Nightwoods - Charles Frazier [53]
Stubblefield came around the side of the Lodge from his car. Said, right off, I talked to Maddie.
Luce stopped slinging. She squared off against Stubblefield, her jeans stained green to the knee with weed bits.
—What for? she said.
—Because I like her and want to get to know her better and wish I’d known her when I was a kid. And because of that Sally horse you told me about.
Luce said, She’s a pony.
—I thought that meant a young horse.
—Of course you did.
—Point is, I was trying to buy her for you. For the kids, really.
Luce turned away and started swinging the scallop-edged blade in the ragweed and jewelweed like it was either that or yell at him. As far as Stubblefield was concerned, there was entirely too much whacking around here.
—It seemed like a way I could be helpful, he said.
Luce stopped what she was doing and looked at him, all tight and pursed up. Tired around the eyes.
She said, You don’t be buying me things. No gifts at all. Not even a box of candy or a jar of honey.
Stubblefield wanted to ask, Why so pissed off? Instead, he turned his palms up in the universal gesture of What the hell have I done now? Luce had been all alight with enthusiasm by the calm interest the children had shown in the horse and, especially, by the single word Dolores and Frank had uttered. Sally, Sally, Sally. So why not let him buy the horse? Or pony, apparently. It seemed like a good thing. A help. Old worn-out pony ought to cost next to nothing. A lot of people would give one to you, if you promised to feed it and not sell it to become dog food or steaks for Frenchmen. But clearly, he’d thought wrong all the way around. Maybe what he needed was a pocket-sized list of rules in minuscule print to consult moment by moment.
Maybe a little bitter in his tone, Stubblefield said, Well, whatever. Maddie wouldn’t sell Sally at any price.
Luce said, Oh, was I rude?
Stubblefield looked for a word. Not vehement. And passionate was out of the question. He said, Emphatic?
Luce made a slight expression. A hint of eye roll or twitch of mouth. She said, Mr. Polite.
Stubblefield said, Would sharp or curt have been better? Or ungracious?
As soon as the words left his mouth, Stubblefield wished he could pull them back, like he expected to be tossed on his ear from his own property. Instead, Luce looked off to the side, clearly struggling to keep her face blank, not laugh. He saw her take a deep breath.
She said, Let’s leave it that maybe a jar of honey would be fine, but that’s the upper limit. Flowers, if you pick them yourself. But no ponies, no jewelry.
—Well, Stubblefield said, Maddie told me the kids can ride every day if they want to, but they have to come to her place to do it. I think she’s lonely and would like having them around. And you too.
—Better that way, Luce said.
—Hey, Stubblefield said to the world at large. How about let’s go ride that Sally pony?
Two pair of dark eyes cut everywhere around the porch and yard except Stubblefield’s direction.
—We walking or driving? Stubblefield said.
The children glanced toward the Hawk, and then away.
Luce said, Let’s walk. It’s nice out, and they’re always happier if they’re worn out at the end of the day. Me too.
On the way down the two-track dirt road, the children ran ahead. Stubblefield and Luce walked on either side of the weedy middle hump. Stubblefield said, So, a jar of honey and maybe, someday in the future, a movie? A ticket, a bag of popcorn, and a Coke. Nothing more.
—That’s not what I said. But possibly. If Maddie could keep the children for a few hours.
—Saturday night’s a double feature. Creature from the Black Lagoon and something involving a big spider or lizard.
—I used to live beside the theater. I’ve seen all the monster movies.
—A week from Friday, Light in the Piazza.