With a Hammer for My Heart: A Novel

MAMAW

MAMAW: I didn't say this to Lawanda, but I knew after our talk I'd have to go see Amos. I just told her to wait, give me time to think. Driving back to Little Splinter Creek I wished for the old road, gravel path alongside the creek. I like to ride rough when I'm doing hard thinking. Like the wheel to pull against. That smooth tongue of a road we got now can sail you along like you was singing and you headed down the gullet of a big mistake. Trula was numb and sleepy. She'd had her sweet tooth silvered. For some cause, what came to me was the night Lawanda was born. Noonie and Ray had both been struggles—one big-headed and the other one backward—but a couple of hours' solid work and Lawanda was here. June couldn't believe it. "You sure it's all done?" she kept asking Doc Combs. "Afterbirth and everything?" "All's left for you to do is name her, and you can wait on that." But June had already settled on Lawanda, "with no middle name to mess it up." That baby was a sight—long-legged, smiling, and hungry for the world. Hasn't changed a bit. 55 WITH A HAMMER FOR MY HEART Lord, when I think of such a child on that mountain in that bus. And I knew she'd go back. She's got a big heart. Hearing Garland's story, she'd want to reach out to him. And then she's curious, the kind of youngun who has to see what makes fire burn. She'd go back. I just had to be sure I got there first. The trouble was, it was Thanksgiving week when she told me, and all the kids was due in, plus John's brother Ed from over at Dwarf. I'd have to climb a mountain of potatoes and swim a river of gravy before I could get off the Creek again. So I called Lawanda up when I got home. I'm not much for the telephone but I will use it if I have to. I said what was true, that she should hold off another week or so before seeing Garland, just to let things settle. And I told John I'd need to go to Cardin right after Thanksgiving to fetch cake makings. "I thought you did your trading yesterday," John said. "Ain't you got a brain?" "That was for Thanksgiving," I told him. "This is for Christmas." Now I couldn't go on Friday because Burchett and his family was leaving up in the day, and I always make them a turkey pie to take home. But Saturday morning, right after milking, I set out. I did stop at Fraley's for flour and sugar and dried apples in case I didn't have enough. Then I drove the Hallspoint Road at the bottom of Amos's hill. Parked the Plymouth almost in a ditch. A wind had come up and the light was thin. Lord, I felt old, headed up that hill. Kept thinking how warm Chloe's kitchen used to be. There was nobody in what I made out to be First Bus. Neat as a pin, just like Lawanda said. But it was padlocked. I walked through the broken garden. Not enough cornstalks to hide in. I went around to Second Bus. I could see Amos through the door. He was asleep in the 56 MAMAW aisle, zipped into a sleeping bag like some huge caterpillar in its cocoon. Back seats had been taken out, but for some cause he didn't sleep there. I could see a table, clothes, some kitchen stuff. The bus was awful trashy. The glass box for fares was full of cigarette butts. I knocked. Nothing. I pounded. He groaned and put his forearm over his eyes. I called out to him. "Amos! Amos Garland!" He muttered something and sat up. His face hurt to look at it. Crawling out of the army bag, getting to his feet and wrapping it around him, he stood up and stumbled toward the door. Yanking at the lever to open it, he said, "Who in greasesplattered Hell are you?" "Ada Smith, Lawanda's mamaw." "Oh, no." His face knotted. "We need to talk." He looked and looked at me. Finally...