by Irene Latham
Just as I was turning the corner of the cabin, I heard a door slam shut and something yellow caught my eye. When you like to quilt, it’s like your eyes is always on the lookout for color. Because it might be a scrap of cloth you can work into your quilt top. The yellow I saw that day was more than a scrap of cloth. It was a whole dress! And it was on a girl that was sitting on the porch steps of the Pettways’ cabin next door.
Nobody had to tell me who it was. I knew right away.
Girl in the Yellow Dress
“ETTA MAE!” I SAID, DROPPING THE BUCKET IN THE dirt and running toward her. “I didn’t know you was back!”
It was like the sky had opened up and poured sunshine out of a honey jar. Etta Mae Pettway was just about my favorite person in the whole wide world. At least she used to be, before she went to work a job in Mobile.
“Just now got here,” Etta Mae said, her face hidden in the shadow of the front porch. “Missed the last ferry yesterday from Camden, so I had to wait for Willie Joe to cross over this morning.”
The ferry was the quickest way in or out of Gee’s Bend. Otherwise you had to walk up through Rehoboth and around about forty miles to get anyplace. And Willie Joe was the one that worked the ferry. Wasn’t no getting across without Willie Joe’s help.
“Where’d you sleep?” I said as I climbed the steps of the Pettways’ cabin.
“On the riverbank in a pile of pinestraw. Same as you and me always did.”
I grinned as my mind went back through all the sticky summer days me and Etta Mae waited on the riverbank while our mamas crossed the river to sell blackberries in Camden. Etta Mae was the one that watched after me and all the other children while our folks worked the fields.
Was I glad to see her! Ever since I was a little child, it was Etta Mae that helped me when I got myself into trouble. Like the time I stepped on a fire ant bed and got bites all over my legs. Anytime I got a fever or a rash of poison ivy, it was Etta Mae that stayed with me and rubbed mud on my itchy spots. She told me stories too. About things that happened in far-off places where there was deserts or snow or mountains so tall it took days to climb ’em.
Seemed like things hadn’t been right ever since she’d been gone. Wasn’t nobody else who’d take the time with things the way Etta Mae did. When she went off to Mobile to look after some white family’s children, I wasn’t sure she’d ever come back. And now here she was, standing right in front of me, like she ain’t never left.
She looked just the same except for the dress. I ain’t never seen Etta Mae in anything other than a plain old sack dress just like mine. That yellow cloth sure wasn’t made out of no fertilizer sack, that’s for sure. I liked the way it set off her dark skin. I wanted to run and throw my arms around her same way as I always did, and tug at her hair that was caught up in them short braids she liked, the ones that always reminded me of blackberry brambles. But my legs just wouldn’t move. Not when Etta Mae wasn’t running toward me neither.
Hadn’t been but a year since she left. What in the world could have happened to make her hang back in the shadows that way? Why wasn’t she running out in the yard to be with me?
The air was suddenly cool again and nipped at my arms. I sank into my dress, wishing it had longer sleeves.
“Mercy, Ludelphia,” Etta Mae said, finally coming out from under the eaves of the cabin. “You done shot up tall as a cattail since I’ve been gone.” She wasn’t telling me nothing I didn’t already know. But I sure was glad she noticed! Maybe now she would throw her arms around me?
I leaned forward ever so slightly, but she still didn’t reach her hands out. Set ’em right on her hips instead. Then she sat down on the top step and patted the seat next to her. “Might not have known you if not for that eye patch.”
Real quick I scrambled up the steps. At least she was inviting me to sit with her. Our eyes met for just the briefest second before Etta Mae turned away. It was like she didn’t know what to say to me. She seemed worried about something, nervous. And that made all them words I had stored up to say to her just disappear.
I smoothed my dress under my legs and sat down beside her. I couldn’t count the times me and Etta Mae had sat beside each other on this very same step. I reckon I’d spent more time in my life with Etta Mae than with my very own brother, even though she and Ruben was the exact same age. Both of ’em, sixteen.
That’s the way it was in Gee’s Bend, the boys and men out working them fields, and most all of the women too. Ever since Etta Mae had been gone, I’d been the one to look after the little ones.
My mind was empty as a plate that had been licked clean. I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I scratched under my eye patch, then reached up and felt my own hair. Mine was caught up in tight braids real close to my head.
My eye settled on Etta Mae’s hands. How many times had them thick knuckles braided my hair for me? Her hands was big, same as the rest of her. Not fat, but able to do anything. Seemed like wasn’t nothing bad could happen when Etta Mae was around.
Underneath her hands the yellow cloth shined. Right away I started thinking about my quilt. What I would give for a piece of cloth like that! Etta Mae must have worked real hard to get such a fancy dress.
“You get that dress in Mobile?” I said, my hands folded together in my lap, when what I really wanted was to touch it and see if it was soft as it looked. But I didn’t dare.
Etta Mae rested her hands on her knees. “You ain’t heard what happened?” She looked me straight on for the first time, her forehead wrinkling from the top of her eyebrows all the way to where her hair started. “Aunt Doshie ain’t been ’round talking about what Mrs. Cobb told Willie Joe?”
I shook my head. What could have happened in Mobile? “Aunt Doshie was here just yesterday, checking up on Mama. But I didn’t hear her say nothing about you or Mrs. Cobb.”
“You sure?” Etta Mae stood up and started walking across the yard toward my cabin. “Willie Joe said the only reason he was carrying me back over the river was because he’d told Aunt Doshie all about it, and he knew she’d warn folks about me.”
Warn folks? About what? I didn’t know what on earth Etta Mae was talking about. As I followed her the few dozen steps between her cabin and mine, my mind flipped but still turned up nothing.
When we got to the front porch stairs, Etta Mae squatted down and pointed underneath. “See that?” she said.
I tilted my head and strained my eye till I could see a dusting of white powder all over the ground. Wasn’t no mystery to me what it was. It was devil’s lye. For warding off evil spirits.
“You know how my mama is,” I said. I made my voice light, like me and Etta Mae was just playing around same as we used to do. “She says it’s best to be prepared. ‘You just never know’ is what she says. You remember, Etta Mae. Mama even keeps a flour sifter up under the mattress. Just in case some evil spirit gets in the house it’ll be so busy counting them holes in the sifter that it’ll plumb forget its business.”
“I’m telling you, Lu. That devil’s lye ain’t there just for some old evil spirit.”
What was Etta Mae getting at? “What do you mean?” I said. Wasn’t nothing new about superstitions in Gee’s Bend. Most times we just laughed when Aunt Doshie would start up about “witch’s corners” and how the dirt from the graveyard was bad luck. One time Etta Mae took all us children out to see the headstones and we loaded our pockets with that dirt. Ain’t nothing bad ever happened.
When Etta Mae turned toward me, her dark eyes was bright and wet. Was that tears? There wasn’t a time I could remember when I’d ever seen Etta Mae cry.
“Etta Mae?”
She sniffled and wiped her eyes with her fingers. “Ain’t nothing,” she said. “I’m just glad to be back in Gee’s Bend where there ain’t so much noise and confusion. Don’t reckon I’ll ever leave this place again.”
“You trying to tell me you missed this place?” I fingered the ragged hem of my sack dress, then reached out
and ran my finger along the smooth edge of Etta Mae’s dress. “Where things is the same day after day, and there ain’t no such thing as fancy clothes?”
Etta Mae’s lips spread into a smile and a little laugh came out.
There was the Etta Mae I knew and loved. There was the face I remembered.
“Ain’t but one thing I’m gonna miss about Mobile. And it’s got nothing to do with dresses.”
I leaned back on my elbows so I could watch her as she talked. “What then?”
“The missus, she had a piano. You should have seen it, Lu! The outside golden brown, like maple wood, only shiny? And them keys was so in tune it was like angels singing. Not like Reverend Irvin’s broken-down church piano at all.”
“Did you play it for the children? Same as you always done for me?”
“Sure did. It was just about the only way to get that baby to sleep. Me playing that piano.”
The smile faded and Etta Mae took a step back. “Ludelphia, I got to tell you something.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, then placed her hands on my shoulders like she wanted me to listen and she wanted me to listen good. “Bad things happened when I was in Mobile. Real bad things.”
I held my breath. When my voice came, it was like a whisper. “What bad things?” It was like part of me wanted to hear what Etta Mae was about to say, but part of me didn’t.
Just as she was opening her mouth to talk, Mama started up coughing from inside the cabin. One cough came right on top of the other, rough as Daddy’s work britches against the washboard. Then there was a thump and the clatter of dishes hitting wood.
“Mama?” I said as I raced up the steps and into the cabin. I could hear Etta Mae following right behind me.
First thing I saw when I opened that door was Mama in a pile beside the kitchen table. She groaned, then let her head drop to the floor and didn’t even try to get up.
Something Ain’t Right
SOON AS I GOT TO MAMA, I CROUCHED DOWN BESIDE her. There was thick spit coming out the corner of Mama’s mouth and a wet spot spreading along the floorboards next to her legs. Mama was leaking from both ends!
“Ludelphia,” she said, her voice raw and broken, “I think it’s the baby.”
I touched Mama’s forehead with the back of my hand as she closed her eyes and started to moan. The top of her nose was dotted with beads of sweat.
“It’s too early,” Mama said, squeezing her eyes shut. She didn’t say it, but I knew she was thinking about them other babies.
“But your belly is a lot bigger this time, Mama.”
Mama groaned. “Don’t matter. It’s still too soon.”
It was like she had already given up. Like she expected the same thing to happen this time as before.
“But Mama. . . .” What she was forgetting was me. Me and Ruben. We’d come along just fine. Wasn’t no reason this baby couldn’t come along just fine too.
Etta Mae squatted beside me. “It’s the baby coming, all right,” she said, pointing to the wet floorboards. Now it was dripping through the slats onto the feathers and bits of cotton the chickens slept on at night. “Probably that mean cough is what brought it on. I seen this very thing happen when I was in Mobile.”
Mama’s eyes rolled under her lids the way they do sometimes when you’re dreaming. Then all of a sudden they popped wide open. “Get on with you, Etta Mae!” Mama waved her arms in the air like Etta Mae was a fly that needed swatting. “Don’t need your help. Just need Ludelphia.”
I locked my eye on Etta Mae but didn’t say a word.
So it was true. The devil’s lye was set out for Etta Mae. Whatever those bad things were that happened in Mobile, Aunt Doshie had already spread the word. And now my mama was so scared she was sending away the very person who could help her.
Now what was I supposed to do?
As Etta Mae eased toward the door, Mama worked to get her feet up under her. But each time she got about halfway up, she’d sink back down again. Etta Mae and me looked at each other, our eyes wide. Why was Mama so weak?
“Don’t go,” I mouthed to Etta Mae, then watched as she slipped outside the screened door. Wasn’t no sound of footsteps on the porch, so I knew she was staying close. I turned my attention back to Mama and tried to make my voice sound like Daddy’s. “It’s okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.”
One more time Mama tried to lift herself. When she fell back, she landed crooked. Her eyes popped open as she hit and there was a crunching sound.
“The eggs!” she said, her voice cracking. She dipped her hand into the pocket of her apron. When she pulled out her fingers, they was dripping with egg yolk. “Every one of ’em broken!”
Broken eggs meant no corn bread for supper. Broken eggs meant waking up in the middle of the night with a grumbly belly. I felt my shoulders slump. I should have collected them eggs myself. Instead of planning my quilt and worrying about my eye patch, I should have been helping my mama.
I blinked back tears. “It’s okay, Mama.” I reached around her back to untie the apron strings. “Don’t you worry about them eggs.” Because we got bigger things to worry about, is what I wanted to say. But wasn’t no need to say such a thing. Mama was the one with weak legs and a cough and a baby ready to come out. Wasn’t much of nothing I could tell Mama that she didn’t already know.
Even though I knew Etta Mae was just out there on the porch, I ain’t never felt so alone as I did right then. Didn’t take but a few big steps to cross from one side of the cabin to the other, but did it ever feel empty with Mama stuck there on the floor.
I fingered the needle and scraps in my pocket. Mama always said wasn’t but one way to do things, and that was one stitch at a time.
First I had to get them drippy eggs out of Mama’s apron. As I scooped the yolks and whites into a wooden bowl, I imagined tearing Mama’s calico apron into strips and laying ’em out to be the edges of the quilt I was making for Mama. All them reds and browns and greens would liven it right up.
When I was done with the eggs, I threw open the shutters to let some good light into the room. Then I hooked my arms under Mama’s armpits. “Come on, Mama,” I said as I pulled her toward the cornshuck pallet that was hers and Daddy’s. Mama lifted her body some and groaned as she settled onto the bed. Then her breathing started coming fast and noisy and I knew from the times before that she was having birthing pains.
I grabbed her hands, even though mine was shaking. “I’m right here, Mama.” But what good was that? I didn’t have no idea what to do next.
As Mama’s legs stiffened and she clenched her fists, I told myself that this is how it’s supposed to happen. Ain’t no way to get a baby out without pain. So I just kept talking to her, mumbling “it’s okay, Mama, don’t you worry” over and over again until the sounds joined together and it was like singing a song.
Only Mama wasn’t singing. She didn’t talk at all no more, and her breath only came in sharp bursts.
Then everything changed. Mama’s legs got limp and her breathing slowed down. I knew from before it wouldn’t be long before the pains came again. What I needed to do now was focus. Just fix my mind on something so I could start thinking straight. So I looked around the log walls of the cabin that was plastered with pieces of newspaper Daddy brought back with him from Camden. The Wilcox Progressive Era, it was called, on account we lived in Wilcox County, Alabama.
Wasn’t enough paper to cover all the cracks in them walls, but I got to tell you, every little bit helped to cut down on the wind that liked to creep in when you was least expecting it. Daddy said soon as there was a little extra money, he’d bring us home some more newspaper so we’d have something new to look at.
My favorite picture was the one just behind Mama’s head. It was an ad for “LADIES COATS As Low As $1.95” at W. E. Cook’s Department Store in Camden. The lady in the picture was tall, and she was wearing high-heeled shoes. Wasn’t hardly nobody in Gee’s Bend that had shoes at all, much less ones fancy as
that.
And that coat. I ain’t never seen nothing like it, not in Gee’s Bend. It was some sort of fur that went from the lady’s neck all the way to her ankles. Could be rabbit or fox, Daddy said.
“Ludelphia!”
I jerked my eye away from the wall. Mama’s face was scrunched up just like a rotten chestnut. She grabbed her belly and started to pant like a yard dog after it’s been chasing a squirrel.
The pains was getting worse. I wrapped my arms around my middle and squeezed ’em tight against my dress. I ain’t ready for this, is what I wanted to say. My throat tightened and my lips was trembling. Slowly I began to take tiny steps backward.
I had to get help from someplace. If only Mama wanted Etta Mae! She was right there on our porch ready to help.
Wasn’t no getting Daddy and Ruben or the Pettways, not with them cotton fields a good two miles away. Looked like the baby was coming too fast for that. The Reverend Irvin and Mrs. Irvin? They’d sure come if I asked ’em to, but wasn’t no telling where they might be. If only I knew whether they was at the church or someplace else. Wasn’t no telling how long it might take me to find ’em.
I scratched up under my eye patch. That left only one person. Not a real doctor, but the closest thing we had in Gee’s Bend.
“Mama, I’ll be right back. I’m just gonna run fetch Aunt Doshie.” Even though I didn’t really want to. Aunt Doshie was the one that came with her potions them other times when the babies died. Her potions that seemed about as worthless as the visions she was always going on about.
Mama grabbed my arm. “Ain’t no time for that. Ain’t got nothing to pay her with, nohow.” I glanced over at Mama’s apron. For a short second I was glad about the broken eggs. I was glad there wasn’t no time and nothing to pay Aunt Doshie with.
“Then, Mama, we ain’t got no choice. I’m bringing in Etta Mae.”
“Ain’t having no witch in my house, Ludelphia!”
Witch? I stomped my foot in frustration. “Mama! It’s just Etta Mae!” Now was not the time to be taking Aunt Doshie’s rumors for truth.
