The Sisterhood of Blackberry Corner

by ANDREA SMITH

  “How old are you, Noah?”

  “Seven,” he replied.

  “Big boy.”

  He kept on eating.

  “Ain’t from the Three Sisters, are ya?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Ain’t from ’round here?”

  “We drove a long, long, long way,” he replied.

  “I see. And how come you aren’t in school?”

  “Sometimes I go to school,” he said after chewing, “and sometimes I gotta pick peaches with my daddy.” He suddenly looked at Bonnie with concern. “You best go talk to him, miss,” he said. “He gits powerful mad when he got to wait.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yes’m.”

  “Well,” Bonnie said, “I best be on my way, then.”

  Bonnie filled a glass with sweet tea. She took it outside and handed it to Mr. Bailey. “Thought you mighta changed yo’ mind.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he said, taking a gulp. He wiped his mouth with his fingertips. “My boy…” he started. “His mama died of rheumatic fever when he was four.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “Been me and him ever since.” He swirled the ice cubes in the glass. “I ain’t no mama,” he said. “And that’s what the boy need.”

  Bonnie was beginning to see that some men, like Noah Bailey…like Naz…were almost afraid of children. It didn’t matter if they were boys or girls. But other men were good with children. They could allow that softness it took to care for them and still be men.

  “I hear you find homes for children,” he said.

  “Heard from who?”

  “A young gal I know that used to set fo’ Noah. I thought…maybe you could take him.”

  Mr. Bailey avoided Bonnie’s eyes. She could feel his guilt. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder how, after seven years, a man or a woman could part with their child. Then again, after receiving nine children so far, Bonnie realized that she was trying to answer for women (and now a man) through her own perceptions, her own life experience. The fact was that Bonnie had never been poor, never felt hopeless—and more, she had never been a mother.

  “Haven’t had no chile as old as Noah,” Bonnie admitted.

  “He ain’t no trouble.”

  “It ain’t that.”

  “Got him a fresh mouth sometimes,” he said apologetically, “but I tightens that up right quick and he be jes’ fine.”

  Bonnie worked to keep a courteous expression on her face.

  “Fact is,” the father went on, “I run outta patience with the boy. Ain’t his fault, though. I work at that Baynard Orchard mo’ than fo’teen hours a day…”

  “Up near Columbia?”

  “Yes’m,” he said. “That’s where we from. I comes home at night and, I swear fo’ Jesus—”

  “Don’t swear,” Bonnie said.

  “Sorry, ma’am. Just that, well…I loses tolerance with the child. Sometime I yell at him when he don’t deserve it. Sometime I go upside his head when he ain’t done nothin’ but breathed too hard. Noah don’t need that.”

  “No, sir.”

  The father stretched his leg out to reach into the pocket of his blue jeans. He pulled out a crumpled envelope and handed it to Bonnie. “Ain’t much,” he said

  “Mr. Bailey—”

  “My boy should ha’ mo’. Should ha’ a place with a mama, a backyard and…” He looked around. “A place like this.”

  “How does the boy feel ’bout this?”

  “I done left ’im with so many folks over the years, I ’spect he be glad to settle in one place. Noah cry ’cause he wanna go to school every day. And he dern well should! He don’t need my anger. And I shouldn’t be givin’ him down the road ’bout things that don’t concern him.” Noah Bailey leaned closer to Bonnie. “The boy is a-scared a me.”

  “Every boy is a-scared a they daddy.”

  “No, ma’am,” he said. “I mean…he really a-scared.”

  Part of Bonnie didn’t want to hear the man’s admission. But another part of her knew that this was why Noah Bailey was sitting across from her. This was why the child seemed so jittery.

  “Coupla months ago,” he explained, “I got to whuppin’ on him bad. I broke two ribs and put ’im in the hospital.”

  “Dear, dear,” Bonnie whispered.

  “Wadn’t the first time I lost myself like that.” The man’s brown eyes glinted with shame. “I ain’t proud of what I did,” he said. “But I ain’t no mama. Ain’t got that…that patience and kindness he need. Can you help me, ma’am?” he asked.

  Bonnie looked through the screen and could see just the side of the boy, clacking his heel nervously against the chair as he ate. She thought about the children at the county home. Would it be as hard for her to find a home for Noah, an older child, as it was for Edie-Grace? Bonnie considered the families on the Sisterhood’s list. They had all specified babies, one even going as far as requesting a girl instead of a boy. Bonnie had never turned a child away, but she had doubts as to whether she could find a home for Noah.

  “You do understand,” Bonnie started, “that if I find a place for Noah, you might not see him again.”

  “Long as he be happy,” the father answered. “And safe.”

  Bonnie handed him back the envelope. “I cain’t take yo’ money, Mr. Bailey,” she said. “That be against the law. But I’ll try my best. Ain’t never placed no big child befo’. But I’ll do what I can.”

  He slipped the envelope back into his pocket. “How ’bout I…mow yo’ lawn, paint yo’ porch or—”

  “I thank you kindly,” Bonnie said. “But that might not be best.”

  “I understand,” he said. “Noah!” he called out.

  The father stood up when his son came to the kitchen door. The boy stepped outside, his upper lip lined with milk.

  “I need to get on,” said Mr. Bailey.

  “You comin’ back?” the boy asked.

  “Don’t think so,” the father answered.

  The boy’s face remained expressionless. “Bye,” he said.

  Noah Senior stuffed his hands in his back pockets. “Miss Bonnie here, she gon’ find you a mama…somebody good.”

  “Would that be okay with you, Noah?” Bonnie asked.

  “Yes’m,” was all the boy replied.

  “You need to mind yo’self, you hear?” his father said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  The father walked down the steps, then came back and embraced his son, landing two loud claps on the boy’s back. He nodded his thanks to Bonnie. Then he left.

  Noah perched on his knees in the kitchen chair. He leaned on the table and watched as Bonnie dashed vanilla extract into the bowl. The brown liquid swirled in the yellow cake batter, then settled in the center of the bowl. “Tutti Frutti” played on a small radio that sat on the counter. Noah’s head moved up and down to the beat as Bonnie whipped the spoon around and around.

  “This gon’ be a good one,” she said. “I can tell by the aroma.”

  “What’s aroma?”

  “It’s what things smell like.”

  “I like cake aroma,” he decided. “I like cookie aroma too and fried chicken aroma…don’t like no hog aroma, though.”

  “I believe it’s only called aroma when something smell good,” she explained.

  Noah looked confused. “What you call hog aroma, then?”

  Bonnie thought for a moment. “Call it nasty,” she replied.

  Noah covered his mouth with his hand when he laughed. She noticed that he seemed to censor his emotions, never laughing too hard or talking too loud. The first day, the boy was so quiet that it was hard to tell a child was in the house. The second day, he had begun to loosen up and would answer Bonnie with more than one word. And now, on this third day, it seemed that Noah was finally getting comfortable. He talked more and he especially liked to ask questions…lots of questions.

  “You got a mama?” he asked.

  “She died when I was just
a little girl.”

  “Like my mama?”

  “I guess so…yes.” Bonnie spooned the batter into two tin cake pans lined with waxed paper.

  “What ’bout yo’ daddy?” he asked. “Where yo’ daddy at?”

  “He passed away too,” Bonnie replied. “But I was a grown woman when he died.”

  Noah’s eyes sparked with curiousity. “So…you ain’t got no mama and you ain’t got no daddy—”

  “I don’t have,” she corrected. “Not ain’t got.”

  “And you don’t have no kids,” he went on.

  “I told you once before that the Lord didn’t bless me like that, sweetie.”

  “Why He ain’t bless you? You do somethin’ bad?”

  “Sometimes women cain’t have babies. Sometimes men cain’t make babies. Don’t mean they bad.”

  “So you ain’t got—don’t have no mama,” the boy went on, “and no daddy and no kids neither.” Bonnie could see his little face bunched up in thought. “That mean me and you is both orphans.”

  Bonnie had never heard her life laid out so simply and so sadly. “I guess we are, sugar.”

  “Bonnie,” Thora yelled from the porch. Noah’s eyes shot toward the kitchen door. Bonnie hadn’t had a visitor in the two days that he’d been here. “Where you at, Bonnie?” she called.

  “Kitchen!”

  “Least you finally got yo’ front door open,” she called as she walked through the living room. “Need to get some air up in here! And, Lord, but is that the radio I hear? Mean you finally comin’ back to the world? I thought we could go into town, ’cause I need to buy—” Thora stopped at the kitchen door. “Hello, lil’ boy,” she said. Noah didn’t answer. He stared at Thora and she stared right back. “Who is this?” she asked.

  “Noah,” Bonnie said.

  “And who is Noah?”

  “A boy,” Noah said.

  “I can see that, Mr. Smarty Pants!”

  “Who are you?” Noah asked.

  Thora stood over the child with her hands on her hips. “I am Thora Dean.”

  Bonnie laughed. “Girl, you say that like you the president of these United States.”

  “Well, I ain’t use to no chile askin’ me who I am.” She squinted at Noah. “This another’n of our foundlings?”

  “We’ll talk about it later, sweetheart,” Bonnie said.

  “Hmm,” Thora said, eyeing the boy. “Ain’t as tiny as the other babies.”

  “I ain’t no baby,” Noah defended. “I’m a boy.”

  “You a boy that ain’t gon’ make it to a man if you keep talkin’ to me like that,” Thora warned.

  “Noah,” Bonnie said, “don’t speak to Miss Thora that way. Go’n in the back and wash the batter off yo’ face, baby.”

  “Yes’m,” he said, hurrying away.

  “Fresh thing,” Thora yelled. She waited until the boy was out of sight, then looked to Bonnie for answers.

  “His daddy left him.”

  “A daddy this time,” Thora said, setting her purse on the counter. “Why?”

  “Why do anybody leave they chile?”

  Thora plopped in the kitchen chair. “So, who is the boy’s daddy? What he look like?”

  Thora used her pinky to dip into the batter bowl while Bonnie told her about how Noah had arrived.

  “Well, I must say that you look better than you did a couple of days ago,” Thora said. “Sound better too. And, thank goodness, ’cause I was gettin’ worried. Ruby-Pearl come by my house and told me about Natalie and her baby—”

  “Ruby-Pearl come by your house?”

  “We’s both concerned about you, Bonnie! That much we have in common. Anyway, I thought I should leave you to yo’self fo’ a few days. That’s why I ain’t come by lately.” She looked toward the back room when the water went on. “Also, I been dealing wit’ Horace and his mama again.”

  It was good hearing about others’ problems. Thora Dean had a knack for centering Bonnie and bringing her back to level ground.

  “The woman had another stroke.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Horace sister,” Thora prattled on, “they calls her Bitsy, you know…but I ’clare, the woman is big as this here table. Well, Bitsy don’t know her ass from her elbow. So me and Horace got to go to Huntsville again, make sure his mama take the right medicine, make sho’ she rest, make sho’ she got something to eat.”

  “If I didn’t know any better, Thora Dean,” Bonnie said, “I would swear that you were actually worried ’bout Horace mama.”

  “Me?” she said defensively. “Worried ’bout Mama Dean? Puh-lease!”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “It’s jes’ that when Horace mama is sick, Horace is sick. Then he make me sick!”

  Bonnie chuckled. She had to wonder why Thora found it so hard to admit that she cared.

  Thora grabbed the dishrag and wiped the flour from Bonnie’s table. They heard the water turn off in the back bedroom. “You call the Sisterhood ’bout this boy?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Keep him, Bonnie.”

  Bonnie looked at her old friend like she had lost her mind.

  “I can see why you wouldn’t keep Tilde’s grand. I understand that, but…”

  “I couldn’t do that to the boy,” Bonnie claimed. “First, he ain’t had no mama, then he come to a house with no daddy. Anyway,” she whispered to Thora, “if I took any chile, it would be a baby.”

  “You so fulla shit, Bonnie Wilder,” she said.

  “What?”

  Thora placed both hands on top of the table. Her nails looked like ten pearls. “The onliest reason you ain’t thought ’bout keeping this boy,” she said, “is ’cause you waitin’ on Naz to come back.”

  “That ain’t true.”

  “Look, I didn’t come here to argue with you, though you need somebody to set you straight. I come here to get you outta the house.” Thora hooked her purse onto her forearm. Noah walked back in. “But obviously you got other things to do.” She looked at Noah with pursed lips. “Hey, kid,” she said. “You take care of my friend, you hear me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?” Thora demanded.

  “Yes, Miss…Nora,” he said.

  “Thora! Thora Dean is my name. Fresh-mouth lil’ monkey.”

  Bonnie followed her to the door. “Ruby-Pearl told me about the birthday party that she fixin’ to have for Wynn,” Thora said. “Say she invited all the Sisterhood ladies and they kids and grandkids and such. Ain’t that gon’ be fun!”

  “I expect to see you there.”

  “You gon’ bring yo’ chile,” Thora teased.

  “He ain’t my chile,” Bonnie whispered.

  Noah came outside and stood behind her on the porch.

  “Boy is lookin’ right comfortable here,” Thora said, “and so are you. Bye-bye, baby.”

  Ruby-Pearl’s front yard was decorated with blue and white balloons and a thin silver banner across the top of the porch that read “Happy Birthday.” She had taped four red cutout letters that spelled Wynn’s name.

  Most of the grown guests sat in a half-dozen folding chairs that Ruby-Pearl had set up on the porch. Three snack tables held plates with potato chips, pretzels, deviled eggs and fried chicken wings. Delphine was trying to lead a game of giant step in the yard, a hopeless effort. Most of the kids were too young and were bolting out of line to run through the yard instead.

  “Noah,” Delphine yelled, “git them kids outta Ruby-Pearl’s roses. The thorns’ll tear they legs up.”

  Ruby-Pearl’s yard looked different than it did a year ago. Then, the front doors were locked and the porch was bare. The whole area was quiet and dead. Now, red and pink tulips sprung up in flower beds on either side of the house and the porch was littered with colorful plastic balls and trucks. Ruby-Pearl drifted in and out of the house to fill the snack bowls, the Kool-Aid pitcher, and to keep watch over the chicken wings still frying on the stove. She wore shorts and a tank top on
this pretty summer day—such a difference from the belted dress and the scarf that once covered her face.

  “Delphine,” Ruby-Pearl called before she stepped into the house. “We fixin’ to sing ‘Happy Birthday,’ so start roundin’ up the kids.”

  For Bonnie it was more than Wynn’s party. It was her anniversary. About a year ago, Wynn’s mama had shown up at her door and dropped the child in her arms. About a year ago, her life had changed.

  Delphine gathered up her own six-year-old, Eleanor, and Olive’s four-year-old boy, Damon, and brought them back to the circle of children playing just beneath the porch. Noah shuttled Miss Idella’s two grandchildren, Lula and Henry, plus Jenna Dixon’s little girl, Rachel.

  “Noah is a big help, ain’t he?” Miss Idella asked.

  “He clean his room,” Bonnie said proudly, “wash dishes and even try to mow the grass.”

  “A lil’ man already,” said Olive.

  The ladies of the Sisterhood had found out about Noah one at a time, for Bonnie never officially called them. Thora had told Miss Idella, and Ruby-Pearl had mentioned the boy to Olive, who told Delphine. They all thought Noah was a perfect child for Bonnie, so no one even attempted to look at the list. They knew that the longer Noah stayed, the more he filled Bonnie’s heart.

  “He’s the sweetest boy,” Bonnie said. She watched Noah yanking Miss Idella’s fighting grandchildren apart. “Still a lil’ on the nervous side. But he miss his daddy. Sometime he wake up at night callin’ the man’s name.”

  Miss Idella said, “I guess that’s one of the things ’bout havin’ an older chile. They got recollections.”

  “And it’s sad that the boy had such a tough time,” Bonnie said. She tapped her knee with the fly swatter. “But he’s well trained. That boy get right up from bed and make breakfast fo’ us both.”

  “Shut up!” Ruby-Pearl said.

  “Ain’t fit to eat,” Bonnie laughed. “But, bless his soul, he do try.” Every once in a while, Noah would glance at the porch just to make sure Bonnie was still there. “I gets the feeling that he has spent too much time alone.”