Cranberry Winter

by Ruth P. Watson

  I chuckled at his sarcasm. Forgetting him was not anything I wanted to do. Simon had been working on building my trust. And, it was working. Nadine was no longer a threat to me. She was just a pathetic woman seeking the attention of men. She had even made a pass at Adam. But he didn’t pay her any attention.

  I felt deceitful chatting with Adam after convincing myself the only man I wanted was Simon. The more I listened to Adam, the easier it became for me to forget about Simon who had just dropped me off the day before. I had pretty much led him to believe things were back to normal and even better than before. I had forgiven him for his association with Nadine and I had made passionate love to him which sealed my commitment to him, even though thoughts of Adam still flashed through my mind. Now Adam being in Petersburg could only be trouble for a married girl.

  Chapter 17

  Hester and I left for Jefferson County before the rooster out back crowed. We caught the first train of the day, which usually pulled out of the depot around 6 o’clock in the morning. There had not been any warnings we were coming. So, as we departed the train, we knew Momma, Ginny and my brother were in for a happy surprise. I relished the times when I could come home without digging up the memories of an unhappy time I longed to forget. I had some great memories there; however, the dark seemed to overshadow the light. Nothing much had changed since I had been gone. One of the people who had made me fearful of returning was Bobby, the sheriff. Bobby was always trying to keep someone locked up at that tiny jail he worked in. He was a dumb rednecked man, who, with every chance he got, threatened to lock somebody colored behind bars. He felt he was better than the colored people, but Aunt Ginny said he had drunk her breast milk many times as a baby. And when he got out of line, she held that fact above his head. John, my eager brother fresh out of law school, had forced Bobby to release Ms. Pearl from his jail. Like always, Bobby was exerting his power. He didn’t have any evidence against Ms. Pearl, just a country boy hunch.

  “I’m going to go on home now,” Hester said, as we approached her parents’ yard, after walking the quarter of a mile down the road.

  “Okay,” I replied, even though I had secretly wished she would go home with me.

  Dirt was all over our shoes. I took out my handkerchief, and dusted the toes of my shoes off. “Why are you doing that?” Hester asked. “Your shoes are not going to stay shiny around here. All we have are dirt roads.”

  “I know,” I answered, and continued knocking off the dust.

  “Are you all right?” Hester asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You sure you don’t want me to go with you home?”

  We were exactly three feet from the front door of her parents’ house, and I could sense her momma peeping from behind the curtains.

  “I really don’t want to go home alone. I’m not sure I will be able to handle what I might find.”

  “I tell you what, if I go with you to your momma’s house, you can come back home with me and stay the night.”

  “If Momma is alone, you can stay with me,” I said, wondering if Kindred would be there.

  “Well, we can’t just stand here,” Hester said. “Let’s say hi to Momma and then keep on to your house.” We knocked on the door and her mother opened it. She had a smile on her face, and she reached out to give us a hug. “Come on in; I was watching y’all from the window.” She insisted on pouring us something to drink, even though we told her we were headed to my momma’s house. “You still need something to kill your thirst; Mae Lou is a ways down the road.” We sat at her table for almost an hour laughing and talking, with Hester’s mother refilling our glasses with lemonade ever time it got low. Hester’s mother loved entertaining, and she was such a good communicator, we had both almost forgotten about our destination. When we got up to leave, she reminded us she would be waiting for us when we got back.

  “I want to see Ginny before I leave too. You know she can’t get around like most folks,” I said, as we walked down the road past the fields of tobacco and corn.

  “We can check on Ginny tomorrow,” Hester said, grabbing my hand as we had done as children.

  Hester had been my best friend ever since we sat beside each other in the first grade. At first, we didn’t talk, but after a while, we were chatting in the classroom and Mrs. Miller would have to quiet us down. We had so much in common. We liked to read, and we both were determined to forgo the career of a farmer. She had been with me through all the ups and downs and we shared everything. Whenever she was around, I’d have this sense of security. I remember begging Momma to let me stay the night with her. We’d stay up late watching the shadows on the wall from the candle flickering while we talked about boys and what our plans were for our future. Her family was very kind. Her mother always had her hair braided and wrapped in a bun, and she wore cinnamon powder even on weekdays. She worked around the house just as Momma did, yet not a hair on her head ever looked out of place. She reminded me of Mrs. Ferguson, who always wore red lipstick. At night, Hester’s momma would lie across the bed with Hester and me, and we would talk about everything. When it was time to leave, I’d go home wishing my momma would talk to me.

  We took our time walking down the dirt road. The sun had been up a while, yet we didn’t see anybody on the empty road ahead. Long before we got close to the house, we could see smoke from the kitchen stove billowing in the air. The closer we got to the house, the more nervous I became. A chill went throughout my body. I remember thinking no one should have this much anxiety coming home. Home should be a safe place.

  I knocked on the door.

  Momma came to the door fully dressed with an apron around her waist. “Lord, Carrie, what are you and Hester doing down here?” she asked.

  “I thought I would surprise you and pay you a visit,” I said, waiting for her to ask us in.

  “Surprise me? Well, this is new,” she said, and opened the door. “Come on in.”

  The heat hit us at the door. It was hot inside, but luckily, the fireplace was dying down. We quickly took off our sweaters and hung them on the rack. The house had an aroma of bread baking in the oven.

  “What were you doing, Momma? I can smell the food in the kitchen.”

  “Let me go in here and check on the biscuits.” A grin spread across my face and Hester’s too. I loved Momma’s cooking. She was no doubt the best cook around. She could make anything taste good. She said her momma made her learn to cook at seven years of age. I started cooking breakfast when I was about ten; it would have been sooner, but Papa would not let me.

  When Momma hurried into the kitchen to check on the bread, Hester and I followed right behind her. When we got to the door, we noticed Kindred sitting at the kitchen table. He was sitting in the same place my papa had sat as well as Kindred’s brother, Herman. I cringed. It was just what I didn’t want to see.

  “How y’all doing?” he asked.

  I gritted my teeth and braced myself. I could feel the heat overcoming my body, and an uncontrollable frown rippling across my face. I couldn’t open my mouth. Hester answered for me, short but sweet. “We’re fine.”

  Momma was quick to explain him being there. “Kindred have been staying here for a few weeks. He’s been helping me around the house. Y’all knows he is Herman’s brother.”

  All of a sudden my stomach started to turn somersaults. The eagerness to eat Momma’s food was gone. I wanted to turn around and walk right back out of the door.

  “Has Carl been over here today?” I asked, ignoring Kindred, who was holding a fake grin on his face. Momma was fidgety as she took the bread out of the oven and laid it on the stove.

  “Carl don’t come over as much as he used to. He got a whole lot of work over there to finish up. I done told him to slow down, but he is just like his papa; he can’t stop working.” Momma pulled out the butter.

  We sat down at the kitchen table. Kindred did not move. He just sat there in Papa’s chair and peered at us from on the other side of the table. He was
too comfortable. He had the same dark beady eyes as Herman; he was the spitting image of his brother. It was the first time I had been so close to him, and I was very uncomfortable. I was shaking my leg uncontrollably the entire visit; it was my way of dealing with my nerves. I studied him, just like I had the twins in Richmond. His hands were long and slim like his brother’s, and everything about him seemed too much the same for him to be a brother. Kindred was so much like Herman, I wanted to lash out at him.

  “Where do you sleep?” I asked Kindred. But, before he could answer, Momma answered for him.

  “Now you know he is over in the boys’ old room. Where else would he be?”

  “I just wanted to make sure my room was still vacant,” I quickly added.

  She turned around and gave me a hard stare. Hester held her breath and so did I. Momma turned back around and walked over to the stove. She took out some eggs, cracked them and tossed them in the fatback oil.

  “Go on and put your things in your room,” she directed. “Where’s my grandson? I know you didn’t leave him with that white lady.”

  “I’d like to meet my family,” Kindred said, which meant he knew Herman was my baby’s father.

  I didn’t even acknowledge his comment. Robert was my son, and he was not any family of his.

  Momma mumbled, “I sure hope he don’t end up thinking that white lady up yonder is his momma.”

  She was right. It was easy for me to leave my son because I trusted the Halls. I was glad I didn’t bring him to Jefferson to be exposed to the disrespect of his grandma, and even though she said Kindred was sleeping in my brother’s room, I could tell she was lying.

  “The Halls are good people.”

  “I sort of miss my grandson; he is such a good child,” Momma said, grinning.

  Momma seemed different. She was taking swift steps and appeared prissy, tightening up her dress around the waist and at times glancing over at Kindred in a friendly way. It was a replay of the way she acted when Herman Camm first started coming around.

  Hester had been quiet. She was observing and snacking on a biscuit with butter that Momma had set on the table. “So, Mr. Kindred, are you from around here?”

  “Well, I was raised around here, but I’ve been gone from around here for many years now.”

  “What made you come back?” she asked.

  I watched him as he shifted in his chair, appearing to stall the conversation. Then finally, he said, “My brother was here.”

  “He is gone, been dead for almost a year now,” Hester said.

  Grinning, he said, “I spend my time between Jefferson and Richmond. I never thought I’d come back to this part of Virginia, but I sort of like it here.”

  “You look exactly like Mr. Camm. I’ve never met twins who looked so much alike,” Hester continued.

  “People been saying that all my life,” he replied and lowered his head.

  I only listened to them talk. Momma was standing at the stove smiling as if she was enjoying the conversation.

  My heartbeat had slowed down. I was relaxed watching Kindred as he answered Hester’s questions. Most of the time, he was believable. However, there were times when he would glance away as if to prevent her from seeing through the lie he was about to tell.

  Momma put biscuits on plates and we all ate them with fresh churned butter and scrambled eggs. Anything she made was tasty, and everyone appeared to be enjoying themselves, except me.

  “Y’all put your clothes in the room down yonder,” she said again.

  “Momma, I am going to stay with Hester tonight.”

  “You mean to tell me you ain’t staying here.”

  “I promised Hester I would stay with them this time.”

  “Suit yourself; you grown,” she said.

  All the time she was begging us to stay, Kindred was glancing away as if he was afraid to make eye contact. There was something about him that disturbed me. I had always been a little different. Papa said I could read things pretty good. He told me to trust my instincts. And no matter how convincing he sounded, there was something about him that was not right.

  “Where are you from, Mr. Kindred?” I asked again to see if he would change his answer.

  Before he could answer, Momma said, “Now, let the man eat his food. Y’all are asking questions just like Bobby do.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, “I was just trying to get to know him better.”

  “Well, all of your questions can wait ’til after we eat.”

  While enjoying our meal, we engaged in small talk about the church where we grew up. We discussed who was still living and who had passed away. Most importantly, I asked about Ginny, my aging aunt. Momma said, “That woman is going to outlive us all.” She was tough, and mean as a snake when it was needed. No one mumbled a word about Herman Camm. It was as if he never existed. Kindred listened, but only said a few words. He was still a mystery. And it was obvious Momma did not care to know.

  When we finished at Momma’s, it was around 2 o’clock in the afternoon. I kissed her on the cheek goodbye and Kindred stood behind her just as Mr. Camm had done. I couldn’t believe my eyes; the twins acted the same. I couldn’t wait to get out of the house. Hester followed and we took off walking up the dirt road. Along the way, I complained to Hester. She listened, and came up with this crazy idea. She convinced me to stop at the Juke Joint which was hidden in the woods. Shortly after we passed the church, we made a left turn down a path. We trampled down the narrow path and through the overtaking brush that led to the Juke Joint. I had always possessed a certain curiosity about the place. The night when Momma went up there and pulled Mr. Camm out of the Joint drunk, had been as close as I had gotten to the inside of the place. Momma instructed me to sit in the buggy while she went inside. She came out with Herman Camm leaning on her like a child, so drunk he smelled of women and liquor. When he got into the buggy, the stench on him made me want to upchuck. Now, I wanted to see why folks spent their evenings drinking their sorrows away. The Joint was like the church to sinners.

  We stood outside for a while, both of us gathering up courage. I inhaled deeply and stuck my breasts out like I was grown. Hester patted her long hair in place and smoothed her blouse down with her hands. It was different in the daylight than at night. The roof appeared to need work. The tin shingles on one side were loose and falling down. I wondered if the roof leaked. It was a far cry from the club where Ms. Pearl performed in Richmond. When we walked up toward the entrance, a man was standing on the outside, perhaps to greet the guests.

  “How y’all ladies doing today?” he asked, grabbing the door handle and opening it for us.

  “We are all right,” Hester answered, and went through the door. I followed right behind her.

  I was really afraid, and didn’t want Momma to know about me being at the Joint. She would surely have a fit. We walked in like we had been there before and found seats at the bar beside one of Mr. Camm’s old buddies, Earl. It was a lot more pleasant on the inside.

  “Hi, Mr. Earl,” I said, once I was seated.

  “What are you doing in a place like this?” he asked.

  “I suppose my curiosity brought me here, Mr. Earl.”

  “Y’all don’t need to stay too long in a place like this. This is not for little girls.”

  Hester and I answered, “Yes, Sir,” simultaneously, our eyes searching around trying to identify what was so attractive about this place. It was a pauper’s club. Nothing cost much. The bar was made of wood, and the chairs were simply stools and barrels. I supposed it was a makeshift place where sinners could go and find refuge.

  “Mr. Earl,” Hester said, “you know Mr. Kindred?” Hester had heard from her father the two of them where chummy, just like he had been with Mr. Camm.

  “Yea, he stops in from time to time,” he said, sipping slowly on something in a liquor glass.

  “He favors Mr. Camm so much, I can’t tell them apart,” I commented.

  “Can’t nobody tel
l that cat from his brother. They look so much alike, it is scary,” he said, and took a drink.

  “Does he act like him too?” Hester asked.

  Mr. Earl took another sip of his drink and turned to look at me. “Now what are you two up to?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You are asking a lot of questions for someone who is not up to anything.”

  Hester could not keep her mouth closed. She glanced over at him. “Now tell me, Mr. Earl, haven’t you questioned his identity at least once?”

  “Well, if you are going to be that blunt, then the answer, Chile, is yes.”

  “Is he Mr. Camm?”

  “He says he is the brother. And I don’t get into a grown man’s business.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  “Like I said, it ain’t my business, but I don’t have a reason not to believe him.”

  “Doesn’t he remind you of Mr. Camm?”

  “Yes he do.”

  I was inhaling and thinking, I told you so.

  “Well, there were these girls we used to know; now this was before yo momma,” Earl assured me. “One of them came in here one day when Kindred was up in here. He was sitting right where you are. Kindred knew her name right off the bat.”

  “Did she know him?”

  “No, she said it was her first time knowing about a twin. She knew Camm.”

  “What did he say?” I asked.

  “He told her Camm had described her to him.”

  “That sounds strange,” Hester commented.

  “Not really. This woman has a backside wider than the Mississippi,” Earl said, grinning.

  Hester and I couldn’t contain ourselves; we broke out in a loud giggle.

  “Now the two of you need to get out of here before the wrong person sees you and tell Mrs. Mae Lou you in here.”

  “Yes, Sir,” I answered and slid down off the bar stool.

  Then Hester had one more thing to ask. “Mr. Earl, do you think it is Mr. Camm?”

  “I don’t know, Chile, but I do feel most times that I am talking to a ghost.”

  He turned back around, took a sip of his drink and chuckled. His chuckle had me concerned.