The Improper Life Of Bezellia Grove Part 6

"Well, anything less than ten years old is new to my grandfather."

Ruddy laughed, nodding his head in agreement. His deep brown eyes relaxed, and when he smiled, a little dimple on his left cheek appeared out of nowhere. I stepped closer to the house, brushing past him in a slow, deliberate way, and then carefully pulled the screen door toward me. "Maybe I'll see you around," I said, and then I stepped inside and let the door slam shut behind me.

Cornelia would be so proud. I'd been flirty and coy but vague and slightly disinterested, and I hadn't required the Parisian sun bouncing off my cheeks to do it either. I needed to write my cousin and tell her about this Rutherford Semple. And I needed to write Mary Margaret Hunt and let her know that the best-looking men were not, it turned out, in France.

"I see you met Ruddy," I heard my grandmother shouting from the kitchen.

"Yeah. He was coming out as I was coming in."

"Don't be getting too friendly with him." Nana stepped outside the kitchen door just far enough so I could see her face. She was holding a knife in one hand and an onion in the other. She wiped her eyes with the hem of the ratty old ap.r.o.n she had loosely tied about her waist.

"He's a nice boy and all, but he spends way too much time with Megan, and something about that just ain't right."

"I think it's nice that he hangs out with Megan. Besides, they're just friends, Nana. Mrs. Scott said so herself."

"Just friends? A girl who can't talk. Lord, child, are you kidding? That boy could only have one thing on his mind, and that's getting into her pants. Just like his daddy."

"Nana!" I said, surprised to hear my grandmother talk about any boy getting into any girl's pants. "Mrs. Scott says Ruddy is very nice. And what do you mean 'just like his daddy'?"

"Forget it. It's not important. But remember this, Bezellia, I didn't just crawl out from under some rock the way your mama would like you to think I did. Mark my words, the only reason he spends time with that girl is because he likes the way she fits into those blue jeans she's always wearing. G.o.d almighty, you can see everything the good Lord gave her."

I didn't even bother to argue with her because I was beginning to realize, just as it was with my own mother, that an argument would be nothing but a waste of words. I honestly didn't care what my grandmother thought. It felt good to be interested in a boy again, and I liked Ruddy Semple, whether he wanted in my pants or not. And I wasn't so sure that was a bad place for him to be.

Turned out, Ruddy was everything Mrs. Scott had said he would be. He was kind, a little shy, but patient and very handsome. His chest was broad and strong, and his eyes were the warmest, deepest brown I had ever seen. His dark hair was cut short and parted over to the side. And when that little dimple on his left cheek surfaced, I found myself wanting to curl up in his arms.

Before long, Ruddy and I were spending most every afternoon together paddling around in my grandfather's rowboat, checking his fishing lines that were tied to empty plastic milk jugs and scattered about the lake. We drifted through the summer doing nothing more than talking and holding hands. And when he finally kissed me, he hoped my granddaddy would understand that his feelings for me were true and honest. I really didn't care what anybody thought. I just wanted Ruddy to kiss me again.

To tell the truth, Pop thought Ruddy kept coming around the house because he needed extra spending money. But Nana knew better and just stared him down like a hungry hawk circling her prey. When my grandmother was in the room, poor Ruddy spent most of the time talking to his feet.

He said that when he was singing and playing his guitar he had more courage than a lion and that he was heading to Nashville as soon as he graduated from high school. He was going to be a famous country music star someday but had promised his mama he would finish school first. He'd be only the second Semple to get his diploma, his daddy being the first.

We were almost to the other side of the lake, probably already had fifteen fresh catfish in the metal tank at the end of the boat, when I started telling Ruddy about my uncle and his Buffy Orphans. As soon as I mentioned those silly hens, Ruddy jumped to his feet and clapped his hands, almost dumping me right into the water.

"Lord, girl, I don't believe it. You know something about the chicken business? Man, you have got to see my daddy's prizewinning c.o.c.k, a blue-ribbon winner, twice over. Prettiest c.o.c.k in the county. Maybe you could come to supper tomorrow night and take a good look at him?" Ruddy clapped his hands in excitement and then just as quickly turned a deep shade of red. He sat back down and fixed his eyes on the water. "You do know I'm talking about a rooster, don't ya?"

I rea.s.sured him that I did, even if I did live in the city, and that I would love to see his daddy's prizewinning bird.

Nana was not too happy about my invitation to Ruddy's house. She said his parents barely had a pot to p.i.s.s in, and she didn't think my mama would be too happy either about me going anywhere near the Semple farm. Nana was probably right. Ruddy did not own one expensive sweater, and he certainly did not drive a convertible, unless you counted my grandfather's tractor. And since he was born and raised in the Church of G.o.d, I could guarantee that he did not know how to dance. But I told my grandmother not to worry. I was only going to see a bird.

Ruddy picked me up in his daddy's truck a little before four. I was wearing a white cotton skirt and a thin cotton blouse with little pink and green flowers all over it. Nana thought the skirt was too short. But Ruddy smiled when he saw me, said I looked real pretty, and then he helped me into his daddy's truck. We drove a couple of miles without saying anything, my hair blowing in my face. I'd catch Ruddy staring at me and then looking away, shy and yet real curious all at the same time. He finally slowed the truck down and pulled off to the side of the road. He inched a little closer, put his arm around my shoulders, and pointed to a field spotted with Queen Anne's lace and black-eyed Susans. It looked a lot like the land back behind my house, except now a rooster was crowing in the distance, urging us along.

"That's Mister Jackson," Ruddy said with a big grin on his face. "He knows you're coming. See, down there, that's my house." On the other side of the field stood a small yellow house topped with a red tin roof. It looked like a speck of paint from where we were, and even up close it didn't get much bigger. Ruddy said his mama had been cooking all day. She was real anxious to meet me, so Mister Jackson would have to wait till after supper to make my acquaintance.

The smell of pot roast and green beans filled their tiny house. The windows were wide open, but it was still so hot and sticky inside I could feel the sweat dripping down my back. Three or four pots simmered quietly on the stove, and a pan of biscuits sat warming in the oven, the door left open so they wouldn't burn. I wondered how Ruddy's mama stood there cooking all day without fainting from the heat.

The living room and kitchen were one large room, no walls separating one s.p.a.ce from the other. The kitchen table was nicely set with a faded blue checked cloth and a handful of that Queen Anne's lace plunked down in an old gla.s.s milk pitcher. As soon as I stepped through the door, everyone's eyes turned toward me-Ruddy's mother's, his father's, his little sister's, even their dog's eyes were fixed on the girl who'd come all the way from Nashville. No one said h.e.l.lo until I did. No one sat at the table until I did or placed his napkin in his lap or picked up his fork, until I did. And somewhere swirling about my head, I could hear Samuel, sitting down by the creek under the cherrybark oaks, calling me a princess.

Mrs. Semple apologized that her meal wasn't very fancy, like I was surely used to eating back home. I told her it was wonderful, better than anything I'd had in Nashville or anywhere else for that matter, and then took another bite of pot roast. She smiled at me and then at Ruddy and asked if I'd like another biscuit. Mr. Semple took his place at the head of the table without saying a word. He sat there either staring at me like he was trying to recall an old friend or ignoring me altogether, every now and then stopping to look at his plate while he dragged his biscuit through the last bit of gravy. He waited for his wife to clear the dishes from the table and seemed relieved when Ruddy and I finally got up and left.

After supper, Ruddy took me into the front yard and introduced me to Mister Jackson. He stood near the edge of their beaten old barn, beaming like a daddy who's just been told his baby girl is the prettiest child in town. He clucked like a rooster and then threw Mister Jackson a few kernels of corn. The rooster waddled right up to Ruddy and ate out of his hand. I told him that Mister Jackson was the best-looking bird I'd ever seen, much more handsome than Uncle Thad's pack of orphaned hens.

We walked back to the house and said our good-byes. Ruddy's mom told me to come again real soon, that it had been a pleasure meeting me. I a.s.sured her that the pleasure had been all mine. His daddy just sat in a tattered old reclining chair reading the newspaper, never once bothering to look our way. Ruddy kissed his mother on the cheek and said he was going to show me the sights. I started to laugh but then realized he meant what he said. We hopped in his daddy's truck and headed back down the narrow gravel road that led to his house. But he turned left and onto a little dirt path I hadn't noticed before and shifted down into first gear. He drove real slowly, the lush green growth on either side of the road rubbing up against the truck. A branch popped inside my window, and I squealed and moved closer to Ruddy, resting my head on his shoulder.

"I've got a present for you," he said, pulling off the road and gesturing for me to look out the window. And there, glistening in the remnants of the late evening sun, Old Hickory Lake stood perfectly still, its gla.s.sy surface reflecting the tall oaks and cedars that trimmed the water's edge.

"Oh, it's absolutely beautiful, Ruddy. You know my mother would say there's nothing quite like being on the water."

"That's not the best part," he said excitedly. "Come on and I'll show you. You know your grandparents' house is just right over there. I'm surprised you've never been over here."

Ruddy jumped out of the truck and practically ran to my door. He reached for my hand and guided me off the seat, giving me time to pull my skirt down before fully revealing my panties. Then he led me through some tall gra.s.s and onto a white, sandy beach. We stood there holding hands while our feet instinctively burrowed down into the cool, smooth sand. Ruddy fidgeted for a while and finally pointed to the ground. "This! This is what I wanted to show you."

"The sand?" I asked, suddenly realizing that it was odd to see a white, sandy beach in the middle of Tennessee.

"Yeah, the beach," he said excitedly. "The Army Corps of Engineers carried in all this sand last summer so everybody out here could pretend like they were in Florida or Hawaii. I guess they figure most of us aren't ever gonna get anywhere near a place like that so they decided to bring it to us. I told the Scotts there was no point in them making that long drive to Destin anymore," he said, and then laughed, pulling me down onto the beach next to him. He said it was the biggest thing that had happened in Mount Juliet in years, next to Mister Jackson winning a blue ribbon at the state fair and Mr. Patterson setting his own house on fire so he could collect the insurance money.

We nestled our bodies next to each other and watched the stars come out, every new spot of light further decorating the night sky. Ruddy said there'd be rain later in the week. I told him that was exactly what my grandfather had said, even though that wasn't true. He laughed just a bit and wrapped both arms around me, pulling me so close that I could hear his heart beat. He said he'd never met a girl like me and sure hated to think of my leaving soon. Then he stroked my lower lip with his finger before pressing his own mouth against mine, his kiss so warm and perfect that I couldn't help but wonder if he read Seventeen too. Every time he touched me, I found myself digging my foot deeper and deeper into the sand, as if I was hopelessly trying to bind my body to the earth.

I snuggled deeper into his chest, and without warning or announcement, he reached under my blouse and tried to unfasten my bra. Now Cornelia would say that a man with any experience at all with a girl's undergarments could unfasten a bra in one swift flick of the wrist. But Ruddy struggled with the clasp, and I finally reached behind my back and helped him with the last hook and eye. He apologized for his clumsy fingers. I told him not to worry about it, that sometimes even I had a hard time getting those hooks undone. He pulled off his own shirt with ease, and I watched him as he carefully unb.u.t.toned mine. Ruddy didn't seem so shy right now.

My b.r.e.a.s.t.s felt warm against his chest and my back cool against the sand. His tongue touched mine, and he kissed me a long time, as if he was trying to pour every ounce of love he had right down my throat. Tommy Blanton and I had never kissed like this. Samuel and I had never kissed like this, like Cornelia had promised I would do someday. A part of me wanted to tell him to stop, that I had been saving this moment for another boy. And a part of me wanted to tell him to move a little faster.

Ruddy rubbed his hand up and down my leg and then into my panties. Nana was right. He had wanted in my pants, but I gently caressed his hand, rea.s.suring him that he was headed in the right direction. Then he led me to a place that I was not familiar with, and he stroked me until I shook in his arms. He kissed my forehead and my nose and my cheeks and my chin. He whispered in my ear that he wanted to love every inch of my body-someday. I told him that he better not wait too long because I would be leaving soon, and then I tugged at his belt. Ruddy took my hand in his and kissed it over and over again.

"Bezellia, you're makin' it real hard, but it just wouldn't be right, here and all."

"I didn't know the location had that much to do with it."

"I guess the beach is better than doing it in the back of the pickup, but I think you oughta have a ring on that finger before you, uh ..." And he hesitated finding it hard to say the word. "You know, before we do everything G.o.d intends for a man and woman to do."

"You don't think G.o.d's going to have a problem with what we just did?"

"That just ain't the same thing. Besides, I think G.o.d understands that a girl and boy got to have some fun along the way. But the big it, well, that needs to wait till after the wedding. Daddy says you can really make a mess of things if you don't wait till it's proper."

Proper. Suddenly I pictured myself standing at the tiny stove in his tiny house fixing fried chicken for Sunday supper, his mama and daddy sitting on lawn chairs out in the front yard watching Mister Jackson and waiting for me to call them to the table, which was still covered in that same tattered old cloth with a can full of dead Queen Anne's lace sitting smack-dab in the middle.

An uncomfortable feeling washed over me, one I felt ashamed to claim as my own. I didn't want to marry Ruddy Semple, and for no better reason than that he was a poor boy from the middle of nowhere. Maybe there was just too much Grove in me after all and not enough courage to marry someone who couldn't live in the only world I'd ever known-even if it was a world I often didn't like. Maybe I was more like my mother than my grandfather or Mrs. Scott or even I had imagined.

"Hey, Bezellia, hey, you in there? Hey, girl, you hear me? I got one more thing to show you." And Ruddy stood up and drew me toward him in one swift, smooth motion. "We're gonna take us a little walk, so you better b.u.t.ton up that pretty little blouse of yours or you're gonna be giving those cows something to talk about."

"Walk?" I asked as I straightened my blouse and pulled the hair out of my face, trying to make sense of where we were headed now.

"Daddy always says that if it ain't worth walking to, then it ain't worth seeing. C'mon, it's worth it, I promise."

We walked at least a mile with nothing but the croaking of the tree frogs reminding us that we were not alone. Sometimes we'd stop in the middle of the road and Ruddy would lean forward and kiss me lightly on the lips, and then we'd start walking again. The moon was fairly bright, and I could see up ahead where the road curved to the left. Beyond that, there was a glow, some kind of light rising up out of nothing. I asked Ruddy if that was where we were headed, toward that light. Instead of answering, he stopped and kissed me on the lips one more time, a reward for faithfully following him into the night.

As we came to the bend in the road, I could see a big red barn all lit up against the dark sky. White letters mounted just below the roofline read Bradley's Barn. There were probably two dozen cars parked in the driveway. But other than the frogs still singing their songs, there wasn't a sound to be heard.

"Is this some kind of bar, Ruddy? Like a honky-tonk? I'm not sure we ought to be going in there. Who's Bradley anyway?"

"Bezellia Grove, d.a.m.n, girl, do you even know what a honky-tonk is? All that fancy learning of yours and you don't know a thing about Owen Bradley or his big red barn, do you?" I just gave him a look like why should I? And Ruddy shot me a smart look right back. "Because he's only one of the greatest record producers ever and that place is full of musicians right now making an alb.u.m."

"Country music?" I asked.

"What other kind is there? Lord, it seems that any girl born and raised in Nashville ought to know something about country music. Daddy says it's our heritage."

"Not everybody in Nashville picks a guitar, Ruddy," I said, sounding unkind and defensive. "Besides, my mother always called that hillbilly music. She says it's not good for the ear." Truthfully, Mother didn't listen to much music of any kind, and she certainly never listened to country music. She said she'd had enough of that when she was little. All at once Ruddy's eyes looked a bit wounded and sad. "I have heard of Johnny Cash," I said, trying to soften my blow.

"Listen, Bezellia, I don't mean to sound disrespectful, but your mama don't know what she's talking about. And Lord, I sure hope you have heard of Johnny Cash, seeing how he lives just on the other side of this big old lake. One of these days, just so you know, I'm gonna have me a whole bunch of gold alb.u.ms just like Mr. Cash. And I'm gonna live in a big house on the lake too. Maybe even bigger than his."

I had heard this dream once before, and I imagined I was going to hear it again. I guess no matter who we are or where we're starting from, we all want something other than what we've got. Maybe that's what keeps us moving forward, but I'm not sure I fully understood that back then, standing in the middle of that country road in the dead of night.

"Wow, what a special occasion this is," Ruddy said. "Looks like I'm about to teach the city girl a thing or two she'll never forget." And then he took me by the hand and once again led me somewhere I'd never been.

We walked right up to a small door cut into the back wall of the barn, not framed with any kind of trim, making it hard to find in the dark. Ruddy tugged on a long wooden handle, cracking the door just wide enough to wedge his body through the opening, and then he pulled me in behind him.

"Is this okay, being here and all?" I whispered, already feeling a bit anxious and out of place.

"Oh, yeah. I sweep the floors and take out the garbage for Mr. Bradley every Monday morning. He doesn't mind as long as I'm quiet," Ruddy said and then paused for a moment, "and he doesn't know that I'm here." And he put his finger to his mouth, signaling for me to hush.

We felt our way down one dark hallway and then another. I could barely see my hand outstretched in front of me, holding tightly on to Ruddy's arm. We stopped behind a heavy curtain that was hanging from the ceiling, its other end dragging on the ground. Ruddy pointed to the floor, now signaling for me to sit down. Then he pulled the curtain back just enough to reveal a small group of people, some sitting on stools, some standing, but all of them together forming a circle around a cl.u.s.ter of silver microphones.

One man was crouched behind a set of drums, a couple of others had guitars strapped over their shoulders, and one real skinny man was holding a shiny red guitar plugged into a big black box. There was another man tuning a banjo and a couple of others with violins tucked against their necks. Ruddy said that out here they were playing fiddles, not violins.

"This ain't some fancy orchestra, Bezellia."

And in the middle of all these men was one small, beautiful woman with long black hair cascading down her back. She had a dainty little mouth and a dainty little nose. Even her smile was dainty. But her eyes were a bright, piercing blue. She was standing behind a microphone singing the same line to herself, over and over again, like she was trying to find the right note.

"I'm here to tell ya gal to lay offa my man.

I'm hear to tell ya gal to lay offa my man."

A gray-headed man was in another room behind a large plate-gla.s.s window. He was seated in front of a desk covered with all sorts of k.n.o.bs and lights, and the minute he positioned the microphone in front of his mouth, all the musicians in the other room grew silent. He directed everyone to stand by. Ruddy kissed the back of my neck while the man with the red guitar counted with his fingers. One, two, three. Music immediately filled the room, and the little woman with the brilliant blue eyes stood up straight and tall in front of her microphone and thrust her chest slightly forward.

She started singing about some floozy who had been spending too much time with her husband and then bragging too much about their affair. She called her nothing but trash and promised if she didn't stop "a lovin'" her man, then she would have no choice but to come looking for her. Yes, that tiny little woman was going to punch that tramp right in the face and take her to a place she called "fist city." And to tell the truth, she sang those lyrics with such power and emotion that I actually believed she could do it too.

"Who is that?" I whispered.

"That's Mr. Bradley behind the gla.s.s."

"No, I mean who's singing?"

"That's Loretta Lynn. You never heard of her either? She grew up poorer than dirt, lived up in the hills of Kentucky somewhere. Now look at her. Just proves anybody can do anything," Ruddy said with a smile, obviously referring to his own big dreams for the future.

I'd heard Loretta Lynn's name and seen some pictures of her in the newspaper from time to time, always outfitted in some fancy gown that had too many sequins and too many ruffles on it, at least that's what Mother said. But I'd never heard her sing. And now, sitting on the floor of that barn, hearing her rich, tw.a.n.gy voice, I felt like I was listening to some wise old sage or prophet. I just wished my own mother would listen to her sing, would find her on the radio, maybe even find the courage to go looking for Mrs. Hunt and take her on a little trip to "fist city."

After Mrs. Lynn sang the last note, everyone stayed real still and quiet until Mr. Bradley nodded his head. He turned a k.n.o.b on his desk and then pulled the microphone right up close to his mouth.

"That was great, everybody, but I'd like to hear the second verse one more time. And, Loretta, hold that last note just a beat or two longer."

I wanted to jump up and clap right out loud, but Ruddy grabbed my hands and led me back through the darkened hallways and out the barn door.

"Why'd we have to go? That was incredible! Her voice is so beautiful, absolutely beautiful. I've never heard anything like it."

"Well, I think you better take a look at that sky for one thing, Bezellia. I got to get you home."

The horizon was turning a light shade of black, almost starting to look blue along the edge. It wouldn't be long till Mister Jackson would be sounding his alarm, informing everyone, including my grandparents, that night had come and gone.

"Come on!" Ruddy said as he grabbed my hand and started running. We couldn't help but laugh and sing as we barreled our way headlong into the morning, straight to Ruddy's pickup truck. His voice was so unexpectedly rich and strong. It was as if that sound coming from his mouth scooped us right up and carried us along, leaving us both feeling daring and bold. By the time I got to my grandparents' house and reached for the screen door, I was nothing less than brave and fearless, ready to tell my grandmother that Ruddy Semple was a good man, that she had sold him short, that I probably had too. And I had a funny feeling that Loretta Lynn would be standing right there beside me.

Nana and Pop were already sitting at the kitchen table, each one holding a mug of coffee. Nana rubbed her finger across the rim of her mug, and even I could see that her eyes looked more wet and confused than worried or angry.

"Sit down, Bezellia," my grandfather said, still refusing to look directly at me. I was suddenly afraid to sit anywhere, somehow knowing that, once I did, they were going to tell me something I did not want to hear. So I just stood by the table, stiff and straight, not even willing to bend my knees.

"Honey," my grandfather said as he reached for my hand, "you need to sit down," and then he used what strength he had left to drag me into the chair next to his. "There's been an accident. At your house."

"What do you mean an accident? What happened? Is Adelaide hurt? Is she okay?"

I wanted my grandfather to talk faster, and I wanted him to hush. I wanted to be back on the beach, in Ruddy's arms, drifting off to sleep. I wanted to be at Grove Hill, playing with Adelaide and Baby Stella down by the creek, helping Maizelle roll out biscuits and string green beans. I wanted to be kissing Tommy Blanton behind the coatrack. I wanted to be sitting with Samuel by the swimming pool. I wanted to be painting my toenails on Cornelia's bed. Please, I screamed, let me be any place but right here. But n.o.body heard me.

"Bezellia, your daddy fell down the stairs, sometime after he come home from the hospital last night. Apparently n.o.body heard him fall. Maizelle done found him this morning." My grandfather stopped and choked back some tears. "I'm sorry, sweetie. There was nothing that could be done. Broke his neck. Never woke up-"

"Nathaniel's on his way to get you," Nana interrupted. "We'll come on later. We got to take care of a few things here first. Your mother won't talk to no one. Won't come out of her room. Your uncle Thad thought it might be good if you come on right away. Of course, if I know my daughter, she's probably done gone and drowned herself in a bottle of gin. Cain't say that I blame her this time, though."

I sat there not saying one word, just drifting in and out of that still, muggy kitchen. My father was dead. I heard my grandfather say it, and yet all I could think about was my mother. I scooted my chair back from the table and looked my grandmother squarely in the eyes.

"That's just it, Nana. You don't know Mother. You don't know her at all."

DR. GROVE DIES.

CHARLES GOODMAN GROVE V Pa.s.sES AWAY AT HOME.

Nashvillians Mourn Loss Dr. Charles Goodman Grove V, died in his Grove Hill home today. He was 42.