Knee-Deep in Wonder

by April Reynolds

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to give witness to Chester Hubbert, father and beloved. Yes, Lord, I want to talk today about a passing. A good man. But fore that, Jesus, fore that, my brothers and sisters, let me tell you what I heard today.” He stopped and waited for the shifting in the pews to cease, wondering, What word, Lord, what word? He thought of the word laughing, its sin uncertain, but then he settled on grumble. Common and mean, the word gave him room to bend inside of it.

  “I heard grumbling outside the Lord’s house today.” He looked down, expecting to see guilt creep into their faces. Nothing happened. More than a dozen people were bent over with sleep. “Yes, beloved, I heard grumbling outside the Lord’s house, and it knocked me down. You see, not today. Not when we laying down our own. Evil done saw that grief is on all sides and slide up in our fold fore we know it. On the very day we lay down a father to somebody, a brother, a husband.” He concentrated on the very old, knowing that if he could get an amen it would come from them. “Should of known. Look in them pages. Stories of evil following grief everywhere. Lord didn’t say it was gone be easy. Raising six children, and a wife that fell down fore he did. Chess knew it wasn’t gone be easy. Halle knew, fore she passed away, that it wasn’t gone be easy. Don’t bring grumbling inside the Lord’s house. Don’t take it in your houses. Cause therein lies evil. Somebody say Sweet Jesus.” Grief poked through his sermon, the advice the seminary taught him fell in on itself.

  “We all are here today to mourn the loss of a friend, of a friend who loved us all. Nobody can say that Chess Hubbert didn’t love.” A row of women’s lips spread wide. “Can you say Hallelujah? Praise the Lord. Somebody give the Lord his glory!”

  Weak and scattered confirmation sounded in the hall. Frightened, the reverend watched his congregants restlessly fold their hands in their laps. The smiling women closed their mouths and fixed their hats; men stole glances at their watches.

  “Chess looking down from the gates of Heaven and he saying to me right now, ‘Take care of these children that I done left behind.’ We are forsaken and not forsaken. But we got to look for the path, beloved. Just cause the Lord is with us don’t mean He gone hold a hand. Take the grumbling out your lives and find a way, beloved. You better hear this.” He paused, sweat dampening his collar. His temples glistened, the white handkerchief inside of his jacket pocket waiting to be pulled out, so he tried again, his voice licking at the crescendo to come. “You better hear this, beloved. Glory is the place you make. It is a dwelling spot made with your own hands, and there the Lord is.” What had happened outside? he wondered. By now they should have been swaying. He wanted to reach in his pocket for his handkerchief; the sweat was now standing on his brow and he couldn’t wipe it away. His next words, unprepared on the tongue, held his wrath.

  “Vanity of vanities, said the Preacher, vanity of vanities.” Midday and summer, the church burned in the heat. Reverend Mackervay coughed. “Right outside the Lord’s door—vanity. I’m telling you, brothers, and bow your heads underneath the Lord’s power, one generation pass away and another generation come—but the earth abide forever. And still you grumble outside the Lord’s door. All the rivers run into the sea, yet the sea is not full. The eye is not satisfied with seeing; nor the ear filled with hearing.

  “And the Lord as my witness, I stepped out here, one foot out the train, Jesus, and lo, I heard what you-all done done to this man and his water. And I said in mine heart, God shall judge the righteous and the wicked; for there is a time for every purpose and for every work. You done found evil in God’s work. Don’t you know, beloved? There is a river, and God is in her, and she will not be moved. And that there is where Chess went for refuge. Beloved, hear me! All!—” his hand lifted from the pulpit, the palm upturned—“all are from the dust, and all turn to dust again. We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed; we are confused, but not in despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed.”

  A man, sixth pew back, sat open-mouthed, his eyes rolling up white as laundry. There was not a word from anyone, no hum raised to the sky, but the reverend knew he had them. His stomach cramped in excitement, his words, the sermon, rolled out of his mouth. “Jesus, Jesus, bless it now, not tomorrow but now.”

  Contagious, the spirit caught a woman two pews down; she yanked a songbook from her purse and fanned herself, her light dress lifting and falling in response. The spirit jumped up three rows, where a lady in a green skirt shot her hand in the air, the action repeating, flaring up all over the church. Psalms flew out of the reverend’s mouth. “It is not the place for man to know the works of God. Beloved, hear me. For our light affliction, which is for but a moment, work for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory. We look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen; for the things which are seen are in time; but the things which are not seen are forever. That’s right, beloved. Forever.” Three entire pews—hum, haw, hum—full of tight anguish; Mackervay sank his sermon into their chorus, not even coherent now. A harsh sigh taking up most of his voice, Mackervay stretched out the word forever, a dangerous term among Negroes, and mistook their grief for affirmation.

  Mable and Morning fixed their eyes on the reverend, the handkerchief out of his jacket pocket now flailing at his face like a washcloth, dabbing here and there, while Queen Ester swayed back and forth in her pew.

  “Chess is up in the sky, looking at us all and saying, ‘This is forever.’ Still water and holy Jesus. Always and forever, amen, Jesus. The blessing of Jesus, now and forever. One word—” but the Reverend Robert Mackervay didn’t finish, Queen Ester shot up before his sentence was through, the sermon tangled on his tongue coming to a close, while Queen Ester felt a primal naked fear build in her chest. Forever and now—their meaning was clear to her: to be doomed to wait with the dead in a church that smelled of a tomb, and the blessing of the Lord was cast aside.

  Liberty watched her daughter. Not now with my leg half asleep, she thought, too tired to get up and stop her. Queen Ester raced down the aisle, stopping halfway. “I knew him!” she shouted. “Me! Me!” It took a moment for the congregation to find their outrage. “I knew him!” Queenie’s loud voice mingled with their own. Most thought she couldn’t take the mixture of heat and grief anymore and was heading outside for fresh air.

  When she turned back toward the pulpit, as if preparing to topple the coffin, women began screaming. Frightened, their children took refuge under the knees of daddies and pews to escape the sudden roar. Still Queen Ester kept shouting, “I knew him!” and her voice soared above the congregation. Mackervay slumped over the pulpit, his congregation lost. Mable did not return his gaze but merely kept her head down, her arms hooked around the shoulders of two of Chess’s children. The preacher was at a loss for what to do.

  But then Liberty’s foot woke up. A tingling shot up her leg to the knee. Sick as she was, rage became a cure. She grabbed Queen Ester by the neck, lifting her clean off her feet. “You want to act out? You want to act out now?” Liberty hissed in Queen Ester’s ear. She pushed her daughter toward the door, and the congregation began to follow them back to the house—a parade of sorts.

  Alone, Reverend Mackervay chanted the final words to the dead: “The Lord bless thee and keep thee. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” Mackervay looked over his shoulder; and seeing no one, he resumed. “The Lord make His face to shine upon thee and be gracious unto thee. The Lord lift up His countenance upon thee and give thee peace. And they shall put His name upon the children and He will bless them.” And then the Reverend Robert Claire Mackervay wept as a stricken mother would.

  * * *

  But who heard the howling of an ambitious preacher when the people of Lafayette had run out on him to follow Liberty, the truly stricken mother? Her strange sleep in front of the chapel was seen as theatrics, something done to wrench attention away from Morning, who
had the love but not the children. Hadn’t the town tumbled into her house and she outdanced them all? The rumor that she was sick, even that Liberty had shat blood, seemed farfetched, a myth told merely to show that even Liberty could fall on hard times. Now her fellow mourners left her house, while she stood in the door, waving good-bye, and told them not to come back anytime soon because she had to clean up the mess they made. She was about to step inside the house again and let out the long breath she had been holding when Morning stepped out of the wilderness, still wearing her torn blue dress.

  “I want to talk to you,” Morning said.

  “What about?”

  “Goddamned fornicator—”

  “Where you get that at?” Liberty laughed softly.

  “The goddamned Bible.” Morning moved closer to Liberty.

  “Stop all that goddamned,” Liberty barked.

  Morning was chastened, as well as a bit frightened. “Well … fornicator.”

  “You wasn’t his wife neither. Mind that.” Both fell quiet. “You want a lemonade or something?”

  “I didn’t come out here for that.”

  “Well, at least take a seat on the porch. I been standing all day.” Liberty took Morning’s hand and led her to the edge of the porch, where they both sat down, letting their legs dangle. “What you come out here for?”

  “Why was you sleeping?” The question blurted out unexpectedly. Liberty raised an eyebrow. Didn’t Morning want to ask Liberty something altogether different? Morning couldn’t remember what she had meant to say, and now a question pregnant with potential shame sat still between the two women.

  “You come way out here to ask me that?”

  “No, but since I’m here, gone and tell it.”

  “What I got to be awake about?”

  Morning gripped the edge of the porch with both hands. “You could of stopped her. She made fools out of everybody there.”

  “Of you too?”

  “No, you did that on your own.” Morning sucked in a deep breath. “He love me.”

  “Gone and tell yourself that.”

  “I’m telling you, ain’t I? He love me.” A frantic defiance lit her eyes.

  “He ain’t loving neither one of us now.”

  “Don’t go skipping off. I’m telling you: he love me.”

  “He took you cause I wouldn’t let him have me or my baby girl.” Liberty pulled her knees up, about to rise, confident that she had claimed the last word.

  “Ya’ll share drawers, too?”

  “Wouldn’t you like a whiff. You gave him everything, and ain’t got a child nowhere. Or maybe Chess didn’t want no dark-as-night children on him and did something to his self fore he lay down with you.” Liberty smiled, knowing she had won, since Morning pulled back from her, looking struck. She trudged out of Liberty’s yard dazed.

  But Liberty walked back into her house feeling broken and petty. Perhaps she should have let Morning have Chess’s love. It shamed Liberty to think she could be so small over a dead man. The strength that had carried her through the funeral, the party, and then the cat fight with Morning vanished. Now she could barely hold her head up. Gripping the banister for support, she crawled upstairs and fell asleep, fully dressed on the bed. The next morning, with the last bit of ugliness she’d dealt to Morning still in her mouth, she almost welcomed the delirium that swirled around her. She stuck to her bed, the sheets soaked with sweat and drops of blood because Liberty refused to be bothered with that owl right outside her window. Who cook for you? I do, goddamn it.

  It took three hours for Liberty to get dressed and make breakfast. The morning toast tasted like blood and so did the coffee. What had she told Mable yesterday when she asked if she was okay? “Girl, I’m fine. Just a little tired. Maybe sick at the heart, but that ain’t never killed nobody.” She saw the worry scrawled over her friend’s mouth and hoped she didn’t look as bad as Mable’s face said she did. Dozing while slowly eating her breakfast, she woke with a start and found that two of her fingers had slipped into her warm coffee and she had pissed on the floor. Self-pity flooded her, because she knew she didn’t have the energy to wipe away the smell of her own urine. Lord, I don’t want to leave like this—wearing clothes I done messed in and smelling my blood on everything. Where was her daughter when she needed her? Queen Ester had disappeared after the funeral. I’m just too old and Queenie can’t care for herself, cause I wouldn’t let her for so long, and now what? she thought. I still got to cook for them all, never mind that damn bird. Except Liberty didn’t believe her own convictions; the worry and grief had worn her out, and now this sickness seemed poised to knock her down.

  For two days she slept whenever and wherever she stopped moving. In the middle of drinking tea she would wake up and find the cup grown cold; on the way up the stairs she would wake and notice her back had grown stiff. By Sunday morning she knew she wouldn’t be able to get out of bed, even if the house were burning to the ground. A sour scent floated up her nose and Liberty woke, slightly gagging, watching her daughter’s mouth move.

  “You hear me, death ain’t nothing. Ma’am, you hear?” Queen Ester shook Liberty hard on the shoulder.

  “You gone to bring her back to this house? That what you telling me?”

  Queen Ester watched her mother’s eyes cloud over. “I ain’t done nothing yet.” She shook Liberty, who seemed to be fighting sleep. “You hear me? I ain’t brought her here.”

  “I ain’t said you did. I said are you gone to bring her here?” Liberty panted and tried to push her daughter away. “Sit me up.” Queen Ester hooked her arms underneath her mother’s and hauled her up roughly, patting the pillows around her so she wouldn’t sink back down the bed. “You need to brush your teeth. Your breath stink.”

  “Sorry.” Queen Ester covered her mouth with her hands.

  “You hear me? I said, you want to bring her here?” Liberty repeated.

  “She mine. She yours too. Don’t that count for nothing?”

  “Go get me some water.”

  “No. I gone get you nothing till you tell me Helene can move back.”

  “That girl ain’t gone get nothing in this house but heartbreak.”

  “Chess gone; now you on your way out. Who I’m suppose to be with? Who gone be here to mind me?”

  “You got to mind yourself.”

  “You leaving to spite me.”

  Liberty looked at her daughter and Mable’s advice returned to her, that pretty soon Queen Ester would turn foolish and she would rue the years that she tried to keep her child in a cradle. Now a brick of regret crashed onto her chest. She had just wanted her small enough to carry, small enough so no hurt could prick. Look what happen, Liberty thought. She can’t wipe her own ass and don’t even know she trying to kill me. “You got to learn to wipe your own ass, baby.”

  “Ma’am? What you say?”

  “I said, you got to learn to wipe your own ass.” Liberty saw the confusion on her daughter’s face and almost cried. “I need to get away from you. You done let your own ma’am die.”

  “That ain’t so. All I ask is for you to let me get my baby girl. You tell me I can, and I go to the doctor right now.”

  “Too late for the doctor.”

  “No, it ain’t. I go get him right now, you tell me I can go get my baby.”

  “I can’t tell you nothing. You can’t see that? I been trying to tell you to go get somebody to help me, and you ain’t moved cept to crash the church.”

  “I ain’t mean to.”

  “You need to get out of this house. Move on away from here and be on your own. Maybe you can take that job Mable was telling me about. Move me up on the pillow, baby.” Queen Ester reached over again and pulled Liberty higher on the bed, readjusting the pillows.

  “What job?”

  “Mable was telling me about some work at the beauty shop.”

  “When she tell you about it?”

  “Oh, that night we went and got Chess that first time. Member th
at?”

  “That time we went to Bo Web’s?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Mama, that was twenty more years ago.” Queen Ester’s eyes grew wide at her mother’s mistake.

  Liberty crinkled her forehead. Time had folded upon her like a sheet and she hadn’t noticed it. “Shut your mouth.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “Lord Jesus have mercy on my soul.”

  “And that beauty shop done closed down, anyway.”

  “All right.”

  “I think that lady who ran it went off to Kansas City.”

  “I said all right, Queenie.”

  “Well, I just thought—”

  “Lord as my witness, you just gone talk right up till I drop dead, ain’t you? Shhh.… Somebody on the stairs. You hear that? Gone and see and come back.” She watched Queen Ester walk out of the door. At least I can have peace while she gone, Liberty thought.

  “Who that?” Queen Ester called down the hall.

  “Yeah?” Other’s deep voice carried itself up the rest of the stairs.

  “Other, that you?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What you doing here?” Other walked down the hall toward Queen Ester. “You checking on Mama?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She all right. Gone die, though. I can tell it.” Queen Ester watched Other quicken his step and blocked his path. “Don’t go and bother her. Ain’t nothing nobody can do. She told me she ready to go and she don’t want nobody messing with her till she gone.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah, she did.” Queen Ester licked her lips. “Now you get on downstairs.” But Other stayed standing in front of her. “You hear me? Get on out of here. You think I can’t take care of my own mama?” Other opened his mouth, but Queen Ester didn’t let him get out his customary phrase. “You think I let my mama stay and get sick? You think cause you see everything, you know everything? I know my mama, and I ain’t gone stand here and let you tell me I’m a lie. You hear that? I know you get what I’m saying. I see you walking around here like you don’t know how to put two words together. That’s just something you pull to get over on folks. I see through you.” Her voice climbed higher, trying to wipe away Other’s look of concern.