In No Bells Will Ring, Ruth Couch draws on her experiences as an elementary teacher to present the story of a young educator torn between the demands of her career and the needs of her dependent mother. Elizabeth is caught in a web of conflict as her mother continues to engage in behavior that is increasingly troubling. Elizabeth cannot turn to anyone for help without betraying her mother; only faith can sustain and guide her. The author hopes that this story will encourage those who may be struggling with career issues or the challenge of helping a parent deal with the sorrows and frustrations of the later years. The story is a work of fiction. All the human characters are fictitious; the only individual drawn from real life is Oscar the dog.
No Bells Will Ring
By Ruth CouchAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2009 Ruth Couch
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4490-0433-0Chapter One
"Mama, that's a beautiful ring in that box on your dresser. Where on earth did you get it? Did Mr. Amati propose?"
"I don't know what you're talking about. There isn't any ring, and there isn't any box on my dresser. You can come up with some of the oddest notions!"
"Mama, I guess I know what I saw-there was a blue velvet box on your dresser. I couldn't have made anything like that up."
"And why were you snooping around in my stuff, anyway?"
"Mama, I don't exactly call it snooping when I go in to clean your room."
"Well, I want you to stop it."
"Fine. You can clean your room yourself."
"Well, that's fine with me. I was cleaning house before you were even thought about. Just isn't right to go through my stuff ... treating me like a child...."
"All right, Mama, come on into your room and I'll show you what I'm talking about, since you're putting on such a surprise act."
There was no box on the dresser.
"See! I told you! You just made that up!"
"But it was right here ... I know it was! I saw it! It's got to be...."
"Elizabeth, you have let your imagination run wild with you. You always were subject to light-headed flights of fancy. I think Edgar dumping you has messed up your mind. You know what? I think you're just jealous because your old mama has somebody and you don't."
"Jealous of you and Mr. Amati!" Elizabeth gasped. "I don't think so. I don't know what you see in that dumpy little fat guy with the greasy dyed-black hair and the gold-capped teeth and that silly, snorty little laugh. When I think of what my daddy was like, with that beautiful silvery hair ..."
"Well, your daddy's not with us any more-bless his gentle heart-and I'm just lucky that I found someone that cares for me. And I suggest you do the same. You can't spend the rest of your life moping around about Edgar and making up stories about people and things. By the way, how is Edgar? Did he get his master's degree? Do the kids still like to hear him play the clarinet at recess? Actually, I sort of liked him. Oh, I'm sorry, Baby. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. Come on, now, let's go to the kitchen. I'll fix us 'breakfast for supper'-scrambled eggs and bacon, and flaky biscuits, just the way your daddy liked them."
"That would be nice, Mama." Elizabeth reached for a tissue from the crochet-covered holder on Mama's dresser. This wasn't the first thing that had seemed a little strange lately. The question of the ring would have to be answered somehow, but this wasn't the time. Maybe she would find it in the dresser drawer eventually-maybe one evening while Mama was out with Mr. Amati. Then she could confront Mama and force her to come out with the truth.
A whiff of bacon and coffee brought back wonderful memories of cold winter evenings in the old house when the three of them used to gather around a card table in front of the fireplace and eat a supper like this one. "Now, dear," Mama said as they sat down at the kitchen table, "how was school today? Were the kids good? How is Mrs. Griffin? Here-have some of this plum jelly I made last summer."
"Oh, Mama, I am so fortunate this year! I have the best class! Nothing at all like last year. They're a bright spot in my life. At least half of them are reading way above grade level. And you should see their math scores." "I'm so glad. Is Mrs. Griffin all right? I know she's had some health problems. How long has she been there anyway? Wasn't she your teacher when you were in school in that building? I seem to remember that she was very nice to us when you broke your arm in the fifth grade."
"She's doing pretty well-works every day- but I can tell she's really slowing down. A few people have been whispering in the teachers' lounge that she might retire this year, but she hasn't said anything about it. Boy! I hope she doesn't! I can't imagine who might take her place. She's always been so understanding.'
"Well, I don't want to upset you again, but if Edgar got his master's degree, maybe he ..." "And he did. Got it last August." Elizabeth stirred aimlessly with her fork in her serving of eggs. "Got it the same night I would have gotten mine if I hadn't had to drop out." In control of herself now, she said, "He would really be good-except ..."
"Yes, I know. That would be very awkward for you. Oh, well, maybe they'll hire an outsider or get somebody from another school in town. Eat your eggs; they're getting cold."
"Speaking of the teachers' lounge," Elizabeth continued, "Mrs. Griffin got us one of those new microwave ovens last week. Really nice-right there in the lounge we can warm things up for lunch in just a few seconds. Maybe we should get one."
"Now there you go again with your wild and crazy ideas. I don't want that thing in my house-probably oozes poison airwaves all over the place."
"OK, Mama, we won't get one.... Your plum jelly is really good."
Later that evening, while they were watching Gunsmoke on the black and white television set, the phone rang. The gravelly voice was unmistakable.
"It's for you, Mama."
Elizabeth could not read her mother's expression. Excitement? Pleasure? Maybe a little fear? It was impossible to tell.
Her mother took the phone into her bedroom and closed the door. A half hour passed. Elizabeth got up and headed for her own room to pick out her school outfit for the next day. In the hall she could hear her mother's soft voice. She happened to notice that no light was coming from under her mother's door.
Looking closer, she saw that her mother had rolled up an old housecoat and had crammed it in the small gap between the door and the carpet. Parts of it stuck out beyond the door.
Finally there was silence in her mother's room. With her outfit laid out for the next day, Elizabeth fell into bed and drifted into a troubled sleep; tossing and turning, she woke up and then went back to sleep several times. At last she fell into a deep enough sleep to have a dream, a very frightening one. In her dream, Mama and Mr. Amati were driving down the highway, giggling and talking, elbowing each other in the ribs. Elizabeth watched helplessly as they turned down the old river road, a place where fishermen were the main travelers and everyone tried to get out fast at the first sign of wet weather. As they made the first sharp curve, Elizabeth dreamed that the river was beginning to flood the little rutted pathway. She could see that there was no room for them to turn around. She tried to scream, but all she could do was utter a choked little cry and toss convulsively in the darkness of her room.
Chapter Two
"Well, guess what!" Mama greeted Elizabeth as she came in from school on a cool autumn afternoon.
"You won the grocery drawing for this week!"
"No. Guess again."
"Aunt Laura is coming for a week-long visit."
"You'll never guess, so I might as well tell you. Mr. Amati has invited you to go with us for dinner at Roundtree's tonight!"
"Wow! That is really big of him!"
Mama ignored the sarcasm.
"And we don't have much time because he wants to pick us up at 5:00. We're going to an auction at Emerson tonight, and it starts at six-thirty. So we're eating early. Can you make it?"
"Sure." Yes, I can, Elizabeth thought, but do I want to? "I see you're ready, and since we don't have to fix supper, that won't be a problem. And fortunately I don't have any meetings tonight."
Elizabeth was quite puzzled as to why Mr. Amati would want to invite her along for dinner. The two of them had never seemed to be very congenial, and she felt they had absolutely nothing in common. But maybe if she shared a meal with him, she would be able to see why her mother enjoyed his company. He always seemed ill at ease around her, laughing too loudly at his own unfunny jokes, delivering stale and unconvincing compliments, rattling on about nothing in particular. The only possible reason Elizabeth could see for this generosity was that he wanted to insinuate himself into the good graces of her mother. But at any rate, maybe she could get a clue about what he was like. And maybe this would help her to understand her mother a little better. And perhaps she would even discover some admirable qualities in him.
She dressed quickly in a sweater and skirt that would be just right for such a cool September evening. She brushed her dark hair back into its pageboy shape and applied a little makeup. Then she grabbed a light-weight jacket, and they were ready to go.
An hour later, Mama opened the door and greeted Mr. Amati.
"Are you girls ready to eat? My, you look lovely. I don't know who's the purtiest! Come on, ladies! We don't have a lot of time. And I hope you're hungry! We're going to Roundtree's tonight. I love their hamburgers! Hope you do too!"
Mr. Amati opened the back passenger door of the old black Cadillac for Elizabeth, who sat primly among the old folders, newspapers, and other items that Mr. Amati used in plying his job of resale dealer. With great fanfare and bowing, he settled Mama in the front passenger seat and they were off.
They circled the square around the courthouse, where there was a brief traffic jam because all the city officials were leaving the courthouse at about the same time. Then he headed the car toward the northwest highway. They passed the cotton gin, near which there were numerous tufts of cotton littering the sidewalks. A wagon with sideplanks still on was lumbering south, having unloaded what would have to be one of the first bales of cotton for this fall. A long line of cars followed behind the slow-paced conveyance, with some of the drivers honking. Not many farmers brought their cotton or their produce to town in wagons any more At the back of that line was a school bus just now making its slow way back to town after its second round for the day. Its engine labored tiredly as it waited for the line of traffic to advance. Elizabeth wondered which of her students might have gone home on that bus. The stores were closing; the Rosewood business day was ending.
Roundtree's Caf was a quaint little restaurant at the edge of town. Its clientele was mainly teen-agers, young adults, and older men. Elizabeth did remember that once in a while she had come here with her parents. Right now, someone had put a quarter in the juke box, and a lugubrious Patsy Cline song was filling the air.
The design of the restaurant was unique in all of South Arkansas. As the name implied, it was built around a tree. The huge oak was in the absolute center of the restaurant. From the tree, four tables radiated toward the outside walls. The booths lined each of the walls. It was always amazing to out-of-town people that the roof didn't leak and the tree seemed to continue to flourish. The floors and the walls were of unfinished planks, and the building was merely underpinned rather than being placed on a concrete slab. This was probably why the health of the tree had been maintained. The dcor consisted of paintings of limbs and leaves that extended across the ceiling and down the walls to give diners the impression of sitting in the tree.
They decided to sit at one of the tables that radiated around the tree. The trunk was so thick that there was not a privacy problem. Elizabeth was glad to have another chance to see this city landmark, since she had almost forgotten about it.
The server took their drink orders. Mr. Amati had Sanka, and the ladies had colas. He had the burger and fries, but they decided on the evening plate special.
Elizabeth had always thought a person's hands would tell a lot about him. So she examined Mr. Amati's hands as he wielded his knife and fork. His nails were manicured but were a little long, and his hands were short and somewhat pudgy. They looked as if they would be soft. Probably doesn't do a lot of manual work, she concluded. What else might those hands have done?
She had to admit that his table manners were perfectly acceptable; she almost wished they hadn't been.
"Well, Miss Harding, did you teach the little ones a lot today? Do they realize what a purty teacher they have?"
"Yes and I don't know, in that order. We really covered a lot of ground today, and I think they picked up on it rather well."
"Did you whip anybody today?"
"Oh, no; that doesn't happen very often. It probably won't happen at all this year because I have a really good class." She paused. "Mr. Amati, where are you from? Tell me a little about yourself. Did you grow up around Rosewood? Where did you go to school?"
"There really ain't much to tell. Grew up around Homer, Louisiana; did a variety of things; wasn't much into school; had a short stint in the Army; now deal mainly in used and cut-rate goods."
"Where do you usually get your merchandise?"
"Lizzie!" Mama interrupted, twisting and turning in her chair. "Let the man eat. He's been working all day; don't make him bring his work to supper with him."
"Oh, yes! That's right!" Elizabeth, who was always glad to talk about her work at restaurants or church or home or anywhere else, took her mother's hint and remained quiet for most of the rest of the meal. However, that really suited her all right, because she probably wouldn't have been able to think of anything else to ask him anyway.
"I hope you like this place," he said. "I ain't seen anything else like it anywhere around here." They agreed that it was charming.
The meal was absolutely delicious, much better than she had expected. The conversation was fairly general, about weather, current events, and of course jewelry and what was on sale at the local stores. For dessert they ordered two Death by Chocolate desserts, and he ate one and the ladies shared the other. It was rich and superbly delicious. Elizabeth resolved to bring some of her friends here for lunch if she ever got the chance.
The juke box went silent. The after-school teenage crowd paid their small burger tabs and left. The restaurant was suddenly almost silent.
"That was a wonderful dinner," said Elizabeth as they were preparing to leave. "Thank you so much for inviting me to come with the two of you."
"And thank you for making our table look twice as good as it otherwise would!"
He obviously knew his way around a compliment. That was probably one reason that her mother had been taken in by his attentions.
They dropped Elizabeth at the house, telling her not to wait up, and then headed south for Emerson, some fifteen miles away. Elizabeth had inconspicuously saved a few bites of her meat for Oscar, the old black dog in the back yard next door, and she made a stop at the fence to visit with him and give him the treat. "Good boy," she said. "You're always here for me."
Inside, the house was chilly, but the pilot light for the furnace hadn't been turned on for the winter. That was a tricky job, and she didn't want to try it by herself. They usually managed without the furnace until the first of October. So she lighted the small gas heater in the bathroom and left that door open. Soon the house would be warm enough.
She switched on the television. Hallmark Hall of Fame was on, a program that she usually enjoyed. But the picture was so snowy she could hardly tell what was going on. From time to time, strange diagonal lines flashed across the screen and interrupted the picture. She went outside and turned the antenna about a quarter turn, and when she returned, the picture was watchable. She picked up her stack of spelling papers and began grading them. She could manage to follow the movie and get her work done at the same time. After finishing the papers, she had plenty of thinking time during commercials and slow moments in the movie.
She could not come up with a satisfactory answer to the question of why Mama would want to spend time with Mr. Amati or why he would be interested in her. He was, her mother had told her, about twelve years younger. That in itself made him suspect, as the mature men usually preferred women their age or younger. Also, he didn't seem to have a lot of education, and as far as she knew, he had no church affiliation. He was just barely taller than Mama, and he was considerably overweight, using colored suspenders to hike his pants up above his waist. So the attraction could not be education, religion, or looks. It had to be the fact that he flattered her, did nice things for her, and made her feel good about herself.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from No Bells Will Ringby Ruth Couch Copyright © 2009 by Ruth Couch. Excerpted by permission.
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