“Emma?” Polly walked closer. “Is that really you? You’re all bones. You’re going to blow away with the wind.”
“Sis miehck,” I answered her. We shared an awkward handshake. In an instant the feeling of that mother in the woods pulling her son and myself into her arms came back to me. I hadn’t realized until that moment how hungry I was for something different from my veneer-covered life. How hungry I was for touch—John and I were so far from each other, and our intimate moments were not what they used to be, and seldom.
Later that day the bowls of potatoes were scraped clean and the talk at the table had begun picking up after a quiet midday meal. I bristled at the chatter because I knew John didn’t like conversational meals. He preferred to eat quickly and silently.
Johnny and his cousins had been excused already. John sent them to continue helping our neighbor Roy with his fence after the storm the night before. I was glad the three of them were gone. Their jokes and laughter added to the noise that thinned John’s nerves. This was what happened when he couldn’t drink.
As the voices continued to pick up, I caught his eye and laid a gentle hand on the knee of the child to my left. Without explanation he looked at John and in a moment his hands were in his lap. Berthy and Rebecca made sure the other children were quiet. It didn’t surprise me that Polly was the last to recognize John’s desire for silence in order to begin the after-supper prayer.
Berthy’s arm moved toward Polly next to her and a moment later the older woman’s mouth stilled. John looked around at everyone before bowing his head. We followed him.
I didn’t always try to pray. Sometimes I relied on the pace of the many words I always had in my mind, reciting some lines I’d written or wanted to. A few lines in and the prayer would be done. But today I wanted to pray but couldn’t find words.
A moment later a soft knock came on the door. I’d never judged a knock before, but this knock almost seemed to be repentant—like it wished itself away. I jerked my head up and landed my gaze on my husband, whose eyes had sharpened. Everyone was looking at us for several long moments.
A second knock sounded. I pushed my chair back. I didn’t rush, afraid my own nerves would begin to show through my veil of calm. “I guess today is the day for surprise visitors.” I smiled and feigned joy since it had been clear when my in-laws arrived that I was unprepared for more company. I hated to say that Polly and I weren’t close, but it was more the difference between a field mouse and a barn cat.
I eased the door open and had to stifle my eagerness when I saw who stood there.
“Hello, ma’am.” It was the boy’s mother. She peered around my shoulder and then her gaze rushed back to my face. “I’m sorry to interrupt your meal.” Her voice reminded me of a low breeze gliding over long grass.
“It’s all right.” When her brown eyes met mine, I took a moment to size her up. She was shorter than me and was wearing the same dark-green dress from the other day. Her stylish chin-cropped hair and her fancy hat gave her a very opposite appearance from mine. I felt even more common than I was accustomed to. The shine of her skin tone made the curves and turns of her face even more beautiful.
She and her daughter, who stood a ways off, had the same jawline and eye shape. But the young girl’s eyes seemed filled with confusion or embarrassment, while her mother’s carried something else. I didn’t know what.
Neither of us spoke for several beats and then we both started and stopped.
“She’s the same color as the girl who—” I heard Lissy speaking and imagined Berthy clapping a hand over the little girl’s mouth. Even though she’d spoken in our dialect, Lissy had used the English word color, making her words easy to interpret. My face grew warm.
“I brought you this.” The woman lifted a pan along with her chin. “For what you done for my George.”
“Emma,” John barked. “Ich bin en wadah.”
I turned around and looked at my husband. Didn’t he know that I understood they were waiting for me? With a quick word for them to go on without me, I stepped outside with the woman and closed the door behind me.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, ma’am. I just wanted to give you this and you can go back to your family.” Small beads of sweat dotted the woman’s hairline. It wasn’t hot, but she had just walked through the humid woods. I knew the walk so well and I imagined her following my lonely path. The idea that it was now a shared path quickened something deep inside of me.
“Is your daughter okay?” I nodded toward the young girl who was throwing stones into the pond.
“Is she what?”
“Is she okay? I’m afraid she was a bit—startled—when she came by with my basket. I never had the chance to ask her name or introduce myself or even say thank you before she ran off.”
“Don’t you mind her. She’s addle-minded.” The woman cleared her throat. “Let me give this to you and I’ll be on my way. Me and my young’uns have taken up enough of your time.”
The woman was rushed, but I was content. I didn’t want her to go. I wanted to know who she was. Where had they moved from? Was George okay? I took the dish she handed me. It was heavy and still warm. I put my nose to the cloth that lay over it, and even though I was full, the scent made me hungry again.
“I’ll say thank you again, ma’am.” She turned to leave.
“Please, don’t go.” I set the dish down on the porch swing and met the woman as she took the first porch step. She looked sideways at me like she didn’t understand what I’d said. I half thought that maybe, in my haste, I’d spoken Pennsylvania Dutch instead of English. “I’m Emma. Emma Mullet.” I held my hand out to her.
She looked at it and furrowed her brow. She didn’t take it and her refusal reminded me of the nettles I had gathered. Was I nettles to her?
“How is George?” I pulled my hand back.
“He fine. Just fine.” Though she seemed exasperated, her voice was smooth, even, and nice to listen to.
“Good.” I paused. “And the rest of your family? Are you at the old church house?”
“Old church house?” She dipped her chin.
“That’s what we call it around here. The house has been empty for a few years. I was just guessing that maybe that’s where you’re living.”
“Mm-hmm, that’s the one.” She took the rest of the steps down from the porch. I could see she was determined not to speak with me—but I wanted to speak with her. “Well, thank you again—for finding my George. I’ll be saying good afternoon now and goodbye, ma’am.”
“Please, call me Emma.” I followed her down the stairs and walked in step with her.
“I think I’ll stick with ma’am.” She just looked straight ahead when she spoke and widened her stride to move more quickly.
Her coolness toward me made me stop in my tracks.
“Let’s go, Sparrow,” she said to her daughter.
Sparrow.
If my daughter had lived, I’d have wanted to name her something like that. Wild and unfettered. The opposite of me. The opposite of my life. I stood there and considered the girl’s name and the woman who still remained nameless and watched them walk away.
SPARROW
I saw that boy, Johnny, when Mama pulled me back through the woods when she was done dropping off the food to that white lady. Daddy had called them Amish. I didn’t know much about them ’cept they dressed funny and didn’t have electricity or cars. We did see a few in town when we drove through.
But in them woods, there was a little thread of gray smoke that caught my eye. Then I saw him. He was with them same boys as before.
Mama didn’t notice the cigarette smoke. Her eyes done gone darker than usual. She kept her eyes straight ahead and walked like she trying to stomp holes in the ground. She didn’t turn her face when I almost stop walking because that boy and me caught eyes. He sat up straighter, and even though trees and bushes were between us, I felt like I could smell the cigarettes on his breath.
“Girl.
” Mama’s voice snapped me back. “What you doing? Come on.”
“Sorry, Mama.” I didn’t dare look back at Johnny, but my back burned and I know’d he was looking at me.
A crash like broken glass sounded. Then a loud laugh I imagined came from Arnold.
“What’s that? Who’s there?” Mama craned her neck.
“I didn’t hear nothin’.” I lied so hard it knocked me around inside.
I could tell when she saw them boys. She stopped like a statue and grabbed my wrist. The one boy, Arnold, stood and my chin lifted just a little because I remembered what he’d called me the other time. Still, though, my heart started thudding when he made like he was coming toward us.
My gaze darted around looking for Johnny’s face, and when he stood I knew he wouldn’t let Arnold do nothing. I didn’t know why I trusted Johnny. But there ain’t no question why I want to say curse words when I put eyes on Arnold.
“It’s that dirty girl again.”
Then he called me that word again and laughed like a devil.
My throat tightened. I never told Mama about the boys—or anything else about that day. My fear of Mama and when she would find out I didn’t tell her was nothing like my fear of white people like Arnold. They could do just about whatever they wanted against us as long as they saw us as trash. I tried not to let that word break me, but it did a little. I know’d what I was. Ain’t nobody else got to tell it to me.
When he spat that word out toward Mama he laughed even harder. The breeze picked up through the woods and threw his laughter around and I wondered if the wind was on his side or mine.
What I did know was that Johnny didn’t laugh.
“Come on.” Mama pulled me hard and her walk was almost a run—but she was a little too proud for that. Her breathing was heavy, like she working hard. She did this until she was sure them white boys weren’t following us. She didn’t talk to me while we was in the woods and didn’t look at me neither. But as soon as we stepped out of the woods and the long grass was under my thin, flat shoes, Mama turned to face me.
“How do you know them white boys?”
I hesitated for a minute and my toes started wiggling inside my shoes like they wanted to run away with me.
“When I took—” I stopped. She made me nervous. I couldn’t think. She stared so hard at me that the hate in her eyes soaked me through like rain.
“When you what? Come on, girl, spit it out.”
“When I took the basket back to that lady, they was there.” Why did I sound so guilty? I ain’t done a darn thing wrong.
“You talk to them?”
I replayed it all in my head—’bout how it went with them boys—but when I didn’t answer fast enough, she grabbed my chin and gave me a shake.
“You stay away from them boys. You stay away from all boys. Ain’t no good can come from you getting attention from boys. You mind me like I’m God. You hear me?”
She pinched my skin in her grip, and as much as I wanted to answer her, I didn’t just then. She scared me worse than any other time.
“Don’t you ignore me.”
“I understand, Mama.” My words squeezed out of my gripped mouth and chin.
Mama’s fingernails scratched my skin when she let go, then she turned and walked away. As I watched her leave, I imagined living with her for the rest of my life. It was my fate. It was my sentence.
Later at supper I got to thinking ’bout how there was so much the same now as before that it didn’t seem right.
The table was the same. The dishes and silverware was the same. Mama’s food was the same. The way we sat at the table was the same. The empty chair was the same. Daddy said that we should leave some place for the Master. But that empty chair wasn’t for God. It was for a different master we’d brought from Montgomery.
I picked at my food and watched the screen door twitter in the light breeze. The scent of grass was too sweet for the likes of me. It weren’t nothing like the muggy river air in Montgomery where I imagined all our real selves still living. That’s where my old mama lived—the one who used to love me. The me before I killed my brother and damned my soul away from the good place.
My mind wandered ’til we was doing dishes. Mama was washing, Harriet was rinsing, and I was drying—just like in Montgomery.
“Harriet, you go watch television with your brothers.” Too much salt seasoned Mama’s words and I could taste trouble coming.
“Really?” Harriet raised an eyebrow. Mama flicked her head toward the TV and Harriet done run off quick like.
All I heard for the next few minutes was the sloshing of the water. Was Mama bothered with that like I was? The insects started to stir outside and covered up some of the water noise. The sun wasn’t set yet, but I could see it heading that way and throwing some of that orange across the dim sky.
“What you know about that Amish boy and the red-haired one?” Mama’s voice spoiled the sweet scent of the grass that came through the window.
“Why do you think I know something?” My question fell out of my mouth before I could pull it back. I know’d it would irritate her and she’d think I was doing it on purpose.
“Just answer me.” She kept washing.
“I don’t know nothin’, Mama.”
“But he looked at you like he knew you. That other boy said he saw you before. Girl, we been here for less than a week and you already getting yourself into trouble.”
“I told you the truth before. I met them when I was coming home from the Amish lady’s house. Just that once.” I cleared my throat, wanting to give myself a moment to choose my words wisely. “The one boy who looked—normal—said some nasty stuff. The Amish one—Johnny—didn’t. He was nice to me.”
“Nice? What does that mean?” Mama’s voice was as tight as a pulled rubber band.
“Just that, Mama. He didn’t like what the other boy, Arnold, was calling me.”
“Johnny. Arnold.” Mama laughed—but it weren’t the nice kind; it was the mean kind. “There you go again—you know them boys’ names already.”
I didn’t say nothing to defend myself. It wouldn’t matter.
“You see them, you turn and walk—no—you run the other way. I don’t want you to think about them or remember them. That also goes for that Amish woman.”
“Her name is Emma.” I spoke just above a whisper.
“What was that?”
I didn’t answer her right away but let a few moments pass. “Nothin’.”
DELILAH
I saw a white lighthouse once a whole bunch a years ago. It wasn’t a real one at an ocean or nothing. But it stood tall next to nothing more than a small pond—one that somebody dug up and made for themselves.
I’d been only fourteen but I still remember it all, even the heat that burned through the top of the car we traveled in from Montgomery. Sweat dripped off all of us—my parents, sisters, and brothers—like grease from fried-up bacon. But those were the days when bacon only showed up in my dreams and not on my plate. Those days was thin and half starved. We had driven to Georgia to go to Great-Granny Scott’s ninety-fifth birthday party, and I ain’t sure we didn’t do it more for the food than we did for Great-Granny. Since Daddy lost his job, money, food, and smiles were scarce. But when that lighthouse came into view, thoughts about my empty stomach went away.
Since I was sure I would never get nowhere where a lighthouse really mattered, I took it into my memory to make it a part of me. I stared at that thing until we was just next to it and I craned my neck so far I almost fell. A boy was at the top of the lighthouse and I remember feeling jealous. I wanted to go up there, but Daddy said not to be no bother.
But Great-Granny gave me permission to go to the top and said that I wasn’t bothering nobody. When I climbed the stairs that went up in circles, the boy was still up there. I wished he wasn’t so’s I could have the whole top to myself.
He was reading from a book that didn’t look like nothing I saw in school. His suit
was smart. Was he sweating through that darn thing? Because I was pretty sure God was sweating through His robes just watching us. I didn’t recognize him so he wasn’t no cousin.
The spring door screeched and the boy turned toward me. He seemed annoyed and looked me up and down when I stepped out. I was dressed more simply than most of the folks at the party and I felt the shame of it.
“You shouldn’t be up here. This isn’t a place for children.” His manners were poor but his voice was so smooth and his words sounded like he was full of schooling. Why was he up here anyhow? Why was he wearing clothes a body couldn’t even work in? Reading in the middle of the day? Did he think he was better’n everybody else? He wasn’t no common colored boy wearing a smart suit. Even though all of this annoyed me, it also made me a little jealous of his ways.
“Great-Granny said I could,” I snapped and lifted my chin at him. “And I ain’t a child. I fourteen—almost fifteen. Why you up here anyhow?”
He started talking all big and calling Granny by her given name—Mrs. Cassandra Scott. That made me as mad as when my mama pinched the soft part of my arm. Everybody called Great-Granny “Granny” or “Great-Granny.” He too good to do that with his obvious northern ways. I didn’t like him. No, sir. Not one bit. He was so full of hisself, it was a wonder he could breathe normal air that everybody else was also using up.
“How you get an invite to Great-Granny’s party?” I didn’t think he belonged here.
“Reverend Carl Scott brought me. He wanted to talk to me.”
“That’s my uncle. Why?”
“I’m just about done with college and he wants me to work at his church when I graduate—I aim to be a preacher in two more years but—”
“That’s my church.” I raised my chin. “Wait a minute, you going to college?” I stepped closer to him. I hadn’t met many colored folks who were going to college.
The Solace of Water Page 6