Under the Sassafras

by Hattie Mae

  They worked for another couple of hours until a low rumble of thunder sounded, and a breeze rustled the leaves on the grand sassafras. “That storm came in fast.” Mansir shaded his eyes against the fading sunlight to see the large black cloud rolling toward them.

  “We better hurry. The rain is close, but we might make it to the house in time.” Joelette said as Mansir gathered the pickaxe and hoe. She picked up the lunch bag. A fat drop hit her on the head.

  They ran toward the tool shed, pelted by raindrops the size of silver dollars. The closer they came to the shed the harder the rain came down. By the time they reached the door, their clothes clung to them.

  Mansir hung the tools back on the wall.

  The first bout of laughter slipped out before she could stop it.

  He turned toward Joelette, his brows rose in a question.

  “I'm sorry. I was remembering the last time I saw you run, when you caught that gator. You can cover a lot of ground when you want to with those long legs.” Laughing felt good after everything that had happened that day. She reached up and moved the wet hair that had fallen across Mansir's brow.

  Mansir caught her hand and pulled her to him. Staring into her eyes, he sought permission. He brushed his lips across her eyelids. Then kissed the tip of her nose.

  “Joelette?” he whispered.

  She should put a stop to this, but her body wouldn't let her. Not yet. She just needed to taste his lips, just once.

  His lips covered hers. Warm and soft. She couldn't breath. Joelette put her arms around his neck and pulled him to her. Being in Mansir’s arms, she felt safe.

  “You let go of my mother!”

  The sound of T-Boy's voice pulled them apart. He was crying and beating on Mansir's side.

  “Let her go, let her go,” he sobbed.

  “T-Boy I'm not hurting your mom, I'm just...”

  Joelette shook her head no. “Come here, son,” she knelt down and held out her arms and surrounded him with them as he ran to her. “It's okay, Mansir and I were just talking. He wasn't trying to hurt me. I'm okay.”

  “Mamma, I'm not stupid.” He crossed his small arms across his chest. “I know a kiss when I see one. He was kissing you. He just pretended to be my friend.” T-Boy wiped his nose on the back of his hand. Then whispered, “He made me cry.” T-Boy stood up as tall as his frame would allow and dried his eyes. “But I won't cry no more. Make him leave, Mom. Make him leave now.”

  “T-Boy, nobody is going anywhere, except to the house. This is as much my fault as Mansir's. I'm the one that is to blame. It will not happen again.” Joelette looked up and saw the hurt on Mansir's face. “Understood?”

  Mansir knelt down beside Joelette. He searched T-Boy's face. “I'm sorry. T-Boy, I am your friend. Remember this, it is okay to cry. Sometimes I feel like crying, and that does not make me less a man. And if your mom says that something will not happen again, then it won't.”

  Joelette saw the sorrow in Mansir's eyes as he turned and walked out of the shed.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The days that passed since their kiss had been agony for him. He'd held her, tasted her lips, and it had made him only want her more. If only things were different.

  “You’re in deep thought. Everything alright?” MaeMae dried her hands on her apron.

  “I remembered something last night after I went to bed.”

  MaeMae came and sat at the table across from him.

  “I was lying in the dark with my eyes closed and saw clouds reflected in a large glass building. The memory was so real I felt I could reach out and feel the smoothness of the glass. I know I've seen that building with the same reflection many times. There's a nameplate on the building but I never could see it clearly. MaeMae, I know this is a real memory. A place I know well.

  “The best part about this memory,” Mansir continued, “is that I can recall it as many times as I want. I close my eyes and there it is all laid out in front of me. Today will hold an answer no matter how small.”

  She reached across and squeezed his hands. A breeze fluttered in through the screen door, pleasant and cool.

  “The weather sure is nice If I didn’t know better I’d think fall was in the air,” Mansir said.

  “You’re rushing fall, we have a ways to go yet.” MaeMae stood and checked the oven.

  He sniffed. “What in the world are you cooking now?”

  “Bread pudding, my dear boy. My signature dish.” She giggled a youthful laugh. “Sounds impressive, oui? I heard one of the chefs on TV call a dish he made his signature dish. Every good cook has a specialty, so since everyone seems to like my bread pudding, I made it my specialty. I'll give you a small taste as soon as it sets. But the rest is for my Bourré game tonight. It's the prize you know.” MaeMae took a sip of tea and sighed. “I'm a terrible player. I lose almost every time, but I do enjoy my Bourré.”

  “What's Bourré?” Mansir asked as he leaned his chair back on its two back legs.

  “All six legs on the floor please.” She pointed a crooked finger at him. “I don't allow T-Boy or Ozamae to lean back in my chairs and that goes for you too.”

  Mansir eased the two front legs of the chair back to the floor feeling like his mom had scolded him.

  A brief image of a beautiful woman drifted across his mind. The sweetest smile etched her face. She stood at the stove, spoon in hand a look of love in her eyes. The smell of Evening in Paris powder lingered in his mind. His chest constricted and he couldn't catch his breath.

  Was that his mom? He closed his eyes squeezing them so tight they hurt as he tried desperately to recall that image, but it was gone.

  “Let me see, you asked me a question,” MaeMae said. “Oh yes, about Bourré. It's an old Cajun card game that many good men and women have lost their income to. But me and my girls, we don't play for real money, just beans. The winner gets the specialty dish prepared by the hostess.”

  He shook his head, still reeling from the flash of memory. He tried to focus on the conversation at hand. Later he would write details in his journal. Maybe that would prompt another vision of the beautiful woman. Was she his mother? Could she be his wife? Surely if he were married, he would remember her, feel her somehow. He focused on MaeMae. “How many people play?” Mansir asked.

  “There are five of us in all. Used to be six but Lucy passed two years ago, we've never filled her spot. She was so much fun. We miss her and her Crawfish Etouffee.”

  MaeMae poured them another glass of tea. “That leaves Cora-best known for her Boudin, Odilia and her famous Syrup Cake. Cora and Odilia are both my cousins, by marriage. Then there are the two sisters: Amelia, who bakes the best Crawfish Pie this side of New Orleans and Alice with her Shrimp and Okra Gumbo. Alice thinks hers is the best in the parish, but she never browns her roux enough. Mine’s better.” MaeMae held up one finger. “Although she is the best card player.”

  The clock chimed the hour. MaeMae shot to her feet. “See, you did it again. You make me flap my mouth and I've a million things to do before six tonight.”

  “If you don't need me, I thought I would work in the woodshed today with T-Boy, if he'll join me,” Mansir said. “He's not very happy with me right now.”

  “I don't know what happened between the two of you and T-Boy, but I'm sure you can shake the dirt out of the rag and all will be fine. Working and talking together is the first step.”

  Ozamae ran into the kitchen shattering the quiet morning. T-Boy followed close behind. “Yummy! Bread Pudding. Can I have some, MaeMae? Please? Oh, and can I count your beans, I promise I won't lose any this time?” Ozamae sucked in a breath.

  T-Boy stood back with both hands stuffed in his jean pockets.

  “I always put a little pudding to the side for you boys, you best wait until after lunch. Go wash your hands, Ozamae, if you are going to count my beans. I want them clean. There is no telling what they have been holding.”

  Ozamae let out a yell and bounced off to the bathroom.
>
  “I could use your help in the woodshed today, T-Boy. I have something special to make. You interested?” Mansir didn’t miss the look of betrayal in the young boy's eyes. Somehow he’d have to regain T-Boy’s trust.

  “T-Boy, answer Mansir.” MaeMae walked over to T-Boy and put her arms around his sagging shoulders. “You know you love to make things. He's asked for your help. What do you say?”

  T-Boy's eyes never left Mansir. “Alright, if it don't take too long. I have important things to do. I'll meet you.” He turned and ran out the door toward the shed.

  “Be patient with him, Mansir,” MaeMae said.

  Ozamae ran back into the room, his hands dripping.

  “Okay my little man, when you wash your hands you must also dry them.” MaeMae handed Ozamae a towel.

  Mansir walked to the shed, but didn’t enter the building right away. Instead he stood in the doorway and watched T-Boy sit at the workbench and turn the handle of the large vise mounted to the top of the counter.

  “It's good you decided to help me today, T-Boy,” Mansir said as he breached the doorway. “I have a surprise I thought we could make for MaeMae. I've been trying to find a day when she was busy, and this seems like the perfect day. With your mom at Mrs. Broussard's all day and MaeMae preparing for her Bourré game, we can finish this project in a few hours.”

  So far T-Boy didn’t seem interested or impressed.

  Mansir removed a large wrapped bundle from the top shelf and placed it on the bench in front of T-Boy. “I've already shaped the rockers, but we need to sand and prep them for painting.”

  T-Boy stepped closer. With T-Boy's interest piqued, Mansir unwrapped the two rocking pieces.

  “What are these?” T-Boy asked. He ran his small hands over the two curved pieces of wood. “Are we making a chair?”

  “No. We’re repairing one, giving it a new life so to speak. MaeMae's rocker on the front porch has been broken for a very long time. She's told me how she used to rock in that old chair half the night. I think she said it belonged to her mother.” Mansir watched T-Boy out of the corner of his eye and saw that the boy was intrigued.

  Mansir shrugged casually. “I thought the two of us could make it like new. MaeMae told me about the card game tonight so she won't be sitting on the porch. We can sand and seal these rockers and after attaching them to the chair, paint the whole thing. In the morning, I will get up early and put it back in its place.”

  Excitement lit in T-Boy's eyes. “This will make MaeMae very happy, right? She loves surprises. Where do we start?”

  Mansir sat next to T-Boy and handed him sandpaper and a clean cloth. “You work on this one and I'll work on the other. They have to be very smooth so when she rocks it's even.”

  The tip of T-Boy's tongue stuck out of his mouth and kept time with the movement of his hands. A smile tugged at Mansir's lip. He’d seen the same expression on Joelette’s face when she sewed.

  The sandpaper scratched a rhythmic tattoo as the two workers moved it over the rockers. They stopped every now and then to wipe the sawdust away with the clean cloth.

  “Why did you do it?” T-Boy asked in a voice barely over a whisper. “The other night. Why did you kiss my mother? You had no right, you know.”

  Mansir choose his words carefully. “You're right, T-Boy, I didn't have the right. I like your mother very much. Believe me, I will never kiss your mother again, unless she asks me. This I promise.”

  Mansir gave T-Boy the time he needed until T-Boy broke the void. “Do you think you have a son somewhere? A son like me?”

  Mansir put the sandpaper on the bench and took T-Boy's face in his hand and turned it to him. “I can tell you what I feel. If I have a son somewhere, I think I would know it, somehow. I like to think that I’d be able to feel him out there, and I’d do everything I could to make my way back to him. If I had a son, I’d want him to be just like you. You are a son to be proud of. Remember that, T-Boy.”

  Mansir let go of the boy's soft face and turned from his searching eyes. Was he right? Would he know if he had a son waiting somewhere for him to return? He did have a strong feeling someone was looking for him. This just added weight to his shoulders.

  He picked up the sandpaper and handed it to T-Boy. “We better get back to work if we're going to keep this a surprise. You keep sanding and I'll open the primer and find us some paint brushes.”

  When they were almost finished someone knocked on the door.

  “What's going on in there? I've been home for hours and MaeMae told me you two have been out here all day. So what gives?”

  “Don't come in, Mom. We're making a surprise and you'll ruin it. Okay?” T-Boy wiped his hands on the now dirty cloth Mansir gave him that morning. Specks of white paint dotted his face, hands and hair, but a giant smile lit his face.

  “You have more paint on you than you have on the rocker,” Mansir said as he tousled T-Boy's hair.

  “Well, you two will have to stop for now. MaeMae wants us to eat supper so the kitchen can be cleaned for her Bourré game. Hurry up.” Her footsteps grew faint as she walked away.

  “We better get a move on,” Mansir said. “I sure don't want your mom mad at me anymore than she has been. Maybe we should wash up in the outside sink.”

  The two of them stood back and examined the chair sporting its new rockers and paint job and then both nodded their heads. “Looks good, don't it, Mansir?”

  “Yes it does, T-Boy, you did a great job today. After supper we will come out and put on the last coat of paint.”

  “I can't wait to see MaeMae's face tomorrow morning. You know how to fix everything, don't you, Mansir?”

  He put his hand on T-Boy's shoulder and as they walked back toward the house. “Not everything T-Boy,” he said softly

  As they washed the sawdust and paint specks off their hands and faces they smiled at each other. Mansir saw a glint of mischief in T-Boy's eyes. The boy scooped up some water and threw it on Mansir.

  “Oh no you don't. You're not getting away.” Mansir retaliated with a large handful. The water fight continued until MaeMae threw open the door.

  “Supper will not wait any longer on you two,” she said sternly. She held her hand to her face, hiding her grin.

  Joelette and Ozamae already sat at the table. “See what a good job I did with MaeMae's beans,” he said pointing to several neatly stacked cups filled with dried beans.

  “I thought they were for supper,” said Mansir.

  Ozamae's eyes widened. He shook his head. “MaeMae would never cook these beans. They are very important. It's her monies.”

  Ozamae's serious tone could make anyone believe these beans were important.

  ###

  After supper, Mansir and T-Boy hurried off and returned to their secretive work. MaeMae’s friends arrived talking all at once and their laughter rang in the night air. Joelette couldn’t help but smile.

  She had bathed Ozamae and then let him snuggle up on her bed with his favorite movie. He looked almost asleep. Joelette crept out of the room and made her way to the front porch.

  Mansir and T-Boy had certainly made up. That man sure had a way about him. No one could stay mad at him long. She had recalled the kiss endlessly over the last few days. No one had ever made her feel like that, not Emmett, the first boy to kiss her, or even Otis, her husband of ten years. Joelette reached up and rubbed her finger across her lips, remembering the feel of him.

  What was wrong with her? Did she have true feelings for Mansir, or was it simply pity or loneliness. Perhaps a little lust. She knew for sure it wasn’t love. It couldn’t be.

  Joelette shook her head. Those thoughts would get her nowhere. Instead she concentrated on the conversation drifting through the screen door.

  “Alma, do you remember when we all played dominoes at my house and my Frank got scared?” Cora could hardly finish her sentence for the spurts of laughter. “He set down his Bull Durum sack of tobacco on the table and it began to move. He watched th
at tobacco move toward him and then he turned as white as a sheet before he jumped up and ran out the door.”

  The other ladies were laughing so hard that Cora’s story could barely be heard over them.

  “Then you, Alma, being so brave, picked up that pack of tobacco and under it was the biggest June bug I’d ever seen, walking across the table,” Cora said. “Frank came in and accepted his ribbing. He never smoked again after that night. He claimed someone sent him a message in that walking pack of tobacco.”

  When the laughter died down, all was quiet. “I still miss that old man, always will,” Cora said, then she cleared her throat. “Whose deal is it?”

  “I even miss my Willie,” Amelia said. “A kinder man you never met, but dumb as a stump. Do y'all remember when I came to Bourré one night and told y'all about Willie's bath that night? I ran late because I had to help give him his second bath.”

  “I remember that,” Odilia chimed in. “That's a good one. Tell it again, Amelia.”

  “Well Willie always got into my bath stuff, such as the lilac water and rose oil I used to soak in. He wasn't much to look at, but Lord, that man loved to smell good. For a time my friend from New Orleans sent me bath salts in large boxes that I would hide from him.”

  “This is about his rash, isn't it?” Alice asked already giggling.

  “Wait. Let her tell, it’s her story,” MaeMae said.

  “That night,” Amelia continued, “I was getting dressed when I heard Willie yell at me. He stood buck naked in the bathroom scratching every part of his body he could reach.”

  She snorted as she laughed. “And y'all remember how skinny he was in his overalls, all bones, no meat. Well you should have seen him naked. What a sight. He kind of resembled one of those new born cranes without feathers all pale-their skin so thin you can see their veins.

  “'Amelia, you have to help me scratch. I'm plum miserable. That darn bath salt gave me hives,'” she said mimicking a man’s voice. “I looked around the room for my bath salts, but remembered I had hidden them away in back of the linen closet. Then I saw what that fool man had done.”