Behind the billboard Judith ran the car back and forth in the dry winter brush until the brush lay down in a thick mat. They cleared a space and built a fire out of the broken sticks. Cassie put the rest of the eggs in the skillet, took the ham out of the sandwiches from Hilltop, and cooked them together. When the eggs were cooked and the ham was hot, Judith shoveled hers back between the two slices of bread. Cassie toasted hers and ate the ham and eggs with her fingers out of the cooling skillet.
“Good ham in Hilltop,” said Judith. She opened her mouth for another bite and hesitated and lowered the sandwich. “Hey now. You don’t s’pose they turnin’ men into hawgs, too—like that mule. I bin thinkin’ about it, an’ I think he was the husband of that woman in the coffin. They was makin’ him haul his own dead wife.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “You think they was witches?”
“I don’t think anyone can turn a man into a mule.”
“So why was they takin’ him into the church?”
“Maybe the whole church was already fulla mules an’ chickens an’ hawgs.”
“You ridiculous. I cain’t even have a sensible conversation with you.”
“You the one think you eatin’ a man-sandwich.”
“Well, do you want it?”
Cassie held out her hand, and Judith slapped the warm remains of the sandwich into her palm.
“I feel bad for leavin’ that ol’ mule back there on his own,” said Judith.
“Maybe he deserved to be a mule. Mister Beale was talkin’ ’bout him just like he was a skirt-chasin’ adulterator.”
Judith poked a stick into the fire and let out a laugh. “You s’pose they could do that to my daddy?”
* * *
In the morning there was no more trace of Porterville than there had been in the night. They crossed the tracks and drove on State Highway 18 for miles in each direction only to find more piney woods. Judith drove, and Cassie turned on the radio for company. It was Sunday, February 20, according to Judith’s OXYDOL calendar, but instead of gospel music all they got was static, and Cassie turned it off. They backtracked alongside the railroad tracks, searching the fields and forests until they were halfway back to Newcome. There was no sign of a town or any human habitation.
Judith yawned to show how tired she was of driving in circles. “Mebbe we din’t go far enough las’ night.”
“He said it was at the intersection,” said Cassie. She felt far away from everything. “Maybe I saw it wrong when he showed me.”
“Mebbe he wuz wrong. He said we wouldn’t be safe by the tracks at night, but here we are, so why we still wastin’ time lookin’? We got to git goin’. We only got eight days left in February, an’ who knows how long it’ll take this ol’ heap to git to Virginia.”
“What if his uncle was expecting us?”
“How Mistah Ovid Beale gonna send word ’bout us to his uncle? Smoke signals?”
Judith put the car in reverse, looked over her shoulder, and steered with one hand as she backed up in a wide curve until they were facing east again. “Course,” said Judith, “if they was witches, mebbe they usin’ crystal balls.” She shoved the car into a forward gear. “You ready?”
Cassie turned the folded map to show the eastward road. She felt desperate, but she didn’t know what else to do. “I guess so.”
After Johnstown, which was just a collection of shacks, came Larvadale. After Larvadale, where there was no more than two houses and a barn, they began to see signs for Wilburville. Judith decided she was done with driving for now, and they switched. Judith turned the radio back on and soon found gospel choirs up and down the radio dial.
“Mus’ be a big place, Wilburville,” said Judith.
“Find a station where they singin’ ‘Ol’ Rugged Cross,’” said Cassie.
Judith spun the dial. “That your favorite?”
“Lil Ma likes when I sing it.”
Judith hunched over the radio and searched, skipping through various renditions of “Rock of Ages.” “I ain’t finding it.” Judith shut the radio off and sat up straight in her seat. “Reckon I’ll have to sing it for you.” She tapped Cassie’s shoulder, like a schoolteacher. “I’ll do the main part. You sing the harmonies.”
On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross,
the emblem of suffering and shame;
Judith’s voice was like a thick piece of chocolate cake. Cassie’s own voice was plain beside it, but they sounded good together, and it was easy to make the harmonies heartfelt.
Cassie thought of Lil Ma ironing white women’s sheets and pillowcases, sweating late at night over stained table napkins. For the first time the song filled her with a sense of terrible shame. Was Lil Ma’s Rugged Cross the light-skinned child she was supposed to bear? Was Cassie’s own darkness the suffering and shame? With Cassie gone, how was Lil Ma supposed to redeem herself? What would Grandmother come up with? Cassie shivered. Was Lil Ma strong enough now to refuse her own mother’s wishes? Had Cassie thrown away family to set herself—and only herself—free?
“Judith…” But Judith let out a yelp.
“Slow down! Slow down! Stop an’ pull over! Lawd Lawd! Them Justice boys come to git us for stealin’ they car!”
Cassie looked up at the rearview mirror and saw a police car behind them. He flashed his lights and turned the siren on, and Cassie’s hands froze on the wheel. Here was God’s consequence. But the Justice boys had been ready to torch this car, so how could it be stolen? Hadn’t she and Judith saved the car, like a disintegrating rotten old soul?
Cassie managed to pull the car over. The Justice boys—and their father—were not in the police car. There was only the one policeman. If this was God’s consequence, He was sending the police a long way for a banged-up car that hardly ran. She turned to Judith, huddled against the passenger door, muttering “Jesus! Jesus!” in her jaybird voice, and it struck Cassie that Judith should have been driving—or was it better that she was the passenger? Where Judith was sitting right now made a difference in how to explain why they were together, and where they were going together.
“Hush now!” said Cassie. “You actin’ like a criminal. All we tryin’ to do is find your daddy, right?”
“Jesus!” whispered Judith.
“Right?”
“Right! Right!”
“Now hush and try telling the truth for once.”
Judith swallowed and sat up straight in the car seat as though she were in a church pew. The policeman got out of his car, put on his hat, and walked up the driver’s side. He leaned down to rest an elbow on Cassie’s window and saw Judith. His breath smelled of Wrigley’s Spearmint Gum. His sleeve smelled of cigarettes.
“Where you ladies goin’ so fast?” said the policeman.
Cassie stared at the steering wheel. It was better not to say anything, better not even to take a breath. Judith answered him all in a rush.
“Suh, we tryin’ to git to church.”
“What church?”
“Missionary Baptist, suh. I’s s’posed to sing for the evening service. Mah girl drivin’ cause I’s too nervous to drive on days when I sings.”
Cassie bit the inside of her cheek. She felt his eyes come to rest on her, then travel back to Judith.
“Which Missionary Baptist?” said the policeman. “The one in Jefferson?”
“Is that the nex’ town?” said Judith. “I ain’t got no map, an’ mah girl don’t know what direction she goin’ half the time.”
“Next town is Madison. Jefferson’s ten miles on from there.”
“That’s where we headed. I jus’ hopes we gits theah on time.”
The policeman studied her. “Young lady, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but you don’t sound like you got no singin’ voice. And your girl here was weavin’ like she’d had a drink or two.”
“She ain’t drinkin’. She jus’ a turrible driver.” Judith stuck out her chin. “In fact, in Heron-Neck where I’s from, mah singin’ voice is well-kno
wn and respected. In fact, I’s headed to New York City for an aw-diction with the Main Missionary Baptist Church.”
Cassie made herself be still. It was too late to say anything now.
“That so?” said the policeman. “Then why don’t you step out that car and let me hear your well-respected voice.”
“Come on out, Cassie,” said Judith. “You kin sing harmony.”
Something bad was going to happen. Cassie could feel it as she sat in the lumpy seat. She had no idea what she could do to stop it except physically grab Judith, throw her into the car, and try to outrun the police.
“Yessum,” said Cassie.
The two of them stood in the road by the car, which was still half in the lane, half under a barely leafed tree along the side of the road. There was no other traffic, only the sounds of birds, and dogs barking in the distance.
The policeman stood in the middle of the empty road on the white line that divided the lanes. “I’m waitin’.”
Judith said to Cassie, “Precious Lord, Take My Hand.”
Cassie nodded. She’d half-expected Judith to say, Get in th’ car! Les run fer it! but Judith clasped her hands before her chest as though in prayer, took a breath, and sang.
Precious Lord, take my hand,
Lead me on, let me stand.
Maybe it was the chill air that made Judith sound so grown, so full of feeling, or maybe it was the way the road resonated. She sang without drama or her usual wild hand motions. She sang the song as though she’d known the man who’d written it, a man whose wife had died in childbirth along with the child itself, and come to understand his pain. Cassie looked out of the corner of her eye to see if the policeman had any appreciation for what he was hearing. He had taken off his hat. He had taken a shuffling step across the white line into the other lane as though pushed. He looked amazed.
Judith shut her eyes and let her voice rise through the refrain into the parts where a soloist would leave the choir behind. Cassie looked at her shoes and thought about Lil Ma. She would never go back and make a baby with a white man for Grandmother. If that was selfish, then that’s what it was. If there was a punishment down the road for being selfish—and she knew there would be—it wouldn’t be a light-skinned child and a sudden move to another town farther north. It would be something unexpected and perhaps awful. She looked at the policeman again and wondered if God would punish her and Judith both by compelling him to escort them to a church at which they had no appointment.
Take my hand, precious Lord,
Lead me home.
Another car approached from the east, slowed, and stopped as Judith came to the end of the second verse. Two elderly white women poked their heads out and began a fluttering applause. Judith smiled, gracious and sweaty, and looked like she could use a drink of water.
“The spirit moves in you, sister!” shouted one of the women.
“The Lawd done touched her,” cried the other.
“She singin’ at Missionary in Jefferson tonight,” said the policeman.
“Oh, ain’t that exciting!” said one of the women. “My grandson goes there with his wife’s family.”
Another car pulled up behind them, a battered old heap in worse shape than the one they were driving. A gaunt white man and his gaunt children stared out the windows.
Judith, sensing an audience, pushed her hair back with her usual drama. “An’ now I’ll be singin’ ‘Wade in the Water.’ Y’all join with me!”
The gaunt man got out of the car. His children, so thin and dirty it was impossible to tell which were boys and which were girls, got out too and stood in a barefoot row. Judith began to sing and they clapped along without rhythm.
Who’s that yonder dressed in red
Wade in the water
Must be the children that Moses led
And God’s gonna trouble the water
Another car, this one from the west, slowed and stopped. A white man in a pressed suit got out and gave a nod to the policeman. Judith, singing, slid her eyes over to him and swung her arms wide like she was fending off hornets.
More cars stopped, and people got out of them, as though all the churches in these parts had let out at once, and all the folks who’d been in church had to travel home along this road.
You don’t believe I’ve been redeemed
Wade in the water
Just see the holy ghost looking for me
God’s gonna trouble the water
Judith finished and everyone applauded. The policeman put his hat back on in an approving way, so that it seemed that instead of stopping a car for weaving, he had actually discovered Judith’s talent, and having her stop traffic in the middle of a Sunday was a blessing to everyone.
Judith coughed delicately into her palm and nudged Cassie with her elbow.
“We gone be late, Miz Judith,” said Cassie loudly. “Lawd bless these folk for stoppin’ and list’nin’ to you sing.”
“The Lawd bless you all,” said Judith. She took a step back and slid as gracefully as she could into the car and across to the passenger side. Cassie could hear people saying, “Missionary Baptist in Jefferson tonight!” She got into the car and turned on the ignition, praying to Jesus and every angel that the car would start without trouble. It did. She put it in gear and inched it forward. People in the road smiled and waved as Judith blew kisses. Cassie pulled away, and the collection of cars and locals diminished in the mirror.
“Mah goodness!” said Judith. “Go faster, Cassie. I’m overheated, and I need a breeze!”
Cassie glanced in the mirror. There was no sign of a police car, but she didn’t speed up. “Aw-diction in New York City? The Main Missionary Baptist Church?”
“It jus’ come into my head. I cain’t help it. I reckon I get it from my daddy.”
“Lucky no one from Jefferson was there,” said Cassie. “We’d be in jail.”
Judith wiped her forehead on her sleeve. “Seen any signs for Jefferson?”
“Not yet.”
“If you do,” said Judith, unnecessarily, “we better go in a diff’rent direction.”
CHAPTER SIX
Someone had lied about Porterville. Beanie Simms or Ovid Beale, and for the life of her, Cassie couldn’t understand why. She felt a strange twinge when she thought about herself as a white girl instead of a black one, like she wouldn’t know who she was anymore. Using some kind of magic was different from using the albino boy to create a light-skinned baby. Surely turning white wasn’t something that could happen overnight. It must be something that took time and some study. Judith wouldn’t want to wait around. She would go on to Virginia and leave Cassie behind.
With only four weeks to get to Virginia, it seemed sensible to get off the secondary roads and try the more direct highways. An east-west line on the map was marked HIGHWAY 80; they ran into Highway 80 later that afternoon. There was a man parked at the intersection in his pickup truck selling from a crate of apples and a stack of cheeses. The apples were mealy, what you’d expect this time of year, but the cheese was good. In another few miles, just past Compton’s Bluff, they found a gas station.
Cassie sat in the driver’s seat needing to pee, but the bathroom was for WHITES ONLY. She didn’t want to go around back behind the bushes. There were houses nearby, and besides, there was this pimply white boy. He was wearing a white gas station uniform. His job was to pump gas and wash all the car windows. He sopped the side mirrors and the headlights, which didn’t even work. Why was he being so thorough with the windows when the rest of the car was such a mess? He looked at her through the windows as he washed, which made her uncomfortable. For the most part, though, he stood by the side of the car and rattled the gas pump until the sounds of flowing sputtered to a stop and the tank was full.
Judith had gone inside craving Red Hots. Cassie had given her a nickel, saying, “You sure you ain’t pregnant?” Judith had laughed.
Farther down the road, Judith showed Cassie what you could get for a nickel
—Red Hots and about fifty jellybeans in all different colors, even the licorice ones which Cassie hated. Judith reached into the bottom of the bag. “I got this for you.”
It was a postcard of a town square with a statue in the shape of a woman holding a vase over her head. Water sprayed out of the vase and cascaded down. People in their Sunday best stood around, admiring her.
“You like that?” said Judith. “The man behind the counter give it to me for free.”
Cassie slowed and took the postcard.
“Keep your eyes on the road now.”
“Where’s this?”
“That in Enterprise, Al’bama, straight ahead, ’bout eighty, hunnert miles. We goin’ right through.”
“They have a statue?”
“It’s a monument.”
“To what?”
“He din’t say.” Judith took the postcard, squinting at the printing on the back. “Hail, I cain’t read this. Here, les switch, an’ you kin read it to me.”
“My turn to drive.”
“Well.” Judith dug in the bag again and took out a freshly sharpened, bright yellow pencil. “I got this for you too.”
“What for?”
“Well,” said Judith. “I thought you might want to send a postcard to your mama.” She pulled out an identical second postcard from the bag. “An’ while you’re at it, mebbe you kin help me write to my momma too.”
In the evening, well behind a billboard for KELLOGG’S CORN SOYA TWIN TREATS, they built a fire, ate the rest of the jellybeans, and Cassie wrote out postcards as Judith scratched another day off the calendar.
“What you want to say?” she said to Judith.
Judith put the calendar down. “Dear Mama an’ Henry,”
Cassie had already written that part. Her letters looked blocky, unpracticed. Not like the flowing script in blue ink from the newspapered-over walls back home. My dearest sister; I am sorry to tell you that our father is dead.
“I am almos’ in Al’bama.”
Cassie wrote it down. In spite of the candy taste in her mouth, the sense of accomplishment in driving so far, and her own denial, she felt homesick.
Absalom's Daughters Page 9