Let me go ’head and get this over with.
“Tell me one thing,” Knot said. Fran rolled her eyes. “Is you gon’ give Breezy any more young’uns?”
“I don’t know,” Fran snapped. She didn’t seem to have taken even a second to think it over. It was as though she had known the question was coming. “But I might if I feel up to it.”
“Lady Waters got to be spinnin’ in her grave,” Knot remarked. “Lady and Phil both got to be spinnin’.”
“We come over for a nice visit,” Fran grumbled, “but if you gon’ chastise me, we’ll just go on back home.” But she did not get up.
Knot could hardly stand moments like these—moments when she saw and heard just how much she and Fran were so much alike.
It was Knot who was spinning. Her mind was spinning with madness and sadness. She was sad for Fran. Mad for Eunice. Sad and mad for both of them. But, years ago, Knot had promised herself—a promise she was unable to keep—that she would no longer worry about the Eunice-Breezy-Fran saga. They were three adults with children of their own.
“You know what?” Knot shot back. “Do whatever the hell you want to do. Go on home if you want. I don’t care.”
That was the first lie Knot had told Fran in a long time.
After a long sigh, Fran said, “Who had a baby from him first, Knot? Huh? Breezy got his reasons for marrying Eunice.”
“You said you ain’t want to talk ’bout it,” Knot reminded her, “so I don’t want to hear nothin’.”
That was the second lie Knot had told Fran in a long time. And Knot wondered if even Lady Coy knew it was a lie, because she started fidgeting and whining. Fran pulled out a breast and began to nurse. Then Fran reminded Knot that Pep and Otis Lee had lost income.
“Ain’t nobody called on Pep to deliver a baby in God knows when,” Fran said. “Women want doctors and things now. Younger people.” And Otis Lee’s knees had become a hindrance. Just twenty minutes of standing required BC Powder. His hours at the farm had been cut, Fran said.
These were things Knot already knew. She and Pep had only recently reconciled their differences, and that was when Pep told her all about it. Knot didn’t want to think about it. If she thought about Otis Lee and Pep’s aging, she would have to think of her own.
“Why you sittin’ there tellin’ me all this like I just come to West Mills this mornin’?” Knot said.
Fran sighed again and moved her limp bangs away from her face. “How you think Otis Lee’s Frigidaire stays stocked full of food? Where you think Breezy got the money to buy stuff to put that new roof on Pep and Otis Lee’s house?” Fran listed the many things Breezy had done, and for each she asked Knot, “Where you think he got the money? You think he makin’ that much money from changin’ oil in folks’ cars? Or from trimmin’ folks’ shrubs?” She switched Lady Coy from one breast to the other.
“C-E-D,” Cedar spelled, talking to her sheet of paper. Her legs were still swimming over the yellow quilt.
“That’s enough now, Fran,” Knot said. “All I know is that Breezy got a wife, and you—”
“I don’t care nothin’ ’bout Eunice standin’ in front of the pastor with Breezy,” Fran declared. “Shit. I’m the one told him to go ’head and marry her. For the money. That lil marriage they got ain’t hittin’ on nothin’. It ain’t never been hittin’ on nothin’.”
Knot went to the pantry and poured a splash of cola and three splashes of brandy. That was not what Valley had shown her.
But what about Eunice? Knot almost said to Fran. But as far as she knew, Eunice hadn’t made threats to take La’Roy and leave again. Had Eunice stopped caring? Was she so busy, now that Brock and Ayra had retired and put the general store in her charge—not to mention the choirs—that she had stopped caring about her marriage?
Knot stood on the threshold between her kitchen and pantry looking at Fran, Cedar, and Lady Coy. Her daughter and two granddaughters. That was who they were now. She knew it would be foolish to think of them simply as her neighbors.
Knot quickly finished her drink. Fran had Lady Coy up on her shoulder again, patting her back, trying to get her to belch.
Cedar came over to Knot and said, “Look, Knot! Look what I can write!”
“I ain’t got my glasses,” Knot told her. “Can’t you read it to me?”
Knot imagined her own pa sitting in the corner of the room. He would be smiling if he were there. And he’d tell everyone in town that Cedar was suited for teaching.
Cedar seemed more than happy to give a lesson.
“It’s my other name,” she announced. With the fat pencil she pointed at each letter.
“L-O-V-I-N-G.”
EIGHTEEN
Otis Lee and Pep sat on their couch, shoulder to shoulder, watching the midday news. Walter Cronkite was talking about the Vietnam War, which Otis Lee was glad had—just a few weeks ago—come to a close. Getting their first television had made Pep what he called a newsaholic. If she was not watching soap operas, she looked for news. When King was shot and killed seven years ago, in ’68, Otis Lee and Pep spent a great deal of time at Breezy and Eunice’s apartment, watching the coverage. After King’s funeral, Pep said she never wanted a television in her house. They were terrible things that brought sadness, she said. But when Breezy showed up with one four months ago, Otis Lee had to threaten to cut the power cord to get her to turn it off.
While Cronkite spoke, Otis Lee wondered what his life might have been like had he gone into the service. A handful of men from West Mills had gone to fight in various wars. Those who had come back with their right minds sat up-bridge and told their stories. Those who had lost their right minds sat up-bridge trying to tell their stories. Otis Lee remembered when the draft office in Norfolk, Virginia, had written and told him to report for an examination. Rose, Ma Noni, and Pep had been sick with fear. As was Otis Lee, but he had hidden it and cried in private. In Norfolk they took his measurements. He was to go home and wait for further instruction, if there would be further instruction.
“You mind if I change the station?” Otis Lee asked.
“I do mind,” Pep replied, dragging a comb slowly through her salt-and-pepper hair.
“Is that my comb?” he said. And then: “Pep, you sit there and act like you don’t hear me talkin’ to you?”
“Leave me alone, Otis Lee. You sat up-bridge all mornin’. You think ’cause you decide to come home you can run my TV set?”
It would be a losing battle. “Hand me my comb,” he said. She pushed his hand away and kept her eyes on Cronkite.
There was a knock at the door, and when Otis Lee opened it, there were two Mahalia Jackson‒looking women with big hairdos standing on his porch. They were both smiling at him.
“Can I help y’all?” he offered.
The one wearing all denim spoke first. “You don’t remember us, do you, Mr. Loving?”
He looked at them closely—one and then the other. They looked familiar, but not familiar enough.
“I’m sorry to say I don’t,” he confessed.
“I’m Vera,” the one in denim said.
“I’m Vic,” said the one in black pants and an orange blouse. “Victoria. We’re Pl—”
“Pleasant’s girls?” he exclaimed. “Great day in the mornin’! Get in here!” He opened the door and yelled for Pep.
Once Pep had hugged them several times—she also kissed both their faces—Vic said they had a surprise. She would be back in just a minute, she said.
Otis Lee, Pep, and Vera sat in the living room. Pep asked Vera to bring them up to date on her and her sister’s lives. Otis Lee wanted to ask about Pratt, but he figured Pratt had likely died in the service, since he hadn’t written or visited. And there was always the possibility, Otis Lee thought, that Pratt had simply decided that West Mills and everyone in it were a part of his past, just as Essie had.
While Vera talked, Otis Lee looked at Cronkite, waiting for the perfect moment to mention Pratt.
&nbs
p; “Damn if y’all ain’t got old,” Otis Lee heard coming from behind him. The voice was rough and smoky—a man’s voice.
Otis Lee stood and turned to find Pratt Shepherd, still tall, smiling with large bright dentures.
“Great day in the mornin’!” Otis Lee exclaimed once more.
He and Pratt embraced like long-lost brothers. Otis Lee didn’t know when the tears had come. So he was surprised when Pratt pulled a tissue from his pocket and handed it to him.
“Look at this ol’ crybaby here, y’all,” Pratt teased.
Otis Lee tore the tissue into two and he gave half back to Pratt. “That makes two of us.” Then he looked around the room at the other four faces. “Five of us, really.”
They laughed and hugged again.
Otis Lee and Pep made tuna sandwiches for their guests. Once the sandwiches were eaten, Otis Lee and Pratt went down and across the lane to the old house where Vera, Vic, and Pleasant had once lived.
“The girls gon’ have what’s left of this ole place torn down,” Pratt told Otis Lee. “Gon’ try to sell the land.”
“Smart,” Otis Lee said. He asked Pratt how he’d been.
“Livin’ a plain ol’ life,” Pratt answered. “Was married for ’bout fifteen years.”
“Yeah?” Otis Lee said. “What happened with that?”
“Grew apart, I guess.”
“Oh,” Otis Lee said. “Any children?” He wished he could pull the question back into his mouth and swallow it.
“Naw,” Pratt said, and he chuckled. “I had my nieces and nephews ’round, though.” He told Otis Lee that when he’d gotten back to Tennessee, after being honorably discharged, his brothers and Pleasant had children enough for everyone.
“Breezy was enough for us,” Otis Lee said. “He’s got three, and that still ain’t stopped him from being enough for us, Pratt. I swear!”
“He still like two drumsticks on his plate?” Pratt asked.
“Same Breezy,” Otis Lee affirmed. “Still want two of ev’rything.”
They walked through Pleasant’s old house, stepping on and over loose floorboards and talking about how well some of the wood had held up over the years.
“I see Azalea’s house is still there,” Pratt remarked.
Otis Lee was wondering when Pratt would mention her. Otis Lee hadn’t mentioned her because he was still trying to decide how much of Knot’s past he should tell Pratt and how much Knot ought to tell him herself—if Pratt planned to see her at all.
“Yeah,” Otis Lee said. “It’s still there. She still there in it, too. Slowin’ down a lil, like the rest of us. But Knot is still Knot—you can believe that.”
“She ain’t got married?” Pratt asked.
“Nooooo.”
“She got children?”
“Sorta,” Otis Lee admitted.
They looked at each other.
“Vic and Vera ain’t gon’ get much for this land,” Pratt said, looking out of the cracked bedroom window. He told Otis Lee that the twins had only recently learned that the lot belonged to them. Pleasant had always believed that the land belonged to a white man and that they were merely renters. But as it turned out, Bo Frost had owned the land. So, the twins were next in line for it, although they had little to no interest in owning property in the town where their mother had so horribly suffered. It was Pratt who had urged them to come to West Mills and start the process of selling it.
“It’s so small,” Pratt said, “might not even be able to sell it at all.”
“Yeah,” Otis Lee agreed. “Well, maybe somebody’ll buy it to put one of them mobile homes on. One of them’ll fit nice on it.”
In Pleasant’s yard, Otis Lee and Pratt stood and talked about this thing and the other. Otis Lee was consumed by curiosity about Pratt’s time in the military, but he thought about the veterans who sat up-bridge. I’ll wait for Pratt to tell me whatever he feel like tellin’.
“Tell my nieces to sit tight a lil while,” Pratt said. “I’m goin’ over there and see ’bout Azalea for a few minutes. She live by herself?”
“Yeah. Mostly,” Otis Lee said. “Valley’s there with her half the time, though.”
“Ain’t much changed at all, is it?” Pratt asked.
“You in West Mills,” Otis Lee reminded him.
Otis Lee watched Pratt until Knot came to her door and let him in. He would have loved to have heard what she said when she opened the door. Otis Lee was happy to see his old friend again, but he couldn’t help but wonder if Pratt’s visit would be good or bad for Knot. Otis Lee thought it might be good for Knot to see someone who had once loved her so much that he’d left town to make the love stop. But Pratt had a daughter who he did not know existed. And if he found out, it might send Knot deeper into the bottle over something so far in the past—all of their pasts.
An hour passed, and Pratt’s nieces told Otis Lee and Pep that they were going to check into a motel. They would come back for Pratt in a little while. Pep insisted that they leave Pratt’s suitcase with her and Otis Lee. Pratt could sleep in Breezy’s old bedroom, she said. She wouldn’t have it any other way.
The twins had been gone for only a few minutes when Pep mused, “Maybe we oughta walk over there and make sure they all right. Remember how they used to argue and carry on?”
“I ain’t forgot,” Otis Lee said. “Let’s give ’em ’til mornin’. He’da been back a long time ago if they was arguin’.”
Otis Lee heard Pratt come in early the next morning, just after the sun had begun to show the crown of its head. Otis Lee met him in the kitchen. It reminded him of when Breezy used to come home past his curfew.
Otis Lee could have been toppled over by a twig when Pratt said, “You know, I was thinkin’ ’bout what you said yesterday.”
“What’s that?” Otis Lee asked.
“I do believe I want to look into how much them mobile homes cost.”
For many days after saying his good-byes to Pratt, Vera, and Vic, Otis Lee felt a heavy burden.
“I let him leave this house without him knowin’ he had a daughter,” he lamented.
“Listen,” Pep said, climbing in bed next to him. “Pratt was right there in Knot’s house last week and she ain’t tell him. It ain’t for you to worry about no more.” She lay down and turned her back to him. Then she sat up again. “I know you don’t think I do, but I loves Knot, too. But I ain’t goin’ back down this road wit’ you again ’bout her secrets. I just ain’t.”
Strangely, it was his wife’s whispers that woke him up in the middle of the night. It was not until he was downstairs in their living room that he was able to make out what she was saying.
“Forgive me, Lord,” Pep pleaded. “Please forgive me.”
“Pep?” Otis Lee asked, kneeling in front of her. They were in the center of the room. “Pep, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”
She was not crying. She rocked and whispered. Whispered and rocked.
“Forgive me, Jesus,” she prayed. “Please forgive me, Father God.”
Otis Lee took Pep by the shoulders and shook her gently. She opened her eyes and said, “I need forgiveness.”
“For what, Pep?”
Now there were tears.
“I’m the one who wrote that letter,” she admitted, lying on the floor. It was as though all the strength she had had escaped her body along with the confession. “It was me.”
“Pep,” Otis Lee began, trying to pull her up. “Pep, sit up and tell me what you talkin’ ’bout. Come on, now.”
“Her people shun her ’cause of me,” she said. And when the wail had passed, she confessed, “I wrote it and I paid Guppy to take it to ’em.”
Part
Three
NINETEEN
If anyone had told Knot that in summer of ’76 she would have Pratt Shepherd’s foot on her knee, and be clipping his toenails because he could no longer reach them on his own, she would have advised them to see a doctor and have their head checked.
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sp; In the living room of Pratt’s new mobile home—he had purchased it when he’d moved back to West Mills in March, but he didn’t move into it until April—Knot watched All My Children and clipped his toenails without looking.
“Don’t cut too deep, Azalea!” Pratt shouted, sitting in his green pleather recliner. He was naked, and he had put a sheet underneath himself so that he wouldn’t stick to the chair. “Will you please look at what you doin’ so you don’t take my damn toe off my foot?”
“Hush yo’ fuss, Pratt,” Knot replied. “That’s probably exactly what I need to do.”
Pratt suffered from gout, and he was just coming off of a weeklong flare-up. She clipped the last nail and slowly lowered his foot to the floor. He had been in such pain. In bed, he had held Knot’s hand and trembled. And she had rubbed his chest and told him, “I got ya, Pratt. I got ya.”
A few months after their reunion, the one she hadn’t been in any way prepared for, Pratt called her and said, “Guess what?” He had not said hello, nor had he asked how she was doing.
“Tell me or hang up, Pratt.” She was in the middle of helping Cedar write short sentences.
“I bought it from ’em,” Pratt announced.
Frustrated with the partial information, she hung up on him. But he called back immediately.
“Why you hang up?” Pratt asked.
“I told you to tell me, or don’t.”
“I bought Pleasant’s old land,” he explained.
And after a brief mull over, Knot said, “That’s foolish. If they weren’t able to sell it to nobody ’sides you, what make you think you gon’ sell it?”
“I want to live on it,” he answered.
The next mull over was longer. Then she said, “For what? You ain’t got no family here.”
“What you mean?” he replied, “You and the Lovings gon’ be my family there.”
“I ain’t studdin’ you, Pratt Shepherd.”
“That’s what your mouth say,” Pratt had countered. “But I know you love me, Azalea Centre.”
“I’ll be goddamned,” Knot said before hanging up the phone.
In West Mills Page 16
