The Solace of Water

by Elizabeth Byler Younts

  “It feel all right now,” Sparrow’s little bit voice said. “Thank you.”

  The other lady, she looked kind of like a woodpecker if I was being honest, patted her arm again but didn’t say nothing. She did give up a nice smile though. They looked at Emma who was sitting down at the end of the table with her hand hugged around her coffee. More like she was gripping it. She don’t look good and it wasn’t just because she was still pale and tired.

  “Nah, Emma,” the big one said and slipped into their language.

  Emma’s eyes flashed to me and then back to the woman who was speaking. She interrupted the long stream of words.

  “Betty, this is my neighbor Delilah.” She gestured toward me.

  “Delilah?” The thin, quiet one spoke for the first time. She spoke to Emma and even though I didn’t understand a lick of their language, I knew she said something about what manner of person has the name of the biggest hussy in all the Bible. When Emma didn’t respond she turned back to me. “I’m Joyce Yoder.” She extended her hand out to me and I was surprised by her grip.

  “We’re sisters,” Joyce said. “This is Betty.”

  Betty reached her hand out also. Her grip was also quick and firm.

  “Neighbors?” Betty asked Emma.

  Emma gestured with her head. “On the other side of the woods.”

  The sisters looked at each other. Their eyes were wide and it was like they was reading each other’s minds. I could see Emma trying to find the right words, the right story, the right excuse about why we were here. I got this feeling, though, that it wasn’t because I was a colored woman but it was because I wasn’t Amish. Maybe both.

  “We should finish that laundry for you, Ms. Emma,” I said and poked Sparrow. I added that Mizz back to try to show that I was respectful. “You just have a nice visit with your friends.”

  “Ms. Emma?” Betty said and laughed. “Now that does sound fancy.”

  “My girl here heard that Emma was under the weather and we had a mind to help her out.” I tried to find the right words to help Emma.

  “She heard?” Joyce looked confused. “How?”

  There was a short pause before anyone answered. I didn’t know how she’d heard. Why had I said it like that?

  “Sparrow helps me with laundry sometimes on Mondays.” Emma spoke but she didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. “Deedee is kind enough to lend her daughter to me. When she came, she saw I was sick and asked her mother to come help.”

  “Now, that is a good neighbor,” Joyce said. “But why don’t you ask one of Martin’s girls? There are so many of them.”

  Emma cleared her throat.

  “’Cause Ms. Emma know’d I like to do laundry,” Sparrow said with her small voice and peeked at me from the tops of her eyes.

  The two old Amish ladies giggled again and repeated the Mizz part. I don’t know why they found that so funny.

  “Our way of life must seem so strange to you Englishers,” Betty said.

  “Would you like some coffee?” Emma changed the subject.

  As they agreed and Emma’s feeble body went for mugs and coffee, I pulled Sparrow’s sleeve and we slipped out the door. I let out the breath I was holding when we get outside. My lungs empty of all that nervousness and by the time I get down the porch steps I caught the giggles.

  “What you laughing about, Mama?” Sparrow looked at me funny.

  “Those ladies.” I yanked her sleeve again toward the basement. I try to stifle my laughter.

  “I thought they was nice.”

  “’Course they are, but did you see how their eyeballs just about fell out of their heads when they heard our names and that you was helping Mizz Emma with the laundry?” My laughter started to slow down and I don’t remember the last time I laughed so hard. It was a long time ago.

  “Mama, you laughing.”

  It was sad that as soon as she said that I felt like a balloon that had just got popped and all the air was out of it. All my giggles just flew out of me somewhere and it was like they had never even been there.

  We finished the laundry and when we left just before lunch the two ladies was still inside with Emma. I didn’t want to make nothing of it, but my heart hurt a little for the woman I’d called friend. I figured only time would tell if we were friends like she want. But she was in a bad way with her husband and with her life of secrets.

  EMMA

  I watched Sparrow and Deedee’s slow walk part the grass behind the house and wished they were the ones who remained with me.

  “Now, how did you meet sellah frau?” I supposed that lady meant Deedee. I turned to face Joyce, and by the looks of her eyes, she wanted the whole story.

  “We met in our woods when I was out walking.” I decided to keep it as simple as possible.

  “They were in your woods?” Joyce scrunched her lips together and made her whole face appear beak-like.

  “You know John and I don’t care about that, unless it’s hunting season.”

  They let that part go. I was glad they didn’t realize that there was no way for Deedee to know that we were so lenient about our property being walked by our neighbors.

  “And you just started talking to them?” Betty asked. “Weren’t you scared to meet up with strangers in your woods?”

  “Scared?” I questioned. “Why? She has children and a husband— who’s a preacher. They are not so different from us as you might think.”

  Betty and Joyce looked at each other with raised eyebrows.

  “I don’t know as I really care so much that they are Negro,” Betty said. “I just think they do things different than us. Just better to abide by the bishop’s words to keep more separate from them and from all Englishers.”

  “With all the problems that Negro boy was causing in town, I agree,” Joyce piped up. “I heard he was following that girl around everywhere. The family couldn’t get a moment’s peace. That would unnerve me if I was the girl’s mem.”

  All the words. The emotions. The fear. I wanted to run up to my room and hide. I didn’t know how to respond and I knew little about the current situation but had a feeling we weren’t getting the whole story. We’d never much concerned ourselves over the way the rest of the country was bothered by the color of people. We just kept to ourselves. Did I think that people should be judged that way? No. But with that, I’d always been taught that it wasn’t my concern. I suppose I’d believed my whole life that I was just to mind my own business—until George. I realized that no matter the color, I would’ve helped him. Just as Joyce and Betty had helped Sparrow, I supposed. They hadn’t hesitated to help, but their understanding of the Negro community was questionable, as was mine. The fear everyone had about one another was what struck me the most.

  When they left I fell on the couch and didn’t wake up until I heard a knock at the door. It wasn’t a loud knock, but everything else was so still it woke me. My head felt better by measures and my body was less achy.

  I walked to the door and could hear Deedee’s voice calling my name like she was still worried about me. I opened the door and saw her standing there with all my clean clothes from the line in my basket.

  “Well, I can see you’re feeling a mite better.” Her voice was in that same rich, loud manner, but there was a little bit of a smile behind it. “I’m glad to see it.”

  “Yes. Me too,” I said and looked over her shoulder.

  “Sparrow’s at home with the kids. I think we plum tuckered her out this morning anyway.” She raised her eyebrows. “Can I come in?”

  I opened the door wider and watched as she walked in and headed for the couch. She put the laundry basket down and grabbed the top piece. A pillowcase. She snapped it about as good as any Amish lady I’d ever seen.

  “You gonna help or just stand there?”

  I’d never met a woman like Deedee before. She was named after a villain in the Bible. One of the worst kinds of women. A liar. A loose woman. Someone you couldn’t trust. But she wasn’t a vil
lain to me. She was my friend and seemed like my only friend.

  I made sure Deedee was gone at least an hour before I expected John to return. In that time I put the smallest details in the house to rights. I didn’t want there to be any question as to how I’d spent my day.

  Johnny came in first and put his hat on the hook before he looked at me. He looked at the counters and then at me. His gaze lingered and it was almost as if I could see the words travel from his mind to his mouth.

  “Bish bessah?” I wasn’t sure how to take him asking me if I was better. Of course John probably told him this morning that I was sick. But I also had a notion that Johnny knew more than I had been realizing. His father and I were not the only ones with secrets in this house.

  I gave him a short nod.

  He said he was glad, but the room was filled with the anticipation of the words that were inside the pouch of his cheek and remained unspoken.

  “I hope you don’t get sick like that again.” He stuttered his words a bit but he looked at me the whole time.

  “Ja.” I agreed but couldn’t hold his gaze. I knew what I’d done. What would my son think of me if he knew I’d prayed for death the night before? Death would leave him motherless. Maybe he was already motherless since I was little more than a shell anyway.

  When footsteps came up the porch, Johnny’s eyes and mine made quick contact before he went to wash up. My insides turned and flopped. What I saw in Johnny brought something all the way up from my toes that I could feel at the top of my scalp. Was it the courage to be more? I never again wanted to wish to be dead.

  John came in and looked around in the same way Johnny had. I knew by his expression that he’d expected to see something else. What else though? Did he think I’d be dead when he came home and the house would be in the same state of chaos as it was when he left that morning? Or did he expect me to pretend nothing was wrong and to give him a clean house? I didn’t know.

  “Surprised?”

  “Vas meansch?”

  “You know what I mean, John,” I spat at him. “Last night.”

  “Don’t blame it on me. I saw this morning that you drank more than I did. I didn’t make you do that.” He put his hands up in defense of himself. “Looks like you’re the one with the problem, not me.”

  “I wanted to die. Our lives are a lie. And now you’re threatening to send Johnny away.” I walked closer to him. “I’m telling you now and you’d better hear me—I’m never going to help you cover up your drunkenness again. If you don’t—”

  “If I don’t what?” He challenged me but his eyes darted erratically. He was afraid.

  “If you don’t stop, I’ll tell the bishop everything.”

  He laughed at me.

  “This is all just because you’re ashamed of yourself. You’re the one who was drunk far into the morning. You drank yourself sick. You’re embarrassed and you want to take me down with you.” He spoke everything in a loud whisper. He got closer to me and I was surprised at the anger in his face. “You couldn’t have killed yourself with what you drank but you’re not smart enough to know that. You just gave yourself a bad morning. Do you really want to get shunned? You want to embarrass Johnny? You want to ruin his life?”

  “The church can punish me all they want, John.” I matched his whisper but with more passion in my words than he was accustomed to. “It’s better than living with guilt.”

  His face winced. My threat worried him. He didn’t even know all the guilt I lived with.

  “Things will get better, I promise.” His chastising had changed to pleading.

  I wanted to believe him, but I didn’t. But I didn’t know if I could be brave enough to follow through with my threats. What would happen if anyone found out that John wasn’t the deacon he claimed to be? I didn’t know. Once you were voted in as a deacon, only death separated you from the position. Being exposed would crush our marriage and our son. His parents would be in despair. And wouldn’t it be contradictory to the church? For their own deacon to be a man of sin instead of a man to follow after?

  “I won’t help you again—no matter how bad it gets for you.” The gravel in my throat came out in the rasp of my words. “Hausch mich?”

  My asking him if he’d heard me was maybe going too far. He grabbed my forearms, and even though I knew he didn’t want to hurt me, it did hurt.

  “You can’t tell anyone.” His words smelled like drink and sweat coming through his teeth. “Hausch mich?”

  I didn’t see it coming but we were almost knocked off our feet when Johnny pulled his dat’s hands off of me. Johnny pushed John’s chest, making him fall hard against the door, busting open the screen. Johnny stood between us and faced his dad with clenched hands.

  “Don’t you ever put a hand on her again,” he yelled.

  SPARROW

  When Mama asked me to go to Coleman’s Grocery for Granny Winnie, I wished it would start pouring down rain so I wouldn’t have to go. She never sent me out on errands, well, not since Carver. There hadn’t been any errands that day, but she sent me off as the responsible one. I looked at Mama like she was growing a third eye when she asked me today.

  She even said, “Why you looking at me like that?”

  “What if there’s trouble?” My panic swelled and I wasn’t sure I could do what she wanted.

  “You going to make trouble?” She raised an eyebrow.

  “No, ma’am.”

  That had been the problem before. I had made trouble.

  “If you don’t make trouble, then there won’t be trouble.”

  I knew she said it in hopes of believing it herself. There were all sorts of colored folks who didn’t make trouble but had a whole lot of it anyhow. That boy Kenny hadn’t done no wrong, but now he was still hiding away ready to move south.

  But that girl he loved, she didn’t hide nowhere but was gonna go east to beauty school in the fall. New York or something. Imagine that. Beauty school. Was that where you learned how to be beautiful? Wasn’t she beautiful enough?

  “Daddy’s there. He’ll keep an eye out.”

  Granny hadn’t been feeling good and she always made chicken cabbage soup when she felt bad. I had to go get the stuff she needed and then walk it to her. Then I had to walk all the way home.

  I knew the way all right, but I ain’t never had to walk that far away from home alone since we moved up north. Even in Montgomery I didn’t have to go far. Everything I walked to was close by enough and I was never alone. We neighborhood kids always did everything together when we wasn’t in school. Just like that Saturday when Mama had sent George and Carver with me and my friends to get them out of her hair. I didn’t want to have them with me because it would be harder for me to flirt and carry on with J. D. And then I lost Carver and he died.

  I grabbed the list and the small zipped pocket Mama gave me with the money in it. She said that Granny would pay me back when I got to her house. I was to put the money pouch deep in my pocket and not mess with it. I did just like she said and as I walked the heaviness of the coins would bump the side of my leg. It was close to the cut I’d made but not right on it.

  I hadn’t hurt myself since I stuck my hand in the wringer and that was over a week ago. Maybe I was all better now because Mama had touched me nice. Or because Mama and Ms. Emma was talking like they was friends. We got to see her a couple of times this week even.

  Maybe I didn’t need to hurt myself no more. Maybe there was other things that would help me. Just thinking about it though made the scab on my thigh itch something awful. But my fingers were mostly healed up now. All my nerves about going into town started making me feel like I was fighting a battle. If I gave myself just a little cut, it would help me not feel so nervous. And what if Johnny found out I hurt myself after I told him I wouldn’t no more? What would Mama and Ms. Emma think if they ever found out? They couldn’t—so I couldn’t.

  I passed by the white neighborhoods and just walked like I knew where I was going and I wa
sn’t gonna make no trouble. I didn’t walk too fast, might seem like I was running away from something bad I done. I didn’t walk too slow because it might look like I was snooping. I just paced my walking by singing a song in my head.

  If I walked to the rhythm of “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” it was just about right. Felt a little awkward to measure my steps, but I did it anyway and made sure I didn’t step on no sidewalk cracks. Didn’t want nothing bad to happen.

  On Main Street the bright-pink sign that said Soda Shoppe was just about waving at me to come on over but I don’t. A few people sat at their outside tables licking up the dripping cones. They was bouncing their shoulders and heads to the music. It was a song that was new just before Carver died and I found myself saying it in my mind. “See you later, alligator . . . after ’while, crocodile.” But when I moved my body just a little I thought about Johnny and got warm all over. I stopped and started back on my “Swing Low” song in my head.

  Mr. Coleman was standing outside the grocery, like other shop owners. Sometimes they would come out to have a cigarette or to yell a conversation across the street or just to stand in the sun for a few minutes. Mr. Coleman didn’t pay me no mind at first until he threw down his cigarette to extinguish it and it hit my shoe.

  “Sorry about that . . .” He lengthened his last word as if seeking my name.

  “Sparrow.”

  “Sparrow, yes.” He had this half smile. He looked around me. “You’re here alone?”

  I just nodded.

  He nodded in return but he didn’t look too happy about it. But he opened the door for me anyhow. “Let me know if you need anything, Sparrow.”

  I waited for a tiny little second before I dashed through the door. When I got inside I was glad that almost nobody was there. My coin pouch hit against me again because of my fast, big steps. The money was still there, so was my scab near it. That cut was never so far away from my mind. Knowing I could do it again if I needed to. To help me.