• • •
Gracie came back every day for the next week and a half, plying Takuma with flash cards and homemade gingersnaps. Theo never came with her, and at school, we didn’t talk. It was weird to see his sister more than I saw him, but there was no way to avoid it. Theo wasn’t of a mind to get to know Takuma, and I wasn’t of a mind to leave him alone with Gracie.
At least I had Sunday to look forward to. Gracie had to go to church, so we had the whole day to ourselves. I couldn’t wait to teach Takuma how to play marbles.
But Mama had other ideas.
“Get up,” she said belligerently as she threw my curtains open, then yanked my covers off.
“But it’s Sunday!” I said as I scrambled for my patchwork quilt.
“I know,” Mama replied. “We leave for church in seven minutes. And this time, we’re all going.”
“But Daddy said—”
“Yes, Daddy said.” She wadded up my quilt. “Even parents change their minds sometimes.”
I sat straight up in bed, suddenly very interested. “How did you convince him? Did you have to box his ears?”
Instead of answering, she checked her watch. “You’re down to six minutes and twelve seconds, so you’d better hop to it.”
Ten minutes and two seconds later, we arrived at the old adobe church in our Sunday best (or Sunday borrowed, in Takuma’s case). Mama had spent the night altering a pair of Daniel’s slacks, but they still exposed an inch of Takuma’s socks.
No sooner had I climbed out of the car than I spotted the Clausens, which struck me as unusual. Auntie Mildred always arrived at least ten minutes early. Still, I didn’t think much of it, just smoothed a lock of hair down with my spit. Luckily, we’d run out of time to redo my braids.
I pretended not to notice Theo, but as soon as he noticed me, he made a beeline for the door. He only made it a few feet before Auntie Mildred hauled him back. A shiver skittered down my spine that had nothing to do with the cool breeze. I couldn’t remember the last time Auntie Mildred had run late or Theo had galloped into church. It was practically apocalyptic.
I slid backward a step and peered around the parking lot. And realized the other churchgoers were all peering at us like a sea of slack-jawed fish.
“What are they starin’ at?” I muttered.
“What do you think?” Daddy replied.
Mama drew a bracing breath, then seized my hand and said, “Come on.”
It took all my concentration not to lose my balance as I stumbled along behind Mama, whose sensible black pumps were carving deep tracks in the gravel. I tried to glance back at Takuma, but Mama’s pace was unrelenting. It was like she thought the church might blast off to the moon without us.
“Morning, Reverend!” Mama said from halfway across the parking lot. “It’s a fine day for a sermon!”
I squinted at the sky, which was dark and threatening rain. The reverend, who was guarding the church steps like a pit bull, knotted his arms across his pin-striped vest.
If Mama was intimidated, she managed not to show it. “I’ve been lookin’ forward to that lesson on the Good Samaritan all week!”
Reverend Simms’s eyes narrowed. I could feel the crowd shifting behind us, but whether they were advancing or retreating, I couldn’t have said. When I glanced over my shoulder, my gaze settled on Takuma. He was still trudging up the walk, his dark head bowed as if in prayer. When Mama let me go, I sneaked back to walk with him.
“Did you hear me?” Mama asked. “I said, I’ve been looking forward to your lesson—”
“I heard you,” the reverend said, then tipped his hat at Daddy (who’d been shadowing Takuma).
“Good morning, Reverend,” Daddy mumbled.
I hauled Takuma up the steps. “This is Takuma,” I told him.
Reverend Simms’s lip curled. “Yes, I’ve heard all about your guest.”
I felt Takuma stiffen. Was he about to fall again? I tightened my grip on his arm in case he was feeling woozy. It wouldn’t help our case if he fell flat on his face.
Mama made a show of glancing at her watch. “Looks like we’d better get inside! Sunday school’s about to start.”
“You know your family’s always welcome at the First Baptist Church,” he said, then glowered at Takuma. “But I won’t allow his kind to worship in the house of God.”
Mama’s eyes flashed fiercely. Her rouge looked more like war paint. “You let the Dents in every week. What makes this boy any different?”
“Maleah and her children may be colored, but at least they’re not unnatural.”
The crowd went perfectly still. Two branches scraped together, and across the parking lot, a baby howled.
“What does that mean?” Theo asked loud enough for us to hear.
“It means,” the reverend said, “that this so-called boy was born of science, not of God. It means he’s not a boy at all.”
I stuck both hands on my hips. “How do you know what he is or ain’t?”
Mama snorted. “Ain’t it obvious? Your auntie must have told ’em.”
Betrayal coiled in my stomach like a pack of slippery snakes. We’d gone with her to the lab and even rescued her from Dr. Franks, and this was how she’d paid us back, by blabbing our secrets to the neighbors? Auntie Mildred might have been a blockhead, but she’d always been our blockhead. Now I couldn’t have said whose side she was on.
I rolled up my sleeves. “Did you tell ’em this was your idea?”
Auntie Mildred’s pale pink hat popped up from behind her car. “I don’t know what you mean.”
My hands balled into fists, but Takuma shook his head.
“Steady, sweetness,” Mama said.
“But she tattled on Takuma!”
“Yes,” Mama said, “she did.”
“Doesn’t that make you angry?”
“Yes,” Mama said, “it does.”
But she didn’t look angry to me. In fact, she looked downright peaceful. Guess it was time to take matters into my own hands.
“So he was born in a lab. Big deal. Just because he came out of a horse pill doesn’t mean he’s not a boy. He’s as good at climbin’ trees as any boy I’ve ever met.”
The reverend didn’t look convinced.
Mama cleared her throat. “The boy is what he is, and what he is ain’t the boy’s fault. If the rest of us are good enough to listen to your sermons, then I’d say he’s good enough, too.”
The reverend made a face. “I guess that’s where we disagree.”
I threw up my arms. “He’s a human being, for Pete’s sake!”
The reverend’s face flushed purple. “No, he’s an abomination, and I won’t tolerate his kind in the house of God.”
I shrank away from Reverend Simms. I’d never seen him so upset, not even when Mr. Jaeger hurled all over the last couple of pews. He’d just been found not guilty of murdering the foreman he worked for, so he’d spent the night out celebrating with his unruly friends. When he came to church the next morning, Reverend Simms hadn’t told him to repent, just dragged him up by his suspenders and sent him back to bed.
Takuma must have rated somewhere below murderers and thieves at the First Baptist Church.
“Then I guess we’ll just be lookin’ for another place of worship,” Mama said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Come on, Takuma. Let’s go.”
She didn’t wait for Reverend Simms to reply or Takuma to follow, just dipped her head and whirled around, last year’s Easter dress billowing majestically around her ankles. The crowd followed her progress as she marched across the parking lot, but when she climbed into the Studebaker and slammed the door shut on her heels, their eyes flicked back to us. We were still just standing there slouching.
I slid my small hand into Daddy’s. It only seemed small when it was nestled in his.
The reverend nodded curtly, then shook Daddy’s other hand. Daddy tugged me toward the door, but I tugged the other way.
“We can’t leave Mama,” I said.
Daddy squinted at the Studebaker. “I don’t think your mother is planning to come in.”
I glanced over my shoulder. I couldn’t make out Mama’s face, but I could see her arms. They were twisted like a pretzel with too many knots. I drew a shaky breath, suddenly sick to my stomach. I’d never had to choose between my parents before. It was like choosing between my right hand and my left.
Daddy squeezed my hand. “Well, Ella Mae, what’s it going to be?”
Indecision made me itch as I looked at Takuma, who was looking back at me with an empty expression. He’d said his first sentence last night (I like eat pork links), but if someone asked for his opinion on waffles or orange juice, he wouldn’t know how to respond. And if I stayed with Daddy, who would he climb trees with?
“It’s gonna be Mama,” I whispered.
Daddy drew a shuddering breath as he handed me the keys. “Well, then, you’d better go.”
I fell back to the Studebaker on Takuma’s arm (or maybe he fell back on mine). Chester refused to meet my gaze, and the Clausens pretended not to know us. Auntie Mildred let me bore a hole through the side of her head, and Uncle George studied the tulips like they were the most interesting things he’d ever seen. And maybe they were. He’d always been a simple man, less prone to shenanigans than the woman he’d married. It really was a wonder that they’d ended up together.
Just before we reached the car, Gracie made her way out of the crowd. “I’m sorry, Ella Mae,” she said, though she said it to Takuma.
If she was looking for my mercy, she was going to be disappointed. “You don’t have to stay, you know.”
She thought about that for a moment, then awkwardly lowered her gaze. She didn’t retreat, but she didn’t come with us, either.
Mama had already slid into the driver’s seat by the time we reached the car. As I climbed into the front, I handed her the keys, which she jammed into the slot. Our tires spit gravel as we roared away, but as we fishtailed onto Robinson, I caught one last glimpse of Daddy. He was still just standing there, not smiling, as a steady stream of churchgoers trudged up the church steps and disappeared into the chapel.
18
I expected Mama to head home, but when we dead-ended into Finch Street, she took a left instead, roaring north toward who knew where like the Devil himself was on her tailpipe.
“I take it we’re not goin’ home,” I said as St. Jude shriveled to a speck in the side mirror. It wasn’t quite a question, but it might as well have been.
Mama shook her head. “I take it we’re not.”
“Then where are we goin’?” I asked.
“To a land of hopes and fears.”
I was never going to get half of the things that Mama said.
At least this drive featured cows as well as orange groves and clumps of sage, but we were traveling so fast that the landscape blurred together, streaks of green and black smearing into one another. I’d gotten used to Mama’s driving, but from the way that he was swaying, I could tell Takuma needed a break.
“Do we really have to go so fast? Takuma looks like he might hurl.”
“Sorry,” Mama said as she let up on the gas. “I just don’t want to lose my nerve.”
“Lose your nerve to what?” I asked.
Mama hesitated. “Buy Takuma some new clothes.”
For the most part, Mama had left my Sunday schooling to Mrs. Timothy, but there was this one time she decided to teach me the Ten Commandments. As she’d hung the laundry on the line, she’d rehearsed the rhymes with me: “Commandment number one, love the Father and the Son. Commandment number two, don’t make statues of your shoes. Commandment number three, don’t treat Jesus like a tree.”
The rhymes didn’t explain what the commandments actually were, but they were just catchy enough that I could remember them. When Mama reached the end, I’d asked her which one was her favorite. Auntie Mildred would have said that all of them were her favorites, but Mama had taken the time to consider her answer. Finally, she’d said, “Commandment number four, enter through the chapel door.” When I asked her why, she’d said, “Because I like the Sabbath day. It gives me a reason to put my feet up now and then.”
So when Mama pulled up to the Broadway in the middle of Los Angeles, I knew right away that something was horribly wrong. By Mama’s own admission, there was nothing more important than honoring the Sabbath day, and shopping at the Broadway had to be against the rules.
Mama dropped the keys into her purse. “Well, there’s no sense dillydallyin’.”
I craned my neck to see the awnings, which were the color of spun gold, and the rows of shiny windows, seven or eight in all. “Are you sure about this?” I asked. I broke commandments all the time, but Mama’s record was still clean.
Mama glanced up at the awnings, then closed her mouth and opened the door. “As sure as I ever am,” she mumbled as she climbed out of the car.
Reluctantly, I opened mine. The clouds were thinner here, so tricky shafts of sunshine were sneaking through the cracks and bathing the Broadway in celestial light. But I didn’t take it as a sign; I took it as a warning.
I eased the door shut on my heels so as not to draw undue attention. These city slickers didn’t know us, but I still felt conspicuous. Would lightning bolts rain down from heaven as soon as we entered the store, or did God work in more mysterious ways?
Me and Mama tiptoed toward the door as timidly as church mice. When she looked one way, I looked the other, and when she looked that way, I looked back. Once we were certain we wouldn’t be spotted, we grabbed Takuma’s hand and bolted through the door.
The air inside the Broadway wasn’t too warm or too cold. Soft music emanated from somewhere high above our heads, and sparkling walkways beckoned to far-off destinations like Stationery, Men’s Accessories, and Women’s Fragrances. It was like we’d died and landed somewhere between heaven and H-E-double-toothpicks.
“What is this place?” I asked.
“A trap,” Mama said, but instead of turning tail and fleeing, she hauled us into the store.
We took a few wrong turns—they should have just called it a half floor instead of a mezzanine—but at last, we found Men’s Clothing. I grabbed a pair of pants and was in the process of stuffing them under my skirt when Mama grabbed my wrist.
“Stop that,” Mama said, returning the pants to their shelf. “We’re gonna do this right, not skulk around in corners like a bunch of common thieves.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “If we’re gonna do this right, then why’d we come on a Sunday?”
Mama’s cheeks reddened, and for a second, I thought she was on the verge of confessing. But then she straightened up. “Because we did, so quit your whinin’.”
I felt my cheeks redden, too. Even though these folks didn’t know me from Eve, I still felt funny standing out in the open, where God and everyone could see. I was trying to burrow into a rack of briefcases—why I’d gone for the briefcases instead of the silk ties was a mystery—when a deep voice said, “Excuse me.”
Me and Mama flinched (though she wasn’t the one up to her ears in leather).
If the man thought we looked guilty, he managed not to show it. “Can I help you find something?”
“Yes, sir,” Mama said as she straightened back up. “We’re just lookin’ for a pair of pants. I’m afraid Takuma’s”—she gestured in his direction—“are a few inches too short.”
The man, whose name tag read CLEVELAND, did a double take when he noticed Takuma. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he g
ave Takuma a once-over. I opened my mouth to give him a piece of my mind, but Mama cut me off.
“If you’ll point us in the right direction,” she said, “I’m sure that we can manage.”
Cleveland fixed his tie. “Most of our pants are in the back.” He motioned toward a distant corner. “But if you don’t mind my company, I’ll be happy to walk you over.”
Cleveland took off like a jackrabbit, and we had no choice but to follow. Daddy prided himself on his navigational skills (especially in department stores), but he would have been no match for Cleveland. A prize-winning greyhound probably would have fallen behind.
“Sportswear’s over there,” he said once he finally stopped. He didn’t even look winded. “But I assume you’re in the market for something more formal?”
He said it like he’d guessed we usually went to church on Sundays, though it didn’t seem like he was judging us. Maybe I could forgive him for eyeballing Takuma like he was from outer space.
“Oh, well,” Mama said, “I’m sure he’s gonna need more than one. If this pair doesn’t fit, the rest probably won’t, either.”
“Well, in that case,” Cleveland said, “let me grab some possibilities.”
He then proceeded to show us every pair of pants in the whole store, and Mama proceeded to purchase all but the pink plaid. Next, Cleveland rolled out shirts, then socks, then boxers or briefs (though I averted my gaze for that last one). By the time Cleveland announced that his shift was almost over, Mama had spent more than a hundred and thirty-eight dollars.
I plopped my chin into my hands while she wrote out the check. “You think Daddy’s gonna mind?”
“If he does,” Mama replied, “I’ll tell him I was makin’ the most of my one day of sin.”
Mama ripped the check out with authority. I thought her hands trembled slightly as she passed it to Cleveland, but her blue eyes were determined.
The Sound of Life and Everything Page 11