Posts Tagged ‘disownment’

Sunday Clothes, Chapter 24

January 31, 2019

The young woman pushed through the door into Zeb’s office and stopped short, her smile fading as she stared at Zeb’s vacant desk. Abner got up from his desk just inside the front door and approached her. “Yes, Ma’am? Can I help you?”

“Isn’t this Zeb Douglas’s office?” she asked.

“Yes, Ma’am. He ain’t here right now, though.”

“Where is he?”

Abner studied her carefully. It was pretty obvious she was more than casually interested in Zeb’s whereabouts. He added the columns in his mind and quickly decided he should tread with extreme caution. “Well, he got called back to Nashville, kind of sudden, Ma’am.”

“It’s ‘Miss,’” she said. By now there wasn’t anything left of the smile she’d worn coming in the door. “When did he leave?” office.jpg

“Yesterday morning, Ma’am—’Scuse me, Miss. I think he said it was some kind of … family emergency.”

She stared a hole through him. “What kind of family emergency?”

Abner gave what he fervently hoped was a convincing shrug. “‘Fraid I can’t say, Miss. He got a wire, and he read it, and before you could shake a stick, he was out the door to the station.”

Her features softened a trifle. “Well, I guess if he left in such a hurry as all that, maybe he wouldn’t have had time to let me know … ”

“Oh, I’m sure not, Miss,” Abner offered in his most earnest manner. “He read that wire and lit out like a scalded dog—’Scuse me, Miss. Anyway, he lit out right quick. I don’t imagine he had anything on his mind but getting to Nashville quick as he could.”

She looked at him thoughtfully for a few seconds. “Well, I’m sorry if I snapped at you. My mother is having a little social, and I came to invite Zeb; I guess I was pretty disappointed because I had no idea he was leaving town.”

“Aw, that’s all right, Miss. You didn’t do nothing wrong.”

She gave him another quick, hard look, then softened again. “Well, anyway, just tell him Miss Norwich came by. I’ll talk to him when he gets back to Little Rock. I don’t suppose he said when that would be?”

Abner shrugged again. “No, Miss, I’m afraid not. I’ll sure tell him soon as I see him though.”

“Well, all right.” She gave him a quick smile, adjusted her hat, and left. Abner stood staring after her. He scratched his head and gave a low, worried whistle. “What’s Zeb got himself into now, I wonder?” he asked the empty office.

*******

Becky’s mind was spinning as she walked back to her father’s store. Gone again! She wanted to he angry with Zeb for yet another unexpected disappearance, but the man had said, after all, that it was a family emergency …

She thought again how little she really knew about Zeb Douglas. A tendril of shame tried to bloom in her mind, but she shoved it firmly back. She had allowed herself to cross the line with Zeb … once. It wouldn’t happen again; she had promised herself that much. She knew better, and no matter how deeply she cared for him or he for her, she would not lose control again. It was a mistake, and it wouldn’t be repeated. They were in love, and they had gotten carried away by the moment, but that was all there was to it. sigh

Family emergency … Must be his mother, she decided. She wondered if Zeb favored his mother or his father. She hoped to meet them soon. She hoped that Zeb’s mother would be all right. She also hoped that he would be back soon. She already missed him desperately.

*******

As she swam back toward consciousness, Addie heard murmurs and ripples of voices around her. They reached her ears through the haze in her mind, and they seemed to come from all sides.

“Lou, you were the one that found him, right?”

“Yes. I went out to check on him a day or two after I went to see him at the store. He was in bed, looked like he must have died in his sleep. Had an asafetida bag tied around his neck.”

There was a sad little chuckle. “Lot of good it did him.”

“Too little, too late, I guess. She’s trying to open her eyes.”

Addie felt a hand taking hers, gently stroking it. “Addie, honey? How do you feel, sweetie?”

Addie blinked and tried to focus. Lou leaned over her, studying her face and stroking the hair back from her eyes.

“Well, hello there,” her older sister said, smiling. “Nice to have you back with us!”

“Where’s Mary Alice?” Addie’s tongue felt thick.

“She’s upstairs, taking a nap. She was acting kinda tired and fussy. I hope you don’t mind me putting her down for awhile.” sleep

Addie shook her head. She looked around. “This is your house, isn’t it, Lou?” Her sister nodded. “How long was I out?” Addie asked.

“Well, you kinda came around down at the lawyer’s office, but you never really roused well till now, and that’s been a coupla hours ago,” Bob said, coming to stand behind Louisa and looking down at his younger sister.

“We were getting worried, you being in a family way, and all.”

Addie sighed. The lawyer. Papa’s will … by reason of her willful disregard … It wasn’t a dream after all. Papa had really disinherited her. The shame and hurt washed over her again, but it wasn’t quite as overpowering this time—and she was already lying down. She felt like she ought to cry, but the grief seemed too deep for tears. It was more like a dull, dry ache, an emptiness inside her she had tried to forget. But now it had been shoved into her face, and there was no more avoiding it. Papa had put her out of his heart, and he had proved it by putting her out of his will. He had cut her off, just as he threatened on the day Zeb proposed.

Zeb … For a fleeting moment she wondered why he wasn’t in the room, but it didn’t quite seem important enough to ask about. He’d show up sometime, she assumed. She wondered how the news of the will had affected him. She had the vicious thought that he would probably leave, too, since there was no more hope of any dowry. She immediately reprimanded herself.

“Where’s Junior?” she asked.

“Down at Dan Sutherland’s,” Lou replied. “Seeing if there’s anything we can do about … the situation.” solemn

At that moment the front door opened. They heard steps in the hallway coming toward them. Addie heard the rustle of skirts, heard the murmured voice of Freda, Junior’s wife, as she asked him a question. There was no audible reply, and then Junior was standing in the doorway of the bedroom. The defeated expression on his face told them everything.

*******

Zeb had been walking for almost an hour, but his mind was still as snarled as a rat’s nest. He just couldn’t believe that Addie’s father had actually cut her off. He’d known Jacob wasn’t in favor of their marriage, but he just couldn’t believe a father would …

He felt cast off and cheated. He felt sorry for Addie, guilty for what their marriage had done to her, and angry because he felt guilty. He felt responsible … And then, from nowhere, a vision of himself and Becky Norwich invaded his mind. Becky, with her shiny, golden hair fallen down around her bare shoulders. Becky, her blue eyes looking deeply, deeply into his as he kissed her, as the pounding of his heart drowned out everything else except the feeling of his palms gliding over her skin—

Stop it! He grabbed his head with both hands, as if to clamp it in place—or perhaps to tear it off, to silence his restless and undisciplined mind once and for all. Zeb had never felt more wretched in his life. He had thought that in the days before their marriage, his uncertainty over his fate with Addie was the worst time of his life. But this … He was a battleground between duty and desire. There was no place he could go to escape the enemy inside his head; it was with him every waking moment, torturing him with rapidly alternating visions of rapture and wreckage. How could he even think of Becky Norwich now, when Addie needed him more than ever? But how could he forget Becky’s agreeable smile, her uncomplicated, undisguised interest in him, her softness, her gaiety—and her lithe, glorious body, unfurled beneath him, then wrapped around him like a welcoming, warming blanket? Becky was his in a way Addie had never been, could never be. Where were the answers? What could he do?

He walked on. The gold band on his left ring finger felt unfamiliar and strange, and he thumbed it nervously as he went. He thought of praying but instinctively shied away. He was certainly in no position to approach God with his problems just now. Besides, he had gotten himself into this predicament; it was up to him to extricate himself. ring

He knew he ought to get back to Addie’s sister’s house, even though he really didn’t want to. Addie must have come around by now; he needed to be there. At a time like this, surely there was something a husband could do—even a no–good like himself. He turned his feet back up the hill and began to retrace his steps, still thumbing his wedding ring, turning it round and round on his finger.

*******

George was restless. It was the middle of a Sunday afternoon, and he didn’t know what to do with himself. He thought about going upstairs and working on the model he had begun three months ago, a replica of the U.S.S. Constitution. He had started the ship on a whim after rereading the poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes, but the unpainted, unmasted hull had sat on his worktable, forlorn and abandoned, for weeks and weeks. Lately, he just couldn’t make himself get interested in his models, for some reason.

What he really wanted to do was call on Laura Sanders Breck, but he wasn’t quite able to go through with that either. After all, he had been with her late in the previous week. On top of that, he had escorted her to Jacob Caswell’s funeral. Cat that’s always underfoot gets kicked sooner or later, he lectured himself. In fact, he had imagined that she was the slightest bit restive the last few times they were together. George thought she still liked him for the most part, though, and he was most anxious not to spoil anything by being too hasty.

So he fretted. He’d already gone over the Times twice. He tried to find a book to read, but nothing looked interesting. He thought about taking a walk, but the sky looked threatening, so that didn’t seem advisable.

Pacing through the drawing room, his hands clasped behind him, he nearly collided with his father, who was trudging out of the hallway from the kitchen, carrying a brimming glass of buttermilk with cornbread crumbled into it.

“Watch it, Dad!” he said, shrinking back from the dollop of soaked cornbread that toppled from his father’s glass.

“Watch it, yourself,” Deacon Hutto said in a low grumble. “Moonin’ around the house like a foundered cow. Why don’t you just go see that woman before you fall down the stairs and break your neck, or somebody else’s?”

George felt the blush stinging his cheeks as his father edged around him and made for his favorite Sunday afternoon chair. He hadn’t realized his confusion over Mrs. Breck was quite so apparent. He watched thoughtfully as Dad settled carefully into the chair and began spooning the cornbread into his mouth. cornbread

“Well? What are you staring at?”

“Oh, sorry, Dad. I was just … woolgathering, I guess.”

George’s father grunted to himself as he swallowed another soggy piece of cornbread and chased it with a sip of buttermilk. George turned to go back the way he had come, then stopped and looked at his father. He swallowed, took a breath, then said, “Dad? When you were … Well, when you and Mother were courting, did you ever worry about, maybe spending too much time with her? Maybe wearing out your welcome?”

Deacon Hutto, a spoonful of cornbread halfway to his mouth, carefully put the spoon back into the glass. He looked at his pudgy, red-cheeked son for what seemed to George a full minute, but was probably only a few seconds.

“Son, I don’t much know what you’re driving at.”

George nodded, shoved his hands into his pockets, and drifted out of the drawing room. Deacon Hutto shook his head, rolled his eyes, and dipped up another bite of cornbread.

*******

This post is a chapter from the novel Sunday Clothes, by Thom Lemmons. Sunday Clothes will soon be available for purchase as an e-book at www.homingpigeonpublishing.com

Creative Commons License
So Fair and Bright (a weblog) by Thom Lemmons is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

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Sunday Clothes, Chapter 23

January 24, 2019

“Dub, I’m worried about Papa.”

“What’s the matter, Lou?”

Dub slapped at his pillow. It had been a hard day at the store; he’d caught one of the new clerks stealing from the till. Dub hated conflict and avoided it whenever possible, but he couldn’t tolerate theft for one instant. He’d had to confront the clerk, who had denied everything and turned surly. He’d had to have some of the other men remove the fellow from the store. He’d decided not to press charges, but the whole matter had given him a headache that had lasted the rest of the day. He was hoping that he could go to sleep tonight and wake up tomorrow without a tenpenny nail in the center of his forehead.

“Well, he won’t go to the doctor, and he’s been coughing like a lunger for two weeks now. I’m afraid he’s got walking pneumonia but won’t do anything about it.” headache

Dub sighed. He rolled from his side to his back, staring at the ceiling of their bedroom.

“He won’t stay at home,” Louisa said. “He gets up every morning of the world and goes in to that store. He’s trying to kill himself is what I think.”

Dub knew he had to try to make some sort of reply. “Well, honey, surely if he felt that bad he’d stay home.”

Her silence was not that of a satisfied person who was ready to let things drop and allow her husband to go to sleep. He waited, blinking at the darkness above his head.

“Dub, I can’t help worrying about him. Course he won’t let anyone close to him, but I’m his daughter, after all.”

“Lou, if you’re that worried, why don’t you say something to him?”

“Why, Dub, you know good and well he won’t listen to anything I say. That’s about the most hardheaded man in the world, and you know it as well as I do.”

And he’s got at least one hardheaded daughter. “Honey, I don’t know what else to say.”

She sighed. “Well … Good night, dear.”

“Night.” He rolled back onto his side and pulled the quilt over his shoulder. He waited.

“Would you go with me to see him, Dub?”

“If l thought it would do any good, which I don’t.”

She sighed again. He felt the mattress rock as she leaned over to blow out her bedside lamp. He waited.

“I sure wish you’d get this bedroom wired for electricity.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll tend to it one of these days.” lamp

Another sigh. The light went out and Dub closed his eyes at last.

*******

Louisa sent the boys off to school the next morning, then put on her coat, gloves, and hat before she could talk herself out of her mission. The hack deposited her on the boardwalk in front of Caswell’s Dry Goods, and she paid the driver, squared her shoulders, and marched up the front steps.

She tramped up the stairs at the back of the store and pushed through the swinging gate into the office area. Her father’s desk was unoccupied. She was about to ask Mr. Sloan, the bookkeeper, for Papa’s whereabouts when a rasping, rattling cough from the vault told her. She went into the vault. Jacob was standing and turning around with a box of receipts in his arms when she saw his face. Before she could stop herself, she let out a gasp.

His face was ashen, and his eyes looked like tunnels in the side of a washed-out clay bank. He wheezed with every breath. He looked at her, and for an instant he wore a guilty expression, before he remembered himself.

“Well, what are you staring at?” He tried to draw himself a bit straighter.

“Papa, you’re going home right this minute! You’re in no condition to be—”

“Last time I checked, I was still your daddy, and I can still—” A coughing fit took him, and he nearly dropped the box. Louisa thought he was about to fall, but he leaned against the vault wall until the spell passed. “I can still look out for myself, without your help,” he finally managed in a half–choked voice before another cough shook him.

“Besides,” he said, “there’s nobody back there at the house anyway. I’m as well off here as I would be there.”

She moved to him and pulled the box from his grasp. “What are you talking about? I thought Lila was—”

“I ran her off.”

“What?”

“She didn’t suit me,” he said as he pushed past her. “If you’re gonna stand there gawking,   you might as well bring that box to Abe.” He shuffled out of the vault and turned toward his desk. sunkenface

Mr. Sloan appeared in the vault doorway. He glanced over his shoulder at Jacob’s receding back, then at Louisa. “Lou, he don’t need to be here,” he said quietly, bending over to pick up the box of receipts. “He’s mortal sick, if you’ll pardon my saying so, and I wish he’d go to the doctor, but he won’t listen to nothing nobody here says to him about it.”

Louisa closed her eyes, massaging her temples with one hand and cradling her elbow with the other.

“I was glad to see you coming up those stairs, ‘cause I figured if anybody could talk sense to him, it’d be you.”

‘‘Abe, he won’t listen to me either,” she said. ‘‘At least, not yet.”

Abe Sloan shook his head and turned to go back to his desk. “I sure wish he’d listen to somebody. He don’t need to be here, and that’s the Lord’s truth.”

She walked out of the vault and turned the corner toward her father’s desk. Jacob sat slumped in his swivel chair. He appeared shriveled, shrunken within himself. He was looking away from her, out over the sales floor. She pulled a cane–bottomed chair over and sat across the desk.

“Papa, why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Killing yourself.”

“Just got a bad cold, is all.”

“Papa, you and I both know better than that. Why is it you’ve decided to quit living?”

He flicked an angry glance at her, then turned away again. He started to cough and scrabbled hastily in the lap drawer of his desk for a handkerchief. Though he tried to hold it crumpled in his fist as he brought it to his mouth, Louisa saw the rusty speckling of dried blood.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, wiping his lips. “I’ll be all right. If you came down here to henpeck, why don’t you just go on back home?” handkerchief

“Papa, don’t you know I love you?” she said, trying to keep her voice even. “Don’t you think I care about what happens to you? I can’t just let you sit down here and die and act like it doesn’t matter to me one way or the other! Why won’t you let somebody help you?”

“I don’t need anybody’s help!”

He immediately went into another coughing spasm. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw some of the customers on the sales floor stare up at the office. She started to come around and hold his shoulders, but he waved her off.

When he could speak again, he said, “I’ve been alone since your mother died, and here lately I’ve decided that suits me just fine. Nobody to tell me to pick up my stuff, nobody to get in my way around the place, nobody to worry about whether I come or go. Nobody to lecture me about what I ought to do, nobody to go off and leave me. Nobody except me to bother with. That’s how I like it. You hear? Now go on. You’ve shown your Christian concern, and I’ve turned it down. There’s nothing else for you to do.”

She felt the tears stinging the corners of her eyes. “Papa, please—”

‘‘Abe,” he said, standing and walking toward the bookkeeper’s desk, “did you get those receipts totaled up yet?”

Louisa flung herself out of the chair and dashed toward the stairs, covering her mouth with her hand. As she clattered down the steps, she heard him start coughing again.

*******

Zeb walked into the agency and Abner immediately waved a telegraph message at him. “Western Union boy just brought this over, Zeb. Says it’s urgent. Says it came from Nashville.”

Zeb tore open the envelope and extracted the wire. He read it twice before the meaning penetrated. He puffed out his cheeks and his eyes went wide.

“What’s the matter? Bad news from home?”

“Well, you might say that.” Zeb tried to sort out the thoughts as they scrambled past his consciousness. He looked up at Abner. “I’ve got to go back, Ab. My wife’s father died.” telgram

*******

They filed slowly into the young attorney’s office and seated themselves around the long table, the dark–suited men carefully holding the chairs for their wives. Louisa eased into her chair and felt Dub’s hand rest lightly on her shoulder for a moment.

When they were all sitting, the bustling, nervous–mannered young man went to the head of the table and carefully stacked some documents, then seated himself. He cleared his throat and looked at them all. He tried to smile, without much success.

“Well, now that we’re all here,” he said, “I guess we’d better get started. As you may know, your father had filed a revised will with me quite some time prior to his death—”

“Revised?” said Junior, the oldest sibling. “I knew Papa had some kinda falling out with Dan Sutherland, but I didn’t know anything about changes in his will.” Junior peered a question at the rest of them. He looked back at the lawyer. By now a sheen of perspiration was visible on the young man’s forehead. “Well?”

“Yes, ah … Mr. Caswell brought his former will to me at about the time he … he left Mr. Sutherland and asked me to make some, ah … some changes.”

“What kind of changes?” Louisa said.

The attorney dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief. “Yes, well … Why don’t we just read the will, and I think everything will be self–explanatory.”

Junior sat back in his chair with a frown covering his face, still staring at the sweating lawyer. The rest of them inched forward, their elbows on the table, and waited for the attorney to begin reading. Dub and Zeb were doing their best, Louisa thought, to maintain an attitude of respectful disinterest.

“I, Jacob Isaiah Caswell, being of sound mind, do hereby declare this to be my last will and testament … ”

As the young man’s voice droned on, Louisa studied Addie and Zeb from the corner of her eye. She had been watching them ever since their arrival for the funeral, two days ago. If Papa’s death had affected Addie, she wasn’t showing it. To Louisa, her younger sister seemed disinterested, somehow—apart. Zeb, on the other hand, appeared to be going out of his way to be the same old, glad–handing, smiling, good–humored fellow he’d always been. Courteous, proper, and well–mannered, he looked to Louisa to be a more prosperous, more confident version of the person who had left Chattanooga nearly four years ago.

But something had changed. Louisa couldn’t miss the polite reserve between Zeb and Addie. Allowing for his solicitousness toward Addie’s expectant condition, Louisa sensed a certain aloofness. Zeb treated Addie with the respect one might show an esteemed but distant relative. Louisa was worried about them, even though she couldn’t put her finger on the exact reason why.mourner

“ … do hereby direct that the remainder of my estate be distributed, per stirpes, among my three surviving children—”

“Do what?” said Bob, the younger brother. “What did you just read?”

The young lawyer wiped his forehead and cleared his throat. He looked around the table at them, then read again, in a quieter voice, “The remainder of the estate is to be divided among the three children Mr. Caswell mentions in the following—”

“I don’t guess you can count, son,” said Junior, leaning forward in his chair and carefully placing his folded hands on the table. “There’s four of us: me, Bob, Lou, and Addie. Four.”

The attorney’s only reply was to begin reading again in a flat, weakened voice. “ … my three surviving children: Jacob Isaiah Caswell Junior, Louisa Marie Caswell Dawkins, and Robert Wilkes Caswell. I hereby direct that—” The lawyer’s voice faltered, then resumed. “—that Adelaide Margaret Caswell Douglas, by reason of her willful disregard for the peace and well–being of this home, be stricken from my inheritance, that her right to any proceeds of this estate be revoked, and that she and her heirs and assigns be specifically and perpetually enjoined from any of the benefits that they might otherwise have enjoyed.” The lawyer’s voice faded to a halt.

There was almost a minute of stunned silence. For the first time, Addie showed emotion. All color had drained from her face, and Louisa could see white half–moons beneath her fingernails as she gripped the edge of the table. Even Zeb had lost his usual self–assured air and sat with his mouth agape, staring sightlessly at the empty center of the table.

It was Junior who broke the hush. “Do you mean to tell me that you let Papa write his own daughter out of the will?”

The attorney’s face had a strangled, desperate look. “Now, Mr. Caswell, you must understand that in the state of Tennessee, a person of good judgment can do anything he wants to his estate as long as—”

“Good judgment?” Bob said. “You call this good judgment?”

“No wonder Dan Sutherland and your daddy parted ways,” Dub said. He put his arm around Louisa and softly patted her shoulder as she wept quietly into her handkerchief. “Dan wouldn’t have been party to something like this.”

They all stared accusingly at the young lawyer, who remained absolutely still, except to shrug.

“Mr. Caswell wanted it this way. I’m just the lawyer.”

“Yeah,” said Junior with a snort. “How much did he pay you, boy?”

“Now, Mr. Caswell—”

“I’ve got to get some air,” Addie said, shoving her chair back from the table. She stood, took three steps toward the doorway, and crumpled in a heap of black satin and taffeta.

*******

This post is a chapter from the novel Sunday Clothes, by Thom Lemmons. Sunday Clothes will soon be available for purchase as an e-book at www.homingpigeonpublishing.com

Creative Commons License
So Fair and Bright (a weblog) by Thom Lemmons is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.