An Elderberry Fall

by Ruth P. Watson

  “Has she forgotten that you are married?”

  He stopped unpacking the milk and sugar he’d gone for and looked at me.

  “I don’t want that woman. She is out of her mind.”

  “Why didn’t you say something to her? Why did you let her tag along? She went with you to the store, Simon.”

  “She seems to do a lot of things she shouldn’t. She must be lonely. She wants her husband.”

  “Simon, did she tell you that? Or are you thinking for her?”

  “No, she didn’t say anything about her husband. She bought some milk.”

  “What she is doing is wrong.”

  “I agree with you. I can’t tell a grown woman how to act. I just know she is not my type.”

  “Did she say something to you?”

  “She was saying a lot of stuff. I really wasn’t listening to that woman. I was not interested,” he said, shaking his head.

  “I will never trust her. She wants you, and you are my husband.”

  “It takes two people for something to happen. I am not interested in Nadine. She is a woman across the street. Let’s not waste our time together worrying about her. We have got too many other things to talk about.”

  “I want to know what she said.”

  “It is not important. You are my wife.”

  “Now you see why she could never be my friend. She’s a slut.”

  “Carrie, we are going out tonight. Let me do something special for you.”

  A smile rolled across my face.

  “Where are we going?”

  “We are going to see Mrs. Pearl Brown.”

  Pearl was a superstar wherever she traveled; at least she acted like one. People at home in Jefferson said she was a big put-on—full of herself. It amazed me how little people from the country really knew. I couldn’t wait to go back to the club. Watching the patrons come in and out was as much excitement for me as listening to Pearl’s sultry and seductive voice turn on the men. I envisioned Pearl entertaining on many levels, especially after seeing her with a white man. The businesses and community folk all gathered there just like we did in Jefferson at the church. The city had more than one place to fellowship and I liked the idea of places where I wouldn’t be judged.

  The evening didn’t roll in fast enough. I couldn’t wait to dress up, and put a little lipstick on my lips. Simon seemed to enjoy places like the club. I wondered if, while he was on the road, he went to places like that often. My guess is, he did.

  “I can’t wait to see Ms. Pearl singing again.”

  “I noticed how much you enjoyed it the last time we were there.”

  “She has a beautiful voice, and everyone seems to love her.” I paused. “You know, I saw Ms. Pearl coming out of the Jefferson Hotel with a white man.”

  “Carrie, you don’t understand how the world is. People are always watching and judging you. Pearl should be careful. Her reputation is what she’ll have left when her singing voice is raspy and her career is on the downfall.”

  “Is it the same way you feel about baseball?”

  “In a way, I suppose. Most people are not concerned about an athlete’s personal life. They just want him to perform physically when he is on the field.”

  “Does it mean you can do wrong, and not be held accountable for it?”

  “No, but sports players are a little different.”

  “Shouldn’t we all watch our behavior, especially in public?”

  “Yeah, we should.

  “Are you about ready? I am driving tonight.”

  “I am. I want to see if everything looks good. I can’t wait to see Mrs. Walker again too.”

  He chuckled.

  “I can’t believe my country little wife is so excited about the city. I am so glad you are leaving the Jefferson ways behind.”

  “You used to like my ways.”

  “I still do. I’m country too. I am happy you are not judging the people at the club. People from our hometown might not like me taking you to a nightclub.”

  “I don’t care what they like,” Carrie commented.

  “Me either. Hurry up so we can take Robert downstairs to Mrs. Hall.”

  “I hope I am not leaning on her too much.”

  “She loves little Robert, and her husband loves him being with them.”

  “Who would have thought a white woman would take to a colored child?” Carrie said.

  “She’s different. She is family like any colored person. She has given up a lot to be married to a colored man. She is comfortable in this community. They are the best neighbors anybody could have.”

  “She’s like my best friend.”

  “Isn’t she too old for that?”

  “No, she is a friend. Are you still trying to get me to talk to Nadine?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Nadine is not a friend, Simon. She is the opposite. Even Momma told me to watch her.”

  “Well, then you should,” he said, shaking his head. “You ready?”

  I stood in front of the chifferobe mirror, meticulously twisting my hair with my fingers, turning my curls under into a bob.

  “Come on; let’s go,” Simon anxiously said, grinning.

  I picked up Robert and headed for the door. Simon grabbed his bottle and followed close behind me.

  As we climbed into the Model T Ford, Nadine came out the house bouncing with each stride.

  “Hi, Simon!”

  He ignored her. So did I and I looked in the opposite direction.

  We got in the car and drove the four blocks to the club on the corner of Adams Street. The crowd was already lining up to enter. Ladies and gentlemen were patiently waiting to get into the club and catch a glimpse of the community celebrities. Simon and I parked across the street behind a brand-new Studebaker and joined the already restless crowd in line. It appeared the whole community had come out for Pearl Brown. There were several white people patiently waiting as well. One of the men resembled the man I’d seen Pearl holding hands with as they left the Jefferson Hotel. Once inside, we found a seat up front near the stage. The first time we were here, we sat in the middle.

  “Can we sit up front?” I begged like a little child. “The closer to the action, the better…”

  We located a table on the right side of the stage, closer to the entrance and bar.

  The tables were filling up fast. There were a few wooden stools around the outskirts, in case the seats were all taken. On this fall evening, everyone was coming out.

  Shortly after we were seated, a lady came over to our table. I had never seen her before. She was brown and stout, with an appealing smile.

  “Hi, Simon; it is good to see you again,” she said, smiling seductively at my husband.

  “Hi,” he said, nodding.

  “I didn’t know you lived in Richmond,” she commented in a puzzled tone of voice.

  She ignored me and continued gazing at Simon. Simon twiddled his fingers together, like he was nervous about something.

  “Yes, I do. This is my wife, Carrie.” He abruptly stopped the conversation and glanced over at me.

  “Oh, hi,” she said.

  I smiled.

  A frown rolled across her lips.

  “I guess I’d better take a seat,” she said and walked off as if her feelings had been hurt.

  Simon didn’t say anything and neither did I. I wondered who that lady could be to Simon. She seemed to disappear into the crowd.

  Mrs. Walker strutted in the door wearing a pink satin dress and gloves, a mink stole on her arm. Her partner, a dark stately fellow in a navy suit and bow tie escorted her to a reserved table in the front which was centered in front of the stage. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. She was elegant and powerful. She held her head up high, and her shoulders squared. Her demeanor was of leadership and control. A nod and a smile was her way of acknowledging the people in the crowd waving excitedly at her. I sat still, my eyes roving from place to place, trying not to miss anything.


  Everyone seemed to loosen up at places like the nightclub. After everyone had had a drink of liquor, the atmosphere started to change. Stiff faces softened and laughter emerged throughout the room. Simon kept smiling at me as if he were dazzled by something I had done. Maybe it was because I didn’t ask about the lady who’d abruptly vanished into the crowd.

  “Here she comes,” I said.

  Ms. Pearl waltzed in with Willie on her arm. Willie was smiling from ear to ear. She had on a royal-blue dress, which glimmered with the lights. It was tight-fitting and hugged her hips with an unyielding grip.

  She sauntered up to the stage to thunderous applause from the patrons. With an interlude of humming, she began to belt out the words. Everyone stood on their feet. Simon and I stood too. After a few seconds, we all sat down and listened to her and the band fill the room with soft music that had everyone swaying their heads. Willie stood on the side and watched with the inflated chest of a proud man. Simon casually waved to him, and he smiled in return.

  “She is singing tonight, baby,” Simon whispered in my ear.

  “She is better than she was last time.”

  Simon reached over and took my hand in his. I grinned, and squeezed his fingers.

  The mood was so relaxed, a few patrons stood around at their tables slow-dancing cheek to cheek.

  The white man I had seen with Pearl stood right behind Willie. It was as if Pearl was singing to him too. Who could tell?

  Ms. Pearl continued singing and then shifted her eyes to the other side of the room. It was strange to me, since it was obvious Willie was enjoying her gazing at him from the stage.

  All of a sudden, there was a large pop, and several thereafter. I panicked.

  The crowd started screaming. Ms. Pearl rushed off the stage, her band members protecting her. Simon grabbed me and pulled me to the cold floor. The crowd was frantic. One lady tripped to the ground. She grabbed her ankle. “Please help me,” she said and a large man came to her rescue. He lay on top of her, and told her to stay down. We stayed under the table until the shots stopped. Afterward, Simon and I raised up off the floor. The rest of the crowd did the same. He took my hand and coaxed me through the hysterical crowd that was scrambling and pushing toward the front door.

  My heart was thumping, my chest heaving up and down. Everybody had incredulous looks on their faces. It was a horrid scene. People stood around watching. Pearl was slumped over a body crying, “Oh, Lawd; oh, Lawd!”

  “Who is that on the floor?!” someone yelled, as we pressed toward the front entrance.

  “It is Willie Brown!” another replied.

  “Who?” the voices echoed.

  Chapter 11

  As I turned to look behind us as we traveled west out of the city past the large sign advertising the Nehi Grape, I became a little concerned. The further away we drove from the city, the warmer I became. Beads of sweat trickled down the sides of my hairline. As we passed the last house alongside the road and then a two-lane highway became a narrow road, I was reminded Jefferson County was closer than I needed it to be.

  “You all right?” Simon asked, tapping my thigh.

  “I’ll be all right directly,” I said, swallowing.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I wasn’t planning on going home so soon. For some reason, I wanted Jefferson County to be a memory only,” I said.

  Simon reached for my hand. “You’ve got family there. Try to put all of that stuff behind you.”

  “I don’t know how some of the townsfolk are going to treat me.”

  “Most people are good.”

  “Well, not to me.”

  “Believe me, I am not going to let anything happen to you.”

  “I know.”

  The ride lasted only two hours. We traveled right past the fueling station and then onto a dusty two-lane road past Mrs. Ferguson’s farm. The closer we came to the big white mansion with large columns on the outside overlooking a lawn with neatly trimmed shrubbery, the more old memories were ignited, mainly of Mrs. Ferguson treating my momma as if she were less than her dog, which she cared for better than any human being. Many days when Momma forced me to go with her to the house, Mrs. Ferguson, in bright red lipstick, would walk behind Momma like a shadow giving out orders. “Mae Lou, now clean the mantel good today. I am inviting guests over. I don’t want them to feel I have a poor maid,” and Momma would only say, “Yes, ma’am.” Her ruby-red lips spat condescending words to my momma, who always sought to please and be loyal to the insulting Southern Belle.

  We pulled into Momma’s yard just before the last sun cloud slithered out of sight. The sky was a beautiful burnt-orange and the air fresh. There was a dim light glaring from the kitchen window, and with it spawned memories of the nights my brothers and I stayed up way past midnight playing dominoes by candlelight. At times we strained our eyes so much they were bloodshot. Tonight I knew it was Momma either baking for the next day or reading her Bible as she was known for doing before retiring to bed.

  Little Robert had slept most of the trip on a quilt thrown across the backseat. He managed to sleep soundly despite all the bumps on the dirt road, and he had only cried once, and that was when he woke and didn’t see me. After he heard my voice in the front seat of the car, he closed his eyes and went back to sleep. I’m sure the fresh country air helped to put him to sleep.

  Nightfall was approaching. Living in the country could be special and mesmerizing when you gazed up in the sky and the stars stared down brightly from above. They seemed close enough to touch. There are other times when it was cloudy and not a gleam from the sky, when it was a gloomy place to live until the rooster crows at the break of dawn.

  Simon got Robert and I carried his bag. With each step to the front door, I inhaled deep breaths. I was going home. A place I really did not want to be.

  We knocked on the door, and went in. Like most people in the country, the latch was not on the door. I heard Momma yell from the kitchen, “Who is that?”

  “It is me, Momma.”

  “Lord, why you didn’t let me know you was coming? I would have cooked a decent meal.”

  “Don’t worry about us.”

  “Y’all come on in. It is so nice to see y’all.”

  “I hope we didn’t scare you,” Simon said.

  “No, I leave the door open sometimes for Carl. I usually lock it before turning in for the night. Y’all want something to eat. I got a couple of pieces of fried chicken and a few collards left on the stove.”

  “I am a little hungry,” Simon answered.

  Momma lifted Robert right out of my arms. She put him on her hip and he grabbed a hold of her dress. She didn’t waver. She went to the stove and started dumping forkfuls of collards and chicken on to plates. Simon and I sat waiting to be served, since she insisted on feeding us. Little Robert smiled and held tight as Momma went back and forth from the table to the stove. Momma should have put him down, but she didn’t. It was time for him to start walking. Momma said I walked at nine months and boys sometimes took a little longer to take the first step. Robert was very comfortable being held. I wasn’t sure if he couldn’t do it, or decided not to walk at that moment.

  After Momma had fixed a small saucer of gravy and a biscuit to feed Robert, she sat down. Simon started by asking Momma about herself.

  “I’m doing well. I spend my days keeping busy. I get up with the chickens and go to bed when the sun goes behind the clouds.”

  Little Robert smacked his mouth as Momma shoved pieces of biscuits soaked in gravy into his mouth. He loved it, and grunted several times because Momma wasn’t feeding him fast enough.

  “I’m glad things are working out around here.”

  “Yes, indeed, they are working out.”

  “Carl get over here often?”

  “Lawd, that boy is over here almost every day.”

  “Carrie, you all right?” Simon asked me.

  “I’m just enjoying Momma’s cooking.”

&n
bsp; “Ain’t it a shame what happened to poor Willie up yonder. I tell you that girl Pearl ain’t nothing but trouble.”

  Momma was different since I was no longer in her house. She used to be tight-lipped and unattached. Now she was talking to us like she did to Mr. Camm. She even gazed at us in our faces. She was different now. She seemed free. She had been delivered from whatever had been holding her captive. I wondered if it had been Papa, Mr. Camm, or her children.

  “We wanted to pay our respects to Willie, so we drove home.”

  “Pearl is just trouble, I tell you. He was happy being with her. He done fought in the army for us and lived; now he is dead because of Pearl.”

  “Momma, nobody really knows what happened,” I said.

  “People knows.”

  “Ms. Pearl was on the stage singing when it happened. I’m not sure she had anything to do with the shooting.”

  “Folks say the white man who shot him is her ole man. She can’t keep her hands to herself to save her life. She is a troublemaker. I know my life would have been better if she had not come to town.”

  I cringed when she made that conviction. I couldn’t keep quiet.

  “Momma, Mr. Camm was not a good person. Ms. Pearl didn’t make him do the things he did. He did them all by himself. Ms. Pearl was a victim too.”

  “Now there you go taking up for her. She is not a decent lady. I’ll bet she has spent the best part of her adult life causing pain for married and single women alike. Pearl don’t care about nobody but Pearl Brown.”

  “I don’t want to rush to judgment, Momma.”

  “She parades her ways in front of people. She never even stops to say I’m sorry. A woman ain’t got no business fooling around.”

  I bit my tongue. I squirmed and inhaled to keep from opening my mouth. It was no secret Momma knew Camm before Papa passed. I’d often wondered where she met him. She and Betsy would go to Washington, D.C. occasionally and when she came back, she would have a sly smile all over her face.

  “Momma,” Simon said, “Ms. Pearl may not feel she is hurting anybody.”

  Momma put Robert across her shoulder. He had been fighting sleep. “I’m not going to say what she knows, but it don’t take too much to see she is not a person you want to be around. Now she done got two men killed. What on earth could be next?”