Whistling Past the Graveyard

by kindle@netgalley. com

  “Wallace, he grow up with a hoe in his hand, jus’ like every other colored man in Mississippi. But Wallace, he made a life for hisself! One that didn’t just sit there and wait for what was handed out.” She smiled, like Mamie did when she talked about my granddad. “Had a job with a good wage at the charcoal plant. He work hard, was tall and handsome, and proud. So proud.” Her eyes clouded over and her voice slid low. “That pride what bring him down. Down so low he never the same.” She sat up straighter and squared her bony shoulders. “But he always take care of me.”

  She reached out to brush my hair away from my face, and I hated that her touch made me feel weak and better all at the same time.

  “We be a family now, us four—a secret family.” Eula cupped my cheek with her work-rough hand. “Good Lord, God Almighty, take care of His own,” she whispered, as if church-grateful for her devotion being rewarded.

  I thought for a minute. Maybe I ought to start praying direct to the Lord, since he seemed to be winning here over my baby Jesus.

  “He done give me more than jus’ baby James,” Eula said. “He know you need a momma, too.”

  My back stiffened. “The good Lord already gave me a momma. She’s waitin’ for me in Nashville.”

  “Is she?”Eula’s eyes looked straight into the dark pit of my soul where all of the half-truths hid. “I think your momma maybe been gone a long time.” She tilted her head back, peered down her nose, and seemed to look deeper yet. “I think maybe she don’t even know you comin’.”

  The bitter truth of that snatched the breath from my lungs, drained away my strength to load another lie. I just sat there and stared right back at her with my lips locked tight.

  Eula tried to draw me close, but I pulled away. “There more to bein’ a momma than growin’ a child in your belly. Some women just ain’t made for stickin’ it out.” She didn’t say it hateful, like Mamie when she talked about Momma, but it still got my back up.

  “It ain’t like that with Momma!” I felt a tear roll down my nose. “She misses me.”

  “Course she misses you, you her child. But no matter how much missin’some mommas do, they still can’t be a momma the way the good Lord intended. And I take real good care of you.” Eula sat there while my hurt swirled with anger, making a knot of feelings so tangled and strong I could hardly breathe.

  Then she said, “Yes, the good Lord take care of His own. Trust Him.”

  I was so mad my whole body shook. Eula thought she was better than my momma—when she was just a colored woman. And she tried to make me think this was all God’s doing.

  The skin on my neck prickled. “I trust God.” My voice was raspy. Then it slid even lower, so low I wasn’t sure Eula heard when I said, “But not Wallace.”

  I didn’t want to talk anymore. I went over and laid down on my pallet, facing the wall so my back was to her.

  I didn’t turn over when I heard Wallace unlock the door a while later and let her out. Sometime after that, I smelled something sweet, like a pie baking, sneakin’ under the door. I wondered if Eula had more to deliver to Cayuga Springs. I wondered if Wallace would even let her out of the house to do it if she did.

  Then I worried she would leave . . . leave me and James here alone with Wallace.

  That thought made my insides pucker. I waited and worried, but the truck never started up. Time passed. Eula come back in, but sat down next to James and didn’t talk to me. My fear stewed and boiled and finally began to cool some. But it was still there, like bitter on the back of my tongue after eating a bad pecan. I had a feeling it would stay that way until I was safe away from Wallace.

  Eula didn’t so much as turn an eyelash my way. She sat beside baby James’s basket, humming a church song and rocking. It was like I’d gone invisible. I told myself that was okay, since she was so good at seeing inside my head, I didn’t want her to figure out what I was thinking ’bout doing.

  I didn’t much like being mad at her. But she was just too stubborn and determined to have a baby to see what was obvious as frog’s eyes. Wallace didn’t want to keep me as family. No, sir. Wallace wanted me gone to Jesus.

  I told myself, I am white. Wallace can’t really do me in.

  But I knew better. Nobody knew I was here. I could get buried in the woods and nobody’d ever find me.

  My head hurt and my throat felt like it had a big rock stuck in it. The afternoon passed with me and Eula staying invisible to each another and her coming and going with James. Wallace’s voice on the other side of the door got running slow as an August river, and I knew he was back in the juice. I kept my mind on how I was gonna get away from here and to my momma—who did want me, no matter what Eula said. Getting away, that’s all I let myself think about; not what I was gonna tell Momma about baby James, or about the empty place inside Eula that needed filling so bad that she’d steal a white baby.

  7

  F

  inally, it got dark and the house quiet. The wind came on, not fast and hard, but soft and easy, pushed ahead of a summer storm. The trees whispered with it. The old boards of the house sighed like they was too sad to stand another day. Through the flutterin’ leaves I could see the on-and-off glow of heat lightning. I could still see the moon playing peekaboo through the leaves, so the clouds hadn’t come on yet.

  I couldn’t hardly be still. My skin felt all jittery and my feet twitched with needing to move. I had to make sure Wallace was good and asleep, but couldn’t wait until James was crying for his bottle again. I sure hoped a baby couldn’t starve to death in the time it took me to walk to the highway. It was a fact, James had to come with me; I had to get him back to his real momma. I was mad at Eula for staying with Wallace, but I didn’t want her to get into trouble. If I took James, she wouldn’t, ’cause nobody would ever know she took him. She might have been wrong in going about it, but all Eula wanted was a family, and a person shouldn’t get an arm tore off for that.

  After I made it to the highway, I was gonna have to have a good story solid in my head. So while I waited, I played with some ideas.

  Me and James was orphans. We’d been living with our old grandpa in a shack near the river, but he died of . . . of . . . being old. Now we was going to live with an aunt in Nashville, but there wasn’t no money for bus fare.

  Me and James’s parents left us at a gas station because they didn’t have any money to feed us. They told us to go to a church, and the church people could send us to live with our aunt in Nashville.

  Me and James had a sick momma. She died. We were supposed to go to Nashville on the bus, but somebody stole the bus fare Momma had left us so we could go live with her sister. That’s why we had to hitchhike.

  Me and James was running away from a daddy who beat us to go live with our nice aunt in Nashville.

  James had been kidnapped by some white people (which was a whole lot more believable than a colored person taking him . . . and it’d keep Eula out of it). I stole him from the kidnappers when they stopped for a picnic lunch. Then I hid in the woods with him until they gave up looking for him and went on. I was going to Nashville to live with my momma, but James needed to be taken back to Cayuga Springs to his people. That one seemed best.

  Finally it was time. I could hear Wallace snorin’ steady through the wall. I put on my socks and shoes, then got up real quiet and put my ear to the wall that met with Eula’s bedroom. Wallace’s snores vibrated against my ear like a bee. I wondered how a hateful man like that could fall asleep so peaceful under a picture of Jesus.

  I tiptoed to the window and tried to wiggle the rusted latch, but it still wouldn’t budge—I’d hoped my spit might have soaked in and loosened it.

  I felt a hornet’s wing flutter of panic just under my heart and I started breathing too fast. Sweat popped out on my top lip and I was near to comin’ out of my skin. The feeling was worse than when I’d by accident got locked in the trunk of Mamie’s car.

  My feet wanted to run. My mouth wanted to scream.

&n
bsp; I pinched my eyes shut and gritted my teeth—couldn’t let Wallace hear me, couldn’t show my hand, no matter what.

  Eula thought it would all be okay if I just stayed. But I’d seen that crazy look on Wallace’s face when he’d yanked me from the truck. That kind of crazy liked to hide behind a mask and you never knew when it was gonna come out.

  I went back to working on the window, but the dang thing was gonna be stuck till the devil served popsicles.

  Looking out at all that dark, I tried to get a fix on what I’d do once the window was open. Eula had been right about one thing: country dark was different than town dark. It swallowed up everything, hiding all sorts of awful things—catamounts with their bloodcurdlin’ wildcat cries and sharp claws, swamps filled with snakes, bears, bats . . . I hated bats.

  But I was beginning to hate Wallace more. Truth be told, I was more scared of him, too.

  What if I broke the window? Could I do it without waking Wallace and Eula . . . even worse, waking baby James? More than anything, I needed him to keep quiet.

  If I hit the glass with my elbow wrapped in that knit blanket, maybe it wouldn’t make so much noise. I knew I was only gonna get one chance. Once Wallace knew I was trying to escape, he’d probably tie me up. A man like that might keep me tied up forever—like a dog. Tears got in my eyes. I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t. I would get out of here if I had to chew my way through the walls.

  I grabbed the blanket from the cradle, my hands shaking like they did before I did a dare.

  One chance. That’s all I was gonna get.

  I unfolded the blanket until it was just in half. I bent my elbow on my right arm and put the blanket over it. It fell off twice before I got it over and held tight underneath with a hand extra-clumsy from nervousness.

  I pulled my elbow back, took a deep breath, and held it. With my eyes squeezed shut, I said a prayer to baby Jesus and hit the window with my blanket-padded elbow.

  It didn’t break. But I heard something that sounded like little pebbles falling onto the outside sill. I bumped it again, kinda easy, and heard more pebbles. Looking out, I could see little, dark chunks of glazing on the sill. Mamie had had to hire a man to put new glazing on our garage windows; she said if she hadn’t, the glass woulda popped right out!

  I dropped the blanket and pushed all around the edges of the glass. One corner moved.

  Ho-ly cow.

  I pushed it just a little harder and more glazing broke loose. I could feel the wind seepin’ in right under the glass. It didn’t take long before the entire bottom of the glass moved just a little when I pushed it. I couldn’t tell how much glazing still held it, and I couldn’t figure out how in the heck I was gonna get it out and not have it crash onto the ground outside. But I was gonna get out! If I heard Wallace coming, I’d just jump out and run—I couldn’t do James any good by staying once Wallace was onto me.

  I pressed against the glass, a little harder . . . a little harder . . . a little harder. Then it moved—too much!

  Before I could even suck in a breath, it was falling to the ground and my hands were sticking out in the night, shaking hands with the wind. The glass landed with just a sharp clink and a soft thud.

  For a minute I held still, not even breathing, listening for angry bear steps heading my way. But all I heard was Wallace snoring (thank you, baby Jesus). I closed my eyes and finally breathed. I stuck my head out the window frame. The pane was laying on the ground in two triangles.

  The window was high enough from the ground that I would have to slide out backwards and lower myself from the sill. But how was I gonna get baby James out? The opening was too small for both of us, especially since he couldn’t hang on by hisself.

  For a second, I thought about leaving him there in the corner in his basket. Just drop down and make a run for it. Once I got to Momma, she could call the police and report a kidnapping. Trouble was, I couldn’t tell anybody how to find this place. The second problem was that Eula would get punished. I kept thinking of that man, Shorty, who’d been dragged behind a car. And not long ago I’d heard about a colored church being set on fire with people inside. If people would burn down a church and drag a man until his arm came off, what might happen to Eula?

  James had to come.

  If I picked him up out of that basket, he’d probably wake up. If he woke up, he’d most likely start squallin’. Even Wallace juiced up couldn’t sleep through that.

  I studied for a minute.That basket was just big enough to hold him, soft and oval with a handle on either side that Eula used to carry him around. I got me an idea.

  Sliding the knit blanket through the handles, I lifted the basket, testing to see if it’d hold. It did. I balanced the basket on the window frame, praying the whole time for James to keep on sleeping.

  An owl hooted close by and I about jumped out of my skin—and almost dropped James out the window.

  After swallowing my stomach back to where it was supposed to be, I lowered James and his basket to the ground. Then I slid through the window, letting myself down real slow and careful so I wouldn’t step on him or the glass.

  My toes touched the ground, but I could barely feel them because my whole body was tingly with nervousness. I pulled the blanket out of the handles, picked up the basket, and, although I wanted to run flat out, I tiptoed around the house, glad for the noise of the wind. Once I got past the old truck, I held the basket handles against my chest and took off, trying to run without jigglin’ James’s liver right out.

  I ran as far as I could without my lungs burstin’—which wasn’t all that far ’cause James and his basket took away all my speed. Then I slowed to a walk. I wanted to stop and get my breath. I couldn’t risk it. I had to keep moving. I had to get to the highway before Wallace woke up.

  In the darkness, the woods beside the lane might as well have been brick walls; everything was wove so tight together that a person couldn’t squeeze through without takin’ off a good layer of skin. So I walked on one of the ruts made by the truck tires. For a good while all of the night noises had been covered up with me trying to catch my breath, but before long I was hearing everything—tiny animals running through the brush, scared by me as much as they scared me right back; a tree giving off a squeaky groan when the wind blew harder. Daddy said trees making that sound could fall right down any minute. I couldn’t tell where that particular squeaky tree was, so I just kept walking, hoping to be out of the way when it fell.

  Lucky, I didn’t hear any bears.

  But a catamount don’t make noise when it’s movin’. I gripped the handles tighter and tried to go faster, ignoring the knife stabbin’ me between my shoulder blades and the stitch in my side.

  If I didn’t make the highway by sunup, I wasn’t sure what I would do. If I kept to the road, all Wallace had to do was get in his truck and he’d be on us. If I hid, waiting for dark, baby James would starve for sure. Out here, if he started crying, we’d be easier to find than the sun in the sky—you could hear a catamount cry for miles, I reckon you could hear baby James even farther.

  A big gust of wind swished past, blowing my hair into the corners of my eyes. I shook my head, but I was sweating so bad it stuck like glue. I put the basket down to push the hair away. The big knot of pain between my shoulder blades didn’t let up one bit. I decided to try carrying the basket on one side, like Eula did. I looked up, trying to see the tiny flecks of the moon through the trees. It was gone. I hoped it was just covered up with clouds and not gone because morning was about to happen.

  Then I heard it, thunder rollin’ across the sky. The wind kicked up and settled, and kicked up again.

  I picked the basket up with my right hand and started walking. I had to lean to my left to keep balance. The basket bounced against my right leg something awful. Afraid I’d bounce that baby wide-awake, I moved the basket across my stomach and wrapped my arms around the whole thing, which seemed to hurt less than bending my elbows and holding it by the handles.

  S
uddenly the walls on both sides of me opened up and my feet hit the gravelly road. Somehow I’d made the curve and not noticed. I turned right, back the way I’d come with Eula in the truck, toward the chip and tar road—even though that way passed through the swamp. I didn’t know what was to the left and I couldn’t just run all over the place lugging baby James. I was tuckered out already.

  I’d taken about two steps when the first, fat raindrop hit me in the face.

  8

  w

  histling past the graveyard. That’s what Daddy called it when you did something to keep your mind off your most worstest fear. Ghosts and zombies had nothin’ on Wallace the Bear, so I wished I could whistle. Maybe by the time I finished my song, I’d be through the storm, away from Wallace, safe on the highway, picked up by some nice preacher on his way to Nashville to give a Sunday sermon.

  But I couldn’t whistle, even though both Daddy and Patti Lynn had tried to teach me. So I always had to do my whistling in my head. And the storm that let loose was the worst ever in the history of the world.

  The easy wind got wild. Dirt and twigs hit me like hot pepper, stinging my skin, especially my raw shins. When the lightning flashed, I could see the wind bend the trees nearly halfway to the ground, then toss them back. Long grapevines reached out from where they hung from branches, whipping me as I passed. In the places where kudzu covered the trees, they looked like giant monsters waving their arms and ducking their heads to eat whatever animal, or little girl, passed by. The wind shoved me this way and that, so I when I leaned against it, it just switched around and pushed me from another direction.

  Then the rain really started. It came so hard that even with my head bent down I had to squint my eyes. James busted out crying, the sound snatched up by the wind and carried who knows where, probably right to Wallace’s bedroom. James did sound a little like a catamount, so maybe Wallace wouldn’t pay any attention (please, please, baby Jesus).

  I kept moving forward, my shoes squishing with every sloppy step. A loud crack sounded over the storm, the sound of a splintering tree trunk. The tree crashed against others, a dinosaur in the woods. I stopped dead and squeezed baby James tight, waiting for it to hit, hoping it wouldn’t be on us.