by J. D. Horn
“Go on and take your sisters inside. Nana will get the bags.” Opal herded her younger sisters past the screech of the screen door and into the darkening house.
May reached through the still-open screen door and pulled the main door shut. The spring on the screen door groaned and snapped as it closed with a thwack. “Let’s just say you do get this ‘singing’ job,” May made sure her disapproval rang through. It wasn’t that Betty couldn’t sing, for the woman certainly could, but May knew there was a hell of a lot more going on in those Atlanta clubs than singing. “Who’s going to look after the girls while you’re out all night?”
Betty rolled her eyes, but only a little. “You saw Opal. She’s practically a mother to the other girls already. She always looking after them, bathing ’em, feeding them.”
Betty’s words confirmed May’s worst fears. “She don’t have much of a choice about that, now does she?”
Betty’s face froze at the older woman’s words. There was no doubt in May’s mind that Betty had finished with being a mother. May and Reuben had hoped for a household full of children, but Jesse was the only one her womb had allowed her to carry. And now the selfish woman who’d robbed her of her only child was shirking the responsibility of her own babies’ care, all so she could be this buffoon’s fancy woman.
May felt like screaming, but instead bent down and grasped the handles of the suitcases. “Not much more trouble cooking for you two, if you want to come in.” It would take all her strength to allow this woman back under her roof, but never let it be said May refused anyone hospitality, even the likes of these two. As expected, Porkpie’s eyes lit up.
“Thank you, no,” Betty rushed through her response. “We should be getting on. It’s best if we get out of these parts and make it into Atlanta before sunset. Ain’t that right, Walter?”
As silly as Betty could be, this time May knew she was right. It wouldn’t be wise for a black man to be driving his shiny new automobile around these roads after sunset.
“We could stay a few . . .” Porkpie began, but then he caught something on Betty’s face, something the glare hid from May’s view. “Yes, I reckon it would be best to be getting on. But thank you for your kind offer, ma’am.”
“You at least gonna come in and get the girls settled?” May asked.
“No, no,” Betty said. “I think they’ll do better if we just slip away now.” She turned quickly on her heels and strode toward the car.
Porkpie doffed his hat once more. “Mrs. Wills.” He scurried to open Betty’s door.
“You just remember”—he stopped at the sound of May’s voice—“that that woman with you was once Mrs. Wills, too, and she got three girls here who need their mama.”
“Go on,” Betty commanded Porkpie. He nodded several times in quick succession, whether in response to her or May, May would never know. As soon as Porkpie opened the passenger door, Betty slid into her seat, backside first, and swung her legs up through the opening. Once she was settled, he jogged with a heavy gait around the front of the car to the driver’s side and opened his door. “Ma’am,” he called out once more, then hopped into the driver’s seat and closed the door with loving care behind him.
May hurried down the porch steps, managing to grab ahold of the opening in the passenger side’s window just as Porkpie fired up the engine. Betty’s eyes flashed, and her lips pursed as she looked out at May.
“When you coming back?” May asked.
“Soon,” was all Betty offered. She rolled the window up and patted Porkpie’s arm. He shifted the car into drive, leaving May to watch as it jostled away across the roots and ruts of her yard.
SEVEN
It took an hour or so, but May’s three granddaughters finally allowed themselves to be calmed, then washed and readied for bed in their daddy’s old room. Chatterbox Opal kept parroting her mother, talking about how good life would be once Mama was singing in front of those big bands. Tearful Poppy, accustomed now to electric light, was afraid of the shadows cast by the flame of the kerosene lamp. Angry, squalling Jilo seemed somehow more deeply aware of her mother’s betrayal than her older sisters. Finally, though, May had them settled for the night.
May worried she was too old to raise these three, but she couldn’t let the fear linger. If she didn’t see to their well-being, who the hell else could she count on to do so? She had only just gotten used to being alone in the house, but the thought of trying to carry these girls into womanhood left her feeling something the loss of her loved ones had not.
She felt lonely.
For the first time in her life she understood those folk who would pay good money to sit at rocking tables and listen for voices from beyond the grave. The good Lord knew what she’d pay to feel Reuben’s reassuring touch again or see her Jesse’s face. She’d gladly hand over her last dime even if all she got from the other side was an echo of her mama’s voice telling her to quit her nattering.
Outside, the chat of mockingbirds, sleepless beneath the bright moonlight, tugged her back into a childhood memory, another full moon night such as this one, when she had complained to her mother about the filching habit that had earned the birds their name. “Why they gotta steal the other birds’ songs anyway? Why don’t they sing their own song instead?”
Her mama had pinched her cheek, forcing her to smile. “They ain’t stealing nothing, baby,” she had said, winking at May. “They just trying to imagine what it’s like to be one of those other birds. Of course they may get the melody wrong in places, but it’s love that make them try in the first place. They just trying to see things through others’ eyes. Be a lot better world if people did that, too. Now you leave those poor mockingbirds be.”
May extinguished the kerosene flame in the living area, its glow giving way to the silver moonlight that reached in through the window to keep her company. Morning would come soon enough, and May would have to be up and out before the moon had left the sky so she could walk the three miles into town where she worked as maid for the Pinnacle Hotel. She daren’t be late.
Even though the infusion of Mr. Truman’s money had begun to ease the economy’s palpitations, May done had three strikes against her. Older Negro woman that she was, she was lucky to have employment of any kind. Management at the hotel made sure she was reminded of that on a near to daily basis. “Yessir,” she’d say whenever Mr. Porter rubbed her nose in it. “It’s very kind of you to keep me on.” She’d smile. Force her eyes not to betray how she really felt. Angry? No, she was past being angry. Weary, that’s how she felt. Weary over the fact that these buckra could never look at her and see a woman, a human being, a child of God. An equal.
Then May remembered her sleeping grandbabies. Would they grow up in the same kind of world she’d known, where they would be forced to smile at smug and yammering white faces that constantly reminded them of the natural order of white over black, male over female? Heat prickled across her skin. Ah, yes. There it was, that anger she’d thought she was past.
She settled into her mother’s armchair, letting herself think for a spell on the worries of the immediate future. May didn’t have an idea what she would do with the girls while she was at work. Opal and Poppy would be old enough for school come fall, but what about the baby? Guilt struck her as she realized she, too, might end up having to saddle Opal with responsibilities beyond what her age should require. Responsibilities that could prevent her from bettering her own lot in life. No. Come fall, she’d have something figured out. She sighed and leaned back in the chair, intending to rest her eyes for a few moments.
A small hand on her forearm startled her awake. “Nana,” Opal said in a near whisper, “Jilo. She ain’t in bed.”
Groggy, May looked down at Opal, and then, as soon as her grandbaby’s message registered, scanned the room for any sign of the little one. “Don’t worry, she got to be around here somewhere.” May pushed herself up, her knees and back complaining as she did. “Where’s Poppy?”
Opal’s
wide and frightened eyes followed her in the darkness. “She’s still asleep.”
May shuffled to the table where she’d left the lamp. After removing its chimney and twisting up its wick, she struck a match and touched the flame to the fuel-soaked cloth. The light cast wavering shadows around them as she replaced the chimney.
She lifted the lamp and headed down the hall that ran the length of her four-room wood-frame house, stopping to poke her head in through the opening to Jesse’s old room, where she could make out Poppy’s sleeping shape curled up in the center of the bed. She craned her head around the door frame. “Jilo,” she called out in a whisper that she hoped would get the baby’s attention without waking her older sister. Poppy didn’t stir, but neither did Jilo respond.
May stepped into the room and set the lamp on the nightstand, pushing through the stiffness in her knees to kneel by the bed and search the space beneath it. She had felt certain she would find the child curled up there, sleeping with her tiny fist in her mouth, but there was no sign of her. Up until then, May hadn’t felt worried, but now a sense of apprehension crept up on her, twisting up like kudzu through the pit of her stomach and curling around her heart. She bumped into the bed, causing Poppy to stir. “ ’S’alright, girl,” she said, hoping to keep Poppy from fully waking. “It’s just yo’ Nana.” The girl seemed satisfied enough with her reassurance to go straight back to sleep. May rocked her way back up to her feet and slipped over to the closet.
“I done looked in there,” Opal whispered from behind her.
“Well, Nana’s gonna look just once more.” May tried to keep her tone measured, her movements unhurried. She eased the door open and poked her head inside. The small space was empty except for the fading smell of naphthalene, and a few odds and ends Jesse had left behind. May’s skin prickled, a sensation that felt both cold and hot at the same time. Her intuition told her that something was wrong, but she forced herself to keep a cool head, if only to avoid frightening Opal.
She left the closet door ajar and fetched her lamp, this time crossing the hall and going into her own room, the mirror image of the one where she’d left Poppy soughing. Opal followed on her heels, then dropped to the floor to examine the space beneath the bed.
After a moment, Opal looked up and shook her head. “They something wrong with that girl,” she said, her words and tone an obvious parroting of a pronouncement May felt sure Betty had made many times.
“There’s nothing wrong with that girl. Nothing wrong with Jilo at all.” May’s blood boiled in her veins, but she kept her voice low and calm. She went to her own closet, opening it wide and using her free hand to push back the few dresses she had, to see if they might be serving as camouflage for her hidden granddaughter. Shaking her head, she turned back toward Opal.
“Jilo,” May called out in a sharp voice, her concern for Jilo now overriding her fear of stirring Poppy. There was no response. May grabbed the lamp and headed for the only other room in the house, the kitchen. A smile came to her face. Of course. The girl was probably in there searching for a sweetie of some kind. May hurried down to the end of the hall and over the threshold into the kitchen. Her heart nearly stopped beating. Unlike the front of the house, with its outer screen door that screeched no matter how often May oiled the darned spring, the back exit had no built-in method of announcing the flight of a child.
The back door stood wide open.
Barely pausing to place the lamp on the table, May rushed out the back and scanned the landscape for any movement. “Jilo!” May called out, this time not worried if she waked those waiting for Jesus. “Jilo, girl, where are you?”
“Maybe she gone to the privy?” Opal asked.
“On her own?” May snapped, but when she saw the stricken look in her grandbaby’s eyes, she reached back and placed her hand on Opal’s shoulder. “Maybe you right. Don’t you worry, Nana will find her. You just go and keep an eye on Poppy.” She patted the girl, giving her a slight nudge, but Opal didn’t budge. “Go on. You do as Nana tells you.” She forced a smile, hoping the shadows wouldn’t hide it from the girl’s sight. “That fool baby sister of yours is just out here playing. You get on inside and get in bed. I’ll be in soon.”
May ushered Opal over the threshold and pulled the door shut behind her. Then she turned back toward the yard and hurried down the back steps, her fear loosening her joints. “Jilo,” she called every few feet. Deciding to start with Opal’s idea first, she made a beeline for the outhouse, but it was empty. Oh dear, sweet Jesus, she thought as she wondered if she might have neglected to cover the well. She ran around to the far side of the house, not taking a full breath of air until she saw the cover was indeed in place.
She stepped back from the well and began to slowly spin around, training her eyes on every moving shadow. Nothing that her eyes could see in the moon-softened night bore the form of her granddaughter. May regarded the position of the moon. She couldn’t have been asleep for more than an hour, maybe an hour and a half, and Jilo was still pretty new to walking, falling back on her buttocks every fifth or sixth step. How far could she have possibly gone on her own?
In that moment, it struck May that Jilo hadn’t wandered off. She’d been taken. May felt it with the same cold and fearful certainty with which she’d known her mama’s spirit resided in that buckra boy’s broken body years ago. Her mouth went dry; her breath came in quick, shallow gasps. But who could have sneaked in without disturbing her? Every floorboard in her house creaked unless you knew exactly where to step. And how could the culprit have removed the baby from the bed without waking her sisters?
“Jilo,” she cried out, unable to keep the panic from her voice. May’s skin began to prickle, tiny bumps forming along her arms. The air around her seemed to vibrate; it smelled of a lightning strike. She’d felt this before. She tried to resist, but her hands tingled as sparks, so close in color to the turquoise folk called “haint blue,” danced along her fingertips. She swallowed hard and willed the magic to dissipate. She’d made promises, to herself, to Jesus, to her mama, promises never to use this magic that always tested her will in her weaker moments.
Not until May was a full-grown woman had her mama explained why she didn’t want her to use the magic she herself employed on a daily basis. “I done sold myself to the devil for using that magic, gal.” The memory of her mother’s voice tickled her ears as surely as if she’d just breathed the words into them. “Don’t you do what yo’ mama done. You find another way to get along. That old devil can find another horse to ride.” The remembered anguish in her mama’s voice nearly succeeded in dousing the sparks, but then the thought of her grandbaby getting carried off into the dark fought its way up. May hesitated, but only for a moment.
She’d resisted the magic all her life, ever since she was a girl not much bigger than Jilo. It hadn’t been easy; she’d been tested time and again. But she couldn’t bear the thought of that baby, her baby, out there alone and frightened. A moan escaped her lips as she thought of that collector her mama had failed to stop. “Just a little,” she thought. “Just this once.” She lifted her hand and let a single spark escape. That spark, so close in color to her porch’s overhang, rose into the air, twinkling like a touchable star.
“Show me where she is,” May’s voice trembled as she addressed the light. “Show me where they took my Jilo.”
EIGHT
The spark circled around May, forcing her to turn to keep it in view. Then it bobbed up and down, floating off toward the live oaks and pines that lined the back side of May’s property. The light swam lazily in the still-warm night air, moving no more quickly than May’s feet could carry her.
The light led her through her backyard and over the unmarked border where her property ended, just past the grove of live oaks where the tall pines began. She did her best to stay clear of the first pine past the oaks to avoid the grave she’d made beneath it for Rosie’s boy. The dry grass gave way to a carpet of equally dry needles, the scent of evergr
een reaching up to fill May’s senses with her every crunching step. The smell tugged at vague memories—the sound of bees buzzing, a tall man wearing a stovepipe hat, harsh words from her mother—unrelated to the present moment, and at this moment unnecessary, perhaps even detrimental.
The haint-blue light flashed, then dimmed, nearly going out, warning May that she needed to stay focused on finding her grandchild, not on the dim ghosts of her past. As soon as she returned her concentration to the bobbing spark, it began to glow with a renewed incandescence. She knew nothing of how to use magic, and her mother had refused to share even the slightest insight, lest May be tempted to claim the dangerous power available to her. Still, she intuited that it was indeed her attention that was keeping the turquoise glint alive, and if she let her mind wander too far from her purpose, it would be extinguished, leaving her alone in the night, with Jilo lost to her, perhaps forever.
“I’m right with you,” she addressed the spark, and it reacted to her words with both an increase in speed and brightness. May sharpened her focus until the spark was at its center. Though she did not like the woods, she picked up her pace, trying not to worry about exposed tree roots that might cause her to take a tumble, and allowing herself only the slightest shudder at the thought of the snakes, spiders, and hundreds of other creatures who made their home in this sap-sticky world. She wondered at her mother—the outside, the night; this had been Tuesday Jackson’s world. Not so for May.
The spark carried on, heedless of her very human fears, until it reached the edge of a clearing, where it stopped and hovered in place. As May drew near, another scent, a marriage of smoke and tar, began to overtake the sharp spice of the pines. Fear and worry confounded May’s ability to estimate the distance she had come. Even though her common sense told her she couldn’t be more than a quarter mile from her own property, her sense of direction had deserted her, leaving her without the slightest idea of where her own house lay. It was almost like the natural world beyond her tree line had transformed into a vast and fearsome forest.