I squirmed in the chair, began to rock faster back and forth, squeezed the box so tightly that the edges left deep marks in my hands. “I’m not half of a whole, like you and Daddy. It’s more like I’m a fixture, a piece of furniture even, little more than a slave doing the master’s bidding, having his babies. I didn’t want babies this soon; he knew it, but he just keeps taking me.”
Momma spun toward me and grabbed my chin. “Look at me! Don’t you ever say you don’t want your babies! You’re my last child. If I ever spoke those words—didn’t want a baby this late in life—it’d be you I’d be talking about! Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Does he hurt you?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Do you love him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does he love you?”
“I guess, in his way.”
“Do you sass him?”
“No!”
“Why not?”
“What?”
“Baby Girl I knew, sassed all the time. What happened to her?”
“Don’t know. Maybe she just got swallowed up in the distance from this farm to the arms of loneliness up yonder. But maybe I should stay here.”
“No! You and your children belong at home with their daddy.”
“That’s what Robert said.”
“He’s right. Now I’m gonna help Bernice with supper, be the crazy woman so they can know I need them. What I’m really doing is searching for the right pieces to quilt my life back together with—the way you need to.”
I grabbed Momma’s waist and buried my face in her bosom. My nostrils filled with the scent of washing detergent, cooking grease, and farm animals that clung to the fabric of her dress. Her breasts were as soft and comforting as I’d remembered, but her bones were more prominent, almost as if sharp edges were against my arms.
She tilted my face to hers, wiped the tears on my cheeks with her thumbs, and said, “You the strongest child ever. Daddy and I both knew that. Find yourself. That’s where you’ll discover your happiness.”
“How, Momma?”
“Pray on it. You do remember how to pray?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She squeezed me to her chest. “I love you, Baby Girl; your daddy loves you. When you open Daddy’s box, remember what he said about marriage.”
Then she went inside. I could hear the children’s excited squeals when Bernice told them, “This is your grams.” I looked at my last gift from Daddy that was still nestled in my hand. The top easily slid open. Inside was Daddy’s whittling knife.
BERNICE RANG THE dinner bell, and the family made its way to the dining-room table. Momma, Robert, and the others each passed Daddy’s chair and touched it ever so gently, as though it were fragile, like a tender egg. I stood behind his chair a moment and caressed the worn wood imprinted with the impression of Daddy’s back. We sat in our respective places at the table, me in the same chair I had occupied until the day I became a bride. Momma took her place beside Daddy’s spot, where the red and white checkered napkin he always used was resting on the plate. His favorite drinking glass, an old green-tinted mason jar with a piece of metal encircling the rim and connected to a bent handle, was to the right of the plate.
We held hands and bowed our heads for prayer. But rather than a prayer of thanks, Momma said, “Robert, time for you to move to the head of the table.”
“Momma?” Robert asked.
“It’s time. You the man of this household now. Take your rightful place.”
Robert slowly rose, eyed each of us as though seeking agreement or permission, and made his way to Daddy’s chair. As he pulled the chair away from the table, the legs made a screeching sound. We gasped. Robert froze, looked around the table and then at Momma. She nodded, and he sat down.
“Children,” Momma said, “I know y’all are worried about me. No need for that. We each have to come to terms with losing Daddy in our own way. Mine is to do the things that bring me comfort—washing his clothes, holding his rocking chair as though my hand is resting on his, speaking to him like his breath is tickling the side of my ear, stroking his hair brush to take in the scent of him. It may seem like I’ve drifted far away, I haven’t. This is my way of finding the contours of my new nest filled with memories. It’s a comfort to have Baby Girl home. Although she’ll only be here a short time, we can all begin to heal together. Tomorrow we’ll visit Daddy’s grave as a family and say a proper good-bye; he would want that. Now, Robert, say grace.”
We held hands and lowered our heads as Robert spoke the prayer that Daddy had always shared.
WE FORMED A small procession in the morning. Momma led, holding onto Robert’s arm. Bernice and I followed them. Everyone else fell behind us, paired in twos, with the children at the end tended by my younger brothers. The family plot rested at the furthest point of the farm, away from the animals and house but close enough to be visible from the front porch, especially when the sun set behind the lone tree that shaded the area. We made our way up the natural, uneven footpath that had been cut through the weeds over the years. Every Sunday after my grandparents passed away, Daddy had made his way to their graves to say a prayer. Sometimes Momma had joined him. Sometimes I had. But he had mostly gone alone just before church, when he was dressed in his Sunday best. I’d once asked Momma why her parents weren’t buried here. “They’re at my family’s plot, back where I grew up,” she’d said. “Why don’t you visit their burial site, the way Daddy does?” I’d asked then. She never answered.
We formed a circle around Daddy’s grave. Momma handed me the family bible she had been clutching. I took it and read marked passages from Ecclesiastes 3:
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.
All go unto one place; all are of the dust, and all turn to dust again …
Momma knelt on the soil that was soft from gentle morning rain. She prayed silently while we huddled closer to one another, seeking solace from the warmth of our collective loss and love. When she was finished, Robert helped her up. We formed a closed circle with Momma in the center.
After a moment she pulled away and said, “It’s time for you each to say good-bye. Then we’ll go home as a newly shaped family and begin anew.” She turned and walked away down the footpath towards the house.
Robert looked at me and nodded. I shook my head and backed away, gripped the bible to my chest, fought down the floating-feather-like feeling that was billowing inside of me, choking my throat. One by one, he and the others knelt to say their good-byes. I watched through tears streaming down my face. When the prayers were done, Robert touched my shoulder and said, “Sis, are you all right?”
“I need to be alone.”
As he led the family away, I stepped closer to Daddy’s grave and fell to my knees. My body rocked from side to side in spasms. I wanted to howl at the sky, but nothingness flowed from my heart and out my mouth.
I don’t know how long I stayed at Daddy’s side, whether I fainted or just lapsed into a deep sleep on the ground with my fingers grasping at dirt. All I can remember is Robert walking me back to the house and placing me on my bed.
Chapter Fourteen
THE ONE-ROOM SCHOOLHOUSE SEEMED TO RISE UP out of the horizon like a misty figure coming into focus in a desert wind storm, a solitary oasis. My pace quickened with each step on the dusty road, as the place
that had once been the center of my universe grew closer. However, I found myself torn between the excitement of returning to this sanctuary to find myself and the unfamiliar smallness and loneliness of the structure.
I walked slowly up to the door and watched Miss Parker at her desk. A terrible thirst seemed to grab hold of my throat, as if I needed a soothing cool drink to quench my parched body. I wanted to reach out to her, throw my arms around her waist, and ask if I could please come back, be her student like before.
“Nell!” Miss Parker said. “It’s so good to see you.” She rose and rushed to greet me. “I’m sorry about your daddy.”
“I wanted to see you and thank you for reading my letters to the family. It was good of you.”
“Hush. Of course I’d do that. Come now and visit with me.”
We sat sideways in desk chairs, facing one another. I ran my fingertips over carved etchings of initials inside a misshaped heart with an arrow running through it. For a moment, time rewound in my mind. It was two years ago, and I was back in the rhythmic patterns of the end of the school day with Miss Parker. Daddy was home, cleaning up after a day of farm work, and Momma was preparing dinner for the night. I was free to spend time in school and then make my way through the grasses and trees of the surrounding fields to the safety and comfort of my home.
“Nell?”
“Sorry—I was drifting back to another time. I went to Daddy’s grave yesterday. Now that I’m home, Momma wanted the family to say good-bye together. My wedding day was the last time he and I spoke, the last time he hugged me, kissed my forehead as he gave me away to Henry. I should’ve been here for him and Momma. There’s this awful pain in my gut, Miss Parker. It’s as though a ravenous hole is growing inside of me, as fast as a weed, and there’s no way to fill it up.”
“You’re a good daughter—always remember that. Your daddy was proud of you. When one of your letters arrived, he’d call a gathering of the family, all the neighbors, and tell everyone to listen to your words. He loved your descriptions of life up North, how different it was from the surroundings here. But he liked it most when you wrote about how you missed the beauty of the farm, the smells of the animals, and the feel of wide open spaces that we here take for granted every day. Sometimes, as I read the letters, it looked as though your daddy’s heart was gonna burst right through his chest.”
My head dropped onto the desk as sorrow had its way with me. Miss Parker gently touched my arm but didn’t make a sound. She let the waves of grief run through me. Once my body was spent, the heaving subsided, and my eyes gave up the relentless pursuit of tears, I raised my head and asked, “Does it go away, the pain?”
“It’ll hurt for a time, but at some point you’ll begin to fill up with memories of him that will warm you and bring comfort. You’ll find yourself talking to him and actually believing he’s responding. You’ll think about him when you look at your own children and realize that now it’s your job to be to them what he has been to you. His presence will always be there; it will ease the pain.”
“How long did it take for you, after losing your daddy?”
“You recall how my father died. Well, the pain of how he was taken from us has never left me. I’ll always hear my mother’s howls, the men’s deadly shouts, and my daddy telling Momma to go back inside and look after me. And his screams—too awful. It was so unnatural and yet sadly common. My pain endures. It’ll be different for you. Your daddy lived a good life and was rewarded for his hard work with a loving family and close friends. It’s never easy to lose a parent, but you have positive memories you can hold onto.
“Let me get you some water, and you can tell me about your adventures up North. It sounds like you’ve made a good life in Boston.”
She made her way to the little sink, took a clean glass from the shelf positioned above, let the tap run to flush out brown stains, and allowed cool water into the glass. She handed me the glass and waited for me to take a sip. I could feel her eyes searching my face.
“Not sure what to say. I guess we’ve made a life, but it can be hard. Lonely. It’s so unlike here. Coming back home, I suddenly realized how much I miss my family, the people, all the things I know.”
“Takes time to get settled. It’ll come. I remember how I felt when I went North. I had family who took me in, so that helped. But still I missed everything about being here—open spaces, the night sky so dark the stars sparkle, clean air, church services that lifted my spirits with song and prayer, even the sweltering heat of summer. I learned to like it there. It was more sophisticated. But I came back for my momma. She needed me. And then I lost her, but decided this was still where I should be. So I stayed.”
A stillness fell over us. I looked around the room, taking in the smell of chalk from the blackboards, the faint aroma of ink still lingering in the wells at the desks for older students. I could almost see a ghost of myself at the desk I’d called my own for so many long days.
A young girl had come in to clean the room, just as I’d once done. Now she looked over at me with a worried expression on her face and stopped her cleaning. It was as if she felt guilty for being there.
I fiddled with the cross dangling from my neck. Miss Parker put her hand on mine and said, “Nell, what is it?”
“I need to ask you something. I’ve been carrying this in my belly since before my wedding. It keeps growing, like another baby that needs to come out but never seems quite ready.” I looked her in the eye. “You and Henry, you grew up together. Did you two know each other—in a special way?”
Miss Parker looked over her shoulder and spoke to the young girl. “Dear, you can go now. You did a great job. Thank you.”
The girl put the cleaning things away in the cabinet, washed her hands in the sink in the corner of the room, and gathered up her belongings. She hurried past us toward the exit, stealing a quick glance at my face and saying, “Sorry ’bout your daddy” before she sped away.
“It was such a long time ago, Nell. We grew up together, Henry and me. Used to play down by the creek, run and chase each other like children do. Our families were close. Unlike most people around these parts, we were only children. I think that’s why our parents spent so much time together. It made it seem like there were more of us around the table. Henry and I were inseparable. As we grew older, everyone assumed he and I would marry and have a family of our own. But what happened to my daddy changed everything. Momma was scared for me, wanted me to go away. She said I’d have a better life up North with family there. I didn’t want to go, didn’t want to leave her, and I didn’t want to leave Henry.”
“But you sat here and gave me advice about living up North. You listened to my fears and excitement. And you never told me. And Henry did the same thing. He knew how much I admired you, and he never said anything.”
“Nell, you don’t understand. Our parents wanted us to marry, and most folks around these parts expected us to. But Henry and I didn’t feel that way about each other. I loved him like a big brother, still do. It’s like how you love Robert. Once he attempted to act the way others wanted us to—to be romantic and such. I remember we were sitting at the river on a warm spring day. We’d been wading in the water, picking up stones to add to the collection I kept on our front porch. My daddy hated the mess I made with those rocks. I left them spread out, so I could pick them up to examine and rearrange according to size and color. Sometimes Daddy’d accidentally step on the stones and lose his balance. He’d grumble under his breath. Momma would rush to scoop them out of his way, then scold me and threaten to toss the rocks back into the river.
“That day, as we sat on a large rock, kicking water, Henry began to rub my leg. He didn’t look at me, nor I at him. He just kept touching me in a peculiar way. His fingers had a wanting to them in the pressure and motion as he rubbed up and down. I didn’t know what to do. Then he tried to kiss me. Our lips just briefly brushed before I jumped up and ran away. I left my shoes and socks at the water and ran all the way h
ome, bounded into my room, threw myself on the bed, and wept.”
“What’d you tell your mother?”
“Never told her what happened. About a week later he came by the house with my shoes and socks. When I came out of the house, we both struggled to find words. I took my things from him and turned to go back inside. I heard him say, ‘I’m sorry.’ Eventually we became brother and sister again, although it took a while. We never spoke about that day, or the failed kiss. Our parents came to realize we weren’t meant to be wed and accepted our sibling-like relationship for what it was.”
“It sounds as though he did have feelings for you, beyond brotherly ones.”
“That may be so, but you’re the one he married, not me.”
“I don’t understand him, Miss Parker. We’ve been married almost two years, we have two babies, and I can’t figure out who he is.”
“I could tell from your letters something wasn’t right. You never mentioned Henry. It was as if you were alone until the children came along, and then it’s just been the two of them and you. Sometimes it made me sad to read your letters. When a woman writes as deftly as you do and omits mention of her husband, it’s a profound statement.”
“Can you help me?”
“Oh, Nell, you’re asking an unmarried woman with no children to help you figure out marriage and motherhood. I don’t think I’m the best one for this.”
“But you can help me understand Henry. I need that most of all.”
“Is he silent with you?”
“Yes.”
“Is he hurtful toward you?”
“Only in the silence and not wanting me to leave the apartment.”
“What do you mean?”
“He doesn’t want me to know other people or go outside. He won’t even get a telephone. At least I have a little transistor radio so I can listen to music and the news. The few friends I have aren’t allowed to visit except one day a week. And he leaves me every Sunday for church and won’t even share what the sermon was.”
“You and the children don’t go to church?”
Child Bride Page 13