“Yessum. One of the McAllister’s said that I was a faggot.”
“Oh, he did, did he? Well, that chaps my hide. I’d like to slap the stupid out of them boys. And I certainly wouldn’t put stock in nothing those two hooligans have to say. God help him, if I catch him out of the street, I will wash his mouth out with Borax soap. Tell me, which one of those little bastards was it?”
“Ain’t sure.”
Sook seemed to be growing more agitated as she spoke. “Whether you choose to love Jackson Taylor or a gawd-damned lawn rake, it ain’t no one’s concern.”
“Thank you, Sook. But why do you reckon folks get so upset about sumpthin’ that don’t concern them none?”
“Pay them no mind. You can’t change folks’ minds if they don’t have ears that are willing to listen. Folks of strong faith hold tight to what they believe to be true. Their beliefs are cooked in the pie at a young age.”
“Yessum.”
“I suspect folks will have to pass on before the times will truly change,” she remarked, “Velvet and ignorance has lined many caskets. Don’t waste your breath trying to teach people nothing. My late poppa use to say, ‘Sookie, never go about trying to teach a hog to sing. It’s a waste of your precious time and annoys the fuck out of the hog.’” My quivering aunt touched my forearm. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I answered. “I reckon how folks feel about my peculiarity shouldn’t concern me, since I’m never gonna teach those hogs to sing.”
“Yessum!” She slapped her knee. “Now then, go get my pellet gun.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Fetch me my pellet gun. You’ll find it hidden in the back of the coat closet, under the staircase. Hurry up now!” She waved me on. “You can sit around here all day and mope about, but Missy, there’s nothin’ at the end of that road. So stop your belly achin’, put your big girl bloomers on, and go fetch my pellet gun, then come upstairs to the attic.”
I cracked a grin. “Yes, ma’am!”
I located Sook’s rifle in the back of the closet, hidden behind some worn wool coats and dusty hats. Sprinting up the tight stairwell into the attic, I found Sookie spying through the slightest gap in the window shade.
“Gimme that!” She seized the rifle, pumped it four times, and then slid the gun’s barrel through a crack in the open glass. Over her shoulder, out the window, I could see Timmy McAllister resting on the summer lawn. He was occupied with picking his nose while munching on a box of Cracker Jacks.
I whispered, “Sook, this ain’t right.”
“Shh!” she silenced me and took aim. Steading her quaking hands, she squeezed the trigger. “That little fucker is all mine.”
The first pellet nailed Timmy on his right shoulder, sending the Cracker Jacks box flying into the air. The second clipped his left ear. By the time McAllister understood he was under attack, Sookie had pumped the rifle again, and the third BB nailed him right in the center of his forehead. Grabbing his ear, Timmy hollered, “Momma, I’m under fire!” He darted for the shelter of their house, crying out, “I’ve been shot! I’ve been shot!”
The old woman vigorously pumped the rifle again and zeroed in on her fleeing target, nailing a bawling Timmy in his back as he ran screaming through the screen door.
The McAllister house went suddenly quiet. Sookie remained motionless, looking down the barrel of the rifle.
I said, “You’re crazy, you can’t…!”
“Shh!” She silenced me.
After a spell, Dixie’s head appeared from the screen door. With a scalp populated with pink curlers, she cautiously looked in both directions. Just when she felt safe to step into the light of day, Sook pulled the rifle’s trigger, sending a pellet whizzing across Digby and shattering a glass hummingbird feeder suspended near Dixie’s door. Colored water splattered Mrs. McAllister, and she returned shrieking into the safety of her house.
“Sook,” I repeated, “that just ain’t right! Come next Sunday, I’m gonna ask for the congregation to pray for your lost soul.”
With a satisfied smile, Sook replied, “I’m only doin’ the Lord’s work!”
CHAPTER 33
“I’m leaving my Rodney behind,” Donita announced. “If Poppy is brave enough to show all of Savannah who she really is, then I figure that I should step up. I need to be brave, too.”
“Well, good riddance. Hallelujah!” Sookie rejoiced. “It’s high time! Daryl, fix this little lady a banana split! It’s my treat!”
Sookie, Donita, and I stood at the counter of Daryl’s truck window.
Mr. Turnball exclaimed, “Oh my, I’m not called upon to create my split-banana extravaganza often, but on this auspicious occasion, it will be my pleasure!” Daryl went to the back of his truck and started preparing his ice cream delight. Placing two ripe banana halves in a plastic dish, he scooped half a dozen creamy mounds of ice cream on each side—two scoops of strawberry, vanilla, and chocolate. Daryl then smothered the decadent dessert in caramel and chocolate sauce, added a generous squirt of whipped cream, and then finished off by sprinkling the split with salty peanuts.
Mr. Turnball presented the dish to Donita from over the counter. “Congratulations, little lady. Here’s to your liberation!”
She eyed the treat. “I can’t eat all of this.”
Sookie jested, “Child, it could be a long spell before another man offers you a meaty, ripe banana with nuts. I suggest you enjoy it, given the opportunity.”
Donita covered her mouth with a nervous hand. “Sook, the things you say.”
Daryl leaned his elbows on the counter and rested his chin in his palms. “So, how did Mr. Pendergast respond when you announced that you’re plannin’ on splittin’ the blanket?”
“No, I haven’t breathed a word to Rodney. I’m fixin’ to break the news to him soon,” Donita replied. “I’m working up my nerve.”
Sookie piped up, “Child, you’ve hooked your wagon to a man who cares more about his animalistic carnal desires than he does his blushing bride. I believe the aerosol fumes have polluted his mind, and the Beefeaters gin has soaked his heart. There ain’t no reasoning with a lost soul who’s not clear of mind. You best be careful.”
“Mr. Pendergast doesn’t seem to me to be the understanding sort,” I said.
“Yessum,” Sook agreed. “You’d be wise to steer well clear of a hot-headed, crazy man. There’s no telling what such a scoundrel will do.”
“I’m fixin’ to pack up my belongings and leave the house this weekend. Rodney will be out with his buds.”
Daryl asked, “Excuse me, Donita. I don’t want to be presumptuous, but isn’t your Rodney heading off to the penitentiary in the near future? Can’t you simply wait it out and save yourself all the fussing and fighting? Just leave the son of a bitch when he’s locked up behind bars.”
“I can’t.” She anxiously looked to us as though she was searching for answers in our eyes. Donita shook her head back and forth, beginning to unravel. “I just can’t wait, Sook. I can’t wait another day. I can’t. I can’t.”
Mrs. Pendergast covered her face with trembling hands.
Sookie wrapped her arm around Donita’s shoulder. “Breathe. Calm yourself, child.”
“Sookie, I can’t go back there!” Donita began wrestling with the tiny pearl buttons on her blouse’s sleeve. In a desperate, breathless voice, she cried, “I won’t survive another day in that sinking house.” Starting at her wrist, she rushed to unbutton her sleeve.
We watched on as she unfastened each tiny, delicate button, finally leaving her left forearm exposed up to her elbow. A white bandage was haphazardly wrapped over slices to her skin. Several gashes lining her forearm had bled out. The white gauze absorbed the crimson red. Donita extended her arm to Sook as though she was offering up a gift.
Sookie took Donita’s trembling hands in her own and in a most tender voice, asked, “When did Rodney do this to you, child? When did that monster do this to you?”
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sp; Donita seemed to be folding into the smallest of nothing, falling toward the ground. Daryl and Sook caught her in their arms. “No, Sookie.” Her slight shoulders shook uncontrollably. “It wasn’t Rodney. He didn’t do it. He never touched me.”
I was awoken by the sound of pebbles striking against my window glass. Scrambling from my bed, I slid open the window to the night and peeked out into the dark yard.
“Poppy, down here!” I recognized Pearl’s voice.
“Where are ya, Pearl?”
“I’m here.”
I searched the lawn until a beam of yellow light from her flashlight blinded me.
“Get on down here.”
“OK, OK.” I pulled on some wrinkled clothes from the floor, laced my sneakers, and climbed out the window. Tiptoeing across the shingled roof, I treaded carefully, vigilant not to alarm Annabelle or wake Sookie.
Wrapping my legs around a column, I shimmied down a porch post, where Pearl’s hands guided my feet to the top of the railing.
“What’s goin’ on?” I asked.
“Shh! Follow me.”
“Pearl, it’s the dead of night,” I replied. “If Sook finds out, I’m gonna be in big trouble.”
“I gotta show you something. Trust me.”
“Where are we off to?” I asked.
“We gotta go into town.”
“Sook ain’t gonna be none too pleased.”
“I’ll get you back home in no time.”
The two of us took off up the path and out the gate. Pearl stopped in front of the McAllister’s place and trespassed over their fence.
I asked, “What in tarnation are you up to?”
“Shh!” Pearl crept on tip toes up the McAllister’s path. Pulling a jackknife from her front pocket, she opened the blade and began cutting Dixie’s prized, long-stemmed, white roses from their bushes.
“Oh, Lordy, Pearl, you’re gonna get skinned alive,” I whispered.
“Shh! I got better use for these flowers,” Pearl announced and continued to scalp every last blooming snow-white rose from its stalks. She gathered the roses in her hand, making a glorious bouquet the size of the Georgia moon.
After Pearl had pruned Dixie’s bushes clean of every rose, she snuck back out the gate.
“Let’s get goin’!” She signaled for me to follow, and we ran up to Wilmington.
“Pearl, what do you have up your sleeve?”
“Hush up. If you do less talkin’ and more walkin’, we’ll be there in no time.”
We boarded a city bus at Montgomery; all the while, Pearl wore a serious expression and spoke not a word as the bus made its way to the Broad Street stop.
“Come on.” Pearl signaled and jumped off, running ahead of me, carrying her full moon of roses.
When we arrived at the iron entry gates of old Laurel Grove Cemetery, Pearl gestured for me to follow her deeper into the graveyard.
An old wall constructed of gray stones and mortar was stacked over six feet tall and ran the perimeter of the dark cemetery. Black moss grew in and around each stone and marker. When the trees rustled in a night wind, the heavy oak branches shuffled like approaching feet. The two of us hid low like thieves behind a nearby vault, watching to see if the coast was clear.
“Pearl, I’m scared,” I confessed.
“Ain’t nothing to be scared of. It’s like a garter snake. The dead are more scared of you than we are of them.”
“Ya think?”
“Yessum,” she replied. “I hear scripture says that they’re just waiting around for the Lord’s rapture. They’re only biding their time. They ain’t got no beef with us.”
I was relieved to hear Pearl’s thoughts on the dead.
I asked, “You ain’t planning on diggin’ up some buried carcass, are you?”
She grabbed hold of my hand. “Just come with me.”
As we walked further into the shadowy ancient cemetery, Pearl took a deep breath and announced, “The dead ain’t got no time for us.” I suspected she was reassuring herself.
Handing me the bouquet of Dixie’s roses, Pearl pulled her metal flashlight from her back pocket. “Just keep quiet.”
“Why in tarnation are we here?” I asked and followed behind as she pointed her light deeper into the graveyard.
“I got sumpthin’ I gotta show you.”
“Couldn’t you have shown me in the clear light of day?”
“Naw, some things are best kept in the dark.”
Pearl led me deeper into the cemetery, down cobblestone lanes.
Turning to me with a serious expression, she said, “You have to swear on your life that you’re gonna keep quiet ’bout this. My momma will beat me raw with a leather strap if she finds out I’ve brought you here.”
“I will, Pearl.”
“Promise?”
She pointed her beam of light directly in my face to confirm my sincerity.
“I promise.”
We walked down narrow cobbled streets of family grave markers, chiseled headstones, and ornate mausoleums. Carved grieving faces, trumpeting angels, and granite cherubs with frozen smiles watched our passing. Wild cats silently lurked in and out, always following near, stalking our path.
Pearl slid between two gravestones, and I scooted right behind her through the narrow space. She hopped over an iron fence, and I lost her in the dark.
“Pearl?” I called out, “Where’d you go?”
“Hurry up, slow poke,” her voice beckoned to me. She flashed her beam of light.
I found her standing among a small gathering of modest gravestones under an oak tree. Pearl placed her flashlight on the ground. Getting on her hands and knees, she cleared leaves from a small, nondescript granite marker. Mud had settled in the stone inscription, and an empty bronze flower vase embedded in the center of the stone was bent toward the ground. She found a stick to her liking and scratched caked mud out from the script.
Wiping her hands off on the sides of her skirt, Pearl picked up the flashlight and pointed the beam of light to the inscription. She declared, “This here is my pops.”
In the yellow light, I read “Aaron James Tucker.”
“Pearl, I don’t understand. I thought you said your daddy had run off to Tulsa with some lady in fancy feathers?”
She shook her head. “Naw. Ain’t true. None of it’s true. He’s been here sleeping all the while, deader than a doornail.”
I asked, “There never was no pretty lady? No chickadee on a swing?”
“Nope. I was lyin’.”
“No tail feathers?”
“No.”
“Why so, Pearl?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Momma felt it was best.”
“How come?”
“Not sure. I reckon one lie begets another and then another. I suspect momma wanted pops to just disappear like one of his magic tricks. But the truth is he went and got himself beat. Momma believes it was on account of pop’s sinful wicked ways.”
I looked over to her. “Pearl, I just don’t understand.”
She took a seat on the slab of stone. “Poppy, folks say my dad was light in the loafers. The queer type.” Pulling some wild dandelions growing near the marker, she cleared the modest resting place. “He got himself in a heap of trouble with some fellas one night in an alley over in Richmond. The next thing ya know, my daddy got his skull crushed in like some melon. And now, Pop rests here, six feet under. Momma didn’t want the shame weighing down on us, so she shipped him here in a poor man’s pine box. Momma had Pops buried without a proper funeral, not a single prayer or scripture. Nothin’. I reckon that’s why bad luck has shadowed us like a mean tree from that day on.” She rubbed her hand over the face of the smooth stone and turned to me, peering hard into my eyes. “Poppy, don’t you go huntin’ for trouble. It may come huntin’ for you. One person dead for such desire is plenty.”
I watched on as she tended to her daddy’s lonely marker.
“Now, gimme those flowers.”
&
nbsp; I handed her the blossoming white roses, and she began arranging them in the metal urn. One after the next, little Pearl placed each rose, creating a glorious bouquet that would’ve even made Mrs. McAllister proud.
Brushing off the last leaves from the stone, Pearl admired the grave. “There ya go,” she replied with a satisfied smile. “Good night, Pa.” For the briefest moment, she rested the side of her face on the cold stone’s surface as if it were the softest pillow. “Sleep tight.” Pearl kissed the granite marker and looked up to me. “I’ve tried and tried to square this in my mind, Poppy, but I can see no good reason for such cruelty.”
“I’m real sorry about your pa.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “It ain’t nuttin’. But you’d best watch your step, Poppy. Folks won’t take kindly to your sort. Steer clear of dark alleys.”
“I will, Pearl.”
“You promise?”
“I swear.”
We hooked our pinky fingers.
Pearl took my hand, leading me from the cemetery. “Let’s get on outta here.”
The two of us hoofed it all the way back home.
CHAPTER 34
I knew trouble was brewing when I first took notice of the cluster of neighbor ladies percolating down the lane. Filtering out from their screen doors, they gathered on the sidewalk. Dixie McAllister emerged from her front door and took the lead of the crusading battalion of beehives, marching in our direction. They staked their position at our front gate, standing three-bouffant deep with their hands on their hips, shaking their heads disapprovingly. They stood in solidarity with an abiding conviction for all that was righteous, decent, and holy. Not since the confederacy had surrendered Atlanta to Sherman’s army had so many angry Southern women taken to the streets.
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