A Song of Home

by Susie Finkbeinger

  “I could watch them for hours,” Aunt Carrie’d say.

  I could’ve too. If heaven ended up being a garden in Michigan, I’d have been happy to spend eternity right there, God’s glory beaming down on me, brighter than the sunshine.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  It was a Saturday and Uncle Gus had given Ray and me a couple nickels each so we could go into town to see a movie.

  “You both worked real hard,” he said. “Go on and have some fun.”

  Ray was good enough to wait for me to get on a fresh dress and run a comb through my hair. I couldn’t remember when it’d happened, that it mattered to me that my hair wasn’t in tangles and my clothing was clean. And I wasn’t sure when I’d started to notice the hair and dresses of the ladies in Aunt Carrie’s magazines. I imagined Mama would’ve been proud to see me that way.

  “Let’s go through the woods,” Ray said once I was ready.

  “All right,” I said. “But I don’t wanna get my dress dirty.”

  He shrugged and we walked together through the apple trees and toward the forest. As soon as we got near the line of trees, Ray took off running.

  “Race ya,” he called back at me, disappearing into the woods before I could even get started.

  “No fair,” I hollered at him, chasing behind on the trail.

  I ran fast as I could. So much for keeping my hair neat and my dress tidy. It didn’t hardly matter, though. I was just glad to feel air filling my lungs and my legs moving strong and quick. There wasn’t a way in all the world I’d beat Ray, but that didn’t matter to me. Not really.

  Besides, Ray’d always cared about winning far more than I ever had.

  I knew he’d clear the trees long before I would, so I slowed down, catching my breath so he wouldn’t see how hard I huffed and puffed. And I did run my fingers through my hair, just to be sure it wasn’t sticking up on end.

  When I finally did get to the edge of the trees, I took a good breath before stepping out into the grassy yard behind our house. It crossed my mind to go in and see how Mama was. To have a little visit. Just for a minute or two before going off to the movie with Ray.

  But then I didn’t know if I could walk in anymore. Seemed I might have to knock first and wait for somebody to answer the door. I worried maybe I wouldn’t be welcome.

  Still, I walked to the house. The closer I got the more I heard Mama’s voice, raised so loud it sounded like she was standing outside and hollering. Then I saw Daddy’s profile through the kitchen window. He was holding his hand up to his forehead in a way that made me think he was awful tired.

  At least they’d had sense enough to shut the windows.

  “Come on, Pearl,” Ray said. “Let’s go before we miss the start of the movie.”

  “I wish she’d just go away,” I said, kicking at the porch once I got close enough. It hurt my toes but I wasn’t about to let Ray know that, so I kicked it again for good measure.

  “You don’t mean that,” he said.

  “Sure I do.”

  “Come on. Let’s just go.”

  I looked in the kitchen window again, hoping maybe Daddy’d put a stop to the fighting if only he’d see we were standing there waiting. But he didn’t notice me, didn’t turn my way.

  Ray took hold of my arm, giving it a little tug. I followed his lead around the house and on our way to the theater.

  Much as I wanted to turn back to see if I could catch a glimpse of Mama, I didn’t.

  I just didn’t.

  Bert came out of his house when he saw us, all smiles and waving hands.

  “Are you back?” he asked, jumping off the porch just like Ray might have.

  “Nah,” Ray answered. “We’re just passin’ through.”

  “Where’re you going?” Bert asked after he got across the street to stand beside us. “You two runnin’ away?”

  “Not today,” Ray said.

  “Why would we run away?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Bert said. Then his eyes flicked to the house where Mama was still screaming at Daddy.

  “We’re goin’ to a movie.” Ray shrugged. “You wanna come?”

  “Yeah,” Bert said, happy as if Ray’d asked if he wanted a hundred bucks. “Let me ask my mother.”

  He turned and ran back to his house, holding the door open and hollering for his mother, letting her know he was coming with us and could he have a nickel or something.

  I tried not to let Ray see how sore I was that he’d asked Bert to come along.

  Mrs. Barnett came to the front door and put coins in Bert’s hand. She kissed him on the cheek and he responded by rubbing at his face like she’d smacked him with a slimy fish. She looked at Ray and me, waving like she was real glad to see us.

  I waved back, thinking what a nice mother she must be with her sweet smile and bright eyes.

  “She gave us money for popcorn,” Bert said, showing us his handful of nickels.

  “That was good of her,” Ray said. “Don’t think I ever ate popcorn at a theater before.”

  “She thought it might make you feel better,” Bert said.

  He looked right at me when he said it.

  Before I could even stiffen up or say something hard to Bert, Ray caught my eye and gave me a half smile.

  “Ain’t that nice of her?” Ray asked me. “Ain’t it, Pearl?”

  I licked my lips. “Yeah,” I said. “It was real nice.”

  It was kindness and I knew it. But it was kindness mixed with a measure of pity and that was hard to take.

  The theater in town only showed one movie at a time so we didn’t get a choice like we could’ve had if we went up to Adrian. Of course, we’d have been happy with just about anything. It’d been since the fall since we’d had such a treat. Ray even said he’d sit through a smooch-faced movie if he had to.

  When he’d said that, Bert looked at me and I could have sworn he blushed. I would’ve told him not to get any smart ideas but I sure didn’t want him keeping my share of the popcorn from me.

  The man taking the money for the movie looked at us like we were a bunch of hobos and said we had to have a nickel each to get in, eyeballing us like he worried we’d knock him over and run on past. It wasn’t until Ray slid our money across the counter that I realized how full of dirt he was. It seemed he’d packed all the soil in Michigan under his fingernails.

  Bert bought the popcorn and we walked together into the theater.

  The lights dimmed, so we couldn’t see how shabby the carpet was under our feet or how stained the cushions were on the seats. With the near-dark of the room it seemed the most glamorous place in all the world and I walked a little taller and slower, making sure to move the way I thought Greta Garbo might.

  Ray wanted to sit all the way in the very front row, right smack-dab in the middle.

  “My pa always said they’re the best seats,” he said. “Ain’t nobody in front of you to keep you from seein’ the whole screen.”

  I just shrugged. It didn’t matter to me where we sat just so long as he let me sit right beside him. He did and I was happy enough about that. Bert made sure to sit on my other side and I tried not to notice how he kept sneaking peeks at me.

  Seemed we were the only ones in Bliss had the idea to come to a movie that afternoon and that was fine by me. We wouldn’t have to listen to anybody sniffling or whispering during the show. And there wouldn’t be anybody telling us to move over so they could have our seats, especially since they were the best ones in all the theater.

  The lights lowered until we were in darkness and I couldn’t help but get a flip-flop feeling in my stomach due to all the excitement.

  The bright sound of trumpets busted out at Ray, Bert, and me and made me sit up straighter. On the screen a man opened his mouth and let out a gravely, heaving sound, almost like he was yelling. I’d heard a voice just like that more than a couple times, with Opal, when we’d dance to the radio in the tiny space of her apartment.

  “C
ab Calloway,” I whispered, reading the big white letters printed across the screen. Then his smiling face winked out at us and I thought I understood why Opal was so head-over-heels for him. He was handsome enough, that was true. And he had charm for miles.

  He and his band played in the narrow space of a train car, a fast and trilling song. Old Cab, he danced up and down in the middle of all the instruments, waving his arms and bobbing his head so his hair flapped up and down on his forehead. He bounced and I didn’t know if that was from the jostling of the train or the beat of the music.

  When the trumpet took over the song with a ba-ba-ba-da-ba, Cab got to tapping his feet and twirling with his left arm out and his right hand on his stomach in what looked like a samba. That’s what Opal had called it.

  The way he moved, it was no wonder she loved him.

  The song over, the man who worked on the train, the porter, told Mr. Calloway, “My wife sure likes jazz. She’s a lindy-hopping ole fool.”

  “You want to keep your wife at home, do you? Make sure she stays true?” Cab asked. “Let her dance right in the living room.”

  “How’m I supposed to do that, Mr. Calloway?” the train porter asked, shaking his head. “How’ll she dance without no music?”

  “Go on and get her a radio, brother.” Cab reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a card, handing it to the man. “Your wife will never want to leave home again.”

  “Yes, sir,” the man said.

  “Get her that radio, the nicest one they’ve got,” Cab said. “And she’ll not go out looking for another man to dance with.”

  The scene changed, the porter stood in the living room with his pretty wife. The two of them stood on either side of a big old radio right in the corner of the room.

  “Can we hear Cab Calloway on it?” the wife asked.

  “Sure we can, honey,” he answered. “Sure can.”

  Again, the scene changed, back on the train. That old train porter had the biggest smile on his face, telling his friend he doesn’t worry about his wife stepping out anymore, not since he got that brand-new radio for her.

  My heart slumped when the scene changed once again. There in the porter’s living room the woman sat on Cab Calloway’s lap, their faces close together, lips touching.

  Blinking, I remembered seeing Mama kissing Abe Campbell there in our dining room in the house on Magnolia Street. The way she didn’t pull away, the way she didn’t shove him from her. I remembered how she’d seemed to melt when he touched her. Just the way that porter’s wife did when Cab Calloway put his hand on her waist, her back, her leg.

  I thought it was a good thing I hadn’t had a bite of the popcorn yet. I felt I might just get sick right there in the theater.

  That train porter’s wife didn’t deserve a husband that bought her radios and smiled so wide at her. And that rat Cab Calloway didn’t deserve a girl so good as Opal Moon. Abe Campbell didn’t deserve Mama, not the way he’d left her soon as he’d known she was having a baby.

  And Mama, she didn’t deserve Daddy. Not even a little.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Mama’d come to church. She wore a dress that hung loose from her shoulders and skimmed right over her swollen tummy. If I hadn’t known better, I might have thought she was still carrying a tiny life around inside her.

  But I did know better. Her stomach wasn’t near as big as it had been.

  “Good morning, Mama,” I said once she took her seat in the pew right beside me.

  “Hi, Pearl,” she whispered without so much as a hint of a smile. “How’re you doing?”

  “I’m all right, ma’am,” I said. “How about you?”

  She shook her head and shut her eyes.

  “I should have known better than to hope,” she said, her voice so quiet I’d almost missed what she’d said. “I should never have dared.”

  I was about to ask her what she meant by that, but the organ started playing and we all stood to sing the first hymn. I tried not to take too many peeks at Mama to see if she sang along. But whenever I looked up at her all I saw was her closed eyes and tears streaming down her face.

  She only moved when the sadness made her tremble.

  I was real glad when the preacher stood in the pulpit, nodding at us so we knew we should take our seats. He opened the big Bible and read out loud in his calm and smooth voice. He read King David’s words which he spoke to his son Solomon as he lay on his deathbed. Seemed most of what he’d said to his boy was about this person or that and I just could not follow along.

  Aunt Carrie had her Bible open across her lap, her finger following along under the words. There on the page I saw a name I’d heard about at least a dozen times. Pastor back in Red River sure had liked to holler out about that woman named Bathsheba.

  When I’d been younger, I’d thought she was named Bathsheba on account that when King David had first seen her she’d been taking a bath. When I’d asked Mama about that, she’d just shook her head and said I came up with the oddest things to say.

  “He seen her soakin’ in the bathtub,” Pastor would say, eyes looking around at the congregation and just about bulging out of their sockets. “He called her over, lay down with her, and took her as his own.”

  It’d always seemed to me that Pastor got the biggest kick out of the Bible stories that had fornicating in them. Far as I could tell, there were plenty of those kind of tales to keep him busy.

  From what I remembered, King David’d had Bathsheba’s husband killed off and took the woman for his own, her expecting his baby.

  “The Lord saw fit to strike that child born of the lust of the flesh to get sick and die,” Pastor had said. “Praise God for His justice!”

  King David had bawled his eyes out over that baby. He’d begged God for help and didn’t eat for a good long time.

  Still, the baby had died.

  If anybody had asked me, I’d have said I didn’t understand God making that baby sick. And I’d have told them how it didn’t seem right, making the baby pay for the sins of the grown folks who’d done the sinning.

  “After that child up and died, King David didn’t turn to drink and he didn’t wallow and boo-hoo,” I remembered Pastor saying. “He got hisself up and went to the house of the Lord.”

  What nobody ever said was how Bathsheba felt. She’d sat with that little baby and tried tending to it, tried healing it from what the Lord had struck on it. I wondered if she’d known there was no hoping that it might live.

  Sitting in the pew right next to Mama, I wondered if Bathsheba’d ever felt a fool for hoping.

  Aunt Carrie insisted that Daddy and Mama come out to the farm for dinner after church. Mama’d tried saying she was too worn out and not hungry. But Aunt Carrie had looked her in the face with kindness twinkling in her eyes.

  “Wouldn’t the fresh air be good for you, Mary?” she’d said. “You don’t have to stay long. But it would be nice for the children to have you there for a little visit. Don’t you think so?”

  Mama’d nodded and followed behind Daddy to the truck. She didn’t say one word when I jumped in the back with Ray.

  “You think she’s all right?” I asked Ray as we rode along.

  “Don’t know,” he said. “She looks tired.”

  “At least she isn’t screaming.”

  Ray nodded and turned his head to watch the countryside rush past. That was how I knew he was done talking. It was just as well. I wouldn’t have known what else to say anyhow.

  I turned, pushing the windblown hair out of my face so I could look through the back window at Mama and Daddy inside the truck.

  Daddy was looking straight ahead, both hands on the steering wheel. Mama had her face set toward him and I could see her profile. She was saying something to him. I only wished I could read her lips to know what it was she said to him.

  Then she noticed me and turned, her eyes meeting mine. They looked so different, those eyes. Empty almost. As if all the feeling she’d held in them ha
d poured out, leaving nothing behind.

  I lifted my hand and touched the glass between us and her eyes dropped to look at it.

  She tilted her head just a little, but looked back into my eyes. It seemed she was hoping to find something there.

  I only wished I knew what it was she wanted to see.

  Aunt Carrie had put together a few pot pies for dinner. The crust was buttery as it should be and the gravy nice and rich. Green beans and orange carrots, yellow corn and emerald peas seemed like springtime on my plate. I didn’t mind asking for seconds. Aunt Carrie didn’t seem upset to serve them up.

  “I ever tell y’all about the first time I met Carrie’s folks?” Uncle Gus asked after he’d finished off the last of his pie. “I seen Carrie in town, think I told y’all about that awhile back. Anyhow, I wanted to spend a little time with her.”

  “I told him he couldn’t court me until he’d met my parents,” Aunt Carrie said. “More bread, Ray?”

  “Yes please, ma’am,” Ray said.

  “Carrie’s mother invited me over for supper,” Uncle Gus went on. “Guess she wanted to see if I had any manners, bein’ from down south and such.”

  “No, Gus,” Aunt Carrie scolded. “Mother was being hospitable.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Oh, stop.” She smiled and shook her head at him. “I’d told her you were too skinny and she said she didn’t wonder, you being a bachelor and living on hardly anything the way you did.”

  “Anyhow, I got myself all gussied up. Put on a bow tie and all.”

  “You looked so handsome.”

  “And Carrie, she looked like a dream.”

  “He’s being kind,” Aunt Carrie said, winking at me.

  “I come in and sit down right here in this very chair my behind’s in today,” he went on. “From the very beginnin’ I could tell your father didn’t think much of me.”

  “I was his only daughter.”