Have No Shame

by Melissa Foster

  “Tell Arma to boil water,” she snapped. “Now!”

  Tinsel ran the last fifty feet toward the house.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Eight children huddled around the kitchen table, and three women stood by the sink. Worried eyes ran over me, whispers spoken behind close hands as I was led through the tiny kitchen and laid on a mattress in the smallest bedroom I’d ever seen. The walls, adorned with five pictures of young children, nearly touched the sides of the double bed. My eyes were drawn to a picture of a young boy whose kind eyes I’d recognize in the dark. Jackson. A deep pain began in my back and slipped across my belly like two giant hands, squeezing as strong as they could. I wrapped my arms around my stomach and pushed against it.

  Patricia rushed from the room, immediately attacked by harsh whispers and strong inquisitions. Who’s that? Why’s she here? Dangerous! Too big a chance. I couldn’t take my eyes off of Jackson’s face. I cried out as every muscle pulled together, squeezing my baby within me. Patricia rushed back to my bedside carrying a pot of steaming water and towels.

  I lifted my head and saw sixteen eyes, wide and curious, in the doorway.

  “Get back!” Patricia swatted at them, pushing the door partway closed. She skillfully pulled my legs apart and said, “You’re gonna have this child, and you need to pay attention now.”

  I couldn’t look at her. The pain ran so deep and debilitating that I clenched the bedside and grit my teeth, straining the muscles in my arms until they rocked my shoulders. “It’s too early!” I cried, shaking my head from side to side.

  “Child, you don’t decide when this baby comes. This baby is gonna come whether you like it or not, and I’ll tell you, you’d better give in to it or it’s gonna rip you apart.”

  I blew fast hard breaths through my teeth. “What about Maggie? My mama?”

  “I ain’t leavin’ your side. Not with my son lookin’ down on me.” She felt my belly like she’d done it a hundred times before. “Your baby’s just about ready. Don’t think my boy don’t tell me things. I know all ‘bout you two.” She looked up at the picture of young Jackson, and swallowed hard. “He loves you...he loved you. So, I love you. It’s the way it works with kin.”

  Another hard contraction gripped my body.

  “Breathe, child, breathe. You gotta get air to that baby. That’s right,” she said. “Breathe in, and out, in and out.”

  “It hurts too much. I gotta get this baby out,” I cried.

  “Not yet, darlin’. You just let this baby come when it’s ready. Don’t force it.”

  “It’s too early. Somethin’s wrong. I’m not due for another month.”

  The front door opened and there was a flurry of voices. Maggie.

  “Maggie!” I yelled, then clenched with another contraction. “Maggie,” I said through clenched teeth. “Help me.”

  Maggie came into the tiny room and climbed around me to the other side of the bed. She sat next to me. “Breathe, Pixie, breathe. That’s a girl. In and out.”

  She thanked Patricia, who made a what-else-was-I-to-do face.

  “It hurts so much,” I whined through the pain.

  “I know, Pixie. Think of somethin’ good. Think of the barn, and the fun we’ve had. Think of your weddin’ day.”

  I glared at her.

  “Oh, right, no don’t think of that.” Maggie looked at the photos on the wall, and I watched as she swallowed hard, like she was willing tears away. “Is that Jackson?” she asked.

  Patricia nodded.

  “He was a good man.”

  “Don’t count him as gone yet. Not ‘til we find him.”

  Maggie nodded, and then brushed my hair from my sweaty forehead.

  “Jimmy Lee’s out there with his uncle. They’re right alongside the Klan. They’re not wearin’ white robes, but they’re givin’ ‘em orders. The police have gone haywire.”

  “That ain’t no peaceful march, that’s for damn sure,” Patricia said.

  My belly squeezed and I grabbed Maggie’s hand so hard she yelped.

  “Can’t we do anything for her?” Maggie asked.

  “We just gotta let this baby do what it’s gonna do.”

  “What about a doctor? Doesn’t she need one? Doc Warden? He might help.” Maggie said.

  “Doc Warden won’t go near that nightmare of a street. He’s the only doc we got, and he’s too smart to get hisself killed.”

  The door creaked open and a set of little eyes peeked in. Tinsel.

  “Boy, you better get your butt outta here. Arma!” Patricia called. A teenage girl came to the door and took Tinsel’s hand, leading him away.

  “Sorry, Mama. I’ll keep him out here,” she said and blinked her thick, long eyelashes. She closed the door behind her.

  “Now, I’m gonna have to take a look down there,” Patricia said in a way that left no room for complaint, just as my mama woulda done.

  I closed my eyes as she pulled my pants off and then removed my panties. “Oh, child,” she said. “You in luck. This baby wants out and soon.”

  Maggie laughed, and pain tore through me, stealing any coherent thoughts I might have had. I clenched my eyes shut.

  “Breathe, child, breathe!” Patricia commanded. “You gotta breathe or you’ll pass out.”

  “I gotta push. I gotta get it out. It hurts. Please!” I cried.

  Patricia used the hot water to wash me down there, and she spread clean towels underneath me.

  “Arma!” Patricia hollered. Arma peered into the door with a scared look in her eyes.

  “Tell Sharon to heat the towels.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The door closed with a hurried clank!

  “How did you,” pant, pant, “know where I was?” pant, pant, I asked Maggie.

  “Albert told me he sent someone to tell Patricia that you were sick, and when I couldn’t find you, I knew she’d taken care of you.” Maggie kissed my forehead. “Pixie, I would never have let you go if I’d known that was gonna happen.”

  “That’s what happens when brothers get angry.” Patricia kept one hand anchored to my calf. “I heard that they were the group from up north. They were tryin’ to get a jump on the snipers. I guess the jump was on them.” Patricia shook her head. “This nonsense has gotta stop. There’s gotta be a way.”

  “This will help. I’m sure of it. There’s only a handful of police in this area. They can’t hold everyone back.” Maggie said.

  Another contraction sent the baby’s head down between my legs. “Get it out!” I screamed. I could feel Patricia pulling and prodding the baby, wiggling its shoulders until suddenly there was a burst of freedom and the baby slid out from inside me with a whoosh of relief.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” Patricia stared down at the baby.

  “What?” I cried. “What? What’s wrong?” I grabbed Maggie’s hand. “Is the baby okay? I can’t hear it. The baby’s not cryin’!”

  I held Maggie so tight she couldn’t move to see the baby.

  “Child, you in trouble now.” Patricia worked down below cleaning the baby. She called for Sharon, who rushed in with fresh towels in her arms.

  “Goodness!” Sharon shrieked. She handed the towels to Patricia, who caught her eyes and frowned.

  “That’s enough now,” Patricia said in a harsh tone.

  Sharon looked at me, then back at the baby. “I heated the towels with the iron, they’re nice and warm.”

  Patricia bundled the baby and told Sharon to come into the room and close the door. “It’s a boy. You’ve got a son,” Patricia said. I sensed fear in her tone.

  “What’s goin’ on?” I demanded. “Maggie!” I dropped her arm and struggled to sit up.

  Maggie slid off the end of the bed next to Patricia. The baby’s cries came in quick, sharp bursts.

  “Oh, thank God. Thank God.” I cried, and fell back on the pillow.

  “Pixie?” Maggie said. She squeezed behind Patricia and Sharon and leaned down to speak to me, inches from my f
ace. “Pixie, who is the father of your baby?” she whispered.

  Had she lost her mind? “What kinda question’s that? Jimmy Lee is the father!”

  “Look at me, Pix. It’s me. You can trust me. Who is the father of this baby?” She turned her head toward Patricia and I followed her gaze to my bundled baby held close to Patricia’s chest. Patricia leaned forward, and my baby’s jet black hair, and skin as smooth and dark as cocoa, came into view. I didn’t fully understand what all the fuss was about, until Patricia brought the baby closer to me, and I saw my baby’s wide-set nose and full lips. Even through the tiny slit of his eyes I saw the resemblance to his father.

  “Girl, you cannot take this baby home. They’ll kill you, your baby, and the baby’s father.” Patricia put her hand on the baby’s chest and whispered, “A blessin’ and a life sentence, all in one.”

  “They can’t touch his father. He’s already dead.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Even with the madness taking place just a mile down the road, with Joshua at my breast, I felt the pieces of my life come together in a way that I never understood they could. The baby I had carried and felt was separate from me, a being made not of love, but of duty, had instantly latched onto my heart and made me whole. This wasn’t a baby of duty at all. Joshua was made from the very essence of love.

  Maggie sat on the side of the bed, her hands on her knees, her face a mask of worry. “I don’t understand, Pixie. How? When?”

  “Before I got married,” I admitted.

  Maggie shook her head. “Then, why did you marry Jimmy Lee?”

  “You can’t blame her,” Patricia said. “Love can only endure so much. Imagine your father if she said she was in love with a colored man. Imagine her life. Girl, there was no way this could’ve come to be.” Patricia had cleaned up the baby, and she’d sent Sharon out back with a plastic bag containing the bloodied sheets, towels, and the afterbirth. She was to bury the whole mess in the back yard.

  “You can’t take this baby home, Pix,” Maggie said. “Jimmy Lee will kill you, you know that.”

  “What am I supposed to do, leave my baby here?”

  “Pixie, remember Mr. Bingham? His wife? Remember what’s goin’ on down the street? No way, Pix, no way you’re leavin’ this house with that baby.”

  “I’m not leavin’ my Joshua.”

  “Joshua?” Maggie asked.

  “Joshua.”

  Maggie leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “You can’t even support a baby alone, and what do you think’s gonna happen? Jimmy Lee’s gonna raise another man’s baby? A colored man’s?” Maggie covered her face and let out a long, frustrated, guttural groan. “This is a mess.”

  “That’s my grandson. You leave that baby with me. You go on home and tell your husband your baby died.”

  “Died? No, I won’t do it.” I held Joshua close against me and cried. “No way. No.”

  Patricia sat next to me on the bed. “Now you listen here, I have lost one child to this backwards world and I’m not losin’ a grandson—or you. Jackson loved you. Do you think he wants you to die because of his seed?”

  No. I can’t do it. I can’t leave him.

  “Look into that baby’s face. Is that the face of a white baby?” Patricia asked.

  I lowered Joshua from my shoulder and looked at his beautiful, dark eyes, the too-dark shade of his skin. I touched his cheek and I felt complete, happy.

  “Maggie, I can’t do it,” I pleaded.

  Maggie shook her head as if, for once, she didn’t have an answer. She climbed back onto the bed beside me and put her arm around me. I laid my head against her chest, Joshua in my arms, and cried. Maggie brushed my hair away from my face.

  “Shh,” she soothed. “We’ll figure this out.”

  I shook my head. “How? There’s no figurin’ this out. Jackson’s dead, Jimmy Lee is just plain awful, and—” Daddy. What about Daddy? He’d disown me for sure.

  “I’m gonna leave you two to discuss this, but our time is short. That nonsense goin’ on out there ain’t gonna last all day, and someone’s gonna be lookin’ for that pregnant girl.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  When I told Jimmy Lee that our baby died, I think he was relieved. He didn’t ask to see him. He sat on the couch staring straight ahead, not looking at me, not holding me, just staring ahead like he was watching a picture show.

  Maggie had come up with a plan to pretend to bury the baby in our family plot on Daddy’s farm. She said we couldn’t bring Mama into the plan, because we’d be putting her in the terrible position of having to lie to Daddy, and two liars in the family were enough. Mama was shouldering enough burdens for any woman. I didn’t want to do it—keep the secret from Mama or pretend to bury Joshua—but I didn’t see any other way around the situation. Maggie bundled a doll that belonged to one of Patricia’s children, put it in a cardboard box, and taped it up; then, wrapped the box in blue paper, and even sealed it with a bow. She’d gone back home the night of the boycott to tell my parents what had happened. She said Daddy lugged his biggest shovel down to the plot and dug a hole, stopping often to wipe tears with his sleeve. Maggie sat in the truck and watched him, holding the box safely on her lap.

  Mama showed up at my apartment twenty minutes later.

  “Oh, my baby. My poor baby,” she cried, holding me so tight I could barely breathe. Her wet cheek pressed hard against mine, her chest heaving with sobs. She pulled back, fresh tears in her eyes. I thought I had no more tears left in me, but seeing Mama’s tears, and knowing that my lies had caused them, made my tears flow like a river.

  She reached out and touched Jimmy Lee’s shoulder. “Are you okay, hun?” she asked.

  Jimmy Lee shook his head. “I’m not sure we were ready for a baby anyway.”

  “No one’s ever ready, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less when you lose your child.”

  He turned to her and said, “I’m not sure. Maybe it does.” He stood and walked into the bedroom, leaving Mama’s jaw hanging open in dismay. When the bedroom door thumped shut, Mama whispered, “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. He’s…ugh…forget about him. What can I do to help you?”

  Let me love my baby.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  The next day after Jimmy Lee went to work, I went outside and walked to the edge of town. Every muscle in my body ached. It felt like a basketball had been ripped out from between my legs. My breasts were full and achy, and I longed to see Joshua. I wanted to hold him in my arms and tell him how much I loved him. I wanted him to hear how much I loved his father, and to know that, even though I could not be with him right then, that I did not abandon him, and above all, that I was not ashamed of him.

  Main Street stretched before me with broken windows in the storefronts, glass and debris in the road. I couldn’t help but feel like I’d let Jackson down. I looked down at the ground, my arms hanging uselessly at my sides, and I cried. What kind of difference did we make? I saw no evidence of change, just a haunted street that would forever hold the ghosts of beaten men, and the smell of fear and hatred.

  I turned toward the direction of Division Street and my feet drew me forward, as if they were guided by someone other than me.

  Joshua.

  I ignored the pain and pressure in my lower abdomen, the noise of passing cars. I had tunnel vision, and at the end of the long stretch of darkness was my baby. My baby. The thought of him sent a searing pain through my breasts. I crossed my arms over them and pressed them against me.

  The corner of Division Street was upon me, calling me forth. I never looked back. I didn’t care who saw me. My baby needed me. To hell with Jimmy Lee. He didn’t care. He’d never cared. He’d kill Joshua, and he might even kill me. I was never going back there. I knew that with all my heart and soul. I. Would. Not. Go. Back.

  As I stumbled down Division Street, the houses spun around me. An engine roared behind me. I held onto a tree for support. My legs weakened, my vision blurred. I had th
e sensation that something wet was dripping down my legs, but was unable to look down without feeling like I’d pass out.

  Patricia’s front door opened, and I saw her standing on the porch, Joshua bundled in her arms.

  “Joshua,” I whispered. I barely registered screeching wheels behind me, a slamming truck door.

  “Alison!”

  Jimmy Lee? I turned my head slowly, as if in a fog. Fear ran through me like an electric shock. “Gettin’ my baby,” I said with as much determination as I could muster, and stumbled toward Joshua.

  Jimmy Lee grabbed my arm and held onto me, his fingers digging into my skin. “Alison! Stop!”

  I pulled and kicked and tried to break free. “My baby! I want my baby!” I cried. I looked at Patricia’s house, less than fifty feet away. It felt like a million miles. “Please, my baby, I want my baby,” I sobbed.

  He dragged me backwards. I kicked and flailed blindly toward him.

  “Joshua!” I yelled. The world faded in and out.

  Suddenly Patricia was there beside me, yelling, “What are you doin’? She’s bleedin’!” Her capable hands pulled at my other arm. I was being stretched like taffy, my head lolling back and forth, the world spinning around me—bits of conversation filtered into my ears, muffled as if under water.

  “My wife—”

  “You’ll hurt her!” Patricia’s voice was a thin thread, miles away.

  My baby wailed incessantly. Joshua.

  “… stupid nigger!”

  Patricia came into focus just as the back of Jimmy Lee’s hand connected with her cheek and she tumbled to the ground. I wrenched myself from Jimmy Lee’s grasp and crawled along the gravel toward the blurry bundle before me. Joshua lay screaming within Patricia’s grasp.

  “My baby!” I reached for him as Jimmy Lee tugged me backwards, leaving a warm trail of blood beneath me. My fingertips connected with Joshua’s blanket and I pulled, hard, until I had him in my arms and tumbled backwards. “Joshua,” I whispered over and over. I pressed my cheek against his as he cried and fought me with all his tiny might.