Mama Hattie's Girl

by Lois Lenski

  The doctor had said: “No excitement. You got the high blood. Don’t lift more than ten pounds. Don’t get mad. Don’t get excited.”

  Slowly she made her way out the front door. There was Lula Bell on the ground with a gash in her head and red blood running into the white sand. A glass jar lay broken in pieces beside her and purple plums lay all around. The old woman swayed for a minute. She reached out, then sat down quickly on the porch chair. She covered her eyes with her hand. When she dared look up again, the first thing she saw was four quart jars full of plums sitting in a row on the porch floor.

  “Bless her heart!” Mamie Hattie wanted to cry, but she couldn’t. “She picked all them plums for me. Oh Lord, oh Lord, save my chile,” she prayed.

  A car whizzed up, its brakes screeched, and the doctor stepped out. Andy Jenkins helped him carry the girl in the house and put her on her bed. Lula Bell soon opened her eyes. The doctor said it was pure luck no bones had been broken. He took five stitches on her forehead, ten in the gash on her head, and several more on her knee. Lula Bell screamed, although Imogne held her and soothed her.

  “When she gets over the mumps,” said the doctor, “bring her to my office and I’ll take the stitches out.”

  “Who gonna pick the rest o’ Mama Hattie’s plums?” asked Lula Bell.

  “Not you, that’s certain,” said the doctor. “Let somebody else do it.”

  Lula Bell was willing to stay in bed now. Her head hurt, front and back. Her jaws hurt and her knee hurt. She felt like she never wanted to get up again. With Imogene and the boys gone all day, she begged Mama Hattie to sit by her for company. But Mama Hattie couldn’t.

  “Too many kids on this street,” complained the old woman. “It’s enough to ruin my blood pressure—all them young uns yellin’ and screamin’. I won’t let ’em fight. I’m keepin’ ’em outa my plum tree.”

  One day a crowd gathered just under Lula Bell’s window. “You want to see us swing on your fence?” asked little Clarence Hobbs.

  “Sure,” said Lula Bell. She slid down to the foot of her bed.

  A two-by-four timber ran between two posts in the center of the hibiscus hedge. The next minute, eight or nine boys and girls of all sizes and ages were flying over the fence, with feet up in the air, turning somersaults over the long timber. Lula Bell giggled. Then she saw Mama Hattie rushing after them, switch in hand. The children flew—all but little Popsicle, who fell over into a hollow in the Turk’s-cap hedge. The bushes lay sprawled flat around him where other boys had fallen before. He was so little and scared, he looked comical.

  Mama Hattie smiled. “Pick yourself up, boy, and run along home,” she said.

  Popsicle scuttled away and joined the others. Down the street appeared Pody Warren with three of his dogs. The children all took hands and danced in a circle around him. They opened the ring and let little Popsicle in. When they came to Pody’s house, they trailed in to see his pets—ducks, squirrels, rabbits, coons, guinea pigs, banty chickens and parrots.

  Lula Bell crawled back and put her head on her pillow, as Mama Hattie came in. She expected her grandmother to scold about the broken-down hedge, but instead, she had a broad smile on her face. In her hand she held a letter.

  “When your right hand itches,” she began, “it means you’ll git a good letter from somebody you want to hear from. Mine was itchin’ all mornin’ long. The mail man came …”

  “Who’s it from? Who’s it from?” begged Lula Bell.

  “From Aunty Ruth,” said Mama Hattie. “Special Delivery, Registered. It’s got money in it.”

  Mama Hattie sat down in a chair by the bed and tore the envelope open. Quickly she took the money out and stuffed it in her side pocket. Lula Bell could not see if it was a five or a ten dollar bill.

  “You read the letter,” said Mama Hattie. “My glasses is broke and my eyes is bad.”

  “‘Dear Mama,’” read Lula Bell. “‘Just a few lines to let you know how we are. We are in good health. Sorry you don’t feel so good. Hope you will feel better when this reaches you. Go to the Doctor with this money and the extry is for any medicine you need. Take good care of yourself. You the only Mama we got. Everything is fine up here, we got good jobs and we are working hard. We sure wish you’d come up north and stay with us. It’s lots better up here. More work—the boys could get steady work all summer long. Some day I’d like to come down there and carry you-all back up here. We saw sister Lucy and family last week. They are all well and doing fine too. How are Imogene and Lu-Bell and the boys? Lots of good luck and keep well. Write soon. Love, Ruthie.’”

  Lula Bell’s soft voice died away. Mama Hattie did not speak. Her eyes had a faraway look.

  “Can I go too?” asked Lula Bell, sitting up in bed.

  “Go where? What you talkin’ about?” asked Mama Hattie.

  “Up north,” said Lula Bell. “Aunty Ruth say she comin’ down to git us and carry us up there.”

  “Hush up your mouth, girl!” said Mama Hattie sternly. “She don’t say no-such thing.”

  “But it’s better up there,” insisted Lula Bell. “There’s good jobs to git and big money. Aunty Ruth’s gittin’ rich. I heard Miss Annie Sue say so.”

  “She ain’t rich,” said Mama Hattie.

  “But she’s all the time sendin’ you money,” said Lula Bell.

  “She shares what little she’s got,” said Mama Hattie. “Ruthie was the givin’est one of all my four girls. The other three was selfish as they could be, but never Ruthie. Whenever she had an orange or a piece o’ bread, she’d break it in two, and give half to somebody else.”

  “When we goin’, Mama Hattie?” asked Lula Bell.

  “We ain’t goin’,” said the old woman. “Now hush up your silly talk.”

  “Imogene wants to go,” said Lula Bell, “and I wants to go ’cause my Daddy Joe’s up there. Imogene and I can go and you can stay here.”

  “You’d go off and leave your grandmother to die, all alone, all by herself?” Mama Hattie looked at the girl with sadness in her eyes.

  “You got Lonnie and Eddie,” said Lula Bell.

  “Them two no-count boys,” said Mama Hattie. “They ain’t even picked my plums for me. They’re lettin’ ’em rot on the tree. Who gonna take care o’ me when I can’t walk no more? Who gonna bring me my food and plat my hair and give me medicine I want to know?”

  “You got Lonnie and Eddie,” said Lula Bell stubbornly. “They’re your boys. They can cook and wash dishes. They can mop the floor. You trained ’em good. You said so yourself.”

  “All right—go!” said Mama Hattie. “I can look after myself. I can sell fish. I can sell plums. I can take in washing.” She walked out of the room.

  “I hate this place!” Lula Bell cried out. “I’m goin’ up north where my daddy’s gittin’ Rich!”

  No answer came—only an awful stillness.

  Each day now Lula Bell heard her grandmother scold Lonnie and Eddie and beg them to pick the plums, so she could sell them. Imogene too coaxed and threatened them. But the plums did not get picked. Then one morning a terrible thing happened. Lula Bell heard her grandmother moaning and groaning.

  “I’ll pick ’em for you, Mama Hattie!” cried Lula Bell. “I’m well again. I’ll git ’em all picked before they’re are stoled.” She came running out of the bedroom, all dressed, with her blue jeans on. Her head was still bandaged, but it did not hurt any more.

  She thought Mama Hattie would be glad, but she wasn’t.

  Something was wrong—very wrong. Mama Hattie sat down heavily in the platform rocker. She began to rock back and forth, making low moaning sounds. She had her face covered with her hands and the tears were running down her cheeks. She acted as if somebody close to her had just died. Lula Bell had never seen her cry hard before. She knelt at her feet and put her arms around her to comfort her.

  Imogene and Lonnie and Eddie all came in from the kitchen.

  “What the matter, Mama?” they asked. “What
happen to make you cry?” Even the big boys were disturbed.

  Mama Hattie kept on sobbing. She could not speak. She lifted her arm and pointed out the front door. “Go look,” she managed to say. “My plum tree … Go look!”

  They ran out on the porch and looked at the plum tree. The sand below the tree was covered with something white that looked like salt. It was crusted over hard—some liquid had been poured on it. Overnight, the leaves on the tree had turned yellow and begun to droop. Ripe plums lay scattered on the ground—not one was left on the tree.

  Imogene and the boys made a loud noise. They talked about poison. They suspected this neighbor and that. Neighbors came by, saw the tree and came in to add their opinion. Everybody talked and shouted and scolded. It was dreadful. Lula Bell was stunned. She could not say a word.

  “My plum tree’s dead,” wailed the old woman. “Somebody was jealous of me—sellin’ my plums and makin’ me a little change. Somebody did it for spite … Somebody’s been hateful …”

  “You gonna pay ’em back, Mama, them mean folks who done it?” demanded Lonnie.

  “You gonna git the Law on ’em and put ’em in jail?” asked Eddie.

  Mama Hattie quieted down and looked at her two sons.

  “How can I?” she replied steadily. “I don’t know who done it and you don’t either. We ain’t gonna make a big fuss about this. What’s done’s done—the good Lord’s gonna feel sorry for me and help me. Oh Lordy, oh Lordy …” she began to moan again. “Take the hate outa my heart … ‘pray for them which despitefully use you …’ I’m not gonna git mad and bring my blood pressure up. I’m not gonna let this upset me. What comes, we gotta take. I’ve lost my plum tree, but it’s done its work. It kept me in change for many a year. Thank God for my plum tree …”

  “Now you know what I mean about meddlesome neighbors,” said Imogene.

  Lula Bell kept her arms around her grandmother and tried to comfort her. Mama Hattie fingered the letter from Aunty Ruth that stuck out of her pocket.

  “Maybe Aunty Ruth right,” she whispered to Lula Bell. “Maybe things is better up there.”

  “They ain’t no yards and plum trees up north,” the girl whispered back. “We’ll git us a purty apartment, high up on the fourth floor like Aunty Ruth. Nobody could hurt us for spite up there.”

  “I’m beat—I can’t fight back no more,” said the old woman sadly. “Maybe Aunty Ruth she right.”

  CHAPTER III

  Good Luck

  “I want a loaf o’ bread without any salt in it,” said Lula Bell.

  “No salt in it—you crazy?” Miss Lena looked hard at the girl. “All light bread’s got salt in it. Else, how could folks eat it? Taste mighty flat without salt.”

  “We carried Mama Hattie to the doctor and he say she gotta stop eatin’ salt,” said Lula Bell.

  “That’s ’cause she got the high blood,” said Miss Lena. “She gittin’ worse?”

  “No ma’m!” said Lula Bell. “She gittin’ better—but she can’t eat no salt.”

  Popsicle Pearson came into the store, holding the hand of his little brother—called Shadow because he was so thin. The little boys asked for candy bars and handed up their nickels. Miss Lena gave them the candy and they hurried out.

  “Is that the washing-machine salesman over to your house?” asked Miss Lena, looking up the street.

  “Sure looks like him,” said Lula Bell.

  “Be Miss Hattie buyin’ herself an electric washer?” the storekeeper asked.

  “No ma’m!” said Lula Bell. “Mama Hattie likes to wash out doors.”

  “He got his truck parked round the corner,” said Miss Lena. “He might could be takin’ somethin’ in the back door.”

  “No ma’m,” said Lula Bell, shaking her head. “Mama Hattie ain’t got no money. She ain’t buyin’ no electric washer. She ain’t even got enough change to send off for them new dresses we picked outa the catalogue. We’re pore now. Somebody poisoned our plum tree—we didn’t have no plums to sell this year.” She looked at Miss Lena and Miss Lena turned her head away. “Mama Hattie’s too porely to go fishin’ down by the bayou. So we ain’t got no fish to sell neither.”

  “That shore is too bad,” said Miss Lena.

  Lula Bell saw a fleeting smile on her stern face.

  Popsicle and Shadow came running back in. They held up their candy bars, saying, “Take ’em back! Take ’em back!”

  “Now, boys,” scolded Miss Lena. “You git outa here. I ain’t takin’ no candy bars back. You go along and eat ’em.”

  “Ethel say for you to take ’em back,” insisted Popsicle.

  “I don’t care what your mama say.” Miss Lena picked up her broom. She began to sweep sand out the door. “Lula Bell, you want a loaf o’ bread with the salt in?”

  “Yas’m,” said Lula Bell. “And two bottles o’ grape soda, please. Jest put it on the book.”

  “‘Grape soda! Jest put it on the book!’ snorted Miss Lena. “Your grarnmaw’s killin’ herself drinkin’ that grape soda. The doctor done tole her three months ago to stop it.”

  “She likes grape soda,” said Lula Bell. “She tell me she don’t care what the doctor say, she gotta have grape soda to drink, even if it kill her. She wanta die happy.”

  “Why she pay all that money to the doctor,” asked Miss Lena, “and then not do a thing he say?”

  “That doctor’s crazy,” said Lula Bell. “He tell her she can’t eat no pork, no cabbage, no collard greens, no sugar and no salt. What she gonna eat then? She gonna starve plumb to death.”

  “Your grammaw’s hard-headed,” said Miss Lena. “But I’m hard-headed too. I won’t sell her no grape soda even if she pay me double for it. You say ‘put it on the book.’ You can go tell your mama, Miss Imogene, she ain’t paid me for last week’s groceries. I keep a-carryin’ you-all, but I’m a gonna cut you-all off.”

  “Oh Miss Lena, you won’t do that, will you?” begged Lula Bell. “We gotta have somethin’ to eat. My mama’s got a good job. She’ll pay your bill soon as she can.”

  “She better pay me quick,” said Miss Lena, handing out a loaf of bread, “or I’ll cut you-all off.”

  Lula Bell shivered at the terrible threat. She started out of the store.

  The two little boys had disappeared into the yard beside a two-story house halfway down the block. Miss Lena went across the street and sat down on the porch with Miss Annie Sue and her married daughter. Lula Bell heard Miss Lena say to Miss Annie Sue: “I don’t care what Ethel said. I’m not takin’ no candy bars back.”

  Pody Warren passed by and handed Lula Bell a piece of sugar cane. She began to chew it, squeezing the loaf of bread under her arm. Pody Warren had a patch of sugar cane in his garden and kept the children supplied. He walked on bare feet and turned the corner out of sight.

  All was quiet along Hibiscus Street. The July day was very hot. The leaves of the trees drooped with the heat. Suddenly a storm broke out.

  A very angry young woman came bouncing up the street, holding up two candy bars and shouting: “They ain’t opened them. Popsicle ain’t touched ’em. They only held ’em in their hands.” She rushed to the open door of the little store, the two little boys close at her heels.

  “I’m here!” called Miss Lena from the porch across the street. “Can’t take no candy bars back and sell ’em again. You oughta know that, Ethel.”

  Lula Bell stopped in the middle of the street, chewing her sugar cane. She looked back and listened.

  “I ain’t tole Popsicle to git coconut,” explained Big Ethel in a loud voice. “I wanted peanut!”

  “He didn’t say peanut,” retorted Miss Lena angrily. “All he say was ‘candy bars.’ How you expect me to know what kind he want if he don’t say so? If he want peanut, he’s old enough to say peanut. I can’t be readin’ people’s minds. They gotta tell me what they want.”

  Miss Lena came leisurely across the street.

  “I seen you, Ethel Pearson, goin’
by my store last Saturday with your arms full o’ groceries from the Super Market. Tryin’ to put me out of business, be you? You oughta trade at the only store on your own street.”

  Big Ethel shrugged her shoulders. “I’ll trade where I please,” she said. Jerking the two little boys by the arms, she began to scold them.

  “Will she let them eat the coconut bars?” Lula Bell wondered. “Or will she eat ’em herself?” The girl threw the husk of the sugar cane down and hurried home.

  “Miss Lena ain’t got no bread without salt,” she called out, running into the house. As she laid the loaf on the table, she saw a man in the kitchen, and beside him, a large white enamel box. It was a new electric washer. It said Good Luck in flowing letters on the front. Lula Bell ran and threw her arms around Mama Hattie’s waist.

  “I sure want one,” Mama Hattie was saying, “but I ain’t got the money.”

  “It’s a bargain at $179,” said the salesman. “Only $10 down and $10 a month.”

  “If my daughter pays $5 and I pay $5,” said Mama Hattie, “we might could pay for it.”

  “With the two of you paying, you’ll get it paid up fast,” said the man. “Meanwhile you’ll have the use of it. It’ll bring you good luck.”

  “Good luck?” Mama Hattie laughed. “I shore need it. I figure it’ll take me a year …” Then she paused. Her face had a look, not of gladness but almost of despair. As the salesman went out and called a cheery good-by, she did not even look up. She sat down heavily in a chair, and rubbed her hand over her eyes.

  “Ain’t you glad you got it, Mama Hattie?” asked Lula Bell, puzzled. “Jest see how beautiful it is—so white and shiny. And it do say Good Luck. It must be a lucky washer.”

  “I shouldn’ta let him bring it,” said Mama Hattie. “I’m scared o’ what Imogene’ll say.”

  She glanced around the room. At the other end stood a small pine dining table, four chairs and a small sideboard. In her bedroom opening off the kitchen, was a light oak high poster bed, a vanity bureau and a dresser. Seeing them gave her courage.