A Peach of a Pair Page 16

  “I’ll help you,” I said. “You can hold on to the seats and walk the aisle. I’ll be right behind you.”

  “Some hired help you are,” Miss Emily sniffed. “You should have brought a Thermos of tea.”

  “Hush, Emily, and be more considerate to Nettie or I swear at the next stop I’ll get on the next bus back to Camden.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” I said. “Let’s get you moving.” Miss Lurleen nodded and faltered a bit, almost growling at the pain. She took baby steps into the aisle and then walked toward the front of the bus, three maybe four steps, holding on to the seats for support. She came to a stop and stood, swaying with the motion of the bus; the little boy who’d dropped his crayons earlier looked up at her and smiled.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “Darrell Jennings. That is not nice. You say hello to someone, you tell them your name, then they will politely tell you theirs,” his mother fussed. “I’m sorry. He just turned six.”

  Miss Lurleen nodded. “My name is Miss Eldridge, Darrell, and this is my friend, Nettie.” I waved at the boy and he smiled a dallying smile.

  “Nettie and Mrs. Eldridge,” he repeated.

  “No, it’s Miss Eldridge,” Miss Lurleen said. “And you’re a very fine boy, Darrell.”

  “Miss Eldridge? But you’re so old.”

  “I’m so very sorry.” His mother’s face was beet red; she reached over and pinched his chubby little thigh. “Darrell, that was rude.”

  “Owww,” the boy wailed, rubbing the red mark. “But she is old.”

  “He’s fine,” Miss Lurleen told the boy’s mother. “Yes, Darrell, I am very old, and I’m Miss Eldridge because I never married.”

  He looked like his curiosity was killing him. “But why?” he asked and then quickly tried to cover his legs with his hands in case his mother pinched him again.

  I’d never seen Miss Lurleen interact with anyone other than her sister and Remmy, but it was plain that Miss Lurleen had been very good with children all those years she had her nose in a book. I couldn’t see her face, but I could feel her tense up at the child’s innocent question.

  “I just never did,” she said. “But if I’d known someone as smart and as handsome as you, I’m sure I would have.”

  The boy nodded, satisfied with the answer, and opened his cigar box again. His mother shifted the box to her lap for safekeeping and gave Miss Lurleen a tentative smile. “Thank you for being so nice to him,” she said. “He’s full of questions; sometimes too full. I’m sorry if he offended you.”

  “Nonsense. He just has a curious mind. Is he reading yet?”

  “No. Should he be?” The look on her face said she was flying by the seat of her pants at this mother thing.

  “He’s bright, inquisitive; there’s no reason you couldn’t start teaching him. And there’s no better place for a child to fall in love with reading than a good book,” Miss Lurleen said.

  “Thanks,” his mother said. “I’ll think about it.”

  “My friend is going to help me back to my seat now, Darrell, but it was very nice meeting you.” She glanced over her shoulder at me, turned to face the back of the bus, and I took my place behind her. A few labored steps later, she plopped down out of breath but with a satisfied look on her face.

  “I hope you told that mother to control her child. Squealing. Crayons rolling around underfoot. What a nuisance,” Miss Emily snapped.

  Still out of breath, Miss Lurleen shut her mouth, but only for a moment. “What do you expect, Emily? He’s a child. Honestly, how they let you teach impressionable young minds all those years is beyond me,” Miss Lurleen huffed. “She was a holy terror, Nettie, the teacher who when the poor children learned they were assigned to her either wet their pants or cried themselves sick. And these weren’t little ones like that boy, they were sixth graders. Even the older ones that had been held back and were terrors themselves were scared to death of her.”

  “Bite your tongue, Sister,” Miss Emily spat. “Why, I’ll have you to know I taught half of Camden. The half who grew up to be respectable, decent adults, and if they had not had me to jerk a knot in their rear ends, who knows what kind of degenerates they might have become.”

  “I stand by my assessment, Emily. And another thing; you’d better stop looking at the world like it’s some poor child you need to browbeat into submission, because that’s what the world will remember you for. And for being petty and divisive.”

  Miss Emily opened her mouth to respond but clamped it shut, rolling her lips under her teeth. She didn’t speak; no one did. About an hour passed and the bus pulled into a large terminal in Columbus. The driver announced the bus would leave in half an hour, that there was hot food available at the diner, but to hurry; the bus wouldn’t wait. Everyone filed off ahead of the three of us. I helped Miss Lurleen off the bus and she made a beeline without any help to the nearby ladies’ room.

  I’d seen Miss Emily the protector, Miss Emily the know-it-all and the bitch full of sass and vinegar, but looking at her now, she was wounded over the last exchange with her sister. “She didn’t mean it,” I lied, because I was sure Miss Lurleen meant every word she said.

  “I’m her sister. I’m impervious to her accusations and pompous rants. Besides, I’m glad she said it. The crankier she is, the better,” Miss Emily snapped. I was so thunderstruck, I barely heard her last words before she joined the line for the restroom. “Means she’s not going to die.”

  20

  EMILY

  Nettie watched Emily, as closely as she watched Lurleen, maybe more so. While it used to annoy the hell out of Emily, she had grown accustomed to it, and, though she would never admit it to Nettie, it was somewhat comforting. Perhaps it was the kinship she and Nettie shared. Emily knew a fellow belle of the ball when she saw one, and Nettie was definitely that and then some in the life she’d escaped to come to work for Sister. And Emily.

  Nettie had watched the exchange on the bus like Lurleen and Emily were two thoroughbreds going neck and neck for the finish line at the Carolina Cup. But the truth was, no matter how right Emily was, she’d never win the argument because after John died, Lurleen was elevated to near martyr status. Of course everyone had always loved her, but never loving another man, never marrying, romanced Lurleen’s life’s story, gave her certain license Emily never had. And Emily wasn’t about to marry, not after her part in John’s death.

  Maybe it was Emily’s imagination, but it felt like Nettie somehow understood her. Was it their uncommon beauty that bound them together or was it the secret Nettie carried? No, it couldn’t be that; Emily couldn’t keep a secret if the remnants of her life depended on it. If she could, she never would have told the police what really happened that day. The memory still made her chest squeeze tight, almost suffocating her. But she’d atoned for so many years, surely the scales weren’t so very lopsided anymore.

  Lurleen opened the bathroom door and stood in the threshold, her color looked good, better than it had in weeks, but she was breathing so very hard. Maybe this trip would indeed kill her, and then Emily would have more blood on her hands. And for that, there would be no atonement.

  Lurleen smiled at the women in line. “Ladies, would you all mind making way for my sister?” she asked. “It’s hard for us old gals to go so long, and she’ll just be a jiffy. Won’t you, Emily.” Lurleen looked at her to let her know she’d better not dawdle, but the warmth had returned to her beautiful blue eyes. The women stepped aside, and when Emily reached the bathroom door, her sister put her hand on Emily’s arm. Yes, Lurleen was making her way back from the dead. And Emily was making her way toward forgiveness.

  LURLEEN

  Nettie had a long line of people behind her grumbling because she seemed to be haggling with the order taker at the window of the tiny food stand.

  “I told you,” the dark-haired, hard-looking woman huffe
d. “We ain’t got nothing without salt, lady. Now I got a line of customers here; are you going to order something or what?”

  “Please, it’s for someone who’s ill. Do you have eggs?” Nettie asked.

  “Yeah. We got egg salad; I ’spect we got eggs.”

  “An egg sandwich, just the egg and the bread, please.”

  “Fried or scrambled?” She raised her eyebrows.

  “One chicken salad and two egg sandwiches, please. Scrambled would be good,” Lurleen said, sliding two dollars across the counter, “with two teas and a Co-Cola for my friend here.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take so long,” Nettie said to the folks in line as she and Lurleen made their way to one of the benches to wait for their food.

  “Getting old definitely has its fringe benefits, but they’re mostly for the bathroom or the food line. Getting a seat in a crowded room, that sort of thing,” Lurleen said. “Besides, we’ll be fine. The driver is at the back of the line, and we’re not gong anywhere without him.”

  Nettie nodded and smiled like she had a secret. Lurleen suspected she had many. “I know you love books, but you never told me you were a librarian.”

  “You never asked,” Lurleen said, implying Nettie could ask her anything and she’d return an honest answer. She liked Nettie, a lot, but that wasn’t quite the case.

  “I didn’t bring any books.” She blushed, pulling the other half of the banana out of her knapsack. “As much as I’ve read to you, you’d think I’d have packed at least one.”

  “Maybe you thought I wouldn’t make it this far,” Lurleen joked. “I know I didn’t.”

  “Two eggs, two teas, a chicken and a Coke,” the woman who took their order shouted. Nettie waded through the customers waiting for their food and came back holding the three drinks in her hands and the bag clamped between her teeth.

  Lurleen took the tea when she’d really rather have had the Coke, but Emily would fuss, and it did seem to help her leg cramps. Sister joined them; they ate their lunch in companionable silence, and Lurleen was right, the driver didn’t get his food until almost dead last, and their stop in Macon was closer to an hour than thirty minutes. Surprisingly, Lurleen wasn’t nearly as tired as she was sure she would be from being drug up one side and down the other. Not that she had any illusions of being healed or even making it to Texas, but if this was an adventure, her last one, she hoped it would be a good one.

  “Saddle up,” the driver called, shoving the last of his sandwich in his mouth. Who knew what the next stop would be? Of course they’d have to change buses in Montgomery. If Lurleen made it that far.

  Many of the travelers got on other buses in Macon, so there was room enough for each of the women to take a bench seat, put their feet up. Nettie and Lurleen on one side of the bus, Emily on the other. Even with her water pills and avoiding salt, Lurleen’s ankles were huge, but overall she felt pretty good. Just tired.

  The gentle rocking of the bus lulled her to sleep, and twice she almost fell off the seat. Completely addled, she felt Nettie’s sure hands on her shoulders gently holding her in place while Emily tied her shawl and Nettie’s pretty blue sweater together and handed it to Nettie. With one end over Lurleen’s shoulder and the middle of the contraption across her chest, Nettie threaded the other end through the crease where the seat back met the bench and tied it behind the seat like a sling. Nettie gave it a good yank, most likely ruining her sweater; Emily’s shawl was almost as old as she was and completely indestructible. The two of them looked so proud. Lurleen looked ridiculous belted into her seat, but she was able to get some rest without falling on her behind.

  21

  NETTIE

  Satisfied Miss Lurleen was belted to her seat, I gave in to the rocking of the bus, hoping to high heaven that I could sleep straight through Alabama. Of course that wasn’t possible when we stopped so often. And it didn’t help that I could feel ’Bama’s sultry pull, drawing me home like a siren’s song.

  A few short weeks ago, I was sure, after Sue’s wedding, my next trip from South Carolina to my home state would be my last. I would claim Satsuma as both my heart and my home, marry Brooks and live there forever. Now, the closer the bus got to the Chattahoochee River that separated Alabama and Georgia, the more I felt like my skin was three sizes too small for my body.

  Given the time constraints and the fact that Miss Lurleen was on death’s door, it wasn’t possible to bypass the Yellowhammer State. I gripped the edge of the seat and braced myself. As the bus neared the Chattahoochee, my heart kicked hard against my chest as if Alabama herself had wronged me.

  Was it a siren singing me home? Or was it the song of my sister, a duet that had bound us together since birth? For a moment, I allowed myself to feel the ache I felt for Sissy. When her own pain echoed back, my eyes flew open, and somehow, I just knew. She needed me.

  The calculations were automatic, instinctual. Almost frantic. I could leave the Eldridges to fend for themselves in Montgomery, catch the next bus bound for Mobile. It would stop in Satsuma, just long enough for me to get off. I wouldn’t be home in time for supper, but would arrive during the most perfect part of the day, when the people I loved best sat on four small porches hunched together in the clearing between the groves.

  Everyone would be elated to see me, and Sissy would throw her arms around my neck. We’d all settle in and laugh and tell the same stories I never tired of hearing. Then, when it was bedtime, Sissy and I would go to the room we shared, lie across her twin bed or mine, and she would tell me what was so terribly wrong that I could feel it in my bones.

  Was intuition the true siren, tricking me into feeling fiercely protective of Sissy like I always did? Feel sorry for her? It had to be because Sissy had everything. Mama and Daddy. Brooks and his baby. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t.

  The sign for the great Chattahoochee was a blur. Seconds later, I was in the bosom of my home state, and I thought I would die if I didn’t get out.

  Unfortunately, ’Bama is about as wide as she is long. We’d gone over four hundred miles since Camden, and it was wearing on the sisters. So when the bus stopped in Montgomery, we took a taxi to the Jefferson Davis Hotel. Outside of taking the bus to and from Columbia, I’d never traveled much at all. The hotel was the first I’d ever stayed in and was as marvelous as anything I’d ever seen.

  • • •

  The bellman took our bags from the cab and ushered us to the front desk.

  Miss Emily propped her huge pocketbook on the counter, fluffed her silver curls, and made sure she had the attendant’s full attention. “We’d like one room, please.”

  “Two rooms,” Miss Lurleen corrected.

  “We don’t need two rooms, Sister,” Miss Emily snapped.

  “I’m tired, Emily. We all are. I want a bed to myself, and I won’t have Nettie sleeping on some pallet on the floor. It’s bad enough you’re dragging us across all creation like this; the least you can do is give us a good night’s sleep.” The irritation in Miss Lurleen’s voice was thicker than apple butter as she slid three tens across the counter. “Two rooms. Please,” she said to the attendant. Pushing the register forward for her to sign, he made change and produced two keys.

  “And will you be dining with us tonight?” he asked.

  “Not if you have salt on the menu, because it will kill this one if she doesn’t die of meanness first.” Miss Emily snatched one of the keys off of the counter and headed toward the elevator.

  Miss Lurleen handed the other key to me and took off after her at a surprisingly good clip. We all made it to the elevator with a bewildered-looking bellman, who most likely didn’t cotton to confrontation. He pushed the call button and kept his head down.

  “I’m giving Nettie the room to herself,” Miss Lurleen said.

  “Really?” Miss Emily interrupted. “I thought you all would want to have dinner together, order th
e same foods, and then have a rollicking good hen party until it’s time to get back on the g.d. bus with me to save your life.”

  “Ladies,” I said. “We’re all tired. Let’s just be nice, and—”

  “I would if Emily would stop being so touchy about everything. And bossy,” Miss Lurleen fussed.

  “I’m not the bossy one,” Miss Emily huffed. “You claimed that prize the day you were born.”

  “Well, I’m the eldest in this family, and until I’m not, I’ll act like it. Now take that bow out of your back this instant.”

  The elevator doors opened and the sisters entered. Neither the bellman nor I wanted to step into the catfight box. He was the braver one, or, more likely, he wasn’t worn to a frazzle because he’d traveled over four hundred miles in one day on a Greyhound bus with the Eldridge sisters.

  “Are you coming?” Miss Emily snapped.

  I pointed to the phone booth in the lobby. “I’ll be right up; I have to make a call.”

  “I’ll put your things in your room, ma’am,” the bellman said with a nod. I offered my key, but he shook his head. “Keep it. I have a passkey.”

  It was well after six when I opened the door to the booth and sat down on the bench. I knew Remmy’s office number by heart and dialed zero, praying Katie wasn’t still at her post. The operator put the collect call through and Remmy picked up on the first ring and accepted the charges.

  “Hey,” he breathed into the phone, sending shivers down my thighs and scattering my mind into a million pieces. “I’m glad you called. How’s it going?”

  “Surprisingly well,” I said, struggling to regain my composure. I was calling Remmy because he was Miss Lurleen’s doctor, not because I missed him, missed hearing his voice. “For the majority of the trip, the bus wasn’t very crowded and Miss Lurleen was able to prop her feet up; that helped with the swelling. When she was awake, I had her up and walking every half hour or so.”