The Optimist's Daughter - Eudora Welty [30]
“When you coming back?” asked Major Bullock, swaying a little.
“When I get ready.”
The clock struck for half-past twelve.
“Oh, how I hate that old striking clock!” cried Fay. “It’s the first thing I’m going to get rid of.”
They were taking old Mr. Chisom as far as the bus station, to be sure he found it.
“You got a lot of fat squirrels going to waste here,” the old man said, bending down to Laurel, and she was unprepared for it when he kissed her goodbye.
At last they were in the truck, rolling down the driveway to the street.
“Poor little woman. Got a bigger load than she knows yet how to carry by herself,” said Major Bullock, waving.
Wendell was the only Chisom visible now, standing at the very back of the truck. He pulled one of his guns out of the holster and rode off shooting it at them. No noise came but his own thin, wistful voice.
“Pow! Pow! Pow!”
The few who were left walked back into the house. The silver tray on the hall table held a heap of calling cards, as though someone had tried to build a little house with them. Beside it lay a candy box with the picture of a pretty girl on the dusty lid.
“Old Mr. Chisom gave me all those pecans he brought,” said Laurel, sighing. “I don’t know why. Then he kissed me when he left.”
“I believe he thought you must be Fay,” said Miss Adele gently.
“I’m making myself a little toddy,” said Miss Tennyson, adding sugar to something in a glass. “Do you know, Laurel, who was coming to my mind the whole blessed way through? Becky!”
“Of course,” said Miss Adele.
“And all I did was thank my stars she wasn’t here. Child, I’m glad your mother didn’t have to live through that. I’m glad it was you.”
“Foot! I’m mad at you for not getting the house,” old Mrs. Pease told Laurel. “After all, I’m the one that’s got to go on living next door.” She went home.
The others were leaving too. “Rupert, I could brain you for roping in those Chisoms,” said Miss Tennyson, as the Major took her by the arm.
“I thought they’d be the answer to her prayers, poor little woman. And Clint jotted the list of ’em down for me just the day he took off for New Orleans. In case she needed ’em.”
“And she did,” said Miss Adele.
“I still can’t believe it!” the Major loudly said, as the Bullocks helped each other toward the old Chrysler. “Can’t believe we’ve all come off and left him in the ground!”
“Rupert,” said Miss Tennyson, “now listen to me. Believe it. Now you get busy and believe it. Do you hear what I say? Poor Clinton’s in Heaven right now.”
Miss Adele took a step toward the kitchen, and then Missouri clinked some glasses back there. Miss Adele lifted her empty hands for a moment, and dropped them.
Laurel touched her own to one of hers, and watched her go.
Three
1
LAUREL, KNEELING, worked among the iris that still held a ragged line along the back of the house up to the kitchen door. She’d found the dark-blue slacks and the blue cardigan in her suitcase—she’d packed them as automatically as she’d packed her sketchbook. She felt the spring sun gently stinging the back of her neck and she listened to other people talk. Her callers sat behind her and over to the side, in the open sunshine.
“Well, we got her out of the house,” Miss Tennyson Bullock said. “Fay’s gone!”
“Don’t brag too soon,” said old Mrs. Pease.
These four elderly ladies were all at home in the McKelva backyard. Cardinals, flying down from low branches of the dogwood tree, were feeding here and there at the ladies’ crossed feet. At the top of the tree, a mockingbird stood silent over them like a sentinel.
“I used to waste good time feeling sorry for Clint. But he’s in Heaven now. And if she’s in Texas, I can just sit here in sunshine and be glad for our sakes,” Miss Tennyson said. She had the ancient deck chair, which engulfed her like a hammock. “Of course, Major daily expects her back.”
“Oh, but not to stay, do you think? In Mount Salus without a husband?” asked Mrs. Bolt, the minister’s wife. She promptly reassured herself. “No, she won’t last long. She’ll go away.”