Peace talks had been abandoned again, and the Chinese were moving more troops into Korea. Mr. Murrow said that a truce, once so close, now seemed impossible. His words were a little heavier that night, or maybe we were just more exhausted than usual. He broke for a commercial, then returned with a story about an earthquake.
Gran and my mother were moving slowly around the kitchen when Pappy entered. He tousled my hair as if things were just fine. "What's for supper?" he asked.
"Pork chops," my mother answered.
Then my father drifted in, and we took our places. After Pappy blessed the food, all of us prayed for Ricky. There was practically no conversation; everyone was thinking about Korea, but nobody wanted to mention it.
My mother was talking about a project her Sunday school class was pondering, when I heard the faint squeaking of the screen door out on the back porch. No one heard the noise but me. There was no wind, nothing to shove the door one way or the other. I stopped eating.
"What is it, Luke?" Gran asked.
"I thought I heard somethin'," I said.
Everyone looked at the door. Nothing. They resumed eating.
Then Percy Latcher stepped into the kitchen, and we froze. He took two steps through the door and stopped, as if he were lost. He was barefoot, covered with dirt from head to foot, and his eyes were red, as if he'd been crying for hours. He looked at us; we looked at him. Pappy started to stand up and deal with the situation. I said, "It's Percy Latcher."
"A Painted House"
Pappy remained in his seat, holding a knife in his right hand. Percy's eyes were glazed, and when he breathed, a low moaning sound came forth as if he were trying to suppress a rage. Or maybe he was wounded, or somebody across the river was hurt and he'd raced to our house for help.
"What is it, boy?" Pappy barked at him. "It's common courtesy to knock before you come in."
Percy fixed his unflinching eyes upon Pappy and said, "Ricky done it."
"Ricky done what?" Pappy asked, his voice suddenly softer, already in retreat.
"Ricky done it."
"Ricky done what?" Pappy repeated.
"That baby's his," Percy said. "It's Ricky's."
"Shut up, boy!" Pappy snapped at him and clutched the edge of the table as if he might bolt for the door to whip the poor kid.
"She didn't wanna do it, but he talked her into it," Percy said, staring at me instead of Pappy. "Then he went off to the war."
"Is that what she's tellin'?" Pappy asked angrily.
"Don't yell, Eli," Gran said. "He's just a boy." Gran took a deep breath, and seemed to be the first to at least consider the possibility that she had delivered her own grandchild.
"That's what she's tellin'," Percy said. "And it's true."
"Luke, go to your room and shut the door," my father said, jolting me out of a trance.
"No," my mother said before I could move. "This affects all of us. He can stay."
"He shouldn't hear this."
"He's already heard it."
"He should stay," Gran said, siding with my mother and settling the matter. They were assuming I wanted to stay. What I really wanted to do at that moment was to run outside, find Tally, and go for a long walk-away from her crazy family, away from Ricky and Korea, away from Percy Latcher. But I didn't move.
"Did your parents send you over here?" my mother asked.
"No ma'am. They don't know where I am. The baby cried all day. Libby's gone crazy, talkin' 'bout jumpin' off the bridge, killin' herself, stuff like that, and she told me what Ricky done to her."
"Did she tell your parents?"
"Yes ma'am. Everybody knows now."
"You mean everybody in your family knows."
"Yes ma'am. We ain't told nobody else."
"Don't," Pappy grunted. He was settling back into his chair, his shoulders beginning to sag, defeat sinking in rapidly. If Libby Latcher claimed Ricky was the father, then everyone would believe her. He wasn't home to defend himself. And in a swearing contest, Libby would likely have more supporters than Ricky, given his reputation as a hell-raiser.
"Have you had supper, son?" Gran asked.
"No ma'am."
"Are you hungry?"
"Yes ma'am."
The table was covered with food that would not be touched. We Chandlers certainly had just lost our appetites. Pappy shoved back from the table and said, "He can have mine." He bounced to his feet, left the kitchen, and went to the front porch. My father followed him without a word.
"Sit here, son," Gran said, indicating Pappy's chair.
They fixed him a plate of food and a glass of sweet tea. He sat down and ate slowly. Gran drifted to the front porch, leaving me and my mother to sit with Percy. He did not speak unless he was spoken to.
After a lengthy discussion on the front porch, a meeting Percy and I missed because we were banished to the back porch, Pappy and my father loaded the boy up and took him home. I sat in the swing with Gran as they drove away, just as it was getting dark. My mother was shelling butter beans.
"Will Pappy talk to Mr. Latcher?" I asked.
"I'm sure he will," my mother said.
"What will they talk about?" I was full of questions because I assumed I now had the right to know everything.
"Oh, I'm sure they'll talk about the baby," Gran said. "And Ricky and Libby."
"Will they fight?"
"No. They'll reach an agreement."
"What kind of agreement?"
"Everybody'll agree not to talk about the baby, and to keep Ricky's name out of it."
"That includes you, Luke," my mother said. "This is a dark secret."
"I ain't tellin' nobody," I said, with conviction. The thought of folks knowing that the Chandlers and the Latchers were somehow related horrified me.
"Did Ricky really do that?" I asked.
"Of course not," Gran said. "The Latchers are not trustworthy people. They're not good Christians; that's how the girl got pregnant. They'll probably want some money out of the deal."
"Money?"
"We don't know what they want," my mother said.
"Do you think he did it, Mom?"
She hesitated for a second before saying, softly, "No."
"I don't think he did, either," I said, making it unanimous. I would defend Ricky forever, and if anybody mentioned the Latcher baby, then I'd be ready to fight.
But Ricky was the likeliest suspect, and we all knew it. The Latchers rarely left their farm. There was a Jeter boy about two miles away, but I'd never seen him anywhere near the river. Nobody lived close to the Latchers but us. Ricky had been the nearest tomcat.
"A Painted House"
Church business suddenly became important, and the women talked about it nonstop. I had many more questions about the Latcher baby, but I couldn't sneak in a word. I finally gave up and went to the kitchen to listen to the Cardinals game.
I sorely wanted to be in the back of our pickup over at the Latchers', eavesdropping on the men as they handled the situation.
Long after I'd been sent to bed, I lay awake, fighting sleep because the air was alive with voices. When my grandparents talked in bed, I could hear their soft, low sounds creeping down the narrow hallway. I couldn't understand a word, and they tried their best to make sure no one heard them. But at times, when they were worried or when they were thinking about Ricky, they were forced to talk late at night. Lying in his bed, listening to their muted utterances, I knew things were serious.