described, but with many agreeable particulars he’d neglected to mention—probably because, being Henry, he hadn’t noticed them in the first place. There was a large pecan tree in the front yard, and one side of the house was entirely covered in wisteria, like a nubbygreen cloak. In the spring, when it bloomed, its perfume would carry us down into sleep every night, and in the summer the lawn would be dotted with fallen purple blossoms. There were two bay windows on either side of the front door, and under them, clumps of mature azalea bushes.
“You didn’t tell me we had azaleas, Henry,” I chided him when I’d gotten the girls bundled up and out of the car.
“So we do,” he said with a smile. I could tell he was feeling pleased with himself. I didn’t begrudge him that. The house was truly lovely.
Amanda Leigh sneezed. She was leaning heavily against my leg, and her sister was half-asleep in my arms. Both of them had head colds. “The children are done in,” I said. “Let’s get them in the house.”
“The key should be under the mat,” he said.
As we started up the walk, the porch light went on and the front door opened. A man stepped out onto the porch. He was huge, with hunched shoulders like a bear’s. A small woman came up behind him, peering from around his shoulder.
“Who are you?” he said. His tone wasn’t friendly.
“We’re the McAllans,” Henry replied. “The new tenants of this house. Who are you?”
The man widened his stance, crossing his arms over his chest. “Orris Stokes. The new owner of this house.”
“New owner? I rented this place from George Suddeth just three weeks ago.”
“Well, Suddeth sold me the house last week, and he didn’t say nothing to me about any renters.”
“Is that a fact,” Henry said. “Looks like I need to refresh his memory.”
“You won’t find him. He left town three days ago.”
“I gave him a hundred-dollar deposit!”
“I don’t know nothing about that,” Orris Stokes said.
“You get anything in writing?” Pappy asked Henry.
“No. We shook on the deal.”
The old man spat into the street. “How a son of mine could be such a fool, I’ll never know.”
I watched my husband’s face fill with the knowledge that he’d been cheated, and worse, that he was powerless to make it right. He turned to me. “I paid him a hundred dollars cash,” he said, “right there in the living room of that house. Afterward I sat down to dinner with him and his wife. I showed her pictures of you and the girls.”
“You’d best be getting on,” said Orris Stokes. “Ain’t nothing for you here.”
“Mama, I have to tinkle,” Amanda Leigh said in a child’s loud whisper.
“Hush now,” I said.
The woman moved then, coming out from behind her husband. She was a tiny bird-boned thing with freckled skin and small, fluttering hands. No steel in her, I thought, until I saw her chin. That chin—sharply pointed and jutting forward like a trowel—told a different story. I imagined Orris had felt the sting of her defiance on more than one occasion.
“I’m Alice Stokes,” she said. “Why don’t y’all come in and have a little supper before you go?”
“Now, Alice,” said her husband.
She ignored him, addressing herself to me as if the three men weren’t there. “We’ve got stew and cornbread. It ain’t fancy but we’d be pleased to share it with you.”
“Thank you,” I said, before Henry could refuse. “We’d be most grateful.”
The house was cheaply furnished and deserved better. The ceilings were high and the rooms spacious, with lovely period details. I couldn’t help but imagine my own things in place of the Stokeses’: my piano beside the bay window in the living room, my Victorian love seat in front of the hand-carved mantel in the parlor. As I sat down to supper at Alice’s crude pine table, I thought how much better my own dining set would have looked beneath the ornate ceiling medallion.
Over
“You didn’t tell me we had azaleas, Henry,” I chided him when I’d gotten the girls bundled up and out of the car.
“So we do,” he said with a smile. I could tell he was feeling pleased with himself. I didn’t begrudge him that. The house was truly lovely.
Amanda Leigh sneezed. She was leaning heavily against my leg, and her sister was half-asleep in my arms. Both of them had head colds. “The children are done in,” I said. “Let’s get them in the house.”
“The key should be under the mat,” he said.
As we started up the walk, the porch light went on and the front door opened. A man stepped out onto the porch. He was huge, with hunched shoulders like a bear’s. A small woman came up behind him, peering from around his shoulder.
“Who are you?” he said. His tone wasn’t friendly.
“We’re the McAllans,” Henry replied. “The new tenants of this house. Who are you?”
The man widened his stance, crossing his arms over his chest. “Orris Stokes. The new owner of this house.”
“New owner? I rented this place from George Suddeth just three weeks ago.”
“Well, Suddeth sold me the house last week, and he didn’t say nothing to me about any renters.”
“Is that a fact,” Henry said. “Looks like I need to refresh his memory.”
“You won’t find him. He left town three days ago.”
“I gave him a hundred-dollar deposit!”
“I don’t know nothing about that,” Orris Stokes said.
“You get anything in writing?” Pappy asked Henry.
“No. We shook on the deal.”
The old man spat into the street. “How a son of mine could be such a fool, I’ll never know.”
I watched my husband’s face fill with the knowledge that he’d been cheated, and worse, that he was powerless to make it right. He turned to me. “I paid him a hundred dollars cash,” he said, “right there in the living room of that house. Afterward I sat down to dinner with him and his wife. I showed her pictures of you and the girls.”
“You’d best be getting on,” said Orris Stokes. “Ain’t nothing for you here.”
“Mama, I have to tinkle,” Amanda Leigh said in a child’s loud whisper.
“Hush now,” I said.
The woman moved then, coming out from behind her husband. She was a tiny bird-boned thing with freckled skin and small, fluttering hands. No steel in her, I thought, until I saw her chin. That chin—sharply pointed and jutting forward like a trowel—told a different story. I imagined Orris had felt the sting of her defiance on more than one occasion.
“I’m Alice Stokes,” she said. “Why don’t y’all come in and have a little supper before you go?”
“Now, Alice,” said her husband.
She ignored him, addressing herself to me as if the three men weren’t there. “We’ve got stew and cornbread. It ain’t fancy but we’d be pleased to share it with you.”
“Thank you,” I said, before Henry could refuse. “We’d be most grateful.”
The house was cheaply furnished and deserved better. The ceilings were high and the rooms spacious, with lovely period details. I couldn’t help but imagine my own things in place of the Stokeses’: my piano beside the bay window in the living room, my Victorian love seat in front of the hand-carved mantel in the parlor. As I sat down to supper at Alice’s crude pine table, I thought how much better my own dining set would have looked beneath the ornate ceiling medallion.
Over
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