Papa is a deacon and I heard him telling Ma what the other deacons were saying while they were sitting on the back porch courting one Friday night. He didn’t have money to take Ma to the picture show, so they had homemade vanilla ice cream and talked for hours.
“I-I got my own family to worry about. I got to keep clothes on Bean’s back and your back. Not to mention looking out for Mr. Bro. Wiley. I don’t have no time to worry ’bout what-what Reverend Reiding is wearing,” Papa said as I listened from the kitchen.
Ma smiled at him as she put a big spoon of ice cream in his mouth.
“That’s what I love about you, Husband. You ain’t got a jealous bone in your body. You a good man.” Then she kissed him right on his lips.
Papa was a righteous man and I believed he felt just the way he said. But the other deacons voted and kicked Reverend Reiding out before he could button another suit. I don’t know what came of the preacher. All I know is he packed his mess and left Rich Square for good. The deacons might as well kept Reverend Reiding because Reverend Hornbuckle arrived and he had enough suits for three preachers.
SEVENTEEN
Me and Pole ran outside to say hello to Reverend Hornbuckle. We wanted to get a good look at his new Ford. It wasn’t just any old Ford. It was a two-door black coupe.
“Evening, Reverend Hornbuckle,” me and Pole said. We tried to stand up straight and look dignified as he sucked in his stomach to get his belly from behind the steering wheel. He was so big that everything he did was a task just like poor Miss Moszella.
“Evening, children. How are you?” he said as he wiped the sweat off his brown skin.
“I’m fine,” I said.
“Me too,” Pole chimed in.
“Good, good,” the reverend said as he stared at the sky. “Look at them dark clouds. That storm is surely heading our way.”
“Yes, sir, I believe so, but not before the sittin’ up.” I sounded like the weatherman on the radio over in Jackson.
“Oh, child, the Lord don’t wait on us to do our business down here. If he wants it to storm, it will storm.”
“You sho’ got a nice new car, Reverend Hornbuckle,” Pole blurted out.
I joined in the praise.
“Yes! You got a mighty fine car.”
He rubbed the hood of his Ford like he wasn’t used to having nothing nice. You would never catch Mr. Gordon doing such mess as rubbing his car down. I believe the reverend had what Mr. Bro. Wiley used to call “new money.”
“A man with new money is a fool,” Mr. Bro. Wiley would say and laugh till he cried.
“Well, thank you, children! I got it last week,” Reverend Hornbuckle bragged. He need not to be bragging ’cause he was gonna wish he’d never seen that black coupe when the deacons got wind of it.
“I thought we were in a Depression,” Pole whispered to me.
“We are,” I whispered back.
“Look like to me Reverend Hornbuckle should have been thinking about how the folk at Sandy Branch Baptist Church was gonna eat come winter instead of buying a new car,” Pole said. Wasn’t sure if the preacher heard my sassy friend, but she didn’t seem to care. She got a whole lot of Miss Lottie Pearl in her as sho’ as Mr. Bro. Wiley was dead in the house.
“Stop bothering the reverend,” Ma told us as she came on the porch, but she rolled her eyes when she saw the coupe shining like a brand-new penny.
“Evening to you, Reverend Hornbuckle,” Ma said, still eyeing the car.
“Evening to you, Sister Jones. I’m some kinda sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, Reverend. Now come on inside and make yourself comfortable. Those children better mind their manners and stop asking into your business. Besides, I’m sure you want to eat before we have prayer and sing. Can’t have a sittin’ up on an empty stomach, now, can we?”
“Sister Jones, you know me too well. I’ve been thinking about this good ole Low Meadows food all day.”
“I’m hungry too,” Pole whispered.
“Me too,” I whispered back, knowing good and well I’d already ate my supper. Me and Pole followed Ma and Reverend Hornbuckle inside. He ought to be ashamed of himself only coming to our house on Friday night. Mr. Bro. Wiley been dead a whole week. He should’ve come by and prayed with Ma as soon as he got word. The good reverend sho’ needed to get to know us Low Meadows folk better than he did.
The devil got a hold of me because I wanted the deacons to see Reverend Hornbuckle’s car so bad, I almost screamed “fire,” just so everybody would run outside. If I had done that, me and Mr. Bro. Wiley would have been buried the same day, ’cause Ma would have killed me for sure.
“Evening, folks,” Reverend Hornbuckle said, taking off his hat.
“Evening,” everyone said. Reverend had some nice hats. To add to his collection, Ma’s only sister, Juanita, brought him a new hat every time she came home from Harlem. Ma said Aunt Juanita bought Reverend Hornbuckle hats because she said church folk up North always give their preacher a gift. She been buying hats like it ain’t even a Depression. Ma can say what she want, Aunt Juanita just as sweet as honey for the reverend. He ain’t got no wife and she ain’t got no husband. She was married to a white man up North named Sam for a hot minute. Ma said Aunt Juanita met him while she was dancing at the Cotton Club on Lenox Avenue in Harlem.
Aunt Juanita was as pretty as a picture and light enough to dance at the Cotton Club, where white men loved to see high-yellow-colored women, according to Uncle Goat. Ma was some kind of upset with my aunt for becoming a dancer. Uncle Goat said that after the riots, the Cotton Club closed for a while before moving to Broadway Street. While Aunt Juanita was out of work, she married the rich white man.
Sam never bothered to come South to meet us and he told my aunt that his folk said she could never come to Boston. Aunt Juanita grew tired of his rules and divorced him two years after they were married. After the divorce, she came to Low Meadows Lane with a broken heart. She left sweet on Reverend Hornbuckle.
I took Reverend Hornbuckle’s hat out of his hand and placed it on the hat stand with Papa’s old worn-out hats.
I was getting ready to offer Reverend Hornbuckle a seat when our neighbor Miss Florenza Tann and her daughter, Sara, walked in the front door. Miss Florenza had on red from head to toe. Must have been her favorite color, ’cause she wore red almost every day. She sho’ looked good in that red dress up against her light skin and red hair. She and Sara the only colored folk I’ve ever seen with red hair that wasn’t straight. It was as nappy as sheep’s wool.
“Don’t Miss Florenza know better than to wear red to a sittin’ up?” Pole said.
“Reckon not,” I answered in between laughs.
“Evening, Reverend. So good to see you,” Miss Florenza said.
“Speak to the reverend,” Miss Florenza said to Sara, who stood there like the cat had her tongue. The girl still didn’t half talk to nobody.
“Hey there, Sara,” Pole said.
“Hello, everyone,” Sara finally said. She spoke so fine and proper. Then she sat down in the corner by herself. I wondered if it made her sad the way the womenfolk treated Miss Florenza. Truth was Miss Florenza wasn’t thinking about what folk said. She was husband hunting. I’m telling you the womenfolk from the Low Meadows to New York City were after the good reverend. They didn’t care that he was as big as a washtub, the women knew they would be in high cotton to have a preacher for a husband. Miss Florenza told everybody in the Low Meadows that she was gonna be the next first lady of Sandy Branch Church one day. Ma said that’s just wishful thinking on her part. Marrying Miss Florenza would get Reverend Hornbuckle booted out of Sandy Branch Baptist Church quicker than his nice suits or that new car.
“Where you been, Florenza? Mr. Bro. Wiley been dead since last week and you ain’t showed your face one time?” Miss Lottie Pearl asked.
M
iss Florenza didn’t pay Pole’s mama no mind.
“Can I fix you a plate?” Miss Florenza asked as if we were having the sittin’ up at her house and not ours.
“Well, that would be up to the Jones family,” Reverend Hornbuckle said ’cause Ma was giving him the Evil Eye.
“Sure, Florenza. Go right ahead,” Ma said. But she and Miss Lottie Pearl were as hot as a Coke sitting in the sunshine. I’m telling you, them womenfolk were madder than a wet hen.
The Low Meadows women been mad at Miss Florenza from day one. She was just too fancy for them in her high heels and dresses above her knees. On top of that she sold more liquor than any bootlegger in the country.
Then she moved in the house right next to Uncle Goat and nobody really knew where she came from. She claimed she was half white and kin to Mr. Thomas. If she kin to Mr. Thomas, she sho’ didn’t look like it with that nappy hair.
All I know is things ain’t been the same on Low Meadows Lane since Miss Florenza and Sara arrived that hot Saturday two summers ago. It was midday and I was up on Stony Hill playing One-Two-Three Red Light with Pole.
“Look, Pole, a taxicab coming.”
“It’s a taxicab all right! Can’t be your aunt Juanita ’cause she ain’t due back till Christmas!” Pole said.
“Nope, and it ain’t Willie. ’Cause you know Papa and Mr. Jabo pick him up from the train station."
When the taxicab stopped and the dust settled, Miss Florenza got out of the car like she was the queen of England. Her lips were all covered in red lipstick and her hair was red. Her face was filled with rouge and eye shadow. She was surely not from these parts.
“Well, hello, children. I’m Florenza. Florenza Tann.”
“Hello, Miss Florenza,” Pole said. “My name is Martha Rose. Folk here in the Low Meadows call me Pole. This is Stanbury Jr. Folk call him Bean.”
I peeped inside the cab and laid eyes on Sara for the first time. She was crying to beat the band.
“Why you crying?” Pole asked.
“That’s Sara and she crying because she doesn’t want to live in the South.” Miss Florenza said it as if crying was routine for the little redhead.
Pole waved at Sara. The city girl looked at Pole and cried louder.
“Don’t be offended. She just has to get used to her new neighbors.”
“Neighbors? You mean you’re moving to the Low Meadows?” Pole asked all excited.
“Yes, I’m looking for Christian Wiley’s house. His daddy told me to see him as soon as we arrived. We gonna be renting the little house down at the river. He left the key with his son.”
Before we could answer Miss Florenza, Miss Lottie Pearl was standing on the edge of Stony Hill with her neck stuck out like a peacock.
“His house is the third one on the left,” she said in her not-so-nice voice. Then she looked at our soon-to-be neighbor’s shoes. “Red shoes. A sinner for sure,” Miss Lottie Pearl said loud enough for everyone to hear.
Miss Florenza went on about her business with Sara screaming in the backseat. Me and Pole ran behind the car. Miss Lottie Pearl didn’t even know we were gone because she went running to tell Ma about the stranger moving in. Mr. Christian gave Miss Florenza the key, and she went to her new home. Me and Pole watched the whole thing. I’m telling you, it was a mess in the Low Meadows that weekend as Miss Florenza threw herself a party that night. Some of the single menfolk went to dance and buy liquor that she must have brought in her suitcase. The womenfolk just could not believe it. They did not drink liquor, so they surely could not understand a woman selling it.
On Sunday morning Miss Florenza caught a ride to church with Uncle Goat. She had on another red dress. Sara was dressed in white from head to toe. The Low Meadows womenfolk were so mad they couldn’t wait for church to let out as they whispered about her party the night before. It was time for them to teach our new neighbor some manners. They kept on their best dresses. They tucked their Bibles under their arms and walked down to Miss Florenza’s house like a herd of cows. Mr. Bro. Wiley tried to stop them, but they wouldn’t listen. “Y’all need to mind your business. That woman don’t have to answer to nobody but God.” I knew it was gonna be a bad day when they ignored Mr. Bro. Wiley. They just kept on walking so fast that dust was flying up higher than Mule Bennett could kick.
Miss Florenza must’ve got word they was coming ’cause she was sitting on the porch still in her red dress, waiting with fire in her eyes. To add to her attire, she had pulled up one of Miss Lottie Pearl’s big red roses and stuck it behind her ear. There she was sitting in the sunshine. Me and Pole watched from Stony Hill. Ralph saw the action rising and he came to join us.
“This gonna be a mess as sho’ as you born,” Ralph said as he sat down next to us on the top of the hill.
“It sho’ is,” I added. Pole looked down at her ma leading the womenfolk.
Lord, they fussed. They read the Bible to the sinner. They prayed. Miss Florenza just laughed and fanned herself with her red fan while Sara watched from the window. Uncle Goat went home and peeped out his window too. He knew he was in trouble for giving the sinner a ride to church.
“Bless her, Lord, ’cause she know not what she do,” Miss Dora Mae prayed.
“Have mercy on her, God,” Ma continued.
Next thing I knew Miss Lottie Pearl ran on the porch to lay hands on the sinner for healing.
“Oh no, you don’t, crazy woman! You can praise God all you want, but don’t touch me,” Miss Florenza shouted.
As the womenfolk pulled Miss Lottie Pearl off the porch, Miss Florenza reached her hand in the window and turned her radio on. You could hear the juke joint music all over the Low Meadows. Music that she continued to play every night while she sells liquor to anyone with fifty cents to spare.
Miss Lottie Pearl grabbed the rose out of the sinner’s hair on the way down the steps. Then she told her off real good as the womenfolk dragged her away kicking and screaming. She called Miss Florenza everything except a child of God.
“And stop stealing my roses!” Miss Lottie Pearl managed to get out before she called her “no good” one last time.
“Go on home. You ole fool!” Miss Florenza yelled back. Then she turned the radio up louder and danced around on the porch like I reckon Aunt Juanita did at the Cotton Club. Sara disappeared from the window. Uncle Goat did too.
EIGHTEEN
It seemed the Low Meadows women never recovered from the pretty woman with the short dress and a pantry filled with liquor. This sittin’ up would be no different. Those same women had their mouths poked out now. Just the sight of poor Miss Florenza could start some mess. Now, on the other hand, the menfolk were looking at Miss Florenza like she was a piece of red velvet cake. I think the menfolk tried not to peep, but they just couldn’t help themselves. It was something about her that was more beautiful than Miss Marie. I think it had something to do with her sinning ways.
When TJ came in the door to bring a pie that Lessie sent, he looked at Miss Florenza like he was under a spell. Then he followed her to the kitchen while she got the reverend a plate.
“Come on, Bean. Let’s go and see what’s going on,” Pole said, already headed to the kitchen.
“Can you fix me a plate?” TJ asked Miss Florenza.
“Where’s your wife?” Ma asked, rushing in.
“Bessie and Lessie at the funeral home helping Mrs. Gordon fold the obituaries for tomorrow.”
“That’s all well and good. Then go pick your wife and sister-in-law up. Surely they need a ride home.” While Ma was giving TJ a tongue-lashing, Miss Florenza took the reverend his plate. He was waiting for her in the dining room. Ma didn’t say a word to me and Pole. She just gave us the “go somewhere and sit down” look. Next thing I knew, a loud scream came from the sittin’ up room.
“I believe that’s Miss Katie Mae,” Pole said.
; “Lord, I know I been changed,” she cried out. “The angels in hev’n done changed my name.”
We ran right past Sara, who had not moved from her chair since she walked in the door.
“I bet you a quarter she shouts louder than Miss Moszella,” Pole said with a laugh. She knew good and well she didn’t have no quarter. We grabbed us a chair. We wanted to get a good look. Miss Katie Mae was really upset about Mr. Bro. Wiley. When Mr. Bro. Wiley took sick, she would always come by the house and say a prayer with him since she was the deacon’s wife and the head steward at our church. She would fix him a plate of her good cooking and listen to the radio with him.
“It’s all right, honey. It’s all right,” Deacon Ward told his wife. Ralph looked real upset as he watched his mama carrying on.
“Where’s the body? I want to see Mr. Bro. Wiley one last time. Where is he?” Miss Katie Mae asked.
“Right here, honey, but you got to open your eyes to see him,” Deacon Ward said.
“This is our last prayer, Mr. Bro. Wiley. This is our last prayer,” Miss Katie Mae said as she and Deacon Ward viewed the body. Ralph looked at Mr. Bro. Wiley too but he showed no emotion. He loved the slave man but Ralph ain’t never cried as long as I known him. While they were carrying on, Real Kill arrived. He looked drunk and crazy as a bedbug.
“Hey, Pretty Flo,” Real Kill said to Miss Florenza as she came in to see who was doing all that crying.
“I said, hey, Pretty Florenza.”
The woman acted like he wasn’t even there.
Papa didn’t take too kindly to folk being disrespectful in his house. He didn’t drink, so there was no drinking allowed in our house. Ma knew it was ’bout to be a mess if Real Kill didn’t hush his mouth.
“Sweet, sweet Florenza . . . I love you, gal,” Real Kill said. Then he wrapped his arms around his skinny body that looked liked Mr. King David’s use to look. He danced slowly in the middle of the floor like he was in love.
The Sittin' Up Page 10