The Sisterhood of Blackberry Corner

by ANDREA SMITH

  “Demons!” Thora said in a loud whisper. “Babies ain’t nothin’ but some demons!” Thora’s hair was flat in the back and disheveled on the top when she sat up. “That lil’ boy…that damn Wynn…cried from the time you left ’til ’bout twenty minutes ago.”

  Bonnie walked into the bedroom and kissed Ruby-Pearl on the forehead. The woman had never been to her house before and she looked so peaceful holding the baby.

  “Yes, I did call her,” Thora defended. “I damn sho’ did! And I don’t care what you say.”

  “He’s fine, Bonnie,” Ruby-Pearl said. “Precious as he can be.”

  “I called Ruby-Pearl on her new party line,” Thora went on, “and I begged her…begged this woman on my hands and knees…to come and help me with this hollerin’ devil. Lord ha’ mercy, Bonnie,” Thora rambled, “I didn’t know you’d be gone all this time. I had to find somebody who knew what the hell they was doin’ while you was runnin’ all over hell’s half acre.”

  Bonnie had never seen Thora so out of control. On the other hand, she had never seen Ruby-Pearl look so calm. The scarf that usually covered her face rested around her shoulders and there seemed to be life in the slack side of her face.

  “I guess Thora told you how Wynn come along,” Bonnie whispered.

  “You know I did,” Thora said, sinking back onto Bonnie’s bed. “I’da told ever’body jes’ to git some relief from that lil’ hollerin’ thang!”

  Ruby-Pearl said, “Cain’t believe a gal jes’ left this chile.”

  “You recall when I stood up in that meeting…when I opened my big mouth ’bout the babies?”

  “Wasn’t no big mouth,” Ruby-Pearl insisted.

  “Yeah it was too,” Thora put in.

  “For out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaketh,” Ruby-Pearl said gently. “Big heart…that’s what it was.”

  “I don’t know,” Bonnie said.

  “Who is the mama?” Ruby-Pearl asked.

  “Never seen her befo’ in my life,” Bonnie returned.

  “It’s a miracle,” Ruby-Pearl said breathlessly, “and He’s working it through you, Bonnie.”

  “He ain’t such a miracle for Naz, though,” Bonnie put in.

  “But you got the chile you couldn’t have,” Ruby-Pearl said simply.

  Bonnie rarely talked about her personal business, except to Thora. But since Ruby-Pearl was now involved, Bonnie explained the reason.

  “Men and their pride,” Ruby-Pearl said sadly. She now looked at Bonnie as sorrowfully as Bonnie had looked at her. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “But, you know, my Vaughan woulda felt the same way.”

  “Thank you for sayin’.”

  The silence that followed was filled with questions.

  “What happened at the county home?” Thora asked.

  “County home?” Ruby-Pearl asked.

  “I cain’t take Wynn there,” Bonnie said. “I couldn’t take any chile there.”

  “Vaughan used to keep the grounds fo’ a boys’ home up in Hencil.” Ruby-Pearl shifted Wynn on her lap. “He say the ones that grew up there seemed to be missin’ somethin’.”

  “These kids certainly were,” Bonnie said. “Part of me wanted to fix ’em all and gi’ ’em the love they need. But another part needed to run outta that place as fast as I could.”

  “Jes’ like I want to get the hell outta here,” Thora said, pulling herself up from the bed. “I’m fixin’ to smoke me a cigarette…no, two! One in this hand,” she said, raising her pink-tipped fingers, “and one in this hand. Then I’m gon’ po’ me a glass of that blackberry wine…and I mean a big ole water glass full…and then I’m gon’ take my tired ass home.”

  Bonnie kissed Thora on her forehead. “Thank you, sweetheart,” she said. “We’ll figure this all out in the mo’nin’.”

  “You’ll figure this out,” Thora said, leaving the room.

  Ruby-Pearl turned a sleeping Wynn onto his stomach and set him on Bonnie’s bed, nestled between two pillows.

  “Come back to you easy, huh?” Bonnie asked.

  “Like it was yesterday.” Wynn was now fast asleep, but Ruby-Pearl continued to pat the boy on his back. She didn’t look at Bonnie when she said, “Vaughan’s insurance take care of me pretty well, you know.”

  From the moment that Bonnie had seen Ruby-Pearl with Wynn in her arms, she knew what the answer was. It made perfect sense. Still, Bonnie held on to the idea that maybe, just maybe, if she couldn’t find a home for Wynn, Naz might break down and she could take the child.

  “My house…it’s so big,” Ruby-Pearl said.

  “You a woman alone,” Bonnie said. “What will folks say?”

  “I ain’t studyin’ ’bout no folks. That’s one thing me and Thora Dean have in common.”

  “Are you sho’ ’bout this?” Bonnie asked.

  Ruby-Pearl knelt on the floor beside the bed. “You ever wake up in the mornin’,” she said, “and somehow the day is jes’ different…I mean, things smell the same, sound the same, but the color outside…the color of the sky tell you that somethin’ is comin’. You don’t know if it’s good or bad. But you know it’s fixin’ to change yo’ life.”

  “I think I know what you mean.”

  Ruby-Pearl rubbed circles into Wynn’s back. “This feeling only happened twice,” she went on. “The first time was when I lost Vaughan and my lil’ gal, Glory. That mornin’ I made love to my husband, I cooked breakfast, I played with my baby girl, I made lunch, dinner and all the while I noticed how different the day looked…the sky was the color of ripe peaches. It was that evenin’ that I crashed the car. It was that very strange-looking day that I lost my family and pert near lost my mind.” Ruby-Pearl had since gotten past the tears, but the pain was still there. Bonnie could hear it in the catch at the top of the woman’s throat. It would surely always hurt.

  “You say there were two days,” Bonnie said.

  “Yes,” Ruby-Pearl said. “The second one was when I woke up this mo’nin’. The sky had a yellow tone. It like to scare me outta my soul. I wanted to jump back under the covers. Then Thora Dean called.” Ruby-Pearl smiled and her scarred face looked so pretty. “I started to tell Thora no. I was fixin’ to say, ‘No, I cain’t make it there today.’ I started to hang up on my new party-line phone and have the dern thing disconnected. But something say to me, ‘Ruby-Pearl, it don’t matter if the day is yellow or gray or purple or white—if you keep hidin’, you’ll be hidin’ fo’ the rest of yo’ life.’”

  Bonnie lowered her head. “This is such short notice…”

  “I know.”

  “But…if you feel that you can do this…”

  Ruby-Pearl’s voice dropped an octave. “You mean you might actually consider it?”

  “If it ain’t gon’ be me, then I cain’t think of nobody better. And if you don’t take ’im, he’ll jes’ wind up at the county—”

  “Of course I’ll take him,” Ruby-Pearl said. “Of course I’ll take him!” She raised her arms over her head like she couldn’t contain the joy, but quickly drew them back, like if she got too happy, it would all disappear. “When?”

  “I…I guess…I’ll pack his things and…bring him to you tomorrow.”

  “Lord Jesus,” she called out.

  Bonnie had purposely tried to keep an emotional distance from the child. She had bought a few things—necessary things, like diapers, safety pins…the ones with yellow ducks on the clasp…undershirts and sleepers, just in case it took a few more days to find the baby a home.

  The next day, she drove to Ruby-Pearl’s house with the baby boy in the wicker basket beside her. These past two weeks had been the happiest time of her life. She looked over at Wynn. The squirming child and the scent of talcum powder in the car became all too much. But she reminded herself that Wynn would now have a wonderful mama. The only thing she regretted, as she placed the child in Ruby-Pearl’s arms, was that she didn’t have more time. Bonnie only wished that she could have kept the baby at leas
t one more night.

  SEVEN

  Bonnie woke to the scent of ham and hominy drifting from the kitchen and a glass of freshly squeezed grapefruit juice on her night table. She sat up in bed and smiled. This meant that Naz was in one of his cooking moods. And Bonnie loved being pampered by her husband. She slipped into her white terrycloth robe, took her glass and headed toward the sound of clanging pots and the sizzle of cured meat. Naz was bent over the stove, coating a skillet with melted butter.

  “Mo’nin’, baby,” he said, without looking up.

  Bonnie kissed the closest part of his body that she could reach: the top of his arm. “Fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice,” she said. “And on my night table, no less. Toast, grits,” she went on as she peeked into the pans. “Even got some ham in there.” Bonnie set her glass on the counter. She took a coffee mug from the pantry and filled it at the stove. “All this cookin’ goin’ on—must mean you ’bout to duck outta goin’ to church this mo’nin’.”

  “Jes’ ’cause I’m makin’ my sweetheart some breakfast?”

  “’Cause you makin’ yo’ sweetheart some breakfast on Sunday.”

  “Mrs. Wilder, you cut me to the quick,” he said.

  “That mean you goin’?”

  “No,” he replied. “Jes’ mean I’m insulted.” Naz put his arms around his wife. He placed a light kiss on her forehead, then pecked her lips. Bonnie enjoyed his playful spirit. She loved the firmness of his shoulders when she wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “You don’t mind if I stay home?” he asked, moving back to the stove.

  “You the one paces from the pit, Naz Wilder. But please tell me you ain’t fixin’ to go fishin’ or some such.”

  “I plan to clean out the shed today, maybe do some yard work.” He poured the scrambled eggs into the hot skillet. “And remember you asked me to hang you another clothesline out back?”

  “Yes, but why cain’t you do these things after church?”

  “You know I’m much better working in the A.M.,” he said. “I come home after settin’ in church all mo’nin’, and the onliest thing I’m fit to do is listen to the game.”

  “That is the truth,” she admitted.

  Naz always appeared childlike in the kitchen…like a boy with a task well over his head. A slapstick mood prevailed as he attempted to use the potato peeler and when he tried to pull the hot bread right from the toaster. The sound of Bobby Darin on WQNB singing “Splish Splash” and the picture of Naz trying to pluck a piece of broken shell from the already set eggs made him look even funnier. The more awkward Naz looked, the more charming and loving Bonnie thought he was. Yet still, he hadn’t approached her in that way since the night that she had tried to “heat things up.” And Bonnie was much too shy to approach him. Maybe it was too late to try to change things after all these years, she thought. Maybe it was a mistake.

  “Paper come?” she asked.

  “Nope.” He slid the eggs onto two plates. “That new boy ain’t worth two dead flies. Either the paper git here late, git here soppin’ wet or don’t git here a’tall.” He spooned stiff grits onto both plates. “Yo’ Red Velvet Cake lookin’ mighty good,” he said, gesturing toward the crystal-covered platter on the counter.

  “Olive Lockie’s recipe.” Bonnie took her seat at the table. She flipped through the short stack of mail that Naz had placed beside the napkin holder. “I have to admit that a cup a beet juice do give it a nice texture.”

  Naz set the plates on the table. “Did you see I got me a card from ole Dewey Bradshaw? Ain’t had time to read it yet.”

  “Dewey Bradshaw?”

  “You ’member Dewey,” he said. “Played fo’ the Birmingham Black Barons.”

  “Lil’ fella? Pitcher too?”

  Naz nodded. “Dewey ain’t big as a gnat,” he said, sprinkling salt on his grits. “But that boy pitch like he was born to it.”

  Bonnie found the card.

  “Go’n and read it fo’ me, Bonita,” Naz said. “You know my eyes is bad.”

  It wasn’t his sight that made him shy away from reading his mail—the man could see as well as anyone. It was that he could barely read at all. For a proud man like Naz, it was easier to lay the blame on something beyond his control, like his eyesight. At church, he carried his bible just like everyone else. And when asked to read a passage, he’d hold the book at arm’s length like the old folks. Once he even cleared his throat like he was about to begin, but spent the next few moments squinting. Reverend Duncan would admonish him about forgetting his reading glasses; even he didn’t know the truth. Many times, Bonnie had offered to teach her husband to read, but Naz contended that after thirty-six years, he didn’t need to start learning now.

  Bonnie reread the first line in the letter twice before she could make out the words. From the chicken-scratch writing, she guessed that Dewey Bradshaw could read and write little better than Naz.

  Nazareth,

  This here is Dewey. How you been makin out, old boy?

  I been good. Don’t play no more ball, but we gettin to be old fellas now. Life is like that.

  Been a while since I seen you. Last I heard, you was gittin married. Hope you happy. Me, myself, I ain’t never got married. But I keeps company wit a fine girl. Maybe one day she be crazy enough to jump the broom…

  “That Dewey is a madman,” Naz laughed. “Crazy as a betsy bug.”

  Bonnie went on reading.

  Speakin of gettin married…you member my lil brother Woody? He live in Mississippi. He bout to take the step, and I’m goin down to be a witness. Thought I’d stop in the Three Sisters and say hey…

  “Dewey comin’ here?” Naz asked.

  “He left his phone number,” Bonnie said. “Say to call him if it’s okay.”

  “Damn right it’s okay! Dewey good people.” Naz lay another slice of ham onto his plate at the stove. “Usually one team don’t get together with another’n, you know? Sometime there be bad blood. But Dewey was different. We hang out at night and be the best of friends, then the next day, when it come time to play each other, Dewey turn into a warrior. And don’t git in the way of one of his fastballs. I seen ’im knock ole Kel Smith…and he bigger than me…knock ’im clean out.” Naz beamed at the thought. “He say when he comin’?”

  Bonnie skimmed the letter. “Say it won’t be until spring.”

  “Sho’ly don’t wanna miss ole Dewey. Whenever it be, I need to cancel my plans.”

  “Think you could spare it?” she asked sarcastically.

  Naz reached across the table and took her hand. “You tryin’ to tell me I been away from you too much, Miss Bonita?”

  “Ain’t said nothin’ of the kind,” she answered coyly.

  “I’m serious,” he went on. Three soft knocks sounded on the front screen door. They heard Godfrey howl. “If you think I been gone too much,” he said, “I’ll stay home more.” Naz took his coffee mug and went to answer.

  Bonnie stacked the pots and frying pans. Fried egg was spilled on top of the stove and ham grease was spattered everywhere. She wondered if she had been missing Naz more than usual. His friends and sports outings were important to his life, and most times, she didn’t mind. Lately, the emptiness she felt from being childless was only exacerbated by having to give up Wynn. She had to admit, though, that Ruby-Pearl was the picture of joy. The women decided that the only explanation that could withstand the congregation’s scrutiny would be to say that Wynn was a relative…Ruby-Pearl’s nephew, to be exact. Bonnie hated to lie to the reverend and his wife, and Ruby-Pearl wasn’t pleased at the deception either, but Thora suggested it was the only decent way to explain Wynn’s sudden presence in Ruby-Pearl’s life.

  “Bonnie,” Naz called from the front yard.

  She dried her hands on the dish towel, praying that he hadn’t gotten ahold of the paper boy. When she got to the door, Naz was circling the front yard with the morning news tucked under his arm.

  “Got you a package,” he said, peering u
p the road.

  Bonnie stepped outside and held the screen door open with one hand. There was no box of any kind. Then she heard a tiny mewling. Godfrey sniffed excitedly around her sewing basket, which sat beside one of the porch rockers in front of the door. She released the screen door and bent to look inside. Two tiny sets of eyes stared up at her. Dressed in pink terrycloth jumpers were twin girls no more than two months old. Aside from the syrupy murmurs of contentment, their limbs thrashed so lustily that the basket almost toppled. Patches of brown curly hair dotted their heads.

  Naz stood below the steps. “I guess the word is out,” he said.

  Bonnie could feel a catch in her throat as she gently lifted one of the girls from the basket. A ball of blue yarn rolled into her place.

  “Leastwise, the mama had a mind to take yo’ knittin’ needles out,” Naz said, referring to the sharp rods that now lay under the rocker.

  Bonnie held the child close. She smelled like caramel and her eyes looked wide and bewildered.

  “This is…crazy,” Bonnie whispered. “It jes’ don’t make no sense.”

  “Make perfect sense to me,” Naz said.

  The twin in the basket began to cry, so Bonnie placed her sister in Naz’s reluctant arms, then lifted the child from the basket. Again came the lovely scent of caramel. It was clear that the babies had been well cared for. They were plump and appeared untroubled. Their clothes were new, their bodies shiny from oil and their curly hair clean and tangle free. Bonnie spotted a green hankie tucked in the side of the basket. Inside the tight knot she found seventy-three cents. Bonnie could feel her heart breaking. And not so much for the children—they were safe—but for the mother who had surely summoned all she had to leave her girls.