Day dawned. The people left the church and moved toward the Gulf for the burial rites. They waded in shallow flood water, down to the muddy shore. The Gulf was calmer now. Brown waves washed in and out with the frying sound of foam.
The people spread out in a straight line and sang against the rhythm of the waves. Titay came forward slowly, frail. Her voice was clear, but soft. “We always take outta the Gulf its best—seaweed, fish, shrimps and crabs.” Then she spoke louder. “The Gulf now quest our best. We spond with human power in this act o’ makin gifts. We gi’e in grief, but with know’n joy that the Gulf’ll gi’e always mo’n it take. The Gulf is generous.”
Then the two wives came forward, the oldest first, and cast pebbles upon a receding wave. Ocie, casting her pebbles, said, “T’ the mighty Gulf, I gi’e m’ husband, Tijai Mouton.” Then there was loud crying and moaning as the waves washed the gifts out to the deep.
Martha lingered alone on the shore, remembering the women’s tears. She paced back and forth, wondering if she could ever do what Tee had said she should. Now she wished she had said something else to him that would have been a fitting last goodbye. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she was overcome with sorrow. She stood and wailed to the sky, crying for her father, her mother and for Tee.
The sun rose in a clear blue sky. But the Gulf did not reflect that blue as it stretched to the horizon. The brown waves came in and out. She knew that the Gulf would be there forever and that her father and now Tee were a part of it. She hurried to join the others at the church for the feast.
A week after the storm the sun rose again in a cloudless sky. Water had evaporated in many places and wet houses and damp earth steamed in the early September warmth. The opening of school had been postponed because of the flood and Martha was impatient, anxious for Miss Boudreaux’s return. More than ever she wanted to go to high school, and she hoped that her teacher would help. But school had been delayed yet another day for the cleanup. The islanders called the cleaning “flood harvesting.” Martha thought of it as hard work.
She pulled on her heavy boots and looked to see if Titay was ready to go. “Granma, yo head scarf ain’t right. Heah.” She retied the scarf, stood back to look and smiled. She hoped Titay would be pleased with her concern.
But Titay only said, “Girl, le’s git.”
With sticks and buckets, they joined the noisy crew. The men moved fallen logs and heavy limbs. The women and children cleared up smaller things. Everyone looked for fish and other creatures that could be used for food. Martha stayed close to Titay. Her grandmother was slow, but she worked hard and was careful to avoid snakes. The odor of warm mud and seaweed, and of dead plants and animals, was mixed with the scent of magnolia blossoms, giving the air a moldy heaviness.
Shellfish, frogs and turtles struggled in the mud. Frog legs would make a delicious supper. Martha dropped one frog after another into her bucket.
“Watch that snappin turtle,” Titay shouted to Martha. “If he gits hold you, he won’t turn loose til lightnin flash!”
Martha frowned. “Aw, Granma,” she said.
“Aw Granma, nothin; jus let one git hold on you n you see.”
Martha had a strong desire to let the turtle snap her just to prove that what Titay said was not true. Instead, she poked the turtle with her stick and watched its feet and head disappear into the shell.
If she put the turtle in the bucket it would eat the crabs and crawfish, so Martha waited until a leg appeared from under the shell, then she slipped a strong string around it and tied the turtle to a bush. It would be safe there until she took it home to make turtle soup.
Sticks beating the bushes for dangerous cotton-mouth snakes resounded again and again. A member of the crew screamed in terror before killing a black snake that had slithered out of its hiding place. Some black snakes are not dangerous, but this was no time to take chances.
The hardest part was burying dead rabbits, armadillos, chickens and rats—animals that had tried to swim in the flood, but had become too exhausted to survive. Seaweed, leaves, branches, bark and moss had to be swept into big holes and covered too. Martha worked without stopping.
At last the gray light of evening settled in, and the workers gathered their sticks and buckets to go home. Martha and Titay counted their harvest: six frogs, two turtles and nine crawfish, but only two crabs.
While they prepared supper, Martha peeled onions, chopped the cayenne peppers and cooked the rice. She felt another talk with her grandmother was coming and she dreaded the time when it would begin.
They ate in silence. Even though the frog legs were tasty with rice cooked with tomato sauce, Martha ate little. There was so much on her mind that only Titay could settle. Would she ever go to school again? Perhaps Titay would let her go if Miss Boudreaux would ask.
Just as they finished supper, Titay said, “When you gon start in thinkin bout yo quiltin?”
Martha was now angry at herself for not setting the tone of their conversation. She was not ready for that question.
“I don’t know, Granma.”
“Whatcha mean, don’t know? You mus know. Yuh already foteen n some. That’s late fuh a girl not t’ know bout portant matters.”
“I thought we say we’d wait, Granma.”
“We? I never thought that, no.”
“But Granma …”
“You’s sayin wait. Word’s still out that you’s wantin t’ leave this island. Can’t yuh see, you can’t keep puttin off yo quiltin and the village keep thinkin Cora lie.”
Martha wanted to bide time. Miss Boudreaux would be there the next day to open school. She wanted to talk to her before she gave in to showing a quilt pattern. “I got so much t’ learn that yuh teachin me. Can’t we wait jus a while longer?”
“You’s learnin good, yes, but Mat, we can’t wait too long. Beau’s a good man, hard workin. Men ready t’ marry git married. They seem t’ be fuh carin bout the woman willin. So I say, girl, yuh can’t wait too long.”
“I won’t wait too long.”
“And you member now, foteen slip mighty quick int’ fifteen, and ’fo yuh know it sixteen is sebenteen.”
Martha said nothing. If only she could find a way to escape the all-seeing eyes and all-hearing ears of the people on the island. Ever since she had been born, they had been looking to see what she was about and now they were waiting to hear that her hand was out for marriage.
She went about clearing the table and washing dishes, determined to put off the quilting as long as she could.
Martha got up early the next morning without feeling rested. She was too excited to stay in bed. Miss Boudreaux would arrive today to open school. Martha had decided to be among the first to greet her.
Pink feathery clouds were high in the silvery sky as she hurried down the trail to the Gulf. The dew, heavy on the brush bordering the trail, chilled her legs.
Would Miss Boudreaux be happy to see her? Would she think Martha could succeed in high school? Martha wondered how she would ask her teacher about going away. The closer she came to the edge of the Gulf the more nervous she became.
The water was still high and the Gulf was restless, but Martha knew Miss Boudreaux would come.
“Mornin,” she said shyly to the men and few boys who had come to help the teacher land and unload her supplies.
“Fine mornin, yes, Miss Mat,” one of the men said as they all greeted her in turn.
Martha stood apart clutching a shawl around her shoulders. Soon a small speck came into view, and before long Miss Boudreaux’s boat came in close to land. From a corroded anchor abandoned on the shore, the boys tossed a heavy rope to Miss Boudreaux. She steadied her boat and waded ashore.
“Martha, my dear,” she said. “How nice. I didn’t expect you here.” She removed her wading boots and supervised the unloading of the supplies. Then she and Martha walked together toward the center of the island.
“Mr. Ovide told me about Tee. I’m truly sorry,” Miss Boudreaux sai
d. “Was your summer good in spite of that?”
“Yessum.” Martha was suddenly shy. She wanted to appear grown-up, but words would not come.
They walked a distance in silence. Men, women and children were waiting for Miss Boudreaux near the chinaberry tree. Martha knew she had to speak up or miss her chance.
“Hep me, teacher,” she cried. “I jus gotta go t’ high school.”
Miss Boudreaux seemed surprised. She stopped and looked at Martha. “Martha, that’s fine. Did your grandmother work out a plan?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Does she know that you want to go?”
“No, ma’am. Well, yes, ma’am and no, ma’am. I tole er once. But I don’t think she blieve me.”
“Your grandmother wants to train you to be a good midwife. She’s good, Martha, one of the best.”
“But Miss Boudreaux, I want t’ finish school.”
“You’ll have to ask your grandmother.”
“Please, can’t yuh hep me?”
“Martha, that means going away. Your grandmother would have to agree on any arrangement. You will need money and it’s late now to start plans for this year.”
“But can’t we do somethin?” For a moment they stood in silence.
Finally, Miss Boudreaux said, “Maybe I can go on teaching you.”
“Granma won’t let me come evey day.” Martha lowered her eyes and pulled her shawl tighter.
“Oh, not every day. We can set a schedule. I’ll give you assignments that you can do at home. Then I’ll see you when they are done and you’re ready for more.”
Martha kept her eyes fixed on the ground. Miss Boudreaux said, “Martha, one day you’ll be able to go away. Maybe when you’re older.”
Martha looked up and smiled. “I’m so much obliged t’ you, teacher.”
Miss Boudreaux drew Martha to her for a quick embrace. For a moment Martha was breathless, but in that small space in time she felt sheltered.
SEVEN
Martha and Titay walked on the trail that led to the Gulf. The bushes along the way were wet with morning dew, and as they came closer to the water, fog clung to the earth in heavy clouds. The only sounds were those made by their footsteps and the surging of the Gulf. They walked in silence through the fog toward the bed of seaweed.
Suddenly the blurred outline of a boat appeared. Startled, Martha stopped, grabbing Titay’s arm. Titay said, “What is it, girl?”
“Granma, you see that?”
“See what?”
Was it a ghost ship? Martha had never seen one like it before. The sails were limp and the boat listed heavily to one side in the low tide, close to shore.
“I git a glimpse of somethin.” Titay moved closer to the water.
“No, Granma. Le’s go back.”
“Wait, girl.” Titay held Martha’s hand, and as the fog passed in and out they saw that it was a real boat.
They looked up the trail. Only a short distance away Martha saw the form of a man, lying face down. “Granma!” She put her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream. “Look, there’s a man! Le’s run and warn the village.”
Titay moved toward the stranger.
“No, Granma!”
“If he dead, he can’t do no harm. If he live, he might need us t’ hep im.”
The man lay in the mud, his wet clothes clinging to him. Titay knelt and turned his head. With one hand she felt the pulse while the quick fingers of the other hand cleared his mouth for easier breathing.
“He breathes,” Titay said, “and he shakes.”
He groaned as Titay covered his body with her shawl.
“Run, git hep, girl; we got t’ git im home.”
Martha returned with only two men, Beau, and Ocie’s father, Elmo.
“Who’s he?” Elmo asked.
“I don’t know,” Titay answered.
“Then what yuh want us fuh?” Elmo asked.
“T’ tote im in fuh care.”
“But e’s a stranger,” Beau said. “How yuh know …”
“We know e’s our kind,” Titay said sharply. “And if we wash up on ’is sho, would we want im t’ ast questions, or take us in?”
“Take us in,” Elmo answered.
“So we do as much fuh im.”
“But I can’t take im. I got no room, no.”
“Then t’ my house.”
“But, Granma!”
“T’ my house!” Titay said again.
Beau glanced at Martha to show sympathy. Martha shrugged and sighed. She whispered to Beau behind Titay’s back, “That’s jus like Granma, ain’t it?”
The fog lifted slowly and drifted out to the Gulf as they carried the stranger on to Titay’s house.
“He’ll take yo bed, and you can share mine,” Titay said to Martha.
Martha didn’t object, but she was not pleased with the decision being made for her. She looked at the helpless stranger. He wasn’t much older than Beau. His eyes were closed, his clothes were covered with salt and mud and one foot was without a shoe. She knew he was very sick, for his dark skin had a grayish tone and he shook like leaves in the wind.
Titay covered the stranger with quilts, then turned to Elmo and Beau. “Go now and keep still tongues. He mus rest. In time we ast things we need know bout im.”
When the men had gone, Titay said, “Mat, sit near im. I go make warm tea t’ bring im round.”
The whole bed moved under the stranger’s trembling body. His head bent backward and his mouth twitched. Martha ran into the kitchen. “Come, Granma, I think he’s dyin.”
Titay rushed to the bed. “No, jus burnin with fever. Git the vinegar.”
Martha and Titay sponged him, using all their strength to get the job done. He responded as if he were being rubbed with ice. They gave him sips of cool water; then he slept.
Throughout the day they watched him and let him sleep. They roused him only for water and to sponge him with vinegar. His fever didn’t cool. Late in the night, Titay peeled a white potato and placed the slices on his head, tying them in place with a clean cloth.
“I think he smiled,” Martha said.
“That feel good. We mus make im well. Could be the good spirits brung im in place o’ one o’ our men. We mus save im.”
Martha watched as Titay tucked the quilts with tender confidence and knew that, if he could be saved, Titay would do it.
The next morning the stranger still burned with fever. He groaned and turned and tossed. A worried Titay sent Martha into the woods just beyond the chinaberry tree to look for roots and leaves. “If you can’t find the fever bush, then bring some magnolia bark.”
Martha took her basket and a stick to beat off snakes and rushed out to gather the herbs. Near the chinaberry tree, she was surprised to see many of the women gathered together so early. With voices raised, they were talking to Cora.
As Martha drew closer, all talking stopped and the women turned to look at her.
“Where yuh rushin, cha?” Ocie asked.
“Yeah, where yuh go so early?” Gert asked.
“You don’t gi’e me greetin ’fo yuh ast where I go,” Martha said. She laughed to hide her feelings.
They all laughed. Then Cora said, “Fine mornin, ahn? Where Titay? She oughta be out gatherin roots and leaves, no?”
“I don’t make answer for Titay,” Martha said, and walked on.
“Titay make answer t’ us, yes, if that stranger bring death t’ this island,” Cora said.
What if the stranger did have some sickness that would spread throughout the island? Martha wanted to run home and tell Titay what Cora had said, but when she looked back and saw the women huddled together in worried talk, she knew she had to hurry to find the herbs. Titay must make the stranger well.
“How’s he, Granma?” Martha asked as soon as she entered the house.
“He know he in the world, but he cry in pain.”
“Yuh ast his name?”
“He say a hard one fuh me, so call im H
al. He from up the Mis’sippi River.”
“Spose what he got spread, Granma?” Martha asked. The look on Titay’s face made her sorry she had spoken.
“Who think sich?” Titay asked sharply.
“The women.”
“The women?”
“Cora.”
“Gimme them herbs. We break that fever and he live. You see.” Titay went to make the tea.
When they had sponged him and given him the tea, he slept in a deep sleep with even breathing.
“I mus make m’ rounds now and tend the other sick,” Titay said.
“Mus I stay heah lone?” Martha asked.
“I’ll send Ocie t’ set wid yuh. If he rouses, gi’e im tea or water. But I’ll be back directly.”
Titay hadn’t been gone long enough to attend one person before she returned. “How come yuh back so soon?” Martha asked.
“Trouble. That Cora spreadin evil. They sayin I harbor death. The stranger come t’ bring sickness to our people. Ain’t that why I found im, they say. No one’ll speak t’ me. They so scared they won’t let me tend the sick. Sayin I might spread sickness to em.”
“What yuh gon do, Granma?”
“Make im well! Mat, girl, if he die now I may as well die too, cause Cora’s way’ll bcome the way of the island.”
Martha knew Titay was worried when she went into the room and closed the door to do her communin.
The stranger still slept, his breathing even and quiet. Martha watched his brow and waited for the sweat that meant a fever was broken.
Shadows lengthened and the sounds deepened. Titay stayed in her room, and the stranger didn’t awaken. No one had stopped by to talk, to bring Titay little gifts or to ask Titay’s advice.
When the waiting had become almost unbearable, Titay began to move about in her room. Soon she came out and bent over the stranger. Then she smiled. “He better, but not best. We’ll wrap im in flannel and gi’e im mo tea.”
They waited. The moon shone in the small window and cast the shadow of the two women in the darkness over the bed of the stranger.
Finally Titay lit the lamp and said with great joy, “Hallelujah! He sweatin. He be all right. Mat, you go t’ bed.”
Trouble's Child Page 4