Rush Home Road

by Lori Lansens

  “Is your brother’s wife from Rusholme?”

  Rochelle shook her head and poured black coffee into large mugs. “Windsor.” She lowered her voice. “She’s white. But she’s all right. Not, well, not, you know, but she’s all right.”

  Addy understood what Rochelle meant and nodded. She wondered out loud how things were progressing with Isaac and Earl and the Caddy in the ditch.

  Rochelle rose to tend to the big pink ham in her oven. “We got plenty of room to put you up for the night.”

  “Oh thank you, but we’d never impose.”

  Rochelle basted her ham without turning around. “You’d do the same, wouldn’t you? So if they can’t get the car tonight, you’ll stay over and take care of things in the morning.”

  The women sipped their coffee and watched the girls swing on the tire. The front door opened and the sound of a screaming youngster pierced the quiet. The child ran bawling into the kitchen and into his aunt’s waiting arms. Rochelle kissed the head of dark curls and whispered, “What’s wrong, Darlin’? What is it?”

  The boy extracted his face from his aunt’s ample bosom just long enough to point a dirty finger at the pretty young white woman who’d followed him in. He opened his mouth and unleashed his vitriol, but no one in the room could make out a single word. The young woman set a casserole dish of baked beans on the stove and plopped down in a chair after nodding to Addy something between a greeting and an apology.

  Rochelle spoke over the crying boy’s head. “Addy, this is my brother’s wife, Tracy Johnson. And this here is Otis, but I still don’t know what’s wrong with my baby. Do I?” She held him close.

  Tracy offered her hand and said, “Sorry about the noise, Addy. We told our son he couldn’t play with his daddy’s jack knife. We’re mean parents and he hates us.”

  “I hate you!” Otis confirmed.

  Tracy rolled her eyes. “Sorry, Rochelle. He didn’t go down for his nap this aft. He’s been a bear. And,” she added loud enough to be heard over the crying, “if he doesn’t shape up we’re going straight back home.”

  Little Otis turned again and wagged a finger. “No.”

  “Don’t tell me no, Otis. A little boy does not tell his mother no.” Tracy meant business and Addy liked her for it.

  The man who entered the kitchen next was Rochelle’s young brother. He was average height but had considerable girth and the same round face of his father, Jonas Johnson. Addy stared. There was something familiar about the young man, something more than his resemblance to his father. It was his build, his walk, the way he looked at her. She knew him. Had he been at The Satellite that night and she’d forgotten? Did he deliver her groceries? She studied the young man, wishing her mind was young again.

  Rochelle’s brother smiled and nodded to Addy like it wasn’t strange to see her there staring at him.

  Rochelle squeezed her brother’s shoulder. “Addy Shadd, this is my brother, Cody.”

  “Mizz Shadd,” he said warmly, and extended his arm.

  Cody? Addy’s hand stopped in mid-air. Cody? Suddenly, she saw it—the same eyes, hidden between fleshy cave of lid and cheek, the same crooked smile, the same walk, the same talk, the same splayed legs. She didn’t know what to do or what to say, for how could she ask this stranger, whose acquaintance she just made, if he ever knew a girl named Collette and if the child playing out back on the tire swing could possibly be his daughter?

  Addy Shadd was old and confused and wrong, of course. She had to be wrong, for it would be most unlikely to find Sharla’s father when she wasn’t even looking, in a place she’d never considered. Then again, her whole life had been made up of unlikely occurrences. She shook Rochelle’s brother’s hand and told herself to stop staring.

  Cody didn’t stay long. When he heard about the Caddy in the ditch, he went off to see if he could help. Addy would have put the resemblance out of her mind right then and there had not Tracy Johnson herself looked out into the yard and remarked on there being something familiar about Sharla.

  Otis had asked to go play with the girls and Tracy said that was fine with her if that was fine with the girls. Nedda wasn’t pleased to see the little boy, as it meant sharing another turn on the swing, but Sharla didn’t mind and told Tracy, “He can take my turn.”

  Tracy saw that her son was in good hands before she returned to the kitchen, asking, “Who’s that little girl?”

  Addy knew she meant Sharla. “That’s Sharla.”

  “She from Rusholme?”

  Addy shook her head. “She lives with me at the Lakeview.”

  “She looks familiar.”

  Rochelle nodded. “I thought the same thing.”

  “You her Gramma, Addy?” Tracy asked.

  “We’re not blood related, but she’s mine, much as anyone can be anyone’s.”

  “Amen,” Rochelle said.

  “Where’s her mother?” Tracy asked, her eyes on her laughing son.

  Addy sighed and hesitated, then leaned back in the chair and told the women the story of Sharla. She told them how Sharla’s mother came around her trailer that day asking a stranger to take in her own daughter. She told them what Sharla told her about Emilio and Claude and the others. She told them about Collette’s letter, and how she knew she wasn’t ever coming back. And finally she told the women how she worried about who’d take Sharla when she was gone.

  “Well, Addy, you got a long time to worry about that,” Rochelle said.

  Tracy shook her head. “I can’t imagine a mother just leaving. Poor thing. Poor little thing.”

  “What about the child’s father?” Rochelle asked, just as the three men came tromping through the front door.

  Addy was close to telling the women that all she knew about Sharla’s father was his name was Cody, and that until today she’d always figured that was his last name. And she was close to asking didn’t they think Sharla Cody bore a striking resemblance to Cody Johnson. She almost declared, The Lord moves in mysterious ways, as she thought how Poppa would have said it must have been Heaven, and not Earl Bolton, that brought them to Rusholme today. She was glad the men came home and interrupted though, for she realized what she was thinking was only wishful and certainly not a polite thing to bring up in conversation.

  Earl was grateful to Isaac and Cody for their help, but Addy could tell from his face that his Caddy was still in the ditch. Earl figured it didn’t make much sense to get a drive back to the Lakeview then back again in the morning, and was grateful for Isaac and Rochelle’s offer of a bed for the night. “Besides,” Earl said, “it’ll give Adelaide here a chance to talk about old times.” Addy smiled at Earl and was glad for his friendship.

  Over a dinner of honey ham, baked beans, and fresh green peas, Sharla watched her Mum Addy, troubled by the look on her face and the way she was staring at Otis’s father. Sharla was even more troubled when she looked at Otis’s father and found he was staring at her. She planned to tell Mum Addy about that later when they were alone. For now, she smalled her eyes at Cody Johnson and made him look away.

  Isaac Williams was remembering the cold spring nights when the children would head down to the lake with nets and lanterns to scoop the running smelt. He recalled the time that Birdie Brown had felt so sorry for the caught fish she’d cried and L’il Leam promised he would never eat a smelt again. Isaac wondered out loud if L’il Leam kept his promise. If Addy had been paying attention, she would have told Isaac that her brother did keep his promise, as he kept all promises in his short life.

  If she’d been listening, Addy would have laughed to hear Rochelle say her mother’d been shocked to find crates of liquor buried out near the barn after her father’s death. Addy would have told Rochelle that Camille must have been the only person in Rusholme who didn’t know Teddy Bishop was a bootlegger. As it was, all Addy could do was stare at Cody Johnson and pray that what she suspected was true.

  It was the longest day of the year. The adults would brave the backyard bugs that
evening and wonder at how it could be nine o’clock at night but still bright as afternoon. They would wonder about many other things that night too.

  As the sun spilled her amber light into the big kitchen window, Cody Johnson gestured across the table at Sharla and inquired of his wife, “Do we know Sharla from somewhere?”

  Tracy didn’t tell him that she and Rochelle’d thought the same thing, for just then Otis spit a mouthful of peas across the table and Nedda begged, “Do it again!”

  Tracy shook her head. “No. NO. Otis Johnson, we do not spit at the table.”

  Otis stuffed another green spoonful into his mouth. Tracy didn’t look at him. “No one thinks you’re funny, Otis.”

  Otis turned to Sharla and Nedda. The girls hid their grins and Tracy said, “Look how nice Sharla’s eating. See how nice Sharla’s manners are?”

  Sharla decided to be helpful. “See, Otis? See how I put the peas in my mouth, then I chew with my mouth closed. See?” She chewed and swallowed. “No spittin’,” she added sternly.

  “No spittin’,” Otis repeated, and all the adults laughed in that unpredictable way they could.

  Addy’d been watching Cody watching Sharla and she didn’t know what to say or how to say it but something had to be said. “Sharla lives in Chatham with me. I’m her guardian.” Addy paused. “Since her mother’s been gone.”

  Cody nodded and returned to his food. Addy willed him to look up again. He stared at Sharla. “Something’s so familiar about her.”

  She looks like you, Addy screamed in her head. She looks just like you. Earl must have heard her silent scream, for just then he remarked to Cody, “She looks like you, Son.”

  There was silence at the table as they all looked back and forth from Cody to Cody. Rochelle saw it next, then Tracy, and finally Cody himself. When the resemblance was considered, it was arresting.

  Addy cleared her throat and didn’t know what all would happen when the truth came out, if it even was the truth. “Funny thing, Sharla’s last name is Cody. How’s that for a coincidence?”

  Sharla looked around the table and, because they were all staring, felt obliged to say, “My last name is Cody because my father’s name is Cody.”

  Tracy was watching her husband keenly now, for something had occurred to her when she saw Sharla sitting alongside Otis at the dinner table. A thought had crossed her mind, one she’d brushed away like a bothersome fly, that the two could be brother and sister.

  Cody Johnson couldn’t take his eyes off the girl now. He knew, or seemed to know, before Tracy asked the question. “What’s your mother’s name, Sharla?”

  Sharla looked around the table. Everyone was watching her, waiting. Earl and Isaac looked confused, but the women, even the two who couldn’t know, seemed to know what she would say.

  “Collette,” Sharla answered in a tiny voice, in case anyone was mad. “My mother’s name is Collette Depuis.”

  Cody did not drop his fork or his jaw as Addy thought he might. He simply nodded and returned to his dinner. Tracy smiled tightly at Addy and Rochelle and picked up her fork. Then she set her fork back down without taking a bite and rose from the table, scraping her chair.

  When Cody rose seconds later and followed his wife into the living room, Addy and Rochelle had a good idea what he was going to tell her.

  Earl Bolton shook his head, pierced a slice of ham with his fork, and remarked, “Funny them both being Codys,” without a trace of awareness.

  Home

  ADDY SHADD COULD NOT sleep that night. The bed was comfortable but the house unfamiliar and too quiet and dark. She rose, tied the housecoat Rochelle had given her snugly around her waist, and padded down the hall to look in on Sharla.

  Sharla and Nedda were asleep in the bunk beds the Williamses kept for their grandchildren. Addy moved quietly into the room and eased herself onto Sharla’s bed. Though she wanted to wake her and kiss her damp cheek, she knew it was best to let the little girl sleep. She watched Sharla’s chest rise and fall, and knew when her brow knit and her lips strained that she was struggling to win some battle in her dream. There will be more battles, Addy thought. That’s just what is.

  Addy tried to remember the words to the song her mother used to sing. Sleep Child, was all she could recall. Sleep, Sharla, she thought. And know that you are loved. Fight your dream demons and judge not and find joy living simply and simply living. I’ll always be here, Addy whispered silently. I’ll always love you.

  It was a cool night. The sky was cloudless and the moon and stars lit the Rusholme sky like they never could in Chatham. Addy wondered if she would wake the whole house if she tried to step outside to take the night air. The door creaked a little, but no one inside stirred as she made her way, barefoot, out to the lawn.

  If someone had seen her standing there, watching the sky as she was, they might have thought she was crazy, but if they’d ever done such a thing themselves, they’d know what she was looking for. There were no cars on the roads, no lights in the homes, and Addy thought how pleasant it would be to take a little walk around the town in her housecoat and bare feet. It wouldn’t be a proper thing to do, of course, but Addy didn’t care any more what was proper.

  When she reached Fowell Street Addy was puzzled, for Isaac had said the house was gone and there it was, the rocking chair on the front porch and the apple tree out back and the tea-stained lace curtains in all the windows, looking just right from the street. Addy nodded when she realized she was dreaming and was only glad to see her home again. She did hope her Mama and Daddy would not intrude on her dream though. She mostly just wanted to rock in the chair and think her thoughts about Sharla Cody and Cody Johnson and what tonight was going to mean to them all.

  Addy settled into the chair and remembered the last time her body felt the rocker, and her eyes saw from the porch, and her heart had been broken by the betrayal of all those she loved. But tonight she didn’t feel sorry or sad. She even changed her mind and wished her Mama and Daddy were inside the dream house and might come on out and talk as they did, about the neighbours, or the weather.

  When the front door opened, Addy wasn’t surprised to see L’il Leam there in his nightclothes. He looked as he’d looked the last time she saw him, small and spry and grinning. Addy giggled and felt like a child again herself.

  “What are you doing out here, Sister?” he whispered.

  “Just dreaming, Leam. And rocking. Just sitting here catching a little breeze.”

  Leam nodded and studied the sky. “You still scared of the moon, Adelaide?”

  Addy thought about that for a moment. “No. Right now, I don’t feel scared of anything at all.”

  “You know Sharla’s gonna be fine, don’t you?”

  Addy surprised herself when she answered, “Yes. Yes, I do know. Cody Johnson’s a good man. And that wife of his, she could love any child, you can see that.”

  “Sharla’ll have a brother. She’ll like that.”

  “Mostly she’ll like that,” Addy teased. “Sometimes she’ll wish she was a only child.” Addy turned her face to the moon and inhaled deeply before she realized she hadn’t done so in many years. “That old butter box is in my closet. There’s the photographs of Hamond and the boys and there’s Poppa’s ring and that curl of baby Leam’s hair and Chick’s first shoes and a love letter from Mose and the recipe for apple snow. That butter box is to go to Sharla.”

  Leam settled on the front step and leaned back on his elbows. “Isaac Williams’ll see that she gets it.” He turned to look at his sister. “You saw Chester’s grave.”

  “I did. I was shocked, Leam, but mostly because I was right. Mostly because a part of me knew his death wasn’t true.”

  Leam nodded. “Mostly we know the truth.”

  “Leam?” Addy waited until her brother looked at her. “You think Mose knew? About me and Hamond?”

  Leam tilted his head and didn’t have to say yes.

  Addy felt her heart skip. “You think he forgave m
e?”

  Addy shivered when she felt the hand on her shoulder. Leam glanced up and smiled as Addy followed his gaze. “Mose,” she whispered.

  Mose leaned down, taking Addy’s face in his big hands, saying, “My wife. I’ve missed you, Addy.”

  Addy wanted to rise to embrace her husband but felt rooted to the spot. She saw the moonlight in his good green eyes. “Oh, Mose, look at you. How come I never dream you old like me?”

  Mose kissed her lips. She smelled his smell and tasted him like it was real and happening. She reached up to touch his face and laughed to see her hand was not old and scarred but young and strong. “Mose,” she said again, then quietly, “Did you know, Mose?”

  “I knew, Addy. But only for a second, and only in the end.”

  “You forgive me?”

  Mose nodded. “I been waiting on you an awful long time.”

  “Waiting on me?” Addy laughed. “All the time we were married I was the one waiting on you.”

  Mose squeezed her hand. Addy inhaled and whispered, “Chick?”

  “She’s here. Everyone’s here.” Mose pointed inside the house. There were lights suddenly, and the sound of Ella Fitzgerald on the Baldwins’ phonograph, and the trill of laughter and the aroma of roast beef and strawberry pie.

  “Is it a party, Mose?”

  “That’s right, Adelaide. It’s a welcome home party.” He held out his hand.

  Addy took Mose’s hand and felt no creak of age in her bones as she rose. She waited, pausing at the door. “This is no dream, is it?”

  Mose touched her cheek.

  Addy took another deep breath. “Not what I expected at all.”

  Mose offered his arm to Addy like he did that first time at the station in Chatham, then he opened the door and guided her through.

  “Rusholme,” Addy whispered.