A Song of Home

by Susie Finkbeinger

  “It’s just a ghost story.”

  “No it ain’t.” Ray shook his head.

  “You too scared to tell me?” I asked, crossing my arms.

  There wasn’t a story ever told that could get goose pimples raised up on Ray Jones’s arms. But, boy, did he like scaring the willies out of me whenever he got the chance.

  “I ain’t too scared,” he said. “It just ain’t a ghost story. It’s real. Bob said so.”

  “Since when do you believe anything Bob says?” I asked.

  Bob was full of ghost stories and old town gossip that nearly never proved to be true. Why anybody’d listen to him was beyond me. Whenever he got to telling one of his tales, I’d just roll my eyes and walk away.

  Besides, any story Bob told usually ended up giving me nightmares for weeks, Ray was right about that. I sure didn’t need the help.

  “Bob’s dad told him,” Bert went on. “He said it’s a true spook story.”

  “You really wanna hear it?” Ray asked, looking me in the eye and shaking his head. “’Cause I ain’t fixin’ to get you mad at me for tellin’ you somethin’ that’ll keep you up all night.”

  “I guess so,” I answered.

  I leaned back against one of the posts that held the coop together. Bert scooted nearer to me, resting on the same post. It took all my power to resist the urge to put my elbow into his side to make him give me some room.

  “From what Bob says, ten years ago there was a whole bunch of folks here in town that ran with the Klan,” Ray started. “You know what the Ku Klux Klan is, right?”

  “Course I do,” I said. “I’m not stupid.”

  “My dad wasn’t one of them,” Bert said. “He’s always been friendly with the coloreds.”

  “Most men didn’t join up, I guess,” Ray went on. “But there were enough for them to have meetings and cause a little trouble.”

  “You know whose dad was in the Klan?” Bert’s nose wrinkled like he smelled something rotten. “Delores Fitzpatrick’s.”

  “Everybody knows that,” I said.

  I sighed and looked away from Bert and blinked long and slow at Ray, hoping he’d think I was getting bored with his story and get on with it.

  “That’s right. Bob told me that, too,” Ray said. “He wasn’t one of the bosses, I guess. He never had enough money to be a boss over nobody.”

  “Who cares?” I asked. “What’s it got to do with anything?”

  “Well, seems the Klan around here never had much chance to do nothin’ excitin’,” Ray said. “Weren’t no Negroes livin’ around except the farmhands and such. Never did cause them boys trouble on account the farmers protected them. They never did go after the Mexicans, neither. They’d pick at harvest for hardly anything. Wouldn’t make sense to drive them outta town. And there weren’t no Catholics for them to go after except for in Adrian, and that was too far. So, the Ku Kluxers just sat around playing poker.”

  A picture formed in my head of a handful of men in those white robes and pointed hats like I’d seen in the news reels. They were all around a table dealing out cards. With their faces covered up, I didn’t figure they’d have to worry about holding a poker face.

  “One day a man and woman came to town and moved into a house on Astrid Street. You know the one.” Ray turned his head and spit on the ground. “They come lookin’ for work and such.”

  “Nah, they came because her family lived here,” Bert said.

  “Didn’t neither.”

  “Sure they did. My dad said so.”

  “What’s it matter?” I asked. “Just go on with the story.”

  “All right. I will,” Ray said. “All the folks in the houses nearby watched them movin’ their stuff in. Wasn’t long before the Klan boys got word that the man was colored and his wife was white. They didn’t like that too much. So one night they went over and put a cross up on the front yard, burning so bright most the whole town saw it. Then they went in and dragged that man out. The Fitzpatrick man, he had something to prove, I guess on account he was poor.”

  Ray stopped and cleared his throat and shoved his hands into his pockets.

  “What’d he do?” I asked.

  “Well, he got him a rope outta somebody’s truck and strung it around the Negro’s neck. Hung him right up a tree that was in the schoolyard.” He leaned forward. “Hung him till he died.”

  I looked Ray right in his eyes. If I hadn’t known any better I might’ve thought he was about to break. But he blinked and turned his attention to the pigeon as if he was waiting for her to do something real special.

  “Wife of his?” Bert said. “Died of heartbreak that very same night. Their spirits haunt the house. You know, the one that’s all boarded up.”

  “Why’d you tell me that?” I asked, with my eyes still on Ray.

  He didn’t answer me, just kept his eyes on the bird.

  “Ray, I’m talking to you,” I said, my voice near a holler. “Why’d you tell me something so awful as that?”

  Bert tried putting his hand on my shoulder. I hit it away.

  “Don’t touch me,” I said.

  “It probably ain’t true,” Ray said, turning toward me. “You know Bob’s stories ain’t never true.”

  “Well, don’t tell me any of his fool stories anymore, Ray,” I said, looking up at him. “Just don’t.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and I knew he meant it. “Why’re you so mad?”

  What I told him was that I didn’t know. But that was a lie and he knew it. The truth was I didn’t know how he could tell a story about a man hanging after what his father’d done. Seemed to me, that picture of his own pa strung up in their old dugout back in Red River would’ve been plenty enough to keep him from telling something stupid like that.

  “I never meant to—” Ray started. Then he stopped talking.

  I could’ve sworn he was about to start crying.

  Seeing Ray cry would’ve broke me for sure. I pushed past Bert and out the door of the coop, not caring that it slammed shut behind me. My eyes stung, but I willed myself not to cry for a second time that day.

  Across the street and up the steps, I opened the front door of our house and stepped in. There was no smell of supper cooking. The dining room table hadn’t been set. On the kitchen counter was a half cup of black coffee that’d turned cold. The door to Mama’s room was open and I peeked in. Her bed was a mess and her shoes weren’t lined up against the wall where she always kept them.

  “She’s gone,” I whispered, my heart beating fast. “She left us again.”

  My stomach turned and I was sure I’d be sick. I rushed to the kitchen, surprised that I didn’t trip over my own two feet getting there. Every thought in my head stopped and then started twirling fast as ever, making me feel like I was going to collapse from the dizziness. My chest tightened up and I couldn’t seem to get any breath.

  “Pearl?” Ray called from the living room. “Where’re you at?”

  I stepped out from the kitchen. I must’ve looked like I’d seen a ghost for the way he rushed to me and shook his head.

  “I didn’t know the story’d bother you so much,” he said.

  I shook my head. “It’s not that.”

  “What then?”

  “Ray …” I said, feeling the burning of tears in my eyes. “I knew she would. I just knew it.”

  “What’re you talkin’ about?”

  “She’s gone.”

  “Nah,” Ray said. “Bet she’s just takin’ a rest. Did you check her room? Or maybe she had to get to the store for somethin’ she forgot.”

  “I looked.” My eyes clenched shut and the tears rolled down my cheeks. “She’s not there.”

  “You stay here,” Ray said. “I’ll take a look-see around. All right?”

  I did as he said, standing right where he’d left me. All through the house, his bare feet slapped against the floors. Up the stairs, through the hallway, back down the steps, across the living room.

 
He checked the whole house twice over and still didn’t see her. Finally, he went to the back door and pulled it open.

  “Pearl,” Ray called. “You best go get your daddy.”

  I gasped for breath, opening and closing my mouth like a fish that’d just got hooked and pulled up from the water. I used the backs of my wrists to rub at my eyes.

  “What is it?” I asked, my voice coming as nothing more than a whisper.

  “She’s here,” he said before stepping out.

  All of me stopped feeling. The racing feet and speeding mind slowed. In dreams I’d sometimes glide over the floor and that was how it felt just then. Like gliding. In a dream I might’ve twirled or the room might have grown longer so I’d never seem to reach the back door.

  But it wasn’t a dream, I’d pinched myself to be sure. And I did reach that door and step through. Mama hadn’t left us.

  Mama was still at home.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  She was leaning against the edge of the back porch, Mama was, both hands on either side of her belly, her face pulled tight like she was in pain. Her feet were spread wide on the ground. Ray’d hopped off the porch and stood in front of her, his face close to hers.

  “Get Mr. Spence,” Mama said through her teeth. “And get the doctor.”

  Ray looked up at me, “Go on. Get your daddy,” he said.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “It’s too early,” Mama said, her voice a sob. “It isn’t time yet.”

  “We’ll be right back, ma’am,” Ray said. “You’ll be okay here?”

  Mama nodded and pinched her face, breathing heavy out of her mouth.

  Ray stepped up on the porch.

  “Get your daddy,” he said. “Quick.”

  “What’s happening?”

  “Go, Pearl!” he yelled.

  It was like getting woke up suddenly, Ray yelling at me, and I turned and ran to the front door.

  I ran without thinking of where I was going. Somehow I made it to the police station, up the steps and through the door, across the entry way and to Daddy’s desk.

  He wasn’t there and I thought I might scream for all the fear that burned through me.

  “Daddy …” I started, but couldn’t finish.

  “Darlin’?” he said, coming out of Mayor Winston’s office. “What is it?”

  “Mama.” It was all I managed to get out.

  He didn’t wait to hear more. He took my hand and we rushed, fast as we could, all the way home.

  Ray sat on the front porch, Bert standing beside him. Both boys had their eyes on the grass as if they were watching it grow. Daddy let go of my hand and went up the steps past Ray and into the house.

  I made to follow him in, but Ray stood, blocking me.

  “Let me by,” I said.

  He shook his head.

  “Come on, Ray.” I moved to one side to get around him, but he just went in front of me again. “I gotta see to Mama.”

  “My dad’s in there,” Bert said. “He’ll help her.”

  “We should go,” Ray whispered to me. “Maybe go for a walk in the woods. See Mr. and Mrs. Seegert for a bit.”

  I turned toward him, not really understanding what he was saying.

  “Come on, Pearl,” he said.

  “We never had supper,” I told him.

  “We’ll be all right.” He put a hand on my arm. “I’ll bet Mrs. Seegert’s got something left over we can have.”

  “But Mama …” I looked back at the front door.

  “Pearl,” Ray said, taking my arm and giving it a tug.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” I tried making my voice fierce so he’d know I meant business. But it just came out as a squeak. “I don’t wanna leave Mama.”

  “She’ll be all right,” Bert said. “I promise.”

  “You can’t promise that,” I told him. “Nobody can promise something like that.”

  “Come on, Pearl.” Ray was gentle with me like he always was. “It’s no use stayin’ here. You can’t go in. You can’t.”

  “But she’s my mama.”

  “I know it,” he said.

  Just then I heard Mama cry out. I tried pushing past Ray again, but he was stronger than I was. Always had been, and I was sure he always would be. There wasn’t any use, me fighting against him. I couldn’t win.

  “Let’s just go for a walk,” he said.

  I let him take my one hand, Bert my other. The three of us walked to the tree line together.

  We stepped into the woods.

  It seemed the only thing to do.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  The path through the forest squelched under my shoes. I thought it might be warm enough for bare feet, so I took them off, rolled my socks down, and put my toes right in the squishy mud. Seemed about forever since I’d walked around without shoes on.

  Just thinking of how long I’d kept my feet covered made me feel like a part of my wild nature was taming. Sure seemed an awful shame to me.

  We walked quiet as we could, taking our sweet time getting to the hiding cabin. Seemed when I was under the reaching arms of the trees I could forget about all the happenings at the house on Magnolia Street.

  I decided right then if things got bad enough I could pack myself a bag, fill it with warm clothes and a couple cans of beans. I’d need to bring along an armload of blankets and my pillow. Maybe take a box of matches from the drawer in Mama’s kitchen. If I had to, I could stay out in the hiding cabin until winter came again, or longer if need be. I thought sure Ray would teach me how to build a fire. When I ran out of food I’d taken from the pantry, I’d just pray that God might see fit to do as He’d done with the Israelites in the wilderness. I’d always wondered what manna tasted like.

  “Go on,” I told the boys once we reached the cabin. “I wanna be alone for a bit.”

  They looked at each other and then asked if I was sure. I nodded and they went up the path toward the farm, leaving me to the quiet of the woods.

  I sat on the porch of the cabin, letting my feet swing just over the ground.

  A robin redbreast hopped along on the ground in front of me as if I wasn’t bothering her at all. Uncle Gus’d told me those birds were a sure sign that spring had come to stay for a bit. I was glad to see her.

  She tilted her head like she’d heard something before bending down and grabbing a beak-full of dried up grass and flitting off to someplace. I imagined she had a good start on a nest, one placed high enough in a tree that no raccoon or possum would bother climbing up to get the eggs. She’d be sure to have put it on the sturdiest branch she could find.

  From up in the treetops I heard a trilling, squeaking, chirping song. I looked up so I might just see which kind of feathered critter was singing. Sun beamed its way through the still bare-naked tree branches and warmed my face.

  Shutting my eyes, I pretended that birdsong was calling the mama bird with her mouthful of twigs back to the nest. Back to home.

  My eyes snapped open when I heard a crackling of twigs not too far from me. Craning my neck I saw Aunt Carrie coming my way, wearing an old pair of galoshes and an oversize barn coat I thought must have belonged to Uncle Gus.

  “I didn’t want to scare you,” she said.

  “It’s all right,” I told her. “You didn’t.”

  “I’m glad.” She stopped in the middle of the trail that led to the apple orchard behind her house. She had a book in her hand, one of her fingers stuck between the pages to keep her place. “The boys told me you were out here.”

  I let my shoulders slump.

  “Do you mind if I come sit beside you?” she asked. “You don’t have to talk to me. I brought a book. I could read to you if you’d like.”

  “It’s all right,” I said.

  “Thank you.” She continued on toward me, her forehead wrinkled and her eyes soft.

  She sat next to me on the porch, letting her feet swing right along with mine. She, too, turned her face to the treetops, squ
inting at the sun.

  “Sometimes when I’m troubled I come here,” she said.

  “You do?” I asked.

  “I do. It’s nice and quiet. A good place to just think for a little bit.”

  I understood what she meant and told her as much.

  She turned her face and looked at me sideways. “You’ve never read anything by Shakespeare, I don’t think.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “One day you will,” she said. “And I think you’ll love him.”

  I wasn’t sure who that Shakespeare was she was talking about, but if Aunt Carrie said I’d like him then I was sure I would.

  “He wrote a play I’m particularly fond of,” she said, holding up the book. “As You Like It.”

  “Is it funny?” I asked.

  “Some parts are. Now, I don’t want to tell you too much about it,” she said. “But I will tell you that there’s a forest in it. The forest of Arden.”

  I whispered the word after she’d said it, liking how noble and strong it sounded coming off my tongue.

  “One way or another, all of the characters end up in the forest,” she said. “It becomes a haven for them. A place where they may forget the troubles of the real world.”

  “It’s nice to have places like that,” I said.

  “Yes.” She nodded. “But soon, in the play, they realize that the forest is full of troubles all its own. A hungry lion, terrible weather, a lack of jobs.”

  “Did they stay in the forest of Arden?” I asked.

  “They did not,” she answered. “At the end, they go back to reality. They go back home.”

  She stood and offered me her hand, pulling me up. Then we stepped onto the porch and she pushed open the door to the cabin.

  “I sometimes come and stand here,” she said, stepping in and going right to the middle of the floor. “I look around at the walls and the windows and the floor and think about the history of this place.”

  I let myself think of the slaves that ran away, who stayed in that cabin for a night or two before heading to their freedom in Canada. I wanted to let her know that I was thinking on it, too, so I took her hand again. She squeezed mine real gently.