The Sweet Gum Tree Read online

  “Why?”

  He shrugged one shoulder and wiped an arm across his sweaty forehead. “I take care of her.”

  “Why?”

  “Because nobody else does.”

  “Is she your sister?” I asked, my curiosity growing.

  He gave me a wary look, but shook his head. “No, her daddy was Paul Nyland. He died in an accident at the lumber mill when she was a baby. They moved here right after that.”

  A sudden surge of pity hit me and I turned and marched up to Lindsey. Nick followed, his stance suddenly restrained and defensive. I should have paid more attention to his attitude. If I had, I might have saved myself a lot pain further down the road. But at eight, I only knew one thing. Mother said God put each of us on this earth for a purpose, and that day I decided mine was to save Nick Anderson. If that meant helping Lindsey at the same time, I was more than willing.

  Lindsey cowered as I faced her, her blue eyes huge.

  “We’re having a church social tomorrow,” I told her. “There’s going to be lots of food, and singing and games. You don’t have to get dressed up, and you don’t even have to go to church first if you don’t want to. It’s going to be at the park. You make Nick bring you. I’ll be waiting.”

  At the time, I was unaware the Judge had watched the entire thing through the small, grime encrusted window of the tin building. He remained thoughtful as we drove back through town.

  “You like that Anderson kid?”

  I was sitting on my knees, wondering if I could talk him into stopping at the Mercantile for a soda when he asked me the question. “He’s okay for a boy.”

  “You may be right, Honey pie.” He rubbed a hand over his crew cut. “But you be careful with him. Don’t let your soft heart overrule your common sense.”

  I sighed as we passed the store without slowing. “I asked him and Lindsey to the church social tomorrow. Was that all right?”

  “I reckon. But you best tell your mother about it, and don’t be disappointed if they don’t come.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  My mother, Ellie, was the youngest of the Judge’s daughters, and the only one who’d gotten married. Aunt Darla was the oldest, with Aunt Jane, the quiet one, falling somewhere in the middle. They all lived with the Judge in the big old two-story house that sprawled on our small farm about a mile from town.

  I knew they had an older brother, my Uncle Vern, but I’d never met him. He moved away a long time before I was born and married a woman the family didn’t approve of. When he was spoken of at all, it was in hushed whispers, by everyone but my mother. She had no problem bringing his name up on a regular basis, to Aunt Darla’s irritation.

  “He’s my brother and I’ll talk about him when I want to,” I heard my mother calmly pronounce as I bounced through the kitchen door. She was at the table, putting the finishing touches on a lemon icebox pie. Aunt Darla was at the sink, washing vegetables. Being wise, Aunt Jane had already fled the area.

  “Whether you like it or not, Sister,” my mother continued, “Vern is still part of this family. I think it’s a shame we never get to see him and his children.”

  “Shame is right,” Aunt Darla retorted. “Vern’s ashamed of that woman he married, as he well should be. Imagine, marrying someone who danced in a bar.”

  These discussions were nothing new to me. Trying to keep a low profile, I took a glass from the cabinet and edged toward the pitcher of lemonade on the table. I didn’t get far before Aunt Darla paused in her tirade and sniffed suspiciously.

  “Is that gasoline I smell?” She leaned closer to me and sniffed again. “It is! Alix, where have you been?”

  “I went to the salvage yard with the Judge. He had to get a fuel pump for his car.”

  “I swear, the Judge should have better sense than to take a little girl to a place like that. Ellie, are you going to let him keep this up?”

  Mama smiled at me, her blue-green eyes that were so like my own, sparkling. “It looks like she survived the trip.”

  I made it to the lemonade and poured a glass before sitting down. “Mama, I invited Nick Anderson and Lindsey Swanner to the church social. The Judge said I should tell you.”

  To her credit, she barely blinked. “That was very kind of you, Alix. We should have thought of inviting them a long time ago.” She shot a glare in Aunt Darla’s direction and I glanced over my shoulder in time to see my aunt’s mouth snap closed.

  Not only was Aunt Darla our first line of defense against dirt, she was also the staunch protector of our respectability. Any indication that our position in society might be threatened sent her into a quivering fit of righteous indignation and a lecture on the rules of proper behavior.

  While nothing was ever said in my presence, I knew my mother’s divorce and her insistence that both she and I use her maiden name had caused something of a scandal in the family. But although she was the youngest, my mother was the only person alive who could quell Aunt Darla with a single look.

  I turned back to my mother. “Is it okay if I give Nick some of my books? His daddy won’t let him buy any.”

  From behind me Aunt Darla snorted, but I paid no attention.

  “They’re your books, Alix. You can do whatever you want with them.”

  “Thank you, Mama.” I jumped up. “I’m going to pick some out right now.”

  As soon as I reached the stairs I stopped and turned to listen. I’d found out that the really interesting conversations always happened shortly after I left the room. Nor was I to be disappointed this time.

  “You’re making a mistake, letting her get involved with that boy.” My aunt’s voice floated through the door. “You know what Frank Anderson is like.”

  “Yes, I do.” Mother’s voice was calm. “I also know it’s not the boy’s fault. Would you visit the sins of the father on the son, Sister?”

  My aunt sniffed. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Give him another year or two and he’ll end up just like his daddy.”

  “And if he does, who will be to blame? We’ve known from the beginning that Frank Anderson wasn’t fit to raise a child, but we’ve all looked the other way. So who’s doing the right thing? Us by ignoring that boy, or Alix by caring enough to try and reach him? If he does show up tomorrow, I fully intended to invite him to this house whenever he wants to come.”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  “Yes, I would. I’m not turning my head anymore. Maybe we can show that young man there’s more to life than what he’s learning from Frank.”

  Oh, sweet bliss. I shut my eyes as vindication rolled over me. Mama was on my side. She was going to help me save Nick. Together, how could we fail?

  I paused with a guilty jump on the bottom step. Aunt Jane was standing at the top of the stairs, arms crossed over chest as she watched me. Lifting a finger to her lips, she tilted her head toward the bedroom.

  Next to Mama and the Judge, Aunt Jane was my favorite person in the whole world. I often wondered where her looks came from. The rest of us all had dark hair and light eyes, but Aunt Jane’s hair was a warm honey color, her expressive eyes dark as night. Mama said she was the spitting image of her great grandmother, but since there were no pictures of the lady, I had to take her word for it.

  I had picked up snippets of conversations that led me to believe Aunt Jane had once been deeply in love, but, through circumstances over which she had no control, had lost the man of her dreams. This made her a tragic figure in my eyes, a Sleeping Beauty waiting for the awakening kiss of her prince.

  As soon as we were out of earshot from the kitchen she put a hand on my shoulder. “Alix, you know it’s not polite to listen to other people’s conversations.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” I hung my head.

  She put her finger under my chin and tilted my head back up until I looked at her. “Tell me, why this sudden interest in the Anderson boy?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I feel sorry for him.”

  “You’re sure that’s
what it is?”

  “Not just that. I like him. He’s not like his daddy,” I said with a touch of defiance.

  A smile lifted her lips. “Good. Helping someone because you feel sorry for them is one thing, but doing it because you like them and care about what happens to them is better. That means you aren’t doing it for yourself.”

  “Aunt Darla says her charity work with the children’s home makes her feel good.”

  “I know, but that’s different, Alix. The home is an institution. They depend on people’s charity to help them care for a lot of kids that wouldn’t have a place to live without them. Nick Anderson isn’t an institution. He’s a person. How do you think he’d feel if he thought you looked on him as a charity case?”

  I knew how I’d feel. Insulted, indignant, mad, hurt. “It’s not like that, Aunt Jane. I swear.”

  She nodded. “I didn’t think so, but I wanted to make sure you knew the difference. Be his friend, Sweetie, but don’t insult him by feeling sorry for him. No one wants pity.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  So I gained another ally in my mission to save Nick. And while I didn’t know it yet, the Judge would prove the greatest attraction of all for this lonely boy with the strong, steady heart.

  Two

  Morganville has one city park, a well-manicured ten acres that sits on the side of a hill and offers a fine view of the town below. A few years ago the community built a restroom, a jogging track and added another, more modern playground. But the day my family met Nick, there were only numerous picnic tables, a few blackened iron grills on pipe stands, one swing set and a slide, all grouped under the shade of stately oaks, elms, and sweet gum trees.

  Church, never my favorite way to spend a warm summer morning at the best of times, had been pure torture for me. I was anxious and fidgety, unable to muster even a pretense of interest as I sat on the wooden pew, squeezed between Mama and the Judge. Mama told me twice to be still, and the Judge kept offering me gum. I had to stop accepting after five pieces. My teeth were sticking together and I could barely open my mouth to chew.

  When the last amen was said, I made a run for the bathroom, dodging through the parishioners like a steel bearing in a pinball machine, to skin out of my good dress and into my denim shorts and red top. By the time I got back outside, most of the women, including my mother and aunts, had left for the park and I knew they would be pushing tables together, setting the food out, and laying claim to each family’s eating area. Most of the men were gathered in knots outside the church, smoking, talking and laughing.

  I located the Judge under a cloud of pipe smoke and shifted from foot to foot, waiting for a break in the conversation. What if Nick and Lindsey showed up, then left because I wasn’t there? That thought was enough to have me tugging on the Judge’s hand, and a surge of relief filled me when he headed for the truck.

  Our church socials could have done justice to a presidential gala as far as the food was concerned. Six tables were shoved together, their worn tops covered with an assortment of multi-colored linen tablecloths. They groaned from the weight of bowls and dishes, huddling together without an inch to spare between them. Women bustled around the food, removing foil coverings and plastic lids, sneaking surreptitious looks at the offerings of others, secretly comparing it to their own.

  As soon as the truck slowed to a stop, I bolted out the door, winding my way to Mother. She was laughing with Helena Morgan when I reached her. “Have you seen them?” I whispered urgently.

  Leaning over, she put her lips near my ear. “Over by the woods. You make sure he stays, Alix.”

  “I will.” My gaze was already scanning the shaded area at the edge of the park. It took me a while to find him. His dark shirt and pants blended in with the shadows and he stood so still he seemed part of them. He was alone.

  Reaching down deep for a dignity I was far from feeling, I forced myself to stroll casually in his direction. Even though I could only see his outline, I could feel him watching me.

  “Hi.” I stopped in front of him and he straightened, looking down at me as if I were a mystery he had to solve. “I’m glad you came.”

  “I’m not staying. I only showed up to tell you not to wait. Lindsey doesn’t like to be around strangers.” His clothes were cleaner than normal, his shirt neatly ironed and no stains decorated the worn jeans. If he hadn’t wanted to stay, why go to the trouble? That insight made me even more determined to keep him there.

  “You can’t leave.” I took his hand. If I’d thought it would help, I’d have wrapped my arms around his legs and hung on for dear life to keep him at the park. How was I going to save him if he wouldn’t cooperate? “I have something for you.”

  “What?” He tried to shake me loose, but I refused to let go. His hand felt good in mine. Strong and warm.

  “I brought you some of my books.”

  Longing flowed from him even as he denied it. “I don’t take charity.”

  “It’s not charity. I’m not giving you the books, I’m loaning them to you. Just like a library does. Besides, I’ve already read them, so they were sitting there gathering dust.”

  That wasn’t exactly the truth, but I was hoping God understood the deception. After two hours of anxiety-ridden deliberation, I had made up my mind to give him the most treasured jewels on my bookshelves, Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings trilogy. I didn’t understand back then that most kids weren’t at my advanced reading level, but even if I had, I would have trusted Nick to grasp the concept behind the stories. I’m not sure why I believed in him so strongly; I only know that I did.

  He hesitated, his gray eyes moving over the crowd of people filling the park. I could almost read his mind. I don’t belong here, he was thinking. They’ll make me leave.

  “Mama said to make sure you stayed,” I tempted him. “Her feelings will be hurt if you don’t eat with us. She and my aunts have been cooking for days.” In the south, we absorb polite manipulation and velvet-edged diplomacy with our mother’s milk.

  “You told her you invited me?”

  “Yes. And she said you’re welcome in our house any time you want to come.”

  “You wouldn’t be lying just to get me down there, would you, Peewee?” His eyes were as soft as his voice when he looked at me.

  “I don’t lie.” My free hand behind my back, I crossed my fingers. Just in case God had been listening when I’d told Nick about the books. “You go to hell for lying.”

  “She really said that?”

  “Yes. And the Judge said it was okay for you to come, too.”

  Visibly, he braced himself, then nodded.

  When I stepped out of the trees, tugging Nick along behind me, every kid in the park stopped what they were doing and gaped at us. There was no doubt my reputation has just risen another couple of notches, or dropped, depending on your point of view, but for once I didn’t care. The only thing I cared about was his grip, getting tighter and tighter on mine the nearer we got to the picnic tables. Part of him couldn’t believe he would be accepted as easily as I made it sound, and he was waiting for the axe to fall.

  The hum of adult conversation rippled to a halt as I led Nick to my mother. A dull red flush tinted the skin on his face and neck, and sweat made his hand slick on mine.

  “See, Mama? I told you he’d stay.”

  “So you did.” She smiled at Nick. My mother was always beautiful, but when she smiled you could almost hear a heavenly choir break into song. “Nick, I’m glad you made it. Our table is right over there and I expect you to join us, you hear?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  He must have heard the choir too, because he was looking at my mother as through he’d seen an angel. Behind Mama, Helena Morgan’s lips thinned to a tight line and she shared a disgusted look with Gretchen Treece, the mayor’s wife. I hoped Nick hadn’t seen them.

  The two women, along with my mother and aunts, were the core of high society in Morganville. The town had been named after one of Ian Mo
rgan’s ancestors, and they owned the lumber industry that employed most of the people in the area. Mr. Howard, my best friend Jenna’s father, worked for them. Hugh, the Morgan’s only child, was the same age as me and because our mothers were friends, we had been forced to endure each others company since we were in diapers. Hugh was always pulling my hair or taking advantage of my competitive nature by challenging me to feats both dangerous and stupid. Most of my scars were the result of dares I couldn’t resist. But I never looked on Hugh as malicious. He was only a boy who liked to tease me, and while it was aggravating, I could live with it.

  Piggy Treece, known to everyone but Jenna and me as Peggy, was a different story. The overweight blonde daughter of Mayor Tim and Gretchen, she was spoiled rotten. If ever a child was born hateful, it was Peggy. She hung around Hugh constantly, making snide remarks about the other kids in general and me in particular. We hated each other with the fervor of born enemies. At the moment, she was standing near Hugh, hands on her chunky hips as she smirked in my direction. I turned my back on them.

  “Mama, where did you put the books?”

  “They’re in the basket on our table.”

  I tugged on Nick’s hand. “Come on. Wait until you see what I brought.” If I’d known the pain those books would cause him before the week was out, I doubt I would have given them to him. But then, if I’d been able to see the future I might have done a lot of things differently where Nick was concerned.

  Handing them over one at a time, I explained they were about Hobbits, little people from a place called Middle Earth. Nick took each book as though it were made of a rare and precious glass that could break if he touched it wrong.

  “You’ve read these?” He looked from the thick books to me and back again.

  “Sure. They’re my favorites, but I like all kinds of science fiction and fantasy. I’ve got tons. When you finish these, you can bring them back and pick out some more you like.”

  “Why are you doing this?” One of his hands caressed the books.

  “Because books are made to be read,” I told him. “And you like to read.”