When she turned nine, Otis taught Beverley to drive the old Mercury. Long-legged and lanky, Beverley drove often and well. Otis’s daughters had no interest in learning to drive. He had a special pillow for her to sit on as she drove. She quickly outgrew it. Sitting right next to her, Otis explained everything as she slowly drove down the unmarked roads close to their home. He helped her negotiate turns and taught her to park well before she was ready for a driver’s license.
She loved riding with him every other day as he drove to Vaucluse to pick up the slop (buckets of leftovers) his white friends and acquaintances gave him for the hogs he raised. Many of Beverley’s best friends lived in Vaucluse. Since there were few if any colored families where they lived, all her best friends tended to be white. Those were the best of times.
Hot angry tears coursed down Beverley’s cheeks as she thought about Daddy … her daddy! Even though Leon was supposedly her biological father, Beverley had never acknowledged him as such. As a matter of fact, she’d always hoped she had been adopted. That would at least explain why she never felt close to Leon. Daddy, Otis Scott, was the only daddy she had ever known. She planned on keeping it that way.
Continuing to chop wood through her anger, hurt, and tears, Beverley thought back to when Daddy went into the hospital for the first and last time. He had become very sick with emphysema, an illness that had dogged him for many years. During his last visit to Dr. Horace Matthews, the family doctor, he was immediately transported to Aiken County Hospital to intensive care. Mama came home that day with the sad news that Daddy was in the hospital and not expected to “make it.”
“Make what, Mama?” Beverley had asked curiously, not sure what the term meant.
Beulah looked at the child she and Otis had reared from four months old. Working as a nurse’s aide, Beulah had dealt with death but not this closely and not with a child in her own family. She didn’t know how the child would take it. But she wasn’t concerned with that because it was all out of her hands anyway.
“Yer daddy’s gonna die, child,” she explained to the girl, angry tears filling her eyes. There was no other way she could think to put it, God help her. She watched the child’s face as reality sunk in about her Daddy. Beulah was so angry.
In her mind, his illness could have been prevented. Over the years, she had often begged Otis to stop smoking. He never did. Even when she hid his cigarettes, he went out and bought more. He cut their life together short because of tobacco. Beulah didn’t know if she could forgive him for that.
As the information sank in, Beverley ran outside as though chased by the devil.
“Nooo!” she screamed, slamming the screen door open as she ran outside. She looked up into the sky where that God was supposed to be.
Why couldn’t He take Mama instead? Why did it have to be Daddy? These questions and others jockeyed for position in her mind as she ran behind the house, down the hill, through the horse pasture, to her secret place—the spring. She had to get away from the bearer of the bad news. She had to be alone and this was the place she came to be alone.
She loved her little secret place. She spent many hours here watching the water course through the ground, babbling as it coursed through the path it had made over many years. The only person who had come down to share it with her had been Daddy.
Beverley heard Mama’s voice calling.
“Bev! I say! Beverley! Come back here, child! We have to take your daddy’s stuff up to the hospital,” Beulah shouted in Beverley’s general direction.
Everyone knew her hiding place. Few bothered to go down there to get her. Living as far in the woods as they did, they could yell to their hearts’ content to get the attention of someone who was out in the woods away from the house.
Beverley considered the information Mama had given her—going to the hospital to take Daddy his things. Maybe she would have a chance to see him. She solemnly made her way back up the hill to the house.
Daddy is dying, she thought, making her way to the house to prepare for the ride to the hospital with Mama. Why? What had he done? Was God punishing him?
The most she remembered from church about God was that He was a punishing God. If you sinned, you were punished. That punishment usually meant death and most people ended up in Hell. That’s what she was taught and she believed it. Sometimes they were also taught that a few people got to go to Heaven to be with God. But you had to be really good to go there. Kind of like Jesus, the Little God, the Sunday School teachers taught. She wondered where Daddy would go.
After all, he did drink a lot of that scuppernong wine when Mama wasn’t looking. And he would sneak a cigarette or two or more a day. Beverley began crying as she realized that Daddy would probably go to Hell for those two things.
While riding toward the hospital, Beverley determined in her heart that she would join Otis Scott in Hell just so she could be with him again. After all, Heaven wouldn’t be much fun without Daddy.
Beverley couldn’t help wondering what life would be like without Daddy. She didn’t like the picture. They had never had a lot of money. But with Daddy they didn’t need a lot of money. He was always able to provide what they needed when they needed it. What would happen now? Who would farm the land? Who would butcher the hogs and the cows and sell the meat for money?
Arriving at the admissions ward, Nurse Leona Burke sadly informed Beulah that Otis had taken a turn for the worse. As a result, Dr. Matthews had moved him to the intensive care ward. Nurse Leona knew and loved the Scott family. She had worked with Beulah for years and knew how devastating Otis’s illness was for the entire family.
Dr. Matthews came out just as Nurse Burke finished discussing Otis’s worsening condition. Horace Matthews shook his head sadly as he approached Beulah Scott and their granddaughter, Beverley. If only they had caught this thing sooner, he reflected. They might have been able to do something more effective than just watch the man die. As the emphysema hit the end stages, the disease escalated and cut Otis down before they could do much else.
Dr. Matthews soberly approached Beulah, his right hand outstretched. He drew her and Beverley into a nearby visitor waiting room before he allowed her to go in and see her husband.
“Beulah,” he said sorrowfully. “I don’t know what to say except the truth. Otis is not going to make it much longer. I don’t believe he will even make it through the end of this week, Beulah,” he shared, wishing he didn’t have to pass this sad news on to her and her family. “My best advice to you is to enjoy the small amount of time you have left with him and start making arrangements,” Dr. Matthews said with a note of finality.
Beverley stood by Beulah’s left shoulder as the doctor spoke with her grandmother. He never looked at her, never once said a word to her. Beverley felt as though everything happening around her was happening to someone else. She felt alone, abandoned, as hot tears flowed freely down her quivering face.
Beulah called Richard to come to the hospital to get Beverley and take her back to the house. Beverley wordlessly looked at the adults surrounding her, fervently wishing they would let her see Daddy. Finally, Beulah looked at her and said the words that broke her heart: “Bev, you’re too young to go in there to see your daddy. The hospital won’t let us take you in there, child.” As she said this, Beverley’s body quaked from the pent-up tears threatening to burst her heart open with grief.
Over the next several days, when Otis’s eldest son and daughters arrived from New York, they were all able to go in and see their daddy before he passed away. Beverley was not allowed and remained on the outside looking in, filled with an unbearable grief.
And now he was gone.
Nothing else mattered to Beverley as she chopped the wood. It didn’t matter what she did now that Daddy was gone. She didn’t care anymore and no one could make her care. She continued to chop wood, stopping every once in a while to stack it against the shed. They could always use wood, she sadly contemplated as she looked at the growing stack. And so, sh
e chopped some more.
FORTY
Beverley glanced toward the house several times while chopping the wood. She never saw the two men looking out at her—Richard and his older brother, Leon, whom everyone called June-bug. They looked out of the screened porch at her, discussing her.
“Man, you gonna take her back to New York with you, aren’t you?” Richard asked his older brother. A decision had to be made. Beverley didn’t recognize Leon as her daddy but he was.
“I don’t know, man,” Leon pondered. “You know Maggie just lost another baby. We’re trying to make this marriage thing work. We don’t need Beverley underfoot full-time while we are doing what we need to do,” he explained to his younger brother, hoping to justify his decision to not take his daughter with him.
Richard continued to reason with him.
“Leon, she’s your daughter, man. She’s lived with Mama and Daddy since she was a baby. Mama’s getting older. Bev needs to grow up around kids her own age. You can’t just keep her out here in the woods, Leon,” he rationalized.
“Look at your other girl, Mildred,” Richard continued. “At least she is growing up with her mother and they live around more people. I think you’ll be making a big mistake if you leave her down here with Mama,” Richard concluded, shaking his head.
Richard knew what it was like living out here. So did his brother. They had lived it. Richard didn’t want his niece to have to go through what he had already lived through, especially since Daddy wasn’t going to be around any longer. He had to figure out a way to convey this to his older brother. He just had to.
Leon suddenly became angry. He felt judged and didn’t like it. Although it wasn’t the best decision, it was the only decision he was prepared to make. He wasn’t prepared to bring Beverley back to New York with him right now—he just wasn’t. What was he going to do? What could he do?
He and Maggie had only been married for five years. She’d had three miscarriages in those five years and was greatly discouraged about not being able to give him children. She welcomed his daughter every summer without fail. He could tell that Maggie really cared for little Beverley. But Leon felt that their lifestyle just didn’t include having a teen around full-time.
“Man, you just don’t understand,” he said angrily to his brother. “Look, you got kids you don’t even see! So how can you judge me?” Leon asked nastily, hitting his younger brother below the belt. He decided that he would not be bullied by anybody into making a decision he was ill-prepared to make.
“All right, man,” Richard said, backing down. “I’m not judging you. I’m just telling you—Beverley is your kid and you’re responsible for her. You know what? Just forget it. I’m done,” Richard ended, leaving his brother on the porch.
Although the conversation was over, Leon continued to consider his youngest daughter out in the yard despondently chopping wood. Yes, he thought. She would probably be better off here in the South. Mama would have more time for her and could keep a better eye on her. He would leave her here he finally decided as he went through the kitchen to check on his mother.
Later on that night, Beverley lay in the big bed in the middle room, the house quiet and still. After all the visitors left, she silently went back into the house. She bypassed the kitchen and Mama who remained in her bed still angry with her husband for leaving her.
Collecting her nightclothes from under her pillow, Beverley went through the kitchen to fill up the wash pan so she could take a quick wash-up. She took the pan into the little closet they called a washroom. There was only one source of running water in the house, a pump in the kitchen. The house had no bathroom or toilet. Instead, they used pots to do their business after dark and the outhouse during the day.
The only time Beverley was afforded the opportunity to experience modern conveniences was when she went to town to Aunt Ida Mae’s house or when she spent the night with her cousin Gloria.
Beverley washed up quickly and put her nightclothes on. She threw the water out the back door and went through the darkened house to her bed. She lay there contemplating the events of the past couple of weeks. Daddy was gone. Today made it final.
She missed him terribly, more than she thought she would. She had loved that man and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he loved her. Why did he have to drink and smoke so God would punish him and send him to Hell?
Looking through the window blinds she had left open, Beverley rolled over onto her left side, gazing at the night sky. She closed her eyes for what she thought was only a moment. When she opened them again, she couldn’t believe her eyes! There was Daddy standing on the front porch!
He didn’t look anything like the corpse she had seen in the casket at the funeral. He looked so handsome, wearing a plain short-sleeved shirt and dungarees. And he had his whiskers. He smiled at her through the window.
Sitting up in the bed, Beverley attempted to wipe the sleep out of her eyes. Was she dreaming or was she awake? She didn’t know the answer to that question and didn’t care. All that mattered was Daddy had come back.
“Daddy,” she asked, hope filling her heart. “Is that you?”
“Yes, baby, it’s Daddy,” he assured her. “I want you to do something for me,” he said with a gentle smile, love filling his eyes.
“OK, Daddy,” she replied eagerly, happy to hear his voice again.
“Take care of your mama,” he requested. He repeated the request, “Take care of your mama.”
Then he was gone.
Beverley sat up in the middle of the bed. Daddy had asked her to take care of Mama. She pondered this request from her beloved Daddy. Why would he ask her to take care of Mama?
More than anyone else, Daddy knew there was no love lost between Beverley and Beulah. It was a well-known fact within the family that when Beverley was born with very light skin, Beulah was ecstatic. She couldn’t wait to get her hands on her new light-skinned granddaughter! Beulah quickly went to New York to get her so she could raise her. As the child grew older, her skin became darker. The difference caused Beulah to shun the child.
Otis noticed but hoped his wife would get over her prejudice against the darker-skinned toddler. She didn’t. As the child grew older and darker, it became obvious that Beulah only tolerated her. As the other lighter-skinned grandchildren came along, Beulah favored them more and Beverley less.
This was the main reason Beverley and Otis became so attached to each other. Otis took the little dark-skinned girl with him everywhere he went except work. When he went to Aiken to visit his sister and her family, Beverley always went and played to her heart’s content with her cousins. When he went off to drink and smoke with his friends, Beverley was his confidant and never told his secrets.
So why would he tell her to take care of Mama? She drifted back to sleep pondering this question a little more but couldn’t come up with a reasonable explanation. When she got up the next morning, she quickly told Beulah about the visitation. Still in bed supposedly mourning, Beulah turned her back on the child, admonishing her to not tell tales about the dead.
Beverley considered her grandmother’s back sadly. More than ever, Beverley wished Beulah could have been the one to die and not Daddy. The moment when Beulah turned her back to her, Beulah became the evil, wicked old grandmother. She was not “Mama” anymore.
Beverley contemplated the turn of events in her life and unconsciously began to count down the days until she became eighteen. At eighteen, she would no longer need to look at the back of this woman whom she had grown to despise.
Eternity
“Father, what is to become of the child Beverley?” asked the Son. He had observed all the turmoil the child had gone through since birth. She had been rejected and had now lost her only friend on the Earth.
“You will see, My Son,” said Almighty God. “This one is strong and will accomplish all I have sent her to the Earth to accomplish. You will see,” promised the Father.
Margarette Ann
F
ORTY ONE
Summitville, Ohio: March 1973
Margarette Ann Wells heard her father’s footsteps. She dreaded each step as it ominously approached the bathroom door. Judging by his behavior, it was obvious Albert had stopped off at Scooter’s Bar on the way home from work again as he frequently did of late. Margarette Ann grew increasingly scared as Albert drank more and more before coming home.
Industriously, fourteen-year-old Margarette Ann had already fed her younger siblings—ten-year-old Cindy, seven-year-old JR, and four-year-old Annie. In the process of getting them bathed and put to bed before their father got home, she kept an eye on the clock as she quickly moved about the house. There would be yelling and cursing if she didn’t have everything done by the time Albert Wells walked through the front door of their tiny farmhouse.
Her after-school chores included seeing to the younger ones when her mom went to work at the hospital before her dad came home from his job at the steel mill forty-five miles away in East Liverpool. Working hard six days a week, Albert barely supported their growing family on his paycheck alone.
When her mother went to work right after Annie was born, Albert went on a week-long drinking binge. Because the farm had finally stopped yielding the crops needed to support his family, Albert oftentimes drank until he passed out to prevent thoughts about his problems.
He figured it was bad enough he had to go to work for someone else. When their situation called for Emma to work, Albert saw it as the final blow to his already damaged ego. After the loss of the farm, Albert became surly. Here he was with a wife and four young ones and he couldn’t even make a living off the land. This constant thought disgusted and depressed him.
Albert stopped going to church around this time. Since he wasn’t going, he barely permitted Emma to go with the children. When Margarette Ann turned seven, Albert began verbally abusing his family when he got drunk. He started calling Emma names if she was slow getting things done around the house.
The Baby Chronicles Page 18