He smiled. “You’d a done the same for me, I reckon.” I smiled back. Now where did I hear that before?
Remembering the moneybag wrapped around my chest, I started to take off my pants and looked at Mayhew. He got my hint, saying, “You dry off and put those clothes on. I’ll wait for you in the kitchen. Bring them wet clothes with you. Grandma will want them.”
Still shivering, I quickly dried myself with the thick, rough towel. The moneybag was only slightly damp; I patted it with the towel and strapped it against my chest again. I put on the clean clothes and sat on the edge of Mayhew’s bed to put on the socks. On top of his dresser was a photo of Moses, Bess, along with himself and a younger girl. There were model airplanes and other toys, along with several different rocks and shells strewn across his desk. Above his desk were wooden shelves with lots of books, and I wondered how long it would take to read every single one of them.
4
Chicken and Dumplings
BESS WAS AT THE STOVE STIRRING A POT. Mayhew was at the round table in the middle of the kitchen, and across from him, the girl in the photo. She looked at me, smiled, and looked down; she seemed shy.
Bess looked over her shoulder.
“You just put those wet things over here on the floor, sugar. You look a little bit drier, and you sure don’t seem to be shaking so fierce like. You finally get warm?”
“Yes, ma’am. It feels good to be warm and dry again.”
“You just call me Bess.”
“Yes, ma’am—I mean, Bess.”
She smiled and nodded to the girl at the table. “Jory, this is my granddaughter, Lucilla.”
“Hi, Lucilla.”
She kept her head down but raised her eyes. “Hi.”
The storm maintained its fury outside, and the vision of trying to row in the huge waves kept popping in my head. I was so glad to be standing there, safe. The kitchen was as neat as a pin. Curtains hung by the window, the cupboard with glass doors revealed neatly stacked plates and glasses, and the shelves were full of baking items. Hanging from a shelf above the stove were pots, pans, and cooking utensils, all swinging slightly with the rocking of the boat. The sink had a hand-operated water pump, and next to the sink was the funniest looking cook stove I ever saw. It was a metal rectangle with burners that looked like they were made of stovepipe and a grate on top to hold a pot. On the side of the stove was a gallon-sized glass container of yellow liquid and a sign, “Kerosene Only.” A round flame flickered under the pot she was stirring.
“You have a seat, darling. We’ll eat as soon as Moses gets himself dried off and dressed. Lord, that man moves so slow.” She turned back to the stove. “Ah, but I shouldn’t be complaining about my Moses. If being slow is all I have to worry about, I have nothing of complaint—except for him going out in that storm.”
Mayhew said, “What was you doing out in that storm anyways?”
Without turning, Bess said, “What, what? Mayhew?”
“I mean, what were you doing out in that storm?”
“Thank you.”
Moses ambled into the kitchen. He walked over to Bess and kissed her on the cheek. She swatted his shoulder. “Now don’t you go thinking a little sugar is going to make me forget what you did. You knew better than to be out there. Why didn’t you just stay put at the pier until the storm quit? You’re too old to be doing such a dumb thing. You worry me horribly, sometimes. Now I can do plenty, but I can’t be getting along without you.”
He kissed her again. “I won’t be leaving you anytime soon, my sweet Bess. Don’t you worry.”
“I have to worry about you. I swear, I thought you knew better.”
His voice was kind, slow, and deliberate. “Of course I know better. I was waiting out the storm on the dock at Byron’s after I traded saws. I looked out over the river and couldn’t believe there was a small boat way out in the channel. I figured it broke loose and didn’t think too much about it, until I saw something fly off of it. I used Byron’s binoculars and, lo and behold, someone was in the boat—rowing. It was Jory here, all by himself, so I headed for him. I thought for sure I’d lose him in the storm, and by the time I got going I couldn’t see where he’d gone, he was moving down river so fast. It took me some time to catch up to him.”
“My goodness! Moses.”
“You should have seen this brave young man, Bess. He was trying to row, and the waves were so big he’d disappear sometimes and I thought for sure he sank. His boat was filling with water real fast. The waves were tossing him all over the place, but he kept right on doing the right thing.”
I looked at the old man. “You came out there just for me?”
“Of course I did. It looked like you were in mighty need of help, and I was right there. Didn’t seem like there was enough time to find someone with a bigger boat—would take too long, and you’d be way downstream and maybe sunk.”
“I declare, Jory, what were you doing out in that storm by yourself?” Bess asked.
“I didn’t mean to be. I was tied to a tree on shore and was under my tarp waiting for the storm to pass; I was asleep. The rope slipped off the limb and I didn’t know it. I was out in the middle of the river when I woke up.”
Bess shook her head. “Does your daddy know you were out there? He must be worried to death about you.”
Hearing those two words, daddy and death, sent my eyes to the floor.
“What’s wrong, son?” Moses asked. “You and your daddy have problems?”
“No. We never had problems, not any. But I don’t have a dad anymore.”
“Neither do I,” Mayhew said.
“Yes, you do,” Bess corrected. “You just don’t have a nice daddy.”
Moses spoke softly, “Their daddy is in prison, for life. He’s a bad man in lots of ways. Prison is the best place for him, I’m sad to say.”
“I hope he never gets out,” Lucilla said quietly.
“Why is he in prison?” I blurted.
Mayhew and Lucilla looked at each other sharply. Before they could reply Bess said, “He committed a horrible crime… He’s just a bad man.”
“And he did awful things to someone,” Mayhew said.
“Yes, he did,” Bess said, “but we don’t talk about it. He is being punished for his awful deeds, and we don’t think about it anymore. It’s all in the past now. What we have to think about is today and tomorrow.”
“What happened to your papa?” Mayhew asked.
I suddenly felt cold and tired, and I slumped down. “My dad died a few weeks ago.”
“Oh! Heaven, no! I’m sorry,” Bess said. She left the wooden handle sticking out of the pot and came over to me. Resting her hand gently on my shoulder, she asked, “What happened, darling?”
“He was at work and had a heart attack. He died right there at work.”
Her hands flew to her face. “My Lord. You poor soul. No one should lose their daddy. Where’s your momma?”
“She died when I was a baby.”
Bess buried her face in her hands.
Moses asked, “Do you have any family?”
“No. The State people are going to send me to live with a mean woman. They took me there to meet her. I met a boy there like me, and he and the other kids hate her. She’s mean and steals their money—she drinks and smokes, and it’s really bad there. I can’t go there, ever.”
Bess took my hand. “My, my. Looks like you and Mayhew and Lucilla share the same misfortune—you have no parents. Their momma was like their daddy. She ran off when their daddy was arrested. No telling where she is, somewhere far away for sure. If they ever catch her, she’ll be in prison like their papa. You poor children.”
Moses smiled. “But the Lord gave Mayhew and Lucilla a grandpa and grandma. And the Lord will take care of you, Jory. He always does.”
Bess took my face gently in her hands. She felt warm and soft. “For now, you, too, have a grandpa and grandma, and it’s time to stop worrying for a while, you hear? We’ll worry abou
t what the Lord wants for you later. Right now, we have dinner to eat.”
“Mayhew, Lucilla, set the table please, while I fetch a chair from the living room,” Moses said.
“Yes, Papa,” they said in unison.
I didn’t know what was in the pot Bess had been stirring, but it smelled like heaven. Mayhew set wide, shallow bowls around the table while Lucilla placed the silverware on top of flowered cloth napkins. There was a large oil lamp above the stove, one on the wall, and a chandelier hung above the table with four lamps.
Moses came back with another chair and then lit the lamps. He pulled off a chimney, cranked the tube wick up, and struck a match against the stove. He lit the wick, lowered it a bit, placed the glass chimney on quickly, and adjusted it. He also lit the four lamps above the table. With all the lamps in the kitchen burning, it was nice and bright.
Bess carried the big, steaming pot to the table and set it in the center on a thick, blackened piece of wood that had seen many very hot pots. Everyone took a seat, and I sat in the remaining chair between Moses and Mayhew. Bess said, “Moses, I think grace is yours tonight.”
Everyone reached out their arms and grasped the hands next to them. I did the same. Moses took my left hand, and Mayhew my right. We lowered our faces and listened.
“We thank you, Lord, for the food you have given us today and every day. We thank you for Bess and for Mayhew and Lucilla. I especially thank you, Lord, for letting me see Jory was in need of our help today. And I thank you for guiding me in the storm and protecting young Jory. I thank you for keeping Betsy running strong in the storm. We welcome Jory into our home, Lord. We ask you to look out for him in his time of need, and we mourn the loss of his daddy. Amen.”
Everyone repeated, “Amen!” I did, too, just a little late.
Moses began cutting a big, round loaf of homemade bread, while Lucilla and Mayhew handed their bowls to Bess. Bess took the bowl from Lucilla, stirred the pot, and pulled out a big, dripping ladle, emptying it into her bowl. She did the same for the rest of us. I got back a bowl full of chicken and dumplings. It had a thick, white sauce with big chunks of chicken everywhere, and rectangular dumplings. There were small pieces of onion, parsley, celery, and corn throughout. Moses passed around the bread and I took a big piece. It was a brown bread with oats and sunflower seeds all over the crust and inside.
I took one bite of the chicken and dumplings and discovered my new favorite dish. I’d never had anything as delicious. I bit into the bread, and it was nearly as scrumptious as the chicken and dumplings. I could tell everyone had the same feeling about the dinner. Moses dunked his chunk of bread into the sauce, and I followed his example.
“I swear, Bess, I keep thinking you’ve made the best chicken and dumplings ever, until I have the next pot. This is wonderful, darling.”
“I thank you, Moses. I’m glad you like it so.”
“I love it, Grandma,” Mayhew said.
“Me too, Grandma,” Lucilla said.
“Me too,” I said to her as I chewed.
Bess smiled slyly. “Well, I reckon you’re all just hungry.”
“We are indeed,” Moses said, “but it doesn’t take away from you being the best cook there ever was.”
“Why thank you, Moses.”
We talked about the storm, and I learned Moses was at the dock picking up saw blades and handsaws to sharpen, and dropping off those he had sharpened. He told Mayhew he couldn’t wait to show him the big blade from a lumber mill he had to fix because it had struck a spike in the tree. He said it was the biggest saw blade he was ever given to sharpen. Mayhew was anxious to see it. I was, too.
Mayhew asked Bess for second helpings, as did Lucilla. Moses helped himself to another bowl. “Hand me your bowl, Jory,” Bess said. “I know you want some more.”
“I sure do.” She filled it again and once more, I was in chicken and dumpling paradise. Moses cut more bread and passed it around, handing me the biggest piece. I looked up at him when he handed it to me—he winked. He reached over and gently rubbed my head. My mind flew to sitting at the table at the Palmetto Grill and my dad ruffling my hair—my dad talking about the horrible KKK. Here I was, sitting at a table with four colored people, the nicest and most generous people there could be, and I could not fathom how anyone could harbor hate toward them.
I was sharing happiness with this family. Happiness! That thought took me back a few weeks to when the lady from the State drove me to what was to be my new home, something called a foster home, where there was no happiness to be found.
5
Momma Bitch
MY HEAD PRESSED AGAINST THE CAR WINDOW, cold and hard. All I could manage of the chaos in my mind was the horrible idea of a new family—a foster home. I didn’t even know what “foster” meant. Me, being taken to the home of a stranger, with other kids like me—with no parents—and this was supposed to be okay. Mrs. Bracket, the social worker, was behind the wheel, and soon I was to meet my foster mother. I had only one mother, but she was dead, no one else could be my mother, no matter what she was called.
How could anyone think this was better for me? A total stranger was to take on the responsibility that had belonged to my father. How could that be? How could a foster mother possibly replace my dad? Terrified, I pushed harder and harder against the glass, oblivious to the words Mrs. Bracket was saying.
She told me my new family lived in Lexington. I gasped. Lexington, Mississippi was a town many miles from my home in Tchula, which meant I’d be in a different school, and I would never see my friends.
Maybe the glass would break if I pressed hard enough.
Maybe then, I could run away.
We pulled up to a white house with two junk cars in the side yard and trash everywhere. This can’t be the place, I thought, hoping she had driven to the wrong address. I wanted to jump into the street and run, but with a hand on my shoulder, she guided me up the porch steps and knocked on the screen door. Three feet away from me was a filthy old couch with torn cushions. Who would put an upholstered couch on an outdoor porch? Beside it was a small wooden table upon which sat empty beer bottles and a tuna can full of cigarette butts. I wanted to yell, Dad didn’t drink beer, and I can’t stand cigarette smoke!
Just as I looked up at Mrs. Bracket, a boy my age answered the knock. When he saw me, our eyes seemed to lock in understanding.
“Is Mrs. Birch in, young fella?” Mrs. Bracket asked politely.
“Yeah, she’s on the back porch. Just go through the dining room to the kitchen.”
“I’ll do that, young fella, thank you.”
I watched as Young Fella squinted, frowned, opened the door, and pointed across the living room. As Mrs. Bracket headed for the back porch, I looked at Young Fella, shaking my head. His look changed to one of disgust as he nodded. When Mrs. Bracket disappeared through the living room, he quickly scanned left and right as if checking for spies, and declared quietly, “You’re the new kid, I take it.” I nodded. “Well, don’t believe a thing she tells you, it’s all lies. She makes us call her Momma Birch, but she’s really Momma Bitch.”
He grabbed my hand and led me off the porch, across the yard, and up a tree to a rickety tree house comprised of four boards nailed to two stout branches. We sat down, leaning against the trunk. He stuck out his hand. I grasped it firmly. “Name’s Matt,” he said.
“I’m Jory.”
“Keen name, dude.”
“Thanks.”
“She really is a bitch. If you can get another place, you need to do it, believe me. I’ve been in four of these damn foster homes, and this one’s crap. All she wants is the money they give her to take care of us. And forget about food. All you get here is crappy bologna or spam sandwiches. And when we take a bath, she comes in with some lame reason, like to check the bath water or give us a towel, but she looks at us. She always stares, down there, you know, girls or boys. I want to stick it out at her, but she’d probably grab it. This is foster hell, not a foster home.
”
I felt sick. “How long have you been here?”
“Too damn long: over a year. I ran away once, but they caught me. I got hungry, didn’t have any money, and tried to talk a restaurant out of a burger. Told them I’d wash dishes. Well, they gave me the burger, and before I was done eating, the cops were in back of me.”
“You gonna run away again?”
“Hell, no! You gotta have money if you run away. You stick out like a cat in heat if you ain’t got money. I managed to lift some cookies from a drugstore, but you can’t live on cookies.”
“If you had money, would you run away?”
“I’d be out of here faster than snot from a sneeze. I worked for old Mr. Madison next door, helped him paint his shed, and Momma Bitch said she’d keep my five dollars for me so I didn’t lose it. When I asked her for it, she said I didn’t need it for nothin’ important. When I told her it was my money, she said I done owed it to her for living here. When I told her she got lots of money for me living here, she slapped me across my head, saying I wasn’t to sass her. She stole my five dollars, that stupid bitch.”
We suddenly heard, “Matt, get down here this minute.”
Matt turned toward me. “You’re about to meet Momma Bitch.”
We climbed down and walked to the porch. Mrs. Birch was heavy set—no, she was fat, with a long, narrow face, no neck, close-set eyes that didn’t seem to line up quite right, and a nose that definitely was not centered. Her smile was crooked, and one side of her mouth seemed to be the entire smile, while the other half, holding a cigarette, tried but couldn’t compete. She wore a dirty dress, no shoes, and her hair looked like it had been in the same ponytail since high school, with strands sticking out all over. It was a sight you’d expect to see in some creepy movie, but here I was, looking at the person who was to be my foster mother. Mother!
My dad had once explained a word to me that I now understood—oxymoron; ‘Mother’ was an oxymoron for Mrs. Birch, while ‘Momma Bitch’ was right on. She turned her head to one side, and without removing the cigarette, spat a huge glob of nasty black spit—a feat fit for a circus.
My Water Path Page 2
