by ANDREA SMITH
“I never thought so,” Bonnie said.
Thora looked at her friend like she was a traitor.
“Well, I’m sorry, Thora, but I never thought that.”
“Come on, Bonnie! Them gals been fast fo’ as long as I can remember. And I mean all three—Essie, Bessie and Birdie!”
“But how?” Bonnie asked.
“What you mean, how?”
“How they start carryin’ on?” Bonnie asked. “And when?”
Bonnie could see the hurt on Thora’s face. “Horace went up to Bessie’s house to fix her sink. Before he left home, he tole me it was jes’ a routine job and that it wouldn’t take mo’ than a half hour. Well, Bonnie, the man was gon’ three damn hours!”
“Maybe the pipes were all clogged or somethin’. You know how hairy them Bell sisters is.”
“That wasn’t all. I know he was at her place a few mo’ times too.”
“How?”
“Mother Carey…”
“She a hundred and two, Thora.”
“The woman can still see as good as you and me both,” Thora argued. “She say them Bells musta had a lot of trouble in they commode, ’cause Horace been in and outta there a lot.”
Thora pulled into the gate on Blackberry Corner. She turned off the engine and the two women sat for a moment.
“So…one day I asked him,” Thora went on. “I say, ‘You fuckin’ Bessie Bell?’”
Bonnie grabbed her own mouth to stop herself from crying out.
“Yes, I did too,” Thora confirmed. “’Course, he tole me I was nuts. Say my mind was making things up. So I say, ‘Well, whether it is or whether it ain’t, you fixin’ to git up out my house!’”
“And?”
“Ain’t had no problem since. You know I don’t tolerate that kinda mess. Horace Dean ain’t nobody’s fool! If there’s a choice between Bessie Bell and me…” Thora did a double take at Bonnie’s front porch. “Who you expectin’ this late?”
Bonnie couldn’t make out the dark figure standing at her door. Godfrey circled the house, slightly agitated.
“Don’t tell me you got yo’self a backdo’ man,” Thora teased.
“You jes’ plain silly.” Bonnie got out of the car and walked toward the porch. A young girl, no older than seventeen, was standing at the door. The porch shadows obscured her features. She looked to be carrying a bundle of clothes.
“Hey there,” Bonnie called.
The girl didn’t answer. She barely attempted to look at Bonnie and Thora as they approached.
“Can we do something fo’ you, sugar?” Bonnie asked.
“You mean what you say?” the girl asked.
Bonnie stopped just below the steps. “’Scuse me?”
“Ain’t you Bonnie Wilder?”
“Yes.”
“You the woman who want the babies?”
The bundle in her arms suddenly took on a different form. When she shifted the load, Bonnie could see the outline of a head and two little feet. Bonnie felt her heartbeat quicken.
“You are the woman that ask fo’ the babies, ain’t you?” the girl asked again.
“What…?” Bonnie stuttered.
“Stood up at the lodge hall,” she said. “I seen you myself.”
“I…I meant only…if somebody ’bout to do harm to a child.”
Thora looked as shocked as Bonnie.
“I ain’t fixin’ to do no harm,” the girl answered. “But, I ain’t ’bout to take care no chile neither.” The girl glanced down into the blanket at the quiet baby. “The onliest reason I didn’t go to that nurse live out in Canton and have her…well, you know…is ’cause a what you said at that meetin’. See, I ain’t for killin’ no babies, inside me or out.”
“I don’t…understand,” Bonnie stammered.
“You said to bring the babies to you,” the girl insisted. “That’s what you said, right?” Before Bonnie could answer, the girl plopped the child in Bonnie’s arms. A slight odor of curdled milk rose from the damp blanket.
“I cain’t take yo’ baby, miss!”
“Naz will kill you dead,” Thora whispered.
“Hush,” Bonnie snapped.
“I ain’t name ’im or nuthin’,” the girl said, picking up what looked like a batch of rags and placing it by Bonnie’s feet. “And he only six weeks old, not enough time to know my smell, even.” The girl pulled a dark sweater around her shoulders. “I jes’ gi’ him some milk, so he ain’t hungry.” She looked directly at Bonnie and said, “I won’t ask you no questions ’bout what you plan to do. And I won’t be back.”
“Look a h’yere,” Bonnie cried. “I cain’t do this! I cain’t be doin’ this…”
“You look like a nice lady,” the girl said as she turned to leave the porch. “You got me and God’s blessings both.”
“Wait a minute,” Bonnie yelled. “Hey, girl!” She had to trot to follow the young woman around to the back of the house. “Wait jes’ a damn minute here,” she screamed. “Hey you, Mama…please…”
Seconds later, the girl had disappeared into the woods. The baby cried out as Bonnie labored to run as far as the clearing. Godfrey followed, barking the whole way. Bonnie stopped at the edge of the woods, out of breath, searching the darkness in a panic. “Thora,” she hollered toward the house. “Help me here.”
“What you want me to do?” Thora called.
“Something!” Bonnie cried.
Thora stepped past the bare blackberry bushes. “You the one stood up and said it, Bonnie Wilder!”
Bonnie rocked the crying baby. “Don’t tell me that, damn it!”
“Cain’t cuss in front of the chile,” Thora teased.
“Don’t you dare, Thora Dean. Don’t you try me now!”
Bonnie searched the black woods but could see no movement. “Tell me this didn’t jes’ happen,” she said to herself. She peeked into the blanket. The baby’s eyes were two slits and his body was shaking from screaming so loud. “Naz is gonna kill me.”
“Yep,” Thora said, covering her ears against the noise.
“Oh, my Lord,” Bonnie whispered when she looked into the blanket again. “That woman jes’ left her baby. What in the world am I gon’ do with this chile?”
“Don’t ask me,” Thora said, lighting a cigarette. “I ain’t got no kids and don’t want no kids.”
Bonnie walked warily across the back lawn. She set the batch of clothes at the bottom of the steps, beside her wash bucket, then carried the screaming baby into the house. Godfrey, who usually rushed in, looked content to stay on the back porch. He lay there with his head down, recoiling at the sound of the wailing boy. Bonnie held the child with one arm and clicked on the kitchen light. Her body felt numb and the house seemed almost foreign with the sound of the crying child. She paced the linoleum floor, while Thora opened a bottle of wine. Her expression was one of amusement as she drew on her cigarette.
“This gon’ be a two bottle night,” Thora called over the wailing.
“None fo’ me,” Bonnie said. “Gotta keep my wits.”
“You been a mama for all of five minutes and already you ain’t no damn fun!”
Bonnie took the child into the living room and sat on the soft sofa with the boy in her lap. The child’s screaming had begun to calm and his eyes widened. He looked as dazed as Bonnie. Her head spun with questions. Who was this mama and how could she leave this baby? She could tell that the child knew his mama was gone. Surely he could sense the change in body rhythm. Bonnie swayed gently, trying to assure him that everything would be just fine.
Thora walked from the kitchen with a water glass full of wine. The pretense of a dainty cup hardly seemed necessary after the night’s events. She sat at the vinyl-covered dining table, just feet away from the couch, and tapped the ashes from her cigarette into an ashtray. “What you gon’ tell Naz?”
“Heck if I know.” Bonnie lay the baby on the couch and opened his soiled blanket. His clothes were just as filthy and stained. The boy seemed to be watching h
er as she removed the tiny shirt and the limp saturated diaper. His naked body looked like a chunk of bittersweet chocolate. Bonnie grabbed a dry doily from the armrest of the sofa and draped it over the child’s body. She set him in Thora’s arms and dashed into the bedroom.
“This chile stink to the heavens,” Thora carped, the cigarette clenched between her teeth, “but he jes’ as cute as a kitten.”
Moments later, Bonnie returned with a damp cloth, one of Naz’s old T-shirts and a can of talcum powder. She wiped him down and sprinkled powder over his body. Bonnie used her teeth to bite a tear into the cotton, ripped it and fastened it around the baby’s bottom, then secured the makeshift diaper with two safety pins. Funny how she had nothing in the house to take care of a baby, but somehow maternal instinct and imagination took over.
“What the hell are you gon’ do, honey?” Thora asked.
“I need to sleep on this one,” she said.
“Ain’t nobody gettin’ no sleep tonight!”
Bonnie’s mind clicked away. “I’m gon’ tell Naz the truth,” she said. “I mean, the chile jes’ come to me. Right?”
“You did kinda ask for it.”
“I ask for a lotta things,” Bonnie snapped.
“So?”
“I don’t know!” Bonnie looked around helplessly. “And I ain’t gon’ think about it no mo’, ’cause the mama’ll be back. She’ll change her mind and she’ll be back befo’ Naz even come home tomorrow.”
“I wouldn’t hold my breath,” Thora said. “If Mama-gal had the notion to leave this baby, then I’m afraid the chile is jes’ plain left.” As if on cue, the baby began to whine, then wail. “Damn it, Bonnie. Gi’ the boy some milk or somethin’.”
“Mama say she jes’ fed him.”
“Then give him a sip of this,” Thora said, holding up her wineglass. “This’ll calm his ass down.”
Bonnie ignored her friend’s trifling remarks. She held the baby’s cheek to her own. His little puffs of breath were sweet and his face felt like butter. She couldn’t understand how the mother could just leave. And more, Bonnie couldn’t believe that someone had actually taken her statement to heart. The infant whimpered, then yawned, then slept on her shoulder. Naz would understand, Bonnie thought. She lay the baby’s sleeping body across her chest. Naz would have to understand that the baby had just come to her.
SIX
When Naz left for Nashville that Saturday morning, he’d worn a pair of khaki pants and work boots—he’d been dressed for the park. But when he returned Sunday, he had donned a gray suit, a bold red tie and a fedora with a tiny blue feather. Naz usually felt uncomfortable in anything fancier than leisure slacks and a flannel shirt. One of the reasons he disliked going to church was that he had to dress up. Though he looked magnificent in Sunday clothes, the stiff gabardine annoyed him and the silk of a tie was like a slippery noose around his neck.
Naz stopped in the foyer to skim through the weekend mail. Bonnie looked over at the baby sleeping comfortably in the sewing basket on top of the dining room table. She had to admit that, after Thora had left first thing this morning, it was wonderful puttering around the house, knowing that a baby lay gurgling just feet away. Every once in a while she would talk to him and somehow she felt the baby understood her. At the very least, the child understood love.
Naz walked into the living room and removed his hat. He didn’t seem to notice that the blinds were half closed to the midmorning sun and the room was quiet of the usual TV sounds. Bonnie prayed that the child would give her a few minutes before he woke up and was glad that Baby Wynn slept so soundly. Baby Wynn. Thora had come up with the name. Last night into early morning as the two women sat pondering the fate of the child, the same word kept repeating itself. “When the mama comes back, when Naz gets home, when will that damn baby stop crying…” So Thora started calling him Baby When. Bonnie respectfully changed the spelling.
“Looky there at you, Naz Wilder,” she said, running her hand down his lapel. “My man go away fo’ a few days and come back sharp as a tack.”
“Some of the fellas invited Horace and me to Sunday service,” Naz said. Bonnie made sure her body blocked the basket on the dining room table. She followed him into the bedroom. “Jackie ’tend church no matter where the team…”
“You worshipped with Jackie Robinson, sho’ nuff?” she asked.
Naz nodded. “Since me and Horace was goin’ to Sunday service, we decided to go to the tall man shop there in Nashville and get us a couple of suits. Glad we did, ’cause the evenin’ news was makin’ pictures of Jackie right there at the church.”
“You don’t say,” Bonnie replied.
Naz slipped the suit jacket onto a wooden hanger and pressed it into the back of his closet behind his flannel shirts. He reached into his bag and handed Bonnie a soft, flat object wrapped in white tissue paper. Most times Naz would bring home a can opener or a pot holder when he returned from a trip. When she opened the tissue, inside was a yellow and green scarf.
Bonnie reached up and hugged him around the neck.
“Got it when I went into town in Nashville,” he said proudly. “But I need to warn you, Horace got the same one fo’ Thora.”
“She’ll love it jes’ as much as me,” Bonnie said, folding the satin square.
“Godfrey,” he called.
Bonnie flinched at the loudness of his voice. “I put ’im out back,” she said.
“Must mean Thora still ’round.”
“She left early this mo’nin’. Say she wanted to roast a duck fo’ Horace.”
“What you make fo’ me?”
“Got a brisket,” she answered. Bonnie could feel her heart pounding. She glanced out toward the basket. “Also made some candied yams.”
“Sound good,” he said, stepping into his overalls. “What you gals been up to this weekend?”
Here was the perfect opportunity to explain what had happened. But she knew that Naz’s easy mood would quickly turn to anger. He didn’t get irritated too often, but when he did, he would yell at her, then withdraw for hours of silence. “We ain’t done much,” she said. “You know…this and that.” Bonnie stayed at his heels when he returned to the living room, where he snapped on the TV. Thankfully it was low. He flicked through the stations until he found a movie with Claude Rains, and took a seat on the couch. Bonnie stood between Naz and the table. She could see that Wynn was still asleep. “You want yo’ dinner in here?” she asked.
“If you don’t mind. My leg been botherin’ me bad and I jes’ want the comfort of the couch.”
Bonnie thought about taking the basket with her into the kitchen but knew it would only draw Naz’s attention to the baby. Also, moving Wynn might cause him to wake. Bonnie prepared a plate of beef and rice. She spooned thick glaze over the yams, then quickly cut a wedge of cornbread.
“Bonnie,” he called.
She froze.
“Put some lemon in my tea. You know I like that lemon.”
Bonnie took a breath. She placed his dinner plate on a wooden tray, along with a tall glass of sweet tea topped with a lemon slice. When she returned, Naz was standing over the basket.
“Who you sittin’ fo’?” he casually asked.
“Sittin’?”
“Don’t look like Jenna Dixon’s child or any of the babies from church,” he said, taking the tray from Bonnie. He crossed back into the living room and set the food on the coffee table. Naz opened a napkin and stuffed it in the top of his shirt.
“It’s not Jenna’s chile.” Bonnie answered. She shut her eyes for a moment and prepared for the worst. But so far, Naz didn’t seem bothered or even concerned. His gaze remained on the black and gray figures that darted across the TV screen, even as he leaned over to slice the thick wedge of beef.
“So whose chile, then?” he asked as he stared at the TV.
“I don’t rightly know,” Bonnie answered.
“Don’t rightly know what?”
“I don’t know whose
chile this is.”
Naz turned to her, suddenly focusing on her words. “What you say?”
Bonnie steadied herself before she began. “A gal…left the baby with me.”
Naz looked at her blankly.
“Thora and me had come from the diner last night,” she explained, trying to keep her voice easy and calm. “Went over there to Mayweather’s, you know, and we were coming up the drive here and this young gal was standin’ at the do’. She was jes’ standin’ there, Naz.” Bonnie could see a strange look slowly etch itself across her husband’s face but she couldn’t tell if it was anger or disbelief. “Woman say she couldn’t take care of the baby…”
With the napkin still dangling from his collar, Naz went to the basket again but kept his distance as he looked down at the child, now wide-awake, gurgling contentedly, his limbs thrashing about. “You mean to tell me that some woman come up to this house,” he said slowly, “and left a baby wit’ you?”
“Yes, sir.”
Bonnie braced herself for his anger. She waited for him to tell her how it was all her fault for standing up at the town meeting and making foolish statements. But when she looked up, Naz was bent over, poking at the baby’s chin. Wynn’s voice pealed like a tiny bell.
“Lord, today,” Naz said, his pinky finger caught in the baby’s fist.
“You ain’t mad?”
“Don’t expect you to turn a tiny baby away.”
Bonnie was shocked at Naz’s response. She suddenly thought that if he were this understanding, maybe he’d let her keep the child.
“But we cain’t keep him,” Naz went on. “You know that.”
That glimmer of hope inside of Bonnie suddenly dimmed.
“Don’t mean to piss on the picnic,” Naz said, “but you know I cain’t abide raisin’ nobody else’s chile. You know that.”
“He’s a good baby,” Bonnie assured.
“Bonnie…”
“Jes’ cry when he scared,” she said. “And he a good lil’ eater—”
“Bonita.” Naz’s tone had sharpened.
She lifted the gurgling baby and held him close to her chest. “Where am I supposed to take him?”
Naz sat down on the couch and pulled his plate close to him again. “If I know you, Bonnie, you’ll figure somethin’ out.” His focus went back to the TV. The baby began to cry.