A Song of Home

by Susie Finkbeinger

  “Were there goblins?” I asked.

  “No. We were teasing her.” She smiled. “I wonder if Abby ever thinks about that when she goes to the cellar.”

  “Maybe she’s still too scared to go down there.”

  “That could be.”

  “What ever happened to Ruthie?” I asked. “Is she the woman in Ray’s story?”

  “She is. But it didn’t happen exactly the way he told it.” She found a small cluster of crumbs and wiped them off into her hand. Getting up, she went to the sink and brushed the specks off there. “She met Nehemiah at one of the speakeasies in Toledo.”

  All I knew of speakeasies were the stories Ray’d told me. He’d said they were where Al Capone sold his liquor and shot anybody that looked at him sideways.

  “Was he a gangster?” I asked.

  “Heavens, no.” Aunt Carrie turned toward me, her eyes wide. “It wasn’t that kind of speakeasy. No, Nehemiah never would have hurt a fly. He was one of the kindest men I ever knew.”

  “Him and Uncle Gus?” I asked.

  “Yes. Uncle Gus is a kind man, isn’t he?”

  I nodded.

  “Nehemiah played in a jazz band. I had never heard anyone who could play piano like he did.” She put her hands to her heart. “It was as if his fingers were water, they moved so fast over the keys, making waterfalls out of the notes. He was a wonder.”

  “You heard him play?” I asked.

  “Yes. Ruthie had me go with her to hear him play more than a few times. It was no wonder she fell in love with him.”

  I leaned my elbow on the table and Aunt Carrie didn’t get after me to mind my manners, so I rested my head on my hand and listened to the rest of her story.

  “Her parents were against it, of course, the two of them getting married,” she went on. “They wouldn’t even let him set foot in their house.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he was a colored man.” She sighed. “But Ruthie was a spitfire. She wasn’t one to take no for an answer when there was something she wanted. They eloped. Do you know what means?”

  I shook my head.

  “It means they ran off and had a justice of the peace marry them. They went to Toledo so no one could stop them. Her family vowed to never speak to her again.” Aunt Carrie leaned back against the counter. “Nehemiah wanted to bring Ruthie home to Bliss, but he couldn’t buy a house for her.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “Well, because a colored man isn’t allowed to own land in Bliss.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because of the color of his skin.” By the way Aunt Carrie’s eyes narrowed I could tell she didn’t think it was a good thing. “Ruthie asked her folks if they could sign for the house. They told her they wouldn’t.”

  “Why would they be so mean to her?”

  “They said that she had embarrassed them,” Aunt Carrie said. “It broke Ruthie’s heart. Gus ended up signing the paperwork for them. It always bothered him how the Bliss family just cut Ruth out of their lives. Not even Abigail would come visit. More than half a dozen times Ruthie’d sit right at that table, crying over all of it.”

  Aunt Carrie stirred her pot before lowering the flame.

  “At that time the Klan was getting strong here,” Aunt Carrie said. “I will never understand the men who joined up. I’d grown up thinking they were good and honorable, the men of this town. Their fathers and grandfathers had fought against slavery, and here they were …”

  She stopped and took in a deep breath.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “It’s so easy for me to feel hatred for them, Pearl, for what they did,” she answered, her face as flushed as I’d ever seen it. “It’s such a temptation to hate them.”

  I nodded, thinking I understood what she meant.

  “They didn’t burn a cross in the front yard and they didn’t lynch Nehemiah,” she said. “Those parts of the story are not true.”

  “Then he’s still alive?” I asked.

  “Sadly, no.”

  She told me the men were mad at Nehemiah for taking a job at the sawmill north of town that might’ve gone to a white man. And a woman that could’ve been married to a white man, too. They’d gone and knocked on the door, meaning trouble, but they didn’t have a rope.

  “Was Mr. Fitzpatrick there?” I asked.

  She nodded, closing her eyes.

  “Did he kill Nehemiah?”

  “No,” she said. “You’ve heard the story of Stephen, in the Bible?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Then you know of Saul holding the cloaks of the men who stoned Stephen?”

  I nodded my head.

  “Mr. Fitzpatrick held the white robes of the men as they beat Nehemiah,” she whispered, a tear breaking loose from her eye. “I don’t know that they meant to kill him. But they didn’t want to get their robes stained. That was what they’d said.”

  “Did they kill him?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  “What happened to Ruthie?”

  “She saw the whole thing,” she answered. “I’ve heard that her screams could be heard clear across town.”

  “Then what happened?” I asked, my throat feeling tight as I spoke.

  “She left. She didn’t even pack a bag or leave a note,” she said. Then she looked at me, her eyes wide and her fingertips raised to her lips. “I shouldn’t be telling you this. It’s upsetting you.”

  “Did those men go to jail?” I asked.

  “They did not. There was no justice for Nehemiah, I’m afraid.” She wiped at her face. “A few years later the Klan in this town dissolved. If ever they talked about the matter they put all the blame on Mr. Fitzpatrick.”

  “Is he a bad man?” I asked.

  Her eyebrows pressed down like she was thinking real hard.

  “Well, I don’t know how to answer that question, dear,” she said.

  “Was it a wrong thing to ask?”

  “No, it wasn’t. It’s just that some things are so very complicated.” Lowering her arm, she wrapped it around her stomach as if she was fixing to be sick. “It should be a very easy question to answer. But it just isn’t.”

  I took my empty glass to the sink and rinsed it out. By the way she turned toward the stove and put a lid on her simmering pot, I could tell she didn’t want to talk about it anymore, so I didn’t ask any more about it. I went to the dining room and set the table. By the time all the bowls and plates and flatware were out, Uncle Gus and Ray had come in to wash up for supper.

  After he said the blessing, Uncle Gus looked up at Ray and me, his face looking tired, but smiling anyway.

  “I sure am glad y’all’re here,” he said. “Feels more like a home with the two of you sittin’ at this here table.”

  It felt good, hearing him say that.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Aunt Carrie had to run some errands in town once Friday afternoon came around and she said I could go along with her if I’d like. When I’d asked if I could pay Opal a visit, she told me she thought that was fine, just so long as it was okay with Opal.

  I knew it would be.

  She gave me a nickel and told me I could get a bottle of Coca-Cola to share with Opal. I made sure to tell her thank you three times so she’d know how I did appreciate it.

  Opal’s eyes sparkled as she popped open that bottle, pouring half into a tin cup for me and taking a swig out of the bottle.

  “It’s been too long,” she said. “I hadn’t remembered how good it was.”

  “I like it,” I told her.

  “Me too.” She winked at me and tipped back the bottle for another sip. “Want to see what Lenny gave me?”

  I nodded and watched her stride the few steps it took to get across the room. She tugged open the top drawer of her dresser and took out a small box. Holding it like it might crumble if she wasn’t careful enough, she knelt in front of me, then lifted the hinged lid. Earrings made of blue stones sat on a tiny v
elvet cushion.

  “Aren’t they pretty?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I answered. “How’s he got money for them?”

  “They were his mother’s,” she said. “He said she doesn’t wear them anymore. She told him I could have them. Can you imagine it?”

  “Are you going to marry him?” I asked.

  “Who? Lenny?”

  I nodded.

  “I don’t know about that.” She shrugged and closed the small box. “They’re just earrings.”

  “Do you love him?”

  “Love’s not the word for it, I don’t think.” She turned to the radio and flicked it on. “He’s fun to be around and easy to look at, but I don’t love him.”

  Kneeling on the floor, she eased the dial until she found a sound that she liked. My cup of soda pop in my hand still, I went and sat on the floor beside her.

  “I paid your mama a visit yesterday,” she told me.

  “Is she all right?” I asked. “Daddy didn’t think I should see her yet.”

  “She’s healing up. It might take a while.”

  “Did she say anything about me?”

  “Baby, she’s not saying much of anything right now.” Opal leaned close to me and plucked a loose eyelash from my cheek. She held it, balancing on her fingertip, in front of my lips. “Make a wish.”

  I wanted to tell her I didn’t believe in such things anymore. Shooting stars and birthday candles and wishbones didn’t hold any kind of magic that could make even the simplest of wishes come true. It was all bunk, hooey, and nonsense. Instead, I just blew the eyelash off her fingertip.

  We sat and listened to the radio. A week before I’d have asked if she could teach me a new dance step and she’d have agreed. That day, though, I was worn out. If I could’ve, I’d have laid down right there on the floor and slept until Aunt Carrie came looking for me.

  I finished up my Coca-Cola and told Opal thanks for letting me visit with her. It sure had done me good. And I told her I thought the earrings were sure pretty, whether she loved Lenny or not.

  “He’s just a silly old boy,” she said. She put a hand on my cheek. “You’ll take care, will you? If you need anything at all, you come see me.”

  “Would you look in on my mama every now and again?” I asked. “Make sure she’s eating?”

  “I’ll do that, Pearl,” she answered. “I’ll do that for you.”

  I found Aunt Carrie walking out of Wheeler’s general store. She didn’t have anything in her arms but a stack of mail and a book from the library.

  “Did you have a nice visit?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I answered.

  “I’m glad.” She pushed her lips together. “You know what I think would be good today?”

  “What?”

  “A little dish of ice cream,” she said. “Do you think you’d like one?”

  “Yes, please.”

  She took my hand and we crossed the street to get to Shirley’s diner. I could’ve crossed on my own. I did it plenty of times without holding anybody’s hand. Still, I didn’t tell Aunt Carrie that.

  It felt good to have her take care of me.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  It was the kind of Saturday morning that inspired laziness in me. The sun seemed to have taken the day off, hiding behind heavy-looking clouds that Uncle Gus had said might burst at any minute. Aunt Carrie had tried warning me off from going into the woods after I told her that was what I was fixing to do.

  “Soon’s I feel a drop of rain, I’ll come right back,” I told her.

  “All right, I suppose,” she said. “It isn’t the rain I’m worried about. Those look like storm clouds.”

  “I’ll be quick,” I told her. “I promise.”

  Just to prove to her how fast I’d be, I broke into a run just as soon as I got out the kitchen door. Before too long I was on the porch of the hiding cabin, breathing in the smell of coming rain and letting my mind wander wherever it wanted to go.

  Not a minute after I’d sat down, I felt a drip-drop of wet on my cheek and got up to go home. It wasn’t until I got to the tree line that I realized I’d gone the wrong way. Instead of stepping out into the apple orchard, I was looking at the back of the house on Magnolia Street.

  I didn’t leave the woods. Instead I stood, leaning against the trunk of what I’d have guessed was a maple tree. There was no movement inside the house that I could see, nobody walking past a window or out back grabbing the laundry off the line before the rain came. It was as if the house had been left empty. The home taken right out of it.

  If there’d been a haunted house in Bliss, it might just have been that one.

  The here-and-there drops of rain turned into a smatter then to a splatter. I turned so as to make good on the promise I’d made to Aunt Carrie. By the time I got to the back door of the farmhouse the clouds had stopped holding back, letting loose all the rain they’d been carrying.

  It rained all the rest of that day and didn’t stop until well after Ray and I’d had our baths and gone to bed. We sat shoulder to shoulder on my bed, watching the lightning crackle across the sky in crooked white lines.

  “You ever wonder what’d be like to get struck by lightning?” I asked him, whispering so Aunt Carrie wouldn’t know we were still up.

  “Guess so,” he answered. “Seems it might sting a little.”

  He gave me his lopsided grin and I couldn’t help but smile back at him.

  “You think it’s true that lightning never strikes the same place twice?” I rested my head on my fist.

  “Nah,” he said. “I’d bet lightnin’ can strike just about wherever it fixes to.”

  “Reckon you’re right.”

  We sat in quiet for a minute or two before a bolt sliced through the night sky, lighting up the world so bright I could see clear to the barn. It didn’t take but a second for the booming roar of thunder to sound out so loud I felt the house give a shake.

  I couldn’t hardly help it. That one made me curl up and put my hands over my face. My heart beat fast and I waited for the roof to fall down around us.

  “Why’d that one have to be so close?” I asked, my voice a whimper.

  “We’re all right,” Ray said. “Don’t be afraid.”

  “I just hate it when they get that close.” I lowered my hands, trying to see if the barn was on fire or the chicken coop blown to bits and feathers. All I could see was the rain tip-tap-tapping against the glass of the window. “It scares me is all.”

  Ray put his arm around my shoulders and told me he knew what I meant.

  “We’ll be just fine,” he said. “I promise.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  May came on gentle with green grasses and buds exploding into flowers on the tips of all the tree branches. The sun saw fit to grace us for more hours of the day, warming up the air and the ground and the very moods of all the folks in Bliss.

  Ray and I hadn’t gone back to the house on Magnolia Street since Mama’d lost the baby. What had started as a couple days at the farm was going on two weeks. Daddy’d bring us odds and ends we needed from our rooms, saying Mama wasn’t ready for us to visit just yet.

  When he’d come, he’d stay over for supper. Sometimes it was as if he was there in body, but not in spirit. His eyes looked so tired, his face drawn. When I’d ask if he was all right, he would say he didn’t want me worrying.

  “I’m doing good, darlin’,” he’d say.

  I didn’t believe him for a second.

  May was planting time in Bliss and most of the farm boys stayed away from school to help their fathers put seeds in the ground. Ray’d begged to be allowed to stay home with Uncle Gus so he could spend the days planting corn and soybeans and sugar beets.

  Uncle Gus wouldn’t hear it, though.

  “As long as I’m trusted with your care, I’m gonna make sure you get to school every day them door’s is open,” he’d said. “I know Tom’d agree with me, too.”

  “Yes, sir,”
Ray’d answered.

  “Y’all can just come on after school,” Uncle Gus had said. “I don’t mind puttin’ you to work then. Bring that Bert fella with you sometime, too. I think he could use a little dirt under his nails.”

  So after school each day Ray and I walked through the woods to the farm. A couple times Bert did come, sometimes bringing Sassy along in her bird cage for fear she’d be lonely without him. Uncle Gus’s tan-colored dog named Boaz wasn’t so sure what to make of Sassy at first. He’d worry and whine, sniffing through the bars of that cage until Sassy pecked at his nose.

  Poor Bo, he’d go running off to hide in the barn and cry over his hurt feelings.

  The men’d go right out to the fields, folding pant legs up and kicking off shoes along the way. As for me, I went to the garden with Aunt Carrie where she showed me how to sow the seeds by hand.

  “We’ll have zucchini over there,” she’d say, pointing to one corner of her large garden. “And I think the potatoes will be there.”

  She told me we’d have tomatoes and cucumbers, squash and peppers. I held the tiny seeds of beans and lettuce and broccoli in the palm of my hand, in awe that soon enough they’d turn into food to add color to Aunt Carrie’s table.

  I liked being in the garden with her, the shade of a borrowed straw hat I wore keeping the back of my neck cool. And I liked the earthy smell of the dirt on my hands. It felt nice having soil under my fingernails and my bare toes wiggling in the grass.

  As much as I’d hoped to have a garden of our own in the back yard of the house on Magnolia Street, I found I was content to work alongside Aunt Carrie there at the farm. We didn’t usually say a whole lot while we pulled at weeds and checked tiny growth of plants. If anything, Aunt Carrie would share a line from a poem she liked or I’d ask her which bird was singing just then from the tippy-tops of the trees. Chickadee or robin, starling or sparrow. I couldn’t have picked a favorite if I’d tried.