“I often come early,” he said. “I feel close t’ Tee heah in the mornins.”
A sadness flooded Martha. She felt ashamed that she had not realized that Beau would be as lonely and grieved as she was about losing Tee. She suddenly knew how separate men and women were on Blue Isle—and now she was uneasy because she knew if someone saw them there, it would be said that she had connived to meet him.
He must have sensed her distress. “I won’t stay, though there is somethin I gotta say t’ yuh.”
She lowered her eyes hoping that he, unlike the others, would not condemn her.
“Word is out yuh won’t take the stranger in marriage. I’m glad. I loved yuh, Mat, since I can remember. I fear, though, you won’t consider the likes o’ me. But I still care.”
It hurt to have him talk this way. She didn’t know how to respond.
He went on. “Have yo quiltin and I’ll take m’ chance.” He waited, then started toward the trail.
“Wait.” Her eyes on the sand, she said, “I don’t think I’ll have a quiltin. I don’t think I’ll marry … nobody, Beau.”
He started to walk away and she moved closer. “Please. Wait,” she said, still not looking at him. “I knowed you liked me, Beau, and I’m glad I got the chance t’ hear yuh say it. I hope we can talk sometimes and be friends.” She looked at him. “Can we?”
The seriousness on his face eased into a smile. “Oh, cha, of course. We friends.”
She watched him until he disappeared. Then she walked along the shore, thinking that she had a lot to learn about the men of her island. She thought of Tee, who had dared suggest that she consider leaving, and now Beau, who, in spite of what some people thought of her, would take his chance when she presented her quilt pattern.
Then she remembered Titay’s words: Who’ll want sich a hand? Where you go? Mongst strangers?
Beau wanted her hand. Maybe she should forget about going to school. A man want a woman that keep his way. What was a man’s way? What was Beau’s way? What if she showed her pattern? Would Beau’s father let him bid for a woman who wanted to go on learning? She knew she would take her lessons as long as the teacher gave them. Would Beau laugh and find her crazy if she sometimes spoke like Hal?
The thought of Hal made her angry and Titay’s words hit Martha hard: Mongst strangers? Would people away from here laugh at her? At the way she talked? At the way she looked? She ran down the shore as if to get away from herself and her confusing thoughts. She ran until she came to the path that led to home through the woods. She slowed as she neared the chinaberry tree. The loud talk and shouts of the women startled her.
“I don’t care what y’all say,” Ocie shouted. “I know what Mat done.”
I jus don’t want no Cora midwifin m’ granbaby,” Gert shouted.
“Tis m’ granbaby too,” Ode’s mother said.
“And nobody like Mat gon touch this chile. She always thought erself better’n us,” Ocie said. “So smart, lordin o’er us. And so uppity with that stranger. They say she leavin Blue Isle. I hope she do.”
Martha wanted to show herself to stop the talk, but she hesitated.
“Don’t talk sich trash,” Alicia shouted.
“She trash,” Ocie shouted back. “Let Titay say somethin t’ er and see if she listen t’ er own granma. Let Titay put er house in order. Tis like Cora say, Mat found somethin new wid that stranger, she’ll never be tame. No man’ll tame her.”
“Don’t bring that Cora filth heah, no,” Cam said angrily.
“I ain’t fuh fendin that Mat, no, but I don’t talk bout Titay,” Ocie’s mother said.
“Mat er own woman, yes,” Alicia said. “Titay can’t take Mat’s sins on her head, no.”
“You bes come t’ yo senses, Ocie, girl. That woman Cora no midwife, no,” Cam said.
“And no old woman who can’t handle er own grandaughter can’t do nothin fuh me. C’mon, Mama, le’s go.” They left, Ocie heavy with her unborn child.
Martha was too ashamed to let the women see her. She stayed on the edge of the woods, listening.
“I fear fuh that daughter-in-law o’ yourn, Gert,” Cam said. “Cora ain’t measure her yet, one time; she eat all wrong, yes. Nothin but sugar cane. No greens, no liver, no oranges. Titay make you eat all them things, yes.”
“What Cora know?” Alicia asked. “Bet she ain’t even pared good clean goose grease. What she know? Evil spirits hinder birth. So she say put nine bags round the stomach and spread special potion on birthin bed.”
“Can’t tell that Ocie nothin, neither her mama. They den-thick with that woman, Cora.” Gert waved her hands in the air then grabbed her head and cried, “Ocie, too big. She swell up. That’s no good. I tell er, see Titay ’fo tis too late.”
“She blieve in Cora’s magic. Cora tell er no pain,” Cam said, and all the women laughed.
“Taint funny fuh Ocie, no,” Gert said. “I fear, really fear.”
Martha approached the tree and when the women saw her they became quiet, their eyes on her. Martha’s heart pounded as she hurried by, her eyes averted from their stares.
Just as she came to the commissary, Hal was walking up the path from the Gulf. He waved to her, but she pretended that she didn’t see him, hastening her footsteps. Since the evening she had said she would not marry him, she had kept plenty of space between them.
At home she went directly to her room, not wanting to face Titay. She closed her door softly, hoping Titay would not know she had come. She lay on her bed confused and miserable. Ocie hate me. Trustin Cora wid er life.
The silent treatment was getting her down. She closed her eyes, trying to shut it all out of her mind. She knew she had to get away from this place, but she felt empty, dry, lost, with a great desire to go, but no plan.
Suddenly she jumped from her bed and rummaged through the crate that served as a desk. She found pencil and paper and began to write:
Miss Boudreaux, Dear teacher. Please help me go away from here. I will work hard for just room and board and time to go to school. For the sake of my life, I have to go. I thank you very much. Sincerely.
She reread what she had written and wondered what her teacher would think. She looked at the word Sincerely. She erased it and added, Humbly, Martha Dumas.
Hurriedly she sealed it. She ran out of the house toward the commissary. Ovide was just leaving as she came up. “Ovide, Ovide, please! For the teacher, yes. I be happy for her answer, yes. Please.”
She watched him place her letter in his pocket and felt a mixture of satisfaction and anxiety. Now she must wait.
FOURTEEN
That Saturday night the moon cast shadows and silhouetted trees. The scent of crushed magnolia blossoms and honeysuckle filled the humid air with an overpowering sweetness. The air was hot and sticky. Moisture clung to Martha and mosquitoes buzzed around her, in spite of smoke rising from rags set to smolder. In the heat and stillness the least noise was heightened.
Drumbeats were heard throughout the island. Laughter and occasional shouts brought the gaiety of Cora’s toe-party to Martha’s front porch. Martha felt a loneliness tugging at her that she could not dispel. She did not want to go to Cora’s party, would not have gone had she been invited; but being treated as if she did not exist was taking its toll. Martha sighed.
It had been more than a week now and no word had come from her teacher in response to her letter. Not even acknowledgement of receipt. It was hard for her to refrain from asking Ovide if he had delivered it. She hoped he had given it to Miss Boudreaux right away.
Now she was more worried than ever that she would never get away from the Gulf, from the woods, and the women who could never understand her longings.
The tempo of the drums increased and laughter and shouts grew louder. Martha worried that the noise might disturb Titay, who had gone to bed earlier. Her grandmother had not been herself since Ocie called her unfit to serve as midwife. Titay’s reason for being was to serve.
Martha tho
ught of Titay’s pleading with her to bring peace to the island. She felt sorry that she still had not convinced her grandmother that it was best for her to go away. What if she did not find a place? She didn’t see how she could say she had sinned, have a quilting and get married. Suddenly she felt that fate had dealt too serious a blow to one who only wanted to know what was beyond this little island.
Sustained shouts and laughter led her to believe that toe-buying was underway at Cora’s party. The women, behind a curtain, would show only their toes. A man could choose toes and claim the lady for a dance after paying a price. Was Ocie there? Maybe Beau and Hal were there too, laughing and enjoying the fun. She imagined Beau choosing toes, seeing to whom they belonged, and refusing to buy.
Ocie’s large sad eyes loomed in Martha’s mind. Ocie’s baby was overdue now. Her hands, feet and legs were terribly swollen and she lacked that glow that crowns many women in the last stages of pregnancy. But Ocie had been grieved, alone and lonely. This thought made Martha sad. She hoped Ocie was at the party having fun too.
It was almost midnight when Martha left her porch for bed. The driving rhythm of the drums, laughter and the rolling Gulf filled the island with a droning sound of happiness.
Titay had already gone to church when Martha woke. It was still hot and sticky; the village quiet was in sharp contrast to the gay sounds of the night before. Martha busied herself preparing the Sunday dinner.
If only there was something to do, some place to go. She recalled how, as children she and Ocie went on long Sunday afternoon walks with Tee and Beau to pick flowers and play games in wooded meadows. What had happened now that they were men and women with nothing fun to do? How did this happen to them? Too few of us, she thought. Or maybe it was the way of the island. Could she be friends with Beau without being his wife? Or anybody’s wife?
When she had finished preparing the food she wished to escape her hot house and sit in the shade of the chinaberry tree. But she did not want to risk an encounter, especially with the churchgoers.
As she stood in her front door, listening to the waves rolling in and out, she dreamed she was miles away.
Afternoon crawled toward evening. Titay did not come for dinner. When Martha finally decided to eat alone, the food was cold. Why didn’t someone come by to ask for her grandmother, or just to say hello? She sat on the back porch trying to catch a cool breeze, but there was no air stirring.
Then the silence was shattered by a knock on her front door and a frantic call for Titay. Gert was there, in worn house shoes, her hair uncombed.
“Where Titay?”
“She ain’t come home all day. Not since church, no.”
“Where she at?” Gert cried.
“Yuh know Granma. She could be anywhere.”
“If she come heah, quick, tell er Ocie been laborin two days n one night. I want Titay. She mus come.” Gert left running, her shoes making a flopping sound.
Two days. Can’t be, Martha thought. Cora had a party last night. Surely she would have been with Ocie. Then Martha was ashamed of having thought Cora would neglect her patient. Ocie probably had false alarms and there had been plenty of time for Cora to go back and forth to make sure all was well. But Titay was a constant midwife who liked to be completely free when a mother was even near labor.
Big moths fluttered against the screen door. She watched, wishing her grandmother would come home.
Finally Titay came. She greeted Martha and started toward her room. The old heaviness rose in Martha’s chest and she longed to cry out to her grandmother. Care bout me. I can’t help the way I am. Try, Granma, you all I got. But she said only, “Good night, Granma.” Then suddenly she cried out, “Ocie need you!”
“I know Ocie in labor. Gert found me.”
“You not go?”
“I go if Ocie or her midwife send fuh me.”
“It might be bad, Granma.”
“Yuh mus know I don’t choose. A midwife is choosed; she can’t force a mother. If Ocie call, I go.”
“But Ocie might not know better.”
“In life ignance no excuse. I say t’ er, come see me. That I do. That’s all. She choosed Cora. I bide by that.” Titay went into her room.
When Titay closed her door the house seemed more silent than ever, and Martha felt the full force of her grandmother’s independence. Did she have a right to refuse to go unless called? Then Martha remembered the day she had heard Ocie say Titay could do nothing for her. But Cora was not a safe midwife. Women who wanted children did not go to Cora.…
Martha lay on her bed in the darkness listening to the familiar sounds that crept into her silent world. Ocie need her husband, she thought, and it was hard for her to hold back the tears.
Martha clapped her hands and stamped her feet, urging the couple on. Ocie was dancing the courting dance. She was dancing the part of the man, doing all kinds of intricate steps, turning, twisting and twirling to the beat of the drums. The drums beat faster, then faster, faster still.
Why was Ocie’s partner doing the woman’s dance? Then Ocie’s partner fell down and cried, “Hep me, dance fuh me.” Martha knew she must help. She pushed but the crowd held her back. The partner cried again, “Martha, hep me.” Martha knew it was Tee and she pushed and shoved to get to him as his voice became louder and louder.
Martha sprang up in her bed, drenched with sweat. Her room was flooded with the light of the moon. She realized she had gone to sleep fully clothed. Remembering the dream, she shivered in the heat.
She lay back down on her bed but could not rest. Finally she went into the front of the house. There were no crickets, no frogs sounding their songs. The quiet was eerie. It was as though nature was holding. The light of the moon cast deep blue shadows and Martha felt that she was alone in the world.
Suddenly there was a long shrill wail that pierced the calm of the village. Martha’s heart stopped for a second and then she cried, “Ocie!”
She rushed to her grandmother’s door. But before she knocked the door opened. Martha was surprised: her grandmother too was fully dressed. Before words passed between, another unceasing scream broke into cries that filled Martha with anguish and urgency. “That’s Ocie, Granma. You gotta hep.”
“I’m ready, but they gotta call.”
“How can yuh say that? Go!”
“Don’t yuh judge me. You learn this now. I can’t go. What if I’m not wanted n be in the way? I can’t vilate no other midwife. I won’t go lessen I’m called.”
The cries stopped. Martha stood ready to shield herself from the possible recurrence of the wracking scream. Then came the sound of running footsteps, headed toward their door. The heavy steps were combined with a deep voice calling, “Miss Titay, Miss Titay!”
Ocie’s father burst through the open door. “Please come. Save Ocie.” Then he broke into sobs.
“I’ll come too, Granma,” Martha said.
When they arrived Martha was shocked at the lack of concerned activity. Ocie’s mother sat in the kitchen, off in a corner, dazed, while Gert sat at the table, moaning softly. Cora rushed from the bedroom where Ocie lay. “Why you heah?” she demanded. “Who call fuh you?”
“I brung er. Now you move out the way.” Ocie’s father spoke with such force that Cora scurried from the door. Titay rushed in.
Martha gasped when she saw Ocie weakly thrashing, entangled in the bedding. Her eyes were closed.
“Oh, my God,” Martha cried. “We too late, Granma.”
Titay was already assessing, looking for signs of life. Ocie opened her eyes and tried to speak. Her mouth opened, but no sound came. Her eyes were pleading when she issued a long sigh.
“Le’s git busy n save this baby,” Titay said.
Martha helped Titay prepare for the delicate but strenuous task of turning and withdrawing the baby from its mother. There was not the usual quiet, tender, relaxed timing. Titay barked orders and Martha obeyed. Then there was a small boy quickly severed from the cord. Titay labored f
rantically to give him life. “Get Gert,” she cried. When Martha returned with Gert, Titay had a crying baby, wrapped. “Heah, hold im in yo arms, caress im now. Touch im, hold im close. His mama’s no mo.”
Titay turned away from Gert. Martha rushed to her grandmother and took her in her arms and the two women let their pent-up anguish dissolve in their tears. Finally as Titay was leaving, she said to Martha, “Take charge o’ cleanin up heah now.”
Tears stole silently down Martha’s cheeks while her mind raged. She was tormented by angry questions for Cora and the women who had stood by as Ocie moved steadily toward this tragic ordeal. But she had no time now for grief, no time for anger. This one time in her life she was glad for the ritual, and she plunged in to do the things she thought made no sense, things that had never been explained so that she understood.
Quickly she covered all the mirrors in the house. It was urgent that Ocie’s spirit depart without its reflection being trapped in them. While covering the mirrors she called for someone to go for Cam, who could serve as a wet nurse. As Ocie’s baby snuggled to Cam’s breast, Martha was satisfied: he was a strong, eager eater. He would survive.
In no time at all other women were there to help. At first they stood around, skeptical of Martha, wanting to know why Titay was not there.
As Martha assigned duties it was as if she were now trapped in Titay’s ways. Her voice and her body movements were alien to her. Step by step, she prepared Ocie’s body for the wake to be held that night and for the burial that would follow the next day. Balm oil and spices were mixed for anointing; the winding sheet folded and draped. When the body was laid face toward the rising sun, Martha slipped a picture of Tee and a pair of knitted boots Ocie had made for the baby into Ocie’s hands. They would make her journey less lonely.
Then the house had to be cleansed thoroughly. The room in which Ocie had died had to be emptied of all furnishings, the bed placed in the sun for purification and the walls and floor scrubbed. Now the women worked with ease, but with some awe at Martha’s efficiency.
“Ain’t that girl jus like Titay?” one of them said.
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