The Pecan Man

by Selleck, Cassie Dandridge

  Anyway, Dovey never called me Miss Ora Lee. I never liked her enough to let her get familiar. Truth be known, callin' me Miss Beckworth was her way of saying she didn't want to be familiar in the first place, but that was fine with me. Southerners are mostly happy to give tit for tat.

  Dovey didn't wait to be invited to sit down. She put the pie down on the table beside me and settled her big ol' square behind into one of my rockers.

  "Beautiful day, ain't it, Miss Beckworth?"

  "It started out that way." I could barely disguise my contempt. Dovey Kincaid hasn't visited me one time in her life to be social. I could tell right off she was on a mission.

  "It sure did, Miss Beckworth. It really did." She sighed like she'd just had a bite of heaven and settled herself into the rocker.

  "What brings you all the way across the street, Dovey?"

  "Well, I was just bakin' a few pies for the Woman's Club bake sale and I looked out and saw you sittin' here and I thought to myself, 'Now, Dovey Kincaid! Here you are bakin' pies for charity, and there sits your very own neighbor over there all by herself!' So, I whipped off my apron, picked up a lemon chess pie and headed right on over." She smoothed her skirt with both hands, then clasped them together like she was saying a prayer and dropped them into her lap. Then, as if she had forgotten her manners, leaned forward, cocked her head to the side and aimed her best debutante smile right in my direction.

  I grinned back, but not in the name of being mannerly.

  "Is that so, Dovey?" I chuckled. "Well, that is just as charitable a thing as I can imagine. I'll make sure Blanche takes it home with her tonight."

  I asked a mental prayer of forgiveness for insulting Blanche that way, but I just couldn't help myself.

  "Oh! Well, of course, Miss Beckworth," she sputtered as tat collided solidly with tit (if you'll pardon the expression). "But, I do hope you'll try a little bite yourself before you do. I worked awful hard on that pie for you not to at least get a taste of it."

  "I appreciate the thought, but I'm afraid it might be a little sour for me. Lemon gives me gas."

  Judging by her expression of horror, she no doubt wanted me to think I had offended her gentility, but she forgets the fact that sound carries a long way when windows are open. She may not have lost her virginity on her wedding night, but Lord knows she lost any discretion she might have had.

  "What do you really want, Dovey?" I asked as she composed herself.

  "Well, I did want to ask you about that awful old man you've hired to mow your lawn. Now, I know it's none of my business, but do you think it's a good idea to have him in this neighborhood all the time? Honestly, Miss Beckworth, we don't know a thing about this man and you've got him over here plunderin' through everything."

  "Plundering? He's weeding my garden! How do you get plundering out of a little yard work?"

  "Well, you know what I mean. He's just getting mighty familiar with your property. It isn't right, Miss Beckworth! The other day, I saw him rummaging through your garage when your back was turned."

  "I sent him to look for some slug pellets, Dovey. He's trying to get my flowerbeds back in order, for crying out loud."

  "Well, still - I don't think it's good for him to be around all the time. It's bad enough that we're three blocks from the loony bin. Now folks ridin' through will be thinking the neighborhood's gone colored all the sudden. And besides, it just isn't safe."

  "Oh, for heaven's sake! That man couldn't hurt a fly if he wanted to. He's seventy years old if he's a day." (I was ten years off on that, but I didn’t know it at the time.)

  "Maybe so, but he's got a dangerous look to him and I don't like it. And he's fit enough to haul that mower around everywhere he goes. That says to me that he's fit enough to do whatever harm he has a mind to."

  "Well, it says to me he's hungry, and if you had a charitable bone in your body, you'd be baking a pie for him. Now, you can take that pie of yours and waddle your fat butt on home. No one here needs your kind of charity."

  Don't you know, she scooped that pie up and was back inside her front door before the rocker she vacated came to a rest.

  Three

  Summer came and went without much excitement. Eldred Mims became a fixture in the neighborhood. Mothers stopped calling their children inside the moment they saw him and life returned to normal, as we knew it anyway.

  Just about the time we finally smelled fall in the air the family grocery store downtown succumbed to the rise of the supermarket. Neither Blanche nor I were able to walk the mile or so it now took to get groceries, so I started taking a cab to the Winn Dixie store. The wide variety of choices was overwhelming at first and it often took over two hours to finish my marketing. Blanche pitched a fit the first time I did that.

  "Law, Miss Ora, you 'bout scared me to death!"

  Blanche could be dramatic when she had a mind to be.

  "Quit fussing and help me unpack this stuff."

  I was too tired to account for my whereabouts, dull as the story might be.

  "You couldn'ta been at the Winn Dixie all this time! Why didn't you tell me you was go'n go somewheres else?"

  "Well, I was and I didn't, Blanche. It took me all this long to get through that blasted store. I've never seen so much food in all my life. I don't know why Bobby Milstead had to go and close the Thriftway downtown."

  "They like to blame it on those big ol' stores, Miss Ora, but I know for a fact it's 'cause Mr. Bobby's son wadn't no account. Mr. Bobby been wantin' to retire for ten years now and he was just waitin' for Bobby, Jr. to grow up and take an interest. My Marcus stocked shelves down there for three years. He wanted to buy that ol' store, but Mr. Bobby wouldn’t have none of that. He said he'd rather close it down than to have somebody else run it into the ground. That‘s why Marcus up and join‘t the Army."

  "My Lord, Blanche, you never said a word about that.”

  “Wasn’t much to say,” she said and shrugged. “Marcus, couldn’t have bought it anyway.”

  “Too much?” I asked.

  Blanche looked at me like I had two heads.

  “Yeah, Miz Ora, that’s it,” she said, “It cost too much.”

  Her sarcasm wasn’t lost on me, but I was too exhausted to pursue it further. I poured a glass of tea and headed for my porch, leaving Blanche to deal with the groceries.

  Within a month or two, I had my shopping excursions down to two hours every other week. I grew to appreciate the fact that I could get pantyhose AND medicine in the same store where I bought chicken legs. I wondered why I hadn't tried this before. Blanche reminded me about old dogs and new tricks when I said that out loud. Sometimes I wonder why I kept her around all those years.

  September 24th. I'll remember that date for as long as I live. That was the day that really set this thing into motion.

  I came home from the Winn Dixie to find Blanche sitting in my recliner, clutching her youngest child Grace to her chest. The child was sleeping, but I could see muddy streaks of tears that had dried on her face. Blanche's face was still wet, though the only sound that came from her mouth was the song she was singing soft and low to her baby girl.

  "What in the world..." My voice trailed off as I dropped the sacks I carried to the floor. "Blanche, what has happened?"

  I heard someone clear his throat behind me and turned to see the cab driver with an armload of groceries.

  "Oh...yes...set them down here. Are there any more?"

  He nodded as he put the grocery bags on the seat of the hall tree next to the door. Blanche still had not looked up or altered her low singing. I followed the cab driver out, paid what I owed and took the last of the groceries from his arms. I tottered back into the house and set the paper bags on the dining room table.

  Blanche still hadn't responded to my question. She just kept up her soft crooning while a tiny river of tears ran down her cheeks. I knelt beside the chair and quietly laid both my hands on her arm.

  "Blanche. What is it? Tell me what happened." />
  She didn’t respond, but began to whimper softly.

  "Blanche, it's all right now. It's all right."

  "It ain't all right, Miss Ora. It ain't all right and it ain't never gonna be all right."

  Grace stirred in her mama's arms and Blanche held her tighter and rocked harder in the chair.

  "What’s not all right, Blanche? What happened? Lord, please tell me what happened."

  But Blanche did not respond. She closed her eyes and rocked her child.

  I suddenly felt faint. In all the time Blanche had worked for me I had never seen her cry. I kicked off my shoes and went to the kitchen. I could still hear Blanche's rhythmic rocking and the soft, sad tune she hummed to her baby girl.

  A pitcher of tea and two glasses were already out on the counter. Blanche had apparently been anticipating my return. I cracked a tray of ice and winced as the ice cubes hit the insides of the glasses.

  Too loud, I thought.

  The cubes cracked again as I poured the warm tea over them. I took a long drink from one of the glasses and took the other to Blanche. Her shoulders pulsed up and down as if she were bouncing Grace like an infant with colic, but as I approached I saw that the shaking was caused by the deep, silent sobs Blanche was trying to control. I set the tea down on the lamp table beside the chair, then leaned over and reached for the child.

  “Let me have her, Blanche.”

  I’d never heard my own voice sound like that - low, firm and commanding. Blanche responded by rolling Grace even tighter to her bosom.

  “Give her to me, Blanche.”

  “She too heavy for you, Miss Ora. Jes’ let me hol’ her here a while. Then I’ll get up and put those groceries away.”

  “For crying out loud, Blanche. I don’t give a rat’s ass about the groceries! The child’s exhausted. I’m going to put her to bed, and then you are going to tell me what happened so we can figure out what to do about it.”

  “Ain’t nothin’ we can do about it. Nothin’ a’tall.”

  I reached down again and lifted Grace into my arms. Blanche didn’t try to stop me this time. I was surprised at how tiny the child felt, not heavy at all. I’d never held her before.

  Grace took a shuddering breath, but stayed asleep as I carried her down the hall to the guest bedroom. Sunlight streamed through the window on the west wall and fell on the child’s face as I bent to pull back the covers. I stopped and stared at her for a moment.

  I put her in bed and removed her patent leather shoes and ruffled socks. I saw the streak of blood then, already turning brown and blending into the black scuffs of dirt and grass stains on the once white cotton. Gracie’s skin was dark like her mama’s, and it took a moment to realize that her legs were covered in the same dirt and scuffs and, though I could see no open wounds on her body, blood. It lay in streaks down the insides of her thin, baby legs. I covered them then, willing myself not to see what I was seeing. My soft white sheets and pink chenille spread had never suppressed such offense and I would never look at them again without remembering.

  I drew the shades and stopped at the door to look back at the sleeping child. I hadn’t felt angry until that moment, only concern and confusion. But, as I stood there watching Blanche’s precious child sleep, fury churned in my stomach and spread its heat through my chest and down my arms. I didn’t feel my fingernails cut into the palms of my hands as I clenched and unclenched my fists, but I saw the marks later and knew exactly when it happened.

  I closed the door and went back down the hall toward the living room. Blanche was carrying the last sacks of groceries to the kitchen. I didn’t say a word. What could I possibly have said? I did the same thing Blanche did. I tried to force normalcy back into our world. I put the canned goods into the pantry while Blanche worked on the cold food. She closed the refrigerator door just as I came out of the pantry. Our eyes met and we froze.

  Then, as I stood there trying and failing to find words of comfort or wisdom or anything that wouldn’t be dismally inadequate, I watched Blanche collapse into herself. It began with her forehead, then her eyes and mouth. Her hands flew up to cover her face, but the rest of her went down, down, down. I reached for her, but there was no way to hold her up. My rage was no match for her sorrow and we went down together.

  I don’t know how long we stayed there. Long enough for Blanche’s anguished sobs to dissipate. Long enough for the room to grow dark with the setting of the sun. Long enough for Blanche’s oldest daughter to worry about her mother not being home to fix supper.

  Four

  The harsh jangling of the telephone brought us both to our feet. Blanche reached the phone in the hallway first, but I took it from her before she could speak.

  “Hello?” My voice cracked a little.

  “Miz Beckworth?” It was Patrice.

  “Hey, Sugar. You worried about your mama? I shoulda called you a long time ago and I just forgot.” I forced cheer into my voice and rushed on before she could respond. “Blanche isn’t feeling too well, honey. I’m just gonna put her in the guest room and have her stay the night. You’re all right there, aren’t you? Can you get the others fed okay? How old are you now? Sixteen, isn’t it?”

  “Yes’m, I’ll be seventeen next month. And we done had supper, but… Is Mama okay?”

  “She’s just feelin’ a little poorly, but she’ll be fine. I think she ate something that didn’t agree with her.”

  “Is Grace all right there, too? Do you want me to come get her?”

  “No, that’s okay. She’s already asleep, so she’ll stay here, too.”

  “I didn’t mean for her to stay the whole day over there. She drew Mama a picture at school and was just set on takin’ it straight to her. I thought Mama’d send her right on back home and I’ve kinda been worried about her. I hope she hasn’t been botherin’ you.”

  “Lord, child, Grace is no bother. Don’t you worry a bit. Your mama will call you tomorrow mornin’ to check on y’all, okay?”

  “I don’t know, Miz Ora. I really think I oughta talk to Mama about it. Can she come to the phone?”

  “Well,” I hesitated, “not right this minute, but I can have her call you in a little bit if it’s not too urgent.” Blanche reached for the phone and I turned away tugging the receiver close to my ear.

  “Well...I just need to know what she wants me to do. You sure she’s okay?”

  I could hear the concern in her voice. It bordered on panic.

  “She’s fine, Patrice. I’ll have her call you. Bye!”

  I hung up before she could say another word. That was not one of my finer performances I’m sure, but I didn’t want Blanche to talk to anyone until we’d had a chance to talk about Grace.

  “I cain’t leave my children overnight, Miz Ora.”

  “Patrice is no child, Blanche.”

  “I ain’t never left ‘em alone all night.”

  “I’m well aware of that,” I said. “Tell you the truth, I don’t know how you’ve done half the things you’ve done by yourself since Luther died.”

  “It’s been six years now, I’m ‘bout used to it. And Patrice helps me.”

  “What do you reckon Luther’d want you to do about this thing with Grace?”

  Blanche squared her shoulders and sucked in a long breath.

  “Luther woulda landed hisself in jail or worse over ‘this thing’. I never thought I’d say it, but it’s prolly good he ain’t here to deal with it now. The way I see it, they ain’t a thing we can do that wouldn’t make it worse than it already is.”

  “Not even calling the police?”

  “Huh,” Blanche grunted. “Especially not callin’ the police.”

  “You can’t believe that, Blanche.”

  “It ain’t the same for you, Miz Ora. You jes’ go’n have to trust me on this one.”

  Part of me knew she was dead right, but it wasn’t something I wanted to admit. Not to her, anyway.

  “Surely we’re not still living in that kind of world…”
I trailed off helplessly.

  “What kind of world is that, Miz Ora? What do you think would happen to my girl - hell, to my whole family - if we went to the police with this?"

  I opened my mouth to answer, but she went on.

  "I'll tell you what would happen. They'd take my baby down to the hospital and they'd do their jobs, but they ain't no way she'd understand. She'd just feel like they was doin' things to her all over again. Meanwhile -“

  “Blanche.”

  “Meanwhile,” she nearly shouted over me, “they'd act like she couldn't hear a word they said, but she'd hear all right. She'd hear them call her a liar, even if they didn't actually use that word. And they'd make her feel dirty, 'cause they think she's dirty."

  "Blanche, no..."

  "Then the police would come askin' questions she couldn't answer. They'd do they damnedest to trip her up and it would! By the time they got done with her, she’d be doubtin' she was even my baby."

  "But, I won't let that happen, Blanche. I wouldn't leave your side for a minute. I know Chief Kornegay! He would never let them get away with…"

  "Chief Kornegay?! That just shows how much you don’t know. It was Ralph Kornegay's son did this to Grace. He raped her, Miz Ora! He full out raped my baby and then he laughed in her face!"

  "Oh, sweet Jesus," I moaned and turned away from her. I couldn’t seem to breathe. I clutched at the front of my blouse, but my hands were trembling and the fabric slipped from my fingers. Blanche went on.

  "And what if somebody did believe her? What if they did send that boy to jail for what he did? He's still in high school. Worst that would happen to him is goin' to reform school and what good would that do? What do you think would happen to Gracie at school then? They would torment her, that's what would happen."

  I covered my ears with both hands and turned toward the living room.

  "Okay, Blanche, okay. I understand..."

  "No, you don't understand, Miz Ora! You don’t understand at all. It wouldn't just be hard on her. It would never be safe for her again. Sooner or later, somebody would want revenge, if not before that boy got out, for sho' after he got out. I ain't puttin' her through it, do you hear me? I ain't!"