What Momma Left Behind

by Cindy K. Sproles

  My patience was low and I wasn’t willin to wait through the slow ways of an old mountain man, so I politely took the envelope from his hand. “Much obliged.” I held the envelope to my lips and blew it open. The paper inside fluttered.

  Justice had tried to give me some privacy to open the envelope, but he musta grown right tired of waiting outside the barn and come barrelin in like a bull. I reckon he had less patience than me.

  “Aw, for Pete’s sake, open the thing.” He snatched the paper from my hand and unfolded it.

  “Bein as they is no livin owner, the homeplace of Elbert and Rennie Whitefield shall be give to the first man to lay claim. That would be Jordan Sikes of Chattanooga, Tennessee. And all that lays on that property shall be his.”

  Justice handed me the paper. “That’s it?”

  “Seems so.” I read through the paper again. “This don’t say nothin about these youngins. Not a word. And who the Sam Hill is Jordan Sikes?”

  Abeleen raised her hand like she was in school. “Miss Worie. That was the man that scooped up Farrell.”

  It come back to me. Calvin come to the homeplace with the sheriff and another man. Sikes. “Things just ain’t addin up. I got more questions than a toddler.”

  Ely leaned forward in the rocker and pushed a chaw of tobacco between his lip and jaw. “I got a few myself. For starters, how did this Sikes man even know the Whitefields was passed?”

  I looked at Doanie. “Honey.” I pulled her in front of me. “Did your daddy ever have any folks stop by before he passed? You ever remember seein a fancy-dressed man?”

  “No, Miss Worie. I don’t never remember no man visitin Daddy.”

  “You’re good at cockin your head to hear talkin. Did you ever hear your daddy say something that might make a man want what he had?”

  Doanie stared deep into my eyes. I could tell them wheels was turnin in her head. That’s when I saw the color leave her face. She turned to walk away and I snagged her arm.

  “Oh no you don’t. Momma was right. When a person ain’t bein honest, their eyes flit. Yours is flittin. What ain’t you tellin me?”

  The child stood still as a cat ready to pounce.

  “Doanie, tell me what I need to know so I can find your brother and sister.”

  She pointed to the railed bed.

  “I wish I was a mind reader, but I ain’t. Spit it out, child. What about T. J.’s bed? It’s new. What about it?” Then it hit me. That toy Rennie had sewed. I walked to the bed and snatched it up. “This?”

  She nodded and took the toy from my hand. She held it to my ear and shook it. It clinked.

  “Rocks. Your momma put a few pebbles in it for weight?”

  The girl stood quiet. I could tell the words wouldn’t come.

  “Ely, give me that knife.”

  “Now, Worie, they ain’t no need to destroy the youngin’s toy.”

  “Give me the knife.” I held out my hand.

  Ely slowly pulled the knife from his pocket. Layin the toy on the floor, I pulled the blade through the material. A small pile of rocks dropped onto the barn floor, and inside the bunch was a small red stone. A second stone just like the one in Momma’s jar.

  Justice nearly leaped over Doanie to snatch it up. He spit on it and shined it on his trousers. “Look like something you’ve seen?” he asked.

  I couldn’t figure what to say. Instead, I pulled my bag from over my shoulder and dug for the jar. I pulled the satin bag out, loosened the string, and dumped the stone into Justice’s hand.

  Ely stretched his neck, tightenin his glasses to his face. “Them is red stones.”

  “Reckon, Ely. Red stones,” I snapped.

  “Miss Worie, them is something I seed when I was livin on the plantation and workin.” He motioned to Bess.

  She took one stone and held it toward the light. Tiny streams of light glistened from it. Bess laid the stone in Justice’s hand. “Yep. Yep. That’s what they is. My mistress on the plantation called these precious stones. Rubies.”

  “Rubies?” I’d heard of such a thing, but I’d never seen the likes of them before. But things went to clickin. “Doanie, where did your daddy get this?”

  She shrugged.

  Justice dropped both stones into the bag. “Miss Bess, you got a safe place to stash this little bag where nobody can find it?”

  “Does a chicken lay eggs?” She grinned and snapped the bag away from Justice, makin her way out of the barn.

  She was a dear woman. Gentle. Easy spoken. As wide as she was tall. I could tell she’d already took to the youngins. It didn’t take much for Bess to take them into her heart as her own. All Ely would say was the slave masters was less than good to the black women who worked on the plantation. Despite what was behind Bess, she was a woman who chose to look ahead, and over the years I’d grown to love her like I loved Momma.

  Ely and Bess were at the homeplace all the time after Daddy died. Ely found his callin in makin sure me and Momma was alright. Bess and Momma was good, good friends, sharin their washin and clothes hangin every Wednesday mornin.

  The clap of horse hooves echoed in the barn, and when they stopped, two shadows stood in the door. “There you are, Miss Worie.”

  “Preacher?” I said.

  “Told you I knew where she’d go.” Trigger?

  I rushed to the door and flung my arms around Trigger’s neck. He was stiff as a board. I guess shocked that I’d run to him, but in a minute he wrapped his arms around me.

  The preacher smiled at my excitement. “Well, you got yourself a fine howdy do.”

  “Pastor Jess, I’m grateful to see you and Trigger both.” I reached around his waist and give him a little hug. “I couldn’t have gotten to Justice without you. I’m obliged.”

  “My pleasure, Worie.”

  “Pastor, I’m sorry. I acted right mean in the sheriff’s office. But I needed—”

  “No worries. Body has to do what a body has to do.”

  “That’s right kind of you. Thank you.”

  “The good Lord pushed forgiveness, so I suppose if I’m to be a man of the cloth, I need to be an example of forgiveness.” He laughed.

  Ely picked up the paper from the floor and handed it to the pastor. “Seein as the pastor is here, Miss Worie might have a few sins to confess.”

  “There’s always time for a come-to-the-Lord meetin.” The pastor slapped his leg and laughed again. “What could you have done, Worie? You done told me you was sorry.”

  “Open that paper, Pastor. Take a gander. Seems Worie took something from the sheriff’s office what didn’t belong to her.”

  I’m not sure if I was embarrassed or angry with Ely. Even with Bess’s shamin him, he still saw it necessary to tattle on me. But Ely was especially mindful of a young girl that needed guidance, and I loved him like my daddy. His heart was in the right place with his callin me out to the pastor. I was just as well to hush and let him do what he felt was best.

  Pastor Jess read through the paper several times. Ever time takin a stab at different words to see if it read any different. “I’ve knowed the Whitefields for several years, and that homestead ain’t worth a pee pot. Why would Sikes want it? Or what’s left of it, seein as we burned the house to the ground.”

  Ely commenced to tell the pastor about me stealin the letter and how I needed to bring my sins before the Lord. But when he got to the part about the stones, I butted in, gently nudgin him to hush.

  “Ely is right. When I stood up to the sheriff, I sneaked that envelope with the report on them youngins under my shirt. Will the Lord forgive me? My heart was in the right place. I needed to find a way to get our youngins back.”

  It was easy to see my confession was less than sincere, but it seemed to satisfy Ely.

  Justice heaved Doanie up on his shoulders. “We got us some plantin to do, young lady.” He snagged a shovel as he carted her through the barn door. “Abeleen, you comin?”

  I always knew Justice had it in him to be a go
od man. Seein him lug them children around made me feel safe. Still, they was work to be done if we was to find them little ones. And it needed to start with Sikes.

  “Pastor?” I asked. “You know this Jordan Sikes?”

  “Well, I know of him. Know where he comes from. Chattanooga.”

  “How far is Chattanooga?”

  “Day’s ride to Hartsboro. Two days on the train.”

  “Train? Preacher, I ain’t got no money for a train.”

  “Don’t need none. Railroad gives me vouchers, bein as I am clergy.”

  A smile tipped the edges of my mouth. “Might I ask if you’d help me out?”

  The preacher tipped his hat. “We can leave tomorrow.”

  I run outta that barn and lifted my hands to the sky. “Lord, I ain’t sorry I took that envelope, but I’m much obliged You showed me the error of my ways by the preacher. Maybe Momma was right.” I dropped to my knees. “You hear the cries of Your children. And little Farrell and T. J. is cryin for their sister, and me.”

  Ely tapped me on the shoulder. “I don’t aim to beat a dead horse, but all I’s sayin, Miss Worie, is wrongs don’t make a right. Them wrongs always come back to bite you. You think on that.”

  CHAPTER

  EIGHTEEN

  I twisted and turned through the night like a rabbit on a roastin stick. Despite my best efforts to sleep, all I could think about was them children . . . and them stones. There was still more questions than answers, but a momma bird only feeds her babies a bite at a time. I reckon this was my bite.

  The moon shined through the cracks in the barn door, casting streaks across our beds. Several times, I found myself slippin outta bed in the barn and sneakin to check on Doanie sleepin with Abeleen. Poor youngin was as restless as me. They was a nice breeze blowin outside and it seeped through the barn, but the child was sweatin through her clothes. That was her dreams, I guess. It did no good to cover her with a quilt to keep her from catchin a chill. She’d just kick it off.

  I rubbed the plastered hair from her cheeks and she roused just a bit. “Shhh. Go back to sleep. Shhh.”

  I reached under the bed and pulled out my bag. My fingers walked through the bag like a spider on a web, searchin for prey. “There you are,” I whispered. The jar. The metal lid was rusted and scrubbed against the glass threads as I opened it. The scrapin made me cringe.

  Momma had took great pains to write her notes. I turned the first paper over and squinted to read. Moonlight don’t make a good light, so I made my way to the lamp hangin by a nail on the barn wall. I took the flint hangin on the wall and clicked it together, lightin the lamp.

  Beautiful loops and curls donned the words Momma wrote. Ever letter was slanted perfectly, and they crawled across the page like a line of marchin ants. I took in a deep breath and sighed. Momma. Momma. Dear Momma.

  From the good book, James, chapter one, the twenty-seventh verse.

  Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world.

  Lord, I see these people dyin. I hear their babies cryin and it tears my heart in two. But even in these and their afflictions, I have my own children that I shed a river of tears over. I thought when we found . . .

  I slapped the pages against my chest. My heart skipped. I wondered what I had just read. Was my readin so bad that I didn’t get it right? Momma said she’d cried rivers of tears over her children. I took the lantern off the nail and walked into the darkness. I plopped onto a rock. Runnin my finger over the words again, I took them in.

  I shed a river of tears . . . I thought when we found . . .

  “Something wrong?”

  “Good land, Justice. You scared the tar outta me.”

  He scooted me with his hips to sit. “I heard you talkin. Thought you was havin a bad dream. Everthing okay?”

  “Lordy mercy, land’s sake. I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d read a note or two from Momma’s jar. Maybe figure where them stones come from.”

  “And did you find out?”

  “Law, no! What I got was nipped by a spider I wasn’t expectin to be hidin in the pot.”

  Justice’s lip lifted on one side. A crooked smile gleamed in the lamplight. “What spider was it?”

  I handed him the note. “Look for yourself.”

  He leaned to one side and tilted the paper so he could see.

  “Go on. Read it out loud.”

  Justice mumbled the words Momma had written. After a few minutes, he stopped reading. He sucked in a breath that turned to a cough. “Lord have mercy.”

  I balled my hands into fists. “I want this over with. I want things back to the way they was. We didn’t ask for this mess. And every minute that passes just pours more manure on top of us.”

  “I ain’t got no words. Leastways no good words.” Justice rested his face in his palms. “Lawsy mercy. Momma kept this secret. Her and Daddy kept this secret.”

  “I can’t say it was just a secret. It appears to me to be a lie. You an me was raised believin a lie.”

  “Momma never did nothing lest she had good reason. You know that. They has to be good reason.” Justice slid off the rock and went to pacin. I could tell by the look on his face he wanted to find hisself a swig of liquor.

  “Don’t you start cravin that hooch. You hear me? This ain’t nothin to make a man drink.” I wasn’t the drinkin sort, but if I was honest, I’d have to say the thought crossed my mind. The pastor would be by to get me in a few hours, but if this news meant leavin Justice on his own to fight off his urge for drinkin, then I’d have to wait a day. I’d not let him slip back. They was a promise made, and I intended to keep it.

  I pulled the notes from his hand. Momma had shared this jar with me cause it meant something to her. I figured we’d find out soon enough what it was.

  The rooster let out a crow that give me and Justice both a start, and it wasn’t long before the bouncing light of a second lantern made its way toward us. Ely come tiptoein over the rocky ground. His suspenders hung to his knees and his boots wasn’t tied. He was void a shirt too.

  “What’s goin on down here?” he said.

  “Rise and shine. Looks like that old rooster is doin his job.” I hid Momma’s notes behind my back. “Sun’s peerin over the ridge. Reckon that bird thought it was time to wake us all up.”

  Ely turned toward the east. “Danged old bird. Could at least give a man till the sun crested.” He made his way back to his house, grumblin and slingin his hand. It seemed even sweet-natured Ely could get up on the wrong side of the bed.

  I turned Justice toward me. “I ain’t leavin here in the mornin if you plan on uncoverin your stash of liquor. You hear me?”

  He yanked his arm away. “Two things you need to understand, Worie.” Justice planted his finger close to my face. “First, you ain’t Momma. I ain’t your problem. And second”—his voice quivered—“if a man is to overcome something that has a hold on him, they has to be some trust.”

  I stood right still, not makin any effort to open my mouth.

  “I ain’t perfect. I’m a drunk and I ain’t gonna stop bein a drunk overnight. But you have to trust me. If you can’t do that, then we orta part ways now.”

  You coulda blowed me over. Justice was never one to raise his voice. His heart was soft, and that softness was his weakness.

  “You understand, Worie, it ain’t your job to fix me. It’s your job to love me despite my downfalls.” He ripped the notes away from me and waved them in my face. “Momma had a reason. You hear me? A reason. And it ain’t our place to judge her.”

  They was little I could say. Justice was right. I wasn’t Momma, and them youngins endin up at our homeplace was not on account of me. It was on account of her.

  I had to chew a minute on his words. It was hard to muster up enough courage to trust Justice not to dig into his liquor stash. But his reasonin was well put. I couldn’t hover over him and exp
ect him to get past the drinkin. I had to . . . trust.

  I picked up the jar and unscrewed the lid. “You wanna read that note again? Read it out loud so we can both take it in. Then we can shut it in its place and meet the day.”

  Daylight was overtakin the night and the sun was offerin some light. Justice cupped a hand around his ear and closed his eyes. “Hear them birds? Listen right tight and you almost understand what they is sayin.”

  We stood side by side, quiet. Listenin. Ponderin.

  “I have my own children that I shed a river of tears over. I thought when we found that baby that night and brought him home, that we could save him. We give all we had to save him. Give him a name, Calvin. Give him a home. Love. Hope. But even with that, I couldn’t stop his evil. It was like it was born in him.”

  Justice rolled the notes tight and stuffed them into the jar. I tightened the lid and put it in my bag. We was both taken back that Calvin was not our brother.

  CHAPTER

  NINETEEN

  There was a pop and then a thud in the woodshed. “Did you hear that?” I said.

  Justice grabbed a heavy stick from the ground and walked toward the shed. “Ely, that you?”

  “That ain’t Ely. He’s up at the house,” I squawked.

  “Come on out. Now!” His voice was hard and demandin. “Now! Or I’ll come in after you.”

  The shed door eased open and the pastor stumbled out.

  “Pastor Jess, what are you doin in the shed?” Justice asked.

  “Tryin to sleep, but I reckon they ain’t no sleep to be had. Man’s gotta rest where he can find shelter.” He pointed toward the back of the shed. “Leastways my horse got some rest.” He yawned.

  “I ain’t never in my life seen a body that keeps poppin up like you, Preacher.” I shook my head. “Lawsy mercy.”

  “I just go where the good Lord sends me. Last night it was the woodshed.”