffee?”

“As a matter of fact I would,” said Doctor Campbell.

Clay turned to enter the house but he found his way blocked by Olivia.

“What are you standen there for, woman,” he demanded.

“Before we go in, Clay, you better know that the Baptist preacher's in there.”

“What's he tryen to do, get thrown out of the Baptist church again?” Clay said in a voice that could be heard for miles.