Never Say Never

by Lisa Wingate

  Right under where the 4-H picture’d been, there was an old photo stickin’ out, the corner tore off a little bit, the colors brown and swirled like sugar going to caramel. I knew what it was. Mamee’s wedding picture. The one where she was sittin’ in a chair with Pap behind her, her dark eyes starin’ into the camera, sad and quiet. Until I heard the story about Macerio, I’d always thought she looked that way because she was so young to be gettin’ married—just sixteen. After she told me about Macerio, the next time I come across that picture, I wondered if he was the reason for her long face.

  I pulled the photo out and set it on the table in front of Obeline, then tapped a finger to it. “That’s my mamee and pap when they first got married. Mercy! They’re just babies there. Pap was the kind of man who worked hard and just never said much, but Mamee was sure somethin’ special to me. Did you ever know them two? They had a little old house right down on the bayou. Don’t recall that it ever had much paint on it. It mighta been blue, or green at one time …” I drifted off, trying to recall the place. “Had a big ol’ screen porch all the way across the front, and a lane that went on up to the rice fields.”

  Obeline tipped the picture so she could see it. “That’d be lotta houses on the bayou, sha. Lotta rice field in that country. Everybody farm the rice.” Chuckling, she tapped a finger to the picture. “Gal-ee, she a Cajun gal, though, is she? You know how to tell a Cajun and a Creole and a regular farmer from each other?”

  “No, ma’am, I don’t.” I was tryin’ not to sound too awful disappointed that Mamee’s picture didn’t jog any memories.

  Obeline chuckled again. “Mais, regular farmer, he look at the rice field and he see lotta rice. Cajun, he look out there, he see jambalaya. Creole farmer, he look out there, he see Creole rice ’n’ shrimp remoulade. Hoo-eee! That’s good!”

  The three of us laughed together, then I looked through the box some more, but I couldn’t find the picture of Mamee’s little house. No telling where it’d ended up over the years.

  Someplace down in my heart, I got a sad feelin’, thinking that, even though Lauren and Kemp knew all about the Eldridge side of the family, the history of my mama’s people would end up lost forever. Maybe before Obeline and Sister Mona left, I’d take down some recipes for that bayou food and pass them along to the kids. It’d be somethin’ from Mama’s country, anyhow.

  “Well, I guess I can’t find them pictures of the house,” I told them finally. “Probably wouldn’t mean much anyway. That’s been a lot of years ago. Long time since I even been there. Not since my mamee died, and I was just fifteen then. I was right there on the porch of that little house with her the night she passed on. We were shellin’ peas one minute, and the next I heard the angels comin’ and she dropped the bowl. It was the strangest thing.”

  I left off the tale, since there wasn’t any more point in it, and I took a bite of my pie. When I finished chewin’, I noticed everyone was still looking at me, like they were waiting for the rest. “There was a story she told me that night, right before she passed on, and I always did wonder about it.”

  “I never knew that.” Imagene’s eyes got round.

  “You never say a word, all the time,” Lucy added.

  I looked down into my coffee, watching a little pool of Splenda float around like an island. I thought about the tale of Mamee and the flood. “Guess it seemed like a secret, kind of. But really, it ain’t. Anybody who’d know anything about it’s been gone long ago, anyhow.”

  “What that story, cher?” Sister Mona asked, and pulled the wed-din’ picture over so she could look.

  I took a big breath then let it out, my mind wandering back. “Well, it was a story about a hurricane, at first,” I said, and then I went on and told them the tale about Mamee, and the flood, and Macerio, just like she told me. I ended it up after she run off with him on the back of his horse by the dark of midnight. “That’s as far as she got. She never said what happened after that. She just whispered his name real quiet, like a breath almost, and then she passed. I always wondered if she saw him again when she was driftin’ off to heaven.”

  “Mercy,” Imagene breathed, her eyes wellin’ up. Imagene’ll cry over anything.

  “How is the angel when you see them?” Lucy asked. “I wonder about that lotta time when I go-een to be a Christian. In Japan, we got hundred, hundred, hundred god and demon, different picture all places, but when I go-een to be a Christian, I wonder how it is to see some real angel, not just so many picture.”

  “I didn’t see ’em.” My mind went back to that day on the porch. “I just heard their comin’—like a roaring in my ears, so loud, and I felt a rush of somethin’ cool, like the sweetest breeze ever, like it come across a meadow full of bluebonnets, and then it got quiet and the heat come back in, and I knew Mamee was gone. I just …”

  Obeline leaned across in front of me to take Mamee’s picture, and the look on her face made me stop talking. It was like she was seein’ a ghost. “Obeline?” I whispered. The room got quiet and still, like that old buildin’ was holding its breath, waiting.

  “You remember somethin’, sha?” Sister Mona slid a hand around Obeline and rubbed the hump between her shoulder blades.

  Obeline slowly shook her head, staring hard into Mamee’s face, back into the past. “I don’ know this gal, but I know that story. My big sista, Belvette, she tell me long time ago.”

  My heart got up in my throat, so I could hear it in my ears like a drum poundin’, and the air in the room seemed heavy and thick, like the evenings in the bayou. “You know about my mamee? About her and Macerio?”

  Obeline nodded. “Belvette, she was there when this gal gonna have the bébé. My mère, she the midwife then. A white man, he come fetch Mère, say his daughter got a bébé comin’ soon. Mère, she take Belvette along so Belvette can help out some.” Obeline held up the picture, tipping her head back so she could see it through her bifocals.

  “Belvette, she come back home near mornin’, and I feel her crawl up in the bed, and she jus’ shiverin’. I roll over, curl up close, ask, ‘What happen, sha?’

  “Belvette tell me about the night. She say, when Mère get there, that little mother-gal, she been hard in labor long time already, and ain’t nobody there but her and the man, her papa. Her papa, he tell Mère, that gal’s husband gone pickin’ up some cows in Houston. So Mère, she tend that poor gal all night. Near mornin’ two bébé come, but that gal, she too wore out to know nothin’ by then. She got one boy, one girl. That girl bébé she got red hair, like the mama, but she kinda weak and quiet. The boy, he scream loud ’n’ long. Mère tell the man, you got two grandbébé. But the man, he don’ say nothin’. He pick up the boy bébé, then he tell Mère he gonna carry him to the big house, to the grandma. But when Mère see the man in the eye, he got a bad look on his face. He go out the room and out the door. Mère say, ‘Belvette, you creep along after the man, watch out, see what he gonna do. I don’ believe he gonna take that bébé to the big house.’ ”

  Right then, Imagene gasped and so did I. Lucy just sat there shakin’ her head.

  “Mama, you don’ ever tell me that story,” Sister Mona breathed.

  “Been long time ago,” Obeline said, and then she went on. “Belvette, she creep along after the man. She quiet, like a shadow. She mighty scared, but she go. She hide and watch, and sure ’nuf, that man, he go on back in the bayou, leave that boy bébé on the water-shore. Jus’ set it down and go away, like it ain’t nothin’. Belvette, she wait till he gone, then she take up the bébé, sit and rock him. She got mal pris! Lotta trouble. She scared outta her mind, sha. She worry that man gonna come back. She worry big gator gonna come. She worry da Rugaru gonna slip up in the bayou, carry her off and eat her up. She mighty glad when Mère come. She cry out, ‘Co faire? Co faire?’ She want to know why that man leave the bébé where the gator and the wildcat gonna come get it.

  “Mère tell her to shush up till they done walk well away. Then she give Belvette tha
t story you just told, ’bout the gal and the Mexican boy. ‘De’pouille!’ she say. ‘It ain’t any secret. Everybody know that gal, she run off wit’ a Mexican boy, and the papa catch up wit’ them the next day. The papa, he beat her beau half dead, then he tell the gal she either come home or that Mexican boy gonna be all dead. He carry his daughter-gal home, marry her off real quick to the neighbor man, and pretty soon, she big, round, gonna have the bébé.”

  Obeline stopped talking and reached across the table to get a napkin, then mopped her forehead like even telling that story was hard. Not a one of us took a drink or made a move. We were just froze right there in our seats. I heard Kemp cross the room to where Kai was over by the windows, but I didn’t even look to see what they were doing. I just waited for Obeline to give the rest of that tale.

  Her hand shook while she took a sip of her coffee. “Then Belvette, she ask why it so bad that the gal have a bébé. Mère open the blanket, she say, ‘Belvette, this a Mexican bébé, and he look like a Mexican bébé.’ ”

  “Belvette, she look real hard, and she see it’s true. That bébé, he got black hair, brown skin, not red hair, white skin, like that girl bébé have. Belvette ask Mère, ‘What we gonna do?’ ” Obeline stopped for a sip of coffee again, and we hung on her every move until she started back into the story.

  “Mère say they gonna take that bébé to the harvest camp, where the Mexican folk stay, and that’s what they do. They jus’ walk into the harvest camp wit’ that wailin’ bébé and give it over. The Mexican folk, they promise to take that bébé down to the papa in Mexico, and Belvette, she never know no more about it. On the way home, Mère get right up in her face and say, ‘Belvette, you don’ tell nobody ’bout this, sha. Never. Fiank! That man crazy. He leave a little bébé in the swamp, he kill us both, sure enough.’ ”

  Obeline made a slash mark across her neck, then shook her head. “Belvette never tell a soul but me, and I don’ say a word. Not all my life.” She stopped talking and sank back in her chair, wore out by her own story.

  I sat there feeling like maybe I was dreamin’ and I’d wake up soon. I remembered Mamee talking about the day my mama was born. Musta been she never even knew she had a baby boy that was carried off to the south. I guessed my pap never even knew it, either. He wasn’t the kind of man who woulda gone along with leaving a baby out in the bayou to die. My great-grandaddy musta made that choice all on his own, in the dead of night, and took the secret to his grave. “Mercy,” I whispered as it all sunk in. “Mamee had a little boy growin’ up down in Mexico, and she never even knew it. Pap wasn’t my real granddaddy. Macerio was my granddaddy.” Just thinking about that turned my mind inside out like an old shirt that’s faded on one side and bright on the other. “Could be I’ve got people down in Mexico.”

  “Could be,” Imagene agreed, looking as surprised as I was. “Imagine that. Wouldn’t it …” She stopped and pointed toward the window. Outside, Betty Prine’s car was passing by. We all just watched it go, and for a minute I forgot about Mamee’s baby and remembered about Betty. In another few seconds, she’d be long gone, and we wouldn’t have to worry about her at least. I felt like an outlaw that’d just ducked behind a tree so the cavalry would ride right by.

  Imagene chuckled and waved. “Good riddance to rotten rubbish.”

  “Amen to that,” I agreed, and felt a grin tugging hard at me. We’d beat Betty Prine at her own game, and I’d found out the truth about Mamee and Macerio, and I’d learned I might have a secret family down in Mexico. A day can’t get much better than that.

  But you know what they say about pride before the fall. I guess you could figure it was pride that done it, or me just bein’ a little too careless in all the excitement. But really it was a cat, a dog, and a bird that chewed up our plans like meat through a sausage grinder and turned that day from a miracle to a disaster in a hurry.

  Just as the Prines’ car was passing out of sight, Miss Peach’s motley gray cat shot across the street like a bullet. Harold swerved to miss it, and right when he did, that silly dog, Radar, run across the road after the cat. Harold swerved again, skidded on an oil slick, and bumped right up on the curb.

  By the time Imagene, Lucy, Kemp, Kai, and me run to the sidewalk to make sure everyone was all right, Harold and Betty were gettin’ out to look at the car. By then, the cat’d climbed a light pole, and the dog had him treed. Kemp and Kai headed across the street hollerin’ at the dog, which is where the bird come in. All the commotion woke a fat gray pigeon on the highline. While stretchin’ his wings, he raised his tail and sent down a blessing that landed smack in the middle of Betty Prine’s wash-and-curl. Before we knew what was happenin’, Hurricane Betty was headed our way in a dead gallop.

  She didn’t stop squealing until she come up the sidewalk, run into my shop, and stuck her head in one of the hair sinks. By the time Imagene, Lucy, and me made it in there, she was sputterin’ and sprayin’ water everywhere, and cursing that pigeon in a way that, well … wasn’t strictly biblical.

  It was just about then, and both at the same time, Imagene and me realized that, not six foot from Betty, right there at the coffee counter, was Sister Mona and her crew, gaping at Betty like a bunch of fish in a bowl. Soon as Betty come up out of that sink, she was gonna know we’d pulled a fast one on her.

  “Oh lands!” I ran to the sink, grabbed the spray nozzle from Betty’s hand and hollered, “Just stay down there, Betty. It ain’t all out yet.” I turned up the water and leaned close to Imagene and Lucy. “Get them ladies outta here. Now!”

  “What? What?” Betty put her hands on the edge of the basin and tried to raise up, and I squirted her in the face, accidentally, of course.

  “Nothin’, Betty.” I shoved her into the sink again. “Just stay down there.”

  Lucy grabbed for the drain stopper to plug the sink so it’d fill up while Betty’s head was in there, and I batted her hand away.

  “We can’t drown Betty Prine,” Imagene whispered, but then she looked like she was thinkin’ about it, too.

  “What?” Betty tried to raise up again.

  “Hold still, Betty. You don’t want that stuff drippin’ in your mouth! You’ll get worms.” I squirted her in the face again, then batted a hand at Lucy and Imagene, and pointed toward the stairs.

  “For heaven’s sake!” Betty stood up and felt around for a towel, then stumbled forward with wet hair in her face and her arms out like Night of the Living Dead. I chased her with the squirter, sayin’, “Come back here, Betty. That stuff’s gonna stain!”

  Imagene and Lucy hurried through the shop and tried to pull them ladies out of their chairs and get them moving.

  “For heaven’s sake, Donetta Bradford!” Betty roared, with a backward swipe that caught the sprayer and knocked it out of my hand. It flew through the air like a live snake, spittin’ water until it’d reeled back into the sink. Betty stumbled over a chair, caught hold of a hair cape, and mashed it to her face, and I knew we were sunk.

  When Betty come out from behind that cape, she was lookin’ just the right direction to see Lucy and Imagene trying to sneak them ladies up the stairs. “Donetta Bradford!” she roared, pointing a finger and shaking it in the air. “Donetta Bradford, what is the meaning of this?” She swung from Sister Mona’s crew to me, and her eyes got smaller, and smaller, just like a pit bull’s right before it bites. The room turned quiet, and she growled, “We’ll see about this. We’ll see about this right now. You just wait until I get ahold of the fire marshal.”

  About that time, Harold lumbered up to the door, looking confused, like Harold usually does. Betty caught him on the way out and spun him around like a top. “Come, Harold. We’ll be delaying our trip. We have a phone call to make.” She slammed the door on the way out, and we all stood there watching the glass shudder to a stop.

  “Uh-oh,” Imagene said, the first to speak up.

  “Hoos-ten, we have a prob-lamb,” Lucy added.

  “We got more than a problem
.” I knew that much was true. “This is a full-scale disaster.”

  Sister Mona and Obeline started apologizing then, which only made things feel even worse.

  “Don’t ya’ll worry a bit,” I told them. “Y’all just go on up there to the rooms and make yourselves to home. This building’s been in my family for over a hundred years. No Betty Prine or anybody else is gonna tell me what I can do with it. We’ll work things out, don’t you worry.”

  Imagene, Lucy, and me stood there watching and trying to look sure of ourselves as the ladies headed for the back stairs.

  “Lucy, call over to the county offices and see if you can find out where that new fire marshal’s at,” I said. On any given day, catching county officials in the office was about as likely as catching a west Texas raindrop in a shot glass. Normally, if you wanted to complain about potholes in the road, or a dead deer that needed to be drug off, or signs down, you had to leave a message, and you knew better than to hold your breath while you waited for them to call back.

  If we were lucky, today would be that kind of day.

  I said a little prayer while Lucy hurried off to check.

  “Imagene, we got to give this a good think, and quick,” I said, listening with one ear while Lucy got out the phone book, then dialed the county offices. “We gotta come up with something to stop Betty Prine before she brings the whole county commissioners court down on us. You know she can do it, too. Her and Harold got connections all over that place.”

  “Ain’t no amount of thinkin’s gonna work this out.” Imagene’s voice was quiet and low, the kind someone uses at a funeral. “Just as soon as Betty Prine puts in a complaint to the fire marshal, it’ll be out of her hands, anyway. Lands, Netta, the same thing could happen to you that happened to Bodie Rogers and the theater. You could wind up closed down and out of business. Then Betty and Harold’ll go build their fancy new hotel. You and Lucy’ll be out of a job, and … and Frank’ll lose his shop, and …”