The Sisterhood of Blackberry Corner

by ANDREA SMITH

  “That’s what all you men say!”

  Tally laughed out. “That what you think I want? To get in yo’ stuff? Lawd ha’ mercy,” he laughed. “I sho’ly don’t want that!”

  “What’s wrong wit’ my stuff?”

  “Nothin’…I mean, I ain’t tryin’ to…John Brown it!” he exclaimed. “If I say something ’bout…yo’ stuff,” he said carefully, “then you wanna slap my face. And when I’m a gentleman and stay away from talkin’ ’bout such private affairs, you think something’s wrong. Fo’ fact, yo’ stuff look right good.”

  She had to stop herself from smiling.

  “Look,” he said, calming his voice, “let’s jes’ set here and be quiet fo’ a while. Seem that if we don’t talk, then we won’t insult each other.”

  “Fine wit’ me!” Thora pulled her purse onto her lap. She glanced around as more people started to file in. She couldn’t wait for the lights to dim and prayed that no one that she knew would enter.

  “Fixin’ to get me some JuJu Beans,” he said, moving to the edge of his seat.

  “Go’n, then!”

  “Sho’ you don’t want no Raisinets or Lemon Drops? I know you women like them Lemon Drops…”

  “I don’t! And stop tellin’ me what I like. We don’t all like Lemon Drops! Seem like you tryin’ to turn me into yo’ dead wife or something.”

  Tally turned to face her. “What did you say?”

  “Bonnie told me how you say I remind you of yo’ wife.”

  Tally’s face dropped.

  “Well, that’s not who I am,” she said. “I am Thora Dean.”

  Tally’s expression had changed. The animation in his eyes had flattened and his smile had grown sad and cold. He stood up. “I think I’m ready to take you home now.”

  “What?”

  “Ain’t no woman worth all this!”

  “I never asked for this date!” she said. Tally started up the aisle. She followed him through the movie house, past the concession stand, a gawking Doris Minton, and out to his car. “Shoulda never come in the first damn place,” she argued.

  “Don’t have to worry ’bout that no mo’,” he said.

  “Takin’ me to a movie that you done already seen! What kinda date is that?”

  Tally opened her door and she jumped in. They rode back in silence. Thora began to feel a twinge of remorse. Maybe she had finally crossed the line. If Tally or anyone had thrown her dead husband at her, Thora would have their head. She had always been a master at pushing folks’ buttons. The more uncomfortable Thora felt in a situation, the harder she pressed. Perhaps this is why Horace Dean had been the love of her life. He let her push and push and loved her just the same. Maybe she shouldn’t have mentioned Tally’s dead wife. Of course, she’d never apologize. It was easier to never go out with the man again than to have to ask his forgiveness. She glanced at him, and his eyes were full of fire. Oddly, Thora found this attractive. For as long as she could remember, she was drawn to passion, displaced or no.

  Tally clicked on the car radio. Kool and the Gang sang “Joanna.” Thora reached over and turned it down. Tally never even looked over. He was through with her…that was for sure. But Thora Dean had achieved her goal. In less than an hour, she had managed to scare this good man out of his ever-loving mind.

  The front door slammed like a clap of lightning. Bonnie turned down the sound on the TV. Why was Thora home so soon? she wondered. After the movie, she and Tally were supposed to go for dinner at the Golden Coral on Highway 10. Surely there wasn’t even enough time to finish watching the film, let alone eat. When she saw Thora’s face, not angry, but too nonchalant, Bonnie could see that disaster had struck.

  Thora kicked off her new shoes. Her eyes darted across the television. “I was hopin’ I’d get home in time to see the Cosby Show. You know I cain’t miss that.”

  “Thora…?”

  “What you cook, Bonnie?” she said. “I ’bout starved to death.”

  Thora wasn’t usually one to avoid confrontation. Her emotions overflowed, often to others’ discomfort. Like when Horace died. Thora shouted and cried and often jumped from her chair during the reverend’s eulogy. And before they closed the casket, Thora Dean draped herself across her husband’s body. But those who knew her knew that this was her way of grieving.

  “Thought you and Tally were supposed to go to dinner.”

  “We didn’t.”

  “Honey, what happened?”

  “Jes’ didn’t work out, that’s all.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m gon’ eat,” she said, heading for the kitchen.

  Bonnie found her pulling pots and pans from the refrigerator. Thora stopped long enough to take off her stockings and wind an apron over her new dress. Then she slipped on her glasses, the thick black ones that only Bonnie was meant to see.

  “Weren’t you the one who said that we shouldn’t be runnin’?” Bonnie asked. “Say we should be settin’ on our porches, eatin’ watermelon and holding our head up to the sun.”

  “I said cantaloupe! We should be eatin’ cantaloupe!” Thora sliced from a small rib roast. “And you ain’t done ne’er a thing ’bout that Augusta gal, so don’t you say a word to me, Bonnie Wilder.”

  Bonnie remained silent on the subject.

  Thora moved quickly through the kitchen. She set some candied yams in a pan and then some collard greens to warm.

  “Why don’t you jes’ set yo’ full plate in the microwave?” Bonnie asked.

  “You know I don’t like that thing, Bonnie. Gi’ you cancer, sho’ nuff. You ’member how Delphine started using that microwave fo’ every damn thing. Even try to bake in it. And hell if that cancer ain’t took her to her glory.” Thora set her pan over a low flame. She wiped her hands on her apron then sat across from Bonnie at the table. “Look,” she said plainly, “it jes’ didn’t work. Some things don’t work.”

  “Okay,” Bonnie acquiesced. “I won’t mention it no mo’.”

  “Good. ’Cause if me and Tally started talkin’…nicely…and if I started to like him and if we were to get married—”

  “Married? Lord, you cain’t even have a simple date.”

  “Jes’ listen,” she ordered. “We old now, and cain’t waste no time pretending!”

  “Okay.”

  “If Tally and me like each other and if we get together…what’s gon’ happen to you, Bonnie?”

  Bonnie felt the air leave her chest.

  “I’m serious.”

  Bonnie was speechless. Touched and speechless. “That why you been puttin’ him down? That why you been actin’ like a stone fool?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Thora…” she said. “Lord, you always did ha’ the biggest heart of anybody I know.”

  “Stop that talk! Me and you been friends since we was eight. Buried one husband and sent the other’n on his cheatin’ way. Found children, lost children, buried children. I cain’t leave you now! I won’t.”

  Bonnie hugged her old friend from behind.

  “Set on down,” Thora said. “You know I don’t go fo’ all that messy stuff.”

  Bonnie went to the stove and turned down the flame. She really did love Thora Dean. And she suddenly felt blessed to have had the woman in her life for so many years. “Please don’t worry ’bout me, honey. I’m in good health, I have my house here and I gets loads of letters from folks. Ruby-Pearl jes’ wrote us the other day from Hencil. Olive drop by ever’ once in while. Come on, now. I got loads of folks. And I’ll tell you something else. If you and Tally get together, that’d jes’ be mo’ family for me to have…and you’ll be right there in Taliliga.”

  “I guess,” Thora said.

  Bonnie set the warm plate in front of Thora. Thora said a quick blessing and then cut her meat. “You ain’t got to worry bout Tally and me, no way,” Thora said. “I chased that man so far. Mercy…I said somethin’ ’bout his dead wife.”

  Bonnie gasped. “No, you didn’t!”

 
“When I aim to get rid of a soul, don’t take me long.”

  “Tally’s different, though,” Bonnie said. “Even with insensitive and…stupid-ass remarks—”

  “Did you jes’ cuss me, Bonnie?”

  “You deserve that one!”

  “Maybe I do,” Thora admitted.

  “Oh, I know you do!” Bonnie confirmed. Her voice softened when she said, “But…I ’spect even with all yo’ triflin’ remarks Tally’ll be back jes’ the same.”

  FIFTEEN

  Canaan Creek, 1958

  Bonnie turned down the sound on the TV when she heard a car pull through the gate. She was sure it was Thora…again. Nearly every morning since Naz had left, the woman arrived, throwing open the window blinds, chattering about “a new day” and “other fish in the sea,” all the while her gardenia-scented perfume sweetening the silent, bland rooms. Bonnie listened for the predictable sound of high heels across the porch. She heard nothing. Perhaps it was Ruby-Pearl. Though less intrusive, she had stopped by with Wynn several times. Even the other ladies from the Sisterhood had come to visit, each with a wrapped dish and a tale of love gone bad. Maybe it was Naz.

  Bonnie drifted toward the window. She wanted to look out, but couldn’t bear the disappointment if it wasn’t. So many times over these six weeks she had regretted making him go. Then she would try to imagine living with him again—Lucinda Justice always looming at the periphery of their lives. At night, when Bonnie climbed into bed alone, she pictured him lying beside Lucinda, Naz holding Lucinda, Naz loving Lucinda. No, she thought. They could never make it work again. Naz had made a mockery of their life together and, in her heart, she didn’t believe he would ever change. Still, she longed for him.

  There was a light knock at the door. She cracked open the screen.

  “Mo’nin’, Bonnie.”

  “Tilde? Tilde Monroe?”

  Everyone knew that Tilde had reported the Sisterhood to Pine. So what was she doing here?

  The woman carried a small brown paper bag. “Hazard loaf,” she said.

  “’Scuse me?”

  “That’s what Cal calls my spice bread, ’cause I soaks it in rum,” she said, raising the bag.

  “Hazard loaf?”

  “Best you ever tasted. I usually bake a few this time a year and I brung you one. But you need to start soakin’ it now,” she said, almost as an order. “You soak it now and by August, one slice’ll make you fall out drunk on the flo’.”

  Bonnie felt like she was missing a piece of this conversation. But somehow she sensed Tilde actually trying to reach out. Bonnie opened the door.

  Before Tilde entered, she glanced back at her car. A man sat in the driver’s seat.

  “That Cal out there?” Bonnie asked.

  “Yes’m.”

  “Why don’t you ha’ him to come in.”

  “By and by,” Tilde said.

  The last time that Tilde had come to Blackberry Corner, she had insisted that Bonnie was trying to be God. Yet, here she was again. Tilde glanced around before taking a seat on the couch.

  “Not that I…ever go into Tangle’s package sto’,” she said.

  Bonnie had rarely spoken with Tilde alone. How could she know the woman could drop you in the middle of a one-sided conversation.

  “But they’s got that dark Jamaican rum on sale,” she went on. “Good for soakin’ Hazard loaf.” Tilde reached into the brown paper bag and pulled out a cellophane-wrapped loaf and handed it to Bonnie. Chopped walnuts were sprinkled on top. “’Course, you can use some of that blackberry wine that Naz make—” Tilde caught herself. She had said the name.

  “It’s alright,” Bonnie said.

  “No, it ain’t,” Tilde said. “I know it’s hard…losin’ yo’ man.”

  Bonnie looked down at the cake.

  “Believe me, I really know,” she said. “Cal and me—we’s certainly had our troubles.”

  “Is there somethin’ you need to say to me, Tilde?”

  The woman folded the empty brown bag into a tiny square. Tilde rarely looked uncomfortable.

  “I want you to know that…while I didn’t approve of what you and this ‘Sisterhood’ was doin’—”

  “Is that why you told Pine?”

  “That’s exactly why I told Pine! And I’m woman enough to admit that maybe I was wrong to do that.”

  “Well, if you come here to say you sorry, then I accept yo’ apology,” Bonnie said dismissively. She rose from her seat. “And I thank you kindly for the bread.”

  “Tilde,” Cal called from the front porch, “we cain’t set out here all day.”

  Tilde dropped her chin to her chest in frustration.

  “We?” Bonnie asked. “Ain’t seen nobody out there with Cal.”

  “I ain’t got ’round to explainin’ things yet,” Tilde yelled to him.

  “She gettin’ restless,” Cal called. “And I ain’t ’bout to change no nappy.”

  Bonnie went to the door. Cal stood on the porch balancing a squirming baby and a diaper bag hanging from his shoulder. “How do,” he said.

  Bonnie looked from Tilde to Cal to this plump, pretty child. It finally made sense: Tilde and Natalie being gone for the last few months, Cal standing there with a baby—and more, Tilde showing up with a gift in her chubby hands and shame in her eyes.

  “You gon’ take her, Bonnie?” Cal asked.

  Bonnie looked at Cal, then his wife.

  “Natalie did get into college up north,” Tilde started, “she really did. And she the youngest colored gal they ever had,” she said proudly. “And she was gon’ stay with my sister so she could go to school. All that’s the truth. But…she got pregnant.”

  “Went out there and ruint herself,” Cal snapped.

  “She ain’t ruint nothin’!” Tilde barked. “Natalie good as she can be. And she still goin’ on to that school. Gon’ be the youngest colored gal they ever had…so you jes’ shut yo’ damn mouth, Cal Monroe!”

  Here was the Tilde that Bonnie knew best. The mother. The fighter. And now she truly had something to fight for.

  “Bonnie,” Tilde said, dropping all pretense. “I need fo’ you to take this chile. Take her and find her a good home.”

  “What Natalie got to say?” Bonnie asked.

  “She know she cain’t care fo’ no baby.”

  “And we ain’t ’bout to,” Cal put in. “Our baby days is done!”

  “I cain’t take her lessen Natalie bring her to me herself,” Bonnie insisted.

  “Natalie is sixteen years old,” Tilde said. “She know she cain’t raise no chile. But we’s God-fearin’ folk.”

  “It’s still her chile.”

  “It’s my chile,” Tilde barked. “I gotta feed her, I gotta clothe her.”

  Cal adjusted the bundle in his arms. The blanket fell open and Bonnie caught a glimpse of the baby’s face. She was as light as Tilde. A patch of dark brown hair sat on top of her head in a pretty ringlet.

  “Fine-lookin’ grandbaby,” Bonnie said.

  “Indeed,” Tilde whispered.

  Bonnie could see the shame in the woman’s eyes. And it wasn’t just that Natalie had taken a wrong turn, but the shame that she, Tilde Monroe, had to now make things right.

  “Who’s the daddy?” Bonnie asked.

  “Some boy…live up in Hazelhurst,” Cal answered.

  “Do he know?”

  Tilde blew from her mouth with disgust. “That boy and his family want as much to do with this chile as Natalie.”

  Bonnie looked into the blanket again when the baby started to fuss. “Natalie is the mama,” she said. “And only Natalie can tell me so.”

  “But she’s sixteen,” Tilde pleaded. “I was sixteen when I had Natalie!” Cal cut his eyes away. Bonnie did recall how Tilde had disappeared during high school and come back to town a mama and a married lady. “And you know Natalie is smart as a whip. You know she is! Natalie say to me, ‘Please, Mama…please take this chile to Miss Bonnie. Please ask Miss Bonnie t
o find her a home.’ That’s what she say.”

  “Where is she?” Bonnie asked.

  “Still in Virginia,” Cal answered.

  “The girl had a tough delivery,” Tilde went on. “Doctors say she had to rest, so she stayin’ there until school start.” Tilde looked right at Bonnie. “I’m sorry, Bonnie,” she said. “Sorry fo’ my jealousy.”

  “Tilde—”

  “Sorry for speakin’ bad of you and yo’ baby club—”

  “I cain’t take the chile,” Bonnie said plainly.

  Tilde’s desperation suddenly quieted. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked right at Bonnie. “If I wanted,” she began, her voice tinged with sarcasm, “I coulda set this baby right outside yo’ do’ in the middle of the night. And you woulda never known a thing. She woulda been jes’ another abandoned child and you and yo’ Sisterhood gals woulda gone and sent her right on her way. But I come to you like a proper woman. Like a woman wanna be right with you and God.” Tilde took the whining baby from Cal. “Don’t make Natalie come here,” she pleaded. “The girl ain’t well and she feel sorry enough that she gotta do this in the first place.”

  Tilde’s tiny eyes were filled with shame but also with contrition. The fact is, she could’ve left the child and run. It was bad enough that the woman had humbled herself to come here, maybe it would’ve been worse if Natalie had to do it herself. Bonnie looked at the child again. Just like every other baby, she needed love—positive love, and also a good family.

  Bonnie accepted the baby.

  “You one of God’s angels,” Tilde said. “And you saved my Natalie a lot of pain.”

  “Y’all go on now,” Bonnie said.

  “She gon’ be somebody good, Bonnie,” Tilde said. “Once Natalie get back on her feet and get her schoolin’, she gon’ be alright.”

  “You’ll find the chile a good home?” Cal asked.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “Thank you,” Tilde said. She kissed the baby and then kissed Bonnie on the cheek. “How long it take?” she asked. “How long ’til the baby be gone?”

  “Sometimes a day, sometimes two or three,” Bonnie said. “Depends on where the new mama live.”