Comfort

by Joyce Moyer Hostetter

  About me getting in trouble for helping you. For once in my life, I did not get caught. Your escape is a great topic of conversation around here. You should hear the rumors flying. It is hard for me not to correct people—especially Sam. For once, I know more than he does and I just hate that I have to keep my mouth shut about it.

  Gavin said to tell you hi. Olivia told him why you had to leave.

  Please come back sometime. Don’t wait too long.

  Your friend,

  Suzanne

  I folded the letter and thought how lucky I was to have good friends. It made me feel better about not hearing from Imogene. But I was embarrassed just thinking that Gavin had heard the truth about my daddy.

  It wasn’t easy letting people in on our shame, but I reckon we couldn’t have made it on our own.

  When they realized Daddy was gone, my neighbors did their level best to look after us. Junior started coming around again. And his momma had us over for supper every couple of weeks.

  The Hinkle sisters got to where they accidentally cooked up too big a pot of stew or too many pieces of chicken on a regular basis. Then Miss Dinah would drop it by our house and catch some snuggle time with Mr. Shoes.

  Even though people seemed real worried about us, Daddy came by every Friday night to give Momma his pay. And on Saturdays he’d come and do work around the house. But of course I was never there on account of my job.

  Every Saturday I’d ask Otis about his momma. I thought maybe now that Daddy was at their house he’d say something besides good days and bad days. Like how his momma was feeding my daddy or how Daddy was fixing things around their house.

  But he never did. One day he said, “Your daddy just needs time to work things out in his mind. He ain’t no different than any one of them men inside that store.” He jerked his head in the direction of the wall behind me.

  “Every veteran is carrying pictures around in his head,” said Otis. “Not the kind you take out of your wallet and show off, but the kind you want to rip up and throw away. Only thing is, this ain’t photographs we’re dealing with here. This is moving pictures with sound and everything. And sometimes the sounds are worse than the pictures.

  “You never know what’s going to make one of them moving pictures show up, Ann Fay. You think it’s erased and then a car backfires or a baby cries and all of a sudden your mind isn’t staring at a blank screen anymore. And what it’s seeing ain’t the kind of thing you tell to your wife and young’uns.”

  What Otis was saying made a lot of sense. I wondered if he knew by now what things my daddy was seeing when he gave my momma that black eye. And on that night when he went crazy on Ida for jumping out at him and saying Boo!

  But I didn’t ask him. Maybe I thought my daddy wouldn’t want me to know what-all he’d told to Otis. And then again, maybe it was because I didn’t want to know.

  I know one thing, though. I found out me and Momma did the right thing by not putting Daddy in that insane asylum. Because one day when I was in the library at school I found a story in Life magazine that scared the living daylights out of me.

  It was all about mental hospitals. And how bad the conditions were. It said the hospitals didn’t have enough help, the food was terrible, and sometimes the people who worked there beat the patients. Or tied them up. Some patients had to go around naked. And there were rats in some places.

  It didn’t mention the North Carolina hospital, but still, I started bawling just thinking how I even considered putting my daddy in one of them places.

  38

  Muddy Water

  May–June 1946

  One morning in May when I was putting on my leg brace, one of the leather straps on it came loose. I fiddled with it just long enough to get aggravated.

  “Oh, bother!” I said. “How come Daddy’s not here when I need him? What in tarnation do I do now?” I was so frustrated that I threw the brace on my bed and went to the kitchen for breakfast.

  Of course my momma asked about it.

  “A strap broke,” I said.

  “Oh, dear! That’s not good,” Momma said.

  “It sure does feel good. Like getting out of jail. I think I’ll go to school without it.”

  “No,” said Momma. “Not without talking to Dr. Gaul.”

  I showed Momma how I could put my weight on my left leg. “As long as I have my cane, I don’t even need it. Just let me try it for one day,” I begged.

  Momma went into the bedroom and got my brace. When she came back out, she said, “Maybe your daddy can take care of it on the weekend. Or Junior.”

  “Why can’t we just leave Junior out of it?” I said. I did not want to be beholden to that boy for one more thing. “Really, Momma, walking is easier without all that metal.”

  Momma sighed. “You best be careful,” she said. It looked like she was done trying to convince me. So I went to school without it.

  I was careful. Not having the brace meant I depended on my cane more and I hung on to walls and desks when I moved around the school. But I did just fine.

  When I came home at the end of the day, Momma was waiting on the porch and I could tell she had spent the day worrying about me. She met me halfway out our lane. “How did it go?”

  “Just swell,” I said. “I won’t ever need that miserable thing again.”

  But when I got in the house, the brace was right there on top of my bedspread. I didn’t know what else to do with it, so I stuffed it under my bed, behind some pasteboard boxes. “Good riddance!” I said.

  For some reason Momma didn’t argue with me. She just shook her head and laughed a bit.

  “Can you believe Suzanne wears two of those things?” I asked her. “And when she was little, she even had to sleep in them.”

  Honest, I didn’t know how Suzanne could stand it. I felt like a new person without that brace. Going to school was getting easier all the time. I decided that, by the next school year, I was going to participate with everyone else in recess. Once school was out, I would have plenty of time to get my strength up.

  And then, almost before I was ready, it was the last day of school. Mrs. Barkley had tears in her eyes when she hugged me goodbye. “Ann Fay, you’ve come a long way since last August.”

  I hated to leave Mrs. Barkley. On the first day of school she predicted I would have a good year. And looking back on it now, I realized I had.

  I could feel how much stronger I was. And not just from going to Warm Springs. Every hard thing I’d been through at home and school had toughened me up in one way or another.

  After school let out, I had a lot more time on my hands. I practiced all the exercises I did every day at Warm Springs. But I sure did miss exercising in that pool!

  And I missed everything else about the foundation. At least Suzanne kept me informed on what was going on.

  Dear Ann Fay,

  I’m sending you some photographs that my uncle took. You can keep them for your scrapbook. There are notes on the back explaining who is who.

  Remember Leon? (Mrs. Trotter’s son.) Guess what he did. He has a pistol—not a real one, of course. But it looks real. One day last week he covered his face with ketchup and laid the gun by his head. When the nurse came in she screamed! So the whole hospital staff came running! He got a good laugh out of that. We all did. Even Mrs. Trotter seemed to think her son had pulled a good one! What would we do without practical jokes to keep us going around here?

  Don’t wait too long to visit me. You can stay in my red room and we’ll be scrapbook fiends together.

  Your friend,

  Suzanne

  That crazy story about Leon and the pictures of my friends made me really homesick for Warm Springs. One picture was of Mrs. Trotter and Leon. There was one of Mr. Botts. And a picture of Suzanne and Gavin with someone named Carolyn who came back to visit.

  I almost didn’t recognize Gavin because he was on crutches and I’d never seen him when he wasn’t in a wheelchair. It gave me goose bumps to look
at him. Partly from thinking about the two of us holding hands at Magic Hill. But also because I realized how Warm Springs could change anyone who was lucky enough to go there.

  At first I tucked the pictures in the frame around my mirror, where I could see them when I brushed my hair. But they made me smile one day and cry the next, so I finally decided to put them in the scrapbook Suzanne had sent home with me. I had fun writing little notes about each picture.

  Of course I put the Franklin Roosevelt First Day of Issue stamps in the album. And Suzanne’s letters. Gavin never wrote to me, and I sure didn’t write to him. As far as I was concerned, he was like Warm Springs itself. Just a memory. He was a prince and I was Cinderella. Except I never even had a glass slipper.

  There were more blank pages in the album, but I wasn’t sure what I should put on them. A picture of Imogene would be real good. If only I had one.

  Sometimes I thought my life wasn’t much to put down on paper. Who would care anyway? But still, I figured maybe someday I would want to look back on this year and all I went through.

  I even started dreaming about buying a camera for my family so I could take pictures of my own. I didn’t have more than a few Roosevelt dimes saved, but at least it was a start.

  The girls loved the peach bank Ma Harding gave me. If they found a penny on the ground, they would always drop it in there. That was another reason to regret leaving Warm Springs in such a hurry. I should have brought back some Georgia peach keepsakes for Ida and Ellie.

  Ever since school was out, the twins spent lots of time in Mysteria Mansion. They were making up some play about bootleggers and they bugged me constantly with questions I didn’t know how to answer. About moonshine and Junior’s car and how fast would it go. And policemen.

  Thinking about policemen just reminded me of my wrongdoings, and that made me feel crummy. So I usually told the girls to scram. One Wednesday evening when I got tired of the girls’ questions I asked Momma would she mind if I went for a walk.

  Of course I headed across the field to listen to the singing at the colored church. The field was planted in cotton, so I had to go around the edges. By the time I got across it I was dripping with sweat and plumb wore out. So I sat by the road with my feet in the side ditch and leaned against a fence post.

  I loved how the singing of Imogene’s people sounded so different from what I heard at my own church. It’s not like I could actually hear the words. I’d catch a line here and there about the River Jordan, or Moses, or Mary, don’t you weep. But mostly I just soaked up the sounds of voices going up and down.

  I wasn’t sitting on that side ditch for ten minutes before I saw Junior’s car coming down the road. The next thing I knew, he was stopped in front of me.

  “Ann Fay, are you okay? What in the world are you doing?”

  “Of course I’m okay. I’m just listening to the singing.”

  “Singing?”

  “From the church.” I jerked my head in the direction of the building across the dirt road. Junior gave one glance in that direction and shook his head like he thought I was crazy or something.

  “I think you better get in this car.”

  “No,” I said. “I’m perfectly fine. Look what a beautiful night it is.”

  “Well, it’s going to be dark soon, so let me drive you home. How long they going to be singing?”

  I shrugged.

  “The least you can do is sit in the car while you listen.”

  Well, I didn’t mind sitting outside, but I was happy for a ride home, so I pulled myself up and started to climb through the side ditch. But Junior got out to help me. After I was in the front seat he pulled the car to the other side of the road, closer to the church. He turned off the engine. When he did, the sound of their singing was real clear.

  “I can’t believe you come across that field on canes to hear that,” he said.

  “Don’t you like it?”

  Junior shrugged. “It’s okay. But Ann Fay, that’s a hike!”

  “Oh, it’s not that bad,” I said. “I’m getting used to it.”

  “You done this before?”

  “Sometimes when I’m having a bad day those people singing is all that gets me through.”

  Junior just shook his head. “Ann Fay—honest to Pete!”

  “What?” I asked. From the edge in my voice, Junior could probably tell I was fixing to fuss with him. “Is it all right if I want to hear colored people sing? They sing what I feel—Fix me, Jesus and songs about tribulation and sorrows. And not only that—those songs remind me of Imogene, who I’ll probably never see again in my whole life! But you probably think I should forget about Imogene, don’t you, Junior?”

  “Did I say you should forget her?”

  “I know you’re thinking it.”

  He shook his head. “No, you don’t,” he said. “On account of I’m thinking you should just go see her and get it over with.”

  I was shocked when he said that. “Oh, well—that’s easy for you to say. Imogene lives in Greensboro, you know.”

  “Well, if you told me, I forgot. Do you have her address?”

  “Of course I do. She writes to me.” That wasn’t exactly true. I mean, I had got one letter from her soon after I got home from the hospital, but that was all. Still, I did have her address.

  “Well then, let’s go see her.”

  Was he saying he would take me? “Are you saying you’ll take me?” I asked him.

  “Well, sure,” said Junior. “Why not?”

  That’s what I was asking myself. Why shouldn’t I let Junior take me to Greensboro? But I knew why not. Mostly because I figured he was sick and tired of me always wanting a favor of some kind. And because I thought that he was a little bit mad ever since I’d hurt his feelings on the way home from Warm Springs. Part of me said I couldn’t let him take me to see Imogene. I’d be using him if I did. I was starting to think I was real good at using people—especially Junior.

  And another thing. Now that Junior was saying he’d drive me to Greensboro, all of a sudden it seemed real far away.

  I thought how Imogene had said there was a muddy wide river between my people and hers. How many bridges would I have to cross to get there? It felt real complicated. I didn’t see how I could do it without Momma finding out about it. And she wouldn’t let me go.

  “It’s real big of you to offer,” I said to Junior. “I’ll be thinking about when’s a good time.”

  I did think about it, too. I laid in bed that night and couldn’t get to sleep for thinking about visiting Imogene. I thought about her momma too. And how Imogene said she didn’t like white people.

  I was holding on to my little wooden Comfort when I finally fell asleep that night. And it’s a good thing, too, on account of I dreamed about bridges without guardrails on the side. Rivers swirled right up to the edges. Muddy water was everywhere.

  39

  Imogene

  June 1946

  The next Sunday, Junior announced on the way home from church that he could take me to see Imogene that afternoon. I expected Momma to argue, but she didn’t.

  Well, I was sure surprised. Momma hadn’t acted much interested in me going to see Imogene, but maybe she was changing her mind about that. Or maybe she just couldn’t say no to Junior. And that brought up another question. Why was he so interested?

  But what I wondered about the most was why I felt the way I did. Why did I get the jitters after Junior first said he’d take me?

  When Junior came, I said, “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. You don’t have to take me if you don’t want to.”

  “Ann Fay, what has got into you? Do you want to go or not?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “It’s been almost a year since Imogene wrote. So how do I know if she even wants to see me?”

  “Well, you’re fixing to find out.” Junior shut the car door. I watched him go around the front and get in his side. I couldn’t help but notice how he’d grown lately. His shoulder
s were broader and he walked taller or something.

  And he was acting mighty tough too—taking charge of this little visit like he actually cared whether I saw Imogene or not. I fretted practically the whole way. “What if they aren’t home?” I asked. “What if her daddy runs us off their property? What if Imogene doesn’t remember me?”

  Junior laughed when I said that. “Settle down,” he said. “You’re talking outta your head.” I reckon he thought a song would calm me down. Because the next thing I knew he was singing, “Oh, what a beautiful morning, Oh, what a beautiful day.”

  “Junior,” I said. “If you think your singing makes me feel better, you best think again.”

  “Help me out, then.” Junior went back to the song. “I’ve got a beautiful feeling, Everything’s going my way.”

  “That song is a big fat lie,” I said. “If you insist on singing, maybe you ought to try, Down in the valley, the valley so low.”

  He didn’t pay me any mind. He just sang all three verses of his song. All the way to the end where it says, An ol’ weepin’ willer is laughin’ at me.

  It was pretty sad, actually. His singing was so bad I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “What do you know!” said Junior. “The weeping willow is laughing now.”

  I have to say he did cheer me up. Somehow he made me feel like this trip wasn’t going to end in disaster.

  When we got to Greensboro we had a little trouble finding Imogene’s address. By this time it felt like my insides were doing the jitterbug all over again. So I said, “Can we just let it go?”

  “Of course not. We come all this way.” And then finally we found the street we were looking for. And the house with Imogene’s number. There was a man and a woman sitting on the steps. The man was smoking cigarettes and the woman was flipping through a magazine. A couple of children were pushing each other on the porch swing.

  I didn’t see Imogene anywhere. But I saw how the woman looked up from the magazine and elbowed the man. He got up and started down the sidewalk.

  Junior got out of the car then and went to greet him. He stopped at the end of the sidewalk and waited to see what the man would do. The man eyed him real cautious and nodded the least bit. “Can I help you?”