Welcome to Episode 25 of Dancing at The Orange Peel, a 1960-70s serialized historical novel. Just getting started? Episode 1 | Full Episode Guide | Extra fun content in THE MAILBAG
Go here if you missed Episode 24, Family Above All Else. Or keep scrolling to read the next installment.
Recap: Episode 24, Title. Saturday, April 13, 1968. After a quick trip to Wendell's toy store, Libby and Mama meet Miss Cheryl for lunch at Antonio's Deli, where the conversation turns to Granddaddy and his contradictions. As the grownups talk around her, Libby senses that Mama's secret and Granddaddy's favorite saying stand on opposite sides of something she can't quite name yet.
Episode 25: HANDS OFF
All during the Easter sermon, Gwen’s mind kept drifting toward the afternoon planned with Nate. First, the family—all of them—would have lunch at her parents’ house as always on a holiday. The girls would hunt eggs. Then June and her gang would be off to Nelson’s parents in Asheville, Katie and Barry would head off to heaven knows where, and her father would drive Libby to the old family farm at East Fork to spend her Easter school break with Silvia, Gwen’s oldest sister. Sivvy, the old soul, the gentlest and quietest of the bunch. Libby always loved going there, being the center of attention.
Gwen would see to it that everyone was on their merry way, and then she’d walk the three blocks to her apartment, presumably to meet Cheryl. As far as her family knew, her friend was coming over to spend the afternoon with her. A small but sharp twinge pinched just below her sternum. She immediately recognized it as guilt for misleading her family. She took a breath and ignored it.
Easter Sunday meal was done up special, with extra deviled eggs and potato salad, ham instead of chicken. Gwen scurried to get the food on the table, but once all the place settings were out, June had to slow everything down by pulling out her camera. She wouldn’t let anyone start eating until she had her Polaroids. Once that was finally done, Gwen hurried through the meal, as if eating quick would make the time pass any faster.
“You’re gonna choke on that chicken leg, Missy,” her father warned.
As Gwen rushed to clean the kitchen, her sister asked, “What are you in such a blamed hurry about?”
She wasn’t about to give June a direct answer. “As slow as you and Ma move, someone’s gotta do it or else these dirty dishes will still be here at dinnertime.”
Nelson passed through the kitchen toward the back door. “I’ll get Lib’s bag for you.” That morning when he had picked them up for church, she’d thought to have him put Libby’s suitcase in his station wagon so her father wouldn’t have to stop by their apartment for it before heading to Sivvy’s.
She told Nelson, “Just leave it on the front walk. I’ll get it when Daddy brings his truck around.”
“You sure? It’s mighty heavy.”
“I’ve got it. Thanks.”
A half-hour later, she and Libby waved goodbye together as her sister’s brood pulled away. Jerome pulled his blue pick-up out front, dropped the tailgate, and went inside to get the pie Ma was sending to Sivvy. Libby skipped down the steps and Gwen followed her to the mustard-colored Samsonite perched on the sidewalk, the smallest case in their luggage set. Grabbing the handle, Gwen hoisted it with her knee into the back of the truck.
“What in the world did you put in here?” she asked Libby. “Rocks?” She shoved it into the truck bed then slammed the heavy gate. “You aren’t Lucy, you know.” She smiled at the memory of watching The Long, Long Trailer. Libby wouldn’t understand the reference, and the way her daughter was skittering foot to foot, she was clearly more concerned about Gwen’s handling of her suitcase.
“It can’t go back there,” Libby protested. “It’ll slide all over. Or bounce out.”
From the porch, Ma called, “You gotta have room for Dark Willie in the cab, young ’un.”
No matter that Gwen had heard Ma’s “pet” name for William all her life, it made the hair on the nape of her neck stand up. She bit the insides of her cheeks to stop herself from challenging her mother. No good ever came from that.
William rounded the corner of the house with a spool of rope in his hand. He reached over the side of the truck, grabbed the suitcase handle and slid the case behind the cab as if it weighed no more than a tackle box. He tied one end of the rope to an eyehook on the passenger’s side of the truck bed then hiked himself onto the bumper and climbed in. After winding the rope twice around the suitcase, he pulled it tight. Libby watched his every move, and as he worked, Gwen noticed the wrinkles in her daughter’s forehead relax.
“Thank you, William.” Gwen nodded to him once and settled a hand on Libby’s shoulder.
She was thankful neither of them had been in the house before lunch when her father had issued his protest to Ma: “I don’t want that stink in my truck all the way to East Fork and back.” When he’d said it, Gwen had folded in on herself. He did that to her.
She remembered the first time she felt that way. When she was about seven, she’d gone to the tobacco market with him, and in the shuffling crowd of sweaty farmers, her tiny body had been shoved into a muscular, teen-aged Negro helping unload a grower’s truck. The young man had averted his eyes and, in a near-whisper, said he was sorry and called her ma’am. At the time, she didn’t know why he’d apologized when it clearly wasn’t his fault. She had started to apologize back, but Jerome yanked her away before she could say anything to the boy.
On the way home, he lectured her about never letting one of “them” touch her. If one ever did, “I’ll hang him,” he said. Horrified at the image those words brought to her seven-year-old mind, she uttered not a word the whole way home. Just the same as she’d stayed silent in the living room earlier today.
Gwen propped her elbows on the side of the truck and watched the strong, aging man tie off the other rope end in the driver’s side eyehook. William worked deliberately, quietly, just as the boy at the tobacco market had done. Funny how silence could be equally exquisite and tragic. As a teenager, she’d begun to understand the humiliation and heartbreak silence could breed, so she stopped being quiet. She had railed against her father every time he used the “n” word, feeding their constant fights. At least she’d spoken out for a while.
Eventually, beaten down by her father and this town, she had given up. That scrappy little fighter went into hiding. But Wilkins’s call yesterday had flipped some kind of switch in her. When she’d taken Libby back to Ivey’s, she recognized that surge of gumption. And she’d felt it again when she’d bragged to Cheryl that Jerome hadn’t seen anything yet.
It was one thing to challenge a stranger, though, or to defy Daddy when he wasn’t around. When faced directly with Jerome Dewitt, she withered.
But Ma had only allowed Jerome to object one time about William riding along to Sivvy’s. “He’ll go.” Where William was concerned, Ma’s word was law. When Gwen and June were kids, their mother had instructed William to keep a close eye on them so often that when someone asked him what he was up to, he always answered, “I watch over the childurn,” as if that was his one big assignment in life. June, so much like their father, had never liked William’s closeness, but to Gwen, he was their guardian angel.
William gave his knot a final tug, took two long strides to the back of the bed, then slung a leg over the tailgate to plant his work boot on the bumper. When he dropped down beside Gwen, she smiled. “Thank you again, William.”
“Surely, Miz Gwen.” Pointing into the cab, he asked Libby, “You gonna git up in there?”
Libby examined his face and seemed to be reasoning. “I’ll sit in the middle,” she declared. “Your legs’ll get in the way of Granddaddy’s stick shift.”
At first, Gwen smiled wider at Libby’s innocent observation. But it faded quickly. Libby didn’t yet realize that the distance she’d create between her grandfather and William would not be enough to suit Jerome.
Libby hiked a foot up into the door jamb, her knee nearly touching her chin. William reached to boost her up by the armpits but drew back when the screen door slammed, making all three of them jump.
Jerome clomped down the front steps and approached them quickly, pie tin wrapped in aluminum foil balanced on one palm, the other hand waving toward the truck bed. “Get in the back,” he ordered William.
“Daddy, it’s a long ride,” Gwen started. “You can’t make him—”
In a surprisingly cheerful tone, he said, “Of course I can.” Then he cocked his head at Gwen and steeled his eyes on her. “It’s my truck, Missy. And I don’t want him next to my girl.” He winked at Libby. She stared back at him, stone-faced.
In one afternoon, Jerome could undo everything Gwen had tried so hard to teach Libby. Gwen’s eyes met William’s, his stoic expression contradicting his soulful gaze.
Ma, sweeping the front steps, acted as if she hadn’t heard Jerome’s directions to William but there’s no way she couldn’t have. Gwen bit her lip.
Bigot, just like he is. No. Her father’s hatefulness was deliberate. He even flaunted it. Poor ole Ma just gently tended hers, the way she tended her roses, making her seem more polite about it.
In the truck bed, William sat, leaning his back against the cab with his knees up. The passenger door still ajar, Libby was seated sideways, feet dangling.
“Say your goodbyes so we can get a’goin,” Jerome told her as he slid behind the wheel. “You’ll hold that pie,” he added, placing it on the seat beside her.
Libby pulled herself to standing in the door well. “Bye, Mama!” For balance, she gripped the top of the door with her left hand and splayed her right hand on the top of the cab.
“Careful, there,” Gwen urged, reaching to anchor a hand around her daughter’s calf.
Libby extended her height further by stretching on tiptoes. “I’m way taller than you.”
Gwen opened her arms. “Get down here and give me a goodbye hug.”
Wobbling, Libby reached out. Before Gwen knew it, her daughter’s hands were planted on her shoulders and she lunged into her arms. Libby gained her balance when her feet hit the ground, but Gwen staggered. In a flash, William rolled to his knees, reached over the side of the truck, and grabbed her arm above the elbow.
Jerome bolted out of the driver’s side. “Get your dirty hands off my girls.”
Despite Jerome’s warning, William didn’t let go until Gwen had recovered her balance, a moment that seemed like an eternity. Once she was steady, William planted a foot and pushed himself to full standing height inside the bed. His eyes kept pace with her father as he stormed around the front of the truck. Their near-fall had startled Libby into silence, but when Jerome snatched her to him, her funny bone hit the window crank and she yelped.
Gwen bristled and elbowed him away. “Give her to me.” She pulled Libby close, crouching to her eye level. Libby leaned into her, tears soaking Gwen’s collar. Jerome stomped back around the truck.
Between sobs, Libby gasped. “I don’t want to ride with him.” Gwen’s heart clenched as she stroked her daughter’s hair. Libby’s whisper was hot in her ear. “He’s mean, Mama. I don’t wanna go.”
Every fiber of Gwen’s being wanted to scoop Libby up and take her home. Her breath quickened as doubts flooded her mind. What kind of mother chooses her own desire over her child’s wellbeing? She pulled back to look into Libby’s tear-streaked face, her resolve wavering.
William’s figure towered in the truck above them, the afternoon sun casting his large shadow onto the driveway beside them. He would be with Libby. And Sivvy—Libby always loved her aunt’s stories, her gentle ways. Last month, Libby had begged to visit the farm to see the new calves.
Gwen cupped her daughter’s face in her hands. “Baby, I know Granddaddy seems gruff, but William’s going with you. And Sivvy is so excited you’re coming. Remember how you want to help with the animals?” She wiped away Libby’s tears with her thumbs. “You love it there. And for sure, there’ll be more new kitties.”
Libby’s sobs quieted to sniffles, but her eyes remained uncertain.
From the cab, Jerome barked, “Hush that baby-crying, young’un.” He gripped the steering wheel and leaned forward to scowl at Gwen. “Missy, you’d best tell that darkie to sit down if he’s going with us.”
At that, William bent toward them. “Hush, chile,” he whispered. Clearly, he had heard Libby’s distress. He reached to pat the top of her head but pulled back. Locking eyes with Gwen, he assured her, “She be okay. I watch over her.”
He would. Just like always. Gwen stood, still holding Libby’s hand, and took a shaky breath. The afternoon with Nate suddenly felt selfish, wrong. But it was all arranged. And Libby would be fine once she got to Sivvy’s—she always was.
“Honey.” She tried to sound calm but encouraging. “Your Aunt Sivvy is so looking forward to your visit.” The guilt of sending her daughter away sliced through her chest even as she spoke. “You’re going to have so much fun this week.” She knelt again and pushed the hair back from Libby’s face. “And I’ll be right here when you get back.”
“But, Mama,” Libby started.
“Really, sweetie. It’ll be okay.” She paused, watching her father’s impatient drumming on the steering wheel. “You don’t have to talk to him. Just look out the window and daydream. Think about that Nancy Drew you’re reading. You’ll be there before you know it.”
Libby turned her face up to William still standing behind the cab. She sniffed back tears, pushed away from Gwen, and pulled herself, full height again, into the door frame then jutted a finger toward him. “You ride in the middle.”
William raised his eyebrows to Gwen. “He’ll not—”
“I know.” She shook her head, her stomach churning with the unfairness of it all.
Ma walked up behind her, broom in one hand. “What’s this about?”
“I want Mr. Willie to ride with me.” Libby appealed to her grandmother. “Tell Granddaddy.”
Ma cocked her head but said nothing.
“Libby,” Gwen pleaded. “Get in the truck, sweetheart.”
Am I doing the right thing? The question hammered in her head as she watched her daughter’s face crumple. Libby plopped down in the seat, her eyes brimming with tears.
Ma switched the broom from one fist to the other. “Get this young’un to Sivvy’s.” She delivered her demand with a swipe of her other hand toward them all. “Willie, get down from there,” she ordered. “Jerome.” She leaned into the cab across Libby. “He’ll ride with the girl.”
Jerome harrumphed, his glare never leaving the windshield. His jaw muscles tightened.
Gwen gently nudged Libby’s leg. “Slide over, honey.” Libby grimaced but reached for the pie. Head down, she rested the tin on her lap and scooted partway to the middle. Gwen tapped her leg again to urge her further then stepped back so William could get in the truck.
After closing the door gently, he rolled down the window. “She be fine, Miz Gwen.”
Grateful for his reassurance but still questioning herself, Gwen sucked in a breath and glanced at her stone-faced father. Eyes locked forward, he cranked the truck. She reached through the window, across William, and touched Libby’s chin, lifting her face. “You mind your Aunt Sivvy this week, okay? And have fun.”
Face damp, Libby’s eyes met hers for the first time since her tears started and she nodded slightly. Gwen’s throat tightened. She forced a smile and smoothed Libby’s hair back one more time. “I love you, baby.”
“Love you,” Libby whispered.
As Gwen pulled her hand out of the window, her father yanked the gear shift into reverse. “Damned nuisance women,” he grumbled.
The truck lurched backward into the street, throwing up gravel. She stepped toward the curb as he slammed the truck into drive. She waved, but Libby didn’t look up.
With the afternoon sun hitting the truck’s back window, Gwen could barely make out their silhouettes as her daughter leaned into William’s protective shoulder. Standing in the middle of the empty street, she fought the urge to call them back as the truck disappeared around the corner. Her chest felt hollow, but she’d made her choice.
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