News through the Stovepipe

Papa says Fenders thinks he’s a girl. His real name is Chester Arthur Francis Powell, but everyone calls him Fenders because he’s been driving a car since he was twelve years old. He’d sit behind the wheel of Uncle Goad’s old car and pretend he was going on a Sunday outing. Sometimes he took us kids with him. He’d drive and drive and we’d never get anywhere because the car didn’t run. Since last summer he drives a real car now and most people wish he’d never left the barnyard.

Papa says he’s “certifiable” and I guess that means he won a prize for his driving, but I sure hope not. He drives faster than Aunt Henrietta. She only kills dogs, but when I got up this morning I heard Fenders had clipped Father Gray last night and scared the priest half to death. Father called the law, and they arrested Fenders. Now he’s in jail and his car’s at the church parking lot until the sheriff figures out what to do with it. I’ve heard the news through the stovepipe that runs through the spare room above the kitchen. It’s where I do all my listening because nobody tells me anything, and the only way I get the latest gossip is to eavesdrop. I’ve been doing it for years. That’s how I found out about Fenders.

Sometimes I only hear half the conversation and get my facts mixed up, but I remember the day I heard Mama and Papa talking. I was playing with my dolls like I always do and I wasn’t paying much attention to the talk below me. When Fenders flung open our kitchen door yelling, “I’m short a cup of sugar for the cake I’m baking,” Papa asked him how his cooking lessons were going and Fenders said, “Just fine, thank you,” and then Papa asked how his sewing lessons were going and Fenders said, “Just fine, thank you,” and then Papa started laughing. He laughed Fenders right out the door. He must have been mad because he slammed it when he left, and I heard loose gravel hitting our porch as he spun his car around.

“. . .the bail money,” Mama says. “Henrietta’s making Goad put up his prize bull and that’s creating quite a fuss, as you can well imagine, what with the fair only a few days away.”

Papa answers, “Goad’s a fool.”

“At least the sheriff’s willing to accept the bull instead of cash. Poor Henrietta.  Such a disgrace to have a son who’s always in trouble.”

“You know my sister. By now she’ll be claiming the priest jumped in front of Fenders’ car.” Papa laughs.

“Thank God, they’re your kin,” Mama says.

Papa says, “I think I’ll head to the jailhouse when I finish the chores. Why don’t you come with me?”

“Out of the question and I don’t want you any where near the jail or the bar, do you hear me?”

“Yup. Loud and clear.”

The screen door slams. Papa’s going to the barn. I quickly put away my dolls and run downstairs. Maybe he’ll let me go to town with him. I run out the door before Mama can stop me. She doesn’t want me to be a tomboy. She wants me to be a lady, and ladies don’t run anywhere except to the beauty parlor to get their hair done and look good for their men, at least that’s what Mama says.

“Papa, can I go to town with you?” I ask. I hand him another staple. He’s fixing the hole in the fence where Samson likes to walk through and visit our neighbor’s cows.

“Well, Katie, I don’t see why not, but you’ll have to ask your Mama.” He runs the barbed wire through the staple and drives it into the post with the hammer.

“Can I go to the jail and see Fenders?”

“How’d you know Fenders was in jail? You been listening through the stovepipe again?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“One of these days your Mama’s going catch you and put you in the shed for punishment. You know that don’t you?”

“Yes, but that’s the only way I find out what’s going on. Nobody tells me anything. That’s why I have to listen.”

“Well, be careful. Sometimes you might hear things you don’t understand.”

“Like how Fenders thinks he’s a girl?” Papa stops pounding the post and almost drops the hammer.

“Fenders is just different. He not as rough as his brothers. Now run to the red shed and find the spool of old wire that’s hanging on the north wall and don’t run the barbs through your fingers. Be quick.”

I find the wire Papa needs and we work on the fence, but we don’t talk about Fenders again. When we finish, we put away the tools and wash our hands and eat lunch. After a lot of coaxing, Mama says I can go with Papa. We don’t tell her we’re going to visit Fenders, but I think she knows. Papa’s tooting the horn. I run to the car. It’s not every day I get to go to town, and for sure I’ve never been to the jailhouse.

Everything’s quiet when we push open the big oak doors. A man in a brown uniform is sitting at a desk. He looks up when he sees us.

“We’re here to see Fenders Powell,” Papa says.

“Fenders Powell? The kid who clipped the priest? Just a minute.” We watch as he shuffles some papers. “He’s in the drunk tank. No visitors allowed.”

“What’s he doing in the drunk tank?”

“Soberin’ up and sleepin’ it off.”

“Was Fenders drunk?”

“Yea, but I ain’t supposed to discuss it with you even if you is his pa.”

“You’re new here otherwise you’d know he’s my nephew,” Papa says. “When can we see him?”

“Not before the sheriff does. He’s at lunch. Be back in an hour. You can wait. Minors ain’t allowed to visit.”

Papa thanks him and we take a seat on the long bench against the wall. The place is clean and shiny.

“Is Fenders drunk?” I ask.

“Looks that way,” Papa says. He blows his nose on his hanky and stuffs it back into the pocket of his work pants. He takes off his cap and twirls it in his hands.

“What’s a ‘minor’?” I ask.

“That’s you, Katie.”

“You mean I can’t see Fenders?”

“Looks that way. Probably just as well, though. Your Mama’d have a fit if she knew you’d been to the jailhouse let alone visiting your cousin behind bars.”

“But it’s fun. Do you think they beat Fenders?”

“Probably not.”

“Do you think Father Gray will die?”

“No.”

“Papa, what if Fenders dies in his cell? He’ll go to hell, won’t he?”

“Don’t know.”

“But he almost killed the priest. If Fenders dies, he’ll have to go to hell. There must be a rule that says people can’t kill priests.”

“Katie, where do you come up with these ideas? Father Gray isn’t hurt. He’s just mad, and nobody’s going to beat up Fenders.” Papa scratches his hair then reaches in his shirt pocket for a pack of Wrigley’s Spearmint gum. He offers me a stick. A tall man walks by. There’s a gun in the holster on his belt.

“Who’s that man?” I huddle closer to Papa.

“That’s another deputy, Katie.” Papa makes the gum into a little ball and shoves it in the hole where his front tooth used to be. “Howdy,” he says. “How’s that nephew of mine?”

“Fenders? He’s sick as a dog and giving Slack Jaw Jones and Runt Ryan a good laugh. I doubt that boy’ll ever drink again. Taken him hours to sober up. Got no stomach for the booze.” He turns his attention to me. “Howdy, little lady,” he says. “You can sit in my office while your Pa sees Fenders. That’s the way it’ll have to be, Speck.” Papa nods and smiles.

“When’d you get your tooth fixed? Doc did a good job.”

When he’s gone, Papa and I laugh. “That gum does the trick every time,” he says.  Then he gets up and paces the floor. I do the same, and we walk back and forth like a train that can’t decide which way to go. We hear a phone ring, and the man behind the desk picks it up and mumbles something into the receiver. Then he calls to Papa.

“That was the sheriff’s wife. Seems Mac got indigestion from his hamburger and ain’t comin’ back today. You might as well go home. We’ll call you when Fenders is released.”

“Are you sure I can’t talk to him now?”

“Rules is rules.”

Papa thanks the man and takes my hand, but I’m not ready to leave. “Can’t we look around,” I ask. “Maybe we can see some prisoners. Maybe some murderers. Maybe some men with tattoos on their arms and hooks for hands. I’ll probably never get to the jail again, and I want to see everything.”

“Not today, Katie. I think we’ll just go home and fix fences. There’s a lot of wire down in the pasture. How’s that sound?”

“It doesn’t sound exciting. If we can’t stay here, will you take me to the beer garden? Mama says that’s your second home, and I’d like to see it.”

He laughs. “I don’t think so,” he says. Then he steers me out the door before I get a chance to see any prisoners or any more men with guns.

“Now where’re we going?” I ask once we’re in the fresh air.

“How about Tastee-Freez for some ice cream?” he asks.

“Good idea,” I say. We walk down the street until we come to the Freez and then we stand in line.

“Do you think Fenders will escape? Do you think he’ll join the Army like his brothers?” I ask Papa as we wait our turn.

“No, I don’t think Fenders has it in him to run. I think he’ll take his punishment like a man.”

“Is he a man now Papa, now that he’s in jail? Is that what makes a man?”

“It takes a lot of things to make a man, Katie,” he says. “And jail’s a start for some fellows.”

When Papa tells me this I think it’s his way of saying that Fenders won’t be baking any more cakes or sewing curtains again for a long time. Maybe jail’s the answer to his troubles. Now he’ll know he’s a man. That evening when I’m putting my dolls to bed, I hear Mama and Papa talking in the kitchen. When Papa lowers his voice, I lean into the cold stovepipe so I can hear what he’s saying.

“. . .the priest. Seems he won’t press charges because he’s the one who got Fenders drunk. Goad said he wants things kept hush-hush, but Fenders is ready to go to the paper and make a stink about it. The sheriff don’t want no part of the whole mess.”

Mama says, “Guess you were wrong about Fenders.”

“Guess you’re right,” Papa answers. “Sure is a crazy old world when a priest can’t be trusted.”

I run to the room I share with my sister, MayBeth. “Wait until you hear the latest,” I yell as I jump on the bed, but she isn’t interested.

“Scram,” she says. What could you possibly tell me that I don’t already know?” She turns back to her movie magazine.

“You’d be surprised,” I say. “You’d be surprised.”