“Where have you been?” It was Joe. “I've been calling you.”
“I went for a walk,” Mary said.
“Pick you up tonight?”
“I can't.”
“Why not?”
“Miz Gryder. She knows I was out late last night.”
“We don't have to be late. I'll get you back early. Come on.”
“Well, -- O.K.” Mary was relieved to be persuaded.
When the two of them left the house, Miz Gryder stared at Mary, but didn't say a word.
Joe drove straight to the old bridge. He parked under an old oak tree. He grabbed Mary and pulled her to him. His mouth covered her face urgently, like someone starving to death. Mary responded just as eagerly. She was glad to offer sustenance, to be coveted. In giving herself, she found solace. Her demons were quiet for now.
She lost track of time. She was in a place where there was no pain; a place she had never been before. All her life, it seemed, she had known nothing but stings, scrapes, tearing and rending. That was all forgotten now. She would drive the demons away. She kissed Joe harder.
Mary was floating in a dream. In her dream she walked in a meadow of bright flowers. She walked down the gentle hill to a clear brook winding its way through lush green trees, bubbling over moss-covered rocks. She knelt down and plucked a flower growing at the water's edge. A cool, refreshing breeze stirred the leaves and caressed her face.
Then, suddenly, as it often happens in dreams, the scene shifted. The trees were no longer lush and green. The bare, black branches reached for her, scratched her skin. The gentle wind had become a howling gale, screaming about her ears like a thousand banshees.
“No, stop!” she heard someone say. It was her.
“Mary,” Joe breathed.
“I can't,” Mary said.
“Why - Why not?”
“The dreams. The dreams. They're in my dreams. I have to save him.”
“Save who?”
“I don't know. I just know I can't do it. Not now.”
Joe let go. He pushed away from Mary, roughly.
“Please don't be mad,” she pleaded.
Joe was silent. He turned the key and drove off down the dirt rutted road.
Neither of them said a word on the drive back toward town.
Miz Gryder met them at the door when Joe brought Mary home. Mary's things were packed up and sitting on the porch.
“Take your things and go,” Miz Gryder said. “You can't stay here anymore.”
Mary just looked at her, speechless.
“I told you I won't have any carrying-on like that in my house.” Miz Gryder turned and went back in the house without another word. The screen door slapped back three times in the door frame. Miz Gryder closed the front door behind her.
Without a word, Mary picked up her things and walked down the stairs. Joe waited for her at the car. He opened the door for her.
For a long time they drove aimlessly, wordlessly. Joe took his favorite road down by the river. He stopped and got out. He stared at the river flowing in muddy, lazy swirls. Mary sat still in the car, looking down.
“What are you going to do now?” Joe finally asked.
“I don't know,” Mary mumbled. “I came this far, I guess I can go on.”
“I don't want you to go,” Joe said. “I - I just don't.”
“But I have no place to stay.”
“Wait a minute. I've got an idea,” Joe said. “How would you like to stay with my uncle?”
“Your uncle?”
“Uncle Jonathan. He has a farm on the other side of town. He lives there alone.”
“Was he never married?” Mary asked.
“Once. A long time ago. The family doesn't talk about it much. They stayed together a few years, then she left. The last we heard she was off in California somewhere.”
“Why did she leave?”
“Nobody knows. Uncle Jonathan won't say. He just lives like she was never there. He's kind of strange, if you want to know the truth. Strange, but harmless. He used to take me fishing a lot when I was young.”
“And now you're SOO old,” Mary teased.
“Well, older, anyway. We had good times together. Sometimes we would go hunting. Uncle Jonathan taught me a lot about the woods - trees, animals, fish, farming.
“I don't know. Do you think he would take me in?”
“We can ask. The worst he can do is say no.”
“I suppose.”
“Let's go then.”
The drive took them way on the other side of town. They drove along silently down the two-lane road overhung with ancient oaks. The road crossed the river again, and soon after, Joe turned down a dirt road that led up a small hill. Clouds of dust rose behind the car. After a few miles, they came to an overgrown, sandy trail just wide enough for one vehicle. The two ruts were still visible, but there were no fresh tire tracks. Rains had washed them clean. In some places, vines from both sides of the trail almost met in the middle. The trail was littered with branches and cut through here and there with gullies. The going was slow and torturous.
At length, the trees and brush thinned and the road passed into a cleared area. It dipped and ran near a small pond. The fields were overgrown and abandoned. There was no evidence of an active crop of any kind. Above the pond was a barn and silo. Passing them, Joe and Mary caught sight of the farmhouse perched on a small hill overlooking the stagnant pond and barren landscape.
Joe drove up in front of the house and stopped.
The dingy white paint on the old wooden house was chipped and peeling. The screen door was askew, hanging from one hinge. Joe went up to the front door and knocked. No answer. He turned around to Mary and shrugged, then turned back and pounded harder. Still no answer. “I’ll see if he’s around back,” Joe said. He walked around the corner of the house calling, “Uncle Jonathan!”
Joe’s voice grew fainter. It seemed a long time since Joe had left. Mary was growing impatient and nervous.
Suddenly she froze; her heart stopped. There was a hand on her shoulder. Mary’s head jerked around and looked into a pasty white, bewhiskered face.
“Whatcha doin’ here, Miss?” he groused.
Mary recovered from her surprise enough to stammer, “I-I’m here with Joe.
“Joe who?”
“Hi, Unc!” Joe appeared from around the corner of the house. He strode up to the grizzled old man and gave him a tentative hug around the shoulders. “It’s Joe,” he said, after Uncle Jonathan didn’t react to the greeting.
“So. What brings you out here?” Uncle Jonathan asked.
“I -- er -- we need your help,” Joe blurted out. He had been practicing what to say to his uncle after not visiting him for such a long time, but he totally forgot his speech.
Uncle Jonathan stared at Mary, gazing up and down. “I get it,” he said.
“-- No, Unc! It’s not like that!” Joe protested. “She needs a place to stay!”
“Like I said,” Uncle Jonathan said.
“No. She’s not. She’s not...”
“Not yet, you mean?” Uncle Jonathan grinned.
Joe ignored Uncle Jonathan’s vulgar grin. “Her landlady kicked her out.”
“Where was she staying?” Uncle Jonathan asked.
“With Miz Gryder.”
“Why did she kick her out?”
“Because of me,” Joe answered.
“-- Like I figured,” Uncle Jonathan said.
“No, it’s not like that. I kept her out too late. Miz Gryder is very strict.”
“Sure, sure.”
“Can we come in?”
Without answering, Uncle Jonathan ambled toward the house. Mary was able to see his figure for the first time. For a fat man, Uncle Jonathan moved with ease, almost grace. Years of living alone and working with farm implements lent his body a certain skill. Even though he had let the farm run down in recent years, his body still remembered how to move. Uncle Jonathan reached the front door, then went in without looking around. Joe followed, and motioned Mary to get out of the car. Mary sat rooted for a few moments, reluctant to leave the relative safety of Joe’s car. Finally, she got out. Joe held the front door open for her.
The interior of Uncle Jonathan’s house mirrored the appearance of the fields. The planked wooden walls, once white, were a dingy yellow. The paint was chipped and flaking. A threadbare rug covered a portion of the wooden floor. Uncle Jonathan sat in a high-backed, hideous upholstered chair with a faded flower print and worn arm rests. A spring protruded from near the bottom of the chair.
Joe and Mary came in and sat in a couch opposite Uncle Jonathan. The couch was also of faded upholstery. The pattern did not match the floral pattern of Uncle Jonathan’s high-backed chair. An ancient TV set was in the middle of the opposite wall. On top of the set was a device for turning the rusty antenna on top of the roof. It was doubtful that the device still worked. In the corner of the room was a plain wooden chair with cane bottom. To the left, a dark hallway led to the bedrooms and bathroom. The right, one could look into the kitchen and a connecting small room with an old wooden table that served as a dining room.
The three sat for a long time without talking. Uncle Jonathan sat with his chin slumped on his chest. Joe looked nervously around the room. Mary stared at her feet.
“You see, Unc,” Joe finally stammered, “Mary needs a place to stay.”
“Ain’t she got no job?” Uncle Jonathan asked.
Joe hesitated. “Well, she did.”
“What happened?”
“She was working for Jim.”
“And...?”
“Well, she can’t work there anymore.”
“Hmmph. So you want me to take her in.”
“It wouldn’t be for long. Just until --” Uncle Jonathan waved off Joe’s assurances. “Don’t make no promises you can’t keep, son.” Uncle Jonathan half turned to Mary, then pointed down the dark hall. “You’ll stay down there,” he said.
Saying goodbye was awkward. Joe couldn’t look Mary in the face. He hemmed and hawed, cleared his throat, couldn’t form words. Mary said nothing.
Finally, Joe broke for the drooping screen door. “Well, see you,” he finally stammered. He was too embarrassed to embrace her in front of Uncle Jonathan. Tears welled up in Mary’s eyes as she watched Joe’s car go down the dirt road, leaving a cloud behind it and disappearing behind the bushes.
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