October Suite

by Maxine Clair

October tried to explain. “You know what I mean—something tangible here that proves that this once was me.”

  “Prove it to who?”

  “To anybody who’s interested, I guess—to myself, mostly.”

  Vergie took the frail piece from October’s lap.

  “Um-hmm,” she said “I guess this is why people have children.”

  October didn’t want to get on that road with Vergie, and she hoped Vergie would turn off soon.

  But Vergie went on thinking out loud, figuring out life, a syllable at a time.

  “Something like this makes no sense,” she said, “unless you have a child who needs to see how one life leads to another.”

  “I know,” October said. “This whole thing with Auntie dying has brought it home to me.”

  “If I didn’t have David,” Vergie said—didn’t hesitate at all—“I couldn’t have buried Aunt Frances.”

  That should have been enough. But no.

  “At least I can feel good that when Gene and I are gone, David will carry on.”

  Vergie didn’t seem the least bit aware that she might be barreling down a dangerous road, and she seemed to be ignoring all the signs.

  “And his babies will take up after him,” she said. “You know?”

  With Aunt Frances’s death and all, October thought that Vergie had either had a lapse or that she now thought all uneasiness about David was behind them. Could it ever be behind them?

  October answered Vergie’s “You know?” with “Yes, I imagine so.” The faintest suggestion of ashes filled her mouth. Maybe Vergie just needed someone to talk to.

  “The Lord taketh away—I mean Aunt Frances. But the Lord giveth, too.”

  “Yes, right.”

  Vergie sat clenching more papers in both hands, looking off into the closet. “In that first year or two that we had him, I used to scare myself thinking it was all too good to be true. I thought something might change, and there we’d be—me and Gene—with nothing but a piece of paper to hold on to.” Who did she think she was talking to?

  “But then I started to understand it all different. And I wasn’t scared anymore. I started seeing that David was really our son. I don’t mean to step on you, October, but he was meant for us. And that’s because God gave him to us. God didn’t let me birth him, but God gave him to me and Gene. And once I understood that, I knew that God was never going to make us give him up.”

  October looked for any generosity and consideration that Vergie might be trying to give her. Vergie’s words were so stripped of any thought about October and the way it had really happened that October had to wonder if Vergie had just forgotten whose decision it had been that she and Gene should have David.

  October said, “Well, remember, Vergie, God works through people, and those people have to be willing.” She owed it to herself to say that.

  Vergie caught it. Didn’t like it. She looked at October, smiled, shook her too-sure head. “God decides, honey.”

  October knew this would go nowhere, but she couldn’t let it go. “Vergie, if things had been different if I hadn’t wanted you and Gene to—”

  “You can just forget about all that, October. You and me will never see it the same way. We don’t need to talk it out anymore. Not anymore.”

  She folded the paper print again and laid it carefully on top of the unearthed pile of papers between them, then slid off the edge of the bed to the floor.

  Shook her head as if October was pitiful. “I wonder what it will take to get it into your head that David is really ours.”

  “Wait,” October said. She sprung herself to the floor and tried to take hold of Vergie’s arm.

  “I’m just saying that it was my decision to make, and I made it—that’s all.”

  The flare of Vergie’s nostrils said it all. “You can think that if you want to, but we all know who saved who.”

  Too much. “Vergie,” October said—she took Vergie by the shoulders, face to face, toe to toe. Vergie tried to look away, but October kept her face in her sister’s face. “You act as if I had nothing to do with it.”

  “There you go.” Vergie shook October off. “Always got to shine the light on yourself. What happened was meant to be.” She started to leave the room.

  October said to her back, “So I was meant to go through what I went through just so you and Gene could have a baby?”

  And that made Vergie slow down long enough to say to her sister, “You did that to yourself, my dear sister. Don’t go blaming it on the Lord.”

  “You just said that God decides.... I’m not blaming anybody—I’m just taking credit for the small part I played in giving you and Gene a life, is all. That is if you don’t mind.”

  Where had she heard that before? The familiar ring of her own voice pointing out how her suffering had supplied someone else with a life.

  Vergie turned, walking away. “You’re so selfish, October. Listen to yourself.”

  October spread her hands in front of her, pressing the air flat. Warm now, trying not to get hot. “You know what Vergie? You were right—you and I are never going to see things alike, so we might as well stop trying.”

  The sound of Aunt Maude’s cane on the stairs threatened them. She came to the door of Aunt Frances’s room and looked in.

  “I know one thing,” she said. “The two of you better give up this nonsense before something gets said in front of the boy. Then what?”

  Neither of them could say a word.

  “Go ahead, now,” Aunt Maude said. “Frances didn’t have much, but she prized what she did have. If you don’t want it, leave it be. I’ll pack it up for the poor.”

  chapter 15

  Half of what October had learned at Emporia State Teachers’ College had nothing to do with what she ended up doing in a classroom. But of all those poems she had read in all those English classes all those years, the one by the Persian poet had got it right. The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,/Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit/Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, /Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it. If she could have lured it back, what half a line would she cancel? She was going on twenty-eight years old. Aunt Frances had been sixty-eight. In forty years, her life, too, might be over. Whose life would she have blessed so well that they would be holding her hand that last hour, saying thank you?

  Arthur Terrell: he taught chemistry at Missouri State College, the used-to-be Normal School on Jericho Hill on the west side of Kansas City. Donetta, October’s teacher friend, and Donetta’s husband, Kenneth, had fixed them up. One thing for sure, Arthur liked her. He didn’t mind saying so, and he didn’t mind showing her. The other for-sure thing was that he was a good catch. Thirty-five and never been married. Had a Thunderbird and a two-bedroom place, and he bought roses for all the right times.

  They were at a basketball game late in the fall—Mo State against A&T, big game. October sat with Donetta on the tier above the men; Arthur and Kenneth couldn’t be bothered with explaining every play. Names had been called, and players from both sides had already come out. The boys were doing the little exercise they always did to warm up—lining up on either side of the basket and taking turns passing the ball and making layups, rebounding and all that.

  The players cleared the floor and huddled. The band played “The Star-Spangled Banner,” and the referee’s whistle screamed. Tip-off. Mo State got the ball, made a fast break and two points in the first ten seconds of the game. The crowd stomped and yelled.

  “Hope they pace it,” Arthur yelled to Kenneth. “I’ll bet we break a hundred.”

  Arthur liked basketball. October was learning something new at every game. “Cute outfits,” Donetta said, looking at the cheerleaders. “I used to be a majorette, but you couldn’t tell it by looking at me now.”

  A&T scored.
Somebody fouled Mo State. Mo State made the free throw, and on the very next play they stole the ball and made a shot from mid-court. Arthur turned around—“Did you see that?”—face all out.

  October smiled and nodded her head, clapping. He had a weak muscle in one eye that let the eye wander a little before focusing. He could laugh, though, and it took over his whole face.

  Ever since she had come back from putting Aunt Frances in the ground, they had spent weekends together. Not hot and heavy, but nice. A whole lot of months, they had done the dating thing minus sex. Up until she had left in the summer, he hadn’t put his hands or anything else outside the safety zone. As far as she could tell, he was made that way. Respectful.

  The night she had come home from Ohio, everything changed. For one thing they finally slept together, and truth be told, October couldn’t tell whether the heat came from being with Arthur or doing without.

  Absence made fonder hearts. “You’re getting your hooks into me, woman,” he had told her. And look how well their lives fit together, he told her another time. Hint, maybe? Their lives did fit. She taught school, he taught school. Off and on she had a little part-time in Macy’s alterations department, but mostly they both had weekends off. She liked sewing and he liked piddling with cars. They both liked ball games, though October could see baseball and basketball better than she could see oversize men knocking each other silly on a football field. Donetta and Kenneth were their friends. They had a few other friends in common, too.

  First quarter and Mo State led by six. Donetta nudged her and whispered, “I know something you want to know, so ask me at the half.”

  October thought she had a clue already. Sometimes she caught herself in the daydream where she stood in a yard somewhere, grass cool air warm, sun hot. Over in the shade a little boy squats on his haunches, digging in a patch of soft dirt with a toy shovel. He picks up handfuls, lets the dirt fall all over him, plump fingers smeared. When he looks up, the sight of her lights his eyes and he giggles. She sweeps him up, breathes in his smell, baby-cradles him into their little house with a porch, and on upstairs to douse him—slippery as a fish—in the bathtub. It’s a feeling only blood can know. She hears a man—a father, a husband—driving up in his car. Who is he? He needs a face.

  Arthur had made such a big deal about having Kenneth and Donetta with them this particular evening October already figured out that Arthur had said something to Kenneth about making a move. So far, Arthur’s face hadn’t come up in October’s dream picture, and she was hoping his would be the one. Surely, however, Arthur wouldn’t do let’s-get-married at a basketball game.

  At halftime Arthur and Kenneth went outside to smoke, and October went with Donetta to the ladies’ room. When they came out, the hallway swarmed with people going back into the gym. October glimpsed the back of a man walking with two other men and if—right at that minute—Donetta hadn’t been itching to tell the big secret October would have looked again.

  “Don’t say I said,” Donetta said, “but Arthur is looking at rings. He told Kenneth he was waiting till Christmas. I’m supposed to be getting your ring size.”

  October’s heart got real interested, but it didn’t jump. “It’s seven and a half, but he’d better ask me first,” she told Donetta.

  “I know,” Donetta said. “You want the whole nine. I told Kenneth if Arthur is smart, he’ll let you pick out your ring.”

  That wasn’t it exactly. “You don’t have to tell him that,” October said. “It’ll come up, and I’ll tell him.”

  Back in the stands, October folded her coat, and just as she sat down, she saw him three rows down. He turned, talking to his friend, turned and locked eyes with her. James Wilson. Stunned.

  A wave swept her mind blank, and she stood up and put on her coat without thinking a thing. And then she was looking at the back of him again.

  “Who’s that?” Donetta asked. “Where are you going?”

  “Who?” October asked back. She sat down again and peeled off her coat. She wanted the ground to open and swallow her.

  “That guy,” Donetta said, smiling. “He caught you staring.”

  “I thought I knew him,” October said. How could she explain leaving now?

  And here came Arthur and Kenneth—hot dogs and root beer: let’s get it on. They had talked. Kenneth motioned for Donetta to sit with him, and Arthur sat beside October. It helped. She felt better, being near him. What would she possibly say if James Wilson said anything to her? What was he thinking right then? What was he doing way over at the college? Maybe he lived over here.

  The game started up again and she tried to focus on catching the finer points like traveling and goal-tending. Calm down. James Wilson didn’t want to see her any more than she wanted to see him. She watched him talking and laughing with his friends. He looked short. Stocky. She would have done almost anything for him once. How could she have felt so close to him when he had been so far from her? How could she have felt so sure then and feel nothing but embarrassment now? What would he do if he knew he had a son in the world? Let this game be over soon.

  You see, nobody had ever told my daughter that Shakespeare’s was not the last word on love; that falling in love didn’t always lead to forever, that sometimes love is meant to last for a season, and only for a season. Nobody had ever bothered to point that out to her, and how could she have guessed it? Probably if I had lived long enough, I would have been the one to tell her about love’s open hand, about loving a man enough to let him go.

  After the game they went to the barbecue place and sat in a booth. Arthur waited until they had eaten before he motioned to the waiter, who brought four glasses of Asti Spumante to the table a few minutes later.

  “I just want to celebrate a little,” Arthur said. “You’re looking at a happy man.” October hoped he wouldn’t go any deeper.

  “This is a special toast to two special people.” He meant Donetta and Kenneth.

  “You-all brought this woman to me, and tonight I want to make a toast to you. It’s been the best thing that ever happened.”

  Too much, Arthur. October smiled and sipped with them. She was supposed to say something now, some heartfelt thing people say when they’re in love. This was definitely Arthur’s lead up to the ring.

  “Here’s to many more good times together,” she said. Wrong note, but they all sipped. She had until Christmas to get it together.

  Sometime before Christmas, on a Sunday morning that they spent in bed, while Arthur explained the hopscotch politics that could get him the department chair, James Wilson floated into October’s mind again. When she was with James, she had been willing to bare her soul. She was beginning to understand that that hadn’t been a thoroughly bad impulse, even if it had been unwise. Yet, with Arthur, she had kept her secrets to herself.

  It took days, maybe weeks, but something about that riddle kept knocking against something else in her head, so that by the time she straightened up her thoughts again, she knew that she wouldn’t be marrying Arthur Terrell.

  She couldn’t see herself ever saying to Arthur things that needed to be said: I was once in love. I got pregnant. Well, actually he was married. Yes, I knew he was married. But remember, I was young and naive. I thought this man was my life, and when he didn’t want me I thought that my life was over.

  The baby? Another story. You see, I gave him away. Yes, maybe I could have taken care of him, but I didn’t feel up to trying right then. I would do anything to erase it, but I can’t. I have to live with it. You have to live with it, too. And by the way, the little boy you met, David, Vergie and Gene’s son, that’s him.

  No way. Arthur was a careful man. She couldn’t see him ever being able to see her in that light and say, So what? I love you. And she couldn’t see him sweeping David up into his arms, either.

  Up until that morning in bed with Arthur, sh
e had pretty much gone wherever the road led her, and made enough messes to last ten lifetimes. No more. She couldn’t afford it. From now on, she wouldn’t set foot on any road where she couldn’t see around the curves, and especially not on any road that had a dead-end sign.

  October might have just sat right there in that taking-charge place if Vergie hadn’t called that very same morning. Five months later, almost to the day, her aunt Maude followed Frances in that “innumerable caravan.” Lay down and slipped away.

  chapter 16

  The sound of shoveled clay breaking against Maude’s lowered coffin was still echoing the morning in September when David opened the front door and began his climb to the top of the world. His first day of school hit so hard because both aunties were gone, taking a whole generation with them. October and Vergie, on the front line now, had no one to shield them. And here was David, marching on their heels.

  Ohio schools opened before Labor Day, and not wanting to miss anything momentous to David’s life, October arranged to start her school year in Missouri a day late. Of course, in her informed opinion, David was probably smart enough to have gone to school a year earlier, when he was months away from being five years old. Vergie and Gene had turned their heads the other way last year when the subject came up.

  She was determined that there wouldn’t be a fight. When you don’t get the butterscotch you want, you eat the half apple held out to you, and you say thank you. October was glad to be there just to see it happen. Happy the night before just looking at his flat box of Crayolas, his little tin of water-colors, his blunt scissors and sweet-smelling paste, all laid out on the coffee table beside his new satchel. She wouldn’t interfere. In fact, when she awoke to the sound of Vergie and Gene fussing over David’s bath, she turned over and waited another half hour.

  Doors were closing. He was five years old, going on six. At five, October had come to live with Frances and Maude. She could remember everything that happened from that day on. From this time on, David would remember everything, notice everything. If he were to somehow come live with her, he would remember how and why. Pretty soon, if the word adoption fell on his ears, he would understand it. And then the word bastard would make sense. The bottom line was that if he stumbled on the truth now, he would hate the mother who had given him away. Doors were dosing.