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The Solace of Water

Page 8

by Elizabeth Byler Younts


  Rumspringa did not allow for worldly rebellion—experimenting with alcohol, smoking, and immorality. It was, at its simplest, a time for dating and finding a girl who could grow to become a good wife. But there were always a few youth who took this “running around” as a time to do as they pleased, regardless of right and wrong. The purpose was for small freedoms, but sometimes church leaders turned a blind eye to the foolishness of the young people, which only fueled their folly.

  The new Lancaster preacher and his fratzy frau had spoken of wanting to hold the youth to a higher standard. They had seen the sinfulness within the booming communities of Lancaster and did not want that for our youth. The Englisher lifestyle was far more accessible in Lancaster. This was why I had never approved of Johnny getting so close with the neighbor boy, Arnold.

  Under one of the logs, magazine pages stuck out. I rocked the log back and pulled. The moment I saw the cover I gasped and dropped it. I looked down at it and the shock of it filled me. Though the cover was tattered and faded, the picture was clear enough. I picked it up with the tips of my fingers—which still made me feel dirty. The woman on the cover was young and berry lipped and wore her wheat-colored waves no longer than her earlobes.

  Her shoulders were bare. Completely bare. Her breasts were more uncovered than not and the magazine cut off just below them. How could this woman be willing to bare so much of herself? And who would even agree to take such an image with a camera and then more people agreeing to print it for many others to buy and see? Not to mention those who sold it in their stores. How could so many people agree to do the same wrong thing? It didn’t take much to think about how Johnny had gotten this.

  I glanced around before flipping through the pages. I had never seen anything like this, and as upset as I was about Johnny having the magazine, I was curious. What I found inside made me ashamed of myself. Articles about lifestyles I didn’t approve of— drinking, smoking, and sex. Inappropriate advertisements. Photos of women who may as well have been nude. Before I knew it I was ripping it apart. Pieces of the pages fell around me like leaves.

  Imagining my son looking at that magazine and suspecting that it was not the first made my stomach swirl. Had he exposed his cousins to it? If Larry or Berthy found out, I would never be forgiven.

  Who was this boy I’d raised? He was a boy following after his parents with secrets just like John. Just like me.

  SPARROW

  There was a time years ago when I loved sitting in church and listening to Daddy preach. I remember many hot, muggy Sundays sitting on Grandma Evans’s soft lap and looking up and feeling proud that it was my daddy who was preaching. I imagined what a shame it would be if he wasn’t so handsome—everyone would have to look at some homely, sad-looking face for a good hour. But Daddy was the best-looking man at church. Maybe in all of Montgomery. And he could lead the choir just as good as Brother Jeremiah, who was the actual director.

  But one day that changed. One day I noticed that the church ladies doted over Daddy something awful. He was so handsome I was sure every lady wished Mama was dead and buried just so they could snag him up. And Mama let them fawn all over him without no word. Not one. Even though I was young when I noticed this, it stuck with me and I asked Mama about it. She just told me to leave it be—happy church women made a happy church—that’s what she said.

  But when George was born and everybody could see that boy wasn’t gonna be normal, instead of all the doting it was pity. Pity expressions and pity talk too. I heard it with my own ears. Ladies saying stuff like, “Might be easier if there was only Carver,” or “Don’t think that comes from the reverend’s side. I heard Sister Deedee had a cousin who was simpleminded too.” Then the ladies would exchange a knowing look like they got it all figured up.

  I wanted to yell at them that it wasn’t true. Mama had no simple cousin and George was that way ’cause of how he wasn’t breathing when he was born. What they mean by simpleminded anyway? That boy was as kind as a body could be. He was happy and tender. If that’s what simpleminded was, then that’s better than those old biddies could ever be.

  Just like Mama knew what I was thinking, she always gave me that gaze that told me I got to keep my mouth shut and pay them folks no mind. Why didn’t she fight back? Why didn’t she tell them that we loved George as much as we loved Carver? But she never said nothing.

  But when Carver died the talk got worse. It went from people saying, “Well, at least they still got one of them twins,” to “I thought an accident like that would happen to the simple one.” Then they’d shake their heads like it was out of sympathy instead of judgment. But I know’d better.

  Then I’d look at Mama and wait for that gaze telling me to stay quiet. But it never came. She just had those dead eyes—though I knew she heard every word. But I yelled my piece. I did. I told them church ladies they got it all wrong. That George wasn’t just the leftovers—he was funny and tender and loving and didn’t have a mean bone in hisself.

  Then my too-handsome daddy dragged me away and made me feel ashamed—even more than I already did. But Mama just stared. She never paid those ladies no mind. She never paid me no mind no more. She didn’t pay no mind to nothing no more.

  Now that we moved to this Pennsylvania country, that time felt far away, like a different world. Daddy didn’t look so handsome to me like he used to. Mama still stared off into nothing. But when I looked around at the people in the rickety church pews, ain’t none of them talking about how burdened the reverend’s family was with the simpleminded little son and how it was a curse that Carver was the one who died.

  How long would that last?

  We had a few extra families at church today besides us and Grannie Winnie. Daddy asked them all to introduce themselves to us. Titus and Marlene Carter had Kenny, Jake, Belinda, and Tootsie. Joshua and Tammy Randall had Calvin, Joy, and a baby on the way. Then a man named Lincoln Tripp with his daughter, Lois. She was about my age. Her mama died a long time ago. Then an old wrinkled-up man named Otis.

  “G’morning.” A hand was in front of me when everybody got up to shake hands. I looked up. It was that boy Calvin with his hand out at me. He was ’bout my age.

  “Morning.” I stood and limply shook his hand.

  He was all-right looking even though his eyes were small and his smile was too big.

  “I’m Calvin,” he said and fixed up his three-piece suit that was a little tight.

  “Hmm,” was all I said. Of course I already knew his name. I wasn’t trying to be rude but know’d Mama would say I was flirting with him if I spoke.

  The quiet but constant buzz of voices stirred in my ears while I waited for him to leave.

  “You’re Sparrow, right?”

  “Mm-hmm.” He reminded me of the boy who’d kissed me behind Minny Lawrence’s shed on my thirteenth birthday. It was a terrible kiss.

  “Like the bird, right?”

  I nodded a few times. “Yeah.”

  “I like that.” Then he smiled and showed all his teeth. They was as straight as that path that Mama wanted me on.

  It was hours later when the preaching was through and the potluck all ate up. Now there was the scrape of silverware against the plates to push off the little bits of okra and macaroni. These people knew how to eat as well as our church in Montgomery. Just a smaller crowd. Daddy drew a big crowd in Montgomery. The choir was larger than all the folks sitting in the creaky pews at the new church.

  “Lois, did you know that I have an aunt in Montgomery?” One of two girls my age stacked a few plates next to the sink. She hadn’t introduced herself to me, neither had the other girl, but they had been looking at me through the corners of their eyes.

  The tall one with the mouth was Belinda and she always dragged the shorter one, Lois, around. I didn’t like neither of them. But I was a little jealous of how long Belinda’s hair was. Mine wasn’t even to my shoulders. No matter, though, they both thought they was better than everybody else. And Belinda crinkled u
p her nose like them white women do when we walk by.

  I grabbed another plate and kept washing in the lukewarm water. As long as Mama didn’t notice, I didn’t care that it wasn’t as hot as it should be. The three of us girls watched out the window for a few moments. I wasn’t sure where the other two were looking, but my eyes went right to my daddy, and, of course, there was a woman talking to him.

  “My aunt didn’t go to her daddy’s church but she knows of him.”

  Belinda’s mean, snotty tone dirtied her words. I decided to say nothing. Maybe the girl would stop running her mouth. And if I had an argument with some girl at our new church, Mama would skin me. Yes, she would. Skin me.

  “What did your aunt say about her daddy?” the short one said with her squeaky voice, then giggled a little. In the reflection of the window I saw Belinda elbow Lois.

  “Oh, she just said that her daddy is too soft at the pulpit—that he isn’t tough enough on sin.”

  I dropped the plate and it clinked hard against the few others in the gray water. I pushed my hands back into it so they wouldn’t see me shaking.

  “Said if he was tougher on sin maybe some things wouldn’t have been so grim by and by.” Belinda’s voice sounded sweet, but it was full of venom. “My aunt said that the boy died because of the reverend being too soft on sin—it was God’s punishment.”

  She hung those words out like laundry on a line. They just waved and flapped in the wind, and I wanted to grab hold of them and crumple them and burn them up. Then it was like I could see little Carver standing by them woods in the back of the yard. Was it really him? He was wearing that sweet smile of his and his big eyes looked right at me. George never looked in our eyes.

  I blinked and looked again and he was gone. My hands started shaking so bad the water was splashing. I couldn’t make them stop. They convulsed like Tate Robert did back home when he was having one of his fits.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Lois’s tone started out disgusted, but by the time she spoke the last word, I could tell she was as frightened as me. “Belinda, make her stop.”

  “What do you want me to do about it? She’s the one who’s losing her blessed mind.”

  “Go fetch her mama,” Lois told Belinda, who wasn’t used to taking orders.

  “She’s just faking. I’m sure of it. Girls like her always want attention. That’s all this is.”

  They may have kept talking but I stopped hearing them. My mind dwelled on my baby brother. Did he hurt when he died? What was he thinking in his final moments? Did he hate me?

  Then I stuck my face in that dirty sink water. I pushed it as far down as I could. I hadn’t taken much of a breath before, but I guessed I would see how long I could hold it or what would happen if I couldn’t. Someone was trying to pull me but they wasn’t strong enough. I kept my face buried and gripped the side of the sink with all my might. When my hands had stopped convulsing, I wasn’t sure.

  I could feel the greasiness of the water and the bits of food floating around. But I wasn’t gonna stop. Maybe I would find Carver somewhere in this murky water. Only the tips of my ears were above water and I could hear muffled voices. They sounded far away.

  I started screaming in that sink, under that water. I yelled all sorts of bad, ugly words, but mostly I yelled for Carver. Like I had done that day. Had he heard me then? Did he hear me now? Would God let him? Or had Carver already forgotten all about us he left behind? I didn’t have any air and my chest ached.

  It was like a force I couldn’t control when I lifted my head on up out of the water and gasped for air. Between my deep breaths, the yelling didn’t stop. I heard some commotion in the kitchen but mostly I heard my own wailing. Why couldn’t I just fall and twist down the drain and go away forever? I don’t know how long it was ’til someone pulled me away from the sink. It was Mama. I knew her grip. Her thumbnails dug into my skin.

  The shaking came back without warning, and I couldn’t control it or the noise that come out of my mouth. Water was everywhere. Water dripped down my neck and into my dress. Water went between my bosoms and all the way down me until I could feel that dirty sink water around my belly.

  Even with Mama’s tight hold on my arms, I couldn’t stop shaking. My ears stopped working and I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn’t want to see nobody. Didn’t want to see what their faces said about me. There came a smack across my cheek and my eyes opened. I continued to wail and yell for Carver.

  Mama’s mouth was moving and her brow was all wrinkled up, but I blocked out her words. Even in the madness of the moment I saw Mama in a different way, like I was looking through that dirty dishwater. I saw how old she was getting and that her skin was slack around her jaw. When had that happened?

  The other church ladies were looking on like we was something to be watched. One of them, the old granny, pushed everybody toward the door. When that boy came in, they pushed him back out like cats on a mouse. The screen door shut, but I didn’t hear the loud slap when it closed. I turned back to Mama who was still yelling something at me. She dumped me on a chair. But I couldn’t hear nothing.

  Every sound I made scraped against my throat now. Everything moved slowly, and when Daddy’s face came into view, I got slapped back to Mama’s view and her face was even angrier. Everything was foggy and filmy looking. My hearing came back, but everything now was in a whisper about what was wrong with me and that I was too old to have fits.

  “Don’t, Dee.” Daddy pulled Mama away. He left her standing a little piece away, then came and folded his arms around me.

  His mouth was by my ear and he whispered, “He gives power to the faint. Breathe, Birdie. He gives strength to the weary. You’re okay now.”

  He picked me up like I was just a small thing and walked past Mama and went into the living room. Then he put me on the couch and nudged me to lay down. Daddy got down, level with me. I breathed heavy and I was still all wet. But his face calmed me.

  I looked over his shoulder and saw a few of the ladies had returned and were looking on, but when they saw my eyes they turned and left the house again. They didn’t think I saw them shake their heads, but I did. Mama stood there like she was afraid to come closer.

  Daddy laid his hand on my shoulder and I looked back at him. I think he prayed ’cause his eyes was shut. Then he patted me and smiled. “You rest now. Okay?”

  Then he just kept staring at me. Probably wouldn’t leave me be ’til I closed my eyes. My eyes were so heavy and I let them fall. After a minute the weight of Daddy’s hand lifted from my shoulder and I heard him walk away. My body felt so mushy—like bread dough. Had his hand left an imprint on me? I pretended to fall asleep but I listened instead.

  “Why’d you hit her?” Daddy asked.

  “I was fixing to knock her out of her fit. What came over that girl?” Mama was breathing heavy like a bull with a ring in his nose. “She done stuffed her face into the sink full of water like she trying to—”

  “Drown herself,” Daddy finished.

  “What she thinking embarrassing us like that?” Mama almost spoke right over Daddy’s words.

  “You might be embarrassed, Dee. But more than that you’re mad. You’re so mad that she’s grieving and you don’t think she deserves to.” Daddy’s voice got higher—he was agitated.

  When his voice fell on my ears again, I knew he was watching me. “That scream.”

  “It was just like—that day.” Mama’s words weighed on me heavy like.

  The recollection of my screaming and wailing and cursing came into my ears. I wanted to disappear.

  “The girl’s grieving hard, Dee. We need to be more patient with her.” Daddy’s full-of-burden voice swallowed up a little of my own burden for just a moment, and then it all came back because it was all my fault.

  “You think your new flock of people gonna be patient with her?”

  “They know what we’ve been through. They know why we’re here.”

  “Should have left her with Aunt Do
ris.”

  What she mean by that? It was hard to lay still in my false sleep. I forced even breaths because I wanted to know more.

  “What do you mean, leave her with Aunt Doris?”

  Mama didn’t say nothing.

  “Deedee?” Daddy prodded.

  “Aunt Doris told me that maybe she should keep Sparrow with her. Maybe give the rest of us a fresh start and she could—”

  “What? And you didn’t think to tell me what you was planning for my daughter?”

  “Don’t get in a fit over it now, Malachi. I told her no, didn’t I?”

  “But you wish you had said yes?” He was angry.

  Mama snorted. “Shouldn’t we both?”

  “Dee, you need to forgive her. She’s our daughter—our Birdie.”

  The silence got heavier with a whisper that came across the room.

  “I can’t.”

  DELILAH

  I should have known better than to think Sparrow was asleep. But as soon as I said I couldn’t forgive that girl, I saw the smallest of flinches in her face. My soul told me I should explain, ask her to forgive my unforgiving heart. But instead I let my words stay in the air like a wall between me and my firstborn. She had been my little birdie-baby that cooed in my arms and I had let my words clip her wings. I’d just taken away her chance to fly and I knew it like I knew that daybreak came every morning whether I wanted it or not.

  I didn’t even give it a thought, leaving her there all night. Should have at least checked during the night. So when I woke and she was gone, my first thought was that she’d run away. But her shoes sat where they were left. She must have stumbled up the narrow stairs and lay in her own bed.

 

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