Grady and Florida had been married so many years they had forgotten why.
Florida liked to tell how they met. She was on a joy ride with a boy who was showing off his new car. The car was more interesting than the boy. She lived in Era, a farming community in North Texas during the Great Depression. Girls had to do something for thrills. They were chugging along at a breathtaking thirty-five miles per hour down a dusty road, when Florida saw this young man walking in the same direction they were going. He was tall, had thick black hair, and his shoulders were as broad as a barn.
“Oh, there’s a good-looking man,” she chirped. “Let’s stop.”
Well, the durned fool stopped. She thought it was mean of him to put her in an awkward position just because she asked for it. Florida jumped from the car and walked up to the man who was still walking down the lane.
“Excuse me, sir,” she said in her best damsel in distress voice.
He kept on walking. Now was that rude of him. She ran to catch up and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Excuse me, sir,” she said peevishly. “I called to you. Didn’t you hear me?”
When he turned to look at her, she blinked. He looked like a cowboy movie star. Florida could not quite decide which one. Next she noticed he had only one good eye. The other one was oddly white.
“Huh?”
Great, she thought. He’s half blind and deaf. He smiled and deep dimples appeared in his cheeks. The one eye, which was a dark brown, was gorgeous. Then there were those broad shoulders and the hair she wanted to run her fingers through.
“I said do you know if the high school football schedule has been announced yet?” she asked in a loud voice.
“No.”
“Sorry to have bothered you.” She smiled sweetly.
“Okay.”
She extended her hand. “I’m Florida Flowers. We have a farm on the other side of town.”
He looked at her hand a moment like he didn’t know what he was supposed to do. Finally he shook it, gently, because it was so small.
“Okay.”
“Now, remember. Florida Flowers. Like, Florida is the land of flowers.”
“Okay.”
“And what is your name, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Grady.”
“Grady what?” She glanced behind to make sure the boy was still waiting for her. Much to her displeasure, he was laughing.
“Grady Cowling.”
“It was certainly a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Grady Cowling.”
“Okay.”
“You do remember my name, don’t you?”
“Sure. Florida.”
“Florida what?” She didn’t know if she were getting annoyed or romantically aroused.
“Miss Florida Flowers.”
“I hope to see you at one of the football games this season, Mr. Cowling.”
“Okay.”
In September she attended the first game between Era Hornets and Valley View Panthers. Looking around the stands she saw Grady sitting by himself. She plopped herself next to him and began to talk. She talked and he listened for the next six months. When she stopped to take a breath sometime in April, Grady asked her to marry him. He had saved enough money to rent a farm down the road from her family so it was convenient if she wanted to visit her mama from time to time. That made sense to her so they went to the preacher’s house the next week and said their vows. She had sewn herself a new dress, and Grady took a bath.
“How much do I owe you?” Grady asked the preacher, with his wallet in his hand.
“Pay me what you think she’s worth.”
“Oh, I couldn’t pay you that much.”
Florida did not remember what bill he took from his wallet, but she thought at the time he could have afforded to give the preacher a bit more.
She did not mind much. Florida knew he was a hard worker and saved every penny he could. After a few years they could afford to buy the farm they were renting. The house was small. She had to store memorabilia in a trunk stored in the barn. Maybe they could add a room as the family grew. And it did grow. They had two boys right off, but one of them died. Doctor bills took the money set aside to buy the farm. Then another boy came along. Florida was excited the year Grady had a bumper crop of cotton. This would be the year they would buy the farm. But the government ordered half of all cotton plants be plowed under to boost prices. She cried when she watched Grady till over them. Grady did not say anything. It was just another day of work.
As the boys grew, the possibility of buying the land diminished until one day the dream died as they sat around the kitchen table and decided they had best pack up and move to the nearest town, Gainesville. With ten thousand people, it was almost considered a city. Grady had already found a job driving a Royal Crown Cola truck. Eventually, hopefully, they could buy a house with a big enough lot to plant some corn, potatoes and beans. And a flower garden. Florida always liked her flowers.
The day came when Grady borrowed his brother’s big truck to load the furniture. They were in the barn gathering the last of their possessions. It was a slow job, because Florida had to stop and cry. Each item that went into the truck reinforced the reality they would never have their own farm. Grady just kept on working. Besides, he did not know what to say to her.
Last to be loaded on the truck was an old trunk. It had been there as long as they had been married, and they had forgotten what was in it. Florida wanted to take a moment to look inside. Grady opened it, and lifted out an old dress, dirty, stained and gnawed around the edges by rats that inhabited the barn’s dark corners.
“I bet you don’t even remember what that is,” she said. Her voice—which she always raised so he could hear her–was tinged with bitterness. It had just crept in over the years of hope, despair and the monotonous chore of surviving.
Grady held the dress tenderly, like he had held her hand the first day they met on the dirt road.
“It’s the dress you got married in.”
Without another word, he put it back in the trunk which he lifted into the truck. The boys clambered into the back. Grady and Florida sat silently in the cab as the truck headed to Gainesville for the next phase of their lives. They didn’t expect much, just more of the same.
They had the wedding dress though. Like their marriage, it was dirty, stained, had holes in it, but it was still there.

Davy’s eyes opened with a start, and he looked around in apprehension until he realized he was in the low attic of Griffith’s cabin. He was safe from Stasney who would never terrorize him again. He wondered if Harriet were back from Miss Dorcas’ house and if her father had told her what happened. Perhaps it would be better if she did not know. Climbing down the ladder he sighed when he saw Harriet stirring a bowl of pancake batter and Griffith stoking a new fire in the hearth. Life seemed to be returning to normal. Davy smiled as he looked at Harriet who hummed to herself. He could imagine himself marrying her.
“Good mornin’.”
Griffith did not look up. Harriet glanced his way and smiled.
“Sit down, Davy. Breakfast will be ready soon.”
In a moment she put food on the table, sat, bowed her head for a brief prayer, and then leaned over to whisper to Davy, “It’s all right. Father told me what happened.”
“He did?”
“Yes. He said he talked to the man and gave him money. He thinks that’s all he wanted anyway, money.” Her eyes widened. “Oh, Father said not to tell you that part. He doesn’t want you to feel obligated.”
Davy tried not to smile. He knew Griffith committed murder for him. That was much more of an obligation than money.
“He won’t be back,” Harriet said with conviction. “Father told him he wouldn’t get the money unless he promised not to come back.”
“No, he won’t be back,” Davy replied weakly.
Griffith walked up, smiled and said, “Good morning, Master Davy. Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“Father, I got the pancakes extra fluffy this morning. You must have some.”
“No, dear,” he replied. “I just want a cup of coffee.”
“Father, you must have something on your stomach,” she protested with affection. “You don’t eat enough.”
“I’ll be fine.” He patted her on the back as he poured a mug of coffee.
After breakfast Davy joined Griffith at his workbench, watching him as he stitched a brim with efficient tightness. He looked into the man’s eyes. Davy could not discern any twitches, undue perspiration or unsteady hand.
“Don’t worry, sir,” he whispered. “I’ll never tell. It’s a secret between you and me.”
“What secret?”
“Exactly. Harriet never needs to know.”
“Harriet knows everything,” her father said with serenity.
“Of course.”
Griffith stopped stitching to look at Davy and asked, “Harriet didn’t tell you anything, did she—I mean, what did she tell you?”
“She told me you talked to Captain Stasney, and he left.” He paused, taken aback at Griffith’s question. “That’s all.”
“Good.” He returned to his work. “That’s all that happened.”
A knock at the door caused Davy’s stomach to tighten. Harriet answered it to find Goodell who asked to speak to her father and Davy. Not him, the boy thought, anyone but him. Frowning, she turned to Griffith and said the storekeeper wanted to see him outside. The hatter smiled, put down the brim he was stitching and walked outside. Davy followed with hesitation, trying to remember what Griffith had told him to say. If ever he needed to be a good liar, this was the time.
“Did the captain come by here last night?”
“Yes, he did,” Griffith replied.
“Then why is the boy still here?”
“Because the man was lying. He told me so after I pressed him on it.”
“Is that so?” Goodell said, his eyebrows going up as he looked over at Davy.
“Yes, sir, it is,” the boy replied.
“He didn’t seem like he was lying to me,” Goodell said.
“Well, he was,” Griffith replied.
“How come his belongings are still at the inn, and Mr. Chilicothe said he didn’t see the captain come back after leaving for your place?”
“I can’t imagine him having belongings with him,” Griffith said.
“He yelled at me and then Mister Griffith told me to go inside,” Davy interjected in a forced voice. “That’s all I know.”
“Is that so?” Goodell repeated, his voice growing more suspicious.
“Don’t question the boy,” Griffith replied in reprimand. “That’s exactly what happened. If the man left a few things in a rented room, that’s his business. Not my business and definitely not yours”

***

On a clear morning the first of November, eighteen thirty-five, David stepped onto the porch, his heart filled with joy. Ever since he decided to leave he felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
“This is the dawn of my destiny,” he murmured to himself. “Farewell to the mountains whose maze to me were more beautiful by far than Eden could be. I felt like a monarch, yet thought like a man, as I thanked the Great Giver and worshipped His plan. The home I have loved as a father his child, the wife of my bosom—farewell to ye all! In the land of the stranger I rise or I fall.”
“Purty,” Robert said contemptuously. He had walked up in the middle of the recitation and clapped slowly at its conclusion.
“I didn’t know nobody was listenin’.”
“I come up for breakfast. The hogs are strung up with their gullets’ slit. I figgered I had time to fill my belly while the blood drained out.” He passed David on the steps. “Yep, mighty purty words. You make ‘em up?”
“It’s from my book.”
“Oh. The book that feller in New York made up.”
“I wrote it.” He paused to put aside his peevishness. “Don’t go yet. The men will be here in a few minutes, and I’ll be gone.”
“You left a long time ago.”
“Why do you hate me?”
“I don’t hate. I hurt.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Robert looked down and then over the clearing, his eyes beginning to mist. Finding his voice he said, “You know, of all the men you asked to go to Texas with you, cousin William, uncle Abner—I mean, you even asked ma—but…you never asked me.”
“I thought you’d say no.” David began to beam. “Good. You git yourself a good breakfast—we got a long ride ahead of us—“
“Pa—“
“Then gather your pack. I’ll git a horse for you. I’ll even stop at Kimery store and buy you a new rifle. We can git a Patton or a McWhorter to cut down the hogs—“
“Pa—“
“The men will be here anytime now. I better go to the barn—“
“Wait, Pa.”
“What?”
“I can’t go.”
“Why not?”
“I’m too much like ma, I guess.” Robert’s voice softened. “That’s what you taught me. You can’t run away from the people who need you.”
“But—I always run away.”
“That’s why I know I shouldn’t.”
Now David’s eyes misted. Despite his failures as a father, David had a wonderful son, who did not hate him after all. Now, he decided, was the right time to retrieve the Bible from his saddlebag.
“Wait here.” He went to the barn to pull out the chestnut and lead it to the cabin. With a big smile David pulled out the leather-bound book and presented it to Robert. “I bought this for you.”
“You bought this for me?” he asked. Robert frowned as he took the Bible and flipped through it.
“It’s your family Bible. You’re goin’ to make a great father to a whole passel of youngin’s.” He paused. “I didn’t know if you’d take it from me at first. I’m glad I got a chance to give it to you.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Tell me that you forgive me.”
Without a word Robert hugged his father, pulled away, opened the Bible to its middle pages and said, “You sign it. You’re the head of the family.”
They walked into the kitchen and placed the Bible on the table as Elizabeth and Matilda gathered near. Sissy sat by the fire, staring with determination into its flames. As Robert explained what was going on, David pulled a quill and ink well from the shelf. Elizabeth smiled with serene satisfaction and nodded. Matilda hugged Robert as they watched their father sign the Bible and enter his birth date.
“I’m really happy for you, Robert,” Matilda said. “I guess this means you’re a man now.”
Standing erect, David looked at his youngest child. “You’re growin’ up too. I gave Thomas Tyson my blessin’.”
“Your blessin’ for what?” Matilda stepped toward her father, her mouth open wide.
“To marry you,” he said. “Once you turn sixteen and not a day before.”
“Oh, Papa, thank you.” Rushing to him Matilda hugged him.
“Do you forgive me?” He bent his head down to her face.
“Forgive you for what?” She grinned. “You don’t have to explain nothin’ to me.”
“Poor child, your grandma is dead,” Sissy said in a loud sigh. She stood, looking at her family, her face a bright, furious red. “I hate you! I hate pa! I hate you all!”
Running out the door, slamming it on the way, Sissy disappeared down the clearing into the woods. David excused himself from the others and followed her. Through the trees he saw Sissy leaning against a thick oak, her cheeks wet with tears. He stopped a few steps from her.
“Sissy, I don’t think I could stand it if I thought you really hated me.”
“No, I don’t hate you,” she replied, sniffing and wiping her eyes. “I’m too mad at you to hate you. You’re goin’ away. Grandma went away.”
“Grandma died.”
“She’s not here. I had only two people who ever made me happy, grandma and you.”
“Sometimes people can’t help but go.”
“I know what you want,” she said. “You want me to be like Matilda and git married.”
“I don’t want you to be like Matilda. I want you to be happy bein’ Sissy. Gittin’ married, well, someday, maybe.”
“Why bother? He’d jest die too, or run off.”
“What do you think grandma would say?”
“I don’t know.” Sissy slid down the tree to sit on the ground. “She’s dead.”
Ambling up, he plopped on the earth beside her, and his arm gently slid around her shoulder. “Nonsense. She’s here right now.”
“What?”
“Look up there.” David pointed to the sky. “In those clouds, don’t you see heaven?”
“Oh, Pa. Ain’t this silly?”
“Come on. Try real hard. Look up there.”
“I don’t see nothin’.”
“Look again.”
“All right.” Sissy narrowed her eyes as she lifted her head. “I think I see it.”
“Good. ‘Cause I see it too. Hey, there’s Polly. And William Patton. And Grandpa George. They’re happy to be up there, laughin’ and havin’ a good time. Can’t you tell?”
“Hmm.” Her tone sounded sympathetic. “Grandma don’t look happy at all.”
“Of course she’s sad,” he replied. “She sees her favorite granddaughter in black and upset all the time. She’s thinkin’ what on earth is goin’ to happen to that girl if she don’t snap out of her grief?”
“Her favorite?”
“What do you think?” He hugged her. “She wants to know why you don’t laugh no more.”
“I miss her so much.”
“Do you know what she’s sayin’ right now?”
“What?”
“She says she’s glad you miss her, but she wants you to go back to bein’ the happy, sweet girl she loved so much.”
“She’s also sayin’ her son shouldn’t run off and leave his daughter like this.”
“Aww, ma knows better than to tell me what to do.”
Sissy looked down, but David lifted her chin with his weathered hand. “She’s knows I’m too mule-headed to do the right thing.”
“So what does grandma think is the right thing for me to do?”
“Jest be happy.”

***

His obligation met, Dave pulled his Jaguar into his father’s driveway and sighed with satisfaction. All he needed now was to pack the Bible with care and put it in the mail with loads of insurance. Dave needed to make clear to his father that Vince was going to take over from this point forward. Then he could escape to his life in Waco. He patted his father on the back as they walked in the house. Inside the living room Lonnie turned on the television and plopped into his easy chair.
“Dad, we got to get this clear,” Dave said. “I still think Vince should be your guardian.”
“Hold on a minute, son. It’s time for Rawhide.” He smiled as the opening credits appeared on the screen and its theme music blared. He turned to Dave. “You know, they’ve made all new shows.”
“I don’t think so, Dad. They guy who played Gil Favor is dead.”
“Oh no. They’re all new. With ol’ Gil Favor and Rowdy Yates and Wishbone.” Lonnie chuckled. “That Wishbone sure cracks me up.” He nodded at the television. “See what I told you.”
“I think I remember seeing this episode.”
“Naw. They’re all new.”
Shaking his head in resignation, Dave put the Bible on the couch and next to Lonnie’s chair. He had time. He could wait an hour to leave. In a few moments he was drawn into the story, remembering how pleasant it was as a boy to sit by his father and share a television show. They knew they did not know how to talk to each other about how they felt, but they knew they could share a laugh about Wishbone. Without thinking about it, Lonnie lifted his right leg to pass gas next to Dave who jumped up, walked away and doubled back.
“Dad, I wish you wouldn’t fart in my face.”
“Huh?”
“Oh nothing.” All of a sudden, his anger went away when Dave saw the serenity on his father’s face. It was not always like that. “Listen, Dad. I got to ask you something important.” He paused to think of the right words. “Did you ever feel like a failure?”
“What did you say, son?”
“Did you ever feel bad because things didn’t turn out the way you wanted them to?”
“Aw, I don’t worry about it none.” Lonnie continued to stare at his television screen. “You do the best you can and go on from there.”
“You mean you never—“
“Pup, if you worry too much you end up like Allan. And for God’s sake I don’t want you to end up like Allan.”
“I won’t, Dad.”
“Well, you’ve always been the nervous type. And if you had one of them nervous breakdown, like Allan did, then you couldn’t pay my bills for me. For God’s sake, don’t make me depend on Vince.”
“I’m not going to have a nervous breakdown, Dad.”
Lonnie did not respond because he had drifted off to sleep, his head falling back, his mouth opening and a soft snore beginning. Dave shook his head and wondered how his father could even ask him to do this for him. He never told Dave he loved him. He never hugged him or kissed him. He always seemed to act like Dave did not exist. Lonnie came home, ate, watched westerns on television, and went to bed. If the dog got in the way, he kicked it. That was right, he slowly remembered, Lonnie had been angry all the time, his insides eaten up by some unknown pain. Then, sometime after his hair began to thin and turn gray, calm came over him, as though that mysterious pain did not make any difference any more. After watching his father’s face, Dave focused on the old gnarled hand, limp on the arm of his chair. He compared it to his own. No, his hand did not match it yet. Feeling a lump rise in his throat, Dave put his head down on Lonnie’s hand.
“Oh, Daddy,” he whispered, “when will the pain go away?”
Lonnie’s snore erupted into a guttural commotion which settled back into a regular pattern. Dave raised his head and wiped tears from his eyes, self-conscious he retreated into his needy childhood again. Behind him he heard Vince come out of their bedroom and walk down the hall. Standing in fear his brother had heard him, Dave turned to see Vince enter the room.
“Is the old man asleep?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. I want to talk to you.”
“I’ve got to go.” Dave was in no mood for further recriminations so he headed for the bedroom to pack.
“You know what you said about yourself?”
Dave did not want to hear Vince agree with him that he was a prostitute. He did not want to hear Vince claim once again that he had raised Dave after their mother’s death and that inexplicably Dave owed him something because of it.
“I can understand how a guy can get in a fix like that. It’s impossible to get out of,” Vince said. “And I think you’re wrong about Tiffany. I think she knows exactly who you are.”
“I’ve got to go.”
“No. Wait. We’re not quite there yet.”
“Not quite where?”
‘Well—I guess you could say here—home.”
“Oh.”
“Look,” Vince said, his brow knitted. “As you get closer to death, family means more. I threw away my family. Wanda took the kids to California. My own father doesn’t trust me. But we—you and me—we can still be family. There’s got to be family.”
“There’s been too much—too much—“ Dave shook his head.
“No,” Vince said firmly, extending his hand. “Please. Family. Family.” His echo was hoarse and desperate.
Without conviction, Dave shook his hand. Vince hugged him, but let go when Dave just stood there without emotion.
“I got to go,” he said in a subdued voice. He picked up the Bible and headed for the bedroom. “Tell the old man good-bye. You’ll do fine as his legal guardian.”
“Will you be back soon?”
“Soon.” Dave glanced at Lonnie.
He went down the hall and entered his old bedroom that he shared with Vince and Allan. Packing his bag, Dave realized memories did not bother him now as much as they did the first night he was in for the funeral. He still never wanted to be in that room again. He looked around, picked up the package holding the Bible and placed it under his arm. He hoped he would be able to walk through the living room without any more emotional pleadings from Vince.
“Would it make any difference if I told you I just went to the kitchen cabinet to pull out a bottle and instead of drinking it I poured good bourbon down the drain?”
“I’m happy for you. If you keep it up, you can really help dad.”
“So you’re not going to be guardian?”
“He really doesn’t trust me any more than he trusts you.”
“The old man’s not going to see you again, is he?” A look of sad realization crossed Vince’s face.
Dave had no reply and went through the front door. He saw Mrs. Burch standing on her porch. He was glad he was not going to see her again either.
“Leavin’ already, Puppy?” she called out.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“When will you be back?”
He looked through the screen door at Vince, who had walked toward him, and at Lonnie who was still snoring in front of the television. “I’ll be in for the funeral.”
Dave was about to walk away when he heard Lonnie awaken with a snort.
“Has the Pup run off already?” he heard him ask Vince.
“Yeah. He said to tell you good-bye.”
“Did he say when he’d be back?”
“Soon, Pop. Soon.”