by ANDREA SMITH
Bonnie started when Miss Idella shook her arm. The women’s voices had become a background hum in the room, their laughter like dry echoes. Bonnie had to adjust her eyes from the bright sunlight outside.
“You with us, Bonnie?” Laretha asked.
“Beg pardon?” Bonnie said.
Tilde sucked her teeth. “I’m sho’ we ain’t the most fascinating group of folks,” she chided, “but I think we a lil’ mo’ lively than them damn sheets hangin’ out there.”
“Excuse me,” Bonnie said.
“Excuse us,” Tilde snipped.
Bonnie felt like a child being reprimanded by the teacher.
“As I was sayin’,” Tilde went on, “we’ll have Reverend Duncan make an announcement, askin’ fo’ only baked dishes from every woman in Piney Grove.”
“We say that every year,” Miss Idella put in, “but folks still bring whatever they wants. Last year Gladys Cointreau walked in with a roast beef.”
“Couldn’t believe the nerve of that woman,” Tilde said. “I mean, here we are with all these lovely desserts and Gladys got a damned roast beef.”
“But it sold better than anything,” Bonnie put in.
Five sets of eyes turned to her.
Tilde slanted her head. She took a small breath before she said, “It’s called a bake sale, Bonnie. That mean folks s’posed to bring cakes, pies, cookies and such. When we have us a meat sale, then maybe Gladys can bring roast beef.”
This was one of the reasons that Bonnie stayed quiet at these meetings. Though her remarks were small, she seemed to always rub the cat from the wrong end. She looked outside again. The sheet on the line had separated from the branch of the camphor tree. The pink glow disappeared and the yard looked pale and normal. Bonnie heard the rattle of Naz’s truck, then saw its bumper as it stopped at the side of the house. He was a bit early, yet, to her, he was right on time.
“Will you ladies please excuse me,” Bonnie said, hooking the strap of her purse on her forearm. “I need to leave early today.”
“Don’t forget about the next meetin’ at the lodge,” Olive called to Bonnie. “Deputy Pine’ll be there next week.”
“He still don’t know nothin’,” Laretha said.
“Maybe they’ll have found something by next week,” Miss Idella said.
“Pine cain’t find the nose on his face,” Laretha put in.
“In the meantime,” Tilde threw in, “don’t forgit to bring yo’ old clothes.” Bonnie quickly strode to the front door. “And tell Thora ’bout the drive,” Tilde called. “Maybe she ha’ some dresses she care to part wit’.”
As Bonnie walked out, she heard Olive Lockie say, “Girl, Thora wear them tight things.” Her voice went up an octave when she added, “And expensive!”
“Honey, hush,” Tilde put in. “Hell if I know how Horace can afford to…”
That’s when Bonnie closed the door behind her.
Bonnie didn’t mind shopping for the older members of Piney Grove church. The hard part was making out the chicken scrawl from the women’s shopping lists.
“That a number seven or nine?” she asked Thora.
“Look like a fo’.” Thora glanced at the paper again. “Got to be a fo’ ’cause, Florie Teller cain’t eat no nine green tomatoes all by herself. Old lady like that would get the indigestion somethin’ bad.”
“You prob’ly right.”
“I’m gon’ leave you wit’ yo’ old lady writing,” Thora said, heading toward the jewelry and makeup section. “And I’ll meet you in fabric.”
“Flat leaver,” Bonnie called out. She usually ended up doing the food shopping alone. Horace and Naz had long since abandoned the women to the bait and tackle section of the store. Bonnie stood at the top of the long produce aisle and marveled at the colors of fresh peaches, oranges and squash. As a child, she loved shopping at the Big Buy with her mother. While most children went wild over Sycamore’s Toy Palace just three doors down, Bonnie had always loved the food market. The colors of fresh vegetables and the scent of ground coffee tantalized her. Everyone in the Three Sisters shopped at the Big Buy. Second from church, it was a place to see folks that Bonnie hadn’t seen for a while. She rolled her buggy past the produce and down the aisle lined with sweet grass and palmetto leaf baskets. She nodded at an elderly man browsing the short handle and bread baskets. He wore glasses so thick that Bonnie wondered if he could see. She turned to a shelf with large egg baskets. Bonnie ran her hand across the prickly inside of a pine needle pie carrier then spotted a huge white wicker basket, perfect for filling with yarn or clean towels. But alas, at seven dollars, Naz would surely say that the basket was too dear.
“Bonnie,” Naz said, approaching his wife. “Me and Horace fin to go on over to the hardware sto’.”
“Okay, honey.”
“Hey, there,” the old man said to Naz. He still held a set of sweet grass coasters in his hand. The man couldn’t take his eyes off of Naz. And Bonnie recognized that look. Every once in a while someone still recalled her husband from his baseball days. Naz tended to shy away from folks that recognized him because they always wound up gushing.
“I know who you are,” the man said, squinting as he looked up at Naz.
Bonnie smiled as her husband shrunk from the attention.
“You Justice,” the old man said.
“Excuse me,” Naz said.
“Justice,” the old man repeated, “from Lucky’s Place.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Bonnie said politely, “but you must ha’ the wrong person.”
The old man peered over the top of his glasses, then pushed them on his nose. After another look, he finally said, “Pardon me, sir.”
“That’s alright, old-timer,” Naz said, patting him on the shoulder.
The man put the coasters back on the shelf. “Well, y’all ha’ yo’selves a nice day,” he said as he hobbled up the aisle, then joined a middle-aged woman, perhaps his daughter.
“Sweet ole fella,” Bonnie said. “Prob’ly recognized you from baseball and jes messed up yo’ name.”
“I’m sho’,” Naz said. “Look, honey, I’ll meet you at the car. I’m fin’ to join Horace over at the hardware store.”
“Okay,” she replied. “And don’t forget to get them washers to fix the bathroom sink.”
Naz kissed her cheek and left. Bonnie glanced at her shopping list again. She managed to make out Anna Frye’s half pound of sharp cheddar cheese, sliced slab bacon and…it seemed to say “bottle of citric acid.” Anna had also given Bonnie a swatch of blue gingham cloth to match in the fabric section. She wheeled her cart toward the reams of material stacked against the wall. Packs of buttons, lace and bric-a-brac were stacked on the shelf.
“What you got there,” Kitty Wooten called out. The woman wasn’t rude but never quite bothered with niceties like hello or good-bye. Kitty had worked at the Big Buy for as long as Bonnie could remember and most in the Three Sisters had long since gotten over being offended by her brash manner. Her thin brown face spotted with tiny flesh moles always seemed pinched in thought. A pastel cardigan, which she wore in even the hottest weather, had its sleeves rolled up on her skinny arms. Well in her sixties, Kitty had been here when Bonnie had shopped with her mother and daddy years ago. Kitty would often remind Bonnie about how she brought a bin of navel oranges to the house during Eleanor’s wake.
“Fo’ Anna Frye…right?” Kitty asked, raising her silver-framed glasses to look at the swatch.
“You sho’ly know yo’ customers,” Bonnie said.
“I ’member when Anna first bought that fabric.” Kitty pulled out a ream of the same material. “Had to be a hundred and twenty-seven years ago!” Kitty made jokes but never even cracked a smile. “How much she need?”
“Enough fo’ mendin’.”
“I’ll cut her a quarter,” Kitty said. “And if she need mo’—”
“Y’all got any linen?” a young woman interrupted.
Kitty pulled her head back
. “I’m helpin’ a customer here, miss,” she snapped.
“It’s okay,” Bonnie said.
“No, it ain’t neither,” Kitty huffed. The woman moved away quickly. Kitty called out, “Young gals jes’ as rude as they wanna be!”
“Times is changin’,” Bonnie acknowledged.
“Ain’t changed that much.” Kitty unfolded a half foot of the fabric and began to cut with sharp shears. “My mama woulda slapped my ear!” She pointed at Bonnie with the scissors and said, “And yo’ daddy woulda done the same thing too. Am I right or wrong?”
“That is the truth,” Bonnie chuckled.
Kitty separated the panel of cut fabric from the ream. “And looky there at that one.” She pointed her chin at another young woman. The round-faced woman, in a blue blouse and old denim jeans, looked weary. She had a toddler in her arms, a little girl on the floor beside her feet and an older boy of about ten pushing the buggy. Still another small girl sat on the counter beside a mound of white organza.
“Po’ thing,” Bonnie said. “She seem…overwhelmed.”
“Seem like she need to cross her legs sometimes,” Kitty shot back.
“Lord, Kitty.” Bonnie blushed. She watched the woman frantically searching through a purse with one broken shoulder strap.
Thora wandered over. She stood before Bonnie and Kitty wearing her sexiest pout. “What y’all think?”
“’Bout what?” Bonnie asked.
“This new lipstick.”
Bonnie moved closer. “Don’t you ha’ that color already?” she asked.
“I got Iced Orange,” Thora replied. “This here is Iced Tangerine.”
The young woman that Bonnie and Kitty had been watching suddenly swatted her daughter on the behind. “Git up from the flo’, Elsie,” she barked.
“Dear me,” Thora said as the child screamed.
The woman yanked the tiny girl’s arm until the child was dangling in the air. “Ain’t s’posed to be rollin’ on the damn flo’,” the woman hollered.
“See there,” Thora said. “That’s why I ain’t got no kids.”
“It’s a different story when you know how to handle ’em,” Kitty whispered. “Ain’t supposed to let ’em run through the place like hooligans.” She folded the cut fabric and stuck it in a small brown bag. “And somethin’ else too,” she said. Thora and Bonnie leaned in to hear her say, “Jes’ a few minutes ago, I asked that gal if she needed any help. You will never believe what she said to me.”
“What?” Thora asked.
“Just as proud as you please, she tell me that she lookin’ to buy some material to make herself…” Kitty raised her hand like she couldn’t believe what she was about to say. “Say she wanna make herself a weddin’ dress.”
“Shut up, Miss Kitty,” Thora said.
“All them damn kids and she gon’ make a weddin’ dress,” Kitty went on. “Lord, if that ain’t…one, two, three, fo’ carts befo’ the mule. Am I right or wrong?”
The woman couldn’t be older than twenty-five, Bonnie thought. So young and so burdened. The woman set the toddler in the cart, then yanked at the arm of the girl on the floor again. As she reached to pick up the child, the toddler tried to crawl out of the cart. Bonnie was about to approach the woman to help.
“Leave her be, Bonnie,” Kitty said. “She made her bed and she need to fend fo’ herself.”
“She’s right,” Thora put in.
The woman quickly pulled the plastic wrapper from a green sucker and gave it to the screaming girl she’d just spanked. Then the toddler boy began to cry.
“I ain’t got no mo’ candy, Bo,” the woman said in exasperation.
Bonnie fished a pinwheel mint from her pocketbook, then approached the woman and handed it to the child. He looked up with big watery eyes.
“What you say to the lady?” the mama shouted.
“Thank you,” the boy said, sticking the candy in his mouth.
“You welcome, baby,” Bonnie said.
“Take Bo out to the bathroom,” the woman told her older son, plopping the toddler into the boy’s arms.
“Where the bathroom, Mama?”
“Jes’ take him out in the bushes behind the sto’.”
“Need to find a leash fo’ them kids,” Kitty whispered. “Make me tired jes’ lookin’.”
Just then, the girl called Elsie dropped her sucker onto the ream of white organza. Kitty looked at the child like she had personally attacked her.
“You gon’ need to pay fo’ that!” she said to the mother.
“I cain’t,” the woman said.
“Don’t you see that sign, gal?” Kitty snapped.
Bonnie, Thora and the woman turned to read the sign at the same time. It said, “Please Handle Fabric with Caution!”
“That mean there ain’t supposed to be no messy kids ’round here.”
“I’m sorry but—”
“That’s gon’ be thirty cents!”
“I ain’t got no thirty cents,” the woman yelled. The children were quiet as they watched their mother and Kitty argue.
“You come to buy some fabric, didn’t you,” Kitty quarreled as she yanked the sucker off the material. “Say you makin’ yo’self a weddin’ dress!” The little girl screamed until Kitty handed the candy back to her.
“I come to look at some fabric!”
“What I’m supposed to tell my boss when he see this?”
“I’ll pay the thirty cent,” Bonnie offered.
“You ain’t gotta do that,” the woman told her.
“You need to be thankful,” Kitty barked.
Bonnie dug into her change purse, ignoring them both. This time the woman didn’t protest. She simply nodded her thanks. Moments later the older boy returned with his brother. “Hold yo’ sister’s hand, ’Lijah,” she ordered. “And, Elsie, you keep on cryin’ and I’m gon’ gi’ you somethin’ to cry ’bout.” The woman left the store, her children following like a row of small ducks.
“Damn shame,” Kitty said, shaking her head. “Lil’ mama look like she ready to go on down to the creek her damn self.”
“Now, Kitty…” Thora rebuked.
“Lord forgive me, but y’all know what I mean.”
As spiteful as Kitty’s remark was, Bonnie understood her point. The woman was overwhelmed. And if she couldn’t handle a visit to the market with her four kids, what could her home life be? Bonnie’s thoughts came back to blessings. She often wondered about who was blessed with what, and why. This girl, so burdened, with less than a pot to piss in, was blessed, fourfold. And Bonnie, with all the space in her heart and even more room in her home, remained childless. Bonnie stood in the large window of the Big Buy and watched the woman load her children into the open back of an old truck. Who gets what, and why? How were these decisions made? She felt for this mother and her poverty and helplessness. And maybe this was one of Bonnie’s blessings. She couldn’t do a damn thing for the young woman. But at least she cared.
The second town meeting at the Brethren of Good Faith Hall had half the people that the first one did. But the ones who came still felt the aftershocks of a small life lost nearly three months ago. Several people from Piney Grove returned, along with Reverend Duncan and his wife, and five of Naz’s lodge brothers. Thora and Horace Dean were in attendance this time, as were Trent Majors, Bailey Dial, Jess Sinclair and only one of the Bell sisters. Ruby-Pearl Yancy surprised them all by being there again. She sat quietly near the door. One or two faces that Bonnie didn’t recognize had come—and of course, all of the ladies from the Blessed Harvest.
Pine stood before them. “About a week ago,” he began, “a young gal—live in Manstone—was reported to us by her husband.” Pine stuffed his hands in his pockets. “The gal’s husband claim she had a baby ’bout fo’ months ago…”
The crowd was rapt.
“This husband,” Pine went on, “he one a these n’er-do-well kinda fellas…y’all know what I mean. He admit that he drink some and tomcat o
n the gal…”
“Git to the point,” Laretha yelled. “Y’all know who kill this chile or not?”
Pine was unstirred by the emotion in the room. “This gal,” he calmly proceeded, “tole her husband that she took the baby to her grandmama, somewhere in Georgia. But this fella come to think that maybe this gal did harm to the chile. Say she never visited the grandmama, never spoke about the chile, and say she was actin’ real strange. Walkin’ ’round all hours of the night, mumblin’ to herself and such. But more, he went to see the grandmama and the grandmama didn’t know nuthin’ ’bout no chile.”
Bonnie could feel her heart pounding. She held Naz’s hand on one side and Thora’s on the other.
“Was it this gal who drowned her baby or not?” Horace called out.
“She in jail?” Tilde asked.
“Husband say that the gal run off,” Pine said. A collective groan sounded through the room. “We cain’t find her to ask any questions. Husband say she could be anywhere from here to Michigan.”
“You gotta be kiddin’!” Laretha said in disgust.
“Point is,” Pine said, jangling his keys, “she was our biggest lead, and now…she’s gone.”