by Pat Spears
Jodie stood.
“Oh God, Jodie, you heard?” Her face was drawn, white as a bleached bed sheet, and her eyes stretched in something akin to panic.
“It’s not true, you know. Law’s not the final word.”
“Your mama was such a sweet child. But from the time she was your age, she sought the hard-eyed boys who only knew how to live on the edge of destruction.”
Jodie needed no reminder of the kind of men Jewel had brought home, but she didn’t believe her mama had been fated to die among a truckload of hogs.
“When’re we going to get her? Bring her here?”
“Jodie, your mama’s gone.”
“You don’t know that. I want to see the woman he claimed is Jewel. He never one time mentioned me. She’d have put my name next to yours.” Her voice had weakened with each denial, her last squeezed from her heart.
“No, child, it’s too late. I signed over her remains to the county. I don’t have the money for a cemetery plot.” She handed Jodie the brown package the officer had delivered and turned away, her thin body racked by spasms.
Jodie stared at the package, traced its edges with her wet fingertip, and dared to tear away the blood-smeared wrapper. It held Jewel’s Bessie Smith record, broken into two perfectly matched halves. Jodie sat, cradling the broken remains to her heaving chest. She’d known all along her mama wouldn’t last without her to care for her. Still Jewel would have laughed at the irony in dying on the road, and in death she would have despised charity. Jodie wanted to blame her aunt for Jewel’s final shame, but she knew better. She knelt next to her.
Her aunt embraced her for the first time since she arrived and whispered, “God knows I tried, but I couldn’t save your mama.” She released Jodie and said, “I can’t promise that you’ll end better.”
Her voice had grown resolute, and Jodie understood that whatever she believed Jewel needed saving from, Aunt Pearl attributed the same to her.
Long after her aunt had gone to bed, Jodie sat alone in the kitchen listening to late-night radio. She wanted to hear her mama’s voice. Have her say that she had a good girl back in Dothan, and that her next song went out to her. For the first time ever, Jodie prayed hard, although she didn’t believe God answered prayers for those like her and Jewel. If the officer was right and her mama was dead, it was up to her to mark her passing.
Jodie rose in pre-dawn darkness, dressed in clean jeans and shirt, and brushed the night tangles from her hair. She slipped out the front door and stooped at the edge of the woods to pick a handful of wildflowers.
The faintest light of day appeared as a jagged scar, and Jodie imagined the row’s narrow clay road, snowy-white cotton blooms sparkling like fireflies of an evening. In that moment, like all the times before, her mama stepped from the bus and smiled at her. Hey, sugar, Mama’s home.
Jodie released the wildflower petals, and Jewel Taylor’s sarcastic laughter rose to gather them. She was at last to sing the blues.
Seven
Aunt Pearl’s months of diligent letter writing to north Florida county sheriffs, inquiring as to the whereabouts of Red Dozier, finally paid off in the form of a phone call. Over supper, she offered, “Mr. Dozier has agreed to come for a visit. And he sounded real nice on the phone.”
Jodie shrugged.
Aunt Pearl fidgeted with her spoon, her brow gathered. “Soon, I believe. Though he didn’t say exactly.”
Red had his certain charm with women, but if her aunt had bothered to ask, she could have told her he was plenty good at showing up, but even better at disappearing. It was all right with her if Aunt Pearl meant to squeeze money out of Red. She fretted often enough that her weekly pay of thirteen dollars as a telephone operator wasn’t enough to cover their expenses.
Three months later, Aunt Pearl returned from the mailbox, a one-page letter clutched in her hand. She stopped beneath the oak and called up to Jodie.
“Letter says he’ll be here Saturday.” When Jodie didn’t answer, her aunt continued on into the house, pulling the door closed between them.
Living with Aunt Pearl was as boring as Lawrence Welk’s accordion solos, but she’d grown to welcome its predictability. For that reason, Jodie had gritted her teeth against boredom, done her chores without bitching, and kept her mouth shut. She gave up baseball for basketball, a game she could play alone, shooting baskets at a clay court whenever she could avoid the older boys.
However, she’d continued to steal comics, and had become even bolder, stuffing pulp detective novels into the waist of her jeans whenever the half-blind storekeeper was distracted. Aunt Pearl couldn’t know Jodie projected herself into the fictional heroics, imagining the pleasure of winning the favors of beautiful girls. About the same time she began touching herself in ways that caused her breath to come rapidly and her body to convulse in strange pleasure. These feelings, while thrilling, left her confused, even ashamed in those moments when her aunt insisted she must grow up differently. She took differently to mean she wasn’t to take up what Aunt Pearl hinted were Jewel’s “whorish habits.” Yet nothing she said was enough to cause her to stop what she was doing.
Aunt Pearl got up from the supper table, scraped her untouched food into the bucket for her neighbor’s backyard chickens, and turned back to Jodie.
“My goodness, child. Aren’t you one bit happy? Don’t you want to see your daddy?”
“He’s never claimed as much. And just because Jewel accused him doesn’t make him guilty. He wasn’t the only big, curly haired man she … she screwed.”
“Sweet Jesus, Jodie Taylor. Hush your shameful mouth.” Her voice dropped to a whisper as if she feared eavesdroppers. “You must not vilify your poor dead mama that way.”
“That’s not what I did.” She’d never run Jewel down, but the truth about Red was anybody’s guess. How many times had her mama laughed and teased, “Tom, Dick, or Harry,” to efforts at pinning her down. She’d gone along with her mama, though not knowing felt nothing like a joke. It was only after Red stopped coming that Jewel had branded him guilty. Then, it was clear Aunt Pearl wasn’t interested in knowing the truth.
“Lord, child, your mama bragged that you’re his spitting image. All that fuzzy hair, and those big hands and feet. She claimed nobody with eyes to see would think otherwise.”
“Does that include his wife, you think?” Jodie leaped to her feet, the chair slamming hard onto the floor, and Aunt Pearl screamed for her to sit back down.
Jodie stood on the opposite side of the bedroom door, inches from the sound of Aunt Pearl’s pleading, “I swear it’s only a visit. I don’t mean for you to be hurt.”
Jodie kept still. How was putting her off on a man who refused to admit to being her father not supposed to hurt?
The day Red was to show, Jodie climbed the oak and sat silently while Aunt Pearl called up to her, insisting she come inside and get ready for his visit.
Jodie Taylor had no intention of prettying herself for the likes of Red Dozier. Hadn’t it taken him three months to show up? It was clear he had no burning desire to take her off Aunt Pearl’s hands.
It was afternoon before the big Dodge pulled into the yard. Red stood next to the car, raked a slow hand through his curly red hair, and settled his hat back onto his head. Jodie compared the curl of his hair to her own and stuffed her shaggy bangs beneath her baseball cap, pulling the bill lower.
Red stepped onto the path and approached like a man marching to the hangman’s scaffold. He knocked, removed his hat, and squared his wide shoulders.
Aunt Pearl opened the door, and he leaned toward her, an ass-kissing smile warming his way.
“Afternoon, ma’am. You must be Miss Pearl. I’m Red Dozier. It’s a pleasure.”
Then—damned if he didn’t have the smoothness of a Bible salesman—he even made a show of scraping his big shoes clean before entering the house. Jodie slid down the tree rope and hurried to the kitchen door. Inside, she crouched near the cupboard, out of sight and where she
had a clear view of the parlor.
Red sat upright and attentive. Aunt Pearl perched on the edge of the sofa across from him, her back ramrod straight. She poured tea from her best pitcher and he nodded politely, taking the sweating glass into his big hand. She poured a second glass for herself, and when she’d touched it to her lips, he drank deeply, declaring the tea to be the best he’d ever drunk.
Jodie placed a hand over her mouth, smothering a snicker as her aunt tried to excuse her absence. He nodded, but anyone who knew her knew she wasn’t attending Saturday afternoon Bible drills. Aunt Pearl tearfully recounted the details of the deputy sheriff’s visit, omitting the fact that Jewel had died in the company of drunken men she’d earlier condemned as wild and horny. Surely she didn’t think Red was fooled. He only needed to look in the mirror.
“I pray God’s forgiveness that my poor sister was buried at county expense.” She shed a few more tears.
Red’s shoulders rounded. “I’m truly sorry. If I’d known .…” His last words trailed off, and Jodie wanted to know if he was lying about sparing Jewel the indignity.
“She left nothing behind, except for that poor child. She’s twelve now. Advanced for her age, and I might add quite cunning. Even a bit peculiar, I fear.”
Red’s head tilted slightly, and Jodie wondered if he’d heard something in peculiar. Was it the warning Jewel had meant? Had Aunt Pearl known all along what she did when she was alone? Did that mean Red now knew? She drew her legs in tighter, folding her body into itself, an attempt at making herself smaller.
Aunt Pearl laughed nervously. “How silly of me. Of course you’d know the child’s age.” She glanced down at her hands folded in her lap. Red shifted and his Adam’s apple danced in his throat.
“Please tell your fine Christian wife I tried putting her in Sunday school. But she kicked up such a fuss. I’m sorry to say, I gave up.”
“Ma’am, I do appreciate the fine job you’re doing. But about me taking her off your hands .…” He paused, and the air went out of Aunt Pearl in a deep sigh. “I’ll need to talk more with my wife. Maybe come again before the next school term.”
Jodie bristled at his bald-faced lie. Since when did he talk with his wife where she or Jewel were concerned?
“Mr. Dozier, please understand that I never meant for her stay to be anything but temporary. If she’s to ever make a proper young lady, she’ll need a firmer hand than mine.”
“Yes’m, I understand. But, there’s the balance of the school term to consider.” He tapped his hat against his knee and glanced toward the door. He’d had his say, but her aunt wasn’t ready to give up.
“Sir, that’s not exactly the problem it might have once been.” She bit her tongue. “But, yes, you’re right. School’s end would be a better plan.”
Jodie exhaled, relieved that her current school suspension hadn’t become part of their bargaining. Red didn’t need to know she’d pulled her knife on Tommy Lee. If she had it to do over, she’d do the same. No boy was ever again going to pin her and feel her up.
“Ma’am, if you’re strapped for money, I’ll gladly pay.” Red stood and handed Aunt Pearl a crisp bill from his wallet. “And I’d appreciate you passing along these funny books.” He smiled sheepishly. “Her favorites, I believe.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Dozier. I must ask that you not leave those.” She stared at his big hands as he rolled the comics into a tight tube.
Too bad he’d wasted his money. Aunt Pearl had set down the rule of no comics as punishment for what happened with Tommy Lee.
Concealed behind the hedge at the corner of the house, Jodie watched as Red crossed the yard, the rolled comics clutched in his hand. Reaching the car, he turned and squinted back in the direction of the house. He bent and placed the comics on the ground, got into the Dodge, and drove away.
Why had he bothered if he was just going to drive away like all the times before? She got a sinking feeling that after hearing peculiar, he was gone forever. Then it suited her fine that he’d come only to hear about Jewel. Let him stop by the cemetery, put flowers on her grave. Not that it could make a tinker’s damn to her now.
She walked to where he’d stood, picked up the comics, and glanced back to see if her aunt was watching from the front window. She’d take his damn funny books, trade with one of the kids on the block. That way, it didn’t have to mean she’d ever expected anything from Red Dozier.
The last day of the school term came with no word from Red, and it pleased Jodie that Aunt Pearl had stopped repeating the certainty of his return. In her book, he was no more dependable than her mother had been, although Jewel had the better excuse. Rather, she believed her best bet lay with the envelopes that arrived monthly. Jodie had to hand it to her timid aunt; she was a damn sight better at squeezing money from Red than Jewel had been. She had begun to relax, believing Aunt Pearl had come to view her staying as profitable, if not ideal.
Jodie’s end of the year report card sat propped against the salt and pepper shakers in the center of the kitchen table, along with a vase of mixed flowers from the yard. The aroma of chicken, deep frying in the big Dutch oven, wafted through the house, and supper promised to be as close to a celebration as Aunt Pearl permitted.
Jodie scrubbed her face and hands and stared at her image in the cloudy mirror. She had none of her mother’s good looks, and any similarities ended with their tar black hair, hers impossible to drag a comb through. Aunt Pearl had said she had her mama’s way of looking on others with suspicion. She straightened her rumpled shirt and shrugged, her reflection frowning back at her. She’d at least go to the table dirt-free the way Aunt Pearl expected.
“Oh, there you are. And don’t you look … clean. Chicken’s ready to take up. Go ahead and sit down.”
“Sure smells good. I believe I could eat a whole fryer.”
“I’d give anything if your poor sweet mama could know how well you’ve done during your time here.” The grave had served to soften Aunt Pearl’s recollections of Jewel. Her mama was never sweet, and she wouldn’t want to be remembered that way.
“Sit, child, and eat. It’s your special night.” Her tone had the ring of a once in a lifetime happening, even though her aunt had begun to harp on the perils of her getting fat, warning that boys didn’t like fat girls. As far as Jodie was concerned, big wasn’t the same as fat, and big was her equalizer with bullies like Tommy Lee. Besides, she didn’t give a damn what boys liked or didn’t like. The prettiest girls liked having a big, ugly girl as company, although she was never among those invited to their sleepovers.
Jodie filled her plate, her attention giving way to the pleasure of stuffing herself. While Aunt Pearl wasn’t a big eater, she’d hardly touched her food, and she’d done that odd thing of patting down the right side of her heavily sprayed hairdo, a habit she had when perplexed, causing her head to appear tilted.
“Why aren’t you eating? Chicken’s the best. Taters melt in my mouth like ice cream.”
“Thank you, shug. I guess I grazed too much while fixing supper.” She smiled, but in a way Jodie knew was forced. “Go on and enjoy your food. But save room for my twelve-layer chocolate cake.”
Jodie turned back to her plate, thinking of the thin-layer chocolate cake, her absolute favorite. Yet, the more Aunt Pearl picked at her food, the more Jodie wished she hadn’t eaten so fast.
The big hand on the grease-spattered clock hanging on the wall above the stove clicked slowly toward what Jodie felt was some impending doom. She swallowed hard, forcing the food to stay down.
“All right, what are you not telling me?”
Yesterday she’d stolen two new comics, and although old man Pepper, the storekeeper, had taken her dime for the RC Cola, she wanted this to be about him having noticed the bulge under her shirt. She’d return the slightly used comics, cry convincingly, and offer to sweep out the store for a week. Lay low for a time, and all would blow over. Stealing was fixable.
Aunt Pearl put down her fork, the
deep lines of her worn face etched in dread. She gathered their plates from the table, plunging them into a cloud of sweet-smelling suds. She stood staring out the kitchen window before turning back to Jodie’s question.
Jodie pushed up hard against the back of her chair; she knew what was to come was much bigger than stolen comic books.
“I washed up your clothes, and you’ll want to pack them in that old brown cardboard suitcase you came with.”
“Why? Are we going someplace?” She and her aunt had never as much as gone to a picture show together.
“Mr. Dozier called yesterday. And he’s agreed to take you to live with him and his family in Florida.” Aunt Pearl’s fake cheerfulness was lost in the tears she wiped away on the back of her soapy wrist, lather running down her forearm, dripping onto her clean kitchen floor.
“Agreed? No damn way. It was settled.” Had Red stopped sending the envelopes?
“He’s insisting.” She glanced at the floor. She was a terrible liar.
“So what? There’s no law against me being here.” Still she clutched thin air.
“I know, but you’re wrong. If put to a judge, he’d say you belong with him.” Aunt Pearl paused, as if searching for a higher reason.
But whether she stayed or went with Red didn’t feel to Jodie like the kind of decision the law should make. “No, here with you is where my dead mama wanted me. And what she wanted can’t be changed by God, or no judge, and least of all Red Dozier.” Her lungs collapsed like a pricked balloon, her voice thinned, and she pleaded, “Please, you don’t know anything about where he means to take me.”
“He can give you a real family. And that’s something you and I can never be. He’s got a good Christian wife and a … daughter. Be grateful she’s willing to take you in.”
“But, you’re a Christian.” Jodie had heard in Aunt Pearl’s hesitancy the truth she could not escape. No matter how hard she tried to become someone worthy, she was peculiar.