Out of Darkness

by Ashley Hope Pérez

She smiled. “You two thought of everything.”

  “Now can we eat a pineapple pie?” Beto blurted out.

  “Pardon?”

  Cari recited the exact words Mrs. Fuller had spoken to them months earlier, the first time Wash had brought them for pies: “Build me a scarecrow, and then you can have all the pies you want!”

  “I guess I did say that,” she said. “You all had better come on up to the porch for your prize.”

  A few minutes later, she held out a tray of pies to them. Beto picked pineapple, still warm from the fryer. Cari chose cherry, and Wash took rum raisin.

  From inside the house came the sounds of Wash’s sister Peggy practicing the piano.

  “Just ignore the noise,” Wash said with a grin.

  “James Washington, your sister is learning,” Mrs. Fuller said.

  Peggy hit a sour note then, and they all burst out laughing. “I can hear you, you know,” Peggy called from the living room, but that only made them laugh harder.

  The tangy sweet pineapple fused with this easy happiness. Beto looked over at Cari. She felt it, too, the goodness of being here. “This,” Beto mouthed to her, and she nodded. This moment was the good-luck thing they shared for the day.

  Wash pretended to cover his ears when Peggy hit another wrong note, and then said loudly, “I think I’ll go do some chores till this is over.”

  “Hush now,” Rhoda said, but she gave him another pie and offered seconds to the twins, too.

  NAOMI Naomi dropped Henry’s work clothes into the tub on the back porch. March meant rain, which meant mud, which meant it took twice as long to get Henry’s work clothes clean. She learned from Muff to pour a bottle of Coca-Cola into the soak tub to help loosen the mud, but it still took extra scrubbing before she even put the clothes through Muff’s washer. At least it was Thursday; the twins would be eating pies at Wash’s house and so would come home happy. Maybe Beto would save her a bit of flaky crust with a smear of fruit filling like he sometimes did.

  She was on the porch wringing out Henry’s work clothes when she heard a truck turn off of the main road and onto the dirt road that led only to the Humble houses. Bud gave her a wave and then pulled in next door. After he got out, he held up a handful of mail. “I was at the post office. Thought I’d save y’all the trip.”

  She glanced at the envelopes as she carried them inside. The top envelope was a bill for Henry, but the second one was addressed to her. It had her cousin Josefina’s handwriting. She felt a pang of guilt as she counted the weeks that had passed since she last wrote home.

  Naomi dropped into a kitchen chair and ripped the corner of the envelope. Then she remembered Abuelito’s letter opener. She found it under her mattress and used it to slice through the rest of the envelope. She expected Fina’s usual updates and gossip, but when she scanned the letter, she saw that the tone was all wrong. She flipped the page over. It was signed “Abuelita” in her grandmother’s unschooled print. There was a P.S.: “Naomi, I wrote this down, but they are Abuelita’s words, told to me in Spanish of course. You are probably wondering why Abuelito didn’t write it for her. He has changed so much since you left. Especially since he fell last month. Part of his face is pulled down now, and when he talks, it is mostly nonsense. We have to remind him to eat and keep him from the fire. I’m sorry that you are finding out this way, but you know it is hard to phone and the telegrams are too expensive. Love, Fina.”

  With trembling fingers, Naomi turned the letter back over, smoothed it against her lap, and began to read again.

  Dearest Granddaughter,

  By the time these words reach you, Henry will have talked to you about the future. Perhaps you have already made the proper choice. If so, this will only help you to know that you have our blessing. But if you are waiting, or if you have doubts, please read my words with care as Josefina is writing them down for me.

  You should accept Henry as your husband. I know that your mother had her challenges. We know also of his weaknesses. No man is perfect. Most important is that he is the father of Cari and Beto, and it is right for them to be with their father. You have seen that it is very good for them there with the school, and I know that you eat well. Your correct choice is something you can have pride in for always.

  I tell you, first, that you must think of the twins. But maybe you have a woman’s concerns about this. You may think of love and adventure, or maybe you remember some young man here in San Antonio and think that you might like to return to him. Forget this idea. It is better to marry an older man, Naomi. When they have aged, you know better what you get. There is no mystery, no ugly surprise down the road. Your grandfather was 28 when I met him. I was only 14. There is less difference between you and Henry. It may seem very big now, but in time it will become a small thing, like the difference in the size of his hands and your hands.

  Things are hard here. Your grandfather is no longer himself, and the store sells less and less. We have taken in another family to help us pay the rent.

  There is no place here, understand? Be practical, my dove. Think of the twins. Do not be foolish at this time.

  Con cariño,

  Abuelita

  Naomi dropped the letter, but she couldn’t escape its threat. Nowhere to sleep. No money. No school. No food. No future. Naomi began to feel the room close in on her. A future she did not want was closing in on her. She reached under the bed for the guitar case. She found her mother’s braid and curled up on the bed, crumpled around her hurt.

  Abuelita had said, “We know of his weaknesses,” but she didn’t know, couldn’t know. Abuelito must be gone or very close to gone; he would never have forced her like this, cutting off her return.

  The braid wasn’t enough. She shoved the letter into her pocket, closed up the guitar case, and ran.

  WASH Wash was splitting wood behind his house when he saw a flash of yellow in the woods. He held up a finger, buried the axe in the stump, and ran around to the front of the house to make sure that the twins were still busy eating his mother’s pies. Then he hurried to the tree line.

  “Hey,” he said. “You okay?” He could see that she’d been crying. It was all he could do not to reach for her right here.

  “Sorry to come here, but I couldn’t wait,” she said. “I need to show you something.”

  He nodded. “I’ll make an excuse and get out of here quick. Meet you at the tree in twenty minutes?”

  “I’ll be waiting,” she said.

  WASH & NAOMI Wash looked up from the letter and shook his head. “He wants to make you marry him?”

  Naomi pressed back against the inside of the tree. For once it felt more cramped than intimate. She wished the day weren’t so bright; even in here, there was too much light.

  “That’s not the worst part of it. The worst is...” She pushed the words out. “Well, you read the letter. We can’t go back now. Even my grandmother is trying to push me into this. But there are things that have happened ... things I could never talk about to anyone.”

  Wash flinched. “Not even me?”

  “There are some things...” she hesitated.

  A picture began forming in Wash’s mind of what might have been going on in that house. There was nothing to do but ask. “He hasn’t tried anything, has he?”

  “Not really,” she said.

  “Hold on. Yes or no?” He lifted her chin toward him. He wanted to see her eyes.

  She looked away. “Nothing too bad. Not in a long time.”

  He exhaled slowly, willing himself to be patient. “Y’all have only lived with him since September. How long ago could it be?”

  She felt him watching her. He’d see a lie for sure. And if she started lying to Wash, she wouldn’t have anything left.

  “Since we came, it was only bad once.” A little at a time, she told him about the night after Beto fixed the radio. Her mother’s dress. Henry taking hold of her and calling her Estella.

  “That’s why you didn’t want me to hug you from be
hind?”

  She gave a quick nod.

  “But why didn’t you say anything? The bastard, the—” Wash stopped himself. “You said ‘since we came.’ Why did you say that?”

  His words hung in the air between them. Naomi thought maybe if she kissed him long enough he wouldn’t ask again. She tried, but Wash twined his fingers through hers and brought her hands chastely back to her knees. “Not now. What did you mean when you said that it was just once since you came here?” He held her gaze, and she could feel some of his steadiness pass into her.

  “Before my mother died...” Naomi began. She remembered Henry’s face, twisted. Him in her bedroom, the bathroom. His hand gripping hers tightly, guiding it.

  “He made me touch him.” She gestured at Wash’s belt. “He couldn’t—my mom was sick and she couldn’t, wasn’t supposed to, you know, and so he started coming to find me.” She swallowed hard. “It took me a while, but one day I bit him.”

  “On his...?”

  She laughed and shook her head. “On his arm. Hard. And that was it, he didn’t do it again. But that only made things worse.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “If I had done what he wanted, he might have stayed away from my mom, see? I don’t know if he did it to punish me or because he couldn’t stop himself, but he got her pregnant again. Before that she lost a lot of babies, three in just a couple of years. She got sicker every time. But the last time it took.”

  “The twins?”

  “She had them, but it took everything out of her. She only lasted a week.”

  Wash pulled her close.

  “I can’t believe I said it,” she whispered.

  “Nobody should be alone with that kind of burden.”

  “I could have saved her.”

  “No!” Wash took her face in his hands. “Listen to me. It was wrong, what he did. You had to stop him. A man who would do that to a child, he wouldn’t stop at anything. Not with you, not with your mother.”

  “He said—”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Wash said. He planted each word like a man laying down bricks.

  Naomi closed her eyes tight and laid her cheek on his shoulder. Now he knew. She had no idea what the knowing would mean for them.

  “We’ve got to think,” Wash said slowly. “In the letter, your grandmother talks like this is something that’s going to happen soon. Him asking you, I mean.”

  “He already did,” Naomi mumbled.

  “And that’s what you were trying to tell me about yesterday?”

  “You know how I am. Sometimes the words just don’t come.”

  “And you already told him no?”

  Naomi stiffened and began to protest, “What else would I—”

  “Of course. But maybe we could...” Now Wash felt the frustration of not having the right words.

  “It doesn’t matter what I said. He hasn’t accepted my answer.” She gestured at the letter. “He gets started with the church stuff, and suddenly everything he wants is ‘God’s will’ for me. But anyway, what good is time? I don’t see what choices I have now.” She felt a tightness rising in her throat as her future unrolled before her. It would be her unhappy face in the wedding photo. Then laundry. Dusting. Biscuits. Cooking ham hocks and beans. Mending. The twins would grow up and move out like children do. And then there would only be the ceaseless housework. And Henry. No, it was even worse than that. Him forcing his leg between hers, him pushing her down onto his bed, taking her in the bathroom, in the closet. “A bun in the oven.” Henry’s child. She shuddered and remembered the sound of her mother’s crying overlaid with the squeaking of the bedsprings. All those miscarriages. So many wrong things that could never be made right.

  “What am I going to do?” she said again.

  “We,” he said firmly. “What are we going to do.” The words were another line of bricks in their defense against the world.

  NAOMI “Can I tell you something, Tommie?” Naomi whispered across the study hall table.

  “Hang on,” Tommie mouthed and went up to one of the study hall monitors. Naomi couldn’t hear what Tommie was saying, but before long the monitor was writing out a pass.

  When Tommie got back, she smirked and said, “We’re going to go work on our sewing project.”

  “What project? We already finished.”

  “Hush now. We’re just going to head to the home ec cottage and then look for somewhere you can talk to me easy.”

  The home economics cottage was on the edge of the school grounds. On the front was a model house with a wide porch, living room, bathroom, kitchen, and two bedrooms. The idea was to give them a space exactly like what they’d manage as wives and mothers. Across the back of the building were the cooking and sewing labs with their banks of stoves and Singers.

  Instead of going into the cottage, Tommie led Naomi to a bench in a sunny spot on the far side of the cottage, out of sight of the study hall window.

  “So?” she asked. She unwrapped a Hershey bar and offered Naomi a piece.

  Naomi set the chocolate on her knee. “Henry said he wants to get married.”

  Tommie grinned and hugged Naomi.

  “Tommie!” Naomi pulled back.

  “Oh, stop!” Tommie slapped her lightly on the shoulder. “Everybody knows you’re in love.”

  “When’d I give you that idea?”

  “The way you always acted, like you didn’t like none of the boys at school or church ... not even Gilbert Harris! I always thought it was because you had a secret crush.”

  Naomi stiffened a little at that. “But I never said anything good about Henry to you, did I?”

  “No, but I thought that was on account of you liking him, see? Some folks pretend not to like the person they most love.” Tommie went on, “Muff was saying the other day that you two could make a pretty sharp couple.”

  Naomi drew in a breath and released it slowly. It was just like talking to Muffy. There was no safe way to set the record straight; whatever she said would only confuse Tommie, who sometimes told her cousins that they’d have to go live with the colored people if they kept acting up.

  She tried to think. Even if she couldn’t mention Wash, there were other reasons for not wanting to marry Henry, things she could bring up to buy some time, at least, while she and Wash figured out a plan.

  “He doesn’t seem a little old to you?” Naomi asked.

  Tommie shrugged. “Not really. And second to Gilbert, I’d say he’s one of the handsomest men around.”

  Naomi tried again. “Thing is, I’m not ready to get married. I’m too young.”

  “Now that I can understand,” Tommie said. “You know, Dwayne’s been talking about getting married since we started dating. He can hardly stand it, but I’m fixin’ on graduating first. I don’t want to miss a thing. I want him and me to graduate together, and then there’s the whole summer for weddings.”

  “Sure,” Naomi said. She tried on the argument. “So you told Dwayne to hold on?”

  “Well,” Tommie said a little slyly, “I try to keep him satisfied with other things.” She looked down and crossed her ankles.

  “Oh.” Naomi’s cheeks colored.

  “Not, you know, not that. Just a little snuggling and petting. You don’t think I’m bad, do you?” Tommie looked up.

  “Course not. If you’re bad, everybody else is in a lot bigger trouble.” She smiled and squeezed Tommie’s hand. “How did you get Dwayne to agree? To hold off on marrying, I mean?”

  “What choice has he got? He can’t exactly do it without me. Same with Henry. If he wants to get hitched, he’ll have to do it on your time. Only problem is with folks talking, on account of y’all living there together.”

  “But if we don’t tell anybody...”

  “And you behave,” Tommie said with a wink.

  The thought of Henry not behaving made Naomi feel ill. She jumped up quickly and reached out to help Tommie up. “Come on, we’d better at least stop by the cottag
e. Did you get your grade on your dress yet?”

  WASH Wash was doing his own research. He started with the old issues of the Chicago Defender boxed up at the back of the cowshed. He wanted to see if there was anything about a safe place for him and Naomi. He laughed at himself a little for that. What did he expect to find, an advice column on practical miscegenation? He didn’t need perfect, just somewhere he could take Naomi without getting himself strung up for being with her. And not just her. He had to figure out how to make it with the twins, too. That would be harder. With him, Naomi might pass for colored, but the four of them together didn’t make any sense. They couldn’t leave the twins behind with Henry, though, and that letter had made it plain that there was nothing left for them in San Antonio.

  As he skimmed the pages, one article caught his eye. It was an opinion piece in favor of a black colony in Mexico. “Where we may be treated as men and not as pawns,” the editorial said. Baja California.

  That was something, but the paper had been printed years earlier; maybe nothing came of the plan. He checked the other papers from that year but found no other mention of the colony. Still, it was the closest thing he had to a lead.

  He decided to start with his father’s cousin Lewis. His work as a porter had taken him to dozens of cities, and Wash remembered him talking about a train route that went all the way down to Mexico City. He would know if there was a place where a mixed couple could live with something approaching safety, and maybe he could tell Wash something about Baja California.

  Lewis usually came to East Texas about once a month, and he’d been by just last week on his way to stay for a spell with his woman in Tyler.

  “For heaven’s sake, marry her!” Wash’s mother had said while they were eating supper. “You and Skyla are near old enough to be grandparents, and there you are, shacking up like a couple of teenaged field hands.” Wash’s father didn’t weigh in one way or another, but on more than one occasion Wash saw him slip Lewis a fresh tin of condoms by way of thanks for the newspapers.