The women raised their voices in disbelief.
Cora had been in the woods. Did she see Martha go near the Marraine? Did Cora know Martha was on that boat? Noise rose from the crowd and Martha knew the women were again divided between Cora and Titay. For the first time since leaving the Marraine, she felt guilty.
When the crowd saw her there was a great hush. Children looked at her and moved closer to their mothers. Suddenly she was painfully aware of her bleeding hands. Her clothes were dirty and dripping. Her body ached and the scratches on her arms and legs still stung from the salt of the Gulf. She touched her head scarf. It too was wet and half undone.
Everyone stared at her as if she were a stranger. How could she tell she had gone on the boat to save her life? She looked at Titay. Titay seemed so old and frightened. She looked at Martha, but Martha felt that Titay neither saw nor recognized her.
“Look at er,” Cora shouted as she approached Martha and faced the crowd. “Where she be in all that wind and rain? If she be clectin herbs like the old lady say, she could reach home befo the squall. Would she clect herbs thout a basket? Ask er—where she be?”
The crowd mumbled nervously and Titay lowered her head. Cora looked at Martha and shouted, “Let er tell us where she be so we can judge ourselfs if she be not the brazen one we blieves er t’ be.”
The people waited. Martha wanted to run to Titay and tell her not be ashamed, but she could not move.
Then Cora said, “She got a ready tongue t’ say we stupid cause we know the power of mirrors. So let er speak now.”
Martha remembered that day. She knew the trouble Cora had caused with the women about her wanting to go away. She trembled. She wanted to tell the women what had happened. She wanted to say how she had helped Hal save the boat, wanted them to know what she had felt: a moment of joy in a quiet place, and a oneness with a boat, water and sky. She thought of that moment and could not hold back the smile.
“Look at er,” Cora shouted. “She’s a brazen, connivin one in league wid the devil.”
Martha turned toward Cora with tears in her voice. “I’m not brazen, no,” she cried. “I had to go on that boat.”
Titay, moving toward Martha, said, “Mat, quiet yuhself.”
“Un-hunh! She be on that boat. She connived t’ be lone wid that man. There’s mo t’ this heah girl n meets the eye,” Cora shouted.
Titay faced Cora and said, “Fiah on the tongue can make blind the eye. Le’s cool down now.”
“Yeah,” Gert said. “Mat’s safe and that’s good. Where she be is fuh Titay t’ handle. Le’s go t’ our houses.”
Martha entered her house very much afraid. Titay had listened to Cora’s accusations. Martha did not know what to expect.
“Go clean yuhself,” Titay said.
Martha bathed and Titay helped bandage her hands. “You rest and I bring yuh warm tea,” Titay said.
Titay came into the room and stood while Martha sipped the warm liquid. Finally Titay said, “Now I want yuh t’ tell me, what was you doin on that boat?”
“I woulda drowned, Granma.”
“Who you think blieve that? You dare go n be lone wid that stranger …”
“I done no harm.”
“You poke fun at our way, callin people stupid. You fused t’ have yo quiltin, and now yuh go gainst the island.”
“I tole yuh, I woulda drowned.”
“What yuh doin way down there by that Gulf when you oughta be clectin herbs, anyway?”
Martha did not answer.
“Say somethin, woman. Why’s you at that boat?”
The “woman” frightened Martha. She felt she was being abandoned. “I didn’t plan it, Granma, no.”
Titay moved to stand over Martha, who sat on the bed with her eyes cast down. Martha had forgotten how intimidating her grandmother’s strength could be. Now Titay’s voice rang clear. “You denied our way. Yuh done shamed evey girl and woman on this island. Yo punishment’ll be sufficient.” Titay started toward the door.
“Granma,” Martha cried, “don’t leave me.”
Titay looked at Martha. Martha saw the anger in her eyes. Titay said firmly, “I got no mo words wid you. Yuh on yo own. The island’ll deal wid you.”
Martha paced her small room. Without Titay’s support she had spoiled her chance of going away with the islanders’ blessings. She had done what she had to do and what she had done now weighed heavily upon her. She felt all alone. But she was accustomed to being alone. Hadn’t Titay set her apart?
The stillness in her house was more than she could stand. She felt trapped in her grandmother’s silence.
If only she had made friends with someone. Had not been so busy and neglected Ocie. What would the women think if they knew she had been on that boat before? She thought of Hal.… What if they ran him away from the island because of her?
She lay on her bed, restless, remembering the ugly confrontation with Cora. “But I did what I had t’ do,” she said aloud. Suddenly she felt a calming sense of peace and fell asleep.
She awoke when Titay knocked on her door. “Dress yuhself and come heah,” Titay said.
Evening had come. Martha was surprised to see Hal sitting with Titay in the front of the house. She felt embarrassed and ashamed. How long had he been there? What had he told Titay?
Suddenly she wanted to flee—never to see him again. She buried her face in her hands and shook with sobs.
“Martha,” Hal cried, moving toward her.
Titay stepped between them. “Yuh done done nuff harm.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hal said.
“You been heah long nuff t’ know our way. We don’t go t’ the well less we ready t’ drink.”
Martha burned with shame and Hal said, “We did nothing to be ashamed of.”
“You was lone on that boat. In the eyes o’ our people that’s nuff.” Titay looked at Hal and her voice sizzled in almost a whisper. “You done shamed the Dumas name. Disgraced us on this island. Now you be a decent man. Marry er n save her honor.
Hal sighed, jammed his hands deep into his pockets, lowered his head and hunched his shoulders. “I care for Martha. But I had assumed all along that she was at least nineteen. Martha’s considered a kid where I come from. I’m a bit old for Martha. When Martha was born, I was already seven.”
“I don’t care!” Titay said. “When she be twenty-five and you be thirty-two, won’t make no diffunce.”
“Well, I guess we can get married.”
“No!” Martha screamed. “No, no, I’ll not marry im; I ain’t marryin nobody. I’m leavin this place.” Again she broke into tears.
Titay took Martha in her arms. “Hush,” she said. “Hush up and come t’ yo senses.”
TWELVE
The Island was divided. Each eye and each ear was an antenna that picked up every gesture, every word. Rumors raced back and forth between those who supported Cora and those who supported Titay. There was agreement on only one thing: Martha had denied their way.
The church bell sounded for the evening services. Martha did not want to go, yet she dared not stay away. When she and Titay arrived at the church, the people had already gathered. The women greeted Titay, but none greeted Martha. Ocie, now only weeks away from labor, barely nodded to Titay before she and her mother joined Cora.
Martha and Titay sat together. Titay joined in the singing and clapping while Martha sat subdued, her bandaged hands in her lap.
Finally it was time for the testimonials and prayers for the sinful. One by one women and men rose to ask for prayers for forgiveness and for strength so that they would sin no more. Martha was there in body, but her mind was far away.
“There is a sister in our midst tnight who’s sinned,” the prayer leader said. “Her sin can be fogived. She can be cleansed in the blood and made white as driven snow. She need only come, confess, repent and cast erself on the altar.”
Martha sat still with the amens and hallelujahs all around her. Suddenly she
knew it was she who was being asked to repent. She stiffened, the rising anger trying to find space inside her.
“She know who she is. Come, come, sister buke the devil and deem yuhself.”
Martha felt crowded with guilt and shame, and for a moment she wanted to stand and cry aloud for forgiveness. But fuh what? Her shame and guilt turned to anger. She stared straight ahead as if contracted, petrified. Voices, pleading and condemning, flowed over her. She sensed Titay trembling beside her and knew tears were flowing down her grandmother’s cheeks. Still she could not bring herself to move or speak.
The service ended and the members left, their stares burning in Martha’s mind. She walked home, shouldering her wounded dreams, wondering how she would ever redeem herself and leave Blue Isle with her grandmother’s blessing.
Martha slept late. She woke with a start. The silence around her was like that in a deep cave, and for a moment she thought she was still asleep. Then she heard the Gulf, like the heartbeat of a giant, coming through the momentary silence.
For days now no one had come or passed close to their house. Titay would remain in her room most of the day. At twilight she would walk down to the edge of the Gulf. Martha grieved for her grandmother and wished she could undo the shame she had brought upon them.
Martha lay still, thinking it must be almost noon. Her mind told her that she should eat, but her body rejected food. She was full all the way up into her throat. What a fool I was. Never shoulda gone that far jus t’ see im. She tried to bring back the warm feeling she had known when Hal gave her the mirror; to recall the sheer joy on the boat, but all that came was a feeling of shame. It had been so wonderful, and it had turned so ugly.
In her mind she saw Hal as he had been the last time she saw him—hands deep in his pockets, his shoulders hunched. The shame crowded in on her again. How could he say he’d marry? He knowed I wanted t’ leave this place.
She remembered that he had said he would help her go away. But how could she face him again? Did he now think, like some on the island, that she was brazen, without manners, conniving? No, she could never look at him again. How could I be stupid nuff t’ think he liked me? Never shoulda gone t’ the Gulf. Then nobody’d knowed how I felt and it coulda last foever.
She sighed and looked at her rope-burned hands. The swelling was gone, but they were still a little sore. Titay demanded nothing from her, and Martha was grateful she could stay indoors, mostly in her own little room.
How would she face the cold stares, the ugly whispers and the self-righteous indignation of the women? She knew well what was in store. The silent isolation meted out on Blue Isle was worse than flogging. Maybe she should have repented, asked redemption and been restored.
Noise from nearby houses—the sound of singing mixed with the rattle of dishes being washed—let her know the meal was over. Martha turned out of bed and opened her window wider. Then she heard movement in the front of her house and footsteps coming toward her room. She scrambled back into bed.
A knock put her on guard. She did not answer. She raised up just as Titay peered in the room. The look on Titay’s face forced Martha out of bed. “What is it?” she asked in dismay, taking her grandmother’s arm leading her to the bed.
“And t’ think I brung er in this world. She talk t’ me like I’m a … oh.” Titay’s breathing came in gasps. Martha had never seen her in such state.
“Who, Granma? Who?”
“That girl, Ocie. Called me a old woman … say I ain’t got no order in m’ own house, so I ain’t fit to birth no baby o’ hers.”
The hurt in Titay’s voice shocked Martha. “What she mean, no order …”
“Tis that Cora,” Titay interrupted. “She’ll midwife Ocie. All the women gather round er now. Her way is won.”
“Don’t say that, Granma.”
“Tis true. Oh Mat, I’m old and tired.”
Martha looked at her grandmother. Her thin shoulders were covered with a worn black shawl. Wisps of white hair showed beneath her head scarf, messily tied. A rush of anguish flooded Martha. Why not ask forgiveness and go back to the rounds with Titay?
Her grandmother broke the silence. “Fogit yo way, Mat. Marry the stranger and take m’ place. Don’t let Cora put er way on this island.” Then Titay was quiet. The silence thickened. Finally Titay pleaded, “Say yuh do it, Mat … bring peace to us.”
Martha still said nothing. She sat, knowing they were miles apart. Her mind flashed to another time when they had been at serious odds. She was then almost twelve, being pressured to confess her sins and be born again. Martha did not know what that meant and would not confess. Then she had spent nights on the mourners’ bench as if she were alone in the world, with prayers and rebukes around her. For days the women, including Titay, avoided her as if she were a leper. Still she had waited. She had to know that some change had come in her and in her world.
But that storm had passed when on faith she had been baptized and restored to the good graces of the island.
Now she felt the tears burning in the back of her eyes and stinging her nose as she realized that she had always been a thorn in her grandmother’s side. What would save her this time? She could not rely on faith for she knew. She had not sinned. She had acted to save her life and the Marraine. That was good. She would not marry Hal. If Ocie and the women chose Cora to deliver their babies that was their right. She would leave this island one day soon, she hoped, with her grandmother’s blessing.
Martha was so set on this idea that she was startled when Titay pleaded again. “Say it, Mat, say you’ll fogit yo way and marry.”
“Granma, I don’t want t’ marry now. I wanna go way t’ school.”
“Who fill you wid all this crazy notions? Where yuh git yo ways?”
“From m’ own heart.”
“Girl, don’t yuh know, you can be fooled tryin t’ learn yo ownself?”
“Who can I go t’, Granma, t’ ast things?”
“Tis not our way, t’ ast why or what be.”
“Ways change.”
“You done come t’ a lot o’ knowin all a sudden,” Titay said. “Whyn’t yuh say you’ll marry?”
“Cause they’ll think me a liar. I didn’t do nothin wrong.”
Titay lost her patience. “Yuh go gainst the island, be lone wid a man and say yuh do nothin wrong?”
“I saved m’ life.”
“N played in the hand o’ the wicked.”
“Aw, Granma …”
“Girl, don’t yuh know yuh can’t tear down the walls and the roof o’ a house and the ceilin stay? If you don’t marry that man you know what’ll happen to yuh? Nobody’ll want yuh. Who’ll want sich a hand? What’ll yuh do?”
“In time somebody’ll want me fuh what I am. Things change, Granma.”
“You’s a woman,” Titay shouted angrily. “That yuh can’t change. A man want a woman that keep his way. And where yuh think yuh gon go? Mongst strangers?”
Martha said nothing. The only sound in the room was that of Titay’s labored breathing. “Alone and lonely be fuh ole women like me,” Titay said as if talking to herself. “Mat, yuh young. Yuh needs arms fuh shelter.”
“Oh, Granma, listen, I heah you, yoself, say, ‘A woman who got no place t’ put er hand fuh support, put it on er own knee!’”
“You say words in the right place, but tis doin the right way that count, Mat.”
“You want too much from me, Granma.”
“Tis too much t’ keep the way? T’ marry that man?” Titay sat still for a moment. Then she said, “Yuh know, you think yuh wise, don’t yuh? But mind you, Mat, no one wise is wiser’n er own people.”
The silence in the room now was more ominous than any that had yet fallen between them.
In a voice full of tears Martha said, “I never thought mahself wise. I only want t’ know.” She turned onto her stomach and covered her head in her arms. She fought to hold back her tears until Titay left the room.
THIRTEEN
> Martha dressed carefully. Looking in her mirror she tied and retied her head scarf before settling on a style that gave her a carefree air. All eyes would be on her, and she wanted the women to know she had not lost the will to live. It was time that she got out of the house and it was impossible to live on the island and not see the women and their stares.
When she reached the path that led to the Gulf, the sun was already aglow and the dew fast drying. Martha walked briskly, not knowing exactly where she was going, just that she wanted to get to the water’s edge.
She glanced back at the village and was caught in the peacefulness. The houses in rows looked asleep. Black iron pots for boiling laundry were cold now, with gray ashes almost touching their bottoms. A lone child in a white shirt, probably his father’s, was drawing water from the outdoor pump and white smoke was rising, indicating the beginning of a fire for the breakfast meal.
It was a quiet scene that belied the feelings of fear and distrust that were now rampant on the island. Martha sighed and turned away, feeling remorse for her part in that fear and distrust. The women needed her for their midwife, but they wanted her only on their terms: just like them—happy keeping the customs of the island.
Martha hurried toward the water’s edge. To her surprise, she was not the only one who had sought the comfort of the constant rhythm of the rolling sea. The man’s back was to her and at first she didn’t know whether to go ahead or turn around. If only he were farther up shore away from the trail. Then she could slip by in the opposite direction and indicate her desire to be alone with the swiftness of her walk.
She stood on the trail listening to the waves, watching him pitch pebbles out to sea with a fast hard throw. She waited, wanting to go closer to the water’s edge. She hoped he had as little interest in talking to her as she had in talking to him.
Before she had moved, he turned to pick up more pebbles and saw her on the trail. The surprise showed in his face that was now a golden tan from the summer sun.
“Mornin, cha,” he called. “C’mon, I’m leavin directly.”
“Mornin, Beau,” she said softly as she approached him near the water.
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