by ANDREA SMITH
“Maybe you better sort this thing out with Lucinda,” Bonnie said, rising. “’Cause I cain’t hear no mo’.”
“I stayed with her while she was pregnant this time because I thought she might hurt the chile.”
Bonnie opened the screen door to go in.
“It was Lucinda,” he said, his voice wavering. “It was Lucinda who left the baby in the creek.”
“What?”
“That was my baby, Bonnie. And she told me like it was nothin’,” Naz went on. “Say we ain’t had to keep this one neither. Then the woman threw some ham hocks in a pot of water, cut up the greens and rinsed the rice. She was ready to jes’ go’n with our lives—like a baby ain’t never happened. That’s why I stayed. I had to make sure this chile was safe.”
Evil, Bonnie thought. Evil and crazy! Lucinda Justice, a grown woman, had killed her baby just to keep a man. And she might’ve killed this one too.
“Can you understand now?” he asked. “Please tell me that you understand why I had to stay.”
Bonnie released the screen door and went to her husband. He held the sleeping baby and leaned against her stomach as she stood above him. Bonnie couldn’t help but reach out and stroke his head.
“I want to spend my life wit’ you,” he said. “You, Bonnie Wilder. My only wife.” He looked up at her. “And I want you to raise this chile.”
He offered the baby to Bonnie.
This was Naz’s child. Here was the perfect opportunity to get her husband back and have a baby too. But could she ever trust Naz again? He had lied to her for four years. And then there was Lucinda herself. Would she come around? And if she did, would Bonnie call the cops on a killer? Bonnie wondered if that evil part of Lucinda—that part that could take a human life—could it dwell inside a child? No, she thought. Babies were innocent. Bonnie believed it before and she certainly believed it now.
“It’s mo’nin’,” Naz said, rising from the rocker. “Brand-new day. And I promise, Bonnie, I’m gon’ do ever’thing different.” Again, he held out the baby for Bonnie.
“I’m sorry, but I cain’t take her.”
“Come on, now…”
“Ever’time I look at her I’m gon’ see Lucinda Justice. You and Lucinda together. But worse…much worse…I’m gon’ see a woman that drowned her own baby.”
“What you sayin’?”
Bonnie suddenly hoped that she wasn’t making another bad decision. After all, this was surely her last chance to have a child. “I’m saying, Naz Wilder,” she went on, “that you need to take your daughter and get the hell outta my life.”
“Bonnie,” he said. “I know you need me and I need you too. This baby sho’ly need the both of us.”
Bonnie walked into the house and locked the door behind her. She could hear his feet pace the porch, stopping every so often like he was trying to figure this out. She could hear his heavy breaths full of frustration, sorrow and confusion. Then came silence. After a while, she heard Naz’s truck start. Pebbles popped against the bottom as he pulled around through the front yard and out the gate. She ran to the window and watched her husband leave. Seconds later she heard a baby crying from the back porch.
That’s when Bonnie called the Sisters.
NINETEEN
Thora Dean came to say good-bye. For the last month she had been telling Bonnie that she needed to go back to Huntsville to tend to Horace’s mama, but Bonnie had been so caught up in her own tragedy, she hadn’t really heard her. It wasn’t until Thora arrived on Blackberry Corner wearing her traveling hat, a little red pill box, that Bonnie realized that her best friend would soon be gone for Lord knew how long.
“I shouldn’t be leavin’ you alone like this,” she said. “But if I don’t go, Horace gon’ ha’ kittens.”
“Got tend to family affairs,” Bonnie said, though deep down inside she felt that Thora Dean had held her together since Naz left. “Besides, I got Ruby-Pearl, Delphine, Miss Idella…”
“But they ain’t me! They don’t tell you things like I do. They don’t keep yo’ lil’ bony ass in line.”
Horace rolled his eyes.
“You can call me from Huntsville,” Bonnie said, “You can tell me ’bout myself long distance.”
“I’m not kiddin’ here,” Thora said. “I feel bad ’bout leavin’ you now.”
“I’ll be fine,” Bonnie said.
Horace removed his cap and looked at Bonnie sheepishly. “I never did get a chance to tell you, Bonnie,” he started, “but…I hate the way things wound up…with Naz, I mean.”
“You and them damn Brethren,” Thora argued. “Look the other way and keep each other’s dirty secrets.”
Horace said, “If I’da known that things were gon’ turn out like they did…”
“You shoulda opened yo’ mouth ’bout that Lucinda woman,” Thora said bluntly.
“Maybe I better go’n back to the car,” Horace mumbled.
“Need to take yo’ ass somewhere,” Thora yelled.
Horace kissed Bonnie on the forehead. “We’ll see you,” he said. “I’ll bring yo’ gal back to you as soon as I can.”
“You mean befo’ I kill yo’ mama?”
Horace waved his hat as he walked off.
“I cain’t stay too long, sugar,” Thora said.
“I know.”
Thora took Bonnie’s hand. “You my very best friend,” she said. “Fo’ fact, you the only somebody that can put up wit’ me.”
“You know the Sisters come to know you. Even Ruby-Pearl come to like you.”
“She come to tolerate me. I hate to admit,” Thora said, “but them women, they ain’t such a bad bunch.”
“They a good bunch,” Bonnie added.
“I mean…they was ready to go to jail along with you if they had to. And that’s sayin’ a lot for a bunch of lil’ ole country ladies.”
Bonnie chuckled. “I never knew where this would all wind up. And although life ain’t been the greatest fo’ me, when I think ’bout it, things coulda been much worse.”
“That’s my Bonnie,” Thora declared. “Now you startin’ to sound like yo’self again. After the sheriff decided not to take yo’ case no fu’ther,” she nodded her head affirmatively. “I knew all this mess was finally over. But you got to keep yo’ promise to Pine and Sheriff Tucker,” Thora warned.
“Ain’t no mo’ babies comin’ this way.”
“Bonnie! You know I was with you all the way with helpin’ these children,” Thora said, “but they ain’t gon’ let you off so easy next time.”
Horace beeped the horn.
“I got to get on, honey,” Thora said, hugging Bonnie again. She held her for a while, then kissed her, leaving a print of two red lips on her cheek. “We’ll be back in a few weeks,” she said. “By that time Mama Dean should be back on her feet…or dead, one!”
“Thora!”
Thora started toward the car. She stopped in the path. “Lordy,” she called out. “I almost forgot that I bought you a lil’ present. Lemme get it from the car.”
“You ain’t had to get me no present,” Bonnie called.
“You nice enough to take care of my house whilst I’m gone. Had to get you a lil’ somethin’.”
Thora trotted to the car and opened the back door.
Bonnie suddenly froze. For a moment she thought her eyes had deceived her at the sight of her boy Noah. He was in a little black Sunday suit with a shirt and tie. And his brown face looked so shiny and clean. So many feelings hit Bonnie, all at once. Guilt, for having left him so long, wonder at how the boy felt about her now, but mostly joy that Noah was standing just feet away, safe.
“Noah?” Bonnie said, keeping a distance. “My, my…look at you. How you doin’, sugar?”
“Fine,” he answered.
Noah seemed unsure of what he should say or do. And Bonnie felt just as nervous. She had often thought about how she’d explain things to the boy. Her explanation never seemed right.
“You didn’t com
e,” he said.
She walked to the boy and knelt in front of him, praying that she could find the words to explain.
“Why didn’t you come?”
“You ever get scared ’bout things, Noah?” she asked.
“Yes’m.”
“Me too. And that’s how I was feelin’ ’bout you. Only I didn’t do the right thing. I shoulda come to you as soon as I could and talked to you and told you how I felt.”
He pressed his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Miss Ruby-Pearl, she came ever’ day. I waited fo’ you.”
“I know,” she said. “At first I got myself in a little trouble. And I thought that I prob’ly couldn’t be yo’ mama.”
“You coulda come,” he insisted.
“Yes.” Bonnie reached out and stroked his face. “But when a woman that ain’t yo’ real mama comes along, she got to prove that she gon’ be the best there is…”
“But you a good mama.”
“You think so?”
“Yes’m.”
Bonnie wanted to hug the child, but Noah seemed so hesitant and afraid. He was the same little boy that his daddy had left. Fearful, neglected, untrusting. And she couldn’t blame him, only now the neglect and mistrust was her own doing. Bonnie decided to tread lightly with the boy. She would talk to him as long as it took, and she would let him ask as many questions as he needed to in order to understand. Just as she was about to stand up, Noah grabbed her around the neck and pressed his cheek against hers. He squeezed as tight as he could, and must’ve thought that if she couldn’t move, she couldn’t leave. But Bonnie never would.
“You didn’t think I was gonna leave you by yo’self, did you?” Thora asked. “Girl, you do crazy things when you stay alone too long.”
Suddenly, it didn’t matter to Bonnie that Naz was gone or that she had spent a night in jail.
“Horace thought I had lost my mind,” Thora said. “I told him I wanted to adopt a chile. He say, ‘Woman, why cain’t we adopt a dog instead?’ When I told him that the child would live with you…well, that was alright with him.”
“This is…beyond friendship,” Bonnie said, embracing her best friend.
“Jes’ means that you owe me. And, don’t worry, I’ll think of a way fo’ you to pay.”
Bonnie laughed, “I have no doubt you will.” She walked to Horace’s car. Noah stayed right on her heels. “You a good man, Horace Dean,” she said, kissing him on the forehead. “I don’t know how to begin to thank you.”
“Jes’ take care a that boy,” he said. “And if you need a daddy ever’ once in a while…” Horace pointed to his own chest. “Now, are we finished with all this stuff?” he asked. “Cain’t abide too much mush. And come on, woman,” he said to his wife, “we need to git gone.”
“Hey, boy,” Thora said, wagging a finger at Noah, “don’tcha ride that dog’s back. And you make sho’ Bonnie call me twice a week. Can you do that?”
“Yes’m.”
“Good! Now, come gi’ Auntie Thora some sugar.” Noah raced to her and threw his arms around her. “Doggone it to hell, boy, you fixin’ to wrench my neck!” She was about to get in the car but turned back. “See, that’s why I ain’t got no children,” she fussed. “Kids drive me outta my mind.” Horace beeped the horn. “Alright, alright, I’m comin’! And that one,” she said, pointing to her husband, “he jes’ as bad as them damn kids.” She got in and waved out of the window until the car was gone.
“You hungry, boy?” Bonnie asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered.
“Come on, then. We’ll get you something.”
“Can we make a cake?”
“Maybe.”
“Chocolate?”
“We’ll see.”
Bonnie held the screen door while the boy cautiously entered. He looked at the foyer and living room like it was his first time here. His shoes squeaked as they skidded across the kitchen floor. Bonnie set out the mixing bowl and spoons while Noah took the butter and eggs from the refrigerator. Clearly, the child was nervous and a bit guarded, but his presence felt so natural to Bonnie. Having him here, even right here in her kitchen, seemed to brighten the whole house. And she needed that light. She knew that this wasn’t the home she had prayed for or the life she had planned. Yet her life was perfect and her prayers had been answered.
EPILOGUE
Canaan Creek, 1985
Augusta Randall had Naz’s nose, his lips, his athletic posture and—strangely—the same long, tapered feet. But the rest of this tall, attractive woman—her red skin, her big bones, her dense Indian cheeks—were pure Lucinda Justice.
“I promised myself that I wouldn’t get all sentimental when I saw you,” she cried, “but…I guess I’m pretty emotional these days.”
“These days,” Joe Randall cut in.
Bonnie had pictured him as tall, lanky and studious-looking. She imagined that he wore little round glasses, always a jacket and tie and an expression filled with deep thought. But Joe Randall was at least a foot shorter than his wife, stocky, with a bald head and an earring. He looked like one of the Buddha statues that Bonnie had seen in the thrift shop in town.
“Girl, you ’bout ready to bust wide open,” Thora said. “How long you got left?”
“Can you believe I still have two months?”
“Big as you are,” Thora said, clearing the throw pillows so the woman could sit, “seem like you ready to drop any day.”
“I checked on the hospitals in the area just in case,” Joe said.
“Mary Immaculate is about three miles from here,” Thora said, “and as I understand, their maternity is…”
Somehow, Bonnie didn’t expect to be so struck by Augusta’s looks. She knew she’d find Lucinda in the girl, because Lucinda had such distinctive coloring and a strong, craggy structure to her face. But Bonnie was astonished to see how much Augusta looked like Naz. She watched the woman as she spoke of her pregnancy and their life in New Jersey. Augusta tilted her head reflectively, much the same way that Naz did. She used her large hands expressively, just like Naz did. But it was her smile that caused Bonnie’s heart to crack—Naz’s smile, shy and wholly infectious. At least once a day Bonnie still thought of Naz. Most times it wasn’t painful. She often remembered the early days of their marriage, the way her simple life was so fulfilled by his presence. Until she began to long for a child, he had been everything to her. Bonnie never saw Naz again after he had left his baby with her. Shortly after, one of the Brethren, Scooter, had said that Naz moved to Dayton, Ohio, to coach a minor-league baseball team. He had always wanted to do that. He had wanted to leave the Three Sisters and coach just as much as she had wanted a child. Bonnie was glad that they had both gotten what they wanted in life. Then about two years after he left, Bonnie received divorce papers. And with the last tear she would shed for Naz Wilder, she signed them and sent them on their way.
Joseph Randall skimmed the pictures on the mantel: photos of Ruby-Pearl, Bonnie and Thora in their younger days, pictures of Wynn and many more of Noah as children, teenagers and adults.
“Is this your son, Mrs. Wilder?” Joe asked as he picked up a picture of Noah and Bonnie, posing together on the bank of the creek.
“That’s my Noah. He live in No’th Carolina now with his wife, Effy, and their two kids.”
“Two lil’ girls,” Thora added. “One name is Desiree and the other’n is…what that tiny one’s name, Bonnie?”
“Rashida.”
“Lord, these young folks and they names!” Thora laughed. “But they’s the cutest lil’ family. And Noah’s a lawyer, you know,” Thora added. “He do that there civil rights law. Don’t make much money, Lord knows, but Noah always had a big heart—jes’ like his mama.”
“Noah has been the light of my life,” Bonnie said. “And he was one of the children, jes’ like you,” she said to Augusta.
“One of the abandoned children?” Gussie asked.
“Well, we never call ’em that,” Bon
nie said. “Like to call ’em our lil’ precious gifts…but, yes, Noah did come to me that way.”
“Did you take one of the children too, Thora?” Joe asked as he continued to scan the pictures.
“Hell, no! I wadn’t the mama kind. But, like the other ladies, I helped out where I could.”
“How many women were there?” Gussie asked.
“There were six of us ladies. Six in the Sisterhood of Blackberry Corner,” Thora said sarcastically. She and Bonnie laughed.
“That’s what we like to call ourselves,” Bonnie explained. “Jes’ this…identity thing, you know?”
“Yes, I know,” Joe Randall put in. “At the university where I teach, every group has to have a name.”
“There was me, Thora and Ruby-Pearl,” Bonnie started as she counted on her fingers. “’Bout ten years ago, Ruby-Pearl moved back up no’th to Hencil after her son, Wynn, got married.”
“That was some weddin’, wasn’t it, Bonnie?” Thora asked.
“Prettiest I ever seen.”
“And it didn’t even matter,” Thora prattled on, “that Wynn’s fiancée—name is Cara, she a teacher jes’ like y’all—was six months pregnant when she walked down the aisle and—”
“Then there was Delphine and Olive,” Bonnie interrupted, “Olive still live in the Three Sisters—”
“Ain’t right in the head no mo’,” Thora said. “Got that Alzheimer’s and once she wound up wadin’ in the creek at three in the mo’nin’.”
“Delphine passed some years ago,” Bonnie went on, “and Miss Idella…”
“Bless her old heart,” Thora said. “That woman lived ’til she was ninety-two.”
Joe pointed to a picture at the back of the mantel. “Is that…honey, that’s Naz Wilder!”
“You know who Naz Wilder is, young man?” Thora asked.
“Joe’s quite a baseball historian,” Gussie explained. “Especially when it comes to Negro League players.”
He turned to Bonnie. “Naz Wilder played for the Black Crackers.”
“That’s right,” Bonnie said.