Have No Shame

by Melissa Foster

  “You’re early, Pix.” My father climbed the porch steps, his stained t-shirt and overalls a wicked mess of dirt. That’s when the guilt hit me. As much as I disliked his disregard for the colored farmhands, I was still a Daddy’s girl, and I wanted nothin’ more than for him to reach out and pat my head, as he always did.

  He held his palms up. “Been fixin’ the tractor. Think your mama will mind?” he asked.

  “I think Mama’ll tell you to hose off out back,” I laughed.

  “You’re probably right,” he said as he touched my head. “I’ll be ready in twenty minutes.”

  As he walked inside, I looked up at the clear sky, glad there was no rain in the forecast. Our family’s income relied on the farm, and too much rain could wipe out our crops. My father listened to the weather on the radio every mornin’. The familiar tinny sounds made their way upstairs to my room. Some mornin’s I’d lay in my bed and listen, tryin’ to nod back off, until Mama woke me an hour later. When Maggie was still home, on really cold mornin’s, I’d crawl into bed with her and steal her warmth.

  I spent hours millin’ about the library, readin’ the backs of so many books I couldn’t keep track. I loved to sit between the rows of shelves, pullin’ book after book into my lap, and takin’ my time nosin’ through ‘em, lookin’ for the one that held voices that called out to me in a way I couldn’t turn away from. I’d run my fingers over the covers imaginin’ what I’d find inside. I was struck by how different I was from Maggie, who’d snag two or three books, leaf through the first few pages, and be ready to leave. To me, each book held the promise of a secret world, and disappearin’ into that world is simply delicious.

  Later that afternoon, the bus dropped me off two blocks from our house. I carried my library books down the long dirt road, the tips of my shoes covered in dust. I heard the pedalin’ of a bike behind me, and I walked to the edge of the road to let it pass.

  Jackson pulled up next to me and dropped his feet from the pedals. I whipped my head around, makin’ sure no one was watchin’. If Daddy had found out about us meetin’, he’d be sorely disappointed in me. I worried about him comin’ around the corner in his truck and scoopin’ me right off the road. God only knew what he’d do to Jackson. The thought sent a shiver up my spine. Luckily, there was no one in sight right then. My nerves were afire with trepidation, and somethin’ else that I hadn’t felt in quite some time—anticipation? As wrong as it might be, every time I thought of our first meetin’, I got hot all over, like blushin’ gone haywire. There was no mistakin’ the growin’ attraction within me, but I knew I needed to get my feelin’s in check and get back on track with what Daddy was expectin’ of me.

  It took all my strength to continue walkin’. “We can’t talk,” I said, and walked faster toward home. The last thing his family needed was more trouble.

  He stepped off his bike and hurried beside me. “Meet me later?”

  I wanted so badly to know how the funeral went, if his aunt had escaped town safely. I didn’t respond to him.

  “Please?”

  I glanced up and saw the same kindness that I’d seen the day before, the same open, hopeful smile, so different than what I’d seen in Jimmy Lee lately.

  “Where?” I asked.

  “Same place, by the creek. Later, after I work for your dad.”

  “It’s too dangerous.” My heart slammed against my chest. I stole a glance at him, still walkin’ as fast as I could. His smile slowly sank, his lips pressed into a disappointed line.

  “You’re the first person ‘round here who—oh, never mind.” He climbed back up on his bike, his muscular thighs burstin’ against his dark work pants. “I guess you are just like everyone else.”

  I watched him pedal away, dirt kickin’ up behind him in a billowin’ puff of smoke. I hugged my books to my chest, wishin’ I’d agreed to meet him.

  By the time I reached my house, Jackson was already helpin’ Daddy in the barn. His bicycle lay sideways across the grass next to Daddy’s truck. I went around the back of the house and found Mama takin’ clothes off of the dryin’ line and hummin’ a little tune. I plucked a few of the clothespins off of Daddy’s t-shirts and laid them in the basket, watchin’ her move through her chores as she had every day of my life. Had I not known her secret, I’d never have pictured Mama doin’ anything more than tendin’ to our meals, clothin’, and school needs. Mama was becomin’ someone else right before my eyes, and I wondered what other secrets she held. The more I thought about what I might not know about her, the more I wanted to share my burdens with her.

  “Mama?” I asked tentatively. “What if you knew who hurt Albert Johns? Would you do somethin’ about it?”

  She stopped hummin’, her eyes shot to the barn and back. When she answered, her voice was very quiet. I leaned in close to hear her.

  “That wouldn’t do any good. There’s no punishment for beatin’ up a colored boy.”

  Or killin’ a colored man. “But, how would you live with yourself? Knowin’ what someone had done and that they didn’t get punished?”

  Again her eyes shot across our property. She folded the sheet she had been holdin’ and came to my side. Mama took my hand in hers and walked me around to the other side of the house, out of sight from the barn. She reached in her apron pocket and pulled out an elastic band, wrapped it expertly around her fingers, then gathered her hair behind the nape of her neck, and fastened it in one quick movement.

  “Honey, no justice will be served for this. There’s nothin’ we can do or say that will make this attack be justly punished.” Again, she eyed the barn. “I shouldn’t have taken you with me. It was wrong of me. Please, if you do one thing, please just live your life and forget about this nonsense.”

  “It’s not nonsense, Mama, and I can’t even believe you are callin’ it that.”

  Mama remained quiet for so long, I feared I’d be punished for talkin’ back to her. When she looked back into my eyes, I saw so much more there than anger. They were drenched in defeat.

  “Honey, you’re too young to understand the dangers that make up this kind of thing.”

  “I’m not, Mama.” I paced beside her, adrenaline rushin’ through my veins. I had never stood up to either of my parents before, but I couldn’t stop myself. “Do you think that just because you and Daddy turn off the radio I don’t hear about what’s happenin’ in the world? Look at Mr. Bingham. He was murdered and the police didn’t even care.” The honesty felt good, even if it scared the hell out of me.

  “Alison, lower your voice.” Mama peered around the side of the house toward the barn. “Please, just keep yourself out of this mess. You have a good life ahead of you. Marry Jimmy Lee, have children, let this kind of thing work itself out.”

  “Work itself out? Well, can I do what you did? Can I help them?”

  “No.” She didn’t hesitate or soften her tone. Mama grabbed my arm and squeezed tight. She’d never before laid a hand on me. She meant business, and it frightened me. “You are never to do what I did, do you hear me? Alison Jean, promise me.”

  I tried to pull my arm away, but as confident as I had suddenly become, I had no strength to back it up. I relented. “Okay, I promise.” In my mind, I was already plannin’ my traipse down to the creek, more determined than ever to see how Jackson’s family was holdin’ up. I knew in my heart that I was doin’ the right thing, and though Mama feared for me, and was probably correct in doin’ so, I had to do what I felt was right.

  I helped Mama with the dishes, nervously lookin’ for Jackson through the window. He had no way of knowin’ that I would meet him. I’d denied that I would, after all. A plan formed in my mind. While Daddy listened to the radio in the other room, and Mama finished the dishes, I stepped out on the porch where I’d left my library books. I grabbed a pencil, tore a piece of paper from my notebook, and scribbled, I will be there. Then I peeked in the window to make sure Daddy was still seated in his chair, which he was, and I ran out to where Jackson�
��s bike was layin’ on the ground. My hands shook as I lifted the seat and tucked the slip of paper underneath. I hoped he’d understand what the note meant, and I hoped we wouldn’t get caught.

  Chapter Seven

  The sun hovered just above the horizon, illuminatin’ the sky in beautiful shades of blue, purple, and pink. I had been waitin’ for Jackson, watchin’ the sun set, and was ready to give up when I felt, more than heard, him behind me. My heartbeat sped up and set my legs tremblin’. I turned around and my eyes lingered over his sweat-laden muscles pressin’ against his drenched t-shirt. I felt a blush creepin’ up my cheeks, and I was powerless to move. The air between us was suddenly thick, uncomfortable.

  “You came?” he asked in a low voice.

  I nodded, feelin’ the heat of his gaze, the same longin’ desire I was tryin’ so desperately to hide. I turned away and sat down on a wide tree stump, hopin’ to quell the heat on my cheeks. He knelt at the creek bed and washed his hands in the fresh water.

  “Did it go okay?” I asked.

  He looked back and that heat of attraction hit me again. I smoothed my skirt, then patted my hair, worryin’ about if I looked pretty enough. I didn’t know what to do with the feelin’s I was havin’. The same heart racin’ excitement I’d felt for Jimmy Lee so long ago, only somethin’ deeper. I wasn’t only interested in Jackson’s looks, like I was with Jimmy Lee at first. I wanted to know everything about Jackson. I wanted to touch him, take my time, savor the feel of his hand, our fingers interlaced. I wanted him to whisper my name in my ear and set my nerves on end. I looked away, embarrassed. What I wanted was so wrong that it was even more excitin’. What on earth was I doin’?

  “Your pop’s real nice,” he said.

  My heart sunk. My father will kill me.

  “Albert should be back by next week, when I leave.”

  Another kick to my heart. He was leavin’.

  Jackson wiped his hands on his pants and sat on the stump next to me. My senses were in overdrive. Goose bumps rose on my arms. My hands fiddled like nervous fish in my lap. Stop over dramatizin’ things. Surely I was just mad at Jimmy Lee, confused, but I could not deny the desire to relax my shoulder, to let it touch his. Was I turnin’ into one of those easy girls Jimmy Lee talked about?

  “How was the funeral?” I asked, tryin’ to stop thinkin’ about the richness of the color of his skin, the way it glistened with sweat, so smooth I wanted to touch it.

  “Sad. My aunt was there, and no one bothered her. I guess they figured they’d done enough, killin’ her husband and runnin’ her out of town. And now she’s gone.”

  Reality appeared in the form of Byron Bingham’s bloated face in my mind. I shivered, the former heat of attraction lost in reality. “Where will she live?”

  He shrugged. “What does it matter? She’s lived here for thirty years, now she doesn’t.” He clenched his teeth, the muscles in his jaw pulsated. “I think she went to Mississippi with my other relatives.”

  “Then at least she won’t be alone.” I had the urge to soothe him. If he were one of the guys I had known durin’ school I’d probably have put my arm around him and told him it would all be okay, but there was an invisible line between us, and I was afraid to cross it.

  He turned to face me, the sound of the water tricklin’ fell away, his breathin’ fillin’ each pulse of my heart. I was unable to resist the urge to be closer, if only by emotional pull. I turned my shoulders toward him and lifted my gaze. Our eyes held.

  “True,” he said, wringin’ his hands.

  I watched his lips move, heard his words, but my mind was workin’ what it might feel like to kiss him, what it might taste like. I stumbled over my words, finally askin’, “And Albert? How is he?” A tinglin’ sensation traveled up my arms again. I inched away from him, hopin’ to slow my racin’ heart.

  “He’s hurtin’, but good. Scared. You know.” He sighed, a long, loud sigh, his eyes lookin’ at me, my own desires reflectin’ back. He pushed up from the stump, turnin’ his back to me like he, too, was fightin’ an urge more powerful than he could manage. “Life in Forrest Town. It is what it is.”

  “So when you’re done, with the war, I mean, where will you go?” I spoke just above a whisper, afraid of the answer. “Will you come back here?”

  He laughed, but it wasn’t a real laugh. It was more of somethin’ that I read to mean that he wasn’t stupid enough to come back, no matter what he might be leavin’ behind. “Not if I can help it. My friend Arthur invited me to New York, said he could get me a good job there. A real job, not in the fields or maintenance work, like what I could get here.”

  He held his hand out to help me off the stump. I took his hand and stood, holdin’ my breath, not knowin’ if I should let go or hold on. I wanted to hold on. He withdrew his hand, and I swear his eyes lingered on mine for a second. Then again, my heart was beatin’ so hard I might have just imagined it.

  We walked side by side along the bank of the creek. Each step measured, each breath calculated, so I could feel the energy that rode between us like an invisible tie.

  “How’s your mama doin’. I can’t imagine what she’s goin’ through. My mama would be a mess.”

  “She’s thinkin’ that she’s thankful that your mother is kind, even if your father is—” He wiped his forehead with his arm and sighed. “Even if your father is just like everyone else.”

  “You know about that? About my mama?”

  He put his hands on his hips and said, “Sure I know. I’m real thankful, too. Your mama is a really good person.”

  Fear suddenly gripped my chest. “Oh no, who else knows?”

  “No one who’s gonna say anything.”

  I crossed my arms and paced, my skirt swished in the silence. “No one can know about my mama,” I said. “I can’t even think about what could happen to her.” My voice rose, my words tumbled out fast and harsh. “You don’t understand. If Daddy finds out, he’ll—”

  He put his hands gently on my upper arms. Even through my sweater my skin warmed beneath his palms. He looked into my eyes and spoke just above a whisper. “Hey, hey. Did you forget who you’re talkin’ to? I do understand. If anyone does, I do. My brother, Mama, my aunt. We all do.”

  I don’t know why I did what I did next. He didn’t pull me forward. He didn’t push me away. My body relaxed into him and it felt like the most natural motion in the world. I leaned into his chest, my head restin’ on his sweat-damp shirt. He smelled of hay and perspiration. His chest trembled beneath my cheek, his hands moved slowly around me, comin’ to rest, hot and sure, on my lower back. I closed my eyes, feelin’ his heart pound against my cheek. Tears burned at the edges of my eyes. The warmth of his body and the tenderness of his touch were so different than when Jimmy Lee held me. With Jimmy Lee I was an afterthought, an imposition in his precious day, or a means to a climactic end. Jackson welcomed me, drank me in. He didn’t rush my need for comfort or push me away. He didn’t throw me down and push into me. He simply held me, as if I belonged right where I was.

  Chapter Eight

  Friday afternoon, Maggie pushed through the front door wearin’ clothes I didn’t recognize, and an expression to match. There was tension in her smile, and her normally laughin’ eyes were different, more serious. I rushed into her arms, and she swung me around.

  “Pixie! Oh, how I missed you.” She set me down, held my shoulders, and pushed away from me, surveyin’ me from head to toe. “Girl, you are one pretty, little thing! Gosh, look at you, all grown up!” She pushed my blond waves from my shoulder and cupped my cheek. “When you were little, one bat of those blue eyes used to get you everything you wanted from Daddy. I bet now they worry him somethin’ fierce. Boys must look at you everywhere you go.”

  My cheeks burned. “I missed you.”

  She grabbed my hand and touched my engagement ring. She squeezed my hand and said, “You’re sure about this?”

  “Waddaya mean?” I asked, wonderin’ if I was wear
in’ the changes in my feelin’s on my sleeve. Could she see the difference in me as clearly as I could feel it?

  “I haven’t seen you since you got engaged. Someone needs to look out for my little sister.” She squinted, “So, are you sure?”

  I’d been meetin’ Jackson down by the creek for several days, and though we had never embraced again, I was fully aware of my growin’ attraction toward his gentle nature and his knowledge of the world, which was so much bigger than mine. I found myself sittin’ on the stairs listenin’ to the news on the radio in the evenin’s. I wanted to answer Maggie with the truth: Not really. He’s different than he was, and my heart is pullin’ me toward someone else. Instead, aware of our parents watchin’ us, I said, “Yeah, and Daddy says he has a promisin’ future.”

  “Of course he does,” Maggie feigned a smile in his direction.

  “Enough of this. Come over here and give me a hug.” Mama’s cheeks were plumped up, pink with happiness. She opened her arms wide, and Maggie sank into them. They could have been sisters. I wished I had the beauty that they possessed. I wasn’t ugly, but they had a certain somethin’ that shined through dirt, worry, and fatigue. One day, I hoped. One day, I’d find that beauty in myself.

  “Pants?” Jake smirked.

  “They’re all the rage in New York, little brother.” Maggie twirled in a circle, hands by her head. She looked down at her slim figure in cotton pants that tapered to the knee then flared at the bottom. “It’s a whole different world out there, Jakey-poo.”

  Pants? Jakey-poo? It was like listenin’ to Maggie, only bigger—more outspoken than before—and she had an air of not carin’ what we thought. My eyes shot to Daddy, whose arms were crossed, his right hand rubbin’ his chin. I had a feelin’ that he was tryin’ to figure her out just as I was. I was definitely intrigued.