Perfect Peace

by Daniel Black

  Gus rose at 2:30 A.M. after rolling over and feeling nothing but the cold sheet beside him. “You comin’ to bed, woman?”

  “In a little while. I gotta finish this. Ain’t much time left.”

  “Time for what?’

  “Just go on back to bed, man. You’ll know soon enough.”

  By 5:30, Emma Jean sat at the table exhausted and disgusted. There was no way the pieces she had cut out were going to congeal into anything fashionable. She could see that now. But that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that she didn’t know what to do.

  “I don’t smell no coffee,” Gus said, emerging from the bedroom.

  “ ’Cause ain’t none!” Emma Jean screeched.

  “What’s wrong with you, woman? Why you hollerin’ early in the mornin’?”

  Emma Jean huffed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout.”

  “But you didn’t answer my question. What’s wrong?”

  The boys began to stir.

  “I just gotta figure something out. That’s all.”

  She paced from the kitchen to the living room and back until she knew what she had to do. God was laughing out loud, she told herself. He always gets the last word. She thought He’d forgiven her, but maybe forgiveness doesn’t mean you don’t pay, she considered. Yes, God was cracking up. He intended to watch every second of the only option available to Emma Jean to salvage Paul’s suit. So she bound the pieces and the extra material in a large paper bag, swallowed practically all of her pride, and said, “I’ll see y’all later. I gotta handle something.”

  “We ain’t gon’ eat?” Gus asked.

  “Y’all is if somebody cook,” Emma Jean snarled.

  She shook her head as she walked down the lane.

  “Knock, knock,” Emma Jean called through Henrietta’s screen door. The bag of suit pieces rested beneath her left armpit.

  “Emma Jean Peace?” Henrietta said, surprised. She neither smiled nor invited her in.

  “Well, hey, chile!” Emma Jean said, feigning cordiality. “How you been doin’?”

  Henrietta folded her arms and stared at her with repulsion.

  “Now I know we ain’t best friends or nothin’, but, girl, I needs yo’ help!” She cackled. “This is my baby’s suit for the school dance and it ain’t right. It ain’t nowhere near right. But I thought—”

  “You don’t have no shame at all, Emma Jean Peace? None at all?”

  “Dear heavens, what do you mean?”

  “I delivered that . . . that . . . child, and you forced me to go along with some sickness I ain’t never forgave myself for, and now you want me to help you fix his suit for a dance?”

  “I ain’t askin’ you to agree wit’ nothin’, Henrietta. I’m jes’ askin’ you to give that boy one special evening.”

  “That’s the whole thing!” She clapped in disbelief. “You didn’t even raise him as no boy. Not at first!”

  “Shhhhhhhh!” Emma Jean hissed. “That ain’t none o’ yo’ business. That’s my business. You ain’t gon’ have to answer to God fu nothin’. I told you that back then. I’ll be the one He questions ’bout everything. And don’t you worry—I can handle God. I jes’ need yo’ help right now. I wouldn’t o’ come if I coulda helped it. Believe me, I wouldn’t’ve.”

  Henrietta cracked the screen door, and Emma Jean rushed in.

  “You know I quit midwifin’ after that day, don’t you?”

  Emma Jean ignored her, removed the pieces from the bag, and laid them across Henrietta’s kitchen table. “It don’t need much. Some of the pieces don’t fit together too good though. I probably didn’t cut ’em out right.”

  Henrietta glanced at the material. “Then you askin’ me to make a whole suit from stratch!”

  “Well, whatever it takes. You the only seamstress ’round here I know of. That’s any good anyway.” Emma Jean couldn’t look at her.

  “Don’t act like you didn’t hear me,” Henrietta said, pushing Emma Jean away from the pieces as she examined them closer. “That don’t matter to you, do it?”

  Emma Jean didn’t respond.

  “Well, it matter to me. I’ll never forget that evening long as I live.” Henrietta looked at Emma Jean, who turned away. Henrietta had the pieces in her arms now. “I sat in that chair like a zombie all evening and into the night. I couldn’t believe a mother could do what you had done, but I couldn’t say nothin’, neither. That was the worst part about it. I had to keep yo’ secret.”

  “Can we fix the suit?”

  “We cain’t do nothin’!”

  “Well, can you?”

  “Maybe,” Henrietta shrugged, “but you gon’ hear me out first or I ain’t fixin’ nothin’. And cain’t nobody this side o’ heaven do nothin’ with these rags but me.”

  Emma Jean sighed.

  “I been wonderin’ how de Lawd was gon’ make you come back to me, and now I see.” She snickered. “And you need my help this time. Ha! Ain’t life somethin’?”

  Just fix the suit, heffa! she wanted to say but couldn’t.

  “So let’s get this straight. I’ll fix the suit—on one condition.”

  Emma Jean knew an ultimatum was coming. “What is it?”

  Henrietta returned the pieces to the table. “I want the rest of your life.”

  “What?” Emma Jean scowled.

  “That’s right. You ruined my sleep, my health, and my midwife practice,” Henrietta explained with her back to Emma Jean. “Now, I want the life I never had.”

  “My life ain’t worth a damn!”

  “Oh no! I don’t want your existence—I want your work, your energy.”

  “What is you talkin’ ’bout, Henrietta?”

  “See, I wanna open up my own little boutique. Right in downtown Morrilton. Trish moved away last year, and with my husband gone, I ain’t got nothin’ else. I been wantin’ to do this for years, but I ain’t had no money.”

  “Well, shit, I ain’t got none, either!”

  “But you can work enough to make some. That’s what I want.”

  “You want some money? I’ll pay you some money. You didn’t think I’d ask you to do this free, did you?”

  Henrietta laughed. “You don’t get it, do you? I don’t want no one-time payment. I want you to work for me. For free. For the rest of yo’ life.”

  Emma Jean howled. “Sheeeeeeeit! You must be crazy, woman! I ain’t no fool. I ain’t workin’ for you or nobody else for free, and I sho ain’t ’bout to do it for de rest o’ my life! You must think I’m stupid or somethin’!”

  “You ain’t gotta do nothin’, Emma Jean Peace. Unless you want this suit fixed.”

  “I’ll fix it myself before I let you swindle me into something that crazy! I cain’t sit for no long time noway!” Emma Jean snatched the garment pieces from the table.

  “Suit yourself. That child is gon’ look a mess at the dance in some ole botched-up suit. But if you okay with it, it sho don’t bother me.”

  Henrietta held the screen door open as Emma Jean stomped through it. “I ain’t neva been that desperate, Ms. Henrietta Worthy. Never!” She pranced away, mumbling her indignation.

  “That hussy must be crazy!” she panted, trudging through the screen door.

  “What is it?” Gus asked.

  Emma Jean was too embarrassed to say. “I just cain’t believe she said that. I just cain’t believe it.”

  “Who said what?”

  “I can’t tell you. Not yet.”

  “All right,” Gus said. He and the boys went to the field.

  “She wanna charge me a arm and a leg just to fix a suit? It’ll be a cold day in hell befo’ I work for that heffa for free! She must think I ain’t got no sense!” Emma Jean marched around the kitchen table, speaking as if someone were sitting before her. “Shit. I ain’t crazy. Let me try this one more time. Maybe I just got too frustrated too soon.”

  She poured the pieces from the bag onto the table and immediately became discouraged all over again.
>
  “Let’s see. . . .”

  She tried to align the parts of the suit, but they simply didn’t fit together. “Goddamnit!” she shouted, and pounded the tabletop. There was nothing else she could do.

  Throughout the day, Emma Jean tried to think of someone or something else to ameliorate her situation, but she kept drawing blanks. Surely someone other than Henrietta Worthy could sew who could help her out. Emma Jean thought of several women—including Mamie Cunningham—but their garments always looked homemade. And she wasn’t about to ask Mamie Cunningham for anything. No, Henrietta was the only one who could make an outfit and folks thought it came straight from the store. And that’s what she wanted.

  By midnight, Emma Jean knew she had no other choice. She had moved the pieces around all day, but they never merged into the suit she had imagined.

  “Where you goin’ at this hour, Momma?” Woody asked as Emma Jean opened the front door.

  “I got somethin’ I gotta do, son. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be all right.” She took Gus’s flashlight and walked into the night.

  Henrietta thought she heard a woodpecker, then, when the knock came stronger, she concluded that somebody must be dead. She rushed to the door.

  Emma Jean glanced everywhere except into Henrietta’s eyes.

  “What’s de matter?”

  “This suit. That’s what’s de matter.”

  “What chu doin’ here at this hour?”

  Emma Jean pushed past Henrietta and into her living room. “Fix the damn thing,” she mumbled, and tossed the bag onto the sofa.

  “Why didn’t you bring it tomorrow? I can’t do nothin’ wit’ it tonight.”

  “Yes you can,” Emma Jean returned, and nodded. “And you will. If I’m gon’ give you the rest o’ my life, you gon’ give me tonight. And I don’t want none o’ my folks knowin’ nothin’ ’bout this suit or our little . . . arrangement.”

  Henrietta yelped. “You can’t come in my house and—”

  “Oh just fix the goddamn suit, will ya!” Emma Jean paused. “Please.”

  Henrietta cleared the table and laid out the pieces. She mocked Emma Jean’s mess, then put on a pot of coffee. “I thought our dealings were over years ago.”

  Emma Jean sat silently on the sofa.

  “God gon’ always bring it full circle, ain’t He?”

  She wanted Henrietta to shut up and fix the suit as quickly as possible.

  “When that child was born and you did what you did, I promised myself I wouldn’t bring another baby into this world. I came home that evening and threw my medicine bag into the fire and cried. You made me carry somethin’ that was too heavy for me. But I didn’t have no choice, did I?”

  Fix the damn suit, woman, and close yo’ mouth!

  “I was so scared you wuz gon’ tell my business. Ha! If I knew then what I know now, I woulda let you tell whatever the hell you wanted to ’cause wunnit nothin’ worth that.”

  “It didn’t cost you nothin’. It was my doin’.”

  Henrietta shook her head. “You wrong. It cost me everything. I didn’t sleep for days.”

  “Why didn’t you? It didn’t have nothin’ to do with you.”

  Henrietta looked at Emma Jean as though she had transformed into a cyclops. “You made it have somethin’ to do with me! You made me agree to destroy somebody’s life.”

  Emma Jean rolled her eyes.

  “Yeah, okay. But you gon’ pay. You gon’ wish to God you had let that boy be a boy.”

  Emma Jean whispered, “He is a boy.”

  “He is now! But he gon’ always have some girl in him. Always. Thanks to you.”

  “He’s still gon’ be my sweet baby, don’t care how much girl he got in him. I’ma love him just like he is.”

  “Yeah, but the world ain’t. That’s why somebody beat him up. You and Gus can’t protect him a lifetime, Emma Jean. He ain’t gon’ live with you but a little while longer, then what?”

  “I don’t know, but he’ll be all right.”

  Silence wanted to settle between them, but Henrietta ran it away. “The next time I saw that child, she was ’bout two. I couldn’t believe my eyes. She really looked like a little girl. I couldn’t figure out how you had done it. But I told myself to be patient. Time would reveal the truth. But it never did. So, one day, I just decided not to carry it any longer. I gave it over to God and told Him to do whatever He wanted to do with you. I was mad for years ’cause seem like God wunnit gon’ do nothin’, then, all o’ sudden, you show up on my doorstep.” Henrietta laughed hard. “He may not come when you want Him, but He’s always right on time. Ain’t that what they say?”

  Emma Jean cleaned her fingernails with a toothpick.

  “Now, you need me again. Well, ain’t that some shit?”

  Emma Jean wanted to slap Henrietta, but, under the circumstances, she held her peace.

  “How did you do it, Emma Jean? I mean, even now, folks ain’t figured out how you pulled it off. How did you keep it from Gus and them boys?”

  Silence.

  “Huh? How’d you do it?”

  Emma Jean ignored Henrietta and watched her work. Her sewing skills made Emma Jean envious. Piece by piece, the suit began to take shape the way Emma Jean had envisioned. Things that would have taken her days Henrietta did in minutes and did it much more meticulously.

  “None o’ them boys never asked you nothin’?” She poured herself a cup of steaming hot black coffee.

  “There wunnit nothin’ to ask.”

  “I guess you right. They didn’t know to ask.”

  She connected the shoulders and reinforced the stitch. “You cut these shoulders like that child is a li’l boy. He near ’bout tall as Gus now, ain’t he?”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “And what if that boy get married one day and then start thinkin’ ’bout boys? Ain’t you gon’ blame yo’self?”

  Emma Jean’s patience was fading. Sighing and huffing weren’t deterring Henrietta, and Emma Jean knew her abrasive tongue wouldn’t remain silent much longer.

  “Ump, ump, ump. Yeah, you done created more than you can handle, Miss Emma Jean. I hope that chile gon’ be all right.”

  “He’ll be just fine, thank you. If he get married, I expect him to honor his vows like everybody else s’pose to.”

  Henrietta’s head jerked around. “How do you do it? Huh? How do you just ignore truth and create the reality you want?”

  “Oh come on, Henrietta! Finish the suit!”

  Henrietta shrugged and continued sewing. “I don’t get it. I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t get a wink o’ sleep if I did some o’ de stuff you did.” She stared at Emma Jean. “At least I could sew. That saved my life. When I burned my medicine bag, that’s the only thing I had to fall back on. And thank God folks need clothes, ’cause otherwise me and Trish woulda starved to death.”

  The mention of Trish was the break Emma Jean needed. “How is the preacher’s daughter?”

  Henrietta’s flappable tongue calmed. “Trish is doin’ just fine.”

  It was Emma Jean’s turn to cackle. “So! Did you ever tell her the truth?”

  “Don’t start that again, Emma Jean. You know good and damn well it ain’t the same thing.”

  “Well, like I said years ago, every woman gotta fight for whatever piece of life she gon’ have. You fought for what you wanted, and so did I, so let’s just leave things be.”

  “You better pray somebody don’t hurt that boy for real. He got a long, hard road in front o’ him and you know people ain’t sympathetic to boys like that.”

  “Somebody done already hurt him for real and he survived, so don’t worry ’bout my child. And the next person lay a hand on him gon’ have to deal with me!”

  Within the next several hours, Emma Jean watched Henrietta work magic on the mess she had created. Just before six, Henrietta said, “I’ll give you until after the dance. But from then on, I intend to see you at the crack of dawn every day.” Henrietta disp
layed the suit for Emma Jean’s inspection.

  “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

  “Yes it is, if I must say so myself. No need for thanks. You’ll earn every penny of it. I promise you that.”

  Chapter 30

  Gus and the boys were lounging at the kitchen table when Emma Jean returned.

  “Where you been at, woman?”

  “Don’t you worry about that, Mr. Gustavus Peace!” Emma Jean said. “I got a surprise for everybody.”

  The boys stared in anticipation.

  “I been workin’ on somethin’ the past couple o’ days, and now it’s complete. Paul, this is for you.” She pulled the suit from the bag.

  “Oh wow,” he murmured, walking slowly toward Emma Jean. “It’s real nice, Momma. Real nice!”

  “Yes it is,” she sang with a smile.

  Paul touched it as though it were fragile. “Where’d you get it from?”

  “I didn’t get it from nowhere. I made it.”

  Woody and Mister gasped.

  Gus said, “You made it?”

  “That’s right! I had a little help, but, for the most part, I did it all by myself.”

  “When did you start sewin’?”

  “I been sewin’, man. You don’t know everything about me.”

  “It looks really good, Momma,” Mister said, struggling not to be jealous.

  “Thank you, son. Now, Paul, go try it on.”

  Emma Jean placed the cast-iron skillet on the stove and extracted eggs from the icebox. When Paul emerged, the men moaned with admiration.

  “You looks mighty fine, boy,” Gus said, nodding. “Mighty fine!”

  Woody and Mister gawked in silence. Bartimaeus asked, “What does he look like, y’all?”

  “He look like a handsome, black prince,” Gus said.

  “Ah, Daddy. I don’t look that good.”

  “Oh yes you do! I ain’t never seen a Peace man in a suit who didn’t look good.”

  Emma Jean turned and beheld her dream. “Oh my Lord! Look at my baby.” She clasped her mouth. “It’s perfect. It’s just perfect! You look incredible, son.”

  The boys surrounded Paul and whispered their praise. Gus told Emma Jean, “You outdid yo’self this time, woman.”