Blackberry Days of Summer

by Ruth P. Watson

  I opened the armoire and pulled out the royal blue dress Willie had brought me from New York. It was made out of chiffon and the waist was low, emphasizing my heavy chest and round hips. “It’s what the women in the city wear to a party,” Willie had said the night he returned. I knew he was depressed, so I wanted to do anything I could to cheer him up and make my life easier.

  “You know something, Pearl, they called us Doughboys. Can you believe a grown man being called a boy? I didn’t like that, either.”

  I gave him a hug and a kiss. “Forget about all that tonight, Willie. Come on to the joint and let me sing to you.”

  At last he smiled. “All right.” He went to the small armoire we shared. As he searched for something to wear, I pulled out a white, button-down shirt and I held it up to his chest. “Put this on.”

  He put on the shirt with gray pants and gave his boots a spit shine.

  “You look good, baby,” I told him and his broad chest started to rise again. I spun around so he could admire the dress he’d bought for me.

  “Gurl, you are so beautiful.”

  We arrived at the joint around eight o’clock, and it was filling up fast. Ever since the soldiers had come back home, the place had been jam-packed. Some nights patrons stood around for the entire night, simply to be in the company of the soldiers. They were perceived as worldly, and many of them were single. The ladies always outnumbered the men here, and on occasion a scrap would break out between the women over the attention of one of the soldiers. As usual, I ordered a gin and tonic and strolled back to the table I’d taken as my own a while ago. Willie remained at the bar.

  He had come to all of my performances for over a month. He seemed to relish the time at the joint, where he fraternized with the men with whom he had spent the last two years. Although he didn’t let me out of his sight, he had managed to contain his jealous rages because he knew one of us had to have a job. He’d even controlled himself around Herman.

  Roy came over as usual.

  “Miz Pearl, you want something else ’fore the set?”

  “No, baby, I think this will do for now.”

  “You don’t seem like yo’self tonight.”

  “Oh, I’m all right.”

  “Well, if you want something tell me, Miz Pearl.”

  Roy had been the only man Willie felt comfortable with talking to me. I couldn’t tell if it was Roy’s mannerisms or the fact that he was so naïve and young, too tender for me to touch, that set Willie at ease. Maybe it was because Roy stuck to the same routine, bringing me drinks and asking me how I felt.

  “Now, that boy has a crush on you,” Willie had commented one night after Roy walked away from our table.

  My nerves were rattled by his mood, and I was afraid to speak. I was certain anything I said would set him off.

  “I ain’t got to worry ’bout him, though. It’s the ones I don’t see that I need to know,” he mumbled, “like the men you saw while I was gone.”

  I bit my bottom lip, and then eased the words out, “Willie, please. These people know I’m married. They remember you.”

  He looked around with a scowl. “Ain’t nobody up in here but hound dogs. All of ’em searching for a coattail to get under. I’m a man, Pearl. I know these things.”

  I ignored him and kept smiling as some of the patrons noticed me and waved. Willie was so nosy and distrusting of me, I wished I had never married him.

  I did see why the attention bothered him, though. Willie was easy on the eyes, too. All of the women smiled at him and I knew they wanted him. Even with his country shirts and boots, his tall stature and good looks forced the ladies to stare. Still, I had my eyes on someone else.

  That night Herman sat at the center table in the front row. When I saw him, all of the feelings I had for him intensified. He stared right into my eyes. When I began his favorite song, I closed my eyes to keep from gaping at him from the stage, all the while wondering if Willie noticed the connection Herman and I shared.

  Willie had been standing at the bar, occasionally glancing at me. I would acknowledge him and wave every so often. But when Herman strolled through the door with cuffed trousers, a white shirt and hat, I inhaled. The sight of him had thrown me off balance. I had missed the way Herman made me feel before a set, how he rubbed my thigh and kissed me on the forehead and said I was the prettiest woman in the place. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

  Willie strutted toward the stage. Two women whispered as he walked past them. Yet he only had eyes for me. He smiled with his thick, weathered hands wrapped around a glass of scotch and water. He stared hard at Herman; but the smooth lover man never acknowledged him.

  Willie was a good man, maybe too good for me, but I craved Herman like an alcoholic craves whiskey. The time I’d spent with him had been too fast and edgy.

  The next morning, as always, Willie got up early. He put on a white shirt, trousers, and boots. From the window I watched him cross the street and head toward downtown, past the three men standing on the corner. I watched him until he was out of my sight and then I got dressed. I walked three long blocks south behind the school yard, through the alley, and past the corner store. With each step I prayed that Willie didn’t turn around, that he didn’t forget something and have to return home. Most days he’d go to several places before coming back, and I wanted him to take his time today. When I reached Herman’s brick tenement house, a regular from the club came to the door as I was entering. He spoke and winked his eye at me.

  I walked quickly down the hallway. Herman lived in the last room on the left. I tapped lightly on his door, trying to avoid waking up any of the other renters. Herman opened the door, still in his underpants. “Come on in, baby.” I slid in like any sinner, and was relieved when he shut the door behind me. Even though it was mid-morning, it didn’t bother me at all that he was home while other men were out making a legitimate living; that was how hustlers lived.

  Many of our nights together had been spent at my place, when most of the town slept and only howling dogs roamed. So morning visits made me feel uncomfortable and frantic.

  “Good morning,” I said and started to undress.

  Herman helped me remove my bloomers and corset.

  Once I crawled into his bed, it felt so natural. He started stroking my back as soon as I was in his arms.

  “Pearl, you know that woman from the country you seen me with?”

  I turned slightly to see his face. “Yes.”

  He stumbled over the words. “I like her. I like her a lot.”

  I moved from his arms. “What do you mean, Herman?”

  He sat up in the bed. “You’re with Willie now,” he said, as if that explained everything.

  I started to become alarmed. “I thought you cared for me.”

  “I do, but I need somebody, too.” He held out his hands. “I’m going to marry her.”

  CHAPTER 8

  CARRIE

  One night Momma called us in for a meeting. John had just come in the door, grinning after spending the evening with Hester, even though their date had been supervised by her parents. Carl had finished his chores. I was in my room writing in my diary. Mr. Camm had dropped in for one of his visits, and had stayed for dinner and rested his full stomach while reclining in Papa’s chair.

  Carl, John, and I joined Momma and Mr. Camm at the kitchen table. He was as comfortable as any man could be in somebody else’s house. He was smiling, leaning back in the chair, the toes of his shoes elevated as if he lived here. He looked at me, winked and cut a sly grin. I turned my head away.

  Momma quickly got to the point. “Me and Mr. Camm are gonna get married,” she said and smiled at him. No sound came from anywhere. Not even the chickens cackled under the window sill. My brother Carl turned three shades darker, shifted in his seat and cleared his throat.

  “When did all this come about?” he asked.

  “Well, Herman’s been coming around for some time now. He’s already like one of the family
.” She glanced across the table at Mr. Camm, who immediately offered his take on the news.

  “Yes indeedy, I thought it was ’bout time me and Mae Lou tied the knot, came together as a family.”

  “How can you be thinking ’bout marriage? Papa ain’t even turned cold in his grave,” John blurted out. That was expected, since he was never one to hold his tongue.

  “You hush yo’ mouth, boy! Mr. Camm is good to me and he wants us to be his fam’ly,” Momma snapped. John flared his nostrils and shook his head. He’d said what I had been thinking, but didn’t have the courage to say.

  “Well, congratulations,” Carl said and banged his fist on the kitchen table so hard that the table shook.

  Momma didn’t say anything, but she cut her eyes in his direction. I couldn’t help gazing at Mr. Camm. He’d slithered his way into Momma’s life and now our home. He was slick, like the fox Papa shot that was sneaking around our hen house. He seemed to enjoy the feuding, his beady eyes moving from Momma’s face to Carl’s.

  “I’m sorry, Momma, I want you to be happy,” Carl said.

  John mumbled something under his breath and I smacked my lips.

  “Now, we done talked to the reverend, so we gonna do it real soon,” Momma said. With that announcement, not even a gust of fresh air could clean the foulness in the room.

  “Carrie, you mighty quiet,” Mr. Camm said, peering at me from across the table.

  “Congratulations, Momma,” I forced from my lips.

  “I know that ev’rybody going to git along,” Momma assured us. To add insult to our feelings, Mr. Camm put his arm around her shoulder.

  He was smiling from ear to ear, like any vagrant would who had finally found a stable home in which to lay his head.

  Where on earth had this man come from? Now he was going to stay?

  On that Sunday, they got married. It was freezing cold. The wind whistled through the bare trees and that morning I’d hoped it would snow. If it had, church would not convene and the wedding would not take place. So when the reverend finished his sermon, and opened up his prayer book, and announced he was about to perform a wedding ceremony, a chill went through my entire body. Some of the skeptical church members frowned and whispered, “A wedding? Who’s getting married?”

  When the reverend asked who would give Momma away, Carl took his time as he walked to the altar. The reverend said, “Son, come on now, we got a wedding to do.”

  The congregation cheered at the sight of Momma. She was beautiful. Her hair was hanging down to her shoulders in curls. She was dressed in off-white from top to bottom. Her lips were rose and her face dusted with nutmeg face powder. Mr. Camm was wearing the same spiffy suit he’d worn the first Sunday he’d come to pay Momma a visit.

  When they began to say their vows, tears slid down my face, because I’d never seen Momma look so beautiful.

  “I now pronounce you man and wife,” the reverend said and most of the church cheered. But close to me sat two church members who mumbled loud enough for me and anyone else nearby to hear.

  “That man ain’t right for Mae Lou.”

  “He done been around town. Been spending his nights somewhere else, if you know what I mean.”

  “I hope he don’t hurt her, ’cause he’s a ladies’ man.”

  “Ain’t that the truth.”

  Afterward, Aunt Bessie and Ms. Ruth served fried chicken, potato salad, ham biscuits, peach punch, and the wedding cake.

  Mr. Camm shook hands, grinning as usual. After grabbing Carl’s and John’s hands and literally forcing them to shake with him, he walked over to me.

  “Little lady, ain’t you gonna give yo new pappy a hug?” Before I could respond, he’d grabbed me and pulled me close to him. He was scrawny but strong. I nearly choked before I pulled away, managing to smile.

  On the way home from the church, John said to me, “Papa has only been gone a few months.” Momma turned around and gave him a stern look. I kept my eyes fixed straight ahead. Inside, I wished I had been bold enough to say the same thing.

  Momma had made the biggest mistake of her life.

  CHAPTER 9

  CARRIE

  Carl was young and on the verge of manhood when he fell in love. He strutted around like a peacock. Although all the girls in school had eyes for him, Mary was his choice. She was a short, peach-colored girl like me with short, curly hair. She was quiet and timid. At church, Carl sat with Mary and her family. It used to be hard to get him up on the fourth Sunday morning for church, but soon he was waking up the rest of the house.

  Every other Sunday evening, he would put on his church clothes and ask to drive the family buggy to Mary’s. And if Momma didn’t allow him to use it, he’d walk all the way. He took special care of his appearance, something he had never cared about before. He would bathe and shave, doing all he could to look presentable, shedding his regular overalls and T-shirts for his Sunday trousers and a white dress shirt.

  When Carl finally told us he had proposed to Mary, none of us were surprised. The wide smile on his face told us what her answer was, too. Carl had been saving the extra money he made working for the Fergusons in a ceramic blue cookie jar, kept stashed under his bed.

  “I’m going to buy a couple of cows and a pig with the money,” he told me.

  “Why don’t you use it to leave from around here?”

  He was puzzled by that suggestion. “I like it here, been here all my life. I’m used to this.”

  “Young people don’t have anything to do in the country.”

  A smile lit his face. “Oh, there are plenty of things to keep you occupied.”

  “What, may I ask?”

  “For one thing, you could spend more time reading and working. You know what Momma always says about an idle mind.”

  Mentioning Momma wasn’t the right thing to say to me. Right now I was barely speaking to her.

  Carl didn’t notice. “Pretty soon you and everybody else are going to be plenty busy helping me clear the land near the creek.”

  “How’s that fun?”

  “At least you’ll be helping your brother. The faster we build a place for Mary and me to live, the faster we can get married.”

  “I can’t wait,” I said sarcastically.

  “At least you will have me close by.”

  That was a comfort, but I said, “I don’t want you to leave at all.”

  “I’ll be right across the yard.”

  “Why can’t y’all move in with us?”

  He glanced toward the kitchen, where Mr. Camm was sitting. “Now you know that wouldn’t be right.”

  “For me it would.”

  “Like I said, we’ll be across the yard, and you’re welcome at any time.”

  At the same time, John was counting down the weeks until he could get out of the county. And as quiet as I kept it, so was I. One night he went to Momma and asked for her support.

  Momma was sitting on the porch rocking in the chair Papa had built for her. She often sat out there and admired the changing of the season.

  When John came and sat down in the chair beside her, she smiled.

  “Momma, I want to quit school and go up to Washington with Uncle Joe.” Being blunt was his middle name.

  “Oh yeah, and what else do you want?” she said with a growl.

  “You know how bad coloreds get treated around here. We can’t get jobs doing nothing but farming or handyman work.”

  “And what’s wrong with that? People take good care of their families with handyman work, as you’ve named it.”

  John wasn’t going to back down, though.

  “Momma, I want to leave.”

  “I hope you thought this thing out ’fore coming to me,” she said.

  “I need to grow. I can’t grow around here. People are in the same condition they were in before slavery was abolished.”

  “And how would you know that, son? Most of the peoples you are talking about made it possible for us to farm and do handiwork. We’
ve come a long way.”

  That wasn’t good enough for him. “But I need to go.”

  She gritted her teeth. “Boy, I thought you had some sense in your head. Now you go to talking like a fool. I let Carl quit school to help ’round here. Now you want to quit. You gonna finish school and get your paper, and then we can talk.” Then she leaned back in the rocking chair and started to rock.

  “I need a break, Momma. I’m tired,” he said humbly.

  Momma began to hum in reply.

  She often hummed or sang when she had nothing to say, or when she was frustrated and annoyed.

  John disliked humdrum country life more than I did. He never understood why colored folks still felt as if they needed to serve whites. Many times Momma had to stop him from letting his tongue run wild and causing the family embarrassment.

  One Sunday morning in church school, Miss Ruth, our teacher, slapped John right smack dab on the lips. Miss Ruth had been talking about how much God loved us and John questioned her.

  “Well, Miss Ruth, if He loves us so much, then why is it that coloreds have less than the whites?” Carl nudged him in the side, tried his best to get him to be quiet, but John was so riled up, he didn’t seem to notice.

  “Now, the Bible say wez all God chirren and He loves us one and all,” Miss Ruth said. She was a robust woman, and she squinted when she spoke. She couldn’t read and John knew that. She always wanted to teach, but the only place that it was okay to teach without being able to read was church.

  “Now, Miss Ruth, can you show me that in this here Bible?” John held the Bible up toward her and smirked at the rest of us.

  She grabbed the Bible, opened it to the fourteenth chapter of Proverbs and pointed her finger at the text. Despite her illiteracy, she knew that the fourteenth chapter was about foolishness and the use of the tongue. She’d learned about the Bible by listening to others recite the words.

  John stopped talking long enough to read the scripture. When he finished reading, he understood what she had been trying to teach us, but it was too late. Miss Ruth reached over the pew and backhanded him right in the mouth. His head hit the back of the pew with a thump. I had to catch myself to keep from laughing out loud at him.