Leaving Cold Sassy (9780547527291) by Olive Ann Burns Page B

hers—and though Tru didn’t smoke that day, Mama smelled it on her clothes. “I’m sure she’s just sweet as she can be,” said Mama later, “but I don’t know, Will. I’m just not used to these modrun ladies. She don’t seem like somebody who’d be happy on a farm.”
    â€œOh, we’ve talked a lot about that,” I said. “I don’t reckon she’ll be sweepin’ the yard or feedin’ the chickens, but she’ll keep friends comin’ out for weekends in the country. I doubt she’ll be bored.” I guess Mama and Papa had the same unspoken thoughts I did. When I got ready to quit my job in Athens and move to Banks County, Tru’s daddy would put money into my farm. After all, she was his only child.
    A flea had more common sense than I did around Tru. All my life I’d dreamed of taking over Grandpa Tweedy’s farm, but Trulu Philpot got me to promise I’d keep my job in Athens. “We can use the farm for house parties,” she said. “Everybody loves to go to the country.”
    I didn’t tell Mama and Papa she was a great dancer. I’d never even told them what a great dancer I was. They thought dancing was a sin, like playing cards. Everything was a sin if you did it on Sunday—except church, Bible reading, big Sunday dinners, and swapping gossip. What Sunday afternoons were for was visiting kinfolks and neighbors. I couldn’t tell them I didn’t believe in sin anymore, or that Trulu had hold of me, body and soul, or that I was “wild” about her. Trulu was wild in the most literal sense of the word
wild.
She got expelled from the normal school in Athens. She didn’t plan to be a teacher anyhow.
    I closed the newspaper in disgust, checked my pocket watch, and settled down to wait for a girl who was everything Trulu was not.
    I didn’t have to wait long. Minutes later a big fancy touring car slowed to a stop in front of the house. I watched as the driver, a middle-aged man, escorted Sanna up the steps, set her grip down, and said gruffly, “I’m sorry it turned out this way, Miss Klein. Maybe next time things will...” His voice trailed off.
    Neither one smiled. She thanked him for bringing her home, said good-bye, and watched till he drove off. Then she started for the door.
    The face she turned towards me was a portrait of fatigue and misery. Circles dark as bruises made a mask around dull black eyes. “Why, Mr. Tweedy, I...I didn’t expect...”
    I asked did she have a good time.
    â€œYes, thank you,” she murmured. “I had a v-very nice t-t-time.” Her lower lip quivered on the last words and her eyes brimmed with tears.
    â€œWhat happened? Is he sick or something?”
    She didn’t answer. Just opened the screen door and hurried in. I followed her, bringing the grip. “You forgot this,” I called as she rushed for the stairs. “What’s happened, Miss Klein?” I asked again, like it was any of my business.
    â€œI...he...I...I t-took a b-b-bath!” she wailed, and sank down on the bottom step, sobbing. The long navy blue skirt of her travel suit hid high-buttoned shoes. Her hands hid her face. Whenever Mama or Loma used to tune up like that around Grandpa Blakeslee, he’d say, “Iffen they’s one thang I cain’t stand, it’s a woman cryin’. So hesh up!” Even when I was real young, I could see that such talk didn’t turn off any faucets. Soon as Miss Klein’s sobbing let up enough for her to hear me, I asked by way of changing the subject if the Blankenships lived in a big old Victorian house set way back on the street on the outskirts. “Tan-colored? Gold trim, brown shutters?”
    With new tears running down her cheeks, she nodded. I had passed that house many a time. Papa thought it was built soon after the War Between the States by a rich man from Philadelphia. It had