A Corner in Glory Land

by Janie DeVos

  One afternoon, after spending several hours writing, I was walking the trail home when I spotted my father standing at the end of an old boat dock. He was staring down into the water and didn’t hear me. I stood frozen in place on the road directly across from him. I waited, holding my breath, wondering if Papa was thinking about taking an eternal swim. Just as I started to call out to him, he awkwardly sat, hung his legs over the end of the dock, put his face in his one remaining hand, and cried like a baby. With tears streaming down my own face, I walked off the trail and into the woods, out of sight of my father. The last thing I wanted was for him to see me. I knew he wouldn’t appreciate it if I witnessed him in this vulnerable state.

  I pulled my shawl tighter. The rain was chilly. It was late February, and the winter had another round or two to go with us before the first warm spring breezes. Opening my umbrella, I held it over me with one hand while holding the reins in the other. Suddenly, I caught a movement off to my left. There, tending to her beehives, was Ivy in a pair of James’s old blue overalls.

  “Hello, Sister!” I was glad to see her. I was ready for some company to help pull me from my melancholy thoughts.

  “Oh, Lord, Eve! You scared me!” she said, holding her hand to her heart. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s not polite to sneak up on someone in the woods?” She laughed as she walked toward me, pulling her thick work gloves off.

  “You about done there?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I’m gettin’ cold. Oh…wait a minute,” she said, heading back in the direction of the hives. “Just let me grab the ducks Moses dropped off a little while ago.” She reached down behind an enormous oak and picked up a burlap sack covered in small wine-colored stains. She threw it into the wagon’s bed and climbed up by me. “He shot six today over at Lost Lake.”

  “Nice of him to share. Papa loves duck. That’s one gift he might actually allow himself to enjoy.” People had been so kind and generous, and while most of the family was grateful, my father was embarrassed and often refused to eat what was given to us. “Here,” I said, handing Ivy the umbrella. I got Maggie going again and after talking about our day, the soft tapping sounds of the rain on the umbrella lulled us both into a comfortable quietness. After several minutes, Ivy broke the silence.

  “I hate going home.”

  Her statement startled me, but I understood it. Ivy voiced things that I wouldn’t admit. “I know,” I sighed. “Maybe things will get a little better over time.”

  Ivy turned to face me. “Sometimes I wish Mayoma had just let Papa die that night. I’m sorry. Lord, I know that’s a terrible thing to say. But, honest to God, Eve, I bet if we coulda asked him, he’d have said for us to give him a large glass of whiskey, to sing ‘The Old Rugged Cross,’ and to let him bleed himself dry. Sometimes I think that would have been the kinder thing to do.”

  I knew she was right. “I just wish he’d go back to work. Cap’n Dial has tried time ’n again to get him to work on the May Breeze. He told Papa that he needed a steward with one good head more than two good hands. Papa won’t do it, though, ’cause he thinks the only reason Dial is offering him the job is because he feels guilty. Emmitt keeps telling Papa that’s not so, but there’s no convincing him. Lord, it’d be good for him to be back on the water. And I’m going to say this, Ivy: James and Joseph need to get on with their own lives and stop trying to keep the rest of us going. Did you know that Mama was asked to help out with the laundry at the Silver Springs Hotel but had to turn it down?”

  “Mama mentioned it but didn’t seem to want to say much about it. I bet Papa put his foot down.”

  “Of course he did. The hotel’s owner, Mrs. Landingham, was only trying to help, but Papa about had a fit. When Mama told him she wanted to do it, he told her that he’d never lifted a hand to her in his life, but if she tried to take that job, he’d use his one remaining hand to whip her. Then he had me drive him over there in the wagon. I begged him to just let it go, but he said he’d try riding over on Maggie or walk if need be. Well, I took him ’cause Mama asked me to do it. When we got there Mrs. Landingham was standing in the side yard of the hotel, and Papa goes marching over to her. Says, ‘Don’t ya know it ain’t polite to ask a white woman to do wash for another white woman, and especially alongside a negress?’ Poor ol’ Mrs. Landingham was dumbfounded by it. Just behind her Miss Simone, the colored woman, was scrubbing a shirt on the washboard. I was watching her and the only sign she gave that she heard was that the rhythm of her scrubbing was interrupted for just a second—like she’d flinched. I was embarrassed for everyone, but mostly for Papa. It was rude and…well…it just wasn’t right. Besides, Ivy, the money that colored woman makes and that Mama could make for helping her would be equally as green. So, instead of her bringing in a little money, Mama’s havin’ to tend to Papa’s every need, making him that much more dependent and Mama that much more worn out.”

  “And it shows,” Ivy added. “Seems like Mama moves a little slower every day. Well, we’ll all just keep chippin’ in some of what we each make and—”

  “The money you and James and Joseph make needs to stay in your own pockets,” I said, cutting her off. “James wants to go to school, and Joseph has a future with a wife and family. And you work hard for your money and ought to be able to do what you want with it. In the meantime, here I am, barely contributing when someone buys a story—which hardly pays enough to feed a flea on a diet. So, I spoke with Mrs. Brody at the general store today, and she said they could give me some part-time work.”

  “Are you sure, Eve? I know your writing is everything to you.”

  One thing I appreciated about Ivy was that she respected my writing. As little girls, she always wanted me to tell her stories. “My writing has to come second right now. Besides, I’ll have time to write. I have to be practical, and I have to be fair. I have to pitch in. And to tell you the truth, if I don’t get enough work at the store, I’m marching myself over to the hotel and takin’ up Mrs. Landingham’s offer to work beside Miss Simone.”

  “Papa would kill you.”

  “Well, at least we’ll all be wearin’ clean laundry for my funeral.”

  We both chuckled but were quiet the rest of the way home. When we got there, we could see oil lamps shining through the window in the last light of day. I felt like our strong and once-seemingly invincible family was just like the daylight, rapidly fading.

  Chapter 7

  As Wide as an Ocean

  “Mrs. Levi, I don’t set the prices. I just work here,” I sighed, tired and frustrated after dealing with yet another customer who was none too pleased that the price of her purchase at Silver Springs General Store had gone up. In Mrs. Levi’s case, the item was a bolt of cotton calico. According to Mrs. Brody, supplies and shipping costs had gone up, but nobody was fool enough not to equate the large new home she and Mr. Brody were building with the increased prices of the store’s inventory.

  It wasn’t quite ten in the morning yet, and I’d been there since six. Somehow, my part-time job had turned into a full-time job, and though I was grateful for the money, I was tired most of the time from staying up late to write.

  “Well,” Mrs. Levi continued, “just give me ten yards instead of twelve, and I’ll have to make do. Honestly! How’s a body supposed to make a dress out of that amount of material!” she grumbled.

  By that body losing a few pounds, I silently responded to the overweight woman as I reached for the measuring stick and scissors that were kept beneath the counter. When I stood up with them, the bells on the front door jingled, and Max and Ivy walked in.

  “Hey, Ivy.” I chose to ignore Max and set about measuring the length of material for Mrs. Levi. “If you need something, I’ll be done here in a minute.”

  “No, you go on. I just need a couple of things, and I know where to find ’em.” She headed down one of the aisles, leaving Max leaning against the far end of the counte
r. After finishing with Mrs. Levi, I had no choice but to address him.

  “Mr. Harjo, is there something I can help you with?”

  His black felt hat was pulled down low on his forehead, making his blue eyes appear darker and formidable. “Naw,” he answered as he pulled a toothpick from the corner of his mouth. “I’m just waiting on Ivy. We’re goin’ huntin’ for hogs.”

  “Ivy? Hog hunting?” I started to laugh but realized he was serious. I’d never known my sister to shoot anything, much less something as ferocious and deadly as wild hogs. Just then, Ivy rounded the end of the aisle and walked up to the counter with her items: a wide-brimmed brown suede hat, a pair of soft-soled Indian moccasins, and a bar of paraffin wax that would be used to waterproof them.

  “Hunting, Ivy? I thought you hated it.”

  “Well, it’s time I learned to do it, even if I don’t like it. You’ve brought in small game, Eve, and James and Joseph have shot the bigger stuff. I’ve got to pitch in, too.”

  “If you wanted to learn how to shoot, why didn’t you ask James or Joseph to teach you how? Or Mama? She’s a better shot than any of us. She taught me.”

  “Well…Max offered, so we’re goin’.”

  There was no mistaking the edge to her voice. I didn’t look over at Max or say a word to him, and he said nothing, but I could feel him staring at me. I confirmed it when I turned to ring up my sister’s purchases.

  “That’ll be three dollars even.” But before Ivy could pull out any money, Max firmly placed three silver dollars on the counter. Not looking at him, I turned and put the money in the cash register and said over my shoulder, “When will you be back?”

  “When we’ve bagged one,” Max responded.

  When I turned back around, they were already walking through the door. No one said anything more.

  I worked the entire afternoon. By the time I got home, Mama had supper ready, but Ivy still hadn’t returned. Not daring to tell my parents the truth about where she was, I lied. I was mad at myself for doing it but was even angrier with Ivy for putting me in the position of having to do it. I was vague about her absence, simply saying that I’d heard she’d gone hunting but wasn’t sure about who all she’d gone with.

  After dinner, as I was bringing in some firewood off the side porch, Ivy rode into the yard, with a medium-sized dead hog slung across the back of her horse, Sage.

  “The huntress has returned!” she announced tiredly.

  I hurried in the house with the firewood and came back out to help her. Walking into the yard, I could see that the animal had been completely gutted and bled dry. Where there had once been a right eye, there was now a hole the size of a walnut. It had obviously been a clean, quick kill.

  “Did you shoot it?” I asked, as she handed me a bloodstained burlap sack and dismounted.

  “Max did. I tried to get him to take most of it, but he wouldn’t do it.” She began untying the knot in a rope that had kept the hog securely in place. Suddenly, she stopped working the knot and turned to me. “He’s a good man, Eve. I wish you’d give him a chance.”

  “What do you really know about him, Ivy? Do you know anything about where he’s from, his family, his history?”

  “Not really. He doesn’t talk much.”

  “And why’s that?” I was irritated with the man’s reluctance to let anyone know him.

  “Because it’s not anybody’s business,” she countered, anger seeping into her voice.

  “You’re right, Ivy! But the only problem with that is when you go off in the woods with someone you know nothing about, you stand the chance of not coming back out of those woods the same way you went in!”

  “That’s ridiculous, Eve!” She gave up trying to loosen the knot. Instead, she pulled out her hunting knife and sliced through the taut ropes. “I’ll tell you this much,” she said, shaking her knife at me to emphasize her point. “He’s been a damn good friend when I’ve needed one. And I can’t say that about everyone I know.” Her eyes said what she would not. I knew she was accusing me of not understanding her, and perhaps she was right. Or perhaps we’d just drifted so far apart that seeing each other’s side of things was difficult.

  “Now, let’s get this hog dressed and inside before some animal comes along and figures it’ll make a good meal,” Ivy said. And with that, she angrily yanked on the ropes at the hog’s back feet, pulling him off of her horse and down to the grass below. Then she stomped off to the house to get James, who was between jobs with the timber companies.

  As I waited for them, I picked up the burlap sack that I’d set down on the ground next to me, and peering inside, I saw that it contained the hog’s innards. At the moment, mine felt about as torn up.

  Chapter 8

  Shattered Pieces

  March of ’84 was more than just the usual transition time between the end of winter and the birth of spring; it was also the time that Ivy and I transitioned from being girls to young women.

  Some of the other changes that month were Joseph’s wedding to Regina and his subsequent move upriver to Eureka Springs. But there were others changes that could not have been predicted had a whole room full of seers been carefully studying their crystal balls. For one thing, James was not only accepted to the college of engineering at the University of Georgia; he was given a partial scholarship, as well.

  His excellent grades had paid off, and it seemed as though his dream of becoming a structural engineer was likely to become a reality. While I couldn’t have been prouder of him, the day he waved goodbye from the promenade deck of the Tansy Jane to begin his journey was one of the saddest days of my life. I put on a brave and cheerful face for my brother, of course, but he obviously saw through it for he held me the longest and hardest of our family. When the steamboat’s shrill whistle blasted, giving its final call for all departing passengers, I started to pull away from him, but he pulled me close and told me not to let my dreams fade into the narrow confines of everyday life at Silver Springs. Then, after kissing me hard on my cheek, he climbed on board.

  The great joy and pride that our family felt for my brothers were doused by my father’s constant moodiness, which was fueled by the fact that his only interest was the bottle. His good-natured personality seemed to be lost, only to be replaced with the tendency to verbally lash out at us. One afternoon, however, it came very close to a physical confrontation.

  Mama had been gone all morning, and though she’d told Papa that she’d be back after dropping off a baked chicken and biscuits to a sick church friend and a stop at the general store, she didn’t get home until midafternoon. I made my father dinner, but he refused to eat until Mama returned. As he grew hungrier, he grew angrier. I prayed that nothing bad had happened to my mother to delay her so and, if she did come through the door unscathed, that her reason for being so late would sit right with Papa.

  Finally, she drove the wagon into the yard, and before the horse had come to a full stop, Papa went out the door to demand her explanation. I followed him but continued on down the steps to get Maggie unhitched and to quietly warn Mama that Papa was fit to be tied.

  “Ceily! Where the devil have you been?” my father bellowed.

  Mama took a deep breath. “I stopped by the Silver Springs Hotel. Let’s go on in, Hap. It’s startin’ to sprinkle. I’ll tell ya about it inside.”

  Sensing that what she had to tell him was not good news, he remained on the porch as she climbed the steps and then walked past him. “What were ya doin’ there?” he demanded.

  “Talkin’.” She went through the screened door and Papa followed her in. I quickly put Maggie into the corral and hurried inside.

  “Did you eat? Did Eve fix ya somethin’?” She was obviously putting off having to answer him.

  “I didn’t want nothin’!” His voice was growing louder as his patience grew thinner. “Answer me! What were you doin’ there?”r />
  Mama walked around the other side of the kitchen table so that it was between her and my father. “I took that job helpin’ with the laundry.”

  The room went deathly quiet. No one moved. It was the first time I’d ever known my mother to completely defy something my father decreed. They stared each other down. Papa’s eyes flashed cold blue fire.

  Finally, Papa spoke low and flat. “I’m tellin’ you now: No wife of mine is gonna be workin’ beside no darky.” As he said the last vile word, he slammed his fist down on the table, making everything on it jump.

  “And I’m telling you, Hap, I’ll work beside the devil himself to keep food on our table and a solid roof over our heads,” Mama countered. “We need the money. The boys are gone now, and they need every dime of the money they make. And the money that Eve and Ivy contribute just isn’t enough to keep all of us goin’. And it ain’t their responsibility! We’ve got to do something! I’ve got to do somethin’ more than just sitting around here watching you drink yourself to death.”

  “Don’t you do it, Cecelia. I’m warnin’ ya. Don’t you do it.”

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d heard my father call Mama by her full Christian name, but I would bet there was a heated disagreement going on then, too. It probably didn’t come close to anything of this magnitude, though.

  “Well, I am, and that’s—”

  Before my mother could finish her sentence, my father pushed aside our kitchen table to get to her, sending plates and utensils crashing to the floor. Mama turned to get away, but Papa got a hold of her upper arm and jerked her back to him. He squeezed her arm hard enough to make his knuckles turn white and her skin turn a bright pink.

  Papa brought his face so close to hers they were nearly touching. “I swear to God, woman, I’ll beat you ‘til there ain’t a part of you that’s not black ’n blue. Now, I’m gonna say it again,” he continued, almost as if talking to a small child. “You ain’t gonna do any lau—”