Descendants of Hagar

by Nik Nicholson

  Iain looking at ’im but I can feel his eyes.

  “You make sure you ain stirring our niggas up round here, or it’ll be you be stirred up. You hear me, girl?” Douglas Belanger warn Coley, as we make our way out the door.

  “Yes, sir,” Coley answer.

  “Yall can git on back over to Zion, too.”

  “Don’t dawdle,” Hunter Beaumont, who been staring at me all this time, say like he real concerned. “It’s getting late, and you know the Klan been riding. Don’t want nothing to happen to you.”

  ***

  When we get back out to the car, Reverend Patrick ask what they said, and Coley say, “They called us niggers, to our face. Told me not to stir yall up or they’ll stir me up,” she speak, like she in a daze.

  “Did they say anything to you?” Reverend ask me, then him and Mrs. Harper seem to almost stop breathing for my answer.

  “They just looked at me mostly.” I feel kinda dazed myself, and weird cause of how they acting. Then I’m worried.

  All while we silent riding back to town, I be thinking bout how I got to start sleeping with my rifle. Be worried if, no, when and what night they be coming for me. I think to ask Reverend Patrick if I can stay with him, but Iain wont to let on I’m afraid. I what’n going out running, or begging. I decided fore we left out that house, I would fight.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  CHURCH

  Walking up the steps, I smell the soap, aftershave and some perfume, or the oil babies are greased up in just on Sundays. Clothes fresh with starch and laundry soap make the house feel more inviting for God, maybe. Then again, God everywhere- whether you preparing for ’im or not. Everybody I see, I remember a song, and I hear their pitch. I know what field song is their favorite and what they good with.

  Sunny could carve anything out of wood, and Etta good with hand stitching. Sally always fixed good hair, and Mrs. Clara can cook.

  I watch Mrs. Clara find ‘a way round the people, smiling and easing in and out of hugs, back pats, kisses, and people asking ‘a to come sit with ’em. I see how much she got in common with Miemay, and me now. She a woman owning ‘a own business, too, but she well respected. Her husband ran off with another woman fore I was born, and she ain accepted a serious man calling for ‘a since. Folks say, she got visitors, but folks always speculating on how a woman getting by when they ain got no husband.

  Still, Mrs. Clara done found a way to be accepted round here. Iain never seen ‘a at no meetings, and the way I remember it, it be Miemay that use to speak for ‘a. Then again, what’n much never come up bout the hotel. She don’t say much, just smile all the time, and work hard. It’s just her way, that she make people feel at ease and feel at home. Maybe that’s why she own the hotel, and live there. Every day she get up and fix breakfast, lunch and dinner. She even use to clean the rooms by ‘aself fore she got older and had to hire help.

  “Well, if it ain’t the devil himself,” Martha teases soon as she notices me coming in the door.

  But I don’t find ‘a funny, so I don’t smile, or look on ‘a easy. Just gone keep staring at ‘a til she shrink and look away, or til something better catch my eye.

  Something better does. My sisters off to they selves with they own families. Fore I seen them, I just knew it’d be awkward coming back. Thought whenever everybody was finding their places with they family, I’d be realizing Iain got one, a place, a family.

  Now I see how a woman, who live alone got ‘a own place, she ‘a own family. I see how Mrs. Clara find ‘a own seat. Then look forward at the pulpit like she waiting for ‘a own personal word, and it make it easier being here.

  I use to love church, Sunday school, and days on the green. Then I see her, Norma Jean, standing tall, anchored and black as a coffee bean. Her hair all gathered to the top of ‘a head and sprouting out in one big puff of black cotton. She wear that ribbon in ‘a hair like a crown. Chin high, and ‘a nose all pointy and up like she stuck up, but she ain’t. One of the most down to earth people you ever want to meet. One of the most beautiful spirits I ever had the pleasure of knowing. It’s been a while since I seen ‘a.

  “Linny, why don’t you go on over there and speak to ‘a,” Grit whisper in my ear, resting both ‘a hands on my shoulders shaking me, when she notices me staring. “She use to be yah best friend.”

  I don’t even entertain the notion. Last time me and Norma Jean were alone, she told me we couldn’t keep meeting like this. She had a husband now and children. They had a home.

  She seemed sad when she said it, but what else could she be, having to choose between what everyone tells you to want, and they expectations, versus what you want and need. I think she needed me. Then again, maybe she just wanted me and I needed her. What she chose, is what she needed.

  I don’t know how long I’m looking at Norma Jean fore she must feel it, then turn and look at me. Our eyes speak. I feel heavy on my feet. So many things have happened since we last talked, kissed, held hands. I try not to stare at ‘a, but I cain’t look away.

  Then she smile, warm and guarded. The space between us and her smile hurt me. I breathe easy to forget ‘a, who she is, how she is.

  She the first person I think I ever wanted to help, hold, support or take care of outside my family. First person I feel protective about, other then Grit. I use to get mad when Dexter be coming over here from Hardingtown to see Norma Jean. She use to promise she ain like ’im when I’d get mad and jealous.

  I knew Dexter was a good kid, and he came from a good family. I knew Norma Jean was a child from ‘a mother’s first marriage, her daddy ran off. I knew she felt like a burden on ‘a family. Her step daddy treated ‘a different from the others. Then she be like the house maid, it was the thing we had in common. Cept it was different. My daddy seem to treat me different from my sisters and brothers, not better though, just different. It was Mama treating me like a step child. Me and Norma Jean was our families’ maid.

  We use to go walking at the end of the day if we could get away and talk about our days. Between helping Miemay and staying on top of my chores at the house, I be something tired. Still, I was looking forward to when I could unwind from the day with ‘a. She use to let me hold ‘a hand sometimes when we’d walk and talk. If we made it down to the creek, to lay in the grass, we be laying there watching the sun disappear, kissing. One day we kissed so much I thought my heart would break. Ever wanted something so much to hold it made you sad?

  Use to lay awake at night thinking bout Norma Jean. What she doing? Was she sleep? Use to hate for school to be over every day, or out in the summer. Use to always be too much time between seeing ‘a again. Now it’s been forever.

  We was out at Sumter’s Creek, swimming in our skivvies at dawn when she told me she was pregnant. Then she told me she was gone marry Dexter. I didn’t know what to say, or how to feel. Felt like I was a volcano, with all these feelings welling up Iain know what to do with. My body was on fire, my skin was too tight or heavy on my bones.

  I knew what she was saying, things was gone change and we was gone change. I what’n gone be walking ‘a home no more or seeing ‘a in the fields. She what’n gone be spending the night with me and Miemay, and I what’n going over there neither. She wouldn’t be here anymore.

  We were just 15-years-old then, but then again most women were getting married bout that time. So I guess we were women, too. I always knew we couldn’t be together forever, but I hadn’t imagined when it would end. Then it was too soon. Fifty years from now would have been too soon.

  “Come on sit up here with us, Linny,” Mrs. Harper insists, touching me, breaking the spell. I watch Mrs. Harper go on to ‘a seat.

  “You looking mighty pretty and lady like in that dress. School teacher musta already started rubbing off on yah,” Zay tease.

  I give ’im that look so he’ll know to shut up. Iain in the mood to be playing, or going back and forth with ’im, bout this dress Mrs. Harper done bought me. My heart heavy, my spirit swo
llen, and I’m holding on to the back of the pew just to keep myself grounded in the moment.

  “Oh, don’t be mad. And don’t come in the Lord’s house being evil.” Zay go on, laughing, and I think, showing out a lil for the new school teacher. Zay always played too much. Sometimes he get on my nerves, even though me and him the closest between me and my brothers.

  “Where you git this lovely thang from?” Jenny come pinching the material and holding one of the twins.

  “Mrs. Harper got it for her, and made her promise to wear it today,” Coley fall right on in, grinning and what not.

  “Heard you had supper with the Harpers. We ain’t all able. Iain never had dinner at they house, Iain never even been invited to they house. Must be nice,” Jenny digging into me, making that face like I done something to ‘a just by being here.

  “Whatever, I can still outride you, Zay, any day and any time,” I challenge ’im.

  “Not in that dress,” he add, laughing. I’m bout to tell him bout hisself when she touch me.

  “You look beautiful. Never thought I’d see the day you’d turn in your pants for something so lovely,” Norma Jean add smiling, and then it ain so bad if she think I’m beautiful.

  Shyly, I say, “Thank you,” staring in ‘a eyes. Our eyes stay fixed for just a moment, but it’s long enough to stir my spirit. Then I know, she still love me, maybe, I don’t know. The way she turn, and walk away remind me of how she use to tell me to meet ‘a.

  I watch Norma Jean float away to find ‘a husband and their children. I wonder what made ‘a come all the way back to Zion from Hardingtown.

  Then I remember what I use to love about church. Sometimes it be the most excitement for anybody ain old enough to go to the jug house. Between folks catching the spirit, the testimonies, all the music and songs, and hearing the town news ain being wrote in Zion’s paper. Since white folks be reading it. This all the excitement this town see, right here.

  Then when folks come to visit they always make sure they get a Sunday in so they can see everybody. You never know who gone come through, never know what to expect, and then again, sometimes it be the same o’ thing every Sunday. Maybe I always missed it, but something bout seeing Norma Jean, her saying I’m beautiful, and seeing my sisters, make it okay to admit how I feel.

  “Morning, young lady?” Lydia leans in Coley’s face forcing a handshake and introduction more than offering, soon as we sit down.

  Then I remember what I don’t miss, questions, and people prying in your business. I don’t miss people making judgments bout each other.

  “I’m Lydia Atwell and this my husband Paul Atwell.”

  Paul just nod his head and smile, like he been dragged over here. He looking every way but at Coley.

  They is older though, so maybe he ain’t trying to be disrespectful. Coley dress ain’t small or nothing, but it ain’t got as much material as we use to seeing on women round here. All our dresses drag on the ground, Coley’s higher then ‘a ankles. Her hat different- small, fitted, with all these bright pinks and yellow flowers on it. Iain seen a bouquet that colorful in a wedding or a funeral.

  Here in Zion all the women wear lots of dark colors; navy blue, black, grey, and brown. If it’s a formal meeting, might be a white blouse. If it’s some kinda promenade or spring formal, may be some color.

  Coley got this pink dress on with ‘a arms all out. No matter what time of year, we don’t never come to church with our arms out. She sticking out like a sore thumb. If I’da known she was gone wear this, I mighta wore me some pants so we coulda both gotta talking to, and believe me, she getting a talking to.

  Lydia got Coley cornered so she cain’t get up, so sitting, Coley nods ‘a head in a way that reminds me of the curtsy she did when we first met. “I’m Coletta Graham,” Coley smiles warmly. Now a crowd of women gathering as people notice they don’t know ‘a. People looking at me to explain who she is, I just sit mutely and watch.

  “I’m Anita Atwell.” She forces ‘a hand.

  “I’m Precilla Beaumont.” She forces ‘a hand.

  They all stand around me and Coley waiting for some more information, until the piano starts playing the music for us to get in order. People start to find their places.

  Then I realize, Iain the only one ain know Coley was in town. The whole church is in motion, looking over in our direction and talking among themselves trying to find a solution to ‘a. The Atwells and Precilla done spreaded out, so they telling what lil they know of course. Then Coley here by ‘aself, and women don’t travel without a husband or family so they really lost.

  “How do they get their hair all wavy like that?” Coley ask as the choir coming in.

  “What do you mean?” I say, following ‘a eyes to the back of the woman’s head in front of us.

  “How’d she get it to lay down like that? She must be mixed.” She answer ‘a own question, then say, “I’ve never seen anybody that dark with hair like that.”

  When people stand to receive the choir and it ain’t so quiet I say, “She bout the same color as you if not darker. And we all mixed, cause we all come from slaves. And she got just regular nigga hair. That’s how yorn would be if you let it alone and stop pulling it out with that hot comb.”

  “My hair would never lay down like that.”

  “How you know, you ever tried? Them ain nothing but braids she put in ‘a head after washing it. You tie it up at night, and it’ll be fine.”

  “Is everybody’s hair braided? Don’t women want their husbands to run their hands through their hair and brush it at night?”

  “What man you think coming in from the fields brushing some woman’s hair?” I laugh, and too loud cause people look back at us. That’s why I put it off on Coley by telling ‘a, “Be quiet, pay attention and stop talking in church.”

  Then she look at me like I done threw ‘a on the train tracks, and ‘a face so funny I laugh at that, too.

  Soon as the women start to hum along with the piano, I recognize the church favorite that always bothered me. It’s called “On Our Knees.” Anybody sitting down stand up too, to receive the choir. Fore Eudora belt out the first note, folks start two step foot tapping, clapping and keeping time. The whole church house moving to the beat. Them tambourines get to ringing and going.

  Eudora sing lead:

  Once we was slaves

  Now we’s freed

  Cause we stayed

  On our knees

  Closed our eyes

  And believed

  Just like Moses

  Split the sea

  The Lord done came

  And set us free.

  What a day

  Of jubilee

  I praise yah

  On my knees.

  Chorus:

  Lead sing: “So I!”

  Then the choir follows:

  I keeps on

  Praying

  On my knees

  Lead: So I

  Choir: Keeps on

  Waiting

  On my knees

  Eudora sing lead:

  The Lord is

  In control

  He makes the

  Wounded whole

  And gives rest

  To weary souls

  The Lord is

  Keepin names

  So our work

  Ain’t in vain

  That’s why I

  Praise his name

  And cain’t wait

  Til he rise again

  The song moving but the words troubling. Coley up clapping and going, and I’m trying to stomach the words. The Klan coming here every other week now, bothering people. The other night they was outside of Uncle Lucius place. They didn’t kill nobody, this time. Was a stranger had made it out there looking for a drink, and they done cut his privates off. Then they shot all round in the woods, folks was sleeping in the woods, and laying in dirt. Remind me of the stories Miemay use to tell me, bout how they was killing niggas on the run, right before the war e
nded when they was officially declared free.

  We free now, they say, but we waiting on our knees for somebody to come and save us. It always bother me, way they do things round here. I be thinking it’s enough folks in Zion that we could fight back, or at least keep them from coming in our town. But we don’t never try to help ourselves, we just stand around while they hang our sons and rape our daughters.

  Then Reverend Patrick, even though he good to me, he don’t never open the Bible. He might say anything. Most of the things he be saying don’t even come out the Bible. Now I understand why Miemay didn’t never think it was important to come here. This could be a whole nother kind of church if he would stop saying what he heard or think, and teach what’s in the book.

  People got Bibles in their house, and they be keeping them up high on pedestals and marking who born and who died. It say who married who. Some Bibles got a family’s whole history since they could read and write. They be putting new names and words in the Bible but don’t never open it up and just read it.

  One day when me and Ella was alone, I had worked up the nerve to ask ‘a if she ever read the entire Bible. She got all defensive like Reverend Patrick did when Miemay asked him, which kinda surprised me, and then it didn’t.

  She started telling me how the Bible is a spiritual book, and that I cain’t just read it. You got to read it from your spirit, and you got to pray to get understanding. When I tell ‘a it be saying it’s okay to be a slave, she say, “Too much of Miemay done rubbed off on you.” Then she don’t want to talk with me about the Bible. Tell me she gone pray for me, and I’m thinking, I’m praying for us all. We be the blind leading the blind.

  “You paying attention?” Coley nudge me.