Four of a Kind: A women's historical fiction

by Russell, Vanessa

  Isaac says he thinks he’s found something I can do that won’t require marching. Right now I’d agree to march to Vietnam. But then I remember the Washington D.C. march. I stammer into the mouth piece in memory of how I’d leaned heavily on him to get back to the buses lined along the streets, inching along, dragging the walk out. Coupled with that the two-hour search for me in the dusk, when Isaac couldn’t quite remember where I’d dropped off. The day ended in us missing the bus and sleeping on park benches because motels were full and hey, let’s be honest, Isaac said, what motel is going to let colored people stay where white people are? It’s a bad cold from then on that I’m still having trouble shaking.

  Anyway, I want to make it up to him: “Sign me up,” I say. He says, “OK” and pretends to hang up. “No, no!” I yelp, laughing, coughing. “Hey, man, you can’t do this to me. What did I just sign up for?”

  “A sit-in,” he says. He explains that he’s become a member of CORE, the Congress of Racial Equality. They’re arranging a sit-in at the local Woolworths to protest lunch counter segregation in southern Woolworths and other stores. All I have to do is “sit-in” at the lunch counter with a small sign while others picket outside.

  My sign reads, “Uphold democracy! Stay out of segregated stores!” Easy-peasy. Isaac and I sit there for four hours with no trouble, getting all the free cokes we can drink, waitresses behind the counter giving me quick, nervous smiles.

  “Rehearsal for the Big Sit-In,” Isaac informs me as we sip through straws with downcast eyes. He looks so distinguished; all the colored boys who came to protest do, in their white shirts and ties. He reads Yeats poetry to me, Accursed who brings to light of day the writings I have cast away (I made him repeat that one over and over, since I’m hiding these pages I’m writing in my bedroom for awhile). The Annan Newspaper takes pictures and that’s how My Mamas find out. It’s like no other family member had ever been in the paper before. Yeah, right. They give me more hassle than anyone could at Woolworths. Except: As I limped stiffly away from counter, I cringe; not for the bad sore on my leg but because of the whispered Nigger lover from a booth.

  I climbed down from the wagon bench with Jesse’s last words ringing in my ears. I won’t stand for you being treated badly. If I see you sleeping outside again, I’ll do more than give ol’ Robert a punch. Let this be a warning! He handed me my basket from the wagon, tipped his hat to me and rode off, without once glancing at the house.

  The door opened then, cries of “Mama, Mama!” came tumbling out with the children.

  I ran to meet them halfway, my arms open wide. “My babies!” I cried. I had never spent the night away from them before and after two long days they looked older already. They came headlong into me, forcing me to lose my balance and fall onto the grass. We shouted, laughed and tickled each other.

  “Children,” Robert called from the verandah. “Would you and your mother stop making such a public display?”

  I had made a muddle of my welcome already, and hadn’t yet even spoken to him.

  I stood up quickly, brushing my skirt off. With twelve-year old Victor and eight-year old Jonathan in hand, and Bess and Pearl towing behind, I walked up the verandah steps to the door where Robert remained standing. I felt happy to see him and a warm hug would’ve been nice … but his eyes ... how could I get them from the color of mud back to chocolate drops again?

  He and the children obviously needed cleaning; that would be the first thing.

  “Robert?” My voice sounded soft and tentative, pleading.

  He stepped aside to let me in. The parlor was cluttered with newspapers and dishes. To my left I spotted dirty dishes on the dining room table.

  I reached down to Bess and felt her forehead for fever. Cool as a cucumber. “Bess, how are you feeling?”

  “Better now, Mama. Last night I wasn’t feeling well at all and I asked Papa to get you home to look after me. You would know what to do.” She looked up with eyes that longed for affection.

  Pearl clung to my skirt, as did the boys. I stooped down and hugged all four again. I looked up at Robert, knowing he saw in my eyes the same longing I saw in the eyes of Bess. He watched us closely, yet staying a distance apart. He cleared his throat and finally looked away, hands in his pockets.

  I straightened up and timidly approached him, my ducklings walking in step behind me. I tiptoed and gave him a lingering kiss on the cheek. I noticed the slight bruise on his jaw. Jesse would be pleased with himself.

  “And how are you feeling, Robert?”

  “Very well, thank you,” he answered, nodding. He wouldn’t meet my eyes at such a close range. He cleared his throat again. “I’m going to the shop now. Someone had to stay home with the children since you, er … well, at any rate, I’ll be home at suppertime.” He looked down at the children, blinking a few times. “Perhaps with something fresh from the bakery for dessert.”

  Amid the claps and cheers from the children, I sent a warm smile up to him. He was being extravagant! Bess wasn’t ill. Bess knew it. Robert knew it. They all wanted me home and they were each showing it in their own way. Tonight I would prepare the best supper ever, starting with the chicken from the farm. Make it festive. And top it off with a shop-baked dessert! Extravagant indeed!

  Robert returned my smile and I felt warmed inside-out. He announced we would all go on a picnic the next Sunday afternoon after church, where the boys might fish. The girls clapped their hands and the boys drummed the table with “hurrahs!” Eating out of doors and dealing with tangled hooks and repeated worm baiting with active boys were not activities Robert would relish, and I recognized his valiant effort.

  Fishing reminded Victor of a joke. “Hey Papa, how do you communicate with a fish?” He paused for affect and sucked in his cheeks, moving his puckered lips up and down. Jonathan shouted, “You drop him a line!”, his dimple deepening with his grin. Victor shoved him for stealing his line but Robert actually laughed out loud and patted his sons’ heads affectionately.

  He reached over to his hat on the hook in the entranceway where we all remained standing, eager for more. He placed the hat slowly onto his head and paused at the doorway as if remembering something. “Oh, by the way, Preacher Paul is coming over tonight.”

  “Preacher Paul?” This was completely out of the norm. He hadn’t been here since Jonathan was born, his attendance requested by my mother-in-law for prayer, in fear I would die during the long labor.

  “And things must be tidy, of course, for such a visitor. I would very much appreciate a clean white shirt to change into before then. And the children … ” he waved this away as if he couldn’t be bothered anymore.

  “Robert, why– ”

  “It’s good to have you home,” he said to the doorframe and he quickly opened and closed the door behind him.

  Those words were the boost I needed. I began cleaning. I took all the rugs outside to beat and rub with salt to clean. Once the rugs were out, I scrubbed the wooden floors to rid them of that constant coal dust. Then the laundry – I needed Bess to help; this took all the strength we could muster to agitate the round disc of a wooden dolly stick within the copper pot, built in brick over a coal fire. It took both of us again to feed the laundry through the wringer while the other turned the crank. The dolly stick and wringer were again required for the rinsing, and the attached wringer came unbolted … again. Then tomorrow I would tend the garden, bring in the cucumbers to begin the twelve-day process to pickle and gather flower spikes from lavender plants and spread on newspaper to dry overnight. And of course the laundry brings about more ironing. And I needed time to bake bread, but that would have to be late at night because the heat of the stove was too great to bear during the summer days. Unfortunately the house hadn’t been built with a summer kitchen. Maybe someday. What day was it anyway, because I needed to get back on schedule or –

  “Yoo-hoo, Ruby!”

  I jumped at the adult female voice and turned around from the clothesline to see Aimee s
tanding at the fence.

  “Don’t forget our meeting tomorrow. I’m hosting because Eunice had to cancel. She’s too embarrassed about the scandal.”

  I continued to unhook clothespins from sheets, my heart in my throat.

  “You know! The scandal about her husband and his mistress, the same woman who’d had an affair with a newspaper reporter? Do you think Cady’s husband, Thomas, might know about this?” Aimee sounded light-hearted, as if she had not a care in the world, but I refused to get caught up in it.

  I had made a decision during that day’s cleaning frenzy. I became determined to work harder at ensuring my family’s happiness. To seek my own was selfish. I simply would not attend any more meetings; I would silently withdraw from the Ladies Legion. Its sacrifice was too high, my hopes too high-in-the-sky, only to fall back down to reality and its ensuing battle, with Robert …my mother…my sister. Best to live in this gray cocoon. Its familiar casing could be comforting at times, this I knew.

  But I would have to lie. I hated having to do that, especially to one I had once hoped to be my friend. Well, I had made up my mind and it had to be done. I shook my head at Aimee as I remained clinging to my clothesline.

  “No, that would be impossible,” I answered, as firmly as I could muster. My mind went blank.

  “Why?” I hated hearing the cheeriness leave her voice.

  Why indeed? I reached for another sheet and folded it, trying to think. “Because my husband…because I…well, we do not approve, that’s why!”

  I was saved by the rain. One drop hit my nose, and I quickly wiped it on the sheet in my arms.

  “Really, Aimee, I must go in before these are wet yet again. I really do hate to repeat my work; there’s enough to do without duplication!” I forced a laugh. The most artificial laugh I’d ever heard.

  I rushed to my back door, ignoring Aimee’s call to please wait a moment, to please talk. I stopped when safely inside.

  The tears came quickly and dripped unnoticed onto my fresh dry sheets.

  “Well! Sister Ruby! Shall we have prayer first?” Preacher Paul said, hiking his rain-damp trousers at his knees and sitting down in Robert’s chair in the parlor.

  Robert seemed at a loss as to where else to sit, that chair being his only resting place. I picked up my Bible waiting for me in my rocking chair and sat there. Robert finally sat stiffly on the settee.

  Whatever else this visit might bring, I decided it would be well worth the rest off my feet. Robert expected the house and children to be washed clean of their sins before Preacher Paul’s arrival. Finally, to sit! Not even supper allowed more than a five-minute rest, for as the meal began, so did a rainstorm, and I was back out at the clothesline while the others finished their meal. I ate while walking between kitchen and dining room, clearing up the dishes. Preacher came soon after.

  The rain was pouring by now. The children, previously told they must play outside, were now sent to their rooms. Why they couldn’t remain here after their preliminary how-do-you-dos, was beyond me. Robert found their giggling chatter a nuisance during adult conversation and were promptly sent upstairs.

  Oh well, they might be better off, I thought, keeping my eyes respectfully closed during Preacher Paul’s prayer. The Preacher was a sincere man, but he talked loudly and long, as he was doing now, as if his congregation sat in the wings of the room.

  “And dear Heavenly Father,” Preacher continued, “I come to you today, asking that you give me your Holy Word. Righteous words, Lord, to say to our dear Sister Ruby. Dear Lord, guide me to show Sister Ruby the error of her ways, so that she may be a light to others, so that she may bring love to her family. Dear Lord, help me in delivering the message that a woman’s obedience is a virtue and one required by law, by God’s law. Dear God, show Sister Ruby that as Christ is head of the church, so is man the head of woman. I ask this in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. Amen and amen.”

  My chair became uncomfortable now, for it was the judgment seat. Error of my ways, indeed!

  I blinked back tears and eyed them both and waited and rocked, my hands docile, folded in my lap on top of my Bible. If I spoke, I would surely cry, and I would not give them the pleasure of pointing to my emotional womanly ways as another error. Preacher leaned over in his chair, arms on his legs, his small Bible in both hands, looking at its worn black cover as if waiting for words to appear. Robert would not meet my eyes, but folded his arms and looked away, pretending a keen interest in the framed needlepoint on the wall over my head that read, ‘Learn to do Good’. Another of my mother-in-law’s legacies.

  In a slow purposeful motion, Preacher put on his spectacles and opened his Bible to a page marked by a red ribbon. His head rose from his reading, his watery, tired eyes beseeching mine. To me, he often looked as if he had just finished crying or was getting ready to.

  “I wish to take you to Titus, Chapter Two.” He moved his thick finger down the page line by line until he found his place. “Now let’s read verses three, four, and five. ‘The aged women likewise, that they be in behavior as becometh holiness, not false accusers, not given to much wine, teachers of good things. That they may teach the young women to be sober, to love their husbands, to love their children. To be discreet, chaste, keepers at home, good, obedient.” Here he raised his finger to emphasize, “to their own husbands, that the word of God be not blasphemed.”

  What was he insinuating? “I understand I’m being chastised here, but for what reason may I ask?”

  Preacher took off his spectacles and rubbed one eye. He sighed the sigh of a burdened man with a heavy load. Accounting for souls could not be easy.

  “Sister Ruby, let me be frank with you. Ever since July fourth I have been praying for you. You have been on my heart and I believe that is God’s way of telling me, ‘Preacher, show her how she’s been led astray.’ Why, I was shocked and deeply wounded to see one of my own Christian soldiers, one of my own souls, marching with she-devils! Yes, Ruby, she-devils, marching against God and God’s word. Onward Christian soldier, not with the cross of Jesus, but with a banner of bad tidings. My poor wife was crying and praying for you, too. I tried to block it from my memory, saying, no it can’t be so, not our little Ruby, who has been going to church, faithful and true, since she was a baby. But then God said, ‘Wake up, Preacher!’ and He showed me your picture on the front page of the newspaper. Sister Ruby was marching, as part of a God-forsaken women’s march. These women dressed in black skirts, are no more than black widow spiders, going against God, the church, venom to poison their own homes and families. Somehow you got tangled up in their web, Sister Ruby.”

  I stared at my hands in my lap, feeling a blush rise up my neck against my will.

  “Word came to me from a God-fearing sister of our church that these spiders are not finished with you. That you’ll be part of a convention this summer with a group calling themselves …” He read from his black book, “…Ladies Legion.”

  I sucked in my breath, and then prayed that Robert hadn’t noticed my reaction. I glanced sideways at him, the scowl between his eyes deepening as he watched the preacher intently. Opal – did she tattletale?

  “These ladies” he emphasized, “want to vote, and to own property. And why, I ask, unless they want to be a man. Imagine the deserted firesides, neglected children, and forlorn and hungry husbands. Frayed clothing and loose buttons. The babies crying while your wife and the mother of your children is sallying forth to do her duty at the polls. I don’t wish to go into politics here, but what if I stood here on God’s Holy Ground and said to my brethren to be pure, and to the maidens of the church to be brave? Nature itself teaches you that I would have it in reverse.”

  Preacher Paul shook his head in disbelief. “Let me just read you what the 13th century Christian theologian, Thomas Aquinas, said: ‘Woman was created to be man’s helpmeet, but her unique role is in conception … since for other purposes men would be better assisted by other men’.”

&nb
sp; He paused and sighed loudly and I hoped his sermon was over. He’d preached this warning from the pulpit. Whether you have sheep, cattle, horses, wives, children, they must have a master and the master must rule and protect!

  “But as the Lord forgives us of our sins, He teaches us to forgive others. I forgive you, Sister Ruby. I am not here to condemn you. Why, on the contrary, I am here to set you free! I prayed to God to forgive you as soon as I saw it, and I walked over to your husband’s shop as soon as I could.”

  “Why not come directly to me, Preacher? As you said, I have been attending your church since I was a baby.”

  “It is my obligation to know first, if you had your husband’s permission in doing such a vulgar public performance. He assured me he had forbidden you to meet with these ladies at all. He was as shocked as I was! Why, Sister Ruby, you outright disobeyed your husband! Now I’m here to tell you as your shepherd, you cannot attend this convention or have anything more to do with these she-devils, do you understand? Don’t disobey your pastor, too. You could burn in hell for this!”

  Disobey. He kept saying that word last Sunday. I pulled out my notes tucked in between pages of my Bible, notes I had taken from his sermon on Man’s Dominion. I had written down what he’d preached: Every living creature has a role in descending order. Here on this top step is our Almighty God. Next step down is man, next step down is woman, next step down is children, on the next step are animals, then fish, then crawling creatures. To step outside what we are designed to do under God’s rule, is to disobey God. Men, you are to obey God; wives you are to obey your husbands; children, you are to obey your parents. Our domain is our household!

  Reading this reminded me of our last Legion discussion.

  “To obey my husband would mean my husband is my master?” I asked.

  Preacher nodded happily. “Yes, he is the master of his household. I see you were paying attention in church,” He sounded relieved that he had gotten through to me.