by ANDREA SMITH
“Hey now, baby,” he whispered. “Gettin’ me all bothered right here and now.”
Thora and Ruby-Pearl grinned as they pretended not to notice.
“Stop that fresh talk in public,” Bonnie whispered back.
He pecked her on the lips. “Might jes’ ha’ to take us a lil’ walk in the woods later,” he said.
“Watch yo’self there, Naz Wilder,” she giggled.
The day felt good. Her husband felt good. The sun felt good. Naz lifted Wynn out of the boat and above his head with a big growl. The child’s laughter rang out among the other children’s hoops and shrieks from farther on the campground. Naz helped Ruby-Pearl out next, then reached for Thora. Bonnie wondered how her best friend would make it in her high heels, but Thora Dean always managed despite her wardrobe.
“I’m goin’ back over fo’ the last group,” Naz said just as Horace’s boat reached the bank. Bonnie waved at MaryLee and Telvin Brent as they got out with their daughter. The other couple, who Bonnie didn’t know, waved just the same.
Green and white plastic windmills, and large multicolored lollipops dotted the grassy meadows ahead. Ruby-Pearl could hardly stop Wynn from squirming in her arms when he saw the blue blinking portal that said, “Tri-County Spring Fair.”
“Go on, honey,” Bonnie said. “That boy gon’ bust if he don’t get there.”
“Hidy-hi!,” MaryLee said as she passed Bonnie, her six-year-old daughter, Penny, pulling her along.
Thora nodded to the couple behind them. The woman, compact and short, smiled warmly as she held her husband’s hand. His wavy hair framed a light brown face that looked as smooth as saltwater taffy.
“Pardon me,” he said, “but are you Miss Wilder?”
Bonnie slowed her pace. “Yes, sir.”
The wife’s chest caved in relief. “So glad we found you straightaway,” she said. She appeared to be a young woman, somewhere in her midtwenties.
“My name is Dorsey Porter,” the husband said, extending his hand. “And this is my wife, Evelyn.”
Bonnie knew where the conversation would lead. Since involving the ladies, she had been stopped in the market, at the apothecary, and gotten two unposted letters in her mailbox with names and addresses of families who wanted babies. Bonnie could spot a couple in need from a mile away. The longing in their eyes and the hope she would answer their prayers always gave them away.
“Don’t mean to take up yo’ time, ma’am,” the husband said. “But we were hopin’ to find you here. We’re from Pertwell.” His voice lowered when he said, “We hear that you…help families who want to adopt….”
“Mr. Dorsey,” Bonnie started.
“Porter,” he corrected. “Dorsey Porter is my name.”
“Mr. Porter,” she went on, “this might not be the best time to discuss—”
“We know,” he said. “And we apologize, truly, for the…the…”
“The po’ timing,” the wife put in.
“But we were sure we’d find you here at the fair,” the husband went on. “A woman who live up in Hencil told us ’bout you. Didn’t think it proper to jes’…come to yo’ house,” he said, “so we waited ’til we thought that we saw you cross the creek. Lady said to look fo’ a tall, attractive woman with short brown hair…say you most prob’ly be with another lady that look…well, look right shiny,” he said, dashing Thora a smile.
“Shiny, huh?” Thora said, trying to decide if she should be insulted.
Bonnie peered around her to see if Pine was close by. “I usually conduct this kinda business in private and—”
“Ma’am,” the wife said almost desperately, “we jes’ wanted to meet you and gi’ you our name and address.” She held out a tightly folded piece of white paper. “If you need to know anything ’bout us, we got plenty of folks who’ll tell you we’re hardworking and God-fearin’ and that we would only treat a chile with love and kindness.”
Bonnie could tell that this lady had been rehearsing her words for a while now. “One of us will contact you, by and by,” Bonnie said.
The wife clasped her hands excitedly.
“And, Mr. Porter,” Bonnie said, “y’all ha’ yo’self a good time at the fair.”
Instead of going onto the fairgrounds, the Porters walked back toward the bank. They really had come here just to find her. Part of Bonnie felt a bit embarrassed by her perceived authority. Another side of her knew exactly what these childless women felt like.
Harpsichord music got louder as they walked onto the fairgrounds. Soon they weaved past pastel-colored cotton candy that blew up from sugar machines and makeshift rides, like a Ferris wheel, a carousel, a fun house and, for those who dared, a small roller coaster called “the Bob Cat.” Booths selling everything from tepid lemonade to homemade pot holders spread across the square.
Delphine and Miss Idella had arrived early and snagged a half dozen of the best tables, in the shade but close enough to where the kids’ games were set up.
“I understand ’bout the babies club,” Thora whispered to Bonnie, “but damn if I’m gon’ spend all day settin’ ’round the Sisterhood ladies.”
“I promised we would all stay together,” Bonnie said.
“Aw, come on now,” Thora groaned.
“In fact,” Bonnie went on, “we arranged what each person was gon’ bring so that we would have a little bit of everything. Ruby-Pearl brought the fried chicken, Miss Idella made all the salads, Olive bringin’ the burgers and hot dogs…”
“I get it, Bonnie, I get it!” Thora snapped. “Damn it to hell!”
“They ain’t so bad,” Ruby-Pearl said, still trying to control Wynn. He was restless, fussy and stretched out his whole body as he tried to squirm from her grip.
“I jes’ cain’t listen to them ladies today,” Thora declared. Just then, Wynn let out a piercing scream. Ruby-Pearl quickly gave him his pacifier. “And I ain’t gon’ put up with too much of that there hollerin’ neither,” she said.
“Now look,” Bonnie said, “you the one that pronounced me the president of this here club. And I say that we all sit together today. It’s jes’ plain neighborly.”
“Hmmph,” Thora grumbled. “All day with these ladies ain’t my idea of a picnic…Hey there, Olive, Miss Idella, Delphine,” Thora said, smiling wanly.
Baskets of chips and pretzels and cellophane-covered bowls of every kind of salad were set on four tables covered in white paper cloths. Miss Idella stood behind a large smoking grill.
“Y’all set yo’ stuff right on over there,” Delphine said. Her baggy shorts, splashed with green palm trees, nearly touched her knees. “Hey there, Ruby-Pearl,” Delphine said cheerfully, “how that lil’ handsome man?”
“About to bust from the excitement.” Ruby-Pearl tried balancing Wynn and unpacking her picnic basket at the same time. She finally settled the boy on a blanket beside the table but he crawled toward a group of toddlers tossing a beach ball on the grass just feet away.
“Might as well take ’im to play and I’ll unpack yo’ things,” Bonnie said. “Ain’t no chile fit to sit still in all this excitement.”
“Thank you, honey,” Ruby-Pearl said. She picked Wynn up and carried him to the circle of children.
“Protect that chile like he come from her own womb,” Delphine said, spreading plastic forks across the table.
“A lil’ too protective if you ask me,” Thora said, nibbling a grape.
“Some mamas jes’ like that,” Bonnie spoke up in defense of her friend. “She been through a lot and don’t wanna make no mistakes.”
“Ever’body make mistakes,” Thora shot back. “And mamas prob’ly make the worse of ’em.”
Bonnie opened Ruby-Pearl’s basket and pulled out a large foil-wrapped bundle of fried chicken. She unpacked animal crackers, bottles with juice and milk, chunks of cheese and peeled apples in wax paper. A pie plate sat in the corner with a large pecan pie glistening under the glass cover. She couldn’t believe that Ruby-Pearl felt confid
ent enough to bake. Before Wynn, the woman barely came to a bake sale, let alone entered one.
While Bonnie unpacked her own basket and lay the napkins and paperware on the table, she caught sight of Kitty Wooten and Edris Collins sitting with their families. Laretha was at a table with her husband. Bonnie waved, but the woman just rolled her eyes and looked away.
“Anybody seen Tilde today?” Bonnie asked.
“Please don’t talk that woman up,” Delphine said.
Miss Idella looked toward the table where Laretha sat. “Maybe she ain’t got here yet.”
“Tilde always git to the fair early,” Olive said. “She like to git on the good side of the contest judges.”
“Cain’t imagine Tilde on anybody’s good side,” Thora said.
Ruby-Pearl wandered back over and sat beside Bonnie. She watched Wynn just yards away with Jenna Dixon.
“I hear tell,” Delphine started, “that her daughter, Natalie, got into one of them smart gal colleges up in Washington, D.C.”
“But she only sixteen,” Thora said.
“Tilde say the gal don’t even have to go to her last year at the high school,” Delphine went on. “Say she goin’ straight on to that college in the fall.”
“Ain’t that fine,” Olive said.
“Say that Natalie is gon’ be staying at her sister’s house in Virginia, just a few miles from the college in D.C.,” Delphine added.
“Lovely,” Ruby-Pearl said. “I knew it had to be something, ’cause it ain’t like Tilde to miss the county fair.”
“Happy, happy,” Pine yelled out as he approached the table. Though he seemed light and festive, Bonnie could feel the women’s tension in his presence…or maybe it was her own nerves that came to the surface every time she saw Pine. Bonnie heaped her ribs onto the grill beside Miss Idella’s corncobs as she eyed him. The liquid made the hot iron sizzle and the smoke rise in a fragrant cloud.
“I ’clare,” he said, “whenever there’s a gatherin’, you ladies all seem to band together.”
“Jes’ like the Brethren,” Miss Idella said. “Only we ain’t got no guns or ammo to compare notes ’bout.”
“I s’pose that’s true,” Pine chuckled. He straddled one of the benches and sat. “Where the husbands at?”
“Naz and Horace still down at the creek,” Bonnie answered. “They’re on their last trip.”
“And whoever ain’t got across,” Thora put in, “need to row theyselves…or swim!”
Pine reached in one of the bowls for a pretzel.
“Can I fix you a plate?” Olive asked him.
“Sausage is ready,” Miss Idella said, turning a row on the grill.
“Naw,” he said. Pine’s eyes glanced around the immediate area. He munched on the pretzel, then brushed crumbs from his bright red shirt. “Jes’ wanted to tell you fine ladies,” he started, “that y’all need to stop what you doin’.”
Bonnie’s head shot up. The women froze.
“Y’all think I jes’ fell off the turnip truck?” he asked. No one answered. Pine’s dark eyes quickly took in each woman, then he reached for another pretzel. “This a small town,” he said. “Folks talk. And I listen.”
“Folks like Tilde?” Thora asked.
“Never mind who said what.” He focused on Bonnie. “There’s an itty-bitty line here. And it be real easy for one of y’all to step over it.”
Bonnie lowered her eyes.
“I know you mean well, Bonnie,” he said. “But Sheriff Tucker would not understand like I do. And if he found out…” Pine’s gaze was as sharp as a razor. “Y’all on a slippery slope,” he said softly, “and I cain’t tell you how many things could go wrong. You need to stop yo’ lil’ club, and now! Any mo’ babies come, you bring ’em to me.”
“But you’ll carry ’em on over to the county home,” Bonnie said.
“Don’t you play that mess with me, woman,” he warned. “You keep on with this, and not only will I take you in for illegal adoption…but I’ll do all I can to round up every last one of them kids…including Wynn.”
Ruby-Pearl held her stomach as if someone had punched her.
Pine stood up from the bench. Before he walked away, he said, “I don’t mean to be cold ’bout this, but it ain’t right.”
Miss Idella slowly turned the meat. Bonnie set Wynn’s bottles into the icy cooler. Olive lined up the plastic forks so that each was even with the next.
“Tilde and her big-ass mouth,” Thora said. “That’s why she ain’t here.”
Miss Idella nodded. Ruby-Pearl was close to tears.
“What now, Bonnie?” Olive asked.
Bonnie watched Wynn tossing a ball to Delphine’s youngest daughter. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Ruby-Pearl. “We gotta stop. Simple as that.”
“Damn shame,” Thora said.
“We did what we could do,” Miss Idella said, “and that was fine. But I guess it’s time to call it quits.”
“Or…maybe we need to be mo’ careful,” Ruby-Pearl said.
The women were shocked.
“Ruby-Pearl…?” Thora said.
“You understand what yo’ sayin’, Ruby-Pearl?” Bonnie asked.
“I understand that you saved my life,” she said. “Wynn saved my life. And them there twins set Letty and Freddy’s heart a pounding each and ever’ day. Oh, no,” Ruby-Pearl said firmly, “I don’t think that we should just stop. There’s too much here, Bonnie. Too much good.”
“And remember what Miss Minnie said,” Thora put in. “She say that things are gonna happen.”
“Pine cain’t see ever’thing,” Miss Idella said. “We just gotta use the creek mo’…use the woods and the creek.”
Bonnie could see Pine watching from the reverend’s table. “Why don’t we get together later and talk ’bout this,” she said.
“We can do that,” Olive said. “But I agrees with Ruby-Pearl. We shouldn’t jes’ stop.”
Bonnie found it amazing that these women were not dissuaded. Shaken but not dissuaded. Ruby-Pearl especially had so much to lose. They seemed to just brush off Pine’s warning and switch gears. Plates were piled with good food, children were cheered to the finish line of three-legged races and wedges of cold watermelon were handed out for jobs well done. But at the edge of the ladies’ laughter lurked a surreptitious delight. Tipsy from the sheer danger of it all, the women shared subversive looks throughout the day. They enjoyed the picnic and their time together as something other than mothers, wives and church members. They were sisters.
Dewey Bradshaw was the tiniest of Naz’s baseball buddies. That aside, his mouth more than made up for his size. A baggy gray suit with large black buttons swallowed his tiny frame and a white Stetson sank low on his forehead. He looked like a twelve-year-old boy dressed in his father’s Sunday suit. Dewey laughed loud and at the same time he clapped at his own jokes. And when he wasn’t speaking, which was rare, a permanent grin seemed affixed to his face. Possibly because Dewey Bradshaw walked with his own bottle of Noah’s Mill Kentucky Bourbon.
“Not for nuthin’, Miss Bonnie,” Dewey explained, “but folks don’t usually ha’ no Noah’s Mill. But Naz know me!” he yelled. “That ole boy know that Noah’s Mill is my poison.” His laughter roared. “And this here gal is 114.2 proof!”
“Point two?” Bonnie asked.
“Oh, yeah!” he yelled. “It’s that there point two that put a nigger on his ass!”
“You crazy, Dewey,” Naz laughed. “I swear ’fo’ gawd, ole Dewey is a wild man!”
Naz looked like he didn’t have a care in the world. He talked louder and laughed harder with Dewey around. Bonnie rarely saw her husband drink, especially before the sun went down. Today he and Dewey had been imbibing since early afternoon. Bonnie hardly understood this baseball or liquor humor but knew it would be impolite not to laugh along with them. Still, every once in a while, when she needed a break from the hilarity, she went to fetch something from the kitchen.
“Sheriff
Wilder,” Dewey said in the middle of another holler.
“Sheriff?” Bonnie asked.
“That’s what the fellas used to call Naz’s foster mama,” he laughed. “Call her ‘Sheriff’ ’cause she wadn’t afraid to stand up to nobody. Of course, the woman be drunk out her ass most of the time. Ooooo, ’scuse my mouth, Miss Bonnie.” Dewey always apologized when he let loose with a cuss—which was every few minutes. “Most of the families come to the games, watch from the sideline…calmly,” Dewey explained. “But Naz mama cuss the umpire, cuss the coach, hell, she even cuss the fans if they ain’t actin’ right.”
“Ole Ida was something else,” Naz put in.
“Sheriff?” Bonnie smiled.
“That was her name,” Dewey said. He poured another two fingers of bourbon in his glass, then did the same for Naz. “Come on now, Miss Bonnie, and ha’ yo’self a taste,” he said, offering her the bottle.
“I’m fine, thank you,” she replied.
After a sip from his glass, Dewey went on talking. “Them fellas…the ballplayers, they was always makin’ up names fo’ folks.”
“And why they call you Dewey?” Bonnie asked.
He patted his chest like the answer should be obvious. “’Cause they say I’m small like a dewdrop.”
“But ole Dewey is quick as they come,” Naz said.
“Was,” Dewey corrected. “Back in the day, boy. Back in the day.” Dewey leaned into Bonnie with a devilish look on his face. A gold tooth glistened in the side of his mouth. “Say, Miss Bonnie,” he almost whispered, “you gon’ love what they used to call ole Naz here.”
“Don’t start wit’ me now, boy,” Naz warned. Bonnie hadn’t seen her husband have this much fun in years.
“What they call ’im?” Bonnie teased.
“Ole Naz was one of them die-by-the-rules kinda guys, see,” Dewey explained. “You know yo’ man. Follow the rules to his grave.”
“That’s my baby,” Bonnie said, kissing Naz on the cheek. She could almost taste the bourbon on his breath.
“Ain’t let nobody get away wit’ a damned thing,” Dewey went on. “That’s why the fellas called ’im Mr. Justice.” The two men broke out laughing.
“Mr. Justice?” Bonnie chuckled.