The Silver Star(63)

Maddox’s voice brought Uncle Clarence into the kitchen. “What’s going on here?”

“Your boy needs a beating,” Maddox said. “Firstly, for slashing my tires. Secondly, for lying about it.”

“Is that true, son?” Uncle Clarence asked.

“He says he didn’t do it,” Aunt Al said.

“He didn’t do it,” I said. “He was with me last night. We were just riding around.”

“You were probably in on it,” Maddox said. He pointed at Aunt Al. “You work for the mill,” he said. He turned to Uncle Clarence. “And you take the mill’s disability checks. People who work for the mill and take the mill’s money do what I say. And I say that boy needs a beating.”

Maddox and Uncle Clarence looked at each other for a long moment. Then Uncle Clarence walked out of the room. He came back carrying a leather belt.

“Oh, Clarence,” Aunt Al said. But she didn’t try to stop him.

“Outside,” Maddox said.

He led Joe and Uncle Clarence through the house and into the backyard. Joe was staring straight ahead saying nothing, like he’d done in the squad car. Aunt Al and I followed them outside. In the vegetable garden, the dead vines of Uncle Clarence’s tomatoes were still tied to their stakes. Aunt Al clutched my arm when Uncle Clarence told Joe to bend over and grab his ankles, and with Maddox standing by, Uncle Clarence began whaling Joe’s butt with the belt.

At the first blow, I felt the urge to rush over and grab Uncle Clarence’s arm. Aunt Al seemed to sense this, because she clutched me even tighter. Uncle Clarence whaled Joe over and over again. Joe never said a word, and when Uncle Clarence finally stopped, Joe stood up. He didn’t look at anyone or say anything. Instead, he walked off into the woods, along the trail that led to the chestnut tree.

Maddox clapped Uncle Clarence on the back and put an arm around him. “Just to show there’s no hard feelings,” he said, “let’s go have a beer.”





CHAPTER FORTY-TWO


Uncle Clarence didn’t much feel like having a beer with Maddox, so Maddox left. Uncle Clarence had a racking fit of coughing, then when it was over, he put on his army cap and headed off to the veterans’ hall. I sat with Aunt Al and Earl in the kitchen. I had the sense that Aunt Al wanted me there.

No one said anything for a minute, and then Aunt Al spoke up. “What in tarnation did you two think you were doing?”

So she knew.

“It was all my fault,” I said. I explained how, ever since Liz filed the charges, Maddox had been throwing garbage on our yard and trying to mow us down with his car, and Liz was hearing voices, so I felt we had to do something to fight back, and Joe was the only one who could help me.

“Honey, I understand the urge to get even,” she said, “but you all was throwing rocks at an angry bull.”

Aunt Al and I sat at the kitchen table for a while. I asked her about Liz’s voices, and Aunt Al said that she sometimes heard God talking to her and at other times the devil. When her family lived in the mountains, all sorts of folk went around speaking in tongues, so maybe it was nothing more than that.

Then Ruth came home from teaching Sunday school. “Why all the long faces?” she asked.

“Your pa had to give Joe a hiding,” Aunt Al said.

“Maddox made him do it,” I added.

“Dad beat Joe because Mr. Maddox told him to?”

“Right out back,” I said.

“Mr. Maddox was here?” Ruth asked. “In our house?” She sat down at the table.

“Just a little while ago,” I said. I started explaining what had happened and when I finished, Ruth looked down and ran her fingers through her hair, like her head hurt.

“You know, I never told anyone why I stopped working for Maddox,” she said.

Aunt Al gave Ruth a startled look.

“He put the moves on me,” Ruth said. “He didn’t do what he did to Liz, but he cornered me and started pawing like crazy. I got away, but I sure was scared.”

“Honey,” Aunt Al said, “I asked you if anything had happened, and you told me no.”

Ruth had taken off her cat’s-eye glasses and was fidgeting with them. “I never wanted anyone to know.”





CHAPTER FORTY-THREE


By then, it was clear that Mom had pulled another one of her disappearing acts. Ever since we’d filed the charges, I’d been calling her in New York, but the phone just rang and rang. I’d call early in the morning, in the middle of the afternoon, and late at night, but there was never an answer.

Finally, after four weeks passed, Mom called. She’d been at a spiritual retreat in the Catskills, she explained. The trip had been spur-of-the-moment with some new friends. She’d tried to call before she left, but she couldn’t get through, probably because Tin had unplugged the phone. She’d stayed at the retreat longer than anticipated, and since the Buddhists had no telephone, she hadn’t been able to call.