by Cheryl Reid
“Put her on Marina’s bed.” I walked unsteadily across the room. The drink had gone to my legs.
“I should take her home,” Lila said.
“Stay here. It’s late.” I did not want to be alone. “Unless you’re afraid to stay here.”
“I’m not afraid of those people.” Softly she gathered the girl, and her muscled arms flexed as she lifted.
I believed her.
Sophie’s head rolled on Lila’s shoulder. Her mouth fell open. “Help me with her shoes,” Lila whispered.
My knees were numb from the liquor, so I sat and unlaced the tight knot of the black ribbon. The shoes slipped off, and the smell of her warm, sweaty feet drifted up.
“That is how those shoes come off after every dance lesson.” A smile lingered on Lila’s lips. She had forgotten my troubles, so taken with the beauty of the still child. “We’ll stay. I’ll call Gus after I lay her down.” She climbed the stairs.
When Lila returned to the kitchen, she poured more whiskey, this time without the ice or Coke. “We’ll hide the money. The last thing you need is somebody walking off with it. There will be Ivie and Nelly here and a house full of people.” Lila had grown up hand to mouth and she trusted no one.
“Put it over the icebox.” I stood and my head spun. “In plain sight, isn’t that the best place to hide something?” I tossed the bag on top of the refrigerator. My father’s money, enough to buy a house, to start a business, enough to live on for a long while.
Lila raised her eyebrows, a smirk on her face.
“I won’t need his money.” The whiskey gave me false bravery. Also, I had the money from the store hidden in the trunk, but I did not want to confess I had taken it. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I need to call Gus and tell him we’re here.” She took a drink from her glass and strode across the kitchen. She dialed the phone.
“Hello.” She spoke low into the receiver. “I’m at your sister’s.” She wound the cord around her hand. “Good, considering.” She looked at me and stepped through the doorway into the hall. She stretched the cord its full length.
I busied myself putting Lila’s food in the refrigerator.
“Yeah,” she said. “I know.” She paused to listen. “You did?” She stepped back into the kitchen, slipped off her sneakers, and rubbed a foot with the other. “Well, I know.” A few deep breaths later, she said, “We’re fine here . . . Sophie’s asleep . . . No, no, stay there . . . Okay. I’ll tell her.” She hung the receiver in the cradle.
“What did Gus say?” I asked.
“Gus and your father went to get Eli, but Eli and Washington were gone. They left together.”
“Where did they go?”
“Gus thinks they drove to the seminary.”
I imagined Eli driving and the hum of the highway beneath his tires. I wondered what he and Mr. Washington would say to each other, and I marveled at Eli’s bravery, his willingness to put himself in the middle of another man’s problems. I had not helped Mr. Washington for only noble purposes. Part of me did it to anger Elias and those who had always looked down on me and treated me like an outsider my whole life. I had helped him because he was Thea’s son, not because he was a man created equal. But Eli had come to Mr. Washington’s aid simply because Eli knew what was right. I was proud of my son’s conviction, but I was still afraid for him and myself. “What if the people looking for Washington come here for Eli or me?”
“They won’t come here.” Lila sounded certain.
“They’re liable to come here and burn a cross.” It would scare me, if they did that.
“I’ve got a pistol in my truck says they won’t burn shit.” She took the whiskey bottle by the neck.
I turned off the kitchen light and followed her outside. She was barefoot and the soles of her feet flashed white in the dark, one step after the other. Her shoulders and hips moved with a swagger. The whiskey had loosened her. I took note of her stride. I would have to walk with confidence like that, in front of Nelly, Ivie, my daughter, down the aisle of the church where I was baptized, confirmed, and married, only this next time, for Elias’s funeral Mass.
A small sip of drink moved down my throat and it felt as if a match had been struck inside me.
Lila strode across the grass to the driver’s side. The door slammed and she came back, gun in her hand. “We’ll be safe and sound.”
The rain had cooled the night air. The river frogs chirped and groaned. The ever-present noise of the cicadas vibrated my ears. The clouds were gone, except for some wispy trails, and a sliver of moon hung bright. The smell of rain reminded me of fall and of the geese soon to land and make their home for the winter. I wondered if I would be here to see them.
Verna’s porch light flickered on and then off. She was watching my coming and going.
Lila spoke low. “Your father told Gus you’re leaving town.” She emptied her glass. “‘Going on a long vacation,’ that’s what he said.”
The words made me drink mine down. I gagged at the bitter taste.
“Gus thinks you can go and things will settle down. Then you come back.” She refilled her glass higher than before.
“He said that?” The whiskey had numbed the pain in my hand.
“He’s angry,” she replied. “He said this is some crazy business with you and Eli and that mailman.”
“Is he angry at Papa or me?”
“Hard to say.” Lila poured another inch into my glass. “Both, probably.”
With each sip, I felt more off balance. I thought Gus might take my side. He had known Orlando Washington his whole life. Gus had served Negroes, first in Papa’s store and then on his route. He had relationships with individuals and knew families and their hopes, but he saw himself in a higher position. Papa had taught him to be humble and gracious, always defer to the customers, no matter the color of their skin. It was the way to build trust and profit, and Gus was hospitable by nature, always happy, welcoming. He moved easily among whites and blacks, but Gus was no crusader. He would not go to a lynching, but he would not sit vigil for Orlando Washington either. If he thought my honor was at stake, he’d protect me—he’d blame Orlando Washington or Ivie or whoever wanted to hurt me. The whiskey made my thoughts swirl like a stick caught in an eddy.
Lila stared at me. “I told you when this started, that it would turn out bad,” she said. I felt uneasy under her gaze, but then I realized the whiskey was affecting her too.
“I’ve had enough,” I blurted out. “I’ll tell them what I think.” I stood as if there was somewhere to go.
Lila’s eyes followed me like a cat watching a bird. “You’re going nowhere.” She waved her hand, dismissing the idea. “Your father is asleep. Nelly is too.”
I stumbled toward the door, aiming to get my car keys. I tripped and hit the stone porch with my cut hand. The blood flowed and wet the bandage. Lila walked over and held out a hand. I looked up at her from the cool stone floor, comforting after the heat of the day.
“I am so filthy.” I was disgusting, still in the stained dress, no stockings. “Do you know what Marina did?”
She drained her glass. “What?”
I took her hand and got to my knees. “She’s having Mitsy’s shop send over summer suits with sleeves. She thinks I don’t know what to wear to the funeral and she doesn’t even know about the marks her father gave me, or that I need to cover them up.”
“Why don’t you show her?” Lila pulled me up.
“I’m afraid she’ll blame me.” Seeing the bruises might change her mind, but Marina could dismiss them as easily as she had dismissed her father’s misdeeds against Mr. Washington. Marina saw me as the troublemaker, the petulant child, and her father was the keeper of order. He had been expert at hiding his brutality.
“You’ve risked everything for nothing.” Lila’s tone was unforgiving.
“Lila,” I said. I let go of her grip. “People did not want Papa on their front porch when he first came. He talked
funny and looked different. He’s Catholic. Not even coloreds were sure about him or what he was.” I thought she should understand, after what my father put her through—threatening to take Sophie, treating her as if she did not belong because she wasn’t Catholic or Lebanese, or because long ago as a teenager she ran off with that guitar player. “What about you? You married one of us and we are strange to folks.”
“That’s different,” Lila said. She came from poor whites, and she did not look down on Gus or me, unlike the people who claimed to be descended from nobles—people whose families had held slaves and big land. She rationalized loving Gus, because he looked like a picture of Jesus, but she saw herself above Orlando Washington.
“You don’t know.” My words slurred as they left my mouth. “You couldn’t know. You’re so pretty and strong.”
“Whether I belong or you belong, that’s not the problem now.” She spoke forcefully. “If Nelly says he was in this house, people will believe you messed with him.” She leaned on the porch rail and took another drink, this time straight from the bottle. “And if she starts whispering that you had something to do with Elias, people will get suspicious.”
The conversation would be the same with Marina. Worse. My ribs squeezed tight around my heart. I knew in my gut, Nelly would not keep it from her. Nelly suspected I’d done harm to her son and she would not stop until she punished me.
“Anna, you know better.” Her voice was harsh. “If it gets out he was in the house with you, whether or not you did anything, your father or Gus is as likely to have him arrested to save face.”
The words sent a chill down my spine. I had not expected Papa or Gus to take action, but I had not taken into account what was at stake for them. My stomach turned to think I might have to leave.
She looked me square on. “You should say you were wrong to let him deliver your mail.” She lit a cigarette. All the clouds had blown away. The sky was littered with stars. “Say he came in against your will. Say you had to defend yourself.”
“No,” I said. “That would be cruel.” Saying that was tantamount to murder.
She let go of my arm. “What’s cruel is giving him hope.” She was agitated, as if my standing up for him was beyond all reason. “He should stay gone.”
“He took that job for a reason.” I stared at the sliver of moon and my eyes watered. She did not understand. “He won’t run from it.”
“He already has.” She sat back in her rocker and it creaked.
My throat ached. I could make out the Big Dipper and Orion’s Belt. The stars were brighter with the waning moon. My mother and I had sat, both of us wrapped in a quilt, looking up at the stars, and she whispered how they had been her comfort on the voyage to America.
“You are asking for trouble.” Lila chastised me the way she would Sophie.
I had wanted trouble for Elias, not Mr. Washington.
“The way I see it, you have to lie if you want to hold that grandbaby.” She poured another glass for herself.
“That would be murder.” I walked down the porch steps into the damp grass in my bare feet. I stepped over the fallen limbs. Stars peeked through the crown of the tree. Less than twenty-four hours before, I had stood at my window looking down into the branches, thinking to climb out my window and into the tree, to get away from him. I took a deep breath. I was drunk. “You don’t know how I’ve lived with Elias.”
“I reckon I do.” Her words slurred. She leaned forward in her chair and the rocker squeaked. “You can live with us.”
She came into the grass. She tossed a limb out of her path. When she got to me, she put her arm around my shoulder. I leaned on her. “I’m no good to live with anyone,” I said.
“Probably not,” she said.
“You know that day I came to you with the letter.” The cicadas droned. “Gus came out as I was leaving. I was happy for the two of you, but I was jealous too. I wanted someone to love me the way Gus loved you.”
A whippoorwill called out and another answered. “You were reading Papa’s letter and you looked like you were about to lose everything. That’s how I feel now. I looked at you, and for a minute I felt glad, because misery loves company. But then I saw what it said and I couldn’t catch my breath and then I looked at you and I was ashamed how I treated you.”
“It’s okay now.” Lila balanced against the tree. She lit another cigarette.
“You have everything.” I held her arm to keep myself upright. “I’m glad Gus has you.”
“You had a long day,” she said.
“When I drove home from your parents’ farm, there was a full moon. The brightest I ever saw, shining on the fields, bright and clear like day. I could see the green in the fields, the moon was so bright and low. I felt hopeful. My brother had you and together you had Sophie. I came into town and the moon gleamed off the water. I wanted to drive away and I did. I crossed the bridge. I thought I could leave Marina and Eli. They were old enough to take care of themselves. I was almost to Birmingham before I lost my nerve and turned around.”
“Anna,” she said. “You’re tired.”
“I got home and Elias was drunk here on the porch waiting for me. He yelled at me for running Papa’s errands. He cussed you. He dragged me upstairs by my hair and shut my door and hit me with his belt. I did not cry out or fight him off. They were sleeping down the hall and I did not want to wake them because they had school.” I felt sick from the drink and the memory. “How could they not have heard him?”
“He was a bastard.” She hugged me. “A goddamn bastard.”
“He stopped slinging his belt, and he said, ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so terrible to you.’ And then he started undoing my clothes and then he laid me down. That’s how lonely I was for someone to touch me, that I’d take his hate if it meant I wasn’t alone. I could smell Sophie’s baby powder where I had held her, and he smelled of cloves and whiskey. I had wanted him to love me.” My throat squeezed tight.
“Shit,” she said.
The whiskey had loosened my tongue, and words poured out. “The next morning I got up and started the baking and made the kids’ lunches. They came down and they looked sullen and tired like teenagers do, and I thought, ‘They did not hear it.’ They slept so sound. Then Marina put her head on my shoulder and it was not like her to show any affection, least of all in the morning.” My eyes burned. “Elias breezed in and he kissed her head and then mine. And I thought I did the right thing to come home, because at least I had her and Eli.”
The sounds of the night—the birds, the tree frogs, the cicadas—soothed the rough feeling in my chest. “I should just go now. Save everyone the trouble.”
“You had too much to drink,” Lila said.
“I have the money to go.”
“Let’s get you to bed.” Lila tugged at my shoulder and we balanced each other as we climbed the porch stairs.
“Look at those goddamn roses she bought.” I pointed to the white wreath. “Must be thirty heads on that.” It bespoke how Marina loved him. “She shooed me out of her house. Ashamed for Michael to see me.”
“She shouldn’t have done that,” Lila said. “Come on.” I slowed the shutting of the screen door, so as not to disturb the wreath or wake Sophie. We stood in the living room, looked over the rows of chairs. She said, “Tomorrow will be hard.”
Using the wall as my guide, I staggered down the hall. Lila walked behind me, in case I might fall, in case I might lie down on the hard, wooden floor.
“After you rest, we’ll figure this out.” Her voice sounded like a mother’s, gentle, like she was talking to Sophie. Her fingers touched the small of my back, guiding me, prodding me up the stairs.
“Okay.” I sat on the edge of my bed. My bare, dirty feet hung off the edge of the mattress. I smelled my sweat and the blood. I never went to bed dirty. The room spun. His room was empty. There was some comfort in that. Maybe I could rest like Lila said, and then in the morning, things would be better.
&nbs
p; She brushed the hair back from my face. Her touch soothed me. “You need to sleep.”
I undid the buttons of my dress and felt the air move against my skin. I would have to face Marina tomorrow.
Lila left the room and returned with a cool rag. “Here’s a compress for your head.” She placed it above my eyes.
“What will I say to Marina?” I was sad to think she knew what her father did to Mr. Washington, that she could condone it, that she felt so superior to Mr. Washington, to me.
When Lila heard Marina’s name, she stiffened. Lila did not like how snooty she could be, how she never stood up to her father. Lila moved away from the edge of the bed, took a few steps to the doorway. “I’m not sure,” she said. “It will be hard for her.”
“What part, me leaving or me staying?” I was drunk. I had never been drunk. My body gave in to the soft bed. The starlight sent shadows of the slender, pointed pecan leaves across my walls.
In a small, tight voice, she said, “You’ll cross that bridge when you get to it.” She stood outside my bedroom door to get her bearings, then walked down the hallway toward Marina’s room, where Sophie slept. The vibrations of her steps traveled through the floor to the bed to my body.
Bridges, burning bridges, crossing bridges. The Riverton Bridge appeared in my mind’s eye. There had been a ceremony when I was a child to open the new bridge for traffic. Before, there had been the ferries and the railroad bridge. The whole town came, white and black, two separate, unmingling groups, to see an actual cat let out of a bag, the superstition being that if it crossed without harm, the bridge was safe. A fat tabby tumbled out of a burlap sack, and when it saw the crowd, it ran south across the bridge. The people followed. The cat paused, looked back, and ran, scared for its life. I walked across with one hand in my father’s and the other in Mama’s.
I wondered if I would cross the Riverton Bridge in the days to come. I wondered where I might go, if I had to. I had stood in front of the train schedule after Zada left. I had wanted to go to the far edge of the continent to a small town where no one would know me. Somewhere near Seattle or New York or Los Angeles. As far as I could go. I could say my husband died in an accident, and it would be as good as true. Elias would never find me or even lift a finger to look for me. I could raise the baby alone, maybe better without him.
