She showed the handbill to Pearl, who was examining a swatch of brocaded material on the floor. “Wonder who they were,” Orphelia said.
Pearl glanced at the handbill, then picked up and fondled the cloth. “Wouldn’t this make a grand spread on my bed? If I slip this in our room, would you keep your mouth shut?”
Orphelia laughed. “Like Momma wouldn’t notice a strange, moldy, yellow, red, and green piece of cloth on your bed and not have a hissy fit. If I can’t take the piano, you can’t take that cloth.”
“I’ll wait for a good time, like when she’s busy, and tell Momma I found this old rag by the road and could I wash it and make it nice. She won’t be listening that close, anyway. I want that piece of paper with those people, too. I can hang it on the wall. I’ll say, ‘Why, Momma, where’d this handbill come from? It must have been stuck to this cloth!’” Winking at Orphelia, Pearl took the handbill. She folded the cloth and slid the handbill between the layers.
“Who would have thought the Stone Shed held anything but dust?” Orphelia turned to Cap. “According to Miz Rutherford, this house was once owned by a white family named Stone. That’s why they call it the Stone Shed, you know, even though it’s made out of wood. Anyway, Miz Rutherford said it was where runaway slaves hid out, called an Underground Railroad or something. Being so close to Illinois, they would cross the Mississippi and go over to Quincy and be free. Or else they went on to towns in Iowa like Salem, Denmark, or Burlington and were free there.”
“You talkin’ like we’re in school,” Cap said. “What I figure is that the sheriff ended up with it and used to have dances and stuff out here. The grown folks knew what it really was, but they called it a jail and you all believed it. That’s why you all been so scared to come inside. You can’t be that green to believe everything grown folks say, can you?”
“Yes,” Pearl broke in before Orphelia could speak. “We better get out of here before someone else comes around. Orphelia, I just thought of something. Today’s the day we do Sheriff Lasswell’s clothes.”
Momma was the best laundress in town, and she washed and ironed the clothes of the most prosperous white families around. Pearl and Orphelia usually helped. “That must be a sign that it’s all right for me to take this piece of cloth. I’m just doing more of his clothes!” Pearl patted her skirt. It bulged out more than usual.
“Cap, you’re a witness that I didn’t have anything to do with Pearl stealing that cloth. So, Pearl, don’t put me into your falsifying.” Orphelia returned to the piano. She wished she could put it under her skirt.
She started to sit down at the piano when she noticed paper sticking out from under the piano-bench lid. Lifting up the lid, she found more sheet music and a small composition book. Reading sheet music was how she learned many songs, apart from those she heard played at functions or that Miz Rutherford gave her in music books. Orphelia broke into a smile as she thumbed through the pages of the composition book. Written on the cover were the words “Songbook” and “Private” in a fine hand. The book contained several pages of musical compositions. One song was entitled “Lewis County Rag.” She’d never heard that one before. Ignoring the privacy notice, Orphelia squinted at the notes and began to play. It was the same kind of music that man Scott Joplin down in Sedalia was getting famous for creating. She played the entire song.
“Orphelia! Get off that piano and come on!” Pearl called from the door. “Else I’m leaving you in here by yourself.”
Orphelia stuffed the little book into her bodice. She couldn’t wait to get to school and play the song when Miz Rutherford wasn’t around. Whose book was this, and why had it been left behind? Whose instruments were these? And what had this room and this building really been used for after the Stone family left?
CHAPTER 2
PUNISHED
Cap left them at the crossroads. When Orphelia and Pearl reached their yard, they saw Momma in the back taking down Sheriff Lasswell’s red flannel long underwear from the line. They slipped into the house. While Pearl paused in the kitchen, Orphelia eased into the bedroom she and Pearl shared. She removed the songbook from her bodice and hid it under the cover of her bed to examine later.
As she changed from her school dress into a plain skirt and waist, Pearl came in smiling and chewing on a piece of johnnycake. “I just put that cloth in a laundry basket. Momma’ll never know the difference.” Pearl changed her clothes, too, and then they left the room.
Orphelia was glad to notice Poppa’s blue-and-white-striped work coat hanging in the hallway It meant he was home for now and not traveling up and down the Missouri Railroad line, repairing the rails. Poppa’s job with the railroad as a gandy dancer was a good one, but it kept him away a lot.
Back outside, Momma glanced at Orphelia but smiled brightly at Pearl. “Take that basket in and start ironing,” she told Pearl. “You be careful you don’t catch yourself on fire around the stove or burn yourself on the iron. Orphelia, start taking those clothes down off the line. And don’t drop anything. You know how clumsy you are.”
As clumsy as Pearl is, Momma better watch that she doesn’t scorch Mrs. Lasswell’s petticoats, Orphelia thought. Aloud she said, “Momma, you should have heard us practicing this afternoon. Pearl was just singing and singing, and I was on my pretend piano. We’re gonna sound great tomorrow night.”
“You’d do better to practice for Sunday morning service,” Momma replied over the hot tub of lye soap.
At dinner Pearl jabbered away about school like she was the only one in it. Girl has a mouth that runs like one of those autocars, Orphelia thought. She drummed her fingers on the table. When she failed to get Momma’s attention, she waved at Poppa.
“Stop that,” Momma said. “Wait your turn to speak.”
And what day would that be? Orphelia wanted to say, but she knew better.
Poppa saw the look on her face. “And how was your day today, Li’l Sweets?” Poppa said, using his nickname for her.
“We practiced our act on the way home, with Cap banging on Pearl’s schoolbook for a drum. He said he has a real drum, though. May I go to school early tomorrow and practice on the piano?”
“And, Poppa, Cap and us was walking by the Stone Shed,” Pearl blabbered, “and Cap went in and—”
“What?” Momma and Poppa said together.
Pearl shut up. She lowered her eyes and concentrated on her wieners and sauerkraut. Orphelia thought fast. “Momma, you need any more help with the laundry tonight?”
“Cap did what?” Momma ignored Orphelia. “What? Pearl, I’m waiting for you to tell me more about Cap and the Shed.”
“Nothing,” said Pearl.
“But you two know better than to go in, don’t you?” Poppa said. “Pearl? You stayed put, didn’t you? Didn’t you? Pearl?”
Momma said in her cold, quiet “switching time” voice, “Pearl Charise Bruce, did you go into the Shed?”
Eyes still cast down at her plate, Pearl shook her head no ten times, fast. She looked up, from Poppa to Momma to Orphelia, who was holding her breath. Then Pearl nodded her head yes slowly, once. “But, Momma, Orphelia went in, too.”
Orphelia’s mouth fell open. “Pearl!”
“Against our word?” Momma turned to Orphelia.
“But, Momma, it was Pearl’s fault! Cap went in and called to Pearl, Pearl went in and called to me, but I kept telling them both not to go in!” Orphelia said. Goose bumps popped out on her arms. Her braids felt tight.
“I am so disappointed in you, Orphelia. You go off and do these things and don’t care what we say.” Momma’s normally pale brown face was flushed an angry red. “What were you thinking, to go following after some boy and trespass on the sheriff’s property?”
Orphelia kept quiet. Momma never could admit that Pearl ever did anything wrong. It was like Momma suddenly sprouted horse blinders when it came to Pearl. Sure must be nice to be the favorite.
“And what happened after you got in?” Poppa was saying to Pear
l. “Tell me the truth.”
“I saw a bunch of papers and junk. I came right back out. I kept calling to Orphelia to come out, too, but she stayed. So I went back in to get her. She had this piece of paper with two men and a lady on it and showed it to me. I told her to put it down and I made her come out. Honest.”
“Poppa, she’s lying again! Momma, I—”
“You hush up right now, Orphelia!” Momma said. Her gray eyes had turned to the color of cold steel. “Don’t you ever say that word ‘lying’ ever again. I didn’t raise girls to use such crude language or to disobey me. Where’s that piece of paper? Orphelia, show it to me this minute!”
“I don’t have it. Pearl was the one who took it!”
“I know where she put it, Momma. I’ll get it.” Pearl jumped up from the table and ran into their bedroom.
Had Pearl seen her hide the songbook? Oh Lord, how did I get caught up in another one of Pearl’s lies this time? thought Orphelia.
“I just don’t know what gets into you!” Momma fumed. “Orphelia, you’re so bullheaded. You just think you can do whatever you want. Well, take your soul to Jesus because your behind is mine.”
“But that’s not fair!” Orphelia cried. “You ought to switch Pearl, too!”
“You best worry about your own self right now,” Momma snapped.
Pearl trooped back into the kitchen with Orphelia’s schoolbag. “Look! See?” She jerked the faded handbill from the schoolbag and gave it to Momma. Staring at it, Momma went pale. She gaped at Orphelia like she’d seen a ghost.
Orphelia snatched her bag from Pearl. “You leave my stuff alone! Momma, Poppa, Pearl put that in my bag. I asked her who the people were, and she said she was gonna sneak it home—”
“Be quiet.” Poppa took the handbill from Momma and studied it. Slowly he tore it into pieces and dropped the pieces on top of the sauerkraut on his plate.
“Why won’t you tell them the truth?” Orphelia hollered at Pearl. “And what did you do with that piece of cloth you stole from there and stuck up under your skirt?”
“What piece of cloth?” asked Poppa. “Pearl, did you—”
“We’re not discussing Pearl or any cloth right now,” said Momma in that icy, quiet voice. “Orphelia, I don’t think I’ll switch you.”
Orphelia stared at her, not knowing what to say It wasn’t like Momma to change her mind so quick like that. Should Orphelia thank her? On the other hand, as awful as a switching was, maybe it would be better than whatever else Momma might have in mind.
When Momma switched her, she’d make Orphelia go out in the front yard and cut a branch from the weeping willow tree to use. Orphelia would always find the smallest twig she could. Sometimes she had to go back out several times until she brought in one that satisfied Momma. Then she had to strip off its leaves and take off her skirt and stockings. Clementine Madison said her Momma did it the same way. Orphelia hated that weeping willow tree.
Orphelia ate the rest of her dinner in silence. So did Momma, Poppa, and Pearl. No one mentioned Pearl’s stolen cloth. Momma had spoken, and there was nothing more to say. But if Momma wasn’t going to switch Orphelia, what would she do? It was just like Momma to make Orphelia wait for a punishment. How long would she have to wait this time?
Orphelia wondered and waited while she and Pearl collected the dirty dishes. Poppa stood up and left the kitchen. Orphelia followed him with her eyes, wishing he would stay. She and Pearl silently washed and dried the dishes. The sun disappeared behind a bank of thick purple storm clouds. Lightning flashed among them. A storm was on its way.
After finishing up the dishes, Orphelia waited for Momma’s storm to break, too. She felt like she’d pop if she had to wait any longer. But when Momma removed her apron and finally turned to Orphelia, she jumped.
“No, this time I won’t switch you,” Momma said, folding her arms. “But you can just forget about being in that talent show.”
Orphelia’s face stung like Momma had slapped her. “No, no! Momma, oh please—don’t take me out, please! Switch me, I don’t care, but not the talent show!”
“That’s what I said and that’s what I mean.”
“Momma, please!” Orphelia rushed out of the kitchen, her hands to her head. She ran through the hallway, past the portrait of Uncle Winston, and found Poppa sitting at his desk reading the newspaper. “Poppa, Momma said I can’t be in the show! Poppa, that’s not fair! Don’t let her take me out of the show!”
Without looking up, he said, “You buttered your bread, now eat it. Maybe you’ll think twice next time before disobeying us.”
Orphelia flung the dish towel onto the floor. She stamped off to her room and threw herself across the bed, too angry to cry. She wished she could die. All because of Pearl, Pearl, Pearl! Big-mouth liar, lying to save her own behind! Calling somebody a liar was fighting words, but she didn’t care about that. How could Momma and Poppa believe Pearl’s lies all the time? How could they be so mean? They knew how much the talent show meant to Orphelia. And couldn’t Poppa have taken her side just this once?
When Pearl edged into the room, Orphelia sat up, her fists clenched and her heart pounding. “You double-crossing, mealy-mouthed, low-down lying sow!”
Pearl stayed by the door and kept her hand on the leather drawstring that served as a knob. “It just slipped out. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to be in that ol’ show, anyway. There’s always some ol’ program coming up where you can show off. I get tired of having to hear people always bragging on you. You think you’re so great, ol’ ugly, skinny thing!”
“And you’re a selfish, jealous, lying pig! Pretty on the outside and so ugly on the in!”
“You keep calling me names and I’ll tell Momma that—that—you were dancing! Flirting and twisting your behind and kicking up your legs with a boy around. And whistling, too!”
“So were you!” But Pearl would be crazy enough to lie to Momma about that, too. Flirting and whistling around boys were just as bad a sin as playing sassy music and dancing. Orphelia lay back down and turned away from Pearl. She listened to her thumping heart.
“I can’t stand it when Momma gets mad at me,” Pearl said. “She gets mad at you so much you should be used to it.”
“She never gets mad at you for anything. But I know one thing. I know that you’re gonna burn in the hereafter down below for all those lies. Every inch of your fat’s gonna sizzle and pop and drip grease down on the rest of us.”
Orphelia heard the other bed creak as Pearl sat down on it. She’s thinking that last part over, Orphelia told herself. I wish I could have thought of that to say to her while we were at the dinner table. Momma really would have had a fit then!
“Lord knows I don’t want to burn in the hereafter down below,” Pearl finally said. “I didn’t mean to say those things. I’m really sorry about the talent show. I didn’t think Momma’d get so mad she’d pull us out. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. But I can’t go back in there and change what I said, not now. She’d just get madder. Say you’ll forgive me, Orphelia. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
“But that’s the only way I can forgive you—if you tell Momma the truth right now. Then maybe she’ll change her mind before it’s too late and put me back in the show.”
“Well, I can’t. Maybe later. I said I’d make it up to you. Now I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” Pearl turned down the light in the kerosene lamp on the nightstand between their beds and pulled the covers to her chin.
Orphelia watched the light flicker on the wall for several minutes as she went over and over this awful turn of events. She stared at the flowery wallpaper in the dim light. Finally she fought back the ache in her heart the only way she knew how. Playing her favorite songs on her imaginary piano, she pretended that the flowers on the wall were people’s faces—the faces of her audiences in Kansas City, St. Louis, Memphis, Sedalia, Chicago, New Orleans, London, Paris, Spain, China, all around the world. “Lewis County Rag” came to h
er mind. Each note rang out as clearly in her brain as when she had played the song on the out-of-tune piano that afternoon.
By the end of her mental recital, Orphelia’s spirits had risen a little, but only a very little.
As Orphelia whispered her evening prayers, the tears finally came. “Oh when, dear Lord, will I ever have another chance to play for the famous Madame Meritta? And why, oh Lord, does Momma hate the music that I love so much, and why does she seem to hate me, too?”
Early the next morning before school began, Orphelia, with swollen red eyes, stood silently and miserably by Miz Rutherford’s desk while Pearl told their teacher that they couldn’t be in the talent show.
“Well, I declare!” Miz Rutherford said after Pearl finished. “On the day of the talent show, why in the world would your momma suddenly think it lacks moral uplift?”
She stood up from her desk and came around to Orphelia. She placed one hand on Orphelia’s left shoulder, lifted up her chin with the other hand, and looked deeply into her puffy eyes. Orphelia could smell peppermint on her breath.
“Do you want me to talk with your momma and see if she’ll change her mind?” Miz Rutherford asked. “I assured all the parents from the start that Madame Meritta conducts very proper, Christian talent shows. After all, it’s being sponsored by the church! My goodness, it’s even being held on church grounds.”
Orphelia wished she could tell her teacher that “moral uplift” had nothing to do with their withdrawal. But aloud she only said, “It wouldn’t make any difference. You know Momma.” Leaving Pearl and Miz Rutherford, she walked outside to where Demetria and Clementine Madison and Panella Dade stood on the steps, listening through the half-open door.
“I didn’t think your momma was that strict,” said Demetria.
“Your momma decided she didn’t want to get embarrassed from having everybody hear Pearl onstage mooing like a cow, didn’t she?” said Panella. “Too bad for you, better for us.” She and her sister were in the show and would recite and act out two poems by the famous poet Paul Laurence Dunbar.
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