Page 76 of Martha Calhoun

TWENTY-SIX

I hurried along the main path, still holding my dress strap under my arm and not bothering to look for Bunny. A man wearing a baseball cap was standing at the exit. “Do you want to get stamped?” he asked gruffly.

“Huh?”

He brandished a rubber stamp. “Are you going to come back?”

I shook my head and brushed past him. A steady line of cars was moving slowly toward Katydid, about half a mile away. I started walking along the side of the road, picking my way through the patches of gravel and tall grass. After a while, I came to a sidewalk, the farthest reach of town. I followed it along Altgeld Street, past several blocks of little houses put up for workers years ago by the KTD. I passed the Rock Creek Elementary School, Dixon’s Corner Store, and Mayor Krullke’s house, floodlit from the lawn, as always.

Eventually, I came to the square. The bandbox, the usual hangout, was deserted, and no one was around the drinking fountain. Along the paths, near some of the benches, the red tips of lit cigarettes brightened and faded like fireflies. The old people were out, people you’d hardly notice on busy days. I skirted the square to the north, avoiding the big, empty shell of the old Montgomery Ward building on the south side, and then turned up West Morgan Street, toward the Congregational Church. The streetlight at the corner was out and, in the darkness, the church building squatted on its small hill like a solid outcropping of red rock. I walked around the corner. A lamp was still burning in Reverend Vaughn’s study. From the sidewalk, all you could see was a wall crammed with books.

My dress clung limply to my skin. In hurrying away from the fair, I’d started to perspire. Using the loose strap, I wiped off my forehead. I picked up the hem of the dress and flapped the air a few times. The breeze felt good curling up my legs and cooled some of the scratches. I knew I looked a fright, but there was something I had to tell Reverend Vaughn, something I’d held in for days now that had been released in the crystal light of Ruth’s trailer.

“My God,” the minister said, when he opened the door. “What happened to you?”

I glanced down at my dress. It was worse than I’d thought.

“Come in, come in,” he added quickly.

“I’m kind of a mess,” I said, stepping into the study. The room was lit by a single, bright ceiling light.

His eyes wandered from my head to my feet. “You look as if you fell off a hayrack.”

“Actually, I was out in the woods. It’s a long story.”

“The woods?” He frowned. He was wearing a dress shirt and a dark, striped tie; instead of shoes, though, he had on sandals. Like his fingers, his toes were white and thin and very long. “Sit down and tell me about it.” He gestured toward a couch. “Can I get you a glass of water?”

I shook my head and sat down. The study was comfortable, but spare. There were bookshelves on two sides, a compact wooden desk, several plain chairs. A nature calendar and a framed degree were hanging behind the desk, but otherwise there was nothing personal about the room—no pictures, no knick-knacks—except, of course, the books.

“How was your trip?” I asked. He was standing over me, still inspecting.

“Oh, fine, fine.” Finally he sat in one of the chairs. “What happened in the woods?”

I didn’t really want to explain. In a way, it didn’t seem important now, or, at least, not important enough to waste time on. But I couldn’t pretend it hadn’t happened, so I told him about Tammy and the bonfire and the police raid. I told the story quickly and simply, leaving out details where I could. He asked many questions, fleshing out my account. In the end, he shook his head and combed his hair with his fingers.

“It’s that factory,” he said.

“The factory?”

“Don’t you see? The whole town is panicked over the KTD closing, but instead of doing something useful, they take out their frustrations on you. It’s not you personally—it’s just that you’re there, you’re an easy target.”

It bother

ed me for a second that he was always talking about the KTD. Even when he’d start talking about me, the factory always seemed to come up. “You really think so?” I asked.

“It’s obvious.” He paused and shook his head again. “Of course, no one in this town would understand the psychology of it, except you.”

His eyes were deep blue—not pale, like Eddie’s, but rich and unthreatening. He stood up and came over, sitting beside me on the couch. For a moment, I almost expected him to draw me close, even to kiss me. I felt pulled toward him, as if someone were lifting up my end of the couch, and I were falling inevitably into his arms. All he did, though, was take my hand—my left hand, which loosened the shoulder strap again. The dress sagged.

“Look,” he said, ignoring the dress, “you’re an obvious target. Someone like you is too full of life for a small town, too smart, too eager to learn. A town like Katydid can’t hold you—you’ve got to experience the world, to taste things. You’re not willing to settle for some mundane job and mindless life. The people here realize that. You’re above them, and they resent you for it.”

I nodded, staring into his eyes. Is this what love is like, I wondered. He was so wrong about me. I’m not like that at all. It was Bunny he was describing. She’s the one who’s full of life.

“You really think so?” I asked.

“Yes. You’re special. You outgrew this place ages ago. What you’re going through now is nothing. Nothing! In a couple of years, you’ll move to Chicago or New York, some center like that, and you’ll start a whole new life. Katydid will be behind you forever.”

“Gee.” It was wonderful hearing him talk like this. I could almost begin to believe him.

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