Under the Peach Tree

by Charlay Marie

  May smiled. “I didn’t want to wake you up, honey. You seemed so peaceful.”

  “What time is it?” I asked, rubbing my eyes.

  “It just turned eleven. Dante made some sandwiches in the kitchen if you’re hungry. Can you bring me some more lemonade?” She picked up the glass from the table and handed it to me. I smiled and walked back into the house. As I poured her drink, I picked up the house phone and dialed home. I was beginning to miss Faith with each passing day and needed to hear her voice. I knew she probably hated me, and I didn’t blame her for it. I hated myself.

  The phone picked up on the third ring. “Hello?” Faith’s voice was sweet to my ears.

  “Faith.” I didn’t know what else to say. I slowly placed the lemonade back into the refrigerator as I thought.

  “Hope?” she asked. “Why did you call here? You know Momma will flip out if she found out you called.”

  “Faith, I’m—” But before I could finish, Momma’s voice shouted through the phone.

  “Why are you calling my house? Your sister don’t wanna talk to you. Don’t call my house again!”

  “But, Momma—” I started, but the phone hung up.

  I quickly grabbed the glass of lemonade and took it to May before I could break down crying. I held it all in, taking a seat in the third chair beside May. She took a drink of her lemonade and set it down. She felt for her pieces to make her next move. I didn’t understand how she could play checkers being blind. I looked at Dante, who eyed me curiously as if he knew something was wrong with me. I narrowed my eyes, showing my attitude. He looked back at the game shyly.

  I studied him as he played, wondering who he was and where he came from. I didn’t understand how a boy his age found playing checkers with an old, blind woman interesting, but I wasn’t going to judge. He seemed slightly nerdish and innocent but he had a boyish beauty that would turn any girl’s head. I wouldn’t mind staring at his pretty face but that didn’t mean I had to like him.

  Twenty minutes later, Dante was gone and May was back inside, eating a sandwich so that she could take her medicine at twelve. She was quiet for the most part, probably waiting for me to speak, but I didn’t. I was too wounded by the phone call to speak. May sensed it; I could tell by the way she sat staring into my direction as if she wanted to say something.

  “You go to church, Hope?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Why not?”

  I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and changed the subject. “Does Norma live with you?”

  “No.” If May noticed the change of subject, she didn’t mention in. “She lives with her two kids in an apartment on the other side of town.”

  “Are you married?”

  “I’m widowed with two daughters. My husband used to be the preacher of Rising Faith Ministries but he died many years ago.” A shadow of sadness shaded her eyes.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She smiled, bringing joy back into the room. “He was a good man. I never thought I’d get married but God brought him into my life after many prayers.”

  “He never answers mine,” I mumbled, but she heard me.

  “God always answers our prayers. Sometimes the answer is ‘wait’ or ‘no,’ but He always answers.”

  I didn’t like where the conversation was going and changed it again. “What all do you need done around the house?”

  She thought for a moment. “Is the grass high? It ain’t been cut in a week.”

  I stood up. “I’ll cut it.”

  About thirty-five minutes later, I walked back into her house sweaty and tired. May stood in the kitchen, finally taking her medicine. I quickly grabbed the paper and scanned over it, making sure she was taking the right medicine. She smiled and waved me away.

  “I’ve been taking care of myself my whole life, I can manage my pills. Please get me some water.”

  I grabbed her glass, washed it out, filled it with water, and handed it to her.

  “Why are you homeless?” Her question caught me off-guard. I guess I had been expecting that she’d begin asking questions but did I really want to open up to her? Was I ready to tell someone my history when they already thought highly of me? I didn’t want to ruin my newfound reputation.

  “I ran away after my mom died.”

  She sighed. “The good thing about being blind is that all of your other senses are heightened. I can hear a lie a mile away. It’s in the sound of your voice. My momma died when I was young. I know the pain and, child, you ain’t got that pain. Don’t lie in my house.”

  I was shocked and swallowed hard. I could feel the sweat on my forehead. “I don’t want you to judge me.”

  She turned toward the sound of my voice. “Child, only God can judge. I won’t judge you. Ever.”

  “Well . . . I got kicked out of my house.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t wanna say.”

  “Child, if you plan on being in this house, I need to know your background.”

  I sighed. “Because I got pregnant.”

  May almost dropped her medicine. “How old are you?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “And how far along are you?”

  “I’m not.” A thousand emotions surfaced, ranging from anger to dread. I suddenly felt claustrophobic and needed to escape. “She beat the baby out of me and then kicked me out.”

  May’s medicine fell from her hands and at least twenty pills slid off of the table on to the ground. I quickly dropped to my knees, picking the medicine up. They all ranged in color and size. It was impossible to know which pills belonged where but I busied myself with trying to figure it out so that I wouldn’t have to stare at May’s shocked expression.

  “Don’t worry about the pills, child. Norma will sort them out when she gets here.” Right after she said it, the grandfather clock came alive, singing. “It’s twelve o’clock. You can leave. I’ll have more for you to do tomorrow.”

  “Thank you,” I said, almost too low, and left her house. I was thankful to have finally escaped, like I always did whenever faced with my problems.

  I came back the next day just as Norma was leaving. Her kids waved at me as they passed me by on the walkway. She stopped and talked to me, and, by the indifferent look on her face, I could tell May hadn’t told her about my miscarriage. It gave me some comfort.

  “Thanks for helping out yesterday. I have a new list for you so that you’ll know which medicine goes in her cases just in case another incident happens. She also has a list of things written she needs you to do.” She smiled and followed her kids to the car.

  She didn’t lie when she said May had a big list of work for me. I had to look over the list a few times before it fully registered. I was happy about it because it would keep my mind busy. I started with going out back into her shed and getting a ladder. Spring was around the corner and May needed to get the leaves out of the gutter. She also wanted me to rake the old leaves left over on the ground from fall, organize her shed, and lay soil down in her garden so that we could plant flowers. I didn’t understand what flowers did for a blind person but I guessed it was for others to enjoy when they came over.

  I was good and sweaty by the time Dante came over. He scared the mess out of me as I was climbing down the ladder after cleaning the shutter.

  He tried to hold in his amusement at my reaction to him scaring me. “What are you doing?”

  “Cleaning the gutter.” I folded my arms defensively. I really didn’t know how to take to men, even the ones who barely looked eighteen.

  “Need help?”

  “Ain’t you supposed to be playing chess?”

  “It’s checkers, and no. I don’t always come to play checkers. Sometimes her medicine kicks in before I get here and she goes to sleep so I start helping out around the house. I saw that long list and I know you need help.”

  “No, I don’t,” I said with an attitude, hoping it’d make him go away. I had no desire to spend time near a boy, not after th
e heartbreak I’d suffered. “It keeps me busy.” I started stuffing leaves into a trash bag, ignoring Dante’s presence.

  “It keeps you busy from what?”

  I stood straight, facing him. “Can you leave me alone before I go off!”

  He laughed, immune to my attitude, and walked away. I began shoving leaves into the trash bag with more speed than before. After I was done with the gutters, I worked on raking up the yard, which took me an hour. After I was done, I set the bags by the Dumpster and began working on the shed.

  I lost track of time, but didn’t care. It felt good doing things, staying busy. At some point, I started to hum the old Negro spiritual songs I used to sing whenever I sat outside during church service as a child. I hadn’t sung those songs in years, and I never did understand why that church sang all of the old songs instead of the gospel songs of that time.

  A knock on the shed made me jump. Norma stood in the doorway. Had I been in the shelter for that long?

  “Momma said you’d been out here all day cleaning up the shed. She figured it would take you a week clean all of this up.” She stepped inside, looking around at the organized shelves and tools that I hung on the walls. “It’s after six. I’m making dinner, are you hungry?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Well, come on inside.” Norma smiled, shutting the door as she left.

  I looked around the shed at all of the work I’d accomplished. It felt good doing something besides sitting in a house all day being yelled at for stupid reasons. I felt a sense of purpose truly begin to form. I knew I was meant to be here, helping May. In the process of helping her, I would also be helping myself.

  I locked the shed up and headed back inside. I entered into the dining room, watching Norma’s two kids do their homework and play around. The boy was the hyper one, running around the table multiple times until his mom yelled for him to sit down. The girl stayed quiet, working on her homework and looking up at me every now and then. Norma headed back to the kitchen.

  “How old are you?” I asked her, taking a seat at the table.

  “We’re both seven,” the girl answered.

  My eyebrows rose. “Who’s older?”

  “We’re twins,” the boy answered, bouncing in his chair.

  Twins. Like Faith and me. The boy reminded me of myself, hyper and happy, while the girl sat quietly and thoughtfully, like Faith. It almost brought tears to my eyes.

  I turned to the boy. “Did you get presents on your birthday?”

  His face lit up. “Momma got me a Spiderman toy and my cake was Spiderman!”

  “Mine was a princess cake!” the girl said. I smiled at the equality, something I didn’t know myself. It made me happy knowing other children didn’t have to ask why their mommy didn’t love them.

  Norma returned with two plates and set each by the kids. She gathered their homework and put it in their book bags. May came into the dining area and Norma helped her to get seated. Norma went back into the kitchen and emerged with two more plates for May and me and then disappeared again. She returned with her own plate and sat across from May at the end of the table.

  “Let’s grace the food,” she said and bowed her head. I watched as May and the kids bowed their heads, wondering what they were doing. “Dear Father, giver of all good, accept our praise and bless our food through Jesus Christ, our blessed Lord. Amen.”

  They all lifted their heads and began to eat. I frowned. “What was that?”

  “What?” Norma asked.

  “When you grace the food, why do you do that?”

  “You’ve never graced your food?”

  I shook my head. Momma never allowed any prayers at the dinner table. If Faith prayed over her food, it was done in silence.

  It was May who answered my question. “We bless our food because we want to honor God in everyday activities, like eating. It also reminds us that God is the source of all we have. He gave us food and we thank and bless it so that we may be healthy.”

  I nodded my understanding and dug into my food. Norma cooked baked chicken marinated in balsamic vinaigrette, with greens and mashed potatoes. She was a good cook and I loved everything about her food. I felt full and healthy for the first time. It was the most normal meal I’d eaten in a while.

  Norma had the next day off and didn’t need me around the house, but I still came anyway. I liked being in that house, around May and Norma.

  When I arrived, the kids were outside playing in the yard. May sat on the porch, drinking lemonade. I said hello and walked into the house. Norma was sitting at the table in the kitchen, talking on the phone. “Can we get set up on a repayment plan? What about a modification?” She sighed. “I just don’t want to lose this house. My grandmother has been living here since she got married!” She sighed again. “Fine, just send the paperwork, thanks.”

  She turned around and saw me standing there and sighed again. “How much did you hear?”

  “Not much,” I lied.

  “Well, whatever you heard, don’t tell my grandmother. She doesn’t know that we are underwater,” Norma said.

  “May is your grandma?” I was surprised. “I thought she was your mom.”

  “Because I call her Momma?” Norma smiled. “Momma May, that’s what all her grandkids call her. She practically raised us. Momma is the kind of woman all women should aspire to be like. If it wasn’t for her, me and my siblings would be reckless and into drugs like my real mother. You know how that is, don’t you?”

  “Huh?”

  “Well, I assumed your mother was on drugs. No normal mother would allow their child to be homeless.” She covered her mouth quickly. “Unless she passed away.”

  “No, she’s alive.”

  “Come in here and sit down.” I did as she said. “Why were you homeless then, Hope?”

  Just as I was about to explain, Dante walked in with the twins clinging to him. He smiled at me and then directed his attention to Norma. “Your brats are destroying the yard,” Dante said.

  Norma stood up and guided her kids into the kitchen. “Time for homework!”

  Dante took a seat where Norma had been sitting. “You goin’ to church Sunday?”

  I tensed. “No.”

  Dante frowned. “May thinks you are. She told me to come talk to you about the youth program we have.”

  “I . . . I ain’t interested, but thanks.” I went to stand but Dante grabbed my arm, gently coaxing me back in my seat.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t go to church,” I said in irritation. I was tired of people asking me.

  “Why?”

  “Can you stop asking me questions? I don’t like you!” I screamed, standing up.

  May stormed into the house, walking quicker than I’d ever seen her walk. She stopped a few feet away from me and pointed her cane. Her anger was evident. “Child, don’t you come up in my house being nasty and fussin’ at the boy because he asked you a question. That ain’t nothing but the devil.”

  I flashed back to all the times Momma had called me the devil and sat down in the chair, defeated. Even an old church woman thought I was the devil.

  “I ain’t the devil,” I mouthed back.

  “I ain’t say you was. I said being nasty and fussin’ is the devil’s doing and ain’t got no place in my house! I’ll wash your mouth out with soap! Tell the boy you’re sorry,” she demanded.

  I looked at Dante, who sat smugly in his chair, smiling like he’d won a prize.

  I frowned. “I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t believe her!” he said quickly and smiled wider. I wanted to knock him out.

  “I’m sorry for yelling and fussing at you, Dante,” I said, exaggerating my pronunciation of each word.

  He tried hard not to laugh, which lightened my mood up. I guessed it was somewhat funny. I never had much of a sense of humor.

  “Come outside and talk to me, Hope,” May said, turning back around and feeling her way back to the porch with her cane. I sighed an
d followed. May nestled in her chair, drinking a glass of water. I took a seat beside her and waited for her to speak. She didn’t say anything for a while, and I started to wonder if she ever would.

  “I’ve been thinking about what you told me about your mother beating you,” she said. “Something similar happened to me when I was around your age. Back in 1948 I got my first job as a maid for the mayor and his wife. They were a beautiful couple and everyone admired them. The mayor had a certain charm that many women fell for. He slept around frequently. His wife knew about it, but being a woman in 1948 and having a strong opinion that objected her husband’s was unheard of.

  “I had been working there for about two months, everything was going good. The mayor was always away. He was very much into his work. His wife stayed home and looked after the kids. During the winter, the mayor came around more. I noticed he had a drinking problem. There wasn’t a day that went by that winter where I didn’t see him drinking. I used to hear them argue upstairs. The next day I’d help his wife cover the bruises on her face with powder and makeup. I noticed how the mayor would watch me when I cleaned, it was how he watched the white women around town.

  “In late January, his wife was ill in her pregnancy and was put on bed rest most of the day. I was working in the kitchen, cleaning the dishes when the mayor came behind me and began rubbing on me. I was afraid that he’d beat me if I didn’t cooperate, beat me and then kick me out. I wouldn’t have had a place to stay. So I let him touch me. He whispered in my ears, clasping my hips, telling me he loved my brown skin. Said he always had a fantasy for Negro women. And then he stumbled away.

  “Same thing happened the second night. This time I was cleaning off the table when he came from behind and pushed me onto it. He . . . Well, I don’t want to get too detailed. Somehow, memories like that never fade. I used to think that it was best to tuck them deep inside so that they wouldn’t bother me from day to day. I was wrong. We have to let it out and give it to God. Well, he had his way with me that night. It happened over and over again for almost two months, and then I found out I was pregnant.