I punched him in the arm. He laughed. Behind us, the farmhands piled into a rusted and dented truck. Albert looked back over his shoulder before climbin’ into the back with the rest of them. The way he shook his head made my heart sink. I wanted to run over and tell him that I didn’t mean to get pregnant by Jimmy Lee and that I wished it was Jackson’s baby, but I knew that even thinkin’ that thought was wrong.
“I got somethin’ I wanna show you,” Jake said, and I followed him into the house, hidin’ my face behind the curtain of my hair.
Upstairs in his room, he opened a notebook and showed me a sketch of the inside of the barn, complete with mine and Maggie’s feet hangin’ over the loft, and the crack in the window.
“Oh, Jake, this is wonderful. How did you get such detail? Every strand of hay is perfect. I can practically smell the DDT on it.”
He shrugged.
“Did you show Daddy? I’d bet if you do, he’ll let you take those art classes you want.”
“No way,” he said and snagged the notebook back from me.
“But—”
“You’ve seen what he does. You saw how he treated Maggie. No way will I go up against him. No way.” He tucked the notebook into his desk and changed the subject, askin’ me what it felt like be pregnant.
“I feel like a fat girl. Don’t change the subject.”
He laughed.
“Seriously. Nothin’ fits, I waddle, and I can’t do anything about it.” If he could change the subject, so could I. Maybe Jake could help me figure out what to do about my husband disappearin’ every night. “Jake?”
He stood with his back to me.
“Jimmy Lee is drinkin’ all the time, and he comes home late every night. Are you hangin’ out with him and Corky?”
He turned around and sighed.
“Jake, you can tell me. I won’t get mad at you. Promise.”
He shook his head. “Corky hasn’t been out in two weeks. He cut his hand at the farm and is on some big time medicine. Can’t drink while he’s on it, so he just stays inside at night.”
“So, have you been with him?”
Jake shook his head. I suddenly felt like there was a lead balloon in my stomach instead of a baby in my womb. I lowered myself to sit on his bed. “Jake, what’s goin’ on? He said he’s been out with Corky all this time.”
Jake shrugged, and started for the stairs.
I couldn’t tether my risin’ voice. “What’s goin’ on? What’s he doin’?”
Mama opened the front door and hollered up the stairs. “Is everything alright up there?”
I stood with my arms crossed, starin’ at Jake.
“Fine,” I said to Mama. I heard her step back onto the porch as I pushed past Jake and hurried down the steps.
All I could think about on the way home was where Jimmy Lee was goin’ and what he was doin’. I stopped at the furniture store, somethin’ I hadn’t done in the weeks since we’d been married.
“Why, Alison, what a nice surprise.”
Mr. Kelly had worked at the furniture store forever. A widower who had a gift for makin’ himself seem important, he stood before me in a crisply-pressed, three-piece suit, his shoes perfectly shined. His chin maintained a constant tilt up, as if he was always lookin’ down his nose at you.
“Hi, Mr. Kelly. Thank you. Is Jimmy Lee here? I’d like to talk to him.”
He cocked his head as if I’d asked him if he had seen a five-legged cow. “No.” He offered no explanation.
“Do you know when he’ll be back?” I asked, bitin’ back my mountin’ anger.
“I think you’d better ask his uncle.”
His uncle? “Okay. Is Mr. Carlisle here?” The storeroom door opened, and Jackson’s mother stepped into the showroom. Her eyes dropped to my ever-expandin’ belly. She dropped her eyes to the floor and clasped her hands in front of her waist, waitin’ silently for Mr. Kelly’s attention.
“Yes?” he said, chin lifted.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Kelly, sir. I was just comin’ to tell you I was leavin’,” she said.
My legs locked. I fumbled with my purse and forced myself to move clumsily toward the door. “Thank you. I’ll…I’ll find him. Thank you.”
Chapter Twenty
The empty shoebox lay on the bed, the lid on top of my clothin’, which was strewn across the floor. My belongin’s were scattered around the bedroom like we’d been robbed. Jimmy Lee sat on the bed with his back to me, Maggie’s weekly letters unfolded on the pillows like public newspapers.
“What’s this shit?” he spat.
Maggie’s letters spoke of the ways she was helpin’ the colored folks, and the things she was plannin’. I never thought Jimmy Lee would actually rifle through my belongin’s, and yet, maybe I did, and that’s why I’d felt the need to hide them. “What are you doin’?” I hurried to the bedside and grabbed at Maggie’s letters, pullin’ ‘em toward me. “You had no right.”
He grabbed my wrist. “No right? I’m your husband. What is all this shit?” He pushed me away. My back hit the dresser. He grabbed one of the letters and read it aloud, “I’m so happy that you want to know what you can do to help with the civil rights movement.” He turned scorn-filled eyes toward me. “Civil rights? What are you doin’, Alison?”
I clamored for the letters. “Give me those. They’re my private letters. This is none of your business.” I hated myself for not throwin’ the darn things away, but the thought of discardin’ anything from Maggie saddened me. Now, I wish I hadn’t been so darned sentimental. I’d never make that mistake again.
He pushed me again; my back slammed against the wall and I fell to my knees, protectin’ my stomach, and cryin’ out in pain.
“This is my business. You wanna help those niggers? You? My wife?” He gathered the letters in his arms and tossed them in a bag. “You’re not goin’ to New York. You can forget it.”
I pushed to my feet, holdin’ the dresser for support. “I’d rather be there than here with you,” I cried. “I’m goin’ to see my sister, and you can’t do a darn thing about it. My father already bought the ticket.”
“I never should have married you! You’re a…a…charity case.”
“Charity case?” A lump lodged in my throat like a baseball. “My family has more class than yours ever will, the way you beat up those poor kids.” I pushed past the hurt in my back and the fear that made my entire body quake, and gathered my courage like a shield. “I know you and your uncle killed Mr. Bingham, too.” It was a guess, a weighted guess based on the things I’d learned about my husband and his uncle in recent weeks. I had hoped it wasn’t true, but the moment the words left my lips there was no question.
He was on me in seconds, pinnin’ me to the bed, my belly between us like an unwelcome border. Through gritted teeth he said, “Don’t push me, Alison. You don’t know shit. That nigger deserved to die.”
I struggled against his weight. “Get off of me. You’ll hurt the baby.”
“My wife ain’t gonna help no cotton-pickin’ niggers. You got it?”
Hate soared through me. My wrists felt like they were ready to snap beneath his weight.
“Got it?” he hollered. His knees dug into my thighs. “Or it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”
I had to do somethin’—to get out of there before he hurt the baby. “I got it. Okay, I get it,” I seethed.
He pushed his knees deeper into my thighs, until I cried out in pain. Then he climbed off of me with one last thrust , grabbed the bag of letters, and left the bedroom. I curled into a ball, my arms around my belly, and cried, wonderin’ what in the hell I should do next.
Chapter Twenty-One
I sat on the porch of my parents’ house the next afternoon thinkin’ about my life, and how it was spiralin’ out of control. I spent my days avoidin’ bein’ alone and my nights avoidin’ my drunken husband who thought I had to deal with havin’ our child on my own, like he wasn’t plannin’ on helpin’ at all. I felt so al
one. I searched for my daddy’s truck and found it parked near the fields. It was almost quittin’ time. I longed for him to call me his little girl and hug me tight. I needed to talk to Mama. She’d know what to do about Jimmy Lee. Loneliness was stranglin’ me, and I needed to find a lifeline before it was too late.
The farmhands walked toward the barn in pairs. I watched Albert, wonderin’ if Jackson was out of the service yet, and then felt guilty for wantin’ to know.
The screened porch door creaked open behind me. “Daddy’s got your train ticket purchased and ready for your trip next month. Are you waitin’ to see him?”
“No, actually. I wanted to see you.” We sat on the rockin’ chairs, side by side. “Mama, do you still see Albert’s mother?”
She looked out at the field, then down at her lap. When she finally lifted her eyes toward me, she said, “Yes, and Alison, I know Jimmy Lee and Jake hurt that boy. No doubt they were egged on by Corky or some other troublemaker.”
“You know about Jake?”
She nodded. “Surely you noticed how little time he’s spendin’ at home these days. I had a long talk with him.” She pressed the wrinkles in her dress against her thighs. “Jake tries to please your daddy, but he battles himself, too. He’s a sensitive boy, always has been. He knows what he did was wrong, but inside,” she put her hand over her heart, “he’s all confused. And now he’s avoidin’ me for settin’ him straight.”
“But what about Daddy?”
“Your father doesn’t know, and Jake isn’t gonna run to your father. He’s…more sensitive than that.” She inhaled and blew it out slowly.
“He’s just like Daddy.”
“No, he isn’t. Jake’s nothin’ like him. He just doesn’t know any way to connect with your father other than followin’ in his shoes.”
I didn’t understand. If she knew about Jake and Jimmy Lee, why did she allow me to marry him?
“So, you just overlooked what Jimmy Lee did altogether?”
“No,” she said. “I was very upset, and I had a talk with his mother. But, the truth of the matter is, that here, in this town, things aren’t gonna change anytime soon, and in life, we must pick our battles.”
I got up and paced the front porch. “But you let me marry him, so what you really mean is turn our backs on what’s happenin’, right?”
Mama stood behind me, her hand on the small of my back. “No, I mean do what we can, but not ruin our families in the process. You love Jimmy Lee, who am I to ruin that? We can’t change how people like your father and Jimmy Lee feel about equal rights. We can’t change how Jimmy Lee was brought up, but we can stop the cycle. We can make changes in the next generation and be kind on the other end of things.”
I turned toward Mama, my eyes wet. “I am the next generation.”
“Yes, you are.”
“But what if that’s not enough? I can’t look past it. I hate my husband more every time I see him.” My hands flew to my mouth, coverin’ it before anymore could slip out, and hidin’ the shame I felt for havin’ admitted my secret.
Mama reached out and took my hand in hers. “Alison Jean, you don’t mean that.”
A tear slipped down my cheek, fallin’ onto my blouse as I nodded my head. “Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, I do.”
“You must learn to deal with that hatred. Think of what he provides for you, what made you fall in love with him in the first place.”
“Mama, I keep thinkin’ about Maggie. She’s makin’ a difference, and workin’ hard at bein’ involved, and I’m here in this…this…cocoon of a town, pretendin’ things aren’t goin’ on around me.” I turned and watched the men at the barn. “My husband is hurtin’ boys, and men, just because their skin is a different color.”
“Oh, Alison. You’re not Maggie. Maggie is a different woman all together. She could no sooner settle down and have a baby than you could go to New York and change the world. You’re sewn from different fabric.”
Maybe Mama was right. Maybe I was just dreamin’, and I didn’t actually have the strength to do anything or evoke any changes in life.
“I guess.” I sighed, resignin’ myself to the life I’d created. “How do you get past it, Mama? When you are with Daddy, how do you forget how he treats them?”
“Your father isn’t beatin’ up anyone. He treats them fairly, he gives them secure jobs. He just holds them at a different social level than us. That’s very different.”
“Is it?” I asked.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I had looked forward to the train ride to New York, but after several hours of travelin’, the movement made me sleepy. I dozed on and off, thankful that there was not a passenger sittin’ next to me, though we picked up more at each stop along the way. The nearer we came to New York, the more color the leaves boasted. Glorious red and orange leaves waved from their branches. The crisp sky looked less dense than the Arkansas sky, and I wondered if that was because of the heat that seemed to linger in the south, or if it was just the unhappiness in me liftin’ itself off my shoulders. Jimmy Lee fell silent after our fight. He didn’t argue about me goin’ to see Maggie, and I didn’t press him about goin’ through my personal things. It was like there was a silent agreement between us to leave each other alone for a bit, and for that, I was thankful.
When I first stepped on the train, I was scared of travelin’ so far by myself. I wasn’t sure what to expect, though Maggie had assured me that no one would bother me. I brought a few books and when I wasn’t gazin’ out at the pretty landscape, I was nose down, escapin’ into the private world of John and Abigail Adams. Those Who Love had been recommended by Maggie, and I found myself enthralled with the love in those pages.
Each time the train stopped, I’d look around at the people goin’ off and comin’ on the train, and I’d wonder where they were headin’. I didn’t dare talk to anyone. All in all, I found the train relaxin’, like I was in the pages of my own adventure book.
Mama had sewn a small pillow for me to rest my head on, and another for my lower back, and surely I would have been in worse shape without them, but still, I was achy and uncomfortable as we neared my destination. I was surprised to see two colored men board the train and sit in the same car as me. I couldn’t help but keep glancin’ at them. Were they worried about sittin’ where the white folks sat? I didn’t think so. That must be what Jackson and Maggie had been talkin’ about. Things were different up here.
It was no wonder Maggie didn’t come home more often—by the time we reached New York, the twenty-two hour trip felt as though it would never end. Crowds of people disembarked, walkin’ fast, as if they all knew exactly where they were goin’. I felt as out of place as a pig in a horse trailer, and as lost as a blind cow.
“Pixie!” Maggie’s voice carried through the station like a familiar embrace. I saw her runnin’ toward me, dropped my bags to the floor, and fell into her open arms. “Let me see you!” She ran her eyes up and down my swollen body. “You are so beautiful,” she said.
My feet hurt, my belly was as big as a house, and I knew how awful I must have looked. Though I’d been tryin’ to ignore it, loomin’ on my shoulders was Jimmy Lee’s rage. Even the relief of seein’ Maggie and her compliments didn’t take away the hurt of my life.
“Come on,” she said, gatherin’ my bags. “Let’s get you to my place. I wanna hear all about your new married life.”
Cars raced by as we walked block after block toward Maggie’s apartment. Her hair had grown shaggier, and her skin shone bright. The walk didn’t seem to dampen her energy one bit, though it zapped what little I had left quicker than I realized. I had never seen so many people in one place. Several times I stopped and stared, in awe of the mixin’ of the races, and the sheer number of people on the street. Maggie tugged me forward, anxious to get to her apartment. I felt like a cow bein’ herded toward a barn. Everyone seemed to be goin’ somewhere in a hurry. I didn’t notice the chin-snub that was so common back home, and that, more than
anything else, made me wonder about this new place Maggie had made her home.
When we finally flagged down a streetcar with the money Daddy had given me, I fell into the black vinyl with a long-overdue sigh of exhaustion and took it all in. I ran my hands along the smooth, shiny seats. I’d never seen anything like it before. Daddy would be mad that we gave money to someone to drive us around. I could just hear his voice, That’s what God gave you legs for. I smiled to myself, missin’ him but knowin’ I’d have to keep yet another secret about what we used his money for. We took the streetcar for several blocks, and I marveled at the height of the buildin’s. Never before had I seen anyplace with so much concrete. Everything here was new to me, and I tried to make sense of this world that Maggie lived in. There was hardly any grass anywhere. Where did all those people get their eggs and beef? Maggie explained that in New York, everything came from markets, and there was no farmland in the city. I couldn’t wait to tell Mama about everything. I soaked it all in, memorizin’ the way the buildin’s looked, and even the insane honkin’ of the horns. Every buildin’ seemed to have a stream of people walkin’ in and out. Cars’ engines revved and lights flashed, and I was drawn into the energy of the area. By the time we reached Maggie’s apartment buildin’, my reservation had been replaced with curiosity.
We climbed five flights of narrow stairs up to the top floor of a very old buildin’. Plaster peeled from the walls, from cracks wider than my pinky finger, and snaked around the corners.
“Maggie, are you sure this is safe?” I asked, out of breath as we neared the top of the staircase.
“You’re such a farm girl,” she laughed. Maggie unlocked three locks and let us into an apartment, which was about the size of our bedroom back home. There was a tiny stove and refrigerator to the left of the door, and a window that looked across a span of about ten feet, and directly into the brick wall of the buildin’ next to us.
“My view of New York,” Maggie laughed. “Pix, wipe that pity off of your face. This is the most freedom I’ve had in twenty years.”
Have No Shame Page 12