by Dara Girard
"Go your ways!" she shouted at them. They quickly picked up their pace and ran ahead. Mother Shea then looked up at the window and said, "Where is your mother?"
"In the kitchen," Maxine said unable to hide her disappointment that their fun had been cut short.
"Thank you," she said, but doubted her answer had been heard before Trudy shut the window. Mother Shea shook her head, she sensed trouble, but she hadn't come about them, and continued to make her way around the back.
"Sister Barnett," she called tapping on the back door and peering through the window.
Mrs. Barnett glanced up from what she was doing and opened the door with a smile. "This is a surprise."
The scent of fresh spices greeted her as she entered the kitchen. "Yes." Mother Shea forced a smile as her pinched toes reminded her that if she didn't find relief soon she wouldn't remain upright. She hobbled over to a padded chair and fell into it. She slipped her shoes off relieved, although the throbbing continued.
"How are things with you?" Mrs. Barnett asked, wiping flour from her hands.
"I'm still here, Thank God. I always say things can't be too bad if I'm still breathing."
"Yes." Mrs. Barnett hesitated then asked, "So what brings you here?"
"I have news for you."
Mrs. Barnett's brows shot up. "Really?" She pulled out a chair and sat in front of her.
"Yes, the best news a mother could ever hope for." She stared at a large pitcher of ice-cold sorrel juice, a delicacy for those from the Caribbean. Its bright red color gleamed against the white tiles of the kitchen.
"My throat is a bit parched."
Mrs. Barnett got up and poured the juice then waited. Mother Shea took a long swallow then set the cup down. "Your husband makes the best sorrel juice around."
"Thank you."
"I wish—"
"No, disrespect, but you said you have good news for me?"
"Yes." When Mother Shea lifted the glass again Mrs. Barnett closed her eyes and prayed for patience. At last the glass was empty and Mother Shea set it down satisfied. "I had a vision last night. But before I had this vision I bumped into Brother Jerome at the grocery store."
"Yes, and—?"
"He spoke to me about your Beverly. He said she has touched his heart and he would like to ask for her hand in marriage, but he wanted to ask my opinion first. She has been in his sight for a long time. I told him that I would wait and see what the Lord tells me. Well last night the answer came." She lifted her glass. "My throat still feels a bit scratchy."
Mrs. Barnett poured her some more sorrel juice, quietly reciting one of the Ten Commandments: Thou shalt not kill.
Mother Shea took a long swallow then said, "And the answer was clear." She lifted her glass again.
Mrs. Barnett gripped the handle of the pitcher. "And the answer was—" she prodded.
Mother Shea set the glass down with a click. "That your Beverly is to marry Brother Jerome. This morning when I told him about my vision he said he'd speak to Brother Barnett right away."
Mrs. Barnett nearly dropped the pitcher unable to believe her ears. "Are you sure?" she whispered. "Brother Jerome wants to marry my little Beverly?"
"Yes."
Mrs. Barnett clasped her hands together and glanced up at the ceiling. "Praise God." She knew it was un-Christian to be so aware of social distinction but she couldn't help it. No matter how she fasted and prayed the desire and envy never left her. She'd been raised lower middle class and had been sensitive to the slights and limitations of her background (the second hand clothes, the lack of education) and desperately wanted better for her daughters.
"Hmm." Mother Shea sniffed the air. "Is that rum cake you're making? Lord knows I've always thought your baking is the best in the area."
Mrs. Barnett stood, taking yet another hint. Mother Shea never left a house empty handed. She cut a big slice and wrapped it in foil.
"God bless you." Mother Shea slipped the cake in her bag. "Just think of the blessing. Brother Jerome is already very established and now he's come into some valuable property. Your daughter will be well provided for and never want for anything."
Mrs. Barnett already knew of Brother Jerome's good fortune from the women in her prayer group. But she had never thought of him as marriage material for one of her daughters. "It's all I could have ever hoped for," she said excited then she sobered. "However, there may be one problem."
"I can't think of one."
"Winston."
"What about him?"
"He's never liked Brother Jerome."
"That's fine because he doesn't have to marry him. He only has to shake his hand and give his daughter away. Besides this marriage is appointed of God. It was in my vision. God is never wrong."
"I will talk to him."
"And if you can't convince him, Brother Jerome certainly will." Mother Shea stood and winced. "And you don't have to worry about thanking me; Brother Jerome has thanked me handsomely. I am just pleased that God uses me this way and I was able to give you such wonderful news."
"Are you all right?" Mrs. Barnett asked seeing her limping.
"I am paying the price for my own foolishness. Good day."
"Good day." Mrs. Barnett watched Mother Shea go then returned to her cooking. There was a lot that needed to be done, but first she had to go into town to buy a package of Winston's favorite ginger tea.
* * *
"What was Mother Shea doing here?" Janet asked her mother the moment Mrs. Barnett returned from her errands. She stood in the kitchen and watched her mother prepare a tray with growing concern.
"Never you mind."
"But she was wearing that hat. I saw her. She only wears that on special visits."
"Yes, I know."
"Is it bad news?"
"Would I be setting this tray if it were?"
Janet studied the tray where her mother had placed a thick slice of Jamaican spice bun, which she had made the day before, fresh goat cheese, and ginger tea. "No, but you usually set this kind of tray when you want to convince Daddy of something."
"Perhaps," Mrs. Barnett said without looking up at her daughter. She arranged the items on the tray.
Janet pressed her hands together as though in prayer. "Dee-dee, I'm begging you."
Mrs. Barnett flashed a secretive smile. "You'll find out soon enough," she said then picked up the tray and left the kitchen.
Moments later Mrs. Barnett knocked on the door to her husband's study then entered. "I brought you something to eat."
Mr. Barnett looked up from his desk and smiled in greeting. "Thank you, darling," he said pushing his papers aside to make room for the tray. He lifted the tea and took a sip then briefly shut his eyes in pleasure. "Delicious."
Mrs. Barnett sat primly and watched him, as though her husband's comfort was her greatest concern. "I'm glad you like it." She glanced around the room at the row of books and maps that crowded the wooden bookshelves lining the study. Although Mr. Barnett was not a strident advocate of formal education he had a healthy appreciation for knowledge. As a self-made man, it had been the books he'd read in the libraries where he'd spent his time in-between jobs that had transformed him from a Jamaican office clerk into an American businessman.
He'd had a hard life in Jamaica. He hadn't been poor but certainly not middle class. He had worked a variety of jobs—cutting sugar cane, packing in a fish cannery, and digging in a bauxite mine, the job he hated most. The promise of a new life and a chance to better himself was why he'd immigrated to America. Although it hadn't been easy, his hard work had provided a level of income that suited him and he knew that, in time, he would make more. Anything was possible in America while back home his station in life had been stamped in stone from birth.
He remembered loving a girl who he'd wanted to marry, but once her family found out which parish he was from, which school he'd attended and his family's name they immediately put a stop to it.
Of all the elements of the British occ
upation in Jamaica he hated most was the continuation of the class system. In American and more importantly in Hamsford, the society was more fluid and he planned to reach the top one day.
While his accounting business, Barnett's Accounting Firm, wasn't making him rich, it met his family's obligations and allowed him the honor of sending money 'back home' to help needy relatives. It also put him on the elevated income level of Hamsford's middle class. He knew how far he'd come, although his wife didn't always seem to remember.
"How has your day been?" he asked her, the tea having put him in a chatty mood.
"Fine, thank you." She shifted in her chair. "I had a visitor."
"Who?" He took a bite of the bun, which lifted his mood even higher.
"Do you like the bun? I made it without fruit this time."
"It's perfect as always. Who came by?"
"Mother Shea."
He stopped chewing and swallowed as though the bun and cheese had turned to chalk. "What did she want? Did she come to empty our pockets?"
"No, I wish you wouldn't speak that way."
"How can I not speak that way? The moment that woman opens her mouth someone ends up paying for God's favor."
"She has a gift."
"I do not deny that. I only question what her gift truly is."
"I hope you don't speak like this in public."
"Of course not. I leave sensible discussions for you." He leaned back and folded his arms pensive. "So what did she say?"
"She had some wonderful news."
"What was the news?" He took a sip of his tea.
"Brother Jerome is to marry Beverly. Mother Shea saw it in a vision."
Mr. Barnett nearly spit out his tea. "Brother Jerome? Perhaps she should go back to sleep and dream again."
"Winston, this is no time to jest."
"I am not jesting. I can't give my daughter to that man. His hands are as soft as guava jelly and I've never trusted a man with soft hands. It means he's averse to working."
"But he is rich."
"By the sweat of your brow ye shall eat."
"Not all men are meant to labor. King Solomon probably had soft hands and he had God's favor. He was also wise."
Mr. Barnett pointed at her. "Which brings me to my second point—"
"No," Mrs. Barnett quickly interrupted. "He may not be a clever man, but he is Jamaican, a member of our church and rich." She leaned forward resting her hands on the desk her eyes bright with promise. "Imagine what he can provide for Beverly."
"You speak about money, but is his soul rich? What currency comes from his heart? Gold or pennies? He's a vain and pompous man. I want a Godly man for my daughter. One who will lead her into the ways that are right."
"Every man has his faults. You are not here to judge them. He is a good man overall. And Beverly is too pure to ever be led astray. She will be good for him."
"Yes, but—"
"Your tea is getting cold."
He took another sip.
"I understand your concerns," Mrs. Barnett said in a soothing voice as she pushed his plate of bun and cheese closer to him. "But you cannot deny that Mother Shea has a gift of sight and she asked nothing of us, so there is no hidden agenda."
"Yes, but—"
"Don't forget your snack."
He took a bite of the bun and cheese.
"We cannot pretend anymore Winston."
"What do you mean?"
"The money. I know you try to provide for all of us and Beverly contributes, but money is still tight."
"I can provide for my family."
"How much have you sent home? Didn't you help your sister with a new roof? Your brother begged you to help him start a chicken farm that failed. You can pretend to them that you're some rich American, but I know the truth. Beverly's marriage will be a financial relief for us. And we'll have only four daughters to look after instead of five."
"I know Dee, but—"
"When we first came to this country you had so many dreams."
Yes, he remembered those dreams. Their American journey had started in New York. His wife had grown up in the country and had to adjust to city life, but he was a city man at heart having grown up in Kingston and Montego Bay. But both had found New York a hard adjustment. They hated the stark, cold brick buildings, large tenements, high rise apartments and public housing. The winters were cold and dreary, chilling them until they felt their skin had been ripped from their bones; the spring was wet and unpredictable with little greenery to announce the changing season; summers were too short and sweltering; and autumn was an unwelcome reminder that winter was on its way.
And his wife hated the isolation. The church they attended was a welcome relief, but didn't help to eradicate the sight of the rats, the roaches, the dirt, the crime and the dark one bedroom basement apartment they could afford as she looked after two little girls under five.
They'd moved to Hamsford because of its location near the water, the Jamaican community and the large evangelical church they now attended. Tourists helped keep Hamsford viable. Word had grown about their annual Carnival and access to Maryland crabs, Caribbean dishes and entertainment. And as business grew around him, his business grew as well, although it was slow.
"They're still possible," he said wanting his wife to be patient.
She released a weary sigh. "And they're getting old like we are. We're no longer young. You can't work this hard forever."
"I know money is tight—"
"It's always been tight," she said with bitterness.
"But it will improve."
"When?"
"In time. God will bless us."
"He has blessed us. Open your eyes, because with all your concerns you are forgetting one thing."
Mr. Barnett lifted his tea doubtful. "What?"
"With Beverly married Janet will have no one to run away with."
Mr. Barnett stopped with the tea cup halfway to his mouth then slowly set it down as his expression cleared with understanding. "You are right."
She nodded. "I know."
He clasped his hands together pleased. "I will give my consent right away."
* * *
Outside the study door Maxine and Trudy tried to listen in. "Can you hear what they're saying?" Trudy asked.
"Barely. Shut up."
"I was just asking."
"Well don't."
"If you two would stop talking you might hear something," Janet said.
Francine added, "Eavesdropping is a waste of time. We'll find out everything anyway."
"Then why are you here?" Maxine challenged.
"I'm here to supervise."
"I didn't know you could have four eyes and still be blind as a bat."
"Don't be rude," Janet said as Francine adjusted her glasses.
"She doesn't have to act like such a know-it-all."
"Apologize."
Maxine rolled her eyes then looked at Francine. "I'm sorry. You're free to supervise as long as you keep your big mouth shut." She turned back to the door.
"They're talking too low," Trudy said disappointed. "Oh, quick, I think she's coming."
The door swung open and Mrs. Barnett appeared. She didn't question why her daughters were gathered in the hallway, her mind was too preoccupied with the upcoming wedding. "Where is Beverly?" she asked.
"She went into town," Francine said. "but she'll be back soon."
"Why did Mother Shea come?" Janet asked, this time hoping to get a response.
She wasn't disappointed. Mrs. Barnett rested her hands on her daughter's shoulder her eyes brimming with tears of joy. "She had a vision."
Maxine frowned. "She always has visions. What does it have to do with us?"
Mrs. Barnett turned to her youngest daughter and pinched her cheek. "It will change our lives. For this was the most wonderful vision a mother could ever hope for."
"Dee-dee," Janet said her patience quickly unraveling. "What was the vision?"
Mrs. Barnett be
gan to reply then heard the front door open and pushed past her daughters to greet Beverly in the foyer. She enveloped her in a big hug. "Oh, I have wonderful news for you."
Startled, Beverly awkwardly hugged her back. "I'm glad to hear it."
"Which you will hear after dinner," Mr. Barnett said, coming out of his office. He pushed past his daughters, gave his wife a peck on the cheek then grabbed his jacket. "I will be back."
Mrs. Barnett eagerly helped him straighten his jacket so that he would make the best impression possible. "You'll see him now?"
"Yes," he said then walked out the door.
Janet fell to her knees and stared up at her mother. "I'm begging you with all that is holy and good; please tell me what is going on."
"Get off your knees," Mrs. Barnett scolded. "You shouldn't make such a mockery of a sacred position." She tapped her chin. "I must go see if Mrs. Lind is ready with dinner," she said then hurried to the kitchen.
Chapter 8
Janet crumpled to the floor and groaned.
Beverly fell to her side in distress. "Are you all right?"
"I have a horrible feeling."
"Do you think you'll be sick? Francine go get a bucket."
Janet sat up. "I'm not going to be sick." She stared at her sisters' worried faces. "Really. Don't you see what's happening?"
They shook their heads.
Janet took a deep breath and spoke slowly as though addressing people who spoke a foreign tongue. "Mother Shea came to visit today and now our parents are happy." She paused. "Doesn't that concern you a little?"
Maxine shrugged. "I'm curious, but what's there to worry about?"
Francine pushed up her glasses. "You should take pride in our parents' joy."
Beverly rested a gentle hand on Janet's arm. "Get up. There's nothing that can be that horrible."