Blackberry Days of Summer

by Ruth P. Watson

  I shook my head and turned away, found my family again.

  Momma was glowing. She loved the company of a lot of people. She was, like me, a city girl inside. Meanwhile, Daddy caught up on all the latest farm news from the men in the church.

  On the way home, Willie was silent. He kept gazing out at the rolling hills and rows of chopped corn stalks as if they were calling his name. But Momma and Daddy couldn’t keep their mouths closed. Dinner on the yard was the biggest event of the season, and some had traveled as far away as New York to worship with their families.

  Willie went straight to our bedroom when we got home. So did my parents.

  For three weeks, I hadn’t let Willie touch me intimately, and his patience had started to fade. He removed his clothes. He hung his uniform behind the bedroom door on the hanging nail, and threw his underwear and socks on the floor.

  It was still light outside, and the sun was still high. For some, it was early to bed and early to rise.

  “Get in,” Willie said.

  “I’m so tired I can’t keep my eyes open.”

  “I need to talk to you,” he said, waiting for me to crawl in beside him.

  Everything flashed before my eyes: Willie, Herman, and Mae Lou.

  “You my wife, right?”

  “Yes,” I answered, puzzled by the question.

  “Well, then show me,” he said.

  The way he demanded it made me worry. What is really on your mind tonight, Willie? I thought. I succumbed to him to keep the peace, but all the while I cringed at what lay ahead. If he saw Herman too many more times, we were all in trouble.

  CHAPTER 21

  CARRIE

  The glare from the full moon lit up the inside of the house. From a distance a coyote howled. The sky was clear, yet the mood was solemn. Mr. Camm had left hours ago. Momma had been in the front room all evening listening to the wet wood sizzle as it dried out, and watching the sparks pop as the heat cut into the chill in the house. I sat in the front room with her, silent but enjoying her company. The last time we all had sat in the family room together had been before Papa died.

  She looked at the clock above the fireplace and it said 11:30. She got up and went into her room. She came back with her coat on and a shawl around her shoulders.

  “Momma, where are you going? It’s late.”

  “Can’t sleep. Going out for a spell.”

  “But you never go out at night.”

  “I know, chile.”

  “It’s cold outside and pitch black.”

  She got her rifle and headed for the door. No one traveled without a weapon at night, and most women weren’t seen out alone after sundown.

  I made a quick decision. “I’m going with you.”

  “No, you need to stay here.”

  “I can’t let you go out alone.”

  I put on my thick sweater and grabbed a quilt from my bed to throw across our legs. We got into the buggy and headed in the direction of the joint. The moon was bright and I looked to the sky and mumbled a prayer for our safety. I had never been to the joint before, and the closer we got to it, the more curious I became.

  “Why are we going down here, Momma?”

  “I want to check on Herman.”

  “He’s all right. He drinks too much.”

  “I want to see for myself,” she said stubbornly.

  When we pulled in the yard, we could hear the piano playing from within, along with roars of laughter. Several buggies and horses were lined up on the side of the shack, plus the old car Mr. Camm had gotten a few weeks earlier. When Momma got out, she told me to stay in the buggy and wait for her. She left the rifle in the buggy with me and went inside the joint.

  After a few minutes, I got out and followed her in. Women and men were huddled together in the corners or seated at the tables. The lights were dim and only shadows of heads were on the walls. It was hard to recognize the people in here. Momma went to the bar first and panned the patrons sitting around drinking liquor, looking for her husband. He wasn’t sitting at the bar, so she went straight to the back of the room. I followed behind, even though she’d directed me to stay in the buggy. He was sitting in the back with Ms. Pearl. He was drunk and pulling on her as if she was his wife. She was trying to push him away.

  “What’s going on here?” Momma asked.

  “What the hell do it look like, Mae Lou?” he answered back.

  “You still in here running after Pearl, ain’t you?” she said, standing in front of their table, “And Pearl, ain’t you a married woman?”

  Pearl pulled away from his pawing. “I don’t want Herman, Mae Lou.”

  Momma didn’t believe her for a second. “You been lying since ya came back here. Let’s go, Herman.”

  “Go on, Herman, with yo’ wife,” Pearl said sarcastically. “My husband is on his way to get me.”

  “Yo’ husband is a damn fool,” Mr. Camm said.

  He stumbled behind Momma out into the cold. His breath was heavy with the smell of liquor as he hopped in the buggy beside me. I cringed and slid over so he could get in. Momma didn’t say a word and neither did I. When we arrived back home, we all went to bed. I could hear the rumblings of their conversation, though. At one point Momma said, “Get yo’ things and go, Herman.”

  “I’m staying right here,” he slurred back at her.

  He must have won the argument, because he didn’t leave.

  CHAPTER 22

  CARRIE

  It was the middle of April, over a month since it had happened. Physically I was back to normal, but my emotions were wound tight, leaving me always yearning for a reason to explode. Each night before I went to sleep, I bent down on my knees beside my bed and asked God to help me through my horrible nightmares.

  Every evening after dinner, I’d finish the dishes fast and get out of the way. I stopped using the chair as a barrier of entry into my bedroom and started pushing my bed up against the door instead before I went to sleep. I felt safe in the understanding that no matter what Mr. Camm tried, he wouldn’t be able to get in.

  During the day, I had my job to take my mind off of things. I’d followed Mrs. Ferguson’s advice and Mrs. Gaines had hired me. I didn’t have to worry about Mr. Camm during the summer break, either, because I wouldn’t be home.

  Mrs. Gaines was nearly seventy years old. She moved slowly, but her mind was sharp. At first she spent most of her day following me around her house, making sure that I did not steal anything. At least, that was how I saw it. Other than her constantly watching me, she was pleasant, and I got used to her. She had been living alone ever since her husband had passed, more than ten years ago. She did the exact same things every day. She was so used to her habits that she even fixed the same breakfast each morning: one egg over easy, a piece of dry toast, and coffee.

  She enjoyed her breakfast in one of two places, either on her porch or in her parlor. Both offered a panoramic view of the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains. “I love the view,” she’d told me. “The deep green foliage along the hillside is almost blue. You should come here in the fall when the leaves change and float to the ground. It opens up a perfect view of the mountain peaks. And when it snows, it’s like heaven.”

  She also insisted that her lawn was finely landscaped by a man who performed the duties of gardener and handyman. He almost looked as old as Mrs. Gaines. He was a small, colored man, yet his strength amazed me. “Otis is as strong as a bull,” Mrs. Gaines would say. “He never takes a break.” And that seemed to worry her.

  Her house was not real large but it was comfortable. She could easily entertain twenty-five people without any one of them feeling crowded. I don’t think she communicated with too many people in the town because she talked to me all day. Otis rarely came into the house. Most times he was busy pruning trees and fixing up what little there was to do. She seemed to be a real lonely lady. Every afternoon I’d find her sitting in her parlor anxiously waiting for me.

  “Come on in,” she’d say,
and her old weary eyes would light up. She had become attached to me. Each day she looked forward to my visit. That’s what it felt like—a visit. There was hardly enough work to keep me busy. A little dusting and an occasional damp mopping was all that was needed. Most of the time she followed me around and talked to me. Being at her home was relaxing for me, too. It gave me a chance to get away from the fear that suffocated me at home. Mrs. Gaines turned out to be quite a pleasant old lady, one who had seen a lot of changes during her years.

  “My father owned over one hundred slaves. He was a very wealthy man. He was even the mayor of the township years ago. I never needed folks to take care of me, though. I was too damned independent. Had me a colored suitor one time, but my daddy beat me for that, so I let him go. We still remained friends, but at a distance. I was a rebel in my time, a woman with a purpose. Now I’m all alone,” she told me one afternoon after drinking a cup of tea imported from England.

  She didn’t talk much about her children, and I knew that it was not proper to ask. She did mention that all of them craved the city lights. She talked all day about her youth, about her suitors and Mr. Gaines. I wasn’t really interested in some of the things that happened during those times when colored folks suffered. To her it was the height of her life. She’d often say that she wished things were like they used to be. I suppose it was her younger days of love that she longed for, and one afternoon she informed me:

  “Now I want you to use the front door. The back door is for people with dirt on their feet. You are my friend.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, enjoying the confidence of a white lady.

  I really enjoyed working for myself. Twenty cents a day was not very much money to some, but it was more than some people worked for. In time, I would have money saved up for books and even my journey out of Jefferson County. Hester had found a job also, working at the white lady’s house her momma did laundry for.

  In the evenings, on the way home from Mrs. Gaines’, I’d stop by Hester’s. As I tramped through the shortcuts, I couldn’t help remembering when we only saw one another at school. Now I was making frequent visits. Hester’s parents always welcomed other children in their home, since Hester was an only child. It was a secure and lively place. Her father reminded me of Papa in that he never disrespected women, either.

  One evening, instead of going to Hester’s, I walked down the road a bit to Ginny’s. I hadn’t visited her in more than a month. When I walked up on the porch, she was sitting totally still with her eyes shut and her arms hanging by her sides. Even with the sun’s help, there was no vigor in her pale bloodless cheeks.

  “Ginny, are you all right?” I asked as I stepped up on the porch.

  She opened her cloudy eyes and lifted her head. “I’m okay. I’s just dozed off a minute. Furst I done seen ya in a time. Come on, gurl, sit down.”

  I sat down on the porch steps. “Have you been sick?”

  “I’ve been down a spell, but I am getting back up.” She took a sip of water out of a Mason jar.

  “You taking anything?”

  “Yes, I’s got some corn liquor in the house, mixed it up with a little sugar and lemon. Yestidy I made a mess of poke salad with onions. All that will knock any sickness out my body.”

  “You got to take care of yourself.”

  “You betta do the same, gurl,” she said, and smiled. “Been up to Minnie’s lately?”

  “No, I haven’t had time to visit nobody much. I’ve been too busy working. I got a job.”

  “Where’s ya wo’kin?”

  “I’m working for old lady Gaines.”

  “I knows where that is. It’s up yonder road a spell.” Clearing her throat, Ginny added, “I know an old lady that used to wo’k for her. She died.”

  Mrs. Gaines had already told me about the lady getting sick and dying.

  “Heard she’s all right to wo’k for, she don’t mistreat anybody,” Ginny went on. “She doesn’t keep ya too busy, do she? Have you talked to Minnie since you were here?” It was as if she hadn’t heard me the first time.

  “I’ve been busy. I haven’t had much time for myself, much less time for anyone else.”

  She took out a balled-up handkerchief from her apron pocket and patted her forehead. “I told Minnie that I told you what happened, and she didn’t take it too good. Told me I talk too much. Now she go and get scared you mad and won’t come back up there. You is going to see her again, ain’t ya?” she said, as if her role was to bring us together.

  “I’m not mad at her. I had to think about things. And a whole lot of things have been going on in my life,” I said, idly putting my finger in the corner of the loose plank on her porch.

  “Lord, gurl, leaves that ’lone. Ev’rythang around here is falling apart. How’s Mae Lou? I heard ’bout that old man she married. Heard he been drinking all over town. You be careful ’round him. He ain’t the kind of man that needs to be ’round no young gurl.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, and lowered my head in shame. She was too late.

  Ginny didn’t seem to have a lot of visitors, but on Sundays after church, she’d stand around gossiping with the other lonely church sisters, needing something to talk about.

  She drifted right back to her original question. “Now, you gonna take some time to visit with Minnie? She like to see ya.”

  “I’ll try to stop by one day this week,” I said.

  She grinned and folded her hands across her bosom.

  “Stop by here and take her some of them apples. She can make them chirren a pie or som’thin. I’s got plenty, and my trees are hanging full. Get you some ’fore you leave.” This was Ginny’s way of making sure that I visited Minnie.

  “I’ll pick up the apples after work.”

  “I got some a boy picked for me yestidy. She can have ’em all.”

  The longer my visit lasted, the better she started to look.

  “Ginny, did you know my daddy? What kind of man was my real father?”

  She cleared her throat. “I ain’t know him that well. Ev’rybody say he a fine man. Some of his peoples still ’round here. Some of ’em ’tend church with us.” She spat a wad of tobacco in a can. “Maybe one day when you’s leave from ’round here, you’s run into him. Peoples run into family all the time. I knows Minnie would’ve been better off with him.”

  “Do I look like him?” I asked, glad he didn’t have a reputation that would cause me embarrassment. When Ginny spoke of him, she smiled like he was a good man.

  “Gurl, you look like all of yo’ peoples. You are a little of both of them, even Mrs. Mae Lou. You know, folks say if they feed ya long enough, ya look like ’em.”

  “Ginny, you’re something else,” I said, blushing.

  “Well, yo’ papa’s name is Jimmy-Jimmy Tucker. You know yo’ auntie goes to the church. You come from good stock. They’s some hardwo’kin’ people. They got a nice-size farm, too.”

  As Ginny spoke, my heart swelled by her openness with me. Shortly after meeting her for the first time, I’d added her to my prayers. She held nothing sacred when it came to family and love.

  “I ain’t got no reason to lie to ya, dear. You’s got a good family on all sides. Besides, my life’s been an open book. Never could keep my own business private. But one thing I don’t do is keep up a lot of shit.”

  Ginny was still a mystery to be solved, the lines around her eyes telling a story of their own. I wondered where she had been and what she had seen. It was easy for me to open my heart to her, but my shame kept me from telling her about the situation with Mr. Camm.

  The very next day, I stopped by and picked up the apples on my way to Minnie’s. Ginny had packed them in a large brown paper bag, so full I almost couldn’t carry them. She smiled.

  “Do ya think this is ’nough for all them damn chirren? They’s a bunch of greedy-ass chirren,” she mumbled while trying to force one more apple into the bag.

  The color had come back into her sallow skin. Like everyone els
e that lived alone, she’d been suffering from lack of company, and my visit had done her good. I was pleased to be able to visit my old aunt and make her day. I felt safe around her. She wasn’t judgmental or concerned about changing the habits of others. Her business was her own.

  When I arrived at Minnie’s house, everyone was mingling outside. She had moved her kitchen chairs outside and was sitting under a tree fanning flies with a church fan. It was hot and everyone, including the goats and chickens, was panting around in the yard searching for water, shade, and a breeze. Anna saw me and headed straight over. It had been weeks since we’d seen one another at school.

  She embraced me. “What’s in the bag?”

  “Ginny sent these to Minnie. They’re apples.” I handed her the bag.

  “What you’s been doing all summer? I missed ya. I thought ’bout walking over to yo’ place, but didn’t know if it was all right.”

  “I’m working over at Mrs. Gaines’.”

  “Momma won’t let me work. I’s got to help with all these chirren. I want a job. I need the money,” Anna said sadly.

  Minnie signaled for me to come to her. I went over and gave her a warm hug. Her husband watched us from a tree stump, where he was sitting with a cigarette hanging out the side of his mouth. I waved in his direction, but instead of acknowledging me, he rolled his eyes. Minnie saw him and her smile disappeared. But before she could respond, Anna handed her the bag of apples.

  “Ginny said they make the best pies and cobblers,” I told Minnie, speaking of the apples.

  “I sho’ got a taste for a cobbler,” Minnie said, smirking.

  As soon as she set the paper sack down beside her, the children started begging for apples. Minnie gave each one an apple, including her husband, until only a few were left in the bag.

  “It ain’t many left. I’ll save the rest and fry them for dinner.”

  “Have you’s heard from Simon?” Anna asked.