This I Know

by Eldonna Edwards

“Shit! Really?”

  “Really. And don’t say s-h-i-t. It’s not nice.”

  “Well, this is just for fun anyway, isn’t it? You can’t really tell the future.” She pauses, snaps a double bubble.

  “You got on a locket,” I say. Shirley clasps her hand over the jewelry tucked inside her blue sweater. “And in it,” I add, “is a picture of Elvis Presley.”

  Shirley gasps. “You of the devil, Grace?” Her jaw is going a mile a minute on that stick of Juicy Fruit. “That’s what people say.”

  I slide off the stool and stick my face through the hole in the box. “Whoever says that is a liar! My gift is from God! Just like your bosoms.”

  She stops chewing. “I believe you, Grace,” she says. “I’m sorry. . . .”

  “Time’s up!” Joy yells. She sure does love being in charge.

  Shirley winks at me and strolls off, her full hips swaying like a cradle on greased hinges.

  Next is Carol Anne Curtis. She asks about a lost ring, one her grandma gave her, and I tell her it’s in her sister’s top drawer. She stole it. Carol Anne marches off like a soldier to battle. “I knew it!”

  My head is starting to hurt. I feel like I could fall asleep sitting up.

  “Joy?”

  My sister pokes her head in front of me. “What?”

  “I want to quit now. I don’t feel very good.”

  “Just a couple more, Grace. Donny Workman is here and Shari Parker. Then you can take a break, okay?”

  “But—”

  “It’ll only take a minute. C’mon.”

  She shoves Donny up to the window and tells him to make it snappy. Donny Workman is small for his age—one year under me. I’ve seen him walking his little sisters to school. His family just moved here last year.

  “What do you want to ask, Donny?”

  He glances behind him, then peers back at me. “Can I just ask it in my head? I mean, if you’re for real, you should know what I’m asking without my saying it, right? Nothing personal, but I don’t want your nosy sister to hear.”

  “I guess so. I can try.”

  He closes his eyes and holds on to the ragged edge of the cardboard window with his hands. Dirt lines his fingernails. He squints hard, as if this will make it easier for me to get his question, but I’m not hearing it. I reach out and put my hand over his. At first he jerks it away, but then he puts it back, real gentle-like.

  Does my daddy love me?

  I squeeze Donny’s hand to let him know I got it. He opens his eyes and looks at me, blushing.

  “Of course your Daddy loves you, Donny. Just because he died doesn’t mean he stopped loving you.” I say it softly so Joy can’t hear. I feel bad for him.

  Donny backs up from the window, his mouth hanging open. “What’re you talking about? My dad’s not dead. He’s at home right now. Probably drunk already, but he’s home watching the game.”

  My head is really pounding now. I put my fingers to my temples and rub. “Donny, I’m sorry. I must’ve got things mixed up. I felt your daddy’s love and it was coming from . . . the other side. From heaven.”

  “You’re crazy!”

  Donny storms over to Joy and demands his money back. Joy yells at him. He runs past my box and around the side of the barn.

  “One more, okay?” Joy hands me a quarter as bait.

  “I don’t know, Joy. I think I’m too tired. Donny’s angry. I’m supposed to be helping people, not upsetting them.”

  “Oh, don’t mind him. His daddy may as well be dead. He’s a drunk and he beats Donny’s mama. I think he beats Donny, too.”

  “But his daddy . . . oh, never mind. One more and that’s it.”

  Shari Parker’s tiny brown eyes are sunk so deep into her face they almost disappear and her nose is shoved up like a piglet. Some of the kids call her Shari Porker. It’s not hot out, but Shari has sweat dripping down both sides of her round face.

  “Hey, Grace,” she says in her out-of-breath voice.

  “Hey, Shari.”

  “You look pretty.”

  “Thanks.” I want to say so do you, but that would be a lie. “I like your pink blouse,” I say instead.

  She looks down, which makes her extra chin fold up over the real one.

  “What do you want to ask, Shari?”

  “Can I ask anything?”

  “Sure. As long as it’s about you.”

  “Okay. What’s the most exciting thing that will happen to me this year?”

  “Wow. That’s a good one, Shari. Lemme see.”

  I close my eyes and concentrate. Joy and Chastity mumble in the background, probably making bad jokes about Shari. Then it gets real quiet. Too quiet. I open my eyes and I’m staring straight at Daddy’s belt buckle.

  When Daddy lifts the box off me I feel naked on the stool. Joy lied. A line of kids trails all the way out into the field, waiting their turn. When they see Daddy’s face turning red as a tomato everybody runs off. All except Shari Parker. Her sweaty face keeps peeking around the edge of the barn, watching everything.

  Daddy grabs the towel from my head and yanks the earrings off my ears. He throws them on the ground and orders me to stand up. Joy and Chastity start to sneak off, but Daddy calls them back.

  “You both stay right here. You’re all in this together.”

  Daddy looks like he’s about to cry. “Now listen to me. What I’m about to tell you is very serious. You girls have opened up a path to the devil and it’s up to you to close it. Get on your knees, all of you. I’m going to pray with you.”

  We drop to our knees in a circle in the dirt behind the barn, Chastity moving to make sure she lands on the towel Daddy threw.

  Daddy bows his head. “Our Dear Lord in heaven, we come to you to ask forgiveness for the worst kind of sin: blasphemy against the Almighty God. My own daughters, Lord, children of a minister of the Holy Word, have forsaken You. They’ve reached into the belly of the earth and called upon the Beast in order to make a few pennies. I’m here to beg Your forgiveness of them and they are here to repent.”

  He jabs me with his elbow, but no words come. My head still hurts. Daddy elbows me harder.

  I clear my throat. “Dear Lord. It’s me, Grace, one of your children. I know it was wrong to use my gift to—”

  Daddy grabs me by the shoulder. “Gift? That was no gift, do you hear me? What you messed with was the spirit world. Demons playing with you. That is not a gift!”

  “But, Daddy—”

  “Hush up and pray like I’ve taught you. Beg the Lord for forgiveness this very moment!”

  When I close my eyes again Daddy lets go of me. “Dear Lord. Please forgive me for . . . doing what I know is not right. Help me to keep my body and mind a temple by always listening to the voice inside that reminds me what is right and wrong. And please help everyone to understand I was only trying to help. Amen.”

  It’s the best I can do without disgracing God for the gift I know He’s given me. Daddy leaves it alone even though I know he wanted something different. Something more.

  To make sure he doesn’t start yelling again, Chastity pipes up. “Dear Jesus, please forgive me for helping Grace do a bad thing. Help her not to play with demons anymore.”

  I flinch but keep my mouth shut and remind myself that this is for Daddy more than for God. God knows me better.

  “And help me not to listen to Joy anymore when she comes up with one of her stupid ideas. Amen.”

  I can feel Joy’s anger burning to my left.

  “Joy? Your turn.” Daddy says it softly like he always does to Joy.

  “I’m praying quietly in my heart, Daddy.”

  Joy’s eyes are closed, her hands folded like an angel as she perches on her knees. I roll my eyes and Chastity starts to grin but catches herself. She’s mostly mad at me, not Joy.

  “Well,” Daddy says. “All right then. Just be sure to make it sincere.”

  He’s always so easy on Joy, like she can do no wrong. She’s his favorite.
My only comfort is that I’m Mama’s. She’d never say it outright, but she doesn’t have to. I might look like my Daddy’s side of the family, but Mama and me are more alike than any of my sisters. I think they know it, too. Probably why they treat me like a rotten apple when their plans go wrong. Like today. Like lots of days.

  Daddy closes his eyes again. “I beg of you, Dear Lord, to take pity on these children and hold for them a place on high with our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Listen to their prayers and consider the ignorance of their youth. In His beloved name we pray, amen.”

  Daddy stands and we start to do the same. He holds up his hand.

  “You aren’t going anywhere. You’re staying right here on your knees in prayer until the sun sets.”

  Chastity’s eyes fly open wide. “But, Daddy, it’s only three o’clock!”

  “Jesus went into the desert and prayed for forty days and forty nights! The least you can do for Him is to pray until sundown. And there’ll be no food until then. Jesus fasted the entire time he was in the desert.”

  He leaves us there all the livelong day. Every once in a while one of the neighborhood kids sneaks close enough to see us and points and laughs. When Chastity has to pee, she tries to sneak in the house. Daddy chases her back out. Tells her, “Jesus peed in the desert.” Chas runs back and gets on her knees next to us. As soon as Daddy is out of earshot she whispers, “Jesus pees?”

  I can’t help but snicker. “Of course. He was in human form.”

  “So he pooped, too?”

  Joy glances to her left and rolls her eyes. “Shush, Chas.”

  Chastity goes quiet. After about a minute she pipes up again. “I bet he didn’t fart, though.”

  Eventually Chastity tinkles in the bushes at the edge of the driveway. I do the same thing after I can’t wait any longer, but not Joy. She just holds it, like she holds most everything, from money to tears. Her bladder must be about to burst by the time Daddy finally comes out.

  “I hope you’ve been praying,” he says. “Because you’re going to need God’s forgiveness. You will pay everybody back. And each of you will put double that amount in the church offering plate.”

  I can see Joy doing the math in her head. It will mean no allowance until nearly the end of the year, three months away. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look so sad.

  * * *

  There’s something about being outside alone after dark that clears my head. The fall air is crisp, yet not so cold as to keep you inside. The whole world smells like wet leaves and tree bark, and the moon puts a spell on everything within sight. An owl hunts mice in the meadow behind the barn. Every once in a while he lands in the tree and hoots, “Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you all?” He drags out the word all, like a record player that got turned down to slow speed at the end of the song.

  Daddy has sworn my sisters and me to secrecy over the whole Amazing Grace thing, as if the entire town won’t know by morning. It turns out Donny Workman’s daddy, his real daddy, is dead. Apparently Donny went home crying and told his mama what I said. Mr. Workman, who had been drinking beer all day, blurted out, “Well, the little bastard finally found out.” At which point Mrs. Workman called Daddy and told him I was an evil girl for telling her little boy that his real daddy had died.

  Mr. Workman is actually Donny’s uncle. His mama was in love with Francis Workman and they made a baby together. They were going to get married right away, but Francis was killed by a stray bullet in a deer-hunting accident. His brother, Dean, the man Donny has always known as his daddy, married his mama to help her out. I guess she figured it was as close as she could get to Donny’s daddy, even though Dean is a lot meaner.

  When Donny asked me in his head if his daddy still loved him I was getting the answer back from Francis, his real daddy. And it was so strong I couldn’t believe it was wrong. Maybe if Donny had asked out loud I’d have gotten a different answer, although I don’t think it would have been a better one. As I look up at the stars I can’t help but think about Francis Workman and how much he loves a boy he’s never seen, just like I love Isaac, the brother I’ve never gotten to see.

  The grass rustles and I turn toward the barn. At first I think it might be Pippy, but Shari Parker walks quietly into the yard and stands still as a statue.

  “You better go, Shari. My daddy’s real mad.”

  “But you never answered my question.”

  I look at her, round face like the moon, waiting for her quarter’s worth of knowledge.

  “The most exciting thing to happen to you this year, right?”

  She nods, expectantly.

  I stand and put my hand on the doorknob. “It just did,” I say, and walk back inside.

  7

  Lola is my new best friend. She used to homeschool, but her parents decided to send her to public school this year. She’s a year older than me. The principal made her start a grade lower because she was behind in math. After word got around about the fortune-telling fiasco most kids have kept their distance from me. I’m not sure if they’re afraid of me or afraid of Daddy. Lola hasn’t been around long enough to be scared of either of us. On the first day she walked right up to me and said, “I like your hair.” And she meant it.

  Lola reminds me of a gypsy with her big eyes and thick, brown hair. She’s different from the other kids. Sometimes she wears two different-colored socks on purpose. And she brings strange things like yogurt or goat cheese and bean-sprout sandwiches in her lunch. Yesterday when she asked if I wanted to sleep over at her house I was thrilled. When Daddy said I could go I packed before he could change his mind, even though the sleepover isn’t until Friday. I’m so excited I can hardly stand it. I’ve always loved sleepovers, but this one’s special. It’s not like staying with one of the church families who take us in from time to time. This is a real girlfriend, someone who invited me because she actually likes me.

  Art class is at the end of the day and we’re making Indian headbands out of leather with beautiful feathers in different colors. Mrs. Wick usually wears her long, gray hair twisted into a knot that looks like a frosted bun at the nape of her neck. Today two long braids fall down her back. When Glen Garvey complains that only boys are supposed to wear feathers, Mrs. Wick just says, “Hmmmph. All the more reason to make up for it now.” The project seems a little babyish for sixth graders, but our teacher says art is supposed to keep us in touch with our inner child. Mrs. Wick is kind of weird.

  Lola uses glue to make swirls in her headband that she decorates with glitter. She carefully places each feather and by the time she’s done Lola looks like an Indian princess. My headband looks more like it fell off a dirty hippie. The paper kept ripping so it’s taped together and the feathers stick out every which way. When nobody is looking I throw it in the trash barrel. Lola must have seen me do it because on our way out of the classroom she takes off her headdress and sets it on my head.

  “It looks better on you,” she says. Before I can answer she skips out the front doors and climbs up the bus steps.

  I start for home proudly wearing my feathered headband until Billy Wolf rides by on his bike and knocks it off my head. I tuck it safely under my arm until I reach our house before putting it back on. I pause near the sewing room, where Mama is making flannel nighties and humming to herself. Every winter we each get a new nightgown. It’s one of the few times I don’t have to wear Joy’s hand-me-downs. I want Mama to notice my headband, but I don’t want to disturb her, so I watch quietly from the doorway. Mama has a rhythm to her sewing. She pushes the pedal with her knee and zips the fabric past the needle while chewing on her tongue, which she stows in the side of her cheek. Push, zip, chew all in one sleek motion.

  People say Mama looks a little like Veronica Lake. She pins her silky hair back with bobby pins that match the yellow waves. Mama’s no actress. But she sure can sing. Aunt Pearl told me that Mama wanted to be a famous gospel singer before she met Daddy. Daddy says fame breeds pride, which is a sin. Even so, w
hen he watches Billy Graham on the TV it sure looks like he’d love to swap places with him.

  Mama’s due date is a week away and she looks like if you laid a finger on her apron she’d burst. Her belly has grown so huge she has to let it rest on the chair between her legs. Any day now she might go to the hospital and bring home a baby. I still can’t picture it. Every time I look at the bulge beneath her dress I just see it go flat, like air being let out of a balloon.

  I move next to Mama and kiss her on the cheek. She smells like sewing machine oil and Tide detergent. I hug her from behind, my hand resting on her big belly. Beneath my palm, I feel my sister move inside the same home that used to be mine and Isaac’s. It feels familiar, but different. I suppose when someone new moves in they take over the space, making it their own. But I’m suddenly homesick in a way that makes me want to cry.

  “What’s wrong?” Mama asks.

  I pull my hands away. “Can I have a red-striped gown?”

  “Hmmm. Not enough of that material. How about green flowers?”

  “Okay. But Chastity isn’t getting a red-striped one, is she?”

  Mama plucks a straight pin from between her lips and looks up at me. Her face has grown round, just like her belly.

  “Of course not, Pocahontas.” She grins. “You know I always make yours and hers to match.”

  “Yeah, I was just checking.”

  She waits to see if I’ve got anything else to say; then her knee leans into the pedal and off she goes again.

  * * *

  On Friday the school bus pulls to a stop in front of a shabby two-story farmhouse. Lola nudges me. “This is us,” she says.

  My mouth must be hanging open because she stands in the aisle with her hands on her hips and says, “Well? Are you coming or not?”

  I grab my knapsack from under the seat. “Of course I’m coming.”

  Lola steps off the bus ahead of me. Two mutts race up the gravel driveway to meet us. Lola reaches down to scratch their scruffy heads. The dogs take turns sniffing my crotch, then trot alongside us as Lola leads me toward the barn. She pauses to pick up a couple of apples from under a tree in the yard and offers me one.