Tant Jenkins peered across the street. “Methodist Church owns that brick house now but Eddie still calls it ‘the Langford Mansion,’ comes over here most every day to tell the tourists all about it.” Shading his eyes, he said, “I reckon that’s him back in the corner of the porch.”
At the porch steps, they awaited Eddie, who came forward, saying “Good morning!” much too loudly. Despite the heat, he was dressed formally in linen suit, white shirt, green tie, well flecked with souvenirs of repasts long forgotten. He peered nearsightedly at Lucius, looking uncertain, and for the first time Lucius could recall, he felt a start of pity for his brother.
Tant Jenkins smiled. “Mr. Watson? Care to make the acquaintance of Professor Collins? Famous historian?”
Eddie stepped back with a sweeping gesture of welcome. “I am honored, sir! E. E. Watson, at your service, sir!” Grandly he waved them up onto the porch. “My brother, too, is a historian, comes to consult me-”
“Eddie?”
“This was the Langford Mansion, sir. My sister’s husband was the president of the First National Bank and Carrie and Walter entertained the Thomas Edisons and their friend Mr. Henry Ford. I believe that Mr. Samuel Clemens-”
“Eddie, wait-”
“What’s that?” Eddie looked alarmed; he recoiled when Lucius touched his arm to calm him. “What do you want?”
“I just wanted to ask you a few questions. For a biography of Papa-”
“Oh no you don’t!” His brother pushed past him down the steps into the sunlight, where he turned and pointed an unsteady finger. “Damn you, it’s family business, will you never understand? Family business.” His arms waved wildly. “You never came to see your sister even after she was evicted from this house! You broke her heart!”
Lucius said he had never been notified; he would go see her right away. “I just wanted to ask about a list of names sent years ago to Rob by way of Nell Dyer-”
“Mrs. Summerlin to you!” Eddie yelled crazily. “Oh, I took care of that darned thing, don’t worry!” Unable to meet his brother’s eye, he glowered at Jenkins. “You people are trespassing! This is private property, church property! I’ll call the law!” Stumbling, he hurried away and disappeared around the corner. The old river street stood gaunt and empty. They sat down on the steps.
“Eddie’s always callin in complaints, kind of a hobby. Depitties don’t pay no attention. Most days, he’s friendly, maybe too friendly. Still tryin to keep up with the Langfords, I reckon.”
Lucius nodded, unhappy.
“I reckon he done the best he could,” Tant continued, “bein mulish as his daddy but not strong. Lately he begun to call himself Ed Watson Junior. Figured bein the son of a famous man made him somebody, too, and brung in customers. Ed Watson, Insurance. Buy a policy, get to shake the hand of Bloody Watson’s son. ‘You the Ed Watson? You fixin to murder me if I don’t pay up my premiums?’-teasin, you know. And Eddie come back with the same answer every time-‘Betcher life! So watcher step!’-and went right on fillin out the forms. Never occurred to ’em, I guess, that Watson’s son might be a feller with real feelins. Said, ‘Why hell, if he can’t take a joke, he should of left this town or changed his name.’ Go back home and tell their friends that this Ed Watson is the spittin image of his daddy, which he sure ain’t.
“Folks always thought of Eddie as pretty meek and mild behind his bluster, but lately he took to hinting how he’s a chip off the old block, might have a violent streak. Figured your average American might take to an insurance man with a dangerous past and he weren’t wrong. Even hauled out a copy of your list, let on as how he went down to the Islands took care of them ringleaders. ‘Didn’t have no choice,’ he told ’em. ‘Watson honor.’ ”
Chortling, Tant wrote down the phone number of Pearl Watson’s institution. “She’d be tickled to hear from you,” he said.
In parting, Tant clung a moment to his hand. “You could always count on your backdoor family, Lucius, and you still can, what’s left of us.”