by Daniel Black
There was only one answer, one way to be made whole again. Why hadn’t she thought of it before?
Emma Jean wiped her tears, put on her best Sunday dress, and slipped into her good black shoes. She even took a pocketbook, although she didn’t know why.
“Where’re you goin’, woman?” Gus called as she stepped into the yard.
“Don’t worry ’bout me. I just need to do somethin’. I’ll be back in a little while.”
“You ain’t got no business walkin’ ’round by yo’self! You know you ain’t well. I’ll come with you.”
“No! No.” Emma Jean’s trembling finger, pointed at Gus’s nose, got everyone’s attention.
“I’ll be fine.”
Miss Mamie and Henrietta shook their heads. Eva Mae and Paul tried to guess where Emma Jean was going and why.
“Let her go, Daddy,” Sol said. “She can’t get lost around here.”
Her guests left the house shortly after she did. Most saw no reason to loiter if the birthday girl was gone, so they told Gus to take care and keep on praying. Sol walked Miss Mamie home. Mister accompanied Henrietta. Eva Mae never warranted an escort.
Passing the bend in the road, Emma Jean headed toward the Jordan. If it had cleansed Gus and Bartimaeus all those years, then it could cleanse her, too. Sugar Baby saw her, zigzagging along the same path where Paul had been assaulted, looking more drunk than he ever had, but he paid her no mind. She probably just needs a little air, he told himself.
The Jordan welcomed her. A comforting breeze blew as Emma Jean folded her arms and breathed deeply. She looked around, like one who’d never been there before. She’d been a child, hunting berries with Gracie and Pearlie, the last time she was there, and now it looked different. Was it always so broad? Why did it flow like it was angry?
Emma Jean stood on the banks and reviewed her life. What a mess she’d made! Everyone she’d tried to love, she ended up hurting. Maybe she’d been cursed from the beginning, she thought. Maybe the point of her life had been to show people what not to do, and, with such a mission, she’d been doomed from the start. Gazing across the water, she shook her head and sang, “I need thee! Oh, I need thee! Every hour, I need thee!” Her arms stretched toward the heavens as she continued: “Oh, bless me now, my Savior! I come to thee!” Waiting for the magical moment, she swayed and hummed as the roar of the Jordan promised an imminent transformation.
It’s up to you now.
“I did the best I could.”
It wasn’t good enough.
“I’m not a bad person.”
Oh really?
“Really! My momma hurt me!”
Don’t start that again.
“It’s true!”
Then come and be with me forever. I’ll love you. There’s nothing more you can do here. No one else needs you now.
“What about Paul? He’s so young.”
You’ll never fix what you did. Never.
Emma Jean believed it.
I’m your only friend now. Come, and be with me.
“How?” Emma Jean whimpered. “How can I be with you?”
Meet me in the water. I’ll carry you away.
“Will you love me?”
Yes I will.
“Forever?”
Forever.
“Do you promise?”
Yes, Emma Jean. I promise.
Emma Jean didn’t hesitate. Unable to foresee herself in the future, she marched boldly to the edge of a jutting rock and, with the help of God’s heavy hands, plunged headfirst into the chilly Jordan. It swallowed her whole and rocked her in its tumultuous bosom. It loved her and accepted her for who she was. And who she wasn’t. It embraced her with loving arms and never let her go. The Jordan was no respecter of persons, so it stripped Emma Jean of everything she had—clothes, memories, guilt, shame—as it prepared her for the land of everlasting love. She couldn’t swim and, even if she could, she wouldn’t have tried. She’d gotten precisely what she’d come for. She was cleansed now, and no one—including Mae Helen—could tarnish her again. The hope for perfect peace had finally been realized, and now she’d have it forever.
She’d get a new body and a new spirit, too. That’s what Reverend Lindsey had said. And maybe, if she got the chance to live again, she’d come back as a pretty little black girl, she thought, one others would smile at and want to give sweets to. She’d ask God not to make her so dark this time that her mother would beat her for it, but to give her hair like her sisters’ and soft, caramel skin like Paul’s. But if she couldn’t live again, she wouldn’t be angry. She’d lived once, and once had certainly been enough.
When Sol returned, Paul met him on the front steps. The sun was beginning its descent.
“You ain’t seen Momma, have you?” Paul asked.
“No. She’s not back yet?”
“Un-uh. But she shoulda been by now.”
“I’m sure she’s fine.”
Several seconds passed before Paul gathered the nerve to ask, “Is you still mad at her, Sol?”
He stared across the horizon. “Naw, I don’t think so. Some days are harder than others, but for the most part I’ve let it go.”
Paul nodded. “I know it was hard.”
“You have no idea.”
“Well, Momma was definitely glad to see you today. I could tell.”
Sol chuckled. “Yeah. I guess she was.”
“It must be painful for her, lookin’ at how you done done so good, even after what she did to you.”
“Ha! I’ma tell you a secret, little brother: God has a way of making sure you reach your destiny, regardless of what others do to you.”
“You think so?”
“Trust me. It’s true. Sometimes, when people think they’re putting obstacles in your path, they’re actually laying your stepping-stones. You just gotta recognize them as one and the same.”
Paul chewed his left thumbnail as he listened to Sol’s wisdom.
“It’s funny, you know. When I saw Momma today, I wasn’t sure what I felt at first. The only thing I knew for sure was that I wasn’t going to start hating her all over again. It took me too long to drop that burden. I’ve never forgotten what she did. I just decided that she couldn’t have my whole life. I wanted to move forward, so I had to stop looking back.”
“I wish I knew how to do that.” Paul thought of the assault.
“There’s no trick to it. You just put your energy into what you want to be, and you try to let the past go. You don’t ever forget though.”
“Well, if you don’t forget, how you stop lookin’ back?”
“By figuring out how the experience can help you move forward. That’s the point of why it happened to you in the first place. There’s something you’re suppose to get from the moment that’ll get you closer to your mission if you can see it. Most people can’t.”
“But what if the experience wasn’t for you?”
“It was. It always is. Sometimes it’s hard to see, and sometimes we don’t want to believe it, but every experience you have is for you. You just gotta figure out how.”
“Ump. That’s hard to believe.”
“I know.”
“You’re even smarter now than you used to be!”
Sol placed his arm around Paul’s shoulder. “I don’t know about that!”
“I do! That’s why you’re my hero.”
“You’re mine, too, sir.”
Paul blushed.
“So what’s next for you?”
“I don’t know.”
“What about farming?”
“No way!”
They giggled.
“Can’t say I blame you for that.”
“Daddy and Authorly love it, but I don’t.”
“You ever thought about college?”
“Yeah, that’s what Momma wants me to do, but I don’t like school. Not that much. Is college hard?”
“Hell, yes! It’s a lot of reading and writing.”
“Th
en it’s not for me.”
“You’d probably better leave it alone. If you don’t love knowledge, and I mean love it, going to college is a waste of time.”
“Then I don’t know what to do.”
“Anybody you thinking about marrying?”
“Nope.”
“No? There must be someone around here you’ve been looking at.”
Of course there was someone, but Paul couldn’t name him.
Sol leaned onto Paul’s shoulder and whispered, “What’s his name?”
“Oh my God!” Paul covered his face. “How’d you know?”
“It wasn’t hard to figure out.”
“You think Daddy knows?”
“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“Why not!”
“Because you’re grown now. And, anyway, people ain’t God. Whatever they think they know, God already knows, and if He hasn’t troubled you about it, you can pretty much ignore other folks.”
Paul thought a moment. “I guess you right.”
“Don’t ever give others the power to destroy you, little brother, because they’ll take it. Your fear is their invitation.”
“Wow. Then I’ve given a lot of power away over the years.”
“Haven’t we all? Now it’s time to take it back. Folks’ll kill you and enjoy doing it if you let them.”
“That’s true. I could name a few people standing in line right now!”
Sol laughed.
“I got the fever a few years ago, and everybody thought I was gon’ die, but I didn’t. I lived.”
“Well, good for you. Now you have to live well.”
Paul studied a squirrel, scampering from one tree to another.
“If you do find someone you like, just be careful. The heart’ll trick you, man, if you let it. It’ll make you think you’ll give up everything and everyone you know for someone you don’t.”
“Ain’t that the truth!”
“Everyone gets the chance to love, but we don’t all get to love who we want. Take your time. Your day’ll come.”
Paul thought of the dried, brittle four-leaf clover nestled between the pages of his Bible.
“You have to get clear about the kind of life you can live here. Life can be lived anywhere, but not every life can be lived everywhere.”
“I ain’t never thought about it like that.”
“Keep on livin’, and you’ll start thinking about a lot of things.”
“I guess I gotta figure out somethin’, huh?”
“Yeah, you do. Maybe you’re too scared to know.”
“Maybe I am, ’cause there is somethin’ I like that I ain’t never told nobody.”
“What is it?”
Paul laughed at himself. “Clothes. I know it sounds crazy, but when Momma made me that suit and I put it on, I felt somethin’ I ain’t never felt before.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I wondered what it would be like to make one myself.”
“Okay.”
“I’m real creative. Eva Mae says so all the time. But I don’t know nothin’ ’bout makin’ no clothes.”
“Well, what about Miss Henrietta? Does she still sew?”
“Does she! Man, she got a shop in town that’s sellin’ out fast as she can make the stuff.”
“Then I’m sure she could use some help. She’d probably be glad to teach you what she knows. You can make a lotta money doing it, too. It might be what you was sent to do.”
“Hmmm.” Sent? He thought of Sugar Baby. “It just might be.”
“Of course folks ’round here don’t think much about a man making clothes, but that doesn’t matter. Not if you want it bad enough.”
“You right.”
“Just make sure you can handle the pressure. People’ll talk about you, but who cares? When you’re a famous designer, they’ll praise you as a son of Swamp Creek.”
“I hate when people do that.”
“Yeah, but we all do it. We talk about people we don’t like until they become famous. Then we love ’em.”
Paul sighed.
“You’d make an incredible designer, man. You’ve had enough experiences to bring a whole new perspective to fashion. Plus, you’re strong. You gotta be. Who could’ve endured what you have? Now, take those experiences and create something the world has never seen.”
Paul’s excitement shone in his eyes.
“But remember this: you’re strong because of your people—not in spite of them. You come from resilient folks, man. Don’t ever forget that. I know what Momma did to you, and I know it wasn’t right, but that’s a price she’ll have to pay—not you. She was crazy, but that doesn’t mean you have to be. Peace men are strong, Paul, and you’re one of us. Take the best from us and add to it. But whatsoever you do, don’t ever forget that you’re a Peace.”
“I won’t.”
“And remember this, too: sometimes you have to grow up before you appreciate how you grew up. I’m still learning that one.”
Paul promised he wouldn’t forget.
At dusk, Gus and the boys went searching for Emma Jean. Sol said he’d wait at the house, just in case she returned, but of course she didn’t. By dawn, half of Swamp Creek was combing the woods and knocking on doors, inquiring about Emma Jean’s strange disappearance. Most knew something bad had happened, but they went along with the search for Gus’s sake.
Sugar Baby found her downstream a few days later, faceup and bloated. Holes punctured her face as if piranhas had tried to consume her, and her eyes were bulged like one in mid-fright. The only thing familiar to Sugar Baby was the moon-shaped scar, which seemed more pronounced now. He didn’t remember it being quite so rounded, but maybe the swelling had stretched it, he thought. He never dreamed he’d see Emma Jean Peace like this. He would’ve carried the body to the house, but the stench was unbearable, so he ran and told Gus what he’d found.
On a cloudy Friday morning in late May of 1959, they buried Emma Jean in Bartimaeus’s sealed casket. The funeral was beautiful, people said. Folks everywhere and food galore. Miss Mamie sat behind the family, marveling at how handsome the Peace boys had turned out—all except Woody—and Gus thanked God that Emma Jean had lived long enough to see Paul survive. His sobbing was the saddest part of the service. All he could think about was the pretty lemon cake Emma Jean had made for his birthday and the fun he and other kids had had eating it with homemade ice cream. That’s why he wept—because no one other than Emma Jean understood how precious and beautiful those days had been. She’d tried to love him—Paul knew that in his heart—but she just hadn’t done it right. Now she was gone forever, and no one else in the family cared to remember who or what he’d once been. Burying Emma Jean was tantamount to burying Perfect, and Paul simply wasn’t prepared to let either of them go. Yet he had no choice. Sitting on the front pew in the suit that had cost Emma Jean everything, he sighed as they buried the woman who insisted on having what God wouldn’t allow.
Woody gave the eulogy, talking about things that had absolutely nothing to do with Emma Jean, and, at the end, Authorly rose and asked Sol to render a selection. He almost sang “All of My Help,” for Paul’s sake, but then, for his own, he belted, “When peace, like a river, attendeth my way! When sorrows like sea billows roll!” Tears poured as Sol gave thanks that his hurt hadn’t consumed him. “Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say, it is well, it is well, with my soul!”
Paul escaped the repast and found himself at the Jordan. He hadn’t meant to go there. His aim had been to gather wildflowers for Emma Jean’s grave, then return to the church, but the rumble of the river drew him until, unwittingly, he stood upon the rock where his mother had recently stood.
“I’m all right, Momma. The world didn’t kill me.”
He thought he heard Emma Jean’s laughter amid the rushing waves.
“I’m a man now. Can you belive that? A man.”
He didn’t need anyone’s confirmation. He’d disc
overed that, like the Jordan, he simply had to be who he was. That was the secret of life, right? That’s what Sol had been trying to tell him, wasn’t it? To be himself regardless of what others thought? Wow. Death has a way of breeding clarity, he thought. As sad as he was about Emma Jean, he gave thanks for finally understanding.
“You did the best you could. I know that. And I thank you for my life—all of it.”
Sugar Baby watched from the woods, unable to hear Paul’s words, but discerning his actions clearly.
“Take care, Momma. I’ll be fine now.”
And with that, Paul knelt and splashed his face with the healing powers of the Jordan. The water was cold and sharp, but it was also refreshing and satisfying. He couldn’t imagine how fish dwelt in the frigid flow, much less how his father and brother waded in it. But there was something magical there. He felt it now and he needed it, so he splashed his face repeatedly until he felt renewed.
Just as he stood, the Jordan began to sing him a lullaby. He closed his eyes and swayed. The rough, coarse melody, bubbling up from the deep, soothed his aching soul. He listened, for what felt like an eternity, to the cry of the currents until the notes reverberated in the abyss of his memory. He would recall the tune years later and hum it whenever his past threatened to overwhelm him. For now, he listened until his heart was clean. Until he was free. Until, with his scars and wounds, he was sure he’d been made whole.
The rains came at nightfall. They hadn’t been this late, Gus recalled, since the day of Paul’s birth. But, unlike then, there was no rush this time, so father and son walked hand in hand to the place of cleansing. As the moon rose, so did their voices. Gus couldn’t figure out why Emma Jean had jumped into the river. She knew she couldn’t swim. Was she trying to die? Had the voices in her head led her astray? It didn’t make sense, but there was nothing he could do about it now, so he thanked God for all his boys and wept with joy that Sol was home again. Gus had missed him deep in his heart. He regretted that he’d stood with Emma Jean on the decision to halt Sol’s education, but he couldn’t do anything about that, either. Sol had succeeded against the odds anyway, and that’s what mattered, so Gus thanked a faithful God for making Sol strong enough to withstand it all. Neighbors had expected wailing and mourning, but when they heard exultation and praise, they knew that ole Gustavus Peace would be all right. He wouldn’t live to see Paul prosper, but the brothers would. They’d meet in New York in 1965, all seven of them, and watch models display, in radiant splendor, Paul’s breathtaking creativity. They’d clap as they remembered little Paul Peace, the one few—other than Sugar Baby—thought would survive, and they’d know that God’s hand had always been upon him. For now, Bartimaeus said, “So long!” to Emma Jean as he and Gus waded into the Jordan. By morning, their burdens had been lifted, and it was finished.