“Mrs. Anderson took one look and told me not to even bother putting it on,” Tommie said glumly. “I have until Monday to redo it. She said I could get some help but that I still have to do all the sewing.”
“Well, we could try to remake this...” Naomi hesitated.
“Lord, no,” said Tommie. “We’d better start over. Mama said I could use some of the fabric she bought for Easter dresses.”
“Okay, then there’s the question of a machine. You could sew by hand, but that takes more time.” She slipped the last bite of her oatmeal cookie into her mouth. “Maybe ask Mrs. Wright down the street?”
Tommie shook her head. “She just took in a heap of sewing that she has to finish quick. Marla Kay from church has a sewing machine, but she said hers is jammed up bad.”
Henry came into the kitchen then. He was fresh from the shower and smelled of soap and aftershave.
“Hi, Mr. Smith,” Tommie said, blushing.
He nodded and reached for one of the cookies Tommie had brought. “Compliments to your mama. Listen, I might have a fix for your problem,” he said. There was a sly smile on his lips. “Follow me.” He shrugged on his jacket and headed out onto the porch.
“You know about this?” Tommie whispered. Naomi shook her head.
They followed him out onto the porch and then crossed with him to Muff and Bud’s house. Naomi couldn’t imagine what solution Henry planned to offer. She knew for a fact that Muff did not sew.
When Muff came to the door with Joe Joe on her hip, Henry leaned close and whispered.
“Of course. Come on.” Muff grinned and winked at Naomi. She hefted Joe Joe a little higher and stepped back to let them in.
“I’ll take him for a bit,” Naomi said, reaching for Joe Joe. He waved a sticky hand and came to her happily.
“Thanks.” Muff smoothed her hair behind her ears and slid a hand to her round belly. “He’s going to have to give up that spot pretty soon.”
They headed back to Muff and Bud’s bedroom. In the corner there was something the size of a desk covered with an old quilt.
“Go ahead,” Henry said. “Look.”
Naomi tugged back the quilt to reveal an old push-pedal Singer machine. She’d used one like it back in San Antonio when she went with Tia Cuca to wash and sew for one of the wealthier Mexican families. It’d be easy to show Tommie how to use it. Then she remembered the radio, and her heart sank. There was no telling if the thing ran.
“It works,” Henry said. “See this?” He tapped his foot against a metal case about the size of a bread box. “I got it fixed up so that it runs off of electricity instead of you having to pump the foot pedal. Pretty slick, huh?”
“Wonderful. But why?” Naomi stammered.
“Muff was holding it for me for a special occasion.” He shrugged. “It just seemed like you needed it more now, ain’t that so?”
“Thank you,” Naomi said. For the first time, she meant it.
◊ ◊ ◊
Later that evening, a few hours into working on the dress, Tommie put down her scissors suddenly. “When’s your birthday again?”
“Seventh of August. Why?” Naomi said.
“And Christmas is nearly a year away...”
“Enough riddles.”
“Well,” Tommie said, “I was just trying to figure out what occasion, exactly, Henry had in mind.” She raised her eyebrows and tapped her chin. “My, but he’s handsome. And thoughtful, too.”
Naomi frowned and went back to sewing. She didn’t want to know what Tommie was talking about.
◊ ◊ ◊
On Sunday, Naomi walked with the rest of the congregation to the river for all the baptisms that had been put off during the winter. It was only mid-February, but the weather had turned suddenly warm and humid. The newly saved did not want to wait any longer.
Naomi stayed behind to carry Joe Joe for Muff. As they neared the river, she felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Glorious day, ain’t it?” Pastor Tom said, falling into step with them.
“Heaven be praised,” Muff said. They’d only been walking for a few minutes, but she was already out of breath.
“Amen!” shouted J.R., who was running circles around them.
“There’s gratitude, little brother.” Pastor Tom smiled. “Could I borrow this lovely young lady for a moment?” he asked Muff, nodding at Naomi.
She glanced at Joe Joe in Naomi’s arms with a look of dread. With the extra weight of her pregnancy, Muff was struggling to make the walk as it was.
“He can stay with me,” Naomi said quickly. “I’ll find you down by the river. That okay with you, Joe Joe?” Naomi asked. She flicked his nose lightly with her finger.
“No-mee!” He gave her a drooly grin and reached for her nose. “No-mee!”
“Thanks, sweetie,” Muff said to Naomi. She winked at Pastor Tom and then hurried J.R. down the path toward the river.
Pastor Tom walked slowly, letting the last of the churchgoers pass them.
Naomi matched his pace reluctantly. As far as she could tell, nothing good ever came of these little talks.
A blue jay swooped in front of them and started Joe Joe jabbering. Naomi smoothed the sweat-dampened hair from the baby’s forehead and hummed a song about bluebirds and windows that the twins had learned at school.
Finally, the preacher spoke. “You sure have a way with kids.”
“Thank you,” Naomi answered.
“How are things at home?”
For a moment, Naomi thought he was asking about San Antonio. Then she realized that he must mean Henry’s house.
“We’re getting along,” she said. Best to keep her answers vague until she knew what he was getting at.
“It ain’t always easy, is it?” Pastor Tom asked.
“No, sir.”
“Anything change lately?”
“Don’t know how you mean.”
“Things a little different with Henry, maybe?” Pastor Tom probed.
Naomi shrugged. “He mentioned he might take Beto hunting sometime soon.”
“Spending time with Robbie, huh. That sounds fine.”
Naomi nodded.
“He’s trying. He wants to do right, I can tell you that,” Pastor Tom said. “Ever since he told me he had a family, I’ve been watching him change, grow into the man who could do the Lord’s will.”
Naomi let a silence build between them. She studied the tree branches above them.
Finally she said, “You told him to bring us here, didn’t you?”
“The Spirit led him. Henry’s got to work out his salvation like all of us. You and the twins are part of his.”
“He’s not my father, you know,” Naomi said.
“And thank goodness!” The pastor mopped his forehead and squinted at the noonday sun beating down through the trees.
“Pardon?” Naomi said.
“I thought surely by now you’d considered...” he trailed off. They rounded a bend in the path. The river lay before them in a bright brown sweep. The choir was already lined up and singing sinners down to the water.
Pastor Tom gave a wave to the folks lined up to be saved and the many more there to watch and celebrate. “Guess we can talk more later. Just remember ... the school, the church ... it’s a good place for the kids,” the pastor said.
She could not argue with that.
NAOMI & WASH Naomi and Tommie finished the dress late on Sunday afternoon. Naomi was exhausted and all but cross-eyed from concentrating for so long. Helping somebody else sew was twice as hard as making something herself. They’d done it, though, and Tommie’s mother had invited her to share their Sunday supper by way of thanks. She also promised to bake a fancy layer cake for the twins’ birthday in July.
Naomi walked slowly on her way home from Tommie’s. It was getting late, but time seemed to stretch like taffy. The pines stood out dark against the pinks and oranges creeping across the sky, and a breeze stirred around her. She found herself walking t
o their spot at the river. It was not a usual meeting time for them, but she couldn’t help hoping.
Wash was skipping stones at the water’s edge, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He turned and grinned. “You.”
She laughed and ran for the tree.
They did not waste time; there was never enough. She leaned hard against him, liking the shape of his body against hers. He kissed her and started working his hand under her slip, sliding her dress up to her thighs.
“Wash, you know we can’t—”
“Shh,” he said, “I know.”
She bit his lip, then kissed him hard and deep.
“Now, just, just let me kiss you,” he said. The possibility formed in his mind, something he’d never imagined. Now that he had the idea, though, he could not bear not to try. A gift he wanted to give her, his beautiful, bold Naomi. He moved his lips away from her mouth, kissed his way down her neck, and worked his way lower, lower.
Before he touched her, before he slipped his hand back up under her dress, before he tugged her drawers and stockings down gently, so gently, before he knelt in front of her, before any of this, Naomi knew that she wanted it. Because it was Wash. Because this was their tree. Because they were making it all up as they went along.
His hands opened her thighs, and then he was touching her with his mouth, kissing warmth, wetness. She might have been ashamed, but she wasn’t. She was alive, tremblingly alive. In the dead heart of their tree she was herself and more than herself. She let the moment lift her up.
“Please,” she said, pressing her back against the inside of the tree and holding tight to his shoulders. “Please, please, please, oh.” Then she was laughing and sighing and amazed at him and amazed at herself.
A moment later, she felt her usual size again, and the feeling of easy improvisation was gone. She moved her hand tentatively toward his belt. “Do you want me to...?”
He took her hand and squeezed it. “It makes me feel good to make you feel good.”
“But...” She bit her lip. She did not want him to be outside all the pleasure.
“There’s always tomorrow,” he said.
“I certainly hope so,” she said. “Tomorrow, then.” She kissed him and tucked herself against him and felt how much he wanted her. She felt also how what he had given her was part of that wanting but also something more and different.
“I love you,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
They stayed like that, confident for the moment that this piece of the world was theirs, and that it was enough.
NAOMI After Naomi served him breakfast, Henry asked, “What time does school let out?”
“Three thirty,” Naomi answered.
“All right. It’s settled.” He pointed his fork at Beto. “Robbie, you wait outside your school for me and Vince. You’re coming with us for some target practice. Maybe a little hunting. About time you learned to fire a gun.”
“I bet I could shoot one,” Cari said.
Henry chuckled. “Tell the truth, it’s not you I’m worried about.”
“So I can go?” she asked.
“Just the men,” Henry said.
Beto sat taller in his chair.
“Not that I wanted to,” Cari said quickly. “I’m going to help Miss Bell with something important.”
“Everybody be home for dinner, though,” Naomi said. “We’re having roast, and I think Muff’s baking today.”
◊ ◊ ◊
“Thirty minutes,” Naomi called softly when she found Wash by the river. “Check the time, okay?”
He climbed the bank to meet her. “You turn into a pumpkin at 4:36,” Wash said, showing her the face of his watch.
“Tree?” Naomi asked. She hadn’t forgotten her promise.
“Let’s go watch the clouds,” Wash said.
Naomi rolled her eyes. “Nobody actually does that. It’s for people in stories.”
“Well, if it’s good enough for them...” He took off running, stopping every few feet and calling to her until she followed him down one of the paths that led away from the river. About a quarter of a mile down it, Wash pointed out a field that had been wheat until somebody’d struck oil there and made the owner so rich he didn’t care to push the plow anymore. Now it had turned wild, mostly tall weeds with just a bit of grain mixed in. Naomi ran into the field behind him, hands held out into the high grasses. Grasshoppers winged up from the ground around her, thumping her forearms and fingers in a whirl of legs and hard bodies.
A moment later, she threw herself down onto the grass, flattening a patch with her back. She could see why bunnies and bobwhites loved fallow fields. She felt safe from everything here.
She stared up at the clouds and pointed. “That’s a tadpole swimming out from under a lily pad.”
“And that’s somebody blowing out birthday candles.”
“That’s a person winking ... see, with that shadow as the eyelashes?”
“And that’s a field mouse...”
“Hey!” Naomi sat up. “When is your birthday?”
Wash exhaled deeply. “Not for another three years, unfortunately.”
She slapped his arm. “Oh, stop. Really, when is it?”
He pointed out a few more shapes in the clouds before he explained that this year he didn’t actually have a birthday. Because he’d been born on February 29, 1920, he had a true birthday exactly once every four years.
“The crummiest date a guy could ask for,” he grumbled. “Anybody wants an excuse to forget your birthday, you can’t get much better than the fact that it’s not actually on the calendar.”
“We won’t forget it,” Naomi said.
“Nobody plans to.”
“You’ll see.” She rolled toward him. “The time, sir?”
Wash pretended not to hear her, so she slipped a hand into his pocket to find the watch.
“Be my guest,” he said with a grin. “Now I’m never going to fix that wristband.”
She walked her fingers past the watch and felt him through the soft fabric of the pocket. “Next time, it’s your turn,” she whispered, then she pulled the watch out. It was already a quarter to five.
Naomi stood up with a reluctant sigh and dusted herself off. “I have to go. Muff started a roast for me, and Henry will expect dinner when he gets done making a man out of poor Beto.”
◊ ◊ ◊
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Naomi,” Muff said slyly. They were sitting on Muff and Bud’s back porch so they could enjoy the fine weather while the roast was cooking inside.
“What are you talking about?” Naomi wiped her cheek on her shoulder. As soon as she got started peeling potatoes, she always had an itch that she couldn’t scratch without getting starch all over.
“You tell me,” Muff said. She shot Naomi a meaningful look.
“There’s nothing to tell. We’re sitting here, and I’m thinking about peeling potatoes.” In fact, she had been thinking of Wash. That quick smile. His laughter. The fact of them together. What she intended for him the next time they were alone.
“You shouldn’t lie with me sitting so close,” Muff said. “When you get struck by lightning, you’ll get me fried, too.”
“What makes you so sure I’m thinking some big thought?” Naomi asked.
“For one thing, you’ve been peeling that same potato for a whole minute.” Muff jutted her chin toward Naomi’s hand. Without thinking, Naomi had whittled a good-sized potato down to the size of a plum. Her cheeks flushed, and she began to gather the shreds of good potato from on top of the pile of peelings.
“I guess, I guess I wasn’t thinking after all,” she stammered.
“Not the first time you’ve gotten all starry-eyed. I’m not so old that I’ve forgotten what it’s like.” Muff tossed another potato into the bowl between them. “And there’s really nothing to stop you two from marrying.”
Naomi froze, the paring knife trembling between her fingers. “I don’t know what you mean.” She had n
ever let a single word about Wash slip. Muff was her friend, but she’d soaked up the rules of being white like a sponge in a bowl of vinegar. Without malice, but deeply all the same. Naomi didn’t know what surprised her more: that Muff could know about Wash, or that she could think that marriage was an option for them.
“I have my sources, you know,” Muff said. “Tommie told me you don’t have a thing to do with the boys at school. I asked her on account of how I seen you go off places in your head when you’re washing up or doing chores. Didn’t do that so much when y’all first came, see. But of course, some loves take time to blossom. I’ve been figuring on it for a while. Now I get why you ignore Gilbert Harris at church even when it’s plain he’d like you for his girl.” She picked a few stray peelings off of her apron and began quartering the potatoes. “You know, he’s a good man. Just a little confused sometimes.”
“Gilbert?” Naomi said cautiously, feeling her way along, trying to get a hold of this conversation.
“Don’t be silly,” Muff said. “Not Gilbert. Him. Maybe you’re all sly and shy ’cause you think he don’t feel the same. Or maybe you worry that folks would disapprove, but I don’t think they would, not if you two was married. Sooner might be better, considering. That’s what Pastor thinks, and you know that his opinion holds some weight.”
Naomi heard each word without understanding. It was like those first few years in school when everything came too fast and she could not always gather the English words into sense.
“I don’t know who you mean,” she said.
“Henry, of course.” Muff nudged her with an elbow. “Who else would we be talking about?”
“You think, you think I’m in love with my stepfather?” Naomi had to force the words out.
“No blood relation, and y’all hardly knew each other before now. Don’t be shamed. I was young once, too, you know. You live near a handsome man, you have certain thoughts. Pretty much any unmarried gal in New London would think she was lucky to be in your shoes.”
“He was married to my mother. He’s the twins’ father!”
Out of Darkness (Fiction - Young Adult) Page 19
