“Well,” E. J. says, hiking up his too-big jeans. “Gotta go. You know how mothers get when you’re not home when ya say you’re gonna be.”
One of the Calhouns’ hounds starts baying on the other side of the creek like he heard E. J. and knows just how I’m feeling.
“Geeze, Shen…,” E. J. says, trying to take the foot out of his mouth. Again.
“Forget it.” I’m looking towards the big oak that’s easy to spot even from the road, so he does, too. Rays of candlelight are coming out from between the fort’s broad boards. That means Woody’s praying in front of her Saint Jude coffee can altar. I’m so much later than I told her I’d be. She’s probably saying Hail Marys for my immediate return.
Trying to get me to laugh, E. J. points and says, “Hark! What light through yonder window breaks?” He makes it sound not Elizabethan at all.
Even though I’m planning to tell the truth about Sam on the witness stand, he will still be incarcerated because what the Carmodys want the Carmodys get. After the trial, my family will disown me. And Beezy will probably get so mad at Papa and Grampa for being so mean to her boy that she won’t want to have anything to do with her new almost grandbabies. Woody will be all the flesh and blood that I’ll have left. I’m not so eager to share her with E. J. I tell him, “If you start goin’ on about how she’s the sun and the moon is envious, I’ll hit you over the head with this flashlight, drag you into the woods, and let the wolves have at ya.”
Backing towards the trail that will take him back home, he says, “Hurry, go get her the way Curry told you to. I’ll be waitin’ for y’all on the porch. I’ll have a bowl of berries ready.” And then, out of the trees that he disappeared into comes, “How many times do I got to tell you, there’s no wolves around here?”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” I say into the night. I know of at least one big bad one.
Through the trees, I can see the front porch light shining on Grampa’s black truck.
I’m not exaggerating, Woody is drooling happy to see me.
Ivory, too. I give my sister both of the egg salad sandwiches as an apology for being late and she feeds the crusts to the dog.
Getting next to her on the fort floor, I rip open one of the bags of crackers that I’ve been stealing out of the pantry and say, “You’re not goin’ to believe what I found out.” I’ve given some thought to what I’ll tell her. Not everything all at once. I’m going to start off with the good stuff. My sister is not decrepit, but sometimes that’s how I think of her. Like an old-fashioned gown that’s been sitting in Gramma’s attic trunk too long. If I’m not careful in the way I handle her, she could fray in my hands.
I lace her fingers in mine. “Now, take it easy, all right? I’m warnin’ you, this is big happy news.” I wish I could go slow and tell her every detail about what happened since I left her, but I got to be short and sweet. I’ll fill her in on the specifics later. We’re running out of time right now. “Don’t start hoopin’ or hollerin’.” I tilt my head towards the house. “We don’t want them to hear us.” Woody cocks her head the other way and so does Ivory. “All right then,” I say, swallowing in the biggest breath I can. “Vera told me at the drugstore tonight that Sam… our Sam… he’s not just our excellent friend… he’s… are you ready?”
She nods with a lot of enthusiasm.
“Sam is… our uncle!”
It takes her a second to get what I’m saying, but when she does, it’s like she hit Bingo! I knew she wouldn’t doubt me for a second. I’m her twin. Woody jumps up and spins in glee. Happy flaps around the fort!
“Isn’t that great?” More flapping. “Okay, okay, now settle down,” I say. “I got some bad news, too. You ready?” She doesn’t nod. “Curry Weaver told me that Papa went down to the sheriff’s office and brought along Mama’s diary and the watch Sam gave her. He’s tellin’ Sheriff Nash to charge Sam with murdering her.”
Just like the good news I delivered, it takes a second for this to sink in, and when it does Woody slaps the fort floor over and over. Attacks her hair. Gnashes her teeth. I try to get ahold of her around the waist, but it’s like trying to capture lightning. “I know… I know, it’s the worst news ever,” I tell her, “but don’t worry… we’re going to help Sam, all right?” I thought she’d get upset but not this much. There’s no reasoning with her when she gets like this. She shoves me down to the fort floor, reaches for her drawing pad out of the corner. Her face looks like it’s on fire.
Papa, Grampa, and Uncle Blackie are in the house. I got to calm her down before she starts howling. Remembering what I brought from What Goes Around Comes Around, I grab the scarf out of my pocket and place it around her neck. She stops wildly flipping through the pages of her pad long enough to take a sniff of the chiffon. She’s searching for Mama’s smell. “Sorry about that,” I say. “You know how Miss Artesia loves her spaghetti and meatballs.”
Woody drops the drawing pad in my lap. She’s found what she’s been searching for, but we really don’t have time for art appreciation right now. I made that promise to Curry to come back to the fort for my sister, then go over the creek stones to the Tittles’, but she’ll never do what I ask of her until I look through her drawings. Once she gets her mind set on something, there is no changing it. She can be a butterfly and a bulldozer, both at the same time.
I flick on my flashlight so I can see clearer what she’s all fired up about. Staring back at me is the drawing that’s been bothering me. The one she did of Mama with the ghosty figure. Woody must’ve been working on it when E. J. and I were in town. The crayon colors look bright and it’s got that waxy smell. There’s wavering lines coming off the previously unknown figure like fumes. I can tell now that it’s a lady. She’s got gray hair resting on her neck like an SOS pad. Her hands clasped in prayer.
I whistle in appreciation. And surprise. She never draws pictures of her. “That’s really something. I bet Mama is
She starts crazy slapping the floor again.
“What, Woody, what?” She points angrily down at the drawing and then puts her hands around her neck like she’s choking herself. That’s when it comes to me that maybe Gramma’s smelling bad or making us play Holy Communion with her are not only the reasons Woody’s been avoiding her.
Oh, how could I be so dumb? So careless?
Gramma must’ve had one of her conniptions when I wasn’t around. She really can get out-of-control sometimes, especially if she’s provoked by Grampa. When he was sleeping one night, she tried to crucify him to the headboard of their bed. She had the nails and the hammer and everything. I know that might seem mental to some people, but I don’t really think it is. She’s got a lot of sane reasons to be mad at him. No. It’s not until our grandmother smears red lipstick on the palms of her hands and pretends that she’s bleeding like Jesus on the cross that I think she’s gone nuttier than one of her praline pies.
“Did Gramma have one of her fits and hurt you? Is that what you’re tryin’ to tell me?”
My sister shakes her head hard enough to make her braids whip.
“Shenny? Woody?” It’s Louise calling to us from down below. I didn’t hear her coming down the path from her cottage to the fort. “I know you’re up there. I see the light.”
“Only ignorant girls that live in bayou shanties sneak up on people and shout at ’em. What do ya want?” I say, keeping my eye on my twin. She is back to the drawing again. Circling faster and faster from the Gramma figure to the Mama figure.
“Uncle Cole wants you and Woody to come to the cottage,” Lou says. “Beezy’s over there. The sheriff… he’s arrested Sam.”
“We know that.” I’m sure the whole town does by now. Poor Beezy.
Woody puts her hand on the back of my head and tilts it forward until I’m a few inches away from the drawing. “I’m sorry. I still don’t see what you’re tryin’ to tell me,” I say in my most soothing voice.
Exasperated, my sister throws the pad off to the side and places her hands around
