The Crowning Glory of Calla Lily Ponder

by Rebecca Wells

  “Yahoo!” Tuck called back.

  Golden Princess and I were like one animal, racing and bucking together. I could feel her energy was mine, firing me up as I bent down over her neck. “Here we come!” I shouted.

  Just as we made it to the barn, lightning cracked through the sky. I was afraid of the storm that would follow. Luckily, Tuck and I pulled into the shelter before it struck.

  I slid off Golden Princess and began to dry her off with a towel. Tuck was toweling down Sable Star, and he came over to me. The smell of wet horses and the smell of us hung in the air.

  Tuck looked at my face and my budding breasts poking through my sopping shirt. I could smell his sweat, a man’s sweat, mixed with the smell of Sable Star. It was a smell I’d never noticed before.

  Suddenly he pulled me to him and pressed his lips on mine. The softness of his lips, the smell of him, amazed me. I felt faint, as if the center of my body had suddenly dropped down to between my legs, where I had a strange feeling.

  Tuck licked his tongue along my lips, and I breathed in his breath. The softness of his tongue was like nothing I’d ever felt. Some memory of being a baby—of touching with my tongue, of sucking—came to mind. But I didn’t know what to do with that feeling.

  Then I felt Tuck’s tongue inside my mouth. I could feel the sweat on his back, my own hair and clothes soaking with rain and sweat and horse sweat, the water running down my back. My breasts pressed against his wet chest. I was confused. I could feel Tuck’s heart beating under my hand.

  Just as suddenly as the moment had begun, it was over. We pulled apart and quickly busied ourselves with currying our horses, cooling them off, leading them back into the pasture, and going separately about our chores.

  Chapter 8

  1967

  A few hot weeks later, I was sitting with Tuck on the Tuckers’ porch. Their porch was something like ours—a deep, big porch so there was plenty of room to visit, with fresh-painted light blue floors, a ceiling fan, a swing at one end, a table and chairs at the other, and little wicker end tables. But our porch was messier, with Sonny Boy’s Popular Mechanics magazines on the chairs and stacks of library books everywhere since Will was always reading, and my books were there, too.

  The Tuckers’ yard was prettier than ours too, because Miz Lizbeth was a fabulous gardener. Much of it was shaded by big old live oaks and pine trees high as you could see, but there was a big sunny spot filled with all different types of roses, which Miz Lizbeth was famous for. Our yard had so many old, thick magnolia trees that you could stand under them and not even get wet when it rained. M’Dear liked a garden that just goes wild. She didn’t know why people got so upset about weeds. M’Dear said a garden should be a circus, filled with everything from Louisiana irises to impatiens to four-leaf clovers.

  M’Dear and Miz Lizbeth were out shopping, and Papa and Uncle Tucker were at work. Olivia was cleaning upstairs, but it was just Tuck and me sitting in the swing on the porch, eating slices of Miz Lizbeth’s lemon pie.

  Neither one of us could think of a word to say. I wasn’t sure whether this felt good or not. Then Tuck set down his empty plate, reached for my hand, and twined his fingers through mine. My stomach leaped, I let out a little breath, and we just kept rocking, both of us staring straight ahead. The feeling of his body next to mine was so exciting! Finally we both turned to each other and started to say something, but instead we just burst out laughing. “Did you know what you were going to say?” I asked him.

  He didn’t answer. “I just want to look at you,” he said, finally.

  I could feel a blush starting at the roots of my hair and sweeping down my whole body. Let Tuck just look at me? But he squeezed my hand and smiled so sweetly that I said, “Okay, if you want to.” He looked at my hair, then at my face, my eyes, my lips, and he just lifted his hand and took his finger and touched my lips. I couldn’t move a muscle.

  “Can I look at your body just sitting there like I was painting you?” he asked, and I realized how much I wanted him to look. “Yes,” I said. “Yes,” I said again.

  Tuck stared into my eyes until I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to look away.

  He gazed at my shoulder blades and at my breasts and my belly and down my legs to my toes, the heels of my feet, the soles of my feet, and then he gave a little sigh. “I wish I could eat you up,” he said. “You’re sweeter than that lemon pie.”

  I never had felt the way I felt right then, and my mouth was stuck wide open.

  “Your mouth won’t close,” he told me. “Flies are going to fly into your mouth.”

  So he reached up and gently closed my mouth with his fingers, and we both burst out laughing again.

  Then we heard out of nowhere the sound of an old truck with no muffler. I knew that sound. There were so many trucks like that, Negro men coming in from the fields who couldn’t afford a muffler job. I wondered if it was some of Olivia’s people coming to get something. But no, I didn’t recognize this truck. And it was going fast, passing the Tuckers’ house, then it cut into reverse and screeched to a halt right in front, tearing up the lawn.

  That made me mad. Couldn’t they see that this was a fine yard, a real lawn with pine straw at the edges, which had been well tended and mowed? Was this someone who couldn’t see, or who didn’t care?

  A man jumped out of the truck, and I could feel Tuck’s body stiffen next to mine.

  The man came strutting up to the house like he was the king of everything and God’s gift to the world, when really he was dirty-haired and greasy.

  “Get outta here, you no-count of a man!” Olivia hollered, sticking her head out of a window upstairs, like she knew he was coming, like she had recognized the sound of his truck.

  “Shut your mouth, nigger woman,” he said. I winced at the sound of him calling Olivia “nigger woman.” He was no-count. And he was wearing this blue Banlon shirt that was too tight even on his thin body, over tight dirty jeans and scuffed-up white patent leather shoes. This Mister No-Count had anger in him so strong that I could feel it up on the porch. My body shot up a shield like M’Dear had taught me to do, a strong shield circling my body so none of this man’s anger could touch me. I tried to stay calm by breathing through my nose, the way she told me to, in and out, real slow.

  Behind the man was a lady, petite, with burned-out blond hair, dark roots showing, wearing a printed shift that hung on her like a dish cloth on a rack. But the dress was clean. Her hair was clean. She was trying, this lady. I could see all this before they even made it up to the porch.

  “Hey, Tuck, my boy,” the man said.

  Tuck was on his feet watching them, his legs spread like he was on the football field, ready for whatever might come his way.

  “I’m not your boy,” he said to the man.

  “Come on, Tuck, it’s your old man. I’ve come to take you home.”

  I cannot believe that the Tuck I knew was the son of this man.

  “Tuck!” the lady said, rushing over to hug him, and he hugged her back.

  I was stunned and thought, That must be his mother. She seemed so small against him, and Tuck was only fifteen. “Oh, you’ve grown so fast! You’re so big, you’re so healthy. Oh Tuck, I’m so glad—”

  She was right, Tuck was so tall, so healthy—so different than when he stepped into La Luna.

  “Go on and get your things,” the man told Tuck. “Oh—and see if they don’t want to give you some going-away money.”

  “What do you think you’re talking about?” Tuck said.

  “We’re talking about how your mama begged me to come down here and bring your sorry ass back to Foret City. That’s what we’re talking about.”

  “No, no,” said Tuck’s mother, “your father, he doesn’t mean it that way. We’ve come to get you, Tuck. I’m sorry it took so long for us to come find you. Things have changed. We’re all cleaned up now. I’m sober. I’ve missed you so much. Oh Tuck, baby, I love you.”

  Tuck looked at his mother,
closed his eyes, then opened them again wide, quick, like if he blinked a certain way, his mother would look different and his father would disappear.

  Mister No-Count sleazed his way toward the open front door and leaned in to look at the living room. “Where’s the old man and the old lady, anyway?” he said. “They leave you alone with a pretty little thing like this?” His tongue came slightly out of the side of his lip. “Mmm,” he said, “you’re looking good, sweet thing.”

  Miz Lizbeth had gone shopping with M’Dear in Claiborne. I knew Uncle Tucker was out in his fields taking a look at the cotton. How could they all be out of reach? I couldn’t believe it. Daddy was still at school, teaching band, but would Olivia think to go get him? And where was Olivia?

  “Leave her alone!” Tuck shouted and moved toward his father.

  “What do you think you’re gonna do, little boy?” his father said, like he was teasing. “Now get your stuff and get your ass in the truck.”

  He shoved Tuck toward the living room. Tuck shoved back. I was shaking.

  Tuck’s mother was crying now. I could see how delicate her features were. How her nose was slightly turned up, and her eyes were the same startling blue as Miz Lizbeth’s. Her hands were fine, but her polish was chipped and her nails were chewed to the quick.

  “You made your mama cry,” No-Count said to Tuck.

  “You’re the one who makes my mama cry,” Tuck said, “you sorry excuse for a man.”

  No-Count punched Tuck on his shoulder, and I thought, Danger! Should I run for help? I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to leave Tuck alone with these people. I moved to Tuck’s side, scared out of my wits, but thinking I should help.

  The cigarette Tuck’s father had stuck behind his ear was on the floor. I stepped in front of him, and I said, “Excuse me, sir, but your cigarette is—”

  Tuck’s mother grabbed me, yanking me to her just before No-Count punched Tuck in the face. Blood spurted out of Tuck’s nose, and No-Count knocked him against the wall.

  “No!” Tuck’s mother called out, “Please, Sam, don’t!”

  She let go of me and reached out for Tuck. No-Count shoved her, and she crashed against the door, falling so hard her elbow tore through the screen.

  Tuck came back from the wall, punched his father in the stomach, and No-Count fell backwards to the floor.

  Then he got up, yelling, and lunged at Tuck, then hit him hard in the stomach. Poor Tuck made a scary gasping sound and crumpled to the floor, doubled over in pain. I started screaming.

  “Shut up, bitch,” the man said to me. I pressed myself up against the wall, frozen with fear. Blood was spattered all over the porch boards, Tuck’s face was covered in blood, and I could feel the wetness where Tuck’s blood had hit my leg.

  No-Count gave Tuck a kick, saying, “Oh, come on, little girl, get up. We was just starting to have fun.”

  “That’s enough. Stop it, please stop. That’s enough. You hurt him bad. Please, Sam,” Tuck’s mother said.

  “I said GET UP!” No-Count shouted and went to kick Tuck harder. But Tuck grabbed his foot and jerked it, making his father fall back and hit his head hard on the floor.

  Just then I saw Miz Lizbeth’s big Buick coming up the street. “M’Dear! Miz Lizbeth!” I screamed at the top of my lungs.

  Suddenly there was a huge explosion, and everyone froze. Olivia was standing in the doorway pointing a pistol straight at the father’s head. The gunshot had left a splintered hole in the porch ceiling.

  “You move and I’ll blow your head off,” she said to No-Count.

  Tuck was sitting up, still holding his father’s foot. Olivia didn’t move a muscle or take her eyes off the father as she said, “Tuck, you done won the fight. Now let him go, and I want you to back up against the wall.”

  Tuck was kind of frozen and started to shake. Olivia told him, “Now do as I say, Tuck.”

  Tuck did, and he was starting to cry in small sobs. I saw M’Dear and Miz Lizbeth jump out of the car and come running across the lawn.

  Olivia’s voice was calm and cold as she told No-Count, “You piece of trash, you do one move wrong and I’ll kill you so help me God. Now stayin’ on your back, you drag yourself off this porch and down the stairs. Do it SLOW! Then you better run for your truck, ’cause I already done called the police.”

  M’Dear and Miz Lizbeth stood to the side as Tuck’s father slid himself out of the screen door. He got up slow and swaggered back to his truck. M’Dear ran to me and threw her arms around me. I could feel her pulling me tight, her chest against mine, her arms strong around my back, her hands touching my hair. And she whispered to me, “Breathe, Calla. Breathe with me.”

  I felt M’Dear’s deep breath as she inhaled and let it out. I breathed in slowly with my mama. I let my breath fill my body. I felt it go down to my toes, and then up, until I could feel it at the top of my head!

  “Remember,” M’Dear said, “you’re a baby whale.”

  I remembered. This is what M’Dear taught me in the mornings when we sat quietly next to each other, not talking. I breathed in, breathed the clean air into my body, circled it around, and then blew it out of my baby-whale head. My mama held me, and I remembered that so long as she was there, my world was safe.

  But poor Miz Lizbeth! She grabbed Tuck’s mama and said, “Stay here please, Charlotte. Please don’t go. You don’t have to live like you’re doing. Your papa and I want you here with us, where you’ll be safe. Tuck needs you here. Don’t go off with that man.”

  Tuck’s mama clung to Miz Lizbeth for a minute, but then she broke free. “I’m sorry, Mama,” she cried. “I’m sorry.” Then she rushed down the steps to her husband. Olivia kept the gun pointed right at them until they got in the truck and peeled out, with chunks of lawn shooting out from under those spinning tires.

  Miz Lizbeth broke down in tears, and she looked like she was going to faint.

  “Miz Lenora, it look like Miz Lizbeth ain’t gonna be good for comforting herself, let alone Tuck,” Olivia said.

  “Tuck can come home with us,” M’Dear said.

  M’Dear went over to Tuck, who was sitting on the steps with his head between his knees, dripping blood. He was shaking and rocking slightly from side to side.

  “Tuck,” M’Dear said, sitting down next to him and stroking his hair. “Tuck, please look up. I’d like to see you.”

  Tuck didn’t move.

  “Come on, sweetie. It’s okay,” M’Dear went on. “You were so brave, Tuck. You defended your mother, defended Calla, defended yourself. You did a fine job. Tuck, listen, you’re safe now. He’s gone. You’re with people who love you.”

  M’Dear kept stroking Tuck’s head until, slowly, he lifted it from between his knees. His face was caked in blood, and bruises were starting to form all over his face.

  M’Dear didn’t seem to mind that Tuck’s blood was now on her hands. She reached out to him. Her arms were wide open. “Tuck?” she said. He leaned his head on her shoulder, so she put her arms around him, and he began to sob.

  “It’s all right, Tuck. It’s all right.”

  Miz Lizbeth was still crying.

  “Tuck, why don’t you come on home with us for a little while?” M’Dear asked him. “Lizbeth, I’ll call our husbands and ask them to come home right away. Now you go on inside and try to get a hold of yourself.”

  Then M’Dear followed Miz Lizbeth inside so she could use the phone before she took Tuck and me over to our house.

  Tuck had the first bath, and then Olivia filled the tub for me, throwing in some of M’Dear’s bath salts. It felt so good just to soak that I was turning into a prune when Olivia knocked. “Come on out, Miss Calla,” she said. “Time to get dried off. Tuck done gone home for supper, and it’s getting on time for you to eat too. I’m fixing to go home.”

  “Olivia, you probably want to get more cleaned up.”

  “Oh,” she said, “I cleaned up enough. Things don’t stick to me like they do some of y’all.
My skin is thicker. Blood don’t stick on me. Now you go on downstairs. I done fixed y’all a pan of cornbread.”

  “Hey, my baby,” Papa said when I went downstairs, and he gave me a big hug. “You going to be okay?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, breathing in Papa’s scent. “I think I’m going to be okay.”

  And we sat down at the kitchen table, Papa and me, and ate Olivia’s cornbread with tall glasses of cold milk. When we were finished, I said, “I want to go tell M’Dear good night.”

  “Calla,” Papa said, “your mama is already asleep.”

  “But I wanted to see her,” I said. Papa gave me a hug and said, “You’ll see her in the morning. She was just real tired tonight.” And he hugged me tighter and gave me a kiss on the forehead.

  “You know we all love you, don’t you?” he said. “You know we’ll always be here to protect you?”

  “Yes sir. Yes, Papa,” I said. And I looked at him and could tell that he was ready to go to bed, too.

  Sonny Boy and Will came into the kitchen then and finished up the cornbread and milk.

  “Baby sister,” Sonny Boy said, “you know you always got us by your side. If anybody wants to fool with you—”

  “They’ll have to deal with us, first,” Will said.

  Just before I turned off my light, my brothers gently opened the bedroom door. “We’re just checking on you,” Will said.

  “I’m fine, y’all.”

  “Just holler if you need anything,” Sonny Boy said. And I went to sleep knowing that I lived in a house full of people who would care for me, no matter what.

  A month or so later, Tuck asked me to go down to the pier with him after supper. We just lay back and listened to the river, looking up at the stars and the moon. The moon was a thin crescent, so I told Tuck, “That’s what I call a fingernail moon.”

  Then I explained to Tuck what M’Dear had taught me about the Moon Lady in the moon, who watches over us and who we can ask for help.

  “Your mama is so wonderful,” he said. “I mean, I love Papa Tucker and Grandma Lizbeth, but I have never known anyone like your mama.”