FAMILY VISIT
Tennessee, 1940
April covered her face to muffle the sobs, and I draped my arms over her shoulders, kissing her salty cheek. “Calm down, will you?”
She acted like she didn’t hear.
“April?” My lips tightened. “We’ve gotta talk and figure out what to do?”
She nuzzled my hand and kissed it.
Cuss her family. They had no right to lock the bedroom door and treat us like this.
My fingers massaged April’s knotted shoulders, and I envisioned my fists thrashing her brother into a bloody heap. “Honey, I don’t want to be here either.”
I picked up a brush and passed it through her black hair that fell almost to her waist. Since her early teens, her hair had been her crowning glory.
Whenever we made love, I would run my fingers over her black strands. She would kiss me and whisper, “I love it when you stroke my hair.”
Today’s situation shouldn’t have happened. But it had. No thanks to her brother.
My hand tightened on the brush. “Honey,” I said. “I’m sorry. Why is your family so pigheaded? Can’t they understand?”
April daubed her eyes, smearing eyeliner. “They were born just plain stubborn.”
During the earlier altercation, she’d taken the brunt of her father’s tirade, wincing as his words sliced into her. But I’d never forgive her brother. He started this ruckus, and for him, it was a joke.
I flexed my fist. If I had my druthers, he’d never smile again or would display a toothless smirk.
Her family had maligned us, but her father’s words cut deep. “What about the things your dad said?”
April’s face darkened. “Pa’s hateful. He don’t forgive.” She paused. “You’re not sorry about the trip, are you?” She watched from the mirror, trying to determine if I had doubts.
I took a moment to consider. “I wouldn’t have missed the past few months for anything. It was your idea. Remember?”
She nodded, and a shine appeared in her eyes.
Last year, I’d taken April to the cinema for the grand opening of Gone With the Wind. The travel reel before the main attraction snagged her attention as it displayed the panoramic beauty of the western United States.
After the movie, April bounced up and down like an eight-year-old schoolgirl. “Let’s drive west and visit the national parks. We could go from place to place, stop when we want, and get a job whenever. Can we please?”
I laughed out loud. “Why do you want to travel like a gypsy?”
“Planned trips are boring. It would be fun. Please?” April raised her eyebrows and cocked her head. She knew how to melt my heart.
Her persistence paid off, and I relented.
April quit her job, and I left the university and would resume my studies after we returned. Our journey would be like an extended holiday. Money wouldn’t be an immediate problem because of my inheritance.
At first, we played tourists by visiting the historical spots. We occasionally found work that permitted us to interact with the local community. After staying in one town for a brief while, we moved to the next. But it was April’s knack of encouraging folks to tell us details about the area’s local history that kept our journals filled.
Most of the time we camped out, but once in a while we befriended a citizen who provided us with a few weeks of lodgings until we resumed our travels.
April wanted to pick up a few items from her home in Tennessee, and two days ago, we made the stupid mistake of visiting her family. On prior visits, it seemed like I’d stepped back a hundred years to when corn liquor was the medium of exchange.
We arrived this morning right after breakfast. When her relatives gathered to hear the tales of our trip, her brother asked April one simple question. He laughed in jest, of course.
Then things happened fast. No thanks to that idiot. It led to our current state of affairs.
The mid-afternoon heat and locked windows made the room stuffy. I asked, “Why did your brother have to open his stupid mouth? Can’t he keep it shut?”
She shrugged. “Pa calls him a blabbermouth. He’s never been able to keep quiet.”
Her brother and I nearly fought. Only her father’s intervention and ten-minute lecture prevented blows. But once he spoke, the family considered his word as law, which placed April and me at the center of a huge family uproar. In a few minutes, our lives would change.
April’s swollen eyes looked back from the mirror.
I kissed the top of her head.
She leaned back against me, gripped my hands, and held them to her chest.
I swallowed. “What should we do?”
She snorted. “Kill ‘em.”
I’d thought the same thing.
She shook her head. “There’s nothing we can do. Pa has decided everything.”
I closed my eyes. We seemed to be the only sensible people in a turbulent pool of insanity. “Think there’s a chance we could talk your father out of it?”
Anger paraded across her face. “I hate Pa for this. Oh, gosh, I hate him. He never changes his mind.”
I lowered my voice. “So, when can we leave?”
“Before nightfall. Pa made it plain we have to be gone by then.”
I squeezed her hands. “I love you, April.”
Her eyes locked on mine in the mirror. “Considering our predicament, that’s nice to know.”
We both spun around as a key unlocked the door.
Her little sister slipped through the widening crack, studying the floor and finding it overtly interesting. She licked her lips and mumbled, “It’s time, April. Uncle Matt’s here.”
April closed her eyes before glancing at me. “Let’s get this over with.”
My hand brushed her cheek. “Straighten your makeup. Can’t have you looking like this.”
She examined herself in the mirror. “With these red eyes?”
I winked. “Today’s events weren’t in our plans. But let’s put on a grand show.”
She grinned and grabbed the front of my shirt, pulling me down for a kiss. “I love you, too.” She took a few minutes to apply lipstick, rouge, and eyeliner.
We walked hand in hand into the crowded living room that was clouded with blue smoke from everyone’s cigarettes.
At the far side, just over everyone’s heads, with his legs hanging through the stair railings, her brother popped into view. He cackled a mocking laugh, much like a monkey at the zoo.
His teeth needed to be rearranged. I set my jaw and took a step.
April grabbed my arm. “It won’t make no difference. Look.”
Her dad, three uncles, four brothers, and half a dozen cousins, not to mention twenty female members of the family, had congregated near the exits in case we tried to bolt. From outside, all the youngsters peered through grime-streaked windows to witness the spectacle.
Maybe it wouldn’t make a difference, but I wanted her brother to eat a knuckle sandwich. His question, “Did ya sleep with him, sis?” started this whole commotion. Now her family was forcing us to stand in front of her Uncle Matt, a Justice of the Peace.
For the next few minutes, April and I eyed the double-barreled twelve-gauge scattergun cradled in the crook of her father’s arm.
Shotgun weddings ought to be against the law.