“Come, sit.” She pulled two chairs up. We sat with our knees touching, but mine kept bouncing up and down, as if I were dancing in place on the balls of my feet. Momma gently pushed on my knees to hold them down. She took my hands and pressed one on each knee. Then she held my cheeks between her hands, tilted my face toward her, and kissed my forehead.
The first tear dripped down the side of my face. My whole body began to shake. I leaned over, buried myself in Momma’s lap, and grabbed her waist. She stroked my back and said, “My baby. No need to be scared.” My chest was heaving so badly I couldn’t catch any breath in my lungs. My shoulders kept pumping up and down as tears streamed from my face onto her dress.
Momma took her apron and wiped my face. She pulled a hankie from her pocket. “Blow your nose and settle down. We’re gonna talk for a bit, and I need you to hear me.”
“Yes, Momma,” I mumbled, between sobs that sounded like a bad case of hiccups.
“I wasn’t much older than you when I married your daddy. Can’t say that I’ve done what I always wanted to do, and I can’t tell you what to do with your life. You’re different from me, different from your sisters, and that’s all right. It’s going to cause you trouble, already has, but you a strong person. For me strength is in being with your daddy, like my momma told me to. I never questioned anything, I did as I was told—that’s the way it was when I was your age, and still that way for me.” Absently she rubbed my cheeks.
It was as if she were feeling not my face but her own from long ago.
“Didn’t you want to marry Daddy?”
“There you go again, asking what no child has a business asking!” She pulled her hands away and sat straight up in the kitchen chair.
“I’m sorry.”
“I love your daddy. Think I always did, even when I didn’t know it at first. My momma and daddy brought him home one day, told me this would be my husband. Never asked me if I wanted to get to know him, and I certainly didn’t tell him he had to court me before I’d give an answer. I just knew the marriage was gonna be. Maybe somewhere, way back in my mind, there was a whisper, a sense that I should have a say in who I married, but the voice, that feeling, was so faint, it faded away like morning dew once the sun makes its presence known.” Her gaze wandered off, somewhere above my head.
“You and Daddy look perfect together. Like you were meant for each other.”
“Oh, we’re perfect all right—perfect in our imperfections. You’ll find that kind of perfect with Henry too.”
“Momma. I need to ask you something. It’s about Miss Parker. Do she and Henry know each other?”
Momma curled her face up with a quizzical look. “Everyone knows each other around these parts.”
“That’s what Henry said when I asked him.”
“Why you asking, Baby Girl?”
“I don’t know. It’s just a feeling. Seems there’s more to their knowing each other than this being a small place.” I fiddled with the cross hanging from my neck.
“You know Henry is older than you—twenty-six. A man that age has had other experiences, maybe even other women. Doesn’t mean anything. Now he’s your husband, you his wife. Anything that came before—doesn’t matter. That’s all you need to know, and don’t go asking him any more questions about who he knew in the past. Even if the question starts to rumble in your belly, travel up your throat, begin to foam in your mouth like a sick day—you push it back down. Just swallow it. No matter how bad it tastes, you don’t let it out. Some questions a wife never puts out into the world—they’ll just get mess all over you and everyone around. You understand?”
“Yes, Momma.”
But I knew I wasn’t like Momma. A bad taste has to get out sometime.
We sat in silence for a few moments. The knot in my stomach, which had eased a bit, grew hard again, as if someone had curled my insides into a fist and was twisting away.
Then Momma said, “I’m gonna miss you, Baby Girl. Here, I want you to take something with you.” She handed me the quilt from my bed. It was folded as tight as could be into a large square, with string tied into a bow holding the colorful fabric in place. A piece of the white lace was positioned beneath the bow. “You take this with you and rest it on top of your children, my grandbabies-to-be. That way you’ll always have something to hold that was just yours, all your life, and you can tell your little ones the story about this fine lace.”
My body caved. I fell into her lap, digging my fingers into her apron, while she soothed my pain with humming, running her hands up and down my back.
“What’s going on with my women folk? You fixin’ to spend the afternoon in here?” Daddy said as he walked into the kitchen. But when he saw the state I was in, he joined Momma in rubbing my back. “Baby Girl,” he said, “you remember how I taught you to hold a knife and slice an apple?”
I could barely hear his voice over my sobs. I shook my head.
“You had to hold the knife at just the right angle or you’d prick yourself, draw blood. Remember? And the apple, you had to cradle it in the palm of your hand and be gentle with it as you sliced the peel and then took small pieces to eat.”
“Yes,” I said between sniffles, beginning to straighten up.
“Well, think of the apple as your marriage to Henry. You need to hold it gently. And the knife—well, a knife can do good or it can do harm. You have to decide which, whenever it’s in your hand.”
I studied their faces the way a doctor might examine a patient, to understand what each mark, mole, indentation, piece of hair meant. Daddy’s dark brown eyes had red veins traveling in what must have been clean white circles at one time—years ago, before all his hard work and labor bent him like the branches of an aged tree. Momma’s face had craters from bearing and raising babies, cooking and cleaning. In her eyes was a wistful look, the ghost of forgotten dreams. I saw the shadows of them and of my life here, as sunlight waned in the kitchen and the dancing dust particles disappeared.
Chapter Five
WE RODE FOR DAYS FROM ONE SMALL TOWN TO another, in crowded buses filled with people the likes of which I’d never seen. There were children hanging onto their mommas’ dresses. They weren’t so different from the young ones I was accustomed to seeing at the farm, in town, or at school, except these children had different shades of color to their skin. Some were as black as my family and me—on our skin charcoal marks would go unnoticed—but others were the color of the fields and wild grasses after months of winter—golden, almost lustrous, as though the sun were shining on their foreheads. I thought one family was white, but if they’d been white they wouldn’t have been in our section of the bus—way in the back, crowded together even though there were empty seats in front.
Henry read my quizzical look. “We come in lots of colors, you’ll see,” he said. “But remember—black is black, no matter how pale the shade.”
We didn’t speak much during our journey, but he was kind and gentle with me. The buses were our transportation and lodging. Whenever the driver told us we’d be at a certain stop for a few hours until the next bus arrived, we found a place to get some food. If I looked cold, Henry would put his arm around me. If I looked sleepy, he would gingerly move my head to rest on his shoulder. He would explain where we were, the variations between small and large Southern towns, the differences between the rural South and the industry of the North.
Once we had passed through Georgia the roads kicked up less dust; hard surfaces were everywhere. Buildings looked taller, stood closer together, and the people getting on and off the buses changed as well. There were still many like me—farm people with the smell of animals permanently imbued in our clothes. Others, though, had newness about them, freshness, like Miss Parker. I guessed their shoes didn’t spend time in slop or mud, and their hands weren’t thick from working in the fields. They carried books, magazines, and newspapers.
There must have been some magical line we crossed between South and North. I didn’t see anythin
g in particular announcing the change except for the public bathrooms. I was exhausted and excited when we arrived at the Boston bus station. “This is our new home, Nell. You’re going to like it here, I promise,” Henry reassured me, as he watched me gazing at the activity in the bus station—people everywhere, shoving and bumping into one another; vendor stands with candy, magazines, newspapers; a loud voice booming in the air, announcing the comings and goings of buses. I almost fell from turning in circles, trying to take it all in.
“Where’re the animals?” I asked.
“You won’t see animals here, not like back on the farm. Here you’ll see people, buildings, stores, cars, buses—the things a big city has to offer.”
My spinning overcame me; suddenly my insides felt squeamish. “I have to pee.”
“Ladies’ room over there.” Henry pointed to the farthest door on the right. He then started walking toward the door marked Men.
I walked past the door marked Ladies, looking for my door, the door marked Colored.
“Nell, where’re you going?” Henry said.
Just then a woman who had been sitting behind us on the bus came up to me. “This your first time? Mine too. We’ll go in together.”
She and I inched our way to the ladies’ room door and peeked inside. There was a white woman at one of the sinks. She looked up at us but then went about washing and drying her hands without giving us any mind. When she was finished, she came toward us, said excuse me, and walked right past us. We watched her walk away; then we stepped into the bathroom. It looked like other bathrooms we’d seen, the ones marked Colored: a row of white porcelain sinks with mirrors and soap; paper-towel containers on the walls over the trash cans; four toilet stalls. Everything was clean, even the smell, as if the place had just been scrubbed down. The woman and I each chose a stall and did our business. I went to the sink to wash my hands and noticed that a line had formed outside, filled with both white and colored women. I was scared to see all of them standing waiting for me to finish. I watched a white girl walk over to my stall—she didn’t even hesitate, just went right in after me. As I headed to the door, I looked at the other people and said excuse me to a white woman. She smiled at me and stepped aside.
My companion and I went out into the station together. “Henry!” I shouted. “We used the same washroom as everyone else. The same stalls, sinks, towels! Everything! I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Henry nodded. “I told you, Nell, it’s different in the North. You won’t see White or Colored signs around here.” Pointing at the water fountain he said, “Look, there’s the water. No signs over that either. Anyone can walk right over and get a sip from the same spigot. That’s how it is, Nell. That’s why I want to make our home here.”
“So much for me to learn; school will help.”
“No school—you won’t have time for that. You’ll be too busy putting our home together, taking care of us, and having babies. I’ll teach you all you need to know.”
“I know we’ll have a family, but there’s time for that, we don’t have to rush. What about books? I’ll always want to read.”
“There’s a building full of books here—it’s called a library. You can find all the books ever written right there and take them home to read. Then you return them for someone else. It’s like a borrowing system. Best of all, it’s free. I’ll teach you how to use the library.”
“Henry, when do the babies start?” For days Henry and I had sat tightly next to one another on buses, and only now, standing in the hectic Boston bus station, were we having a personal conversation. “When?” I asked again.
Henry was busy cleaning his shoes. With one foot raised on top of a bench, he rubbed the dust and dirt from the leather shoes, buffed them as best he could, trying to get a spit shine on the tips. He seemed to lose himself in the shoes. “A man should always have clean, polished shoes. My daddy told me that. No matter if you live on a farm. When a man goes out in the world, his shoes need to look professional; they tell a story about how he respects himself.”
I waited for him to notice me. “When, Henry?”
Finished with his shoes, he said, “When we get home.”
“But, Henry, we don’t need to have a baby right away. There’s so much for me to learn and explore. I’ll want to set up house, walk around the neighborhood, meet neighbors, find out where to get food and supplies. I’ll need to be comfortable in this new world before I can handle a baby.”
“Nell, a man and a woman make a family. That’s how it’s meant to be. You know this from back home. Women folk have babies and take care of their families. That’s what you’ll do here.”
“I want to wait!” The words bolted out of my mouth quick as lightning dancing against a dark night sky.
Henry glared at me and crossed his arms. His lips were pressed tight. His jaw moved as if he were chewing on something. He looked down at his shoes, over my head, then at me. “Tell you what. We can start having sex right away, but that doesn’t mean we’ll have a baby. We can decide when to actually make a baby.”
“How? I thought sex and babies went together.”
“It does, but it’s possible for a couple to plan when they want to make a baby. In the weeks between your monthly, if we have sex then, you can’t get pregnant.”
“My monthly just finished—that’s why I felt sick on the bus. I always get a sour stomach each month. Sometimes the cramps are so bad it feels like my insides are being attacked and kicked around. Momma said that means my body is fertile.”
“See, that’s good. I mean about it just ending. So when we get home, sex’ll be okay; no worry about a baby. And it’s good Momma said your body is fertile.”
“Why’s that good?”
“When we decide to start making babies, your body’ll be able to make as many sons as I want.”
“And girls.”
“Of course, girls too, for you.”
I looked around at the women in the bus terminal. There were several pushing baby carriages or holding infants in their arms. A few women with swollen bellies were struggling to walk and carry suitcases. White or colored, they were all dressed better than I was; I still looked like a farm girl, with old shoes on my feet, hair sticking out all over, wrinkled clothes. Yet the look on their faces made me shudder; they reminded me of all the women back home. There was no shine to their eyes, although it was difficult to see clearly into eyes downcast, with heavy lids. Daddy’s old mule had the same look, its body curved and bent from carrying too much weight, expected to continue on when all it wanted to do was stop and be left alone.
“Ready to go home, Nell? I’m eager to settle down with you.”
“Henry, are you sure, about babies, that we can plan when? All these women, they have the same tired look as all the women back home. It’s as though they’re carrying a heavy burden that slows them down. I’m not ready for that Henry, may never be. We need to build our marriage, need time for ourselves for a while.”
“Of course I’m sure. Come here—you ready for this?” He pulled me to him and kissed me hard. His tongue thrust into my mouth. I pressed my body against his and wrapped my arms around him. Then suddenly he pushed me away. “Let’s go, we have some loving to do.”
Chapter Six
HOME TURNED OUT TO BE A COLD-WATER FLAT ON the fourth floor of a six-story brick apartment building. The idea of a cold-water flat didn’t have much meaning for me then. On the farm all of our water was cold, brought into the house from the well outside. Hot water was made by boiling it in cast-iron pots on the stove. Usually on bath days we’d take a bucket of fresh, cold water and wash ourselves with a cloth—bird bath, Momma called it.
The one room of the flat, which served as our bedroom, living room, and kitchen, wasn’t large, but it wasn’t too small either. The best thing was the bathroom, separate, with plumbing. No more outhouses for me; no more holding my water at night praying I wouldn’t wet the bed; no more checking the corners of the smelly lat
rine for snakes, hornets, or spiders lurking in the shadows. I got to pee inside, got to flush the toilet and watch the mess disappear. The North was proving to be a good place.
Henry was true to his word when he told me that sex would start once we got home. That first night, I was scared. We had never been alone in all the months of courting; someone was always in earshot of us. Henry held me tight, kissed me hard on the lips the way he’d done at the bus station, then said, “Time to get undressed, Nell.” I stood still, looked down at the floor. “Here, I’ll help you.” He unbuttoned the front of my dress to my waist, slipped the sleeves off my shoulders. I let my arms come out of the cloth as he pulled the dress down over my hips, so it lay in a puddle on the floor at my feet. I studied the folds of cloth around my ankles, the tips of my shoes peeking out like mice hiding under steps.
“Take off your underthings. Let me see you.” He stepped back to watch. I pushed the dress aside on the floor, untied the laces and stepped out of my shoes, then moved them alongside the crumpled dress. The cracked wood floorboards felt coarse under my bare feet. I lifted the slip over my head and slowly removed the rest of my underclothes. Then I wrapped my arms across my chest.
Henry began to touch me. He ran his hands over every inch my body, turned me around so he could see my front, back, and sides. I pulled away as he started to touch my private parts, but he gently brought me closer to him and said, “I’m your husband, you my wife. All this is mine.” Then he undressed. He guided my hands on his body. When he reached for his privates he said, “This is yours. Just relax, I’ll teach you everything.”
Child Bride Page 5