by Joy Redmond
As Daddy told the story, Carnikko’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Ya mean I came outta Mama’s butt?” she finally asked in astonishment.
“No,” Daddy said. “Ya came outta Mama’s baby hole.”
She didn’t know what Daddy was talking about, especially since he had a tendency to make things up as he went along, but when Daddy started talking about the strange alien-looking thing that he had thrown into the potbelly stove that morning, she wrinkled her brow and decided to ask Mama about it later so she could hear Mama’s side of the story.
When Daddy finished the story, Carnikko said, “Can we eat some eggs now, Daddy? I’m hungry.”
After Daddy had cooked the eggs, Carnikko sat on his lap at the kitchen table as they ate off the same plate. When they finished, Daddy stood Carnikko on the floor and said, “Ya better get back in bed while I go after yer mama and brothers. We don’t want yer mama to think ya was pretendin' to be sick so ya could stay home with me instead of goin' with her.”
Carnikko giggled and headed for the front room where she crawled back into Mama and Daddy’s bed. “I’ll act like I’m still asleep when Mama comes in,” she said as she pulled the quilts over her head.
Daddy laughed. “Ya better leave yer nose stickin' out or ya might not be breathin' when we get back.”
Carnikko giggled again as Daddy headed out the door.
Chapter Eleven
Carnikko bided her time, waiting for her and Mama to be alone before she asked about the morning she was born. One afternoon, Mama was sitting at the kitchen table, Daddy was at work, and the boys were off playing. She pulled out a chair, looked Mama in the eyes, then repeated Daddy’s story. Mama just shook her head and said, “I never saw whatever your daddy was talking about.”
“I bet he made that part up,” Carnikko said. “You know how he likes to add things to his stories. That’s why Grandma calls him a big fat liar.”
Mama patted Carnikko’s shoulder. “What Daddy called an alien is what would have been your twin sister, but she died before she finished growing. I know it’s the truth, because my mother saw it in a dream the morning you were born.”
“Grandma saw me bein' born?” Carnikko asked, her eyes wide.
“Yes, she did. Your grandma sees things in her dreams—she’s done that ever since she was a little girl.”
“Ya mean Grandma can tell what’s gonna happen from her dreams?” Carnikko asked.
“No, not things that are going to happen. She sees things in dreams that are happening at the time.”
“So if I fell down and broke my nose, Grandma would see it in her dreams?”
“No, honey. She only sees important things in her dreams—like when all of you kids were born. That’s how she always knew to come to me when I had a new baby. She said she’d already packed a bag and was waiting for Grandpa to finish milking the cows, and they were on their way before anybody could get word to them the morning you were born.”
“So, Grandma saw my dead twin sister?”
“Yes, honey. Mother called it a misconception, which means that it started out to be a baby, but it never grew big enough to be born,” Mama said sadly. Then added, “Oh, this is too much for a young child to understand. I wish your daddy hadn’t told you about it.”
Carnikko’s mind was reeling at the thought of being a twin. She would have loved to have a sister. Then an idea struck her. Maybe Purple Angel was her twin! She hadn’t grown big enough to be born, so she came to Carnikko as an angel—and that would explain why no one but her could see Purple Angel.
She was tempted to tell Mama about Purple Angel, but she decided not to. She really didn’t understand it yet herself, so it was best that she wait. And she thought that Mama might scold her for lying, then tell her to stop telling tall tales like Daddy did.
The summer days were hot and the house was suffocating. The house sat on four short brick pillars and there was plenty of room for the children to crawl under the house to play in the cool dirt. In fact, being under the house was usually cooler than under the elm tree, unless there was a strong breeze blowing.
Carnikko kept Evan entertained when Mama was busy, pulling him around the yard in their little red wagon. Evan loved it when Carnikko kicked at the chickens, sending them flapping and squawking away, feathers flying everywhere. Evan’s laughter warmed the cockles of her heart.
Daddy was generally in a bad mood when it was hot, but that summer he was even more erratic than usual. He got that faraway look in his eyes more often and he seemed to be lost in his own world. Many times Carnikko had to shake Daddy’s sleeve several times, hard, before he answered her. He also looked sad much of the time and no longer acted silly or told his funny stories.
As the summer got hotter, Daddy got meaner. He yelled at the boys, which made them cry, then he yelled because they were crying. He called them names: Tittybaby, Candyass, and Creampuff. When the boys got rowdy and loud, Daddy would yell, “I’m gonna slap the coon dog shit outta you two, then I’ll slap ya for shittin'!”
Saturday was still visiting day with Mammaw and Pappaw, but Daddy didn’t come back in the afternoons as he usually did after spending a few hours at the corner bar. When they went home, he didn’t want to listen to the Grand Ole Opry, and sing and dance with the children.
He rarely spoke to Mama, and when he did, he was hateful, and he would often yell, “I gotta lot on my mind, Rachel. Just shut yer pie hole and let me be. I can’t think straight when yer mouth is in high gear.”
Many times after Daddy yelled at the kids or Mama, he’d walk into the woods. Sometimes he took a cane pole and a can of fishing worms and fished out of Canoe Creek for hours. When he was done, he brought his catch home. When Daddy gutted the fish, he handed Carnikko the floats, and she popped them. It was like popping tiny balloons. Daddy was always in a good mood when he fried fish, and he acted silly with Carnikko.
He had dug a pit in the backyard and placed a wire shelf from an old icebox over it. He’d set an old cast iron skillet on the shelf, drop in a chunk of lard and fry the fish he had rolled in cornmeal.
One Friday afternoon, Daddy didn’t come home from work at his usual time. Carnikko paced the yard until dark, but he still didn’t come. Mama was in the wingback chair reading her Bible, and Carnikko knew Mama didn’t like to be bothered when she read, but she eased beside Mama and asked, “Is Daddy at a bar gettin' drunk?”
Mama patted Carnikko’s head, looked deeply into her innocent eyes, and her own eyes pooled with tears. “Daddy had to take a trip,” Mama answered, a sigh of desperation and agony escaping her lips.
Daddy returned the following Monday. He didn’t mention his trip, and Carnikko didn’t question. His mood told her it wouldn’t be a good idea.
Twice in the coming month, Daddy took trips, and Mama cried more than ever.
School began in early September, and Carnikko was glad she was going back, even though she hated school and the hateful kids. Home was becoming a place of frayed nerves, and tension seemed to hang in the air. Nobody could second-guess Daddy’s moods.
Carnikko got off the school bus in the afternoons, ran up the hill, kissed Mama and Evan, and told them about her day. Then she headed for the swing on the front porch to wait for Daddy. She squirmed, swung her legs and hummed, antsy to see the nose of the car climbing the hill. Daddy still sat beside her for a few minutes in the afternoons, but he didn’t have much to say, and she didn’t talk much either. She merely held his hand.
Two weeks after school began, Carnikko and Don got off the bus, ran up the steep hill, and saw Daddy’s car parked in the front yard. “Why’s Daddy home so early?” Carnikko mumbled.
“I dunno,” Don answered, “but I don’t wanna see him and I don’t wanna hear nothin' he’s got to say. I’m tired of him making Mama cry.”
Carnikko slowed her pace. As she neared the porch, her body shuddered. “Somebody stepped on my grave,” she whispered. Mammaw always said somebody stepped on her grave when her body
had an involuntary shudder.
She felt as if she were in slow motion as she climbed the three steps onto the porch and she wasn’t sure if she could feel the wood beneath her feet. She opened the screen door. What she saw inside made her freeze in her tracks.
Daddy was standing by the bed, dropping his clothes into paper grocery sacks.
Mama was sitting in the wingback chair, and her body shook with sobs.
Lee and Evan were crouched in a corner holding each other, and their eyes were wide.
Carnikko eased to Daddy’s side and softly asked, “Why ya puttin' clothes in sacks? Where ya goin'?”
Daddy stopped throwing his clothes, mopped his brow, and shook his head. Then he looked down into her eyes and reached for her hand. “I guess we need to have another talk, Punkin. Come out on the porch, and I’ll try to explain things the best I know how,” he said, his voice raspy and unfamiliar sounding.
He took a step, stopped, looked over his shoulder, and yelled, “Don, I need to talk to you too.” He looked in the corner. “Lee, I guess you need to hear—”
Don’s voice cut Daddy off before he finished his sentence. “I don’t wanna hear nothin' ya got to say,” he yelled. “Ya can jump in a lake, swallow a snake, and come out with a bellyache!”
Lee crouched farther against the wall.
Daddy’s jaw muscles tightened. “Fine! You two tittybabies can hang on to yer mama!” he said, as if he were ashamed his sons weren’t as brave as his little daughter.
Carnikko held Daddy’s hand as tightly as she could, but her palms were sweating and it was hard to keep a grasp. Her throat was dry, and she wondered if she would be able to swallow. She wanted a glass of water, but she didn’t dare mention it. She didn’t want Daddy to call her a tittybaby or a candyass.
They walked outside into the brightly shining sun, but Carnikko was peering through a haze. Daddy dropped into the swing, and she sat beside him, wondering if the sky was going to collapse on her head at any moment, and she would be like Chicken Little, running, yelling, “The sky is falling—the sky is falling!”
“Punkin, this ain’t gonna be easy for me to tell, so don’t start askin' a bunch of questions, and please don’t start yer bawlin'. Yer mama’s bawlin' is about all I can take,” he said, and shifted in the swing.
A knot formed in Carnikko’s throat, but she was determined to be strong, not cry, not act like a tittybaby and make Daddy mad.
“The shipyard where I work is closin' down. There ain’t enough business since the war ended, and I ain’t got no job there no more,” he said, lighting a cigarette, taking several deep draws, blowing smoke through his nose, and he got a faraway look in his eyes.
“If you ain’t got no job, how are we gonna get money?” she asked, wishing she hadn’t questioned after the words were out of her mouth.
Daddy took another draw from the cigarette, threw the butt into the yard, blew smoke through his nose, and lifted Carnikko onto his lap. “I got me another job—a good weldin' job, and it pays more money than I ever made before.”
Carnikko’s eyes brightened. “Then everything is gonna be okay! We’ll have more money and—”
Daddy placed his hand over her lips. “Hush, Punkin. Don’t go gettin' excited before I tell ya the rest,” he said, reaching for another cigarette.
She swallowed hard, and it felt as if sandpaper was scraping her tonsils.
“The job is in Indianapolis, Indiana. I have to live there, and I have to go by myself,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I won’t be able to come see ya very much because my old car won’t make a bunch of trips back and forth.”
Carnikko blinked back tears. “How far is Indiana?”
Daddy drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “It’s a long, long way, Punkin,” he said, pulling her close. “Now, I want ya to be a good girl, make good grades, and mind yer mama.” He slowly rose from the swing, stood a few seconds, and walked back inside the house.
A few minutes later, Daddy emerged carrying two sacks of clothes and passed Carnikko as if she wasn’t even there. He hurried down the steps, crossed the yard, and climbed into the car.
Carnikko felt as if she had fallen into a deep, dark hole and she only vaguely heard the car start and then roar down the hill, taking her daddy away.
The car was out of sight and the roar had long died away by the time Carnikko finally slid off the swing, walked slowly to the edge of the porch, waved her hand, and whimpered, “Bye, Daddy.”
She sank her body onto the top step, and tightly closed her eyes. “Come to me, Purple Angel. Give me wings.” Within moments, wings popped out and Carnikko began to flap them harder than ever before. She soared into the big blue sky and began to do loops and nosedives. She found that she could even fly upside-down. She wanted to fly and fly until she had no strength left, and then, when she was too tired to fly anymore, she wanted to crawl under the house, burrow in a hole, and sleep until Daddy came home again.
For two weeks, Carnikko methodically mulled through the days, oblivious to anything or anybody around her. At times, she felt as if she were outside of her body, watching, listening. Nothing was real.
One Sunday afternoon Don was sitting under the elm tree. Carnikko walked across the yard, eased beside him, and gently touched his arm. “Don, are you alright?” she whispered and patted his shoulder.
Don slapped her hand, jerked away, and yelled, “Leave me alone. Just let me be! I’m sick of ya actin' like ya turned to stone or yer deaf.”
Carnikko edged back, stunned.
Don began yelling again, “If you don’t stop all that bawlin', I’m goin' to have to hurt ya.” He made a fist and shook it in her face. His face was red, and he had a mean look in his eyes. Spittle flew as he continued to yell. “Yer just like Daddy. Grandma Winston said he’s evil and goin' straight to hell.”
Carnikko stood, placed her hands on her hips, and glared at Don. She had never been so livid as she yelled at the top of her lungs, “You take that back!”
“I ain’t gonna take nothin' back. It’s the truth. You and Daddy are both goin' to hell. Grandma and Grandpa said so,” he yelled. Then he stood, faced Carnikko, and balled his fists again.
“Me and Daddy ain’t goin' to hell. Them dang Winstons are—bible-thumpin'-turds!” Carnikko snapped, her face red with anger and indignation. She stood, and just as she was turning to walk away, she felt a hard blow to the back of her head. Then another blow landed in the middle of her back, knocking her to the ground. A moment later, she was being pummeled by Don’s fists as his long pent-up rage boiled over.
Mama’s high-pitched voice cut through the air. “Donald James Randall! Leave your sister alone!”
As Don let up, Carnikko scrambled to her feet and managed to land a hard left hook to her brother’s chin, accompanied by a hail of Daddy’s cuss words. Mama came running across the yard and pulled the children apart. Then she stood between them and scolded, “What on earth has gotten into you two? I’ve got enough trouble without having my own children fighting with each other. One of you is going get your mouth washed out with lye soap,” she said, grabbing each by an ear and dragging them across the yard. “Someday you’re going to be separated. You’ll miss each other more than you can imagine, and you’re going to be so sorry.”
Lee held the screen door open as Mama marched them up the steps. She pushed Don and Carnikko inside and said, “Don, go to your room and sit on the bed. Carnikko, get on your bed,” she said louder, pointing to the rollaway in the corner of the front room. “Neither one of you better move before I tell you to.”
As her two children did as they’d been told, Mama turned, walked back outside, and dropped down onto the porch swing beside Lee. “Lord, how much more can I stand?” Then she buried her head in her hands and began to sob.
Lee patted Mama’s arm and cried with her.
Carnikko sat on her bed, listening to Mama’s anguished sobs. It’s Don’s fault that Mama is upset, she thought. I hate h
im. I can’t wait for the day when I’ll never have to see him again. I’ll never forgive him for makin' Mama cry like that. He can just go south and suck a lemon. Then her thoughts changed. It really wasn’t Don’s fault. It was Daddy’s fault. He never should have left his family—job or no job.
Carnikko pouted the rest of the day.
The household was in bed for the night and Carnikko heard muffled sobs. She slid off her rollaway, crept across the floor, climbed into Mama’s bed, snuggled close, patted her arm and whispered, “Don’t cry, Mama. I love ya. I’ll love ya till the day I die. I’m sorry me and Don had a fight and got ya all upset,” she said, kissing Mama’s cheek.
Mama hugged Carnikko tightly. “I love ya too, Punkin,” she said through broken sobs.
“You ain’t ever called me Punkin before,” Carnikko whispered and snuggled closer.
“I know. That’s Daddy’s name for you, isn’t it?” she answered.
“That’s okay. I’m yer little Punkin now. Daddy don’t want me no more,” she said, trying not to cry and upset Mama more than she already was.
“Daddy wants you, honey. Daddy had to go where he could get work,” Mama said, her voice quivering.
Carnikko lay close to Mama’s warm body. She didn’t utter her feelings, but the angel’s voices were telling her that she wasn’t Daddy’s Punkin anymore—she never would be again.
Chapter Twelve
The months rolled on by, and the canned vegetables from the previous year were gone and so were the chickens and eggs. They had no source of transportation, and when none of the family came for them, the only way they had of getting to Bon Harbor was to walk the three miles to Canoe Cove, and flag down the Greyhound bus that made a daily run on Highway 41.
Daddy had promised Mama that he’d wire money every payday, but many times they made the trip to find little waiting at the Western Union office.