by ANDREA SMITH
She sat beside Naz on the steps. Bonnie had to take a deep breath to process it all. She could scarcely believe that not one, but now three babies had actually come to her door. Naz stared at the girls as if they were two aliens, then shifted the child in his arms to hold her head in his palm.
“Where you learn to handle a chile like that,” Bonnie asked, quite impressed.
“All us fosters,” he said, his voice absent of her same joy, “we older ones had to pitch in.”
The girl in Naz’s arms began to cry, and her sister immediately joined her. For Bonnie, the sound of babies, any babies, gurgling, whining or crying on Blackberry Corner was like a chorus of angels.
“We got to tell somebody,” Naz said.
“Blessings,” Bonnie said, rocking the child. “They come sometimes. I don’t know what’s goin’ on here but—”
“You know exactly what’s goin’ on,” Naz insisted.
She craned her neck to look at him. “I prayed for a chile…that ain’t no secret,” she said. “But a lot a folks ask fo’ a lot a things.”
“When this happened the first time,” Naz said, “that was strange. I know it and you know it too. But twice…and now twins!” He shifted the girl in his arms. “Where these babies come from? I mean, we know all the gals in Canaan Creek,” Naz went on, “and they raise they own children…and that woman Pine been talkin’ ’bout—even she cain’t spit these children out that fast.”
“Maybe God is tryin’ to tell me I should be a mama.”
“’Scuse me, God,” Naz yelled up toward the sky, “I’m Mister Wilder, and I ain’t about to keep no babies! So don’t send no mo’!”
“You stop yo’ blasphemin’!”
“We need to call Pine.” He set the whining baby back into the basket, and Bonnie did the same with the other twin. “We shoulda called him in the first place, and that woulda been that.”
“I cain’t.” Bonnie lifted the heavy basket and followed Naz into the house.
“Sheriff’s department is lookin’ fo’ any lil’ thing,” Naz said. “And this ain’t no lil’ thing.”
“I cain’t call Pine.”
“So…you think that you gon’ find a home fo’ these babies too?”
“If I have to.”
Bonnie could see the anger building in her husband.
“Who you know is ready to take even one?”
“Both,” Bonnie said.
“Lord above,” Naz called out.
“Cain’t part ’em,” she insisted.
“Who in the world you know ready to take two babies?” he asked.
“Ruby-Pearl was talkin’ ’bout—”
“You gon’ give two mo’ children to Ruby-Pearl?” Naz asked.
“If you let me finish,” she snapped, “I was gonna say that Ruby-Pearl’s friend that live in Hencil…she wanted a baby.”
“What the hell you know ’bout Ruby-Pearl’s friend?” he barked. “What the hell you know ’bout any of this?” Bonnie didn’t answer.
Naz shook his head in frustration. “Never know to look at you,” he went on.
“What?”
“So sweet and kind…ever’body love Bonnie. Hell, I love Bonnie! But folks never would know that you can be selfish as sin.”
“Say what?”
“Since day one,” he said, holding up his finger, “since the first day I met you, yo’ daddy spoil you rotten. Everything had to be Bonnie’s way…or no way!”
“If everythin’ was my way,” she argued, “Wynn would be sittin’ up on this couch, alongside these gals.”
Naz paced the low carpet. “When we got married,” he argued, “I wanted to move…wanted to leave the Three Sisters. Go to a bigger city—Charleston, Columbia, even. I coulda worked at one of them colleges or coaching at a ball club…”
“Oh, please, don’t start this again, Naz Wilder.”
“Hell, I didn’t wanna stay in this town, but Bonnie had to be here.”
“This is my home,” she said. “This is yo’ home.”
“Don’t mean we got to stay here forever! Neither one of us had no family left.”
Bonnie shook the basket to calm the screaming children.
“We need to do somethin’ ’bout this,” Naz said.
“I’m not callin’ Pine,” she insisted. “He’ll take these babies right on to the county home. And no chile need to be there.”
“You don’t know what you doin’ here, Bonita.”
“A baby need a mama,” she said, “that’s all I know.”
“But who?”
“I ain’t thought that far yet.”
“What ’bout yo’ church friends?” Naz asked. “Them Harvest ladies.”
“They all got kids. Miss Idella got grands.”
“I jes’ mean that maybe we can open this thing up,” Naz said. “Maybe they know some folks wantin’ a chile.”
“I know some folks wantin’ a chile,” she argued. “Me!”
“Damn it, Bonnie, you ain’t hearin’ me.”
Both girls were screaming. Maybe they were hungry. Or maybe it was because of the tension between her and Naz. Bonnie looked up at her husband. Fire burned in his eyes. “I hear what you sayin’,” she said calmly. “I understand that you think we need to tell somebody.”
“Good.”
“But if we tell the Ladies,” Bonnie insisted, “folks like Tilde Monroe’ll be on my ass. On my ass,” she repeated.
“This ain’t ’bout you, Bonnie!”
She felt a stab in her heart. A stab that brought the point home. Perhaps it was her own selfishness. If she brought the Ladies of the Blessed Harvest in, she wouldn’t have as much time or access to the children. And, of course, Tilde would want to take over everything.
“Look,” she said to Naz, “maybe I’ll visit with Ruby-Pearl’s friend.”
“Bonnie…”
“If she take the children, fine,” she said desperately. “If not, then…I’ll call the Ladies, I promise.”
Naz reluctantly agreed. The babies’ relentless screams filled the house and Naz took refuge in the shed. She knew that this was the last thing her husband wanted in his life right now, but this was all Bonnie ever wanted. Suddenly her day was so full. Of course, there would be no church this morning. Her time was, once again, consumed with bottles, feeding, clothing and cuddling, twice over. In a few days, she would visit with Ruby-Pearl’s friend up in Hencil. Bonnie prayed that the woman would accept two babies—and more, that she would be even half as loving as Ruby-Pearl. But how would Bonnie know for sure? She pushed those thoughts away for now, knowing that, just like everything else, her heart would guide her through.
Bonnie sat behind the driver’s seat of the car, looking at the address that Ruby-Pearl had written on a slip of notebook paper. From the driveway, she and Thora peered at the small white house, its porch strewn with hoes and rakes and rows of empty clay pots stacked on top of each other.
“This it?” Thora asked.
“It say 1515 Jeremy Trail,” Bonnie answered. She had asked Thora to come along and was surprised that her friend hadn’t fought her about it. Thora wasn’t one for being in the company of children, but she seemed to like the idea of helping find a home for them. Thora claimed that visiting prospective parents was like going to their house and telling them that they had hit the number. Bonnie knew it was more. But she didn’t embarrass Thora by insisting that she had a heart.
Bonnie rapped lightly with the wooden knocker. Save for the banging of piano keys coming from inside, the house seemed peaceful enough. A water hose lay unraveled on the side of the house, next to a flower bed with a row of dug-up holes. Next to the front door was a planter, shaped like a tuba, crawling with ivy.
“Just remember, Bonnie,” Thora said, looking at herself in a compact mirror. “We ain’t jes’ gon’ ask ’em the obvious things, like how long they been married and such. We gotta keep our eyes open fo’ the small stuff.”
“Like?”
&nb
sp; “Like…if they look happy. Like if she look like she wanna go upside his head. Don’t wanna have them gals ’round folks that fight all the time.”
“Anything else?” Bonnie asked sarcastically.
“Don’t get all snippy!” Thora pressed her compact closed. “Somebody got to handle the business end of this thing. Not ever’body’s heart s’posed to be hangin’ out they chest.” Thora knocked impatiently. “They do know we comin’, right?”
“Yes, honey. Ruby-Pearl wrote them two weeks ago.”
“And we should prob’ly ask ’bout things that ain’t so obvious,” Thora went on. “We should know if they ever stole something or what grade their mama went to in school and if they ever been in jail…you know, stuff like that.”
“If they ever been to jail?” Bonnie chuckled.
The door swung open. A tall, lanky man stood inside. His bushy black mustache looked to be glued on the top of his lip and his thin hairline inched back to the middle of his head. “Y’all the baby people?” he shouted.
Thora looked at Bonnie and smiled.
“Yes…sir,” Bonnie answered.
“Ain’t expect two such pretty ladies,” he said just as loud. “Lettyyyy,” he called.
“That them?” a voice shouted back.
“Yes, ma’am! Baby ladies here, baby!” He laughed at his own play on words.
Letty hurried to the door. She was as tall as her husband. In fact, Bonnie took note of how much the couple resembled each other. Letty put her hands on her cheeks like she had just encountered two movie stars. First she embraced Thora. “Don’t know which one of you is Bonnie,” she said, “but ya’ll both gettin’ a big ole hug!”
“Gracious me,” Thora mumbled into the woman’s chest.
Bonnie introduced herself and Thora Dean, even as the woman hugged her.
Letty Bonton was what the old folks in church would call a handsome woman. Tall, strapping and black as the northern soil, her salt and pepper hair framed her face in a soft puff. She talked loud, gestured big and marched across the wood floor like a small elephant. The piano player Bonnie had heard turned out to be a young girl trying to play “Blue Moon” from some sheet music in front of her.
“Tandy,” Letty yelled.
“Ma’am?”
“Go’n home now, dahlin’.”
“Yo’ company come, Miss Letty?” the young girl asked.
“That’s right. And tell Ma Dear it’s three dollars come Friday.”
“Yes’m,” the girl answered. She shut the piano top and hurried out, looking curiously at Bonnie and Thora until she had closed the front door behind her.
Letty led Bonnie and Thora through her house, which was streaming with sunlight and overrun with more junk than Bonnie had ever seen in one place. Chairs of all kinds (and none of them matching!) were stacked on top of each other and pushed into the corners of the small sitting room. Bonnie could only see patches of a threadbare Oriental rug, for most of it was covered by opened cardboard boxes loaded with clothes. Reams of fabric and balls of yarn were strewn here and there, along with chassis of old sewing machines. Paper pockets stuffed with clothes patterns were piled on top of an old piano bench. But most prevalent in all of the junk were trumpets, trombones, clarinets and all kinds of metal and wooden flutes, which sat in boxes against the wall.
“Freddy tune instruments,” Letty explained when she saw Bonnie and Thora staring.
“Wind,” Freddy put in.
“Say what?” Thora asked.
“Jes’ wind instruments!” he explained. “Couldn’t tune a string if somebody held a gun to my head.”
“And I teaches piano to kids,” Letty went on.
“And I mean all damn day,” Freddy laughed.
“Watch yo’ mouth, baby.”
“Oh, ya’ll jes’ be yo’selves,” Thora invited.
Bonnie could tell that Thora liked it here. But Bonnie couldn’t help but wonder about the safety of small children in such a cluttered environment. The place looked like a death trap. Then too, aside from the music, the Bontons were as loud as sin. Bonnie suddenly remembered that Ruby-Pearl had called the couple “fun.”
“That Letty,” Ruby-Pearl had said, “she love to laugh…her and Freddy both. Letty and Freddy! Names sound like a good chuckle.”
Bonnie and Thora sat on a beige checkered sofa that hadn’t a hint of a connection to either the brown paisley or red-striped armchairs. And the coffee table, heaped with old newspapers, had just enough space cleared for a couple of bowls: one held potato chips and pretzels; the other had Ritz crackers, Cheez Whiz mounded on them.
“Ya’ll ha’ some refreshments,” Freddy said, taking a handful of chips and piling them into a paper napkin.
Letty dashed him a threatening look. She quickly lost it when she turned to Bonnie. “Tell us ’bout the babies,” she said. “Ruby-Pearl ain’t said much in her letter. Jes’ say they was twins…twin gals.”
“Well—” Bonnie started.
“Ain’t that jes’ somethin’ else,” Freddy interrupted. Crumbs clung to the hairs of his mustache. “Ya’ll got babies po’in’ down from the heavens like rain.”
“That sound so pretty, honey-bear,” Letty said to her husband. “Could be one of yo’ poems. Freddy write poems, you know.”
“Do tell,” Thora said.
Freddy set his napkin on the coffee table. He leaned his long-limbed body forward in the chair. “Love come like buds in the spring,” he started.
“Go’n baby,” Letty said proudly.
“Love come like a church bell ring,” he went on.
Thora nodded her head approvingly.
“Love come like a gentle smile,” he went on. “Love come, let it stay a while.”
Letty clapped for her husband, who beamed appreciatively. Thora also applauded. Of course Bonnie felt obliged to join in.
“Take a tender man to say them kinda words,” Letty said, pecking her husband on the cheek. “That’s how I know my baby’ll make a good daddy. ’Cause he tender.”
“’Scuse me, Miss Bonnie,” Freddy said. “But go’n and tell us ’bout the gals.”
“Well,” Bonnie said, “the twins look to be ’bout two months. And they seem as happy and healthy as they can be.”
“Y’all had a doctor to look at ’em?” Letty asked.
Bonnie peered down at her hands folded in her lap. “No.”
“Why?” Letty asked.
“’Cause we wanted to keep this as quiet as possible,” Thora explained. “If we brought in a doctor, then chances are, the law would get involved, the kids would wind up at the county home and we wouldn’t be sittin’ here with you good folks.”
“I see,” Letty said, satisfied with the reasoning. “And y’all don’t have no idea where these gals come from?”
“Not even a clue,” Thora said. She looked at Freddy when she said, “They jes’ come like rain po’in’ down from heaven.”
“See how my stuff catch on!” Freddy hollered. “I need to make me a song out of that!”
“So what y’all need to know ’bout us?” Letty asked.
“You seem nice to me,” Thora said.
“And you seem nice to me too,” Freddy flirted.
“With all due respect,” Bonnie started, “this house…it’s lovely, but…well, babies need order. Might be a lil’ dangerous for a toddler walking ’round all these…well, walkin’ ’round all yo’…collectibles.”
“Now, that’s sweet,” Letty said. “I like the way you said that. ’Cause the fact is, Freddy love hisself some junk. The man keep hold to ever’thin’. Still got the first pair of shoes he ever owned.”
“She ain’t lyin’,” Freddy confirmed. “But there’s a lot of money in junk. I got three hundred dollars from an old lamp my mama gi’ me when I was a boy of seven.”
“Shut up!” Thora said in shock.
“If I’m lyin’, I’m flyin’,” he said.
“But,” Letty cut in, “if we knew we was gon�
� get these babies, we’d throw half this stuff away.”
“Be worth it fo’ a baby chile,” Freddy confirmed.
The couple seemed nice enough, if a bit on the eccentric side. When Bonnie couldn’t think of much else to say, she turned to Thora, who was obviously smitten.
“You have any questions?” Bonnie asked her best friend.
Thora pondered a moment. She folded her hands in her lap as she thought. “Ya’ll ever been to jail?”
“Thora,” Bonnie scolded.
“Never,” Freddy said emphatically.
“Just once fo’ me,” Letty answered.
Bonnie’s and Thora’s heads whipped around at the same time.
“Ain’t nuthin’ bad,” Letty said. “I mean, Ruby-Pearl can tell you. Just that, when I was a young’un, my daddy ran a still out back. After he died, I kept it goin’ ’til I was in my twenties.”
“Made her a nice piece a change, and a damn good sour mash too,” Freddy said.
“Get outta town,” Thora said.
“Letty still make us a batch ever’ so often,” Freddy added. “Fo’ fact, we got some down in the basement. Y’all wanna taste?”
“Maybe this ain’t the time, baby,” Letty said.
“Perfect time fo’ me,” Thora said.
“None fo’ me,” Bonnie put in. “And none fo’ Thora either.”
Bonnie’s words didn’t seem to matter, because Freddy dashed down into what looked like the basement.
“As I was sayin’,” Letty went on, “the law found me and closed me down. Then they took me in fo’ two days.”
“In to the jailhouse?” Bonnie asked. She had never known anyone who’d gone to jail, even for a day. And especially not a woman.
“Aw, come on, Bonnie,” Thora said. “Ain’t no worse than what Naz make out there in yo’ shed!”
Bonnie was mortified. “Will you hush up,” she scolded.
“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with makin’ a lil’ somethin’,” Letty said. “’Specially fo’ yo’selves.”