“So you’re the new boy,” she said, the cigarette bouncing shedding ashes. She moved her tongue around under her lower lip to reposition the glob of chew. “Well, you’re welcome here, boy. Momma Birch will take good care of you.”
Quietly, like a ventriloquist, Matt said, “Like hell she will,” as his elbow bumped my ribcage.
She looked at Matt. “Now Matt, my boy, don’t you go telling any lies about me, you hear?”
“No, Momma Birch,” Matt replied, jabbing me again. I was definitely in foster hell.
Mrs. Bracket said, “I’ll wait in the car for you, Jory, while Mrs. Birch shows you around a bit, and then we’ll head back.”
I could tell Mrs. Bracket was not thrilled about this place, not at all. She wanted to escape to the car while leaving me to fend for myself—thanks a lot, lady. My pleading eyes made no difference. She walked away, and the three of us went inside the house. It was a horrible mess with junk scattered everywhere. Dirty dishes, pots, and pans were all over the kitchen counters. Beer cans with cigarette butts squashed on the tops and dishes with cigarette butts decorated the living room. There was even a bra hanging on a chair back, which Matt pointed to, snickered, and nudged me as we walked past it. We got to Matt’s bedroom and I saw two sets of bunk beds with stuff everywhere.
“Matt, I told you to clean this room up.”
“Yes, Momma Birch,” he said obligingly. When I heard him say those words, I knew then that I could never call that woman Momma.
She looked at me. “Matt will have this cleaned up by the time you get here, and you’ll have your own bed.”
No! I won’t, never! My heart pounded, and as she led us out to the porch, all I could think about was her trying to look at me down there when I took a bath. Immediately, my mind began formulating different plans, none of which included ever returning.
“Matt, you can walk him to the car. We’ll see you next week, boy,” she said as she stepped inside the house.
Stepping off the porch, I said quietly, “No, you won’t, lady. Not ever.”
Matt looked at me. “You ain’t coming here?”
“No way. I’ll never be back, so don’t go and clean up your room. You won’t be seeing me again.”
Matt stopped short. I thought maybe he was going to rat on me. He just smiled and held his hand up for a slap of approval. As our palms touched, he said, “Good luck, man. Just wish the hell I was going with you. If you ever need a sidekick, I’m ready.”
6
Grandpa
EVERYONE TOOK THEIR DISHES to the sink and helped clear the table, while Bess scraped the rest of the chicken and dumplings into a covered bowl. I asked if there was any way I could help, and Bess said not tonight, for I was their guest. She told Mayhew, Lucilla, and I to go see what Moses was up to, so the three of us went to the biggest room on the boat, which I figured was the living room.
It was as wide as the boat, which I guessed was about fifteen feet, and somewhat longer than wide. There were windows on both sides, and a door with glass and a curtain at the front along with a big window. There was a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf full of books on the back wall and a big couch on one side under the window. There was a narrow table jutting out from the wall. On it were paper, pencils, paints, paintbrushes, a ruler, compass, and triangles. There was a board with a T-square, and taped to it was a piece of graph paper with an airplane drawn on it.
A double oil lamp attached to the wall hung over the couch, another double table lamp rested on the drawing table, and a floor lamp sat next to an old easy chair. Moses was sitting in the chair with a book on his lap and glasses perched on his nose.
Moses looked over his glasses. “Mayhew, why don’t you show Jory some of your drawings? You, too, Lucilla.”
We walked to the table and Mayhew took a notebook from the drawer. Opening it, he showed me drawings of boats, planes, houses, and cars. Some of them were in color.
“Wow!” I said. “These are great. How long have you been drawing?”
“Ever since I came to live with Grandpa. He showed me how. It’s pretty easy.”
“No, it isn’t,” Moses said, “Mayhew learned quickly, and he’s getting better all the time. But it’s not easy; he’s just very good.” Mayhew smiled.
“Lucilla, show Jory your flowers and trees,” Moses said.
“Do I have to?”
“No, but I’m betting Jory would really like to see them.”
“I really would, Lucilla.”
Embarrassed, she pushed another notebook in my direction. I opened it and the first page was a single daisy filling the entire paper. The petals were bright yellow and the stem and leaves looked real. On one petal was a beetle. The next page was a huge cypress tree with cypress knees sticking out of the water. There was page after page of beautiful flowers and trees and some insects and birds.
I looked at her. “I could never draw this good. I sure wish I could.”
She smiled. “They aren’t really that good.”
“Oh, yes they are,” said Moses. “You both are talented artists, and one day you’ll see how good you really are. Maybe even be professional artists.
“Oh, Grandpa. I’m never going to be an artist. T’ain’t no Negro artists anywhere,” Lucilla said.
Moses looked directly at her over his glasses. “You want to try that last sentence again, please?”
“Sorry, Grandpa. There aren’t any Negro artists anywhere.”
Moses smiled. “Oh, but there are, sweetheart. Talent has nothing to do with the color of your skin. You’ll see one day.”
Bess joined us in the room and looked at me. “Jory, I think while you’re here with us, we’ll just be your grandma and grandpa, if that’s okay?”
I felt bashful and nodded my head. “I’d like that.”
Moses laughed. “Never thought I’d have a white grandson, but I sure like the idea.”
“Moses Kent, now you stop being silly,” Bess said sternly.
“Yes, Mother Bess,” he said, looking back into his book.
“Lucilla,” Bess said, “go get your book and let’s continue.”
Lucilla ran to her room and came back quickly. She jumped into the chair with Bess. Bess wrapped her arms around Lucilla, opened their book, and began reading quietly. After a minute or two she said, “Okay, you continue.” Lucilla began reading. It was just like Dad and me when we would read to each other. I wanted Dad to meet Moses and Bess so much.
Mayhew showed me how to line up a piece of paper using the T-square and tape the corners to the drawing board. He taught me how to use some of the triangles and S-shaped drawing templates. I drew an airplane that didn’t look much like an airplane, although Mayhew said it was fine for a first try.
I said to Mayhew, “Your name is really unusual. I really like it.”
“I don’t,” he said.
“Why not?”
“Because it reminds me of my mom and dad. My mom’s name is May, and my dad’s is Matthew, so they named me Mayhew.”
“I really like it.”
Moses was listening. “Come over here, Mayhew. You, too, Jory.”
Moses sat up, reached out for Mayhew, and lifted him to sit on his lap. He pulled Mayhew into his chest. I stood alongside the chair with my hand on the armrest. Mayhew leaned into Moses and rested his cheek on his grandpa’s shoulder. I could tell he loved being on his grandpa’s lap just as I loved to be on my dad’s lap. I envied Mayhew and missed my dad terribly.
“I’m an old man,” Moses said. “You two are very young.”
Mayhew pushed at Moses. “You ain’t…I mean, you aren’t old, Grandpa. You just have wrinkles.”
Moses laughed. “
That I
do.” He knew the fear Mayhew harbored. “
I
may be old, Mayhew, but you don’t have to worry none. Those wrinkles aren’t going to take me away anytime soon. I’m sticking around at least until I have you and Lucilla all grown up.”
&nbs
p; I saw a smile grow on Mayhew’s face. This was the assurance he wanted—Moses would always be there for them. He placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed us both. “You boys have regal names. In the book Moby Dick, Mayhew is the captain of the whaling ship named Jeroboam. He warned Captain Ahab about Moby Dick, but the captain didn’t listen.”
“Wow,” Mayhew said.
Tipping his head and looking at me, Moses said, “And I have a notion the name, Jory, has a meaning, but I sure don’t know what it might be. Am I right?”
I smiled. “Yes. My daddy told me it means ‘the earth’.”
Moses slapped the arm of his chair. “I knew it. A name like that just had to have a wonderful meaning. You see, boys, there is nothing typical about Mayhew or Jory. Take pride in your names.”
Lucilla said, “Hey, maybe we should call Mayhew ‘Captain’ and Jory ‘Mother Earth’.”
Bess said, “Perhaps ‘Father Earth’ would be better. Jory doesn’t quite look like a mom.” We all laughed. When Moses laughed, it was almost like I was hearing my dad. Oh, how I wished Moses and my dad could meet.
“How’d you get your name, Grandpa?” Mayhew asked.
He chuckled. “My momma was going to name me Noah, but she feared I might cause a flood, for she’d been in a big one. She figured someone who could part the sea would be just as good, so she gave me the name Moses. I reckon since I can’t control a storm, I best not try to part a river.”
Moses pulled me close and rubbed my shoulder. He must have been reading my mind, or perhaps because he had just curbed the fear in Mayhew, he felt the fear in me. “And don’t you worry, Jory, Moses will help you figure something out.” He looked down at me as I turned my head up to look into his brown eyes. “Since I have two children in this house who call me Grandpa, I think you should, too, like Bess said, least while you’re here. How would that be?”
I replied with a huge smile and a nod as my heart swelled to bursting.
“All right, now. Time for bed,” Bess said. “Jory, you can sleep here on the couch, or you can sleep in Mayhew’s room on the floor on some pillows.”
“He can sleep with me, Grandma. I’ll just scooch over,” Mayhew said.
“That’s mighty nice of you, Mayhew. Looks like you have three choices, Jory.”
“I’ll sleep with Mayhew.”
“Okay, you three, you can each have two oatmeal cookies and a half glass of milk.”
After our cookies and milk disappeared, I followed Mayhew and Lucilla to the living room where they both gave Moses and Bess a hug and kiss goodnight. “Don’t forget your prayers,” Moses said softly. He looked at me. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Mr. Kent.”
“Now what did I tell you? I’m no ‘Mr. Kent.’”
“Goodnight…Grandpa,” I said shyly. It felt a little strange, calling the man my grandpa, but he only smiled.
“Now that’s better, son,” he replied. I liked the sound of ‘son’. “But I need a hug, if it’s okay?”
I entered his open arms, and I didn’t want to let go. I was secure, protected. I squeezed him hard as he rubbed my back and whispered, “Don’t you worry, Jory. Things will work out.” My vision blurred with tears.
We hugged Bess, and she bestowed a kiss on each of our foreheads.
A moment after we got to Mayhew’s room, Bess showed up with a folded pair of pajamas and another pillow. “These are for you, Jory.”
I thanked her, and she bent down and gave me another quick hug.
Mayhew and I turned our backs to each other as we undressed and put on our PJs. I quickly put on the top to hide the money pouch. We crawled into bed and talked. Mayhew got up, blew out the kerosene lamp, explained the bathroom procedure, and climbed back in. I closed my eyes. I felt snug and sleepy, but I knew this was not for keeps. I lay beside a boy who had lost his dad in a different way, maybe even a worse way; but he wasn’t left alone. He had Moses, Bess, and his sister—a family, a permanent family. I fell asleep wishing I were as lucky.
We woke to the smell of bacon.
“It’s Saturday,” Mayhew said. “We always get bacon on Saturdays.”
On the desk were two sets of clean clothes obviously put there by Bess. I let Mayhew dress first to delay taking off my pajama top. He left the bedroom, and I put on the jeans and shirt and then headed
for the kitchen. Bess was slicing a slab of bacon and adding the thin strips to the sizzling pan. Moses sat at the table with a book and a cup of black coffee, which smelled good.
“Good morning, boys,” he said.
“Good morning, Grandpa,” Mayhew replied.
I looked at Moses. “Good morning…” Moses tilted his head as his eyebrows rose. “…Grandpa,” I said. He smiled and nodded.
Lucilla came in, and we all sat down, anxious for breakfast. Bess pulled perfectly browned, crispy slices of bacon out of the frying pan and placed them on a piece of newspaper. On a flat pan were pieces of homemade bread toasting, and Bess turned them over at just the right moment.
“Who wants scrambled and who wants fried?” she asked.
Sun poured through the windows. The storm had passed, leaving us with a beautiful new day. I knew it would soon be time to prepare my things and leave; it would be hard to say goodbye.
7
This Moment
THEIR BOAT WAS THE BIGGEST SMALL houseboat imaginable. Everything seemed to have its place, and not one inch was wasted. The rear deck was a workshop. There were grinders for sharpening saws and a chest of drawers with all kinds of tools, and things I didn’t even know the names of were hanging from the wooden ceiling. One side had a wall, but the storm had disregarded both roof and wall, for everything was wet.
Moses was busy wiping down all his tools with an oily rag. There were saws and saw blades hanging on the wall, which he had already wiped clean. There was a sharpening stone the size of a car tire on a heavy frame with bicycle pedals below it and a smaller stone with a foot-operated board and arm that would make it spin. I couldn’t wait to watch him sharpen a saw. A huge anvil, shiny from being rubbed down with oil, sat like a sentinel in charge.
My boat had a few inches of water in it, with my things floating about or sunk. It was a mess. I took of my shoes, pulled up my pant legs, got in, and lifted my backpack from the water about the time Moses came over. He assessed the situation, saw the expression on my face, and said, “I think the first order of business here is to get your things dried off and the boat bailed out. What do you think?”
I handed everything to Mayhew. As we removed my bike, he told me it looked pretty neat, and I told him he was welcome to ride it anytime. There were cans and bottles of food everywhere, and wet bags of bread and cookies. My cooking kit was in pieces; I rinsed it off and put it together. Mayhew was amazed at how it all became one container fitting snugly inside a canvas-carrying harness.
When I handed Moses the wet backpack, he said, “This looks like a military backpack, the real thing.”
“It is. It was my dad’s when he was in the army.”
“Can always tell the real thing,” he said.
Everything was out of the boat and spread around the back deck to dry, including the contents of the backpack. Moses said, “Looks to me like you have just about everything you need to be on your own.” I nodded proudly. “You’re a mighty brave young lad, Jory.”
Bess eyed the mess drying on the bench, floor, deck rails, and hanging over everything else. “My, my, looks like my laundry basket gone mad. I think I best wash some of this.”
“No ma’am,” I assured her, “it only needs to dry out.”
“It’s all been soaking in the dirty water and needs washing.” She gathered my wet clothes, towels, and blanket.
“I need to get going,” I said, “so you don’t have to wash my things, really.”
“Well, now, if you’re going, you’ll be going with clean clothes.”
Mayhew helped me bail the boat. When we finished, he asked, “Grandpa, can
I ride the bike?”
“Fine with me, but let’s oil up the chain and wheels.”
After Moses oiled the bike, Mayhew held the doors open while I pushed it carefully through the kitchen and living room to the front deck. The houseboat was tied to two posts about ten feet from the bank. The grassy bank was a good two feet above the water, and I could see where the wave action had dug out underneath the bank in many places. Halfway from the boat and the bank was a smaller pair of posts with a board nailed to them, which supported a two-board ramp from the bank to the front deck. I carefully pushed the bike down the ramp.
The grassy area was four or five times the size of the houseboat, and in the middle was a circle of campfire rocks, a small stack of firewood, and two logs to sit on. I imagined sitting around a campfire with Mayhew and the rest of them, and the thought made me wish so badly that I could stay. A path crossed the grassy area and disappeared into the trees, and another went into the trees paralleling the bank.
Mayhew pointed to the second path. “That’s the day potty path. Just down a ways, there’s the potty. It’s like an outhouse without walls. Every now and then, Grandpa will fill it in and move it a little so it don’t smell.” He pointed to the other route. “That path takes you to the road.”
He glanced at me as if I was supposed to get some hint. “Okay if I take a ride?” he finally asked.
I handed the bike over to him. “Sure.”
He hopped on and took off down the path toward the road. When he came back, he was riding full out, and he hit the brake hard. “Wow! Nice bike.”
I smiled with pride before I asked how far away the town was. He said it was probably a half-mile to the road, and a few miles to town. He thought we could probably convince Moses to let us ride to town. He wanted to practice doubling up. I told him it would be easy unless the ground was soft. I got on, and he sat on the fender guard over the rear wheel where my backpack would normally rest. It wasn’t a big deal having him on the back, since I was used to riding with the heavy backpack. I pedaled fast; he was anxious to see if Moses would let us go to town.
My Water Path Page 3