Jottie tilted her hand to shade her face, wishing she were still asleep. “It was his birthday today. Vause’s.”
“I know,” he said. “Thirty-eight.” Of course he knew. She realized that he knew it with the same involuntary timekeeping that told him his own birthday. He would never not know it. “Doesn’t mean you have to celebrate the occasion with his father.”
“Mr. Hamilton is an old man,” she said slowly. “He’s old and confused. He thought Vause died in France. That’s what he thought today. He was fussing about his medals.”
“Medals? Jesus.” Felix shook his head. “Vause didn’t get any medals. He got the Argonne clasp, but we all got that.”
She watched her brother’s face soften. Tell me, she begged silently. Tell me how it was, with Vause in the Argonne Forest. Tell me everything. But she couldn’t say it out loud. If she said it out loud, Felix’s face would tighten again. Remember how he double-crossed us, he would say. Remember how he lied. And then she would have to pretend to despise Vause. She should despise Vause. She did despise Vause. She loathed him.
“Well,” she said. “I told him that they buried him with his medals. He calmed down.”
One eyebrow up and scornful. “He’s off his rocker.”
She nodded. Change the subject. “You never told me about your trip.”
He smiled. “My trip? To Obion, Tennessee? Home of the white squirrel?”
That was better. She curled toward him cozily. “What’s a white squirrel?”
Felix’s eyes glinted. “It’s a squirrel. It’s white. Town’s full of them and they’re real puffed up about it. They got a big statue of one in front of the jail. Six feet tall. Scared me half to death.”
She laughed—and then stopped. “What were you doing in front of the jail?”
“Pure happenstance,” he said with dignity.
“You weren’t in it?” she pressed, thinking of Willa.
“Honestly, Jottie! You got a suspicious mind, you know that? I wasn’t doing anything to be in it!” He grinned at her. “A man can’t even sell a few chemicals without you getting—”
“Felix?” Impulsively, she reached for him. “Sweetheart, don’t you want to try to get a job right here in town?” Stay home, she thought. Stay home and do something irreproachable, and I’ll arrange flowers. We’ll look like everyone else, and the girls will be happy and safe.
He frowned at her. “What are you talking about? There’s no jobs here. Maybe you heard? There’s a Depression on.”
“What about Equality?” she asked, trying to sound offhand, an effect she immediately ruined by adding, “You could ask, couldn’t you?”
“Equality Mill?” he said, his frown growing. “Don’t know what rock you’ve been under; they’re barely making payroll. And anyway—no thanks. I worked in a mill, once.” He waved the idea away.
She nodded, remembering. Felix, shoes glittering, shirt blinding white and crisp, hand raised—So long!—setting off for American Everlasting at their father’s side. That was the first day. It was different later.
He eyed her ruminatively, his thumb scraping the rim of his jaw. “You want me home, is that it?” he asked. “I was thinking the same thing. I was thinking I’d stick around for a while.”
That startled her. “Really?” And then, dubious, “Why?”
“Whatsamatter? I thought you wanted me here!”
“It’s not that girl, is it?”
He smiled. “Maybe.”
“You just met her yesterday!” Jottie protested.
“I know. I like her. I think she’s cute.” He was still smiling, but his words were very distinct.
“She’s only a child,” said Jottie recklessly. “She said so herself.”
“Meow.”
“No, Felix, listen—she’s—well, she probably has a man somewhere, don’t you think? Girl like that?” She nodded hopefully at him.
He shrugged. “Not my lookout. You shouldn’t leave a girl that pretty on her own.”
Jottie rolled onto her back and looked at the ceiling. “Think,” she said. “For once in your life, think about what could happen.”
“I’m already thinking about one thing that could happen,” he said, and laughed when she turned to glare at him.
“There’s probably some law against that—besmirching the morals of the WPA or something,” she said. “You’ll probably end up in jail.”
“Won’t be the first time,” he said cheerfully.
“No! Felix, listen, we’ve got to be more careful!” Her hand darted out to catch at his. “You’ve got to think of Willa—Bird, too, but Willa’s growing up! You can’t carry on right in front of her! She’ll know what it means and she’ll be…embarrassed.”
She had gone too far, she saw; she had accused him. Felix pulled his hand free and drew his cigarette case from his pocket. “Embarrassed,” he said coolly.
“Well,” Jottie mumbled, retreating. “You know.”
“I don’t know.” He tipped his cigarette to a match, and she heard the faint crackle of tobacco consumed by flame. “Suppose you tell me. Suppose you tell me why you got nothing better to do than nag at me like a little old lady. What the hell’s going on, Jottie?” He scowled at her through a curl of smoke. “You want me to get a job at Equality and you want me to stay away from girls, and you’re trying to tell me it’s all for Willa?” The eyebrow rose again. “I think it’s for you, honey. I think you’re jealous—”
“I am not,” she began, but he talked over her.
“You’re jealous,” he repeated. “You’re jealous because you never go anywhere. Why don’t you go out on a date, Jottie? Don’t let me hold you back.” His smile was bright with malice. “You think I can’t see what you want? I can. You want me to act like Daddy. That’s it, isn’t it?” he sneered. “Showing off in a suit, tipping my hat right and left, smiling like a sucker—so you can make believe you’re an eminent gentlewoman of Macedonia.” He hissed with disgust. “It’s not going to happen, Jottie. If you think I’m going to join the Elks and go to church, you can think again.” He leaned forward, his hands closing into fists. “Never.”
“That’s not what I—”
He didn’t hear her. “You want to pretend Daddy’s still the president of American Everlasting, don’t you? You want it all back again. Forget it. It’s over, and none of it was ever worth a damn, anyway. None of it was worth a nickel.”
Oh, Felix, she thought, why do you take it so hard, what Daddy was? In spite of everything, old pity released its warmth into her veins, and she reached out to pat his fingers. “It wasn’t worth a nickel,” she agreed soothingly.
“I should have left,” he said bitterly. “After the fire and Vause, I should have gotten the hell out of here.”
“But I needed you, and you stayed,” she said. “I couldn’t have borne it without you.” It was the truth.
“I’d rather have gone,” he snapped. “I’d’ve lit out faster than you can spit if you hadn’t needed me. If you’re saying now you don’t want me here, I’d be happy to leave. I’ll do it tomorrow.”
“No, Felix, I don’t want that—”
“I’d be glad to see the back of this town,” he spat. “I’d be glad if the whole damn place and everyone in it were blown to kingdom come.”
He was so angry. She was the only one who could help him stop; it had always been that way. She owed it to him, and she would owe it to him forever. “Shh,” she murmured. “You don’t want to get like that. Everything’s fine.” Gently, she patted his fingers again. “Why, the church would fall right on your head if you went, anyway.” He glanced at her, grateful as always for the reprieve. “And the Elks? You’d bring the whole order to its knees, you know you would,” she said. “You’d teach them all dirty songs and curse words, and the boy Elks would raid the lady Elks and”—she shook her head—“nine months later there’d be a whole slew of bastard Elks. It doesn’t bear thinking about.”
“That’s right.” He exha
led slowly, returning to himself. “It’s no good trying to reform me.”
He’d be all right now. She smiled at him. “You’d better start saving if you’re going to buy your way into heaven. It’s going to cost you plenty.”
He dropped his face into his hands. “I wouldn’t know anyone anyway,” he mumbled through his fingers. Then, with a sigh, he rose.
When he was gone, Jottie lay back against the pillows, exhausted, but her mind skittered like a mouse: He’ll never change, he’ll never change.
I’ll have to do it all by myself.
10
June 11, 1938
Miss Layla Beck
47 Academy Street
Macedonia, West Virginia
Dear Miss Beck,
As Head Councilman of the Town Council of Macedonia, I hope you will allow me to welcome you to our town and express my hope that your stay here will be as pleasant for you as it doubtless will be for us.
The town of Macedonia this year celebrates its 150th Anniversary, and in order to suitably commemorate the occasion, we seek a dignified yet lively recounting of its history. In turning to the Federal Writers’ Project for the creation of a short book or “booklet” on this topic, we hark to the call of national duty, but as a proper and elevated treatment of the subject must be of the first importance to all truehearted Macedonians, who are after all the sponsors of this project, we wish you to be guided in all particulars by those who have been selected for the task, namely Mayor Silver, myself, and my wife, Belinda.
With this requirement in mind, I herewith present to you the material necessary of inclusion in The History of Macedonia. To wit:
Macedonia’s history begins in 1758, with General Magnus Hamilton, whose valor and derring-do cleared this area of Indians in six short years. As I and my wife, Belinda, are both descendants of the General, you may look to us for historical papers and artifacts which are in our home. Several of my fellow council members are likewise possessed of valuable documents and relics of Macedonia’s “Golden Age,” and I have been authorized to inform you that they will make themselves and these important historical possessions available to you, when you are writing.
The history of General Hamilton will represent the Colonial era. Other historical events to be included are the Revolutionary War, the incorporation of Macedonia in 1788, not excluding General Washington’s famous compliment to the town (“I know of no other town so well situated as Macedonia”), the religious renaissance of the 1820s and ’30s, with particular attention to the Presbyterian, Methodist, Episcopal, and Baptist churches, the contributions made by Macedonians in the building of the B&O Railroad in the 1830s and its effect on local industry, the valiant struggles of the town during the War Between the States (no favor to be implied to either side, if you please), and the founding of the West Virginia Academy for the Blind by Doctor T. Wiffen White in 1889. The opening of the American Everlasting Hosiery Company in 1900 may also be discussed.
In a separate chapter, we wish to have detailed descriptions of Macedonia’s finest edifices and public buildings, some of which are held to be the best in eastern West Virginia, including the recently completed Fire Station No. 3, the Union Hotel, the Race Street School, the Second Presbyterian Church, and the Equality Mill. Indian Creek Cemetery, as the final resting place of the late Governor Alexander Spurling, should not be overlooked, nor should the statue of “Charity,” by renowned sculptor Isaiah Michael Biggs, in Flick Park. The Academy Building is worthy of notice, as is the Town Hall, recently built at great expense. The American Everlasting Hosiery Factory is considered to be a superior example of an efficient modern factory; it should be described. There will be no need to include downtown shops, as they are of generally low quality. Other areas that are not of interest are the neighborhoods on the southeast edge of the town beginning at Zackquill Avenue, sometimes called Cake Creek, and the area bordered by Unity Street and Prince Street, known as Leadbend.
In addition to historical epochs and public buildings, the Town Council has agreed that the book or “booklet” should include accounts of Macedonia’s First Families and their homes, which in many cases are genuine monuments of architecture. In view of the great deeds and storied pasts of these Macedonians, we believe a brief chronicle of each of these families will add a pleasing informality and “human interest” to the book. The notables of Macedonia have graciously agreed to open their homes to you in order to discuss their ancestors and allow you to see family heirlooms of historic value.
In order to assist you in this endeavor, we have drawn up a list of Macedonia’s most illustrious families:
Mayor Eugene Silver and Mrs. Eugene Silver
Mr. and Mrs. James Beville
Rev. Dr. Leviticus Dews and Mrs. Leviticus Dews
Mr. and Mrs. Holmes Cladine
Mrs. Alexander Washington
Dr. and Mrs. George Averill
Mrs. Hartford Lacey
Mr. and Mrs. Walter McKubin
Mr. and Mrs. Arwell Tapscott
Mr. and Mrs. Sloan Inskeep (not the Arnold Inskeeps)
Dr. and Mrs. Casper Tare
Mr. and Mrs. Tyler Bowers
Mr. and Mrs. Wyncoop Rudy
Mr. and Mrs. Ralph Shank
Mr. Tare Russell
Mr. and Mrs. Baker Spurling
Mr. and Mrs. John Sue
Mr. and Mrs. John Lansbrough
Mr. and Mrs. Parker Davies
Some mention should also be made of civic and natural sites of moment, such as Flick Park, Morgan Creek, Spurling Square (often called Town Square) as well as the sulfur-spring water fountain there, the Caudy House (Macedonia’s oldest structure), Pella Plantation (once the estate of the Hamilton family), Mount Level, False River, Dolly’s Ford, Sandy Mountain, and the site of the former roundhouse. You may enumerate schools, roads, and other local sites of interest as space permits.
I propose that you begin your work by meeting with me and my wife, Belinda, at the soonest possible date. You would be wise to obtain a good map of Macedonia. It is possible that Miss Romeyn can oblige you in this matter.
I look forward to the early commencement of The History of Macedonia.
Yours truly,
Parker Davies, Esq.
“Well”—Miss Betts exhaled, handing the letter back to Layla—“Mr. Davies leaves nothing to chance, does he?”
“Not much,” said Layla.
Miss Betts gave the letter a disdainful look and lifted her shining glasses to Layla. “I am a believer in artistic liberty, myself. How shall we begin, Miss Beck?”
Not wanting to disappoint her crusader, Layla said cautiously, “Well, I’m engaged to have tea with Mr. and Mrs. Davies later this afternoon, and—uh—I was hoping that you could give me some background on the early history of Macedonia.”
“Certainly! We will prepare you to face the Davieses head-on,” Miss Betts said, energetically resettling a hair comb. “Now, as Mr. Davies rightly notes, the recorded history of Macedonia starts with General Magnus Hamilton. He settled slightly to the north of the—good afternoon, Willa,” Miss Betts called with resounding clarity. “Back again already?”
Layla turned with a friendly smile. “Why, Willa! Fancy meeting you here!”
Willa paused uncertainly at the door. After a moment, she swallowed and stepped toward Miss Betts’s desk, determination written on her face. “Yes’m, good afternoon,” she said to Miss Betts before turning brightly to Layla. “Hi, Miss Beck. I’m just here to do some research.” She nodded. “I do that a lot. Researching. Today it’s Albania. That’s what I’m looking up. Albania.” A toothy smile stretched to include Miss Betts. “I saw where that King Zog—of Albania—he just got married.” She looked probingly at Layla. “King Zog of Albania,” she enunciated. “So that’s what I’m going to look up. In the encyclopedia. The royal kingdom of Albania.”
Layla nodded, baffled.
“You’ll find the encyclopedia on the reference shelf,” said Miss Betts, suppress
ing a smile.
“That girl he married, she’s twenty years younger than him,” Willa continued conversationally. “They call her the White Rose of Hungary, can you imagine?” Again, she looked probingly at Layla. “Can you?”
Layla frowned in perplexity. “Can I what?”
“Imagine being called the White Rose of Hungary,” pressed Willa.
“No,” said Layla. “No, I don’t think I can.” Her smile grew fixed as Willa continued to watch her closely. Whatever was the child thinking?
Suddenly Willa’s face flamed. She took a half step back. “ ’Scuse me,” she mumbled. “I’ll—I’ll—just go.” She lurched toward the stacks, her shoulders hunched, radiant with embarrassment.
Layla turned to Miss Betts in amazement. “What happened?” she whispered.
Miss Betts’s penetrating blue eyes softened as they followed Willa’s coltish figure. She shook her head ruefully. “The awkward age,” she murmured. “Poor child.”
“Do you know what she was talking about?” asked Layla, curious now.
Miss Betts shrugged. “No idea.” She lowered her voice and leaned across her desk. “A very bright child. Voracious reader. She’s close to having read through our entire collection, not that that takes a lot of doing.” Miss Betts’s gaze circled her small domain before returning to Layla. “Anyway, she’s quite imaginative—”
“I guess so. Albania,” interrupted Layla, casting her eyes upward.
Miss Betts smiled. “Yes, but I expect there was method to her madness.”
Layla hesitated. “The family seems—well, they’ve been very kind.”
Miss Betts’s smile broadened. “Seems a bit unusual, you were going to say. Yes, I suppose. To the outsider. And the insider, as well, in a way. To be clever in a town like Macedonia is something of a social hazard—”