She sits in the front room with all the lamps lit. Feen thinks Toby won’t do nothin’ in the front room with the lamps on. She’s smart, Feen is. Thing is, Toby ain’t dumb.
That’s all right. Marey Lee Boylen ain’t dumb, neither. This so-called uncle Toby keep messing with us, he’s gonna find out a thing or two about just how dumb it is to think he can walk in here and take what he wants.
He’s back, but now I’m ready for him.
4.
now
“You didn’t tell your mother?” I blurt the question before I stop to think about it. Mare’s story has made the hairs on my arms prickle.
“Sometimes folks don’t want to hear things,” she says shortly. “You can talk till you’re blue in the face, but if you’re not talking to the right person, it won’t do you any good.”
I think about this for a while, chewing the inside of my lip. If Dad died, no way would Mom not want to hear if some guy was bothering us. No way would any adult I told not believe me and help me. I look out the window and change the subject.
“You started working for Miss Ida when you were fifteen? Full-time? How come?”
Mare makes a face and pushes up her sunglasses. “Lot of girls my age had to work,” she says. “Haven’t you ever heard of the Great Depression? Mama needed an extra pair of hands to make ends meet. We needed every cent we had to pay the mortgage, and with the farm and all, we were better off than most. Folks did what they could those days to keep food on the table—”
“You couldn’t have been that poor,” Tali interrupts. “Dad always says we don’t have any money, but we always do. It’s just he doesn’t want to buy me a car.”
Mare glowers. “A girl your age ought to have had two jobs by now. What makes you think your daddy’s got to buy you a car anyway? Why don’t you get a job and buy it yourself?”
“I would,” Tali says coolly, “but I can’t work since I’m spending my summer with you. And anyway, I’m getting good grades, so I can qualify for scholarships. Mom and Dad promised they’d help with either college or a car, and I need a car.”
Mare clicks her tongue in disgust. “You ‘need’ a car. You don’t know what need is, Miss Tali.”
My sister mutters something under her breath and looks out the window. I know what Mare thinks of us. I guess I never considered it, but I do have my own computer and my own room. Not only did Mare have to share a room with her sister, but when they were really little, they shared a bed.
Maybe Tali and I are spoiled.
Mare looks over at me. “And do you need a car?”
I bite my lip. I know the answer she wants me to give. “I don’t have a license,” I say finally.
“And you don’t need one, either,” Mare says with a kind of grim satisfaction. “You girls are too young to be riding around in anyone’s cars. I know what kids get up to in the backseat.”
“Mare!” Tali winces. “Eew.”
“I don’t even have a boyfriend,” I protest.
Mare just shakes her head and continues poking along up the highway.
It’s quiet for the next few miles, then Mare props her arm against the door and rubs her head like she has a headache brewing. A little pleat forms between her brows. “Octavia, get me another piece of gum, will you?” she asks.
I dig into the menthol-scented depths of her purse. I push aside her hoard of red and white mints, her bottle of mouth spray, her plastic-wrapped pack of cigarettes, and her reading glasses until I find what I am looking for. I take a piece of gum for myself as well and tilt the package in Tali’s direction, but she waves it away.
Mare and I chew in silence for a while, me thinking and Mare creeping up the highway behind a truck belching exhaust and filled with cows. I can’t keep my mind off of Mare’s story. What she told us about Toby bothers me—a lot. I would have hated to work for somebody like Miss Ida, every day, just to have money for a farm mortgage and food, stuff that wasn’t for me. I can’t imagine Tali trying to protect me from somebody all by herself—or that she’d even try, knowing how she hates me these days. I don’t know how Mare could do it.
Tali sighs loudly and slides down in the backseat. She isn’t used to going so long without being able to shut out the sound of other people’s conversations. She faked like she wasn’t listening to Mare’s story, but I know she was; she just thinks she’s too cool to show it. Now she’s flopping around in the seat like a hooked fish.
“Mare. If you told me where exactly we were going, I could just drive there. Do you want me to drive?” Tali asks suddenly.
“What?” Mare sounds far away.
“Tali,” I hiss, twisting around in my seat. Her rudeness embarrasses me.
Ever since she started talking about the old days, Mare’s been slowing down. First she just changed lanes so people could pass her, but now she’s driving so slowly we’re getting passed by trucks. Eighteen-wheelers. We’re the slowest car in the slow lane.
At first, I thought it was because she and Tali were messing with the radio and she’d slowed down to argue over music—Mare thinks anything that isn’t Ray Charles, Dinah Washington, Muddy Waters, or Fats Waller is playing fast and loose with the airwaves. But even after they settled on listening to one of Tali’s music choices to two of Mare’s, her driving still didn’t speed up. The thing is, I think talking about the olden days bothers Mare. You’d think Tali would catch a clue.
“I said, do you want me to drive?” Tali glares back at me. “It’s been four hours, Mare. Dad said I should do half the driving, so I think I should drive now. We can switch off later or something.”
On I-5, the only thing in the slow lane other than us is huge RVs and trucks full of cows. It reeks, and there’s hay and dust flying around everywhere. Right now I feel like I can walk faster than Mare is driving. I would walk, too, if it didn’t stink so bad, but Mare driving slow while she’s thinking is better than Mare driving fast any day. At least I think so.
“Why would I want you to drive?” Mare asks thoughtfully, as if she’s just come back from someplace far away.
“Because …” Tali exhales an explosive breath and shakes her head. “Just … because.”
Mare laughs, a guttural, machine-gun chuckle that makes me nervous. “Going too slow for you, Miss Lady?”
“Well, yeah,” Tali erupts, and throws up her hands. “I’m sorry, Mare, but old people are passing and waving at me. I mean, do we have to be the slowest people on the whole freeway? At this rate, we’re going to be in this car for days—”
“You’re not going that slow,” I interrupt, trying to soften the blow. “Tali’s supposed to drive if you’re tired, but if you’re not tired …”
“I tell you what, Miss Thing, why don’t you let me get from behind this truck, and I’ll pick up the pace. Can’t let any ‘old people’ get ahead of you now, can we.” The car’s engine whines as my grandmother’s foot pushes toward the floor. “I told your daddy I’d listen to you girls about my driving, and I will. I surely will.”
“Mare—” I begin.
Suddenly we’re around the truck and diving into the next lane. Without signaling, Mare crosses two more lanes of traffic and cuts off a pickup truck. Tali yelps.
What’s she whimpering for? I’m in the front seat, watching cars scatter and the man in the pickup gesture with his middle finger. I push up my sunglasses and slide down in my seat. My crazy grandmother is going to get us killed.
“Next stop, you ride shotgun, Tal.”
“No way!”
Mare laughs, that machine-gun cackle again, and I grab on to the edge of my seat.
My grandmother took on a grown man twice her size to protect her sister. I have a feeling she could do it still, even today, if she had to. I watch as Mare expertly weaves in and out of traffic, feeling my stomach churn each time she changes lanes. She catches my eye and winks.
“Watch and learn, Octavia.” She grins. “Watch and learn.”
5.
then
When Samuel drop me off, the moon is low, but I can smell that nasty pipe Toby always be smoking and know he’s out of doors. It is too cold to take much time in the little house out back, so I wonder what he’s doing. My hand is on the door when I hear steps on the hard ground.
“That you, Marey Lee?” His voice is slurred.
“What do you want?”
“I’m waiting for my little girl to get home.”
I say nothing and push open the door.
His laughter follows me in, and I know something in my bones. Toby’s bad tonight, worse than I’ve seen him. Feen looks up when I walk in. “Get in the room quick,” I tell her, picking up the lamp. I can hear Mama snoring from her bed. She sleep hard when she’s been at her whiskey, but if Toby come and bother me, I’m gonna make a noise to wake the dead.
“Marey Le-e, why you runnin’ from me?”
I can feel dread clawing up my spine. I close the door to our room and push my sister onto the bed. “Feen. Get under, and don’t come out till I say so.”
Feen opens her mouth, and I know she wants to say something about, maybe, spiders or some such. But she shuts her mouth and obeys, for a change. She wraps herself up in a blanket and gets down on her knees.
Thump. Toby in the house. Josephine panics, and I can hear her trying to breathe quiet.
“Marey, what you gonna do? Call Mama. Call Mama!”
“Feen, you know we better not wake up Mama ’less somebody dying. I got something for ‘Uncle’ Toby if he come in here. Get under that bed.”
“Marey Le-e! Josephine. Come give your uncle a kiss.”
Feen slithers under her bed fast as she can. Good. I get down on my knees and take the hatchet out from under mine. I am surprised to see that my hands are shaking. I don’t know why. I am ready.
Toby been bumping me, touching me, cutting his eyes at Mama when he thinks she don’t see. He been talking filth to Josephine, and she been snifflin’ and jumpy ever since he came. Feen try to talk to Mama, but Mama don’t wanna hear nothing about nothing, seems like. Mama tell me to “watch yourself,” and now I got to watch out for Feen, too.
Toby better not come in this room.
Then the door swings open, and even I am not ready. I scream. I scream long and loud like a baby, like Feen, and then Feen’s screaming, too, and crying for Mama.
“Shut up! Shut up that damned noise,” Toby growls, launching himself across the room at me. He smacks me in the mouth before I can get my hand up. Feen hasn’t stopped screaming, but I have. I tighten my hands on the hatchet.
“Get on out of here, you no-’count man. I’ll call Mama. I will!”
“Your mama’s asleep, and she ain’t got no time for this nonsense. Y’all better hush up and stop acting like little children. I just want to visit with you, is all.”
Toby backs toward the doorway, still trying to keep his voice down. He looks over his shoulder, toward Mama’s room. He’s thinking about her. He’s still scared. I still got time. Toby ain’t nothing but a low-down confidence man from Mississippi. Sister Dials say she seen his kind before.
“Get out!” I raise the hatchet, and when he sees it, a little sly smile come to his face. An ugly laugh come out his mouth, and weasel quick, he moves. He swings, and his big fist catches me from the side. Pain explodes in my rib cage, and I slam to the floor, a glimpse of Feen’s frightened eyes as I land. Instinctively, I roll, stagger to my feet. My knees are shaking, and the hatchet has slipped from my fingers. I can feel it with my foot, but I don’t dare take my eyes off Toby to pick it up. I’m still like a jackrabbit when a hawk flies over.
“Just tryin’ to visit with you, and you get all uppity like you something special. I got a man’s rights up in this house. Your mama my woman, and you girls is my girls. Keep snivelin’ around like I ain’t good enough to talk to”—he closes the door behind him—“and I aim to teach you better. Feen? Get out from under that bed.”
Now, I know I don’t have to tell Feen to stay put. Her squallin’ is so loud she can’t even hear him. She moanin’ to Jesus, to Mama, to somebody to save us. What I know is this: God will surely help you, but you also got to help your own self. I put my foot on that hatchet again.
“Now, Josephine, I ain’t mad. Get on out from under that bed and let your uncle Toby see you.” He’s talkin’ sweet now, smiling that sly smile again, and I watch him lick his lips. He thinks Feen is his already. He’s got another thought coming.
“Josephine, girl, get out from under that bed! Don’t make me come and get you out.”
I push the hatchet back some, behind me now. Toby should leave while he still got his life.
“Don’t you move,” Toby snarls at me, grabbing my chin. He shoves me back, then makes to bend down and get under the bed. “Josephine!”
Mama said take care of Feen.
I grab for the hatchet and come up swinging.
“Aww!” Toby roars like a bull and twists, trying to reach his back. Dark blood stains his shirt. I pull on the hatchet, lift it again. Toby backhands me, clutching his side, and I fall against the door. I swing the hatchet as he comes for me again, but he grabs it, twisting my arm. I won’t give it up.
“Get out! Get out!”
Feen is screaming, and I feel the bones in my arm grate. I know I have lost as Toby bends my arm up behind my back. He is pinning me against the wall; the honed blade of the hatchet has cut us both now and is slick with blood. I know he will hurt me bad.
“Run, Feen!” I scream, pain making my ears ring. My eyes are going dim, and Toby has his shoulder against my throat. I hear my heart pounding in my ears, and then Toby gives a hard jerk, and he has the hatchet. He pounds my head against the wall and I feel myself going under.
“Mamaaaaaaa! He’s killing her! He’s killing her!”
Toby’s hands are hurting me, and then I hear a sound louder than thunder.
Boom! And that’s all I can remember.
6.
then
There was blood on the floor, blood on my coat, blood on my hands, and smoke in the air. Mama had fired the shotgun, and a smoking hole gapes in the wall above our heads. Feen told me later Mama thought I was dead. When I can finally hear something, Toby is on his knees, begging Mama not to put him out. He say we all just misunderstanding him. Feen’s still cryin’ when the folks from the farm across the field bust in. They heard the shot, and knowing Mama is a woman alone, they came on a hustle.
Nobody believe his sob story, so they run Toby off. Don’t nobody bother with the sheriff; the sheriff don’t care what the coloreds get up to on their own ’less one of ’em look at a white girl wrong—then there will be trouble.
I can’t get up, and I can’t stop squealin’ every time somebody try to touch me. My shoulder hurt so bad it feels like I’m burned. Mama don’t call out no doctor; she looks me over and the neighbors help wrap up my hands. Toby didn’t break my arm, but he twisted it out my socket so bad, makes me wish he had. Mama wraps her hands around my arm, puts her foot on my chest, and pulls. The neighbors help hold me down. It hurts so bad I can’t even scream—and then it goes—a grinding, sick-making pop. I lay there and shake like I caught a chill.
I almost had him. I almost had him with my hatchet. He messed up my arm, but I am not dead, and neither is Feen.
Mama said to take care of my sister. I did all right.
We did all right, Feen and me.
It is a week past before I realize Mama ain’t said nothing to me. She don’t ask me what happened that night; she don’t say a word. I want to tell her how it was, hear her tell me she sorry, so I stop one night before I go to Young’s. Mama sitting in her chair, sewing like always.
“Mama,” I say, “you know Toby—”
“Hush,” Mama says. “Don’t want to hear nothing about it.”
“But Ma—” Something about the way she hold her mouth when she look at me says to let it go, so I do. But now she look at me like she don’t even see me. I am at the bus s
top before I realize she didn’t even tell me to “watch yourself” when I left.
Feen, Mama, and me go on like we done before, only Feen stands up a little straighter, and Mama’s face is hard, hard with pride. The gossips in Bay Slough have their day, but they know better than to say nothing to me, and nobody want to start mess with Mama looking like she gonna come out swingin’. Toby come back one day for his things, one day when Feen at school and me at Miss Ida’s. I ain’t said nothing to Feen, but I think Mama let him in. Mama still don’t have nothing to say to me.
I wish she would just talk to me.
That’s all right. I keep my hatchet nice and sharp. I nick my finger on it every night, just to check. Mr. Toby might come back this way, but I aim to be prepared.
Thanksgiving Day, Mama butchers two hogs and gets the smokehouse ready for making sausages for Christmas. At Young’s, talk is buzzing about the War Commission. Seems the newspaper say folks has got to work or fight. Since Uncle Sam is offering work, even colored folks are saying maybe they will join up now with the United States Navy, try to get out of this little no-’count town and get a little money now.
President Roosevelt says everybody need to help, and Feen tell me a lady from the women’s army come talk at her school. I wonder if Beatrice Payne still want to get herself off to Daytona, but I don’t give it too much thought. If Feen and me’s gonna get up outta here when she done with school, I need to find us more money. I got to get more work. Maybe Mr. Young give me more if Samuel joins up with the service. Lord knows I can’t expect nothing more from Miss Ida but words.
Mare's War Page 3
