by Lori Lansens
There was only the tick of the clock on the wall and the chime of the church bells in the distance, as Poppa’s three fearful children carried him down the hallway to his soft bed. Riley seethed at his sister over the slack body of their father. “If he dies, Very, it’s on your hands.”
Addy scolded Riley, “Shh. He can hear you, Riley. Don’t say such things.”
Verilynn said nothing, but Addy could tell she felt sorry and loved her father and couldn’t help that she was a spoiled child. Later, Addy was bringing a cloth and basin of cool water into Poppa’s room when she saw Verilynn kiss his fetid mouth and whisper, “I’m sorry, Poppa. I’m so sorry.” Addy wanted to tell the woman she understood what it was to be sorry, but Verilynn turned to find her watching, muttered a curse word, and left the room.
Rich Enos came with the doctor, and Emeline arrived still wearing her apron and smelling of roast goose from her own Christmas supper. They applied cool cloths to Poppa’s head and knew it was bad when the doctor spoke of oxygen not reaching his brain. Even if he survived, they were warned, he might never walk again.
The pork roast was dry and the gravy burned, the potatoes too salty and the butternut squash bland. Riley had insisted they eat the Christmas supper, and though neither Adelaide nor Verilynn had much appetite, he reminded Addy that her baby was hungry even if she was not. Addy’d made apple snow for dessert, knowing Poppa’d be pleased, but he didn’t open his eyes that whole long night. Later, alone and cold in Riley’s bed, Addy wept, for she knew it wasn’t Verilynn who’d caused Poppa’s attack, but the silent power of her own horror at his unexpected proposal.
Poppa opened his eyes the next morning when Addy went in to draw the curtains, or rather, he opened his right eye. The left stayed all the way shut. He could not separate his jaw to speak and only managed to part his lips enough to make a small cave on the right side of his mouth. His words didn’t sound like words at all, but Addy pretended she understood him perfectly. “I know you feel confused,” she said. “You had a heart spasm, Poppa. Doctor said something happened to your brain, too, and that’s why you’re having trouble with your talking and your moving. He said you’re gonna be fine though. Just take a little time to heal is all.”
Poppa tried to shake his head. He knew the truth and hated to be lied to. But his head would not shake and his lips not speak and though he didn’t mean to pity himself, a single fat tear betrayed him. Addy sat down on the bed and wiped the tear, trying not to mind about his breath. “Don’t worry, Poppa. Riley and me gonna take care of you.”
Verilynn was already gone. She’d risen before the sun, packed her things, and left without a word. Riley reckoned she must have walked to the gentleman’s house, the one who gave her the drive to Chestnut Street, but he didn’t really care how she got where she was going and was only relieved she was gone. He was filled with dark thoughts and did not have enough room in his conscience for hating Very too. He knew his Poppa was dying, but as deeply as he loved his father, he loved Adelaide Shadd too, and could not convince himself to hope the old man would recover.
The diamond-and-emerald ring was gone. His sister had claimed her mother’s ring and Riley knew it would never be mentioned again. He’d inherited his own mother’s ring anyway and meant to give it to Adelaide when Poppa passed. And each day it seemed that Poppa would pass. He was not able to rise from his bed, or drink a cup of tea, or read a book, or even visit with his friends. When Rich Enos and Emeline Fraser came by, Poppa made such a noise out of his mouth cave that Riley had to send them away. Addy knew it was because Poppa didn’t want to be seen the way he was and understood he felt ashamed.
One week spread to two, and Riley was glad to return to the Free Press and joke with his friends and smell the inky smell of the newsprint and not the dying smell of Poppa. And he was glad to head to the rum joint they called “Jerome’s Place” after work and never be scolded like his married friends. He wished he had courage like Adelaide, to offer his father care and comfort him, instead of just wishing him gone. He did not help Adelaide position his father over the porcelain pot, or offer to scrub the soiled sheets when she didn’t get there in time. He didn’t offer to heft his father up against the headboard so he could drink a little broth, and he found himself another chore when he saw Addy filling a wash basin with kettle water and soap for his father’s bath.
Things had changed between them. Addy could not have been more consumed with Poppa’s care if she had been his loyal loving wife. Riley was resentful and lonely and jealous and guilty all at the same time. He ate his suppers alone at the table while Adelaide fussed over Poppa. In the evenings, she was so weary from her work and from the weight of her growing child that she could not even manage an inquiry about his day, the weather, or how he’d enjoyed his food. Addy’d taken over Verilynn’s room again, and though it occurred to her that she and Riley could be together now without being secretive, she knew, they both knew, they could not and would not until Poppa was gone.
Poppa was aware that he was dying. He lost weight steadily and hardly recognized his own body when Adelaide pulled back the covers. He understood Riley’s revulsion and was relieved his son hardly entered his room. But watching Adelaide hover and smile and scour and nourish, he was reminded that he’d often thought how right and good is woman. In his early days at the pulpit, Poppa’d even mused that the Lord himself might be a woman. His congregation had been outraged, of course, and now he knew he’d been wrong, for no she-God would punish him in this exceptional way without leaving him the voice to say, “Let me die.”
If he had his voice, Poppa thought, he’d ask Riley to carry him outside and set him down in the deep, deep snow, as he’d heard freezing was a sleepy and gentle death. If Riley wouldn’t do it, Adelaide would, and Poppa loved her for knowing she could be relied upon. He realized he’d been deceiving himself, thinking the child could feel more than a paternal love for him. More likely, he thought, Verilynn was right, Adelaide and Riley had eyes for each other and he was merely an old fool, and a regretful fool now, for he could not even offer them his blessing.
There was no thaw in January, and by the middle of February the ice was frozen solid on the river, some said two feet, some said ten. The ice skaters had to compete with the jalopy-driving bootleggers, and the fishermen couldn’t drill far enough to reach water. Poppa was like a cadaver and Adelaide prayed each night for the Lord to call him home. Rich Enos came by from time to time and gave her rolls of dollar bills, which he’d have to press back when Addy said no thank you. Addy was confused by the man’s generosity and didn’t know that Poppa saved Rich Enos from drowning when they were boys. Riley didn’t know about Poppa’s bravery either, but took the dollars anyway. Addy suspected they went to whisky, but she didn’t mind much. Whisky brought a shine to his eyes and a smile to his lips, and Addy only wanted to see Riley happy.
The sitting room was warm from the fire she’d made earlier in the day and Addy thought to rest her head a moment. She was surprised when she woke to darkness and the sound of Riley coming home from work. There was no supper on the stove and Addy realized she hadn’t even been to the grocer yet. She sat up on the sofa but had not the strength to rise. Riley pulled off his heavy coat and winter boots, came into the room, and sat down beside her. He put his cool hand to her hot forehead. “You have a fever?”
“No. I don’t think so, Riley. Just a little tired is all.”
“You feel warm.”
“You feel cold.” She smiled and closed her eyes. “Cold feels good.”
Riley watched her closed eyes a moment, then pressed his icy mouth against hers. He moaned, for he had not kissed her since Christmas and had longed to do so every day. Addy opened her mouth to his tongue, tasting the sweet rum on his breath, knowing he’d stopped off at Jerome’s Place. Finally she pulled away, sat up on the sofa, and wondered if she did have a fever after all. “What’s got into you all the sudden, Riley?”
Riley drew his finger over her lip and whi
spered, “I’m hungry. What’s for my supper, Young Adelaide?”
Addy shook her head. “I never got out today. I suppose we have to make do with potatoes and biscuits.” She rose and made her way to the kitchen. She set the potatoes on the counter and settled in to peel. Riley came up behind her, his slender hands reaching around her stomach. “How big’s this baby gonna get by March?”
“Not too big, I hope. The bigger the baby the more trouble I’m likely to have getting her out.”
“You won’t have trouble.”
“I might. Ladies do. Verilynn’s mother died.”
“Verilynn’s mother was sick to begin with. You’re healthy, Addy. There’s nothing to worry about.”
Addy stopped, for something struck her. “What did you call me?”
Riley shrugged. “Addy?”
“You never called me that before.”
“Don’t you like it?”
“I was never called anything else my whole life.”
“Why didn’t you say so? Why didn’t you say call me Addy when you came here?”
Addy shrugged. “Adelaide sounded different. Suppose I liked to feel a little different.”
“And now?”
“Suppose I like to feel a little same.”
Riley stayed behind her, holding her close and swaying a little as he hummed a song. Addy closed her eyes, and except that Poppa was dying in the room down the hall, she felt like her life was sweet.
“I’ve missed you, Addy. You got so busy taking care of Poppa, seemed like you forgot all about me.”
“When Poppa took ill, I guess I felt pretty bad. I guess I felt like maybe it happened because of what we done.”
“It happened because of my sister. It happened because of what Very done.”
Addy set the peeler down and turned to face him. “No, Riley. It happened because Poppa’s old and sick. It could have happened just as easy when he was eating a piece of pie or having a laugh with old Rich Enos. Just happened because of life. Let’s not blame ourselfs.”
“Fine.”
“And let’s not blame Verilynn.”
“Don’t go soft on that sister of mine. She’s got the devil in her. I believe that.”
Riley found a chair nearby and watched Addy set the potatoes in a pot of water on the hot stove. “What are you gonna name that baby, Addy? Have you thought about it?”
Addy sucked her lip, considering. “If it comes out a boy, I like to name him Leam after my brother.”
“Leam’s a good name. Leam Rippey.” Riley smiled at the look on Addy’s face. “You know I want to give him my name. You know I want to be his Daddy.”
Addy nodded, relieved it had finally been said. “You’ll be a good Daddy, Riley.”
“What if he comes out a girl? Will you name her after your mother?”
“No. I couldn’t name her after Mama because the reminding would be too painful.”
“Did you have an Auntie or a best friend? Somebody you thought highly of?”
Addy thought about that and grinned. “Yes. I had a good friend, a best friend. And she was the nicest and prettiest girl.”
“What was her name?”
“Beatrice.”
Riley made a face. “Don’t care for that name much. Have to shorten it or give her a nickname.”
“We called Beatrice Birdie. Her Mama hated that.”
“Maybe you could name her Emeline since Emeline’ll be the one bringing her into the world.”
“I think I like Beatrice. Maybe Beatrice Emeline. That be a nice way to honour them both. Emeline’s good to say she’d help me.”
“She’d do anything for Poppa. And you’re lucky, too, because she’s got eight grandbabies of her own she helped birth. She’ll know what to do when the time comes.”
Addy nodded. “I’m still afraid though.”
“I know.”
“For such a natural thing, it seems unnatural.”
Riley squinted at her stomach. “Beatrice or Leam. Mmm. Well, just have to hope it’s a boy.”
Addy giggled and fired a piece of potato skin at him. It landed in the middle of his forehead and stuck there. He peeled it off and threw it back. “I’m going to smoke a cigarette. Call me when supper’s ready.”
Addy stopped him, saying, “Check on Poppa though, will you? I haven’t seen to him all afternoon. I’d like to try to get a sip of water down him. It’s on the table by the bed.” She added, “And talk to him, Riley. He gets lonesome.”
Riley hung his head. For the second time tonight Riley wished he’d had the money for a third glass of rum at Jerome’s Place. He didn’t like having to see his Poppa and would have preferred to be glowing a little brighter, so he could take things more in stride.
Addy shook her peeler. “That man spent his whole life caring for you and doing for you. You get in there and give him a drink of water and tell him how was your workday. Wake him up if he’s sleeping. He hasn’t had but a sip since he woke this morning.”
Riley knew he could not decline, but first he stopped in the sitting room to roll a cigarette. He lit the cigarette before he made his way down the hall and didn’t put it out when Addy called, “Don’t be smoking a cigarette in Poppa’s room, Riley.”
He shuddered before he pulled the door open and did not glance at Poppa. He didn’t think of the frail dying man as his father, and never knew what to do or say to the stranger in his bed. He was relieved Poppa’s good eye was shut and thought to leave the room as quickly as he came, but Addy’d be cross if he didn’t wake Poppa and lift his head for some water and say a few words to his unknowing body. He reckoned he’d just sit down in the chair by the bed and smoke his cigarette until it seemed long enough for him to have done what she asked.
Cigarette smoke filled the room and Riley was glad he’d brought it along, for it masked the smell of Poppa’s breath and Poppa’s piss and the dusty smell of Poppa’s scalp. Riley strummed on his thigh and hung his head back over the chair, making clicking sounds with his tongue. Then he sang a verse from a song that’d been playing on the phonograph at Jerome’s. Finally, he picked up the glass of water from the table by the bed. He sniffed it and thought it smelled odd. He looked for a place to spill it so it’d appear he’d given Poppa a big long drink. He tried to open the window, but it was frozen shut. He leaned over the bed and tilted the glass over the bedpan on the other side. As he did, he felt a strange stiffness beneath him and slowly realized it was Poppa. He jerked back and stumbled. He’d been waiting for his father to die since Christmas, but now he felt shocked and afraid. He called out, “Adelaide!”
In seconds Addy appeared, drying her hands on a dish-towel. She could see right away that Poppa was gone. Neither of them called his name, or touched him, or tried to shake him back. Addy sank to the mattress, her hands encircling her stomach, and said a silent prayer. Riley looked at the ceiling and wondered if Poppa’s ghost had been watching and knew he’d meant to deceive Addy about the water.
It was only out on the cold street, on his way to fetch Rich Enos, that Riley began to feel the full loss of his father. Poppa, he thought, Oh Poppa. He’d grieved him since Christmas when he first took ill and cursed him for hanging on so long, but it was here now, an empty place where once had been Poppa. A quietness to replace Poppa’s good voice. A gust of wind that said he was there, not on earth, but in the air. Riley knew he would not be the same man again, for Riley had been Poppa’s son and was now only his survivor.
With his grief came relief. Poppa was dead and the suffering was done for them all. He and Adelaide could wed and make their own home of the house on Chestnut Street. Their life could begin. He thought of his friends at the newspaper and at Jerome’s and what they would think when he told them he got hitched. He’d already planned how he’d tell them the baby was his and he was just now getting around to doing the right thing. He’d let them visit, he thought: play cards, admire his child, drink a little whisky. Addy wouldn’t mind and would never be the kind of
wife he heard of from others. Riley liked the thought of his new life and quietly thanked Poppa for making it come true.
Rich Enos took care of the arrangements and no one questioned when he said there’d be no church service. Poppa did not want to be buried in the church graveyard, either. Enos said he wanted to be burned and his ashes rained over the Detroit River. Addy thought the idea most unholy but said nothing to anyone. She merely stood next to Riley on the riverbank to watch Poppa’s grey ashes settle on the clean white ice, then get whipped by the wind toward some children skating nearby. In the end she thought they ought to have waited until spring, for the ashes went not to the river but into the weave of the children’s coats, to be shaken out in backyards by mothers, wondering from where the grey dust had come.
The supper at the house was grand and there would be food for weeks after, which pleased Addy greatly, for she was heavy and sad and mostly just wanted to sit. It seemed hundreds of people came by to pay their respects, Negro people and white people and even a Chinaman Riley wondered if he should let in the door. One of the men, Dr. Shepherd, came all the way from Toronto. He told Riley and Addy about his practice and his education at Knox College and how it was Poppa he thanked for his very life. “Your father clothed and housed me when I was a youth. But more than that he gave me confidence and courage. If you ever want to come north to Toronto, there’ll be a place for you in my home. Consider it, Children. Life is different in Canada.”
Poppa’d been loved and that was sure. None of the mourners questioned Addy’s presence, or appeared to wonder or judge. Rich Enos said Poppa was the best man he knew. He blew his nose into a handkerchief and gave Riley a roll of dollars, saying he’d always be there to help.
