Just South of Home

by Karen Strong

  The Heritage Festival was an annual summer event, always held on the third Saturday in July to celebrate our community of Warrenville. Mrs. Greene already volunteered me to help out with her booth. It was also the time of year where the townsfolk of Warrenville, Alton, and all of Fairfield County had access to a slice of her famous red velvet cake. Mrs. Greene would take the money and make a donation to help the sick and shut-in. My grandma was also on the festival board. I’m sure she had voted against Mrs. Whitney’s booth.

  “Mrs. Whitney has gathered a wealth of knowledge about the history of this town. I believe you ladies could learn a lot from her by visiting,” Mama said.

  I smiled. In that moment, I received the stamp of approval to go inside the Train Depot.

  “Just remember, Sarah,” Daddy said. “No tall tales.”

  • • •

  The house remained quiet while Janie and Ellis slept. In the bathroom, I brushed out my hair, and it billowed away from my head like brown-red cotton candy. I parted my hair down the middle with the stick handle of my comb, and rubbed mango butter between my fingertips, then proceeded to braid it. Being left-handed, it took me longer to learn, but now I could plait and cornrow with the best of them. After I finished, I smoothed two long French braids around the curve of my neck and secured them with hair ties.

  When I walked into my bedroom, Janie was still burrowed underneath the covers. I quickly put on my training bra and pulled on my Andromeda T-shirt. This was the galaxy that was going to collide with our Milky Way. It would happen four billion years in the future, but sometimes that fact kept me up at night. After tugging on some shorts, I grabbed my flip-flops instead of my sneakers. Mama was right about my feet needing to breathe in this heat.

  I went downstairs and resumed watching the History of the Solar System series. For my birthday in September, Daddy was taking me to the science symposium in Atlanta and I couldn’t wait to go. I had already prepared several questions about natural variation and artificial selection. I was sad my plans for snuggling on the couch and studying the episodes were squashed with Janie’s prolonged stay.

  During the opening credits of the second episode, I heard Ellis trudging down the stairs. He came into the den and blocked my view of the TV.

  “Get out of the way,” I said.

  “I want to fry an egg.”

  “You need to eat the cereal I left out for you.”

  “I want a hot fried egg,” he whined.

  “Don’t be a baby, Ellis. Mama said you can’t cook anything.”

  “You can watch me. Isn’t that your job? To watch me?”

  “Eat the cereal,” I said. “Or you can eat air. Your choice.”

  Janie came down next, rubbing her eyes. She had on a red halter top and jean cutoff shorts. Her box braids hung around her shoulders.

  “Why is everyone up so early?”

  I looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost ten a.m. “It’s kind of late, Janie.”

  She sat in Daddy’s recliner and stared at the books stacked beside me on the couch. “Are you in summer school?”

  In addition to checking out books from the Warrenville public library, Daddy had bought me a thick book about NASA’s Cassini mission to Saturn. I was up to the moon Titan, which contained the right chemistry for life, even though the oceans were liquid methane.

  “I’m working on a research project,” I said. “I’m going to a science conference in September.”

  “Will you fry an egg for me?” Ellis asked Janie.

  “I hate eggs,” she replied.

  • • •

  After they ate, Janie went upstairs, and Ellis immediately started to work on his model car. My brother loved tearing things apart and then putting them back together. Daddy said it was a good sign of his engineering skills. Last year, when Ellis tore apart the toaster oven to see how it worked, Daddy decided to give him specific projects so he wouldn’t move on to bigger things like the washing machine or the lawn mower. Lately, Ellis had been building model cars.

  “When you get ready to paint that thing, you’ll have to go outside,” I said.

  “I know.”

  “You’re going to have to paint it on Mrs. Taylor’s porch,” I added.

  “Why?”

  “Janie and I are going to Town Square, and I can’t leave you here by yourself.”

  “I don’t wanna go to Mrs. Taylor’s house,” Ellis said. “It smells like cough syrup and musty feet.”

  “That’s the deal,” I said. “Unless you want to come with us.”

  “I’ll stay here,” Ellis grumbled.

  I went upstairs to get some of my allowance money. As I neared my doorway, I heard Janie’s voice. She was leaving a voice message for her mama.

  “Mom, it’s me. I called you late last night. I still wish you had let me come with you. I hate it so much here. Janie is a loser nerd, and Ellis is a whiny baby. I can’t wait until you come back and get me.”

  I leaned on the wall next to my doorway; anger crawled up my neck and made my face itchy and warm. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but it still hurt a little to hear Janie saying those mean things about me. I tried to remember the promise I’d made to Mama. I was going to be a good hostess even if Janie was a hostile guest. I made a coughing noise and shuffled my feet to let her know I was in the hall.

  “Okay, I better go,” Janie said. “Please call me back.”

  When I walked into the bedroom, Janie was sitting on the bed, shoulders slumped, her long braids hiding her face. She looked sad and lonely.

  “You still want to go to Town Square?” I asked.

  “Whatever.” She grabbed her backpack. “I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

  When she walked out of the room, I got some money out of a hidden compartment in my jewelry box. I no longer felt bad for hiding the money. Janie couldn’t be trusted. She didn’t even like us.

  I would have to deal with my cousin for two weeks: fourteen days of her complaining, 336 hours of her badmouthing my town, 20,160 minutes of her snooty I’m-better-than-everybody behavior. I could do this though. Earth was almost five billion years old. It could be worse.

  There was one thing Janie and I had in common. I couldn’t wait for Aunt Gina to come back to get her. Mrs. Greene said that you should love your blood kin, but you don’t have to like them. Right now, I liked my training bra more than Janie.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Silver Hands

  Janie and I walked out of my neighborhood to Main Street, then traveled across to the railroad tracks. The trains didn’t come through Warrenville anymore. Nothing much came through our town. Everyone worked or went to school in Alton, which was the Fairfield County seat. Not too many kids lived in Warrenville either. Ellis called it Old People Central. Jovita complained about this endlessly. We were always the only two girls on the school bus for the ride to Alton. Maybe this was the real reason we became friends. Jovita hated our small town, but I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Warrenville was somewhere I belonged. I liked the way everyone knew my name and my family. You always felt like you were home.

  “After I show you around, I have some money to buy us ice cream,” I said.

  Janie tugged on her backpack straps and sighed. “I told you I hate ice cream.”

  I wasn’t good at small talk. I usually stayed quiet and listened to Jovita talk about anything and everything. So right now, I didn’t know what to say in response to Janie’s negativity.

  “What do you like, then?” I asked. “Nail polish? Magazines?”

  “I can tell you what I don’t like,” Janie sneered. “Small country towns. Loser nerds who read space books.”

  The angry heat beneath my skin returned. Mama told me sometimes people say mean things because they’re sad. That didn’t mean it hurt any less.

  We walked in silence as Janie followed me down the railroad tracks to the Train Depot. The building was painted bright yellow with a brown tin roof; it was built like a shotgun house.
There were two entrances because during Jim Crow days there were two of everything. Now the Coloreds Only door was the entrance for the history center, and the Whites Only door was for the gift shop. A CLOSED sign hung in front of the window of the history center, so we went into the gift shop. A crystal chime tinkled above our heads, and both of us sighed in relief as soon as we felt the coolness of the air conditioner chugging away in a window. The wood floor gleamed in the sunlight. The shop was filled with all types of doodads. Canned jellies and chow-chow relish. Tall rotating towers of magnets and postcards clustered in front of a glass display counter.

  Janie’s face brightened with glee. My heart skipped a beat. My cousin with her pink backpack was in pickpocketing heaven. I would have to watch her sticky fingers closely and not let them out of my sight.

  In the back of the gift shop, a door creaked open, and Mrs. Whitney walked toward us. Her silver hair fell in tight curls across her shoulders, and blue eye shadow glimmered on her dark brown skin. Three thick necklaces draped over her white dress. The longest necklace had a large black stone. When she saw us, she touched it.

  “Sarah Greene. Welcome. I believe this is the first time I’ve seen you in my store.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said.

  “Is that Gina’s child with you?” She studied Janie, who frowned at her.

  “I have a name. It’s Janie.”

  Mrs. Whitney smiled. “Same name as the character in my favorite book.”

  “What book is that?” Janie asked.

  “Their Eyes Were Watching God. It’s a bit too grown for you to read right now, but one day it may speak to you. Maybe that’s who your mama named you after.”

  Janie cracked a small smile but quickly focused her attention back on a display of peach preserves.

  “Janie is visiting for two weeks,” I said. “I’m giving her a tour of Town Square.”

  “What a blessing,” Mrs. Whitney replied. “Take a look around and let me know if you need any help.”

  I followed Janie down one of the aisles. Her fingers moved across the merchandise, but nothing had gone into her pockets or her backpack. At least not yet.

  At the rear of the gift shop, strange red candles filled a shelf. Small statues of black Virgin Marys, their hands raised in praise were on another. There were small bags of cloth stuffed with fragrant herbs that filled my nose with sour scents. Janie reached out to touch them.

  “Leave it alone,” I said.

  “It’s just potpourri,” she snapped.

  “I don’t think so.”

  Next to the fragrant bags were several stuffed dolls with misshapen arms and mismatched buttons for eyes. The dolls had small horseshoes and four-leaf clovers sewn on their chests. They were creepy. The cold twinge on the back of my neck told me that these dolls weren’t made for playtime. These items didn’t seem like a gift you would give to someone. Not unless you wanted to scare them. Or curse them.

  A loud bump against the wall made both of us jump. After a muffled crash, the back door opened, and a tall boy with several boxes in his hands smiled at us.

  “Sarah, what are you doing here?”

  Jasper Johnson put down his boxes. He wore a dirty T-shirt and jeans. His ruddy brown skin was covered in sweat, but at least he had a fresh haircut, buzzed low with sharp geometric lines. His daddy was a barber and practiced a lot on Jasper’s head.

  Janie examined his clothes with disdain. “Who are you?”

  “This is my brother’s friend, Jasper,” I said. “He’s helping out Mrs. Whitney this summer.”

  “You must be Janie,” Jasper said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  My cousin crossed her arms and gave me a dirty look. “I bet you have.”

  “Why does Mrs. Whitney have all this creepy stuff in her store?” I asked.

  Jasper picked up his boxes. “Customer demand. You would be surprised who comes in here and buys this stuff.”

  We followed him over to the other side of the aisle. In the corner, we stopped at a hanging display of silver hands. They dangled like teardrops, a blue eye in the center of each palm. A small army of trinkets.

  “Take these, for instance.” Jasper cocked his head toward the display. “These are one of our best sellers.”

  Janie reached up and touched one. They made a musical sound that reminded me of Aunt Gina’s bracelets.

  “These are pretty,” Janie whispered.

  “Protection from the evil eye,” Mrs. Whitney said.

  Janie jerked her hand away from the display. The shop owner had sneaked up on us.

  “Evil is always around. Never sleeps,” Mrs. Whitney continued. “It’s our duty to be vigilant and to protect ourselves from it.”

  Janie tentatively reached back for a silver hand, rubbing her thumb over the blue eye. “Would this also protect you from haints?” Janie asked.

  Jasper dropped his boxes with a muffled boom, and I bent down to help him.

  “What do you know about haints, child?”

  “She doesn’t know anything about them,” I said.

  “Haints are restless ghosts. Right, Jasper?” Janie smiled at him.

  Jasper’s eyes widened. Daddy wouldn’t like it if he found out that Janie and Mrs. Whitney had talked about haints. So much for no tall tales.

  Mrs. Whitney touched the dark stone on her necklace again. “Haints are restless because they haven’t yet found peace, but you leave them be. Don’t mess with the spirit world, and it won’t mess with you.”

  “It’s time for us to go.” I pulled Janie away from the spooky hands.

  Mrs. Whitney followed us to the front of the store. “Girls, please do come back soon to visit the history center,” she said. “I might have a thing or two that may interest you.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Whitney.” I pushed Janie toward the door.

  We stumbled out of the Train Depot into the bright sun.

  “Mrs. Greene is right,” Janie said. “That lady is a root witch.”

  “She’s not a witch,” I said.

  I took Janie to Lucille’s Consignment Shop next. She wandered around the short aisles and complained about the old-lady clothes. I was thankful Lucille Hathaway wasn’t at the shop today. She was in her early eighties, with a sharp tongue. No doubt Mrs. Hathaway would have schooled my cousin on her lack of home training. Instead, her great-grandson Toby was taking care of the shop. He was home from college, and he blinked at us with no comment.

  At Loren’s Grocery, Janie made a ruckus because they didn’t carry any celebrity magazines. Sunnie Loren, one of the few high school girls who lived in Warrenville, popped her gum and nodded.

  “Who you telling? They wouldn’t know Vogue if it bit them on the toe,” she said.

  “How do you live here?” Janie asked. “I would go crazy.”

  “Biding my time,” Sunnie said. “I’ll be leaving soon.”

  They both got quiet when Mrs. Loren came from the back of the store. “That’s all this girl talks about. She can’t wait to escape into the big wide world.”

  Sunnie widened her eyes in alarm; her mama had overheard the conversation.

  “You don’t need a fancy magazine, child. Read this newspaper and get informed. On the house!” Mrs. Loren gave Janie the Alton Daily. Janie grumbled but stashed it in her pink backpack.

  I wanted to stop by the public library and pick up my requested books, but I didn’t want to give Janie the satisfaction of calling me a loser nerd again. I would have to come back another time.

  Our last stop was Dunbar’s Ice Cream Parlor. After looking through the cold glass at the different barrels of flavors, I decided on strawberry, my eternal favorite. Despite saying she hated ice cream, Janie let me buy her a scoop of rocky road.

  We sat in Marigold Park in the shade of the magnolia trees and ate our ice cream in silence. When I finished eating my cone, I stood up and stretched my legs.

  “Ready to get back to the house?” I asked her.

  “No,” she said. “
I want to go to Creek Church.”

  “We’re not going there,” I said quickly.

  “Why not?” she asked. “You said it was just a burned-down place.”

  “It is. Which means there’s nothing to see.”

  “So what’s the big deal, then?” Her mouth twisted into a cruel smile. “Are you scared of the haints? I thought you didn’t believe in any of that stuff?”

  “I don’t. It’s just that . . .” I faltered.

  Janie got up from the bench. “I think you’re scared, and you don’t want to admit it.”

  “There’s no reason for me to be scared,” I said.

  Ellis never provided any proof that haints existed. Not even a sliver of concrete evidence. It would be silly for me to let a ghost story trick my nervous system into being afraid. The probability of that place being haunted was too low.

  “Let’s check it out,” she said. “If you don’t want to go, I’ll go by myself.”

  “You don’t even know where it is,” I said.

  “This town isn’t that big. I’m sure I can find it.”

  I couldn’t let Janie go anywhere alone. The last thing I needed was Janie wandering the back roads. What if she got lost? What if she fell and twisted her ankle? Worse, what if she got caught walking around by herself? The grown folks network of Warrenville would contact Mama in a heartbeat, and she would blame me. I would be right back at Mrs. Greene’s house, raking up dirt.

  “Fine. I’ll take you,” I said. “But it’s going to be a total waste of time.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Creek Church

  Stop walking so slow,” Janie called over her shoulder at me.

  “You’re the one walking too fast.” I pressed my toes into my flip-flops and trotted behind her.

  The afternoon sun was bright and hot above us. Sweat stuck to my T-shirt, and my bra straps itched. When we got to Linnard Run, we stood and stared. It was more like an old dirt path than a road. Between two rotten wood posts, a broken, rusty chain was on the ground. The NO TRESPASSING sign glared like a warning in the sunlight, but it was a weak barrier. I saw tire tracks in the dried mud, and several discarded soda bottles and beer cans littered the bushes. Somebody had been visiting this place.