Visiting the children’s sins upon the father

“What should we do with the body?”

I remember my Pa askin' those words when maw died. He weren't askin' me, uh course since I'as just five. Fact is, I don't know who Pa was talkin' to bein' he’as on tha phone. I could hear someone on tha other end but dent know who it was.

Ma was on tha floor. I remember I'as layin' there by her, but I had ta keep movin' down toward her feet to stay outa tha blood. Was an awful lot at first then it just slowed down and stopped. That's when I started cryin'....when tha blood stopped comin'. Seems odd lookin' back, but I guess I thought 'at blood movin' meant Ma might still wake up. 'Course she didn't.

“Com'ear, son.”

Pa'd pulled a chair up and was holdin' both hands out to me. I got up slow, but then ran to'im and let ‘im hug me hard.  He'as cryin' with me.

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I was ten when they found Ma's body. Or at least what was left of it. Really, she’as just a pile of bones after so many years.

Even though I'd been so little when she went “missin’”, I still remembered her. Really, I guess I remembered her smell. She smelled like home........and love.

I'd thought I’d cry if they ever found any of her. Aunt Mag said I’d cry. But I didn’t. I went to live with her when Pa skedaddled to Lord knows where when people started sayin’ he’d done somethin’ with my Ma. Then when he’d left that made ‘em sure he’d done it.

I had no one else when he left so I went to live with Aunt Mag, my Ma’s sister, and Uncle Mo.

“What’s wrong with that boy? Don‘t he know that’s his momma they found? ”

“He knows, Mo,” I heard Aunt Mag tell him when they thought I weren’t around. “He knows it’s Angie. He knows it’s his momma and he’ll handle it best he can just like the rest of us. Just cause he’s only ten don’t mean he don‘t care. So just leave’m be. He’ll let us know if he needs us.”

“But…..”

“I said leave it be, Mo. I don’t wanna hear no more 'bout it.”

Uncle Mo did like he was told as he usually did.

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Aunt Mag wanted a wake. It was tha next day after they found her. I had to wear a tie. Didn’t see why, but Aunt Mag said I’s goin to, so I did. There weren’t no casket, I guess cause there weren’t no body.

The funeral people stuck the bones in a rosewood box they got somewhere. It looked kinda like the boxes I’d seen cigars come in when I watched ‘em, get a load in at Maxie‘s General Store. But I don’t guess it was cause it didn’t smell like ta’baca and it was too big, kinda like a hat box, but square ‘stead’a round.

And even as big as it was, it didn’t look big enough to hold all the bones a body’s supposed to have in ‘em. But it did, I guess. I didn’t see tha bones, mind ya, but a body could figure things like that hisself just by figurin’.

The funeral home had some chairs set up in tha parlor and I was sittin’ by Uncle Mo when Mr. Simpson sat down on t’other side of him.

“Mo. Alfie,” He nodded to us and we nodded back.

I’d learned a long time ago 'at most people tried to stay clear’a Mr. Simpson cause he talked way more’n seemed necessary. Guess he just liked to hear hisself.

“She's been gone a long time now,” He said then took a drink of coffee. He wiped his mouth with tha back of his hand then kept talkin'. “She shore was a pretty girl, Angie was. Same age as my Lizabeth I b'leve.”

Uncle Mo just nodded as he had been for the last five minutes or so to answer most of what Mr. Simpson had been sayin’. Then Mr. Simpson leaned over close to Uncle Mo’s ear.

“How’d they find ‘er?” He whispered thinkin’ I wouldn’t hear ‘em, but I did.

“Clete Johnson found his dog with one’a her thigh bones. Knew right off it weren’t a cow or deer leg or nothin’ like that.”

“Ya still think he killed her?”

“Course I do. I always said he did it. Never liked ‘im from tha first time I met ‘im. Never trusted ‘im.”

It didn’t take much for me to know that they’s talkin’ ‘bout my daddy, now. I remember his smell too and it was different. Not bad or nothin’ like that, just different. He smelled like a Pa and Ma smelled like a Ma, I guess. It was that smell that really woke me real early one mornin' when he snuck in an' got me.

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“Heard they found ya mamma.”

Pa hadn’t said a word till we got far enough from Aunt Mag’s house to slow the big bay to a walk. I could see him easy with the full moon and all. His back was broad and powerful like I remembered. This was some weeks after they'd buried Ma.

“Yessir,” I answered. “Just bones, though.”

“Hum,” Pa grunted an’ I watched his shoulder’s roll with the movement a’ the bay. We walked for another good half hour ‘for he spoke again.

“'Ey still sayin' I did it?” His voice was different now. Almost sounded like he’s ‘bout ta cry. Course I couldn’t see ‘is face, but it sounded like ‘at.

“I guess Uncle Mo thinks so. He told Mr. Simpson so at tha wake.”

Pa mumbled somethin’ then we dint say a word ‘tween us all the way ta tha Ridge. Even with tha full moon I couldn’t see real well, but I knew where we’as goin’.

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“Git the tow sack, Al. Got some food in it.”

I liked it when Pa called me Al. Made me feel older. I grabbed the tow sack from the saddle horn and followed him inta the huntin’ shack. We didn’ own the shack. Fact, I didn’ know who owned it. It'd been there for as long as I could remember.

Ma always knew if Pa weren't back from coon huntin' by bedtime, that he'd be spendin' the night in the shack. And when it was coon season, he'as out there most every night. That would'a bothered some women, but not my Ma. I think she knew my Pa worked hard every day, so she didn't say a word 'bout his huntin'.

Neither of us said anything while we ate. It wasn't much, just some rat cheese, crackers and little bit a ham, but it'as enough for me.....'specially since I's with Pa. Water from tha pump outside washed it all down n'at tasted real good, too.

I did notice 'at Pa kept watchin' me while we ate. Made me a lil nervous after a time.... not sure why. Just did..

“How ya been doing?”

It surprised me when he asked me that since he'd been quiet so long.

“Okay. I guess,” I didn't look at 'im an' Pa didn't like it.

“Boy, get ya head up,” He said. “Look a man in the eye when ya talk to 'im”

I raised my head and looked straight into my Pa's eyes.

“Yes, sir,” I said with as strong a voice as my ten-year-old body would allow.

Pa kept lookin' at me after I said this. He smiled a little at first, but then I saw a tear in his eye an it tolled outta his eye 'fore he could catch it with the palm of his hand.

He cleared his throat, but it was still kinda croakey when he said, “Son, ya know, I shore loved yore Mamma.”

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Funny how things come back to ya. That’as 25 years ago. They caught Pa a few days after he came an' got me. Had a nothin' trial then there'as some appeals, but tha verdicts was always the same and so they hung ‘im. I’as 13 then… too young to go.

Uncle Mo’s dead now, too, but Aunt Mag’s still kickin’. Came ta see me t’other day. Brought a pound cake. They don’t ‘llow no visitors to give us much, but food’s okay......’specially if tha guards get some.

She never blamed me for Ma. Knew it’as an accident. Blamed Pa.

“He bought you that .22 knowing you’as too young,” she said once. “Ain't no five-year-old should have a rifle. Too young an' to little to handle the thing. You might'a pulled the trigger, but he killed her.....he killed her”

Pa cleaned up tha mess and buried her. Guess he really got hung for that …for lovin’ me. Ain’t helped me none, though. Been in here almost 10 years now. Never knew who he'as talkin' to on tha phone 'at night. Don’t matter now, though.