by ANDREA SMITH
Bonnie offered a cup to Thora.
“You know I’d love to,” Thora said. “But I got to get Miss Minnie back home. She live way out in Taliliga.”
“You come quite a ways, ma’am,” Bonnie said. “How you get all the way to Canaan Creek?”
“Say she took the bus,” Thora replied. Bonnie could tell that her friend was excited about the old woman, for now she couldn’t seem to get the explanation out quick enough. Mrs. Nesby simply sipped from her cup and looked around like she wasn’t even the topic of conversation.
“Naturally, I was curious ’bout what she need Blackberry Corner fo’,” Thora went on. “You know me, Bonnie. I don’t like to get into folks’ business but…well, I figure it might have somethin’ to do wit the babies.”
“Does it?” Bonnie asked.
Thora shuffled forward in her chair. “Them twins that come to you,” she said. “The ones left in yo’ sewin’ basket? Well, they come ’cause of Miss Minnie.”
“I don’t understand,” Bonnie said.
“Dot is seventeen,” the old woman started. She squinted her eyes to find the coaster on the table, then set her cup down. “She were the twins’ mama. Seventeen and on her fo’th chile. I know it ’cause I caught all fo’.”
“Caught ’em?” Bonnie asked.
“Miss Minnie is a midwife,” Thora explained. “She been deliverin’ babies fo’ as long as we been alive. You know how we been asking ourselves where all these babies comin’ from?”
“Yes…” Bonnie answered.
“Most of them gals had their children delivered by Miss Minnie,” Thora said. “That first gal—Wynn’s mama—she were at the meeting at the lodge and she went and told Miss Minnie how you take children and find ’em nice homes and all.”
“I been catchin’ babies fo’ fifty-eight years,” the old woman started. “When Carolyn told me ’bout you—”
“Carolyn is Wynn’s mama,” Thora cut in.
“When Carolyn called yo’ name,” Miss Minnie went on—“first thing I did was to fall to my knees. And, chile, I only fall to my knees fo’ impo’tant things, ’cause it’s pert near impossible to get back up.”
Thora laughed. “I hear you talkin’, girl.”
The old woman’s wig had slanted to the side of her head. She looked so relaxed that Bonnie dared not mention it. “Sometime a gal come to me…,” Miss Minnie went on, “…and I git ’em young as ten…and she be in a family way and cain’t tell which end is up. Had one was ’bout to drop her daughter and sister at the same time.” Miss Minnie shook her head sadly. “Some of these gals ain’t fit to raise no children. Ain’t even finished bein’ raised up theyselves. After Carolyn told me ’bout you, I sent two mo’ gals this way. I’m eighty-seven years old. Ain’t left Taliliga in fifteen years. But I wanted to come here to meet you.”
“Bless yo’ soul,” Bonnie said.
The old woman reached over and took Bonnie’s two hands in her own. Her fingers were short and stubby and her nails as white as milk. Bonnie felt a strength in the woman that belied her eighty-seven years.
“You, my dear,” she said, “are as much a part of Gawd’s plan as I am.” Miss Minnie looked right at Bonnie. The pupils of her warm brown eyes were surrounded by a soft blue ring. “You doin’ the Lord’s work, honey…and ain’t nothin’ mo’ impo’tant.”
“Sometimes I feel like I’m tryin’ to stick my nose where it don’t belong,” Bonnie said.
“I know that ole story. Some peoples ain’t gon’ like what you doin’. Gon’ be sayin’ you tryin’ to be what you ain’t.”
“If that ain’t the truth,” Bonnie said.
“That kinda talkity-talk,” Miss Minnie said, “honey, it’s all a part of it.”
“I understand, but—”
“Shoulda seen me when I lost my first chile,” Miss Minnie went on. She released Bonnie’s hands and sat back on the sofa. “Breech baby. Had the cord wrapped ’round his neck. Couldn’t grab ’im right, couldn’t separate the line.” Miss Minnie’s hands made small circular movements as if she were still trying to turn the baby around. “After I lost that chile, I kept thinkin’ that if I had mo’ experience, if my hands was bigger, if my hands was smaller, if it was rainin’ ’stead a cloudy, if it was Thursday ’stead of Monday…” She shook her head. “Things gon’ happen. If you cain’t count on nuthin’ else, you can bet that things gon’ happen.”
“I told you, Bonnie!” Thora said. “Didn’t I say that?”
Bonnie had constant doubt about taking in the babies. Like maybe she was overstepping her bounds, or as Tilde had said, “playing God.” Then there was Naz. “You and Jesus,” he had bitterly spat. “Bonnie Wilder and Jesus Christ!” Bonnie brushed the tears from her cheeks. For the first time, she felt like someone really understood. She felt that maybe, just maybe, there might be a larger purpose. And Minnie Nesby reminded her of that purpose. She made Bonnie see that what she was doing might be integral to some bigger plan, even if it was one that Bonnie herself might never understand.
“One thing, though,” Miss Minnie said. “Don’t ever forget ’bout you.”
“Ma’am?”
“Don’t let other folks’ life always stand befo’ yo’ own,” she warned. “Even these kids. You go out, whilst you still young, and git what you need.”
“I got a wonderful life,” Bonnie said. “I got friends and a good husband…that’s all I need.”
“You sho’ ’bout that, sweetie?”
“Yes…yes, ma’am.”
Miss Minnie shook her head doubtfully. “Ain’t too many women like us no mo’. Ones that put our own needs on hold whilst we tend to other folks’. It’s a good thing…it’s a bad thing,” she admitted. “Got me a great-granddaughter that I jes’ finished raisin’ up. Alice. Had her since she was three. A few years ago, my lil’ Alice got herself in a bit of trouble…You know young gals and young boys…”
“That’s why we talkin’,” Bonnie said.
“Yes, Lord. Alice wasn’t ready fo’ no baby. So she gi’ the chile to a preacher and his wife, live in Mississippi. Then she went on back to school. I musta raised her right, ’cause she got a heart like yo’ own. Put things aside—young things—jes’ to get her learnin’ and also to help her Nana. Yes, ma’am,” Miss Minnie said, “different breed, us.” Minnie Nesby drained the wine in her cup, then licked the syrup from her dark lips. “Them some good spirits,” she said, setting the glass down. “Spirits from blackberries is always a fine thing.”
Bonnie poured more wine into the old woman’s cup.
“Oooh, girl,” she laughed. “Gon’ ha’ me drunk as Cooter Brown!”
“Go’n stretch out, Miss Minnie,” Thora said. “You come all this way, so you might as well relax a minute.”
Miss Minnie finished two more glasses of wine and still hadn’t run out of stories about young girls and births, wives and husbands…or the lack thereof. Most times Bonnie found baby tales a bit painful, but Miss Minnie’s accounts were told with such love that Bonnie could sit and listen for hours more.
The old woman slipped back into her loafers. “You ready to take me home, Miss Glamour Gal?” she asked Thora.
“Yes, ma’am,” Thora replied.
The old woman drew her shawl back onto her shoulders and pulled herself toward the armrest of the sofa. Thora and Bonnie helped her up.
“Prob’ly won’t see me no mo’,” Miss Minnie said to Bonnie as they walked to the door. “Lessen you come by way a Taliliga.”
“I might do that one day,” Bonnie said.
“Fifteen miles east of the Main Street, out past the lil’ covered bridge.”
“Covered bridge?” Bonnie chuckled. “Got to be the onliest one in the state.”
“Might be,” Miss Minnie admitted. “The county closes it up time after time ’cause a the rains. Don’t stop that old bridge from washin’ away ever’ so often, but that big ole piece of steel seem to make folks feel better.”
Bonnie nodd
ed.
“I’m gon’ keep sendin’ you my lil’ precious gifts long as I can,” Miss Minnie said.
“And I’m gon’ take yo’ lil’ precious gifts,” Bonnie said, “’cause I got mo’ mamas want children than ever.”
Miss Minnie reached up to kiss Bonnie on the cheek. “Bless you, dahlin’.”
“Bless you, ma’am,” Bonnie returned.
Thora helped the old woman into her car. Moments later Bonnie could only see the red glare of taillights.
Godfrey nudged his head against her foot. This meant that he wanted Bonnie to wake and feed him. The dog prodded her face with the top of his head and she turned drowsily.
“Sit, boy,” she mumbled. Hazily, Bonnie remembered that Godfrey had had table scraps of beef and rice last night. When the old hound ate people food, he was usually still full the next morning. Why was he up so early? Bonnie’s head snapped up. Godfrey stood beside the bed wagging his tail. She peered over at Naz still asleep then pulled herself up quietly, took her robe and eased out of the bedroom. Before she closed the door Godfrey inched out behind her.
The dog whimpered.
“Hush, boy,” she whispered as she ran excitedly through the house. The day felt like Christmas—like when Bonnie once woke in the dusky morning to the sight of a sparkling pink two-wheeler and a box with a waxy baby doll wrapped in cellophane. She could feel the joy from the tips of her toes on those Christmas mornings as she dashed into the quiet room that smelled of citrus and pine needles. Bonnie opened the front door and scanned the yard. The morning was gray, calm and quiet. Godfrey neither rushed toward the porch nor did he scratch at the door. He ran toward the kitchen.
Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he did just want to eat. Bonnie flicked on the kitchen light. She saw her basket, the basket, sitting just inside the back door. The baby that lay inside had been eased through the dog door and lay sound asleep.
Bonnie clasped her hands to calm herself, then set the basket on the kitchen table. It had only been two weeks since the Sisters had lovingly dispatched the last child and summarily put in their prayers for the next.
The baby, still asleep, pursed its small lips. The blue blanket revealed that this was probably another boy. His honey-toned skin was velvety to the touch as she brushed his cheek with the back of her finger. She wanted to wake him, hear him, smell him, but Bonnie stopped herself. This was now Sisterhood business, and she had to go through the steps that would distance her from the child. Bonnie eased her hand into the basket and felt the diaper. It was dry and smelled of fresh talcum. Then she glanced inside the basket for anything that might’ve been left. She found nothing. Bonnie stepped out onto the back porch and looked toward the bushes. Somehow she got the feeling that she was being watched, perhaps by the mama, who waited in a place where she couldn’t be seen. Bonnie stepped off the porch, raised both arms and waved across the green. Probably to no one. But she waved just the same, and went back into the kitchen.
“What you think, Godfrey?” she asked as she stood over the sleeping child.
The dog whined at the sound of his name.
“Ain’t he a handsome chile? And you done good, boy,” she said, patting the top of the old hound’s head. “You done real good.”
She left the sleeping baby on the table and removed the bag of dog food from the cabinet under the sink. All at once, Bonnie was struck by the ordinariness of her behavior. A strange child lay sleeping on her table while she filled Godfrey’s dish with food—a baby that some woman left in her charge, maybe for a day, a week or forever, now sat in her kitchen while she went about her daily routine. The child stretched his tiny limbs. His eyes opened and his gurgle turned to a piercing cry.
“Awww, lil’ man,” she cooed, “I know jes’ what you sayin’. Sayin’, ‘Where am I and who is this pretty, pretty lady?’.” Bonnie lifted the child. “‘And where my mama at?’ That what you sayin’?” The infant abruptly stopped crying and looked at Bonnie like he could understand every word. “Say, ‘Where my mama? I don’t see my mama!’ Oh, sugar-chile,” Bonnie whispered, “you with Miss Bonnie now…and you gon’ be fine. Jes’ fine.”
She walked toward the sink with the child in her arms, singing “High Hopes.” The child looked baffled yet pleased by Bonnie’s calm and lively voice. She sang softly as she prepared yet another bottle for another baby. When Bonnie turned, Naz was standing in the doorway. He wore his pajama bottoms and no shirt.
“You make yo’ calls?” he asked.
“Lord, Naz, I jes’ wanna feed the chile first.”
He nodded. Naz went to his wife and kissed her forehead. “I love you, Bonnie Wilder,” he said.
“I love you, husband,” she responded.
“And don’t worry yo’self,” he said. “I’ll make my own breakfast this mo’nin’.”
TWELVE
Naz and Scooter, Horace and Cal Monroe took turns rowing folks to the side of the creek where the fairgrounds were decorated with yellow and white banners and balloons. Halfway across the water, Bonnie could hear the harpsichord music and smell the scent of popcorn balls and barbecue pork piled on wooden skewers. Such were the sounds and scents of the Tri-County Spring Fair.
“Hold that boy down, Ruby-Pearl,” Naz yelled. The muscles in his bare arms flexed as he picked up his rowing speed.
Ruby-Pearl tucked an excited Wynn into the folds of her skirt. He reached toward the edge of the boat and cried when he couldn’t get loose from her grip.
“Cain’t jump in the water, baby,” Ruby-Pearl said. She retrieved a pacifier from her bag and stuck it in his mouth.
“Hey there, Wynn,” Thora said. Her lavender scarf ballooned on the sides of her face as the boat coasted across the water. “Auntie Thora gon’ take you wadin’ in the creek today. How that sound?”
Wynn’s eyes explored the blue sky as he sucked on his pacifier.
“What ’bout yo’ hair?” Ruby-Pearl asked Thora.
“What ’bout my hair?”
“Ain’t you ’fraid it might get wet?”
“Ain’t like we goin’ swimmin’,” Thora said. “We’ll stick our toes in the water and that be the end of it.”
“I might jes’ have to join you,” Bonnie put in. “’Specially if the heat rise.”
Bonnie enjoyed the warm breeze laden with the ripe scent of Canaan Creek. There was none so pretty as the Tri-County Spring Fair. It was the perfect time for a picnic, right before the airless summer arrived, when daisies and azaleas overwhelmed the park and before the green grass was singed brown from the hot sun. She felt so at peace today. Maybe it was the festive mood of the fair or the fact that Ruby-Pearl looked so happy. Or maybe because the Sisterhood just seemed to be working out. Bonnie recognized her blessings when they came and she gathered them up, with all reverence, like sweet blackberries plucked from the bush.
She held on to the side of the splintery wooden boat as it ripped through the water. The creek was beautiful this time of the morning. And it was never so full of life as when folks crossed the water for the fair. Times like this made Bonnie forget about the tragic event that happened almost a year ago.
“No offense, Thora,” Ruby-Pearl said, “but I don’t think I’m gon’ let Wynn get in the water.”
“Ever’body get in the water.”
“Wynn is too young.”
“He ain’t too young, no!” Thora argued. “I been wadin’ in the creek since befo’ I could walk. Naz even got a swimmin’ contest for the lil’ kids. Ain’t that right, Naz?”
“Keep me out y’all’s stuff,” Naz said.
“Maybe next year,” Ruby-Pearl said, kissing Wynn on the top of his head.
“Lord ha’ mercy,” Thora argued. “You gon’ smother that chile to death.”
“Thora,” Bonnie whispered.
Though Ruby-Pearl and the women had grown used to Thora and her mouth, her meddling occasionally still got in the way.
“I say, let the chile wade,” Thora insisted. She raised her arms over her
head and said, “Girl, let the lil’ birdie fly.”
“You fry that chicken, Ruby-Pearl?” Bonnie quickly asked.
Ruby-Pearl seemed more than happy to move on to another subject. “Jes’ made wings,” she replied. “Also baked a pecan pie for the contest.”
“Love yo’ pecan pie,” Bonnie said. “And I made some navy beans and a lemon cake. Naz seasoned the short ribs.”
“What you bring, Thora Dean?” Ruby-Pearl asked.
“I brung the plates, napkins and forks.”
“Always was good fo’ plastic,” Ruby-Pearl mumbled.
“You two need to cut out that foolishness,” Bonnie scolded.
“Tell her to cut it out,” Thora said peevishly.
“I thought y’all were gettin’ on fine,” Naz put in. “Since yo’ Sisterhood thing, I mean.”
“We do okay when Thora Dean stay out my business,” Ruby-Pearl said.
“I’m jes’ telling the truth as I know it,” Thora defended.
Naz shook his head. “Glad us men don’t go through all that jibber-jabber,” he said.
Thora and Ruby-Pearl moaned in unison.
“Say what you want,” Naz defended, “but you ain’t gon’ find me and Horace or me and Scooter fightin’ like two gray cats. And when Dewey come a-visitin’, you won’t see nuthin’ but good times.”
“Dewey?” Thora asked.
“Naz’s baseball buddy,” Bonnie put in. “He’s stoppin’ in tomorrow, on his way to Mobile.”
“When Dewey come, there won’t be nothin’ but good times.”
“That might be true,” Thora said, “but if you ask me, you men is worse gossips than us women will ever be.”
When the boat slid to a stop, Bonnie was the first one out. Naz reached for her hand, and as she leapt onto land she bumped against his chest. A naughty smile crept across her face as she felt his manhood respond to her closeness. Their sex life had declined since the morning she had tried to “heat things up.” But she still found her husband desirable, and at times like this Bonnie felt his need in return.