One Day She'll Darken

by Fauna Hodel

  Roxy and Pat exchanged skeptical looks. They knew this woman had no idea who she was dealing with, but under the circumstances there was no choice but to continue with her plan.

  “For the time being Pat, we will assign you to the care of Mrs. Boykins, a registered foster parent.”

  “Mrs. Boykins!” Pat exclaimed. “I know her. She used to babysit for me a long time ago.”

  “Besides,” said the woman, “she is not far from where you now live, so it’ll make the transition simple.”

  They talked for over an hour. They filled out forms, with Pat giving details of her life, and answering questions from as far back as she could remember. Mrs. Morrissey seemed very confident in her ability to deal with Jimmie. As Pat sat in the chair watching her type as they talked, she became very nervous, thinking about Jimmie’s reaction to her leaving.

  The following morning, after everyone had left the house, Pat called Mrs. Morrisey and told her that the coast was clear. Within a half-hour, the woman knocked on the door. Cautiously, Mrs. Morrisey surveyed the entire house and followed Pat into her room to help pack her clothes. When Pat opened her closet, the woman was dumbfounded at the amount of clothes that hung neatly on the crossbar. When Pat saw the look on Mrs. Morrisey face, she knew that she must have painted a much more dramatic picture then was actually the case. Pat had never mentioned Jimmie’s good qualities, like making sure that Pat was well dressed. After packing, Mrs. Morrisey left a typewritten letter on the kitchen table. They tiptoed out like two thieves in the night.

  Although Mrs. Boykins was expecting them, it was obvious that she wasn’t very excited at the thought of risking the wrath of the notorious Miss Jimmie. “How long is she gonna need to stay here?” Mrs. Boykins asked.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Don’t get me wrong,” said Mrs. Boykins. “I love Pat. Why, I been takin’ care of her, feedin’, changing diapers, babysittin’ and the like since she was brand spankin’ new. And I don’t mind doin’ it again, just like I do with lots of little ones. But I’m getting too old to wrestle with her momma. I’ve seen enough of that woman’s temper to last me a lifetime.”

  “She won’t be that bad, especially since you have the protection of the Welfare Department. It’s out of her hands,” Mrs. Morrisey said.

  Mrs. Boykins eyed her skeptically. “You ain’t listening to a word I’m saying! The woman is crazy!” said Mrs. Boykins. “She don’t care about no Welfare Department—or anyone else for that matter.”

  “Well, I’ll do what I can to make other arrangements, perhaps with Mrs. Bilbrew, if they can get her registered as a foster parent. In the meantime, Pat will have to stay with you. Just try to keep her out of the way of Mrs. Faison.”

  The woman left and Pat moved in with Mrs. Boykins for a few days. It wasn’t long before Jimmie discovered Pat’s hideout. The following evening, Jimmie knocked on Mrs. Boykins door asking for Pat. Mrs. Boykins hid her in a living room closet, close enough for Pat to hear them arguing. Mrs. Boykins lied. She told Jimmie that she had no idea where Pat was—certainly not at her house. Jimmie made a few harmless threats then left, but even minor threats made Mrs. Boykins very nervous.

  While Aunt Rosie cheerfully agreed to become a foster parent, it still took some time for her to fill out the necessary paperwork and go through the normal investigation. The Welfare Office cooperated and expedited the paperwork.

  Jimmie, however, was not about to sit back and let the State interfere with her family. Jimmie uncovered the name of the caseworker, Mrs. Beth Morrisey, and began a campaign of terror. Each day, Jimmie made dozens of anonymous phone calls to Mrs. Morrisey at the Welfare office threatening to cut out her heart. She discovered Mrs. Morrisey’s home phone number and warned her to be careful starting her car in the morning because of a bomb, while other times she’d say she was going to set her house on fire, or kidnap her children. Jimmie’s threats succeeded. The Welfare Department transferred the woman to another district and assigned a man to Pat’s case—at least temporarily. Pat learned the seemingly confident Welfare Lady had a nervous breakdown.

  Aunt Rosie quickly qualified as a foster parent and welcomed Pat with open arms, a comforting smile and an old coffee can.

  “What’s in there?” Pat asked when she saw her near the front door.

  Rosie opened the top and let Pat take a peek. “It looks like egg shells. And what’s that? Seeds, dried leaves, and what else? Bird feathers?” Pat asked in wonderment.

  “And some other special things that most people never heard of,” said Rosie. “Now you just head on up to your room and put away your belongings. You know where they all go.”

  Pat turned to go to her room, but she was still curious and turned to watch her aunt. Rosie stepped outside the front door and spread some of the contents at the entranceway. Pat overheard her murmuring something about evil spirits.

  “What are you doing?” Pat asked.

  “I’m just making sure your wicked mother don’t bother you no more. I got spells that’ll keep the likes of her away—and a whole lot more. This stuff is more powerful than she’ll ever be. That crazy woman will never cross this threshold. Don’t you worry about that.

  “Now that that’s taken care of,” she brushed her hands together and then turned to Pat. “Well, what are you doing? Don’t worry, between this, and God, and His angels, no one will bother us. So don’t just stand there—go do something. You can’t just stand there and do nothing. Always keep busy. Always keep busy. Idleness is the devil’s workshop. Get goin’, get goin’.”

  Rosie’s energy level was always high, she was constantly chattering about something. She seldom let anyone finish a sentence without interjecting her point. There was rarely a lull when she was around. She believed in all psychic phenomena: reincarnation, telepathy, and anything else in the realm of the unexplained. Many times she sat Pat down and passed on stories about mysterious events or odd people that she knew.

  Rosie was confident in relaying her opinion, and Pat believed her without question, whether it was history, religion, politics, or medicine—particularly medicine. Aunt Rosie’s herbs cured almost anything. She had a sixth sense that gave her an inside track on anyone who was ill, sometimes before they knew it. She was quick to the rescue with a special cure. Without asking, she took charge of their care. More often than not, whether through the body’s natural healing process, or due to Aunt Rosie’s herbs, minerals, and home remedies, the patient was better within a few days, a week at the most. No one understood her methods, and certainly no one dared to argue, she preferred it that way.

  One exception, of course, was Inez, Rosie’s niece. She got the brunt of Aunt Rosie’s natural cures. A few years ago, when she first complained of a sore throat and slight swelling in her neck, Aunt Rosie became concerned. Without outside consultation, she diagnosed her with complete confidence. She proceeded to confine her to bed, keeping her bundled with blankets and having her drink plenty of liquids. But the illness worsened and Inez’s lump got bigger. Rosie looked one more time at her swollen neck and quickly made another diagnosis: mumps!

  “How did I get the mumps?” Inez asked.

  “You just get them, that’s all. You get them from somebody else who’s got them. That’s how you get them. Who have you been near that has the mumps? Probably one of the children at school; that’s how you must have got it.”

  Inez looked puzzled. “I don’t know of anyone who has the mumps. No one has said anything about it.”

  “Well, it don’t matter much now, does it? You got it and we need to take care of it.” Rosie said emphatically.

  “What are you gonna do?”

  “I got a sure cure for the mumps that’s been around the family a long time.” Rosie looked up and thought a minute. “It may have been a cousin of mine, twice removed on my father’s side that had it. I think. No, no she wasn’t a cousin; more like an in-law or something. Anyway, they didn’t know what to do about it, so they went to their minister and
he sent them to this old man from the congregation who once worked on a fishin’ boat in the Gulf. And he really knew his stuff when it came to cures. Well, this old man passed on the remedies for lots of ailments. Mumps was one of them. And the remedies have been with me for a long time. But it doesn’t matter. We’ll fix it anyway. But I want you to know something—it’s really serious.”

  “I know it’s serious; I’m the one who’s got it,” Inez moaned. She looked up at her aunt as Rosie shook the thermometer briskly in her hand, trying to bring down the reading. “What is the mumps, anyway?”

  “It’s what kids get when they ask too many questions. Now open your mouth.” Inez complied and Rosie placed the instrument under her tongue. “I’ll be right back.”

  Aunt Rosie returned with a can of sardines and she proceeded to cover Inez’s chest with the fish.

  “Oooooo! What are you doing? What is this? Are they alive?”

  “An old Cajun remedy,” Rosie said. “It’ll draw out the infection.”

  In spite of Inez’s strong objections to the odor of dead fish resting peacefully under her nose, Aunt Rosie insisted that was the only way to cure her body. The fish stayed. By the next morning, the smell had penetrated the entire house. Inez complained louder then ever. After five days, it was unbearable and even Aunt Rosie couldn’t take it any more. She removed the hardened herrings while the mumps remained. Only after another week of bed rest did the infection finally subside. It was another year before Inez even looked at another fish.

  For almost a year, Pat stayed with Rosie. She transferred to Traner Junior High. Without Jimmie Lee’s presence during that time, Pat’s constant fear and guilt dissipated. Everything seemed to have changed for the better. She made the Honor Roll. She became more outgoing, more independent.

  At Traner, Pat only socialized with her black friends. She wanted to be black like them; that was the fabric with which she was most comfortable. Rosie never objected to Pat going to most of the house parties and dances with the kids from school. Her bright blue eyes, light hair, and agreeable personality, however, made her stand out among the girls, most of whom resented the attention she got from the boys. Pat overheard some of the black girls say that it was only because of her skin color, or lack thereof, that attracted the black boys. She viewed the bigotry from both sides, and knew it would never go away.

  What she missed, however, was the affection that she no longer received from Rudy. The pressure that Rudy’s brother and sister-in-law put on him about getting involved with an under aged white girl, young enough to be his daughter, was too intense. Out of self-preservation, he moved to California.

  When Bobby Ward, seven years her senior, moved into Reno from Selma, Alabama, he was the new guy in town and very popular. He showed interest in her, she reciprocated without a second thought. Although his glory days at high school were long over, Bobby maintained his status among the teenagers by keeping in touch with the younger set. By the time Pat learned of him, he was already a minor celebrity.

  He was very different from Rudy in both stature and personality. Bobby was tall and thin, with a darker complexion and angular face. He was a good deal more considerate than Rudy, genuinely interested in her as a person, not just her young body. The parties and dates continued, and she indulged her freedom more than ever. Any details of their liaison were kept from Rosie.

  Pat did not see Jimmie while she stayed with Rosie, nor did Jimmie ever set foot into Rosie’s house. Pat thought Jimmie was either too stubborn or Rosie’s powerful concoction did its job. Reverend Mayfield had evicted Jimmie for her belligerent behavior. She and Homer moved into a new housing project in Reno. Pat thought for sure that Jimmie would be out of her life once and for all.

  It was an especially warm Saturday night during the summer. After stepping out of the shower, Pat slipped into a thin oriental print robe that immediately clung to her moist skin. The air was heavy and close. Pat set up the ironing board in the living room and pulled out a paisley blouse to press for a night out with some friends. She kept the windows open in a futile attempt to capture even the slightest breeze, but only the light from the street came through. Without a warning, the screen door flew open, replaced by a menacing silhouette. It was Jimmie Lee looming in the doorway. Pat first reaction was to remember to remind Aunt Rosie that her eggshells finally wore out. She was stunned, but acted calm, as her momma got right in her face. She felt the danger.

  “I’ll teach you to leave me and run away to some social workers!” Jimmie screamed as she jerked Pat by the collar of the robe and tossed her around like a toy doll. “You’re coming home with me—and this time you stayin’ put. Your days of spreading lies about me are over!”

  Pat struggled to free herself. “No! Leave me alone—you’re hurting me!” Pat yelled. “I didn’t spread no lies. Everything’s the truth.”

  “The truth! Ha! You ain’t got the slightest idea about the damn truth!”

  They struggled and knocked over the ironing board along with her dress. “The iron! The iron!” warned Pat, but Jimmie didn’t care about anything except dragging her out the door half-naked.

  A car was waiting at the curb with the motor running. With one swift movement, Jimmie opened the door and forced Pat into the back seat by her hair. Pat screamed and fought, but Jimmie refused to let go.

  Pat yelled to the black man who was driving the car. “Stop the car!” pleaded Pat. “Don’t you see what she’s doin’ to me?”

  Jimmie slapped over and over. Pat fought back, trying to hold off the blows. “Stop the car! Help me!” The driver remained silent as he continued to drive. “Someday,” Pat declared, “you’re gonna pay dearly for this.”

  “You’re not going nowhere, Bitch,” snarled Jimmie. “You staying with me—where you belong.”

  For the first time, Pat lost all control. “I hate you,” she screamed. “You rotten nigger!”

  Jimmie continued to slap and punch until they reached the curb in front of her apartment. The struggle spilled out onto the sidewalk, causing the several people who were trying to cool off outside to gather nearby and watch the commotion. As if on cue, two white policemen arrived on the scene and separated the two of them. The smaller officer put his arms up and faced Jimmie, “All right what’s this all about . . . the neighbors complained that someone was being assaulted?” he asked Jimmie.

  Jimmie didn’t waste a second. “No one’s being assaulted, I was trying to save my girl from a life of misery and shame. I caught her makin’ it with some black man and it’s my responsibility to drag her ass back home. She’s blaming me for interfering! Well I got a right to interfere. After all,” Jimmie continued with enthusiasm, “she’s only fourteen and still underage! What would you do if it was your own daughter? I’m her mother, I raised her. I am gonna make her understand right from wrong. I want her in my house and she’s not going out for a month.”

  Pat’s mouth dropped and her eyes bulged out. “What a liar!” she shrieked. The larger officer held her at bay. “She came bursting into my aunt’s house and dragged me out and started beating me for no reason! I left the iron on!” Pat was getting panicky. “I have to unplug the iron. The house can catch on fire.”

  Then the two police officers exchanged combatants, and the smaller officer tried to calm Pat. He wanted to confirm her age and relationship to Jimmie. Pat confirmed that part of the story, but waved the rest off as pure nonsense and again explained as quickly as possible what really had happened. Pat begged the officer to take her back to Rosie’s house.

  Within moments, they were on their way back to Rosie’s where the iron and dress were on the floor. Luckily, the iron was unplugged. The policeman was satisfied that Pat was telling the truth. Pat had won this small battle. After filling out his form, they drove Pat to Mrs. Boykins’ house, where she stayed until Aunt Rosie came home.

  Later that night when Pat was in her room at Rosie’s, she stood in front of her mirror and looked deep into herself. The events of the even
ing wore heavy in her mind and heart. She was really alone, not knowing where she belonged. Rosie’s was great but temporary. Momma’s the strongest pull, but that was impossible under the circumstances. The sadness was in her glassy eyes, her lids heavy. She was uncomfortable with a frown; it was unnatural for her. She realized that Jimmie Lee would never change. Pat had relished the short time of freedom living with Aunt Rosie, who taught her to stand tall and not bow to fear. She was proud of the way she had stood up against Jimmie Lee. She yearned for her real mother and decided that she was old enough to start searching for the woman of her dreams. She indulged herself in the fantasy; it made her feel confident. The sadness went away.

  But this feeling of enthusiasm, optimism, and empowerment soon came to an abrupt halt when Pat discovered a few months later, to her utter amazement, that she was now pregnant with Bobby’s baby. She was fifteen.

  CHAPTER 17

  Pat knew something had to be done quickly. She did not want to let Bobby know now that her period was late, the obvious consequences of their lovemaking. Pat confided in Donna, one of her friends at school. She wasn’t one of her close friends, but it was rumored that she had experience at these sorts of things.

  “Take aspirin,” Donna said. “Lots of aspirin. That’ll make your period come quicker.” Pat did this for three days, two at a time every two hours.

  “Nothing happened,” Pat said when she met Donna the next day.

  “All I know is it worked for me,” Donna shrugged and walked away.

  Pat ignored any further advice from her girlfriend and went right to the source.

  “I missed my period.” She blurted out to Bobby while they were driving home from school. He shook his head then sneered, but he was silent, his eyes on the road. “It’s been three weeks, I took a bottle of aspirin, but it still hasn’t come, so I think I’m pregnant.”

  Bobby looked at her apprehensively, “A bottle of aspirin, what for?” he asked.