Night Bird Calling

by Cathy Gohlke

  Jesse and Ida Mae were latecomers, as were the folks from Saints Delight. They entered through the front door together, Jesse pulling Ida Mae, who’d become a mite standoffish, right along with him. Celia welcomed them all into the parlor—now the children’s reading room—like they were long-lost cousins and she, lady of the manor.

  Jesse went through to the kitchen and saw out the window that everybody else who’d come was milling about in the back garden, where the eats were spread on sawhorse tables covered with Miz Hyacinth’s best damask tablecloths. Miz Hyacinth, leaning on Grace’s arm, was just finishing up a speech about the new lending library and introducing her “dear relation” as the woman in charge.

  It was a beautiful summer’s day, just right for admiring the roses in full bloom and all the new plantings and old trimmed shrubs that Olney and Marshall had brought back to shape and life. Even the new swing, big enough for two sets of two at a time, had been painted white and stood ready for guests.

  It was a veritable Garden of Eden, a grand day outside and a grand and astonishing day inside as Celia opened to the congregation of Saints Delight Church the wonders, the breadth and generosity of Miz Hyacinth’s library. Jesse could hardly decide where to perch it was all so fine.

  “Yes,” he heard Celia expound to Reverend Pierce after he’d lamented that many of the books were beyond their children’s reading level, “maybe they are now, but I’m certain that Miss Grace will be right glad to help any of your church’s children with their learning. She wants everybody to enjoy the pleasures of reading!”

  “That’s mighty generous!” Reverend Pierce looked at her, surprised. “Some of our young ones have fallen behind since our schoolhouse teacher moved on. The children need more books, but more than that, help with their reading. Some of the parents of our youngsters—those who’ve had some schooling—have been taking turns, but most of our ladies are busy with their housework and take on extra work besides. If Miss Grace could see her way to help, that would be magnificent.”

  Celia declared that she loved that word, magnificent, and promised more than Jesse knew was possible to deliver, more than she could possibly have been authorized to offer by either Grace or Miz Hyacinth.

  Ida Mae tried to intervene numerous times, but Celia was on a roll and not to be deterred. By the time Miss Grace led the group from the backyard in through the front door to introduce them to the “inner workings of the library,” the Saints Delight congregation had moved on into the grown-up section of books and was just about to work up enough nerve to take a book or two off the shelf to view. The excited conversationalists of each congregation became slowly aware of the other until all came to an abrupt halt and a dead silence.

  Janice Richards, Celia’s archrival in school and life, gasped. Mrs. Richards turned to see the reason, gasped herself, and pulled her children behind her, whispering just loud enough to raise the hairs on Jesse’s neck, “What in the world are they doing here?”

  It was the first Miss Grace seemed to notice anyone else in the house. She started, as if she had trouble taking everything in, as if she didn’t want to be drawn into whatever tension was clearly growing in the room, as if she didn’t want to claim the center of that attention. To her credit, Jesse thought, she visibly swallowed, smiled tentatively, and stepped forward, extending her hand to welcome Reverend Pierce, who stepped up to shield his flock. “I’m so glad to meet you. I’m Grace.”

  Jesse’s heart raced as Reverend Pierce held back only a moment before clasping Grace’s hand in an uncertain handshake. “Reverend Pierce, ma’am. I’m mighty pleased to meet you, Miss Grace, and I thank you for this kind invitation.”

  “Just Grace, please.” She smiled warmly.

  It was his moment, Jesse’s opportunity to bridge the gap. “Reverend George Pierce is pastor of Saints Delight Church, and he’s brought his congregation here today to welcome you to No Creek and to see this wondrous library.” He ran out of words then.

  “Did I misunderstand?” Reverend Pierce kept his smile, but the nervous tick in his eye reacted to the shudder of Mrs. Richards and the lift of Ida Mae’s chin.

  Before Grace could respond, Celia pushed forward. “You didn’t misunderstand nothin’, Reverend Pierce.” She turned to Grace. “I invited him, Miss Grace. I invited everybody, just like you said!” She spread her arms wide, but Jesse saw the momentary uncertainty in the girl’s eyes.

  “And quite right you were to do so, Celia!” Miz Hyacinth and her white-tipped cane pushed through the crowd. “Reverend Pierce, I can’t see you but I hear your welcome voice. Come and shake my hand, sir.”

  The crowd in the parlor parted like the Red Sea, and the matriarch of No Creek stood, waiting for her Moses to cross the divide. When he’d reached her and taken her hand in both of his own, Miz Hyacinth called out, “Is Joe Earl here?”

  “I am indeed, Miz Hyacinth!” Joe sounded sober, much to Jesse’s relief.

  “Did you bring your fiddle?”

  “Don’t go nowhere without it.”

  “Then play us some hymns. It’s Sunday, after all. And, Reverend Pierce, is enough of your choir here to do those hymns justice?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Reverend Pierce beamed from ear to ear. “We’d be mighty proud to bless this endeavor.”

  “Then I wish you would. Joe, start us off with ‘I Love to Tell the Story.’ That’s a fitting one for a room full of books, don’t you think?”

  Jesse stood back then and watched the choir come to life. Miz Hyacinth, smiling broadly but pale with the exertion of it all, took her chair by the parlor window.

  Jesse glanced at Grace, who stood with eyes lit in awe and appreciation of Miz Hyacinth’s natural ability to deflect tension, her generosity of spirit. Still, Grace appeared a little breathless with the tension in the house. But her face froze when Mrs. Richards grabbed her elbow and pulled her to one side, whispering intently in her ear before standing back to glare at her full on.

  He couldn’t hear, but Jesse saw Grace flush and her hackles rise, saw her shoulders pull back and her spine stiffen. Still, she grit-smiled, tilted her head, and whispered something in Mrs. Richards’s ear that made that woman stand back pinch-mouthed, shove the empty crystal punch cup into Miss Grace’s hand, grab the hands of her son and daughter, and nearly yank them out the front door. They pushed directly through the choir that had already finished “I Love to Tell the Story” and was on the second verse of “Bringing in the Sheaves.”

  “Sowing in the sunshine, sowing in the shadows,

  Fearing neither clouds nor winter’s chilling breeze . . .”

  Jesse figured “winter’s chilling breeze” an appropriate line for the woman’s exit but was sad that more of the Shady Grove congregation followed her—more folks than Jesse cared to count. He could tell by the tilt of Miz Hyacinth’s head that she knew some had left and he was certain she knew why, but she just kept smiling in the direction of the singing and tapping her fingers to the music on the arm of her chair.

  The party went on for another half hour and the singing, warmed up and rattling the windowpanes, might have gone long into the night, but Gladys Percy invited all the Saints Delight folks into the back garden for a freshly spread table of eats. Jesse marveled at Gladys, never understanding how she could create a banquet from a sow’s ear, but she was famous for it and had done it again. Joe Earl seemed like he’d play from then to eternity, but Grace kindly hinted that Miz Hyacinth was looking a mite weary and had best call it a day. Perhaps he could play in the garden for the guests there.

  There was no hesitation. The parlor and library emptied in a moment; every person said their goodbyes and thanks to Miz Hyacinth and Grace, then left by the front door or stepped into the backyard to continue the party.

  In another half hour Grace had guided Miz Hyacinth up the stairs to bed. The last few guests helped tote empty platters into the kitchen, fold the spotted damask tablecloths, and break down the boards and horses that formed the long line of out
door tables.

  Then it was Celia, Chester, Gladys, and Jesse in the kitchen, washing up the dishes. They didn’t expect him to stay and do that, he knew. But it felt homey to be among them in the heart of Miz Hyacinth’s dwelling place and he was glad to be a part of it. He didn’t mind wearing the old dish towel around his waist or bending over the dry sink that sat too low for the ache in his back.

  Grace came in then, her face set in a peace that Jesse had not seen before, and she smiled. His heart quickened. He thought in that moment that he wouldn’t mind waking up every morning of the world to that smile. He turned quickly away, grabbing a dish to wash that he’d already washed, anxious and chagrined and delighted that he’d conjured such a thought.

  The women were just setting up the last of the platters and plates when a scrape came at the back door. No one bothered with it at first, not even sure it wasn’t the wind or a field mouse come calling. But it came again, a timid knock.

  Gladys opened the door. “Why, Ruby Lynne Wishon! It’s near dark. What are you doing here, child?”

  Ruby Lynne glanced at Jesse and her color rose, but her eyes swept the room, coming to rest on Grace. “I’ve come to see Miss Grace.”

  “Well, it’s getting late. Don’t you think—?”

  But Grace stepped forward. “We met today. Ruby Lynne, I’m so glad to see you again. How can I help you? Did you want a book tonight?”

  “No, ma’am. I mean, yes, I’d like a book, but I don’t need help.” She twisted her hands.

  “Please come in. You may browse all you want.”

  Gladys huffed. “There’s library hours for such business. Miss Grace isn’t open all hours of the day and night, you know.”

  “Gladys,” Grace admonished gently, “Ruby Lynne is my guest and I’m so very glad she’s come.”

  Gladys shook her head and stood back, letting Ruby Lynne enter.

  “It isn’t really that I want to borrow a book. I mean I do, but not tonight. I want to help in your library.”

  “I’m the library helper.” Celia spoke up right away and Jesse knew she was fearful of losing her special place.

  Ruby Lynne ignored her. “I heard Reverend Pierce say some of the children in his congregation need help with reading. Celia said you’ll help them—tutor them, I guess.”

  Grace’s eyebrows rose. It was the first she’d heard about it, Jesse realized, and he almost grinned.

  Celia stepped forward, looking up with big brown eyes. “I was gonna tell you about that.”

  “I see. And what else did you say?” Grace waited patiently, so like Miz Hyacinth, Jesse thought.

  He saw the lump in Celia’s throat go up and down. “I’m not exactly sure. It was all so exciting and everybody was happy and everything seemed like a good idea . . . at the time.”

  “The thing is,” Ruby Lynne broke in, “I want to help. I have it in mind to one day be a teacher, like Miz Hyacinth. I was in her last class, you know, and I never had a better teacher. I never had another teacher. My daddy said there’s no reason to bother with me going to the high school. But I loved school and I loved everything she taught me. I want to teach school someday.”

  “That’s a laudable ambition.” So few of his congregation nurtured ambitions beyond their next meal, which was challenge enough. Few, outside of the Maes and Miz Hyacinth, had completed school or set foot outside of No Creek unless they’d left for work in the tobacco factory in the city of Winston-Salem or for one of the mill towns across the state, or ran ’shine into another county. Factories and mills meant long hours of backbreaking labor amid heat and dust with no union to advocate for safety or protest the pitiful pay or deplorable working conditions—or to keep them from near indenture to the company store. None of those “opportunities” provided a path beyond poverty.

  Ruby Lynne’s color rose even brighter at the preacher’s praise. “I can help some of those children learn to read better. I’m a fair reader myself.”

  “That’s a brilliant idea, Ruby Lynne.” Jesse couldn’t contain himself. But he was taken aback by Grace’s set mouth. He felt his eyes go wide. Had he spoken out of turn? Did she not want to encourage the tutoring of Saints Delight children?

  But Gladys spoke out loud, looking first at Ruby Lynne and then at Jesse. “Will your daddy see it that way, Ruby Lynne? He might not like you teaching colored children. And where would you do it? You can’t be going down to their schoolhouse or into their homes. Your daddy’d never stand for you going down to Saints Delight, even if Reverend Pierce opened up the church for just that purpose. Have you asked him about this?”

  “You may teach them here, Ruby Lynne.” Grace said it kindly but firmly, just as if she hadn’t heard a word Gladys said. “We’ll work out the days and times with your schedule and mine, and we’ll need to talk with Reverend Pierce, find out who needs help and what kind and when they can come. It may be that some need more than reading help—arithmetic and such.”

  “Reverend Pierce said that the children have fallen behind since their teacher left.” Celia spoke humbly, but Jesse knew that was a conniving measure on her part. Still, Grace ignored all but Ruby Lynne.

  “Would you be willing to help with arithmetic?”

  The smile that broke across Ruby Lynne’s face would shame the sun. “I would, Miss Grace. I will! I’ll help with anything.”

  “Good. That’s settled. Now you’d best get home before real dark comes on. You don’t want to be out alone so late.”

  “No, ma’am. I mean, yes, ma’am! I’ll come by Wednesday and we can talk more, all right?”

  “Yes, all right. That’s a fine idea.”

  Ruby Lynne all but twirled out the door, dancing light on cat’s feet. Just before she tripped through, she stopped in her tracks. “Oh, I almost forgot. Ida Mae was on her way here and saw me on the road. When I told her I was coming, she asked me to give this to Miz Hyacinth—said it came in yesterday’s mail and she had to sign for it. She said she doesn’t know who this is for, but since it was sent in care of Miz Hyacinth, she figured it was all right to sign and send it on. She meant to give it to her this afternoon—it looking official and all. Said she’s sorry she clean forgot once she got here.” Ruby Lynne handed Grace an envelope—a long, business type of envelope. Even from across the table Jesse could see the formal black script.

  Grace read the address. Her face washed white. He was certain her breath caught and that the hand that reached for a chair back was meant to steady herself.

  Ruby Lynne left, her every step still lighter than air.

  Gladys locked the door the moment the girl was gone, as if that would change anything. She turned to Grace, ignoring the fact that Jesse was still there, ignoring the sudden weariness that had dropped over Grace like a veil. “Do you know what you’re doing? Rhoan Wishon won’t stand for it. This isn’t Philadelphia or New York or even Washington, DC. Whites and coloreds don’t mix here—not in one another’s homes—and live to tell it.”

  Grace looked at Gladys as if she’d just realized she was not alone in the room, then glanced at Jesse, who couldn’t take his eyes off her. “I’ll help,” he said, “in any way you want.”

  Grace stood silent—frozen—for a moment, then took off her apron and hung it on the hook by the door. Jesse could no longer see her face but saw the shudder of her sigh. Even so, it seemed to him that a ramrod inched up her back. She didn’t turn but said quietly, “This is my fight.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  THE LETTER SAT ON THE SMALL SECRETARY in my room for an hour. It took me that long to gain the courage to slit the seal. I’d rather face a hundred Velma Richardses and Ida Maes and even Ruby Lynne’s father than its contents.

  My dear Lilliana,

  This is to inform you that I will arrive in No Creek on Tuesday to bring you home.

  Your father and I understand you were distraught over your mother’s death, but deserting me at such a time was not the best means for you to cope; you must see that. Rest assured
we will find you the help you need. We realize that we can no longer hope you will recover on your own.

  Convey to your aunt my sincere apologies for the imposition she has experienced and assure her that I will reimburse her for expenses incurred during your protracted stay.

  Your concerned and loving husband,

  Gerald

  Every word calculated. Every word bent toward his intended end. Even the delivery of the letter, requiring a signature, could be used in court against me.

  Home. As if home was where he truly wanted me. As if home was with Gerald. Memories of Father physically dragging Mama from Aunt Hyacinth’s arms all those years ago flashed through my mind.

  It was already the early hours of Monday. He’d be here tomorrow. I could run, but where? And if I did, it meant Aunt Hyacinth would be left to face him alone. Chills raced through me at that imagination.

  For weeks I’d dreaded the moment I might open the front door to find him standing there—so much so that I’d hated to fall asleep for the nightmares that came. Now, unexpectedly, he’d given me warning. Why? Was it to establish a paper trail for legal purposes? Did he intend to give me time to run? Would my running add weight to his case?

  I had no idea what had transpired within the church or what had come of Gerald’s privileged workings within the legal system in the months I’d been gone. Retrieving me was evidently his next step. What else had he set in motion to have me committed or accused of adultery or both?

  Yesterday’s tea and opening of the library had unfolded a future—glorious, hopeful. Even Velma Richards’s snubs had served to foster streaks of determination in my spine—something new and wondrous or, dared I hope, long dormant and now roused. I’d been incensed by her unkindness and injustice and annoyed at Gladys’s fear in the face of something so important as teaching children to read, as helping Ruby on the road to achieving her dream.

  It reminded me of my regret over Sarah—how little Mama and I had done for her. I didn’t know if Sarah knew how to read. I didn’t even know her son’s address in Chicago. How could I not know those things after all she was to me? How could I not have thought to ask after her family, to offer to teach her to read if she didn’t?