Momma stopped wiping the handle on the oven door. At first she didn’t speak. She just straightened up and pushed her shoulders back and didn’t look at me. And when she did talk, she seemed to be on Daddy’s side of things. “Junior ought to mind his own business,” she said.
“I think the way Junior sees it, my family is his business. He’s worried about you, that’s all.” I thought how all of a sudden I seemed to be on Junior’s side of things.
“Well,” said Momma. She turned and started toward the kitchen table. “You should be down in Warm Springs right now working on your therapy. I don’t know how I can handle the guilt of having you home.” She pulled out a chair at the end of the table and sat down. “I don’t see how you can do much about the situation here.”
“I don’t either. But I could never forgive myself if I was down there having a good time and you were back here getting beat up.”
Momma’s face twisted then. She gave out a scaredsounding cry, and then she stuffed her fist to her mouth like she wanted to cram the noise back inside. She put her head in her arms and started crying for real.
Well, I just didn’t know what to do—but I scooted over to the next chair and reached out and felt her shaking. I wanted to cry too, but I figured it was time for me to be strong. So I put my arm around my momma and rubbed my hand across her shoulders and said, “It’s going to get better. Honest it is. Somehow we’re going to fix it.”
After a while she lifted her head and pulled her apron up and wiped her eyes. “Oh, they ruined my Leroy,” she said. “They might as well have killed him. I don’t even know him anymore.”
And then it was like someone had opened up a bag of dried beans and the whole pile of them came pouring out and clattered all over the kitchen. She just started talking. It wasn’t like Momma to pile one sentence on top of another like that.
“He doesn’t sleep anymore, so he’s always tired. And when he does sleep he has terrifying dreams. I have to wake him up so he won’t scare the children, and anyway I can’t let him lay there and suffer the way he does. He begs me not to leave him. So I promise I won’t, but I don’t know if I can stay.”
Well, Momma almost knocked me off my chair when she said that. Would she actually think about leaving my daddy?
“I ask him what he sees in those dreams. But he won’t tell me. ‘It’s better to forget,’ he says. ‘I have to get over it.’ But Ann Fay, he’s not getting over it. Sometimes I think he is. But then out of the blue a noise startles him or he goes into a rage about some tiny little thing, and then…” Momma’s voice trailed off, and I saw the pain cross her face and her head jerk a little as if she was being smacked right then.
And something about that made me understand why she would think about leaving. I mean, is it right for a woman to be beat by the man she loves? I thought how my daddy always said he and Momma were staying together for better or worse. But how much worse?
My heart was arguing with itself again. And I didn’t have any idea which side to take. So finally I said, “Momma, we’ll find a way. I don’t know how, but I know we will.”
30
Telling
March 1946
Before the day was half over, there was a car in our driveway and a highway patrolman standing on our porch. I had the biggest urge to run, but you can’t outrun the law. So I decided to try out-talking him.
I spoke to him through the screen door. “Can I help you?”
He tipped his officer’s cap. “Good day,” he said. He pulled out his badge and told me his name, which I forgot as quick as I heard it. “I’m looking for Mr. or Mrs. Leroy Honeycutt.”
I took a deep breath. “My daddy’s not here right now, and my momma can’t come to the door. Can I help you?”
And then I heard my momma saying it. “May I help you?”
Why couldn’t she just stay in the back room and let me handle this? Now the patrolman could plainly see her black eye.
He didn’t say a word about her eye. He just told her he was following up on a report that Ann Fay Honeycutt had left the Georgia Warm Springs Foundation without authorization. He wanted to know if she had returned home safe and sound.
Momma put her arm around my shoulder then. “This is Ann Fay. She’s just fine, thank you.”
The officer looked at me. “Young lady, what made you do such a thing?”
“My momma needed me,” I said. How I was going to explain that? “See?” I pointed to her tummy. “She’s going to have a baby. And my twin sisters are a handful.”
He nodded. But he wasn’t looking at her tummy. He was looking at her bruised eye. “And you couldn’t have waited for a proper discharge?”
“No,” I said. “Junior came after me on a Sunday. He had to work today.”
He looked at his paper. “That would be Junior Bledsoe? Can you tell me where he works?”
Now I’d done it! Why did I have to mention Junior?
Momma spoke up. “Sir, it’s all right. Please don’t give him any trouble. He was just being a good neighbor. We’re all happy to have our daughter home.”
The officer nodded. He stood there for a moment and finally he said, “May I come in?”
Momma stepped back, so I did too. She offered him a seat, but he didn’t take it. He looked around the living room and I saw how his eyes went searching on past the door, into the kitchen. I could tell he was sizing us up. Trying to see if anything looked suspicious. But just like always, my momma had the house as neat and clean as his starched uniform.
“Ma’am, may I ask if you’re all right? I see you’ve got a bruise there.”
Momma laughed nervously. “Yes,” she said. “I had an accident in the middle of the night.”
The officer nodded. “Shall I report that you’re content with your daughter’s sudden departure from the Georgia Warm Springs Foundation?”
“Please do,” said Momma. She opened the screen door and went on through to the porch.
There wasn’t a thing for that officer to do but follow. He gave her a nod and put his cap back on. “You would call on help if you needed it, right?”
“Of course,” said Momma. “Of course we would. We’ve got good neighbors. Thank you for looking in on us.”
As the patrolman drove away, she said to me, “We don’t need to mention this to your daddy. You understand?”
“I understand,” I said.
When Daddy came home from work that night he took his lunchbox into the kitchen and set it on the table. Then he washed up and sat down to eat with the rest of us. Ida and Ellie jabbered about this and that and asked me questions about Warm Springs.
I picked up my glass. It was a jelly jar and there was a chip on the edge. I took a drink of water and acted like I didn’t hear their questions. But of course they didn’t give up so easy. So I gave in.
“We ate dinner on white tablecloths,” I said. “And we used china. And there were real waiters in white coats and black bow ties. I never did get over feeling like I was eating at a fine restaurant.”
“I never ate at a fine restaurant,” said Ellie.
“Well, don’t feel bad,” I said. “Neither have I. So I don’t really know if it’s like eating at Warm Springs. But I think so.”
Thinking about Warm Springs ruined my appetite. Right about then, Sam and Loretta and Howie were sitting down to eat without me. Sam was probably telling every detail about how me and Junior sneaked out of there. Just like he was the clock on Olivia’s dresser watching it happen.
I never thought I’d say this—but I sure would like to have heard his version!
To change the subject, I asked Daddy had he planted his peas yet. But he just shook his head and said, “Maybe now that you’re here, I’ll get that done. Seems like we just can’t get along around here without you.”
His voice was flat when he said it, so I couldn’t tell what he meant. Was he glad I was there? Or was he being sarcastic because I’d come to check on him?
After supper,
I started helping Momma with the dishes, but Daddy took my towel. “Go to bed, Ann Fay,” he said. “You look beat.”
I was tired on account of I hadn’t slept much during the day. I had tried, but honest, my mind wouldn’t settle down for thinking about that patrolman. And Junior and my family. And Warm Springs and Suzanne and Gavin.
So when I saw how Daddy was going to help Momma with the dishes, I went straight to bed. And I tell you what’s the truth—if my daddy or anyone, including me, had a bad dream that night, I missed it altogether. I slept clear through till morning.
I figured there wasn’t anything to do but get up and go to school. And that meant going right back to where I started at the beginning of the year. In eighth grade, facing Rob Walker, and sitting out recess.
For some reason it didn’t scare me, though. I had been somewhere special. To a historic place that no one else at my school had ever seen. And that made me real proud.
When I got on the bus I went halfway to the back and sat down with the rest of the students. I could see the bus driver was surprised. And people said “Hey” to me. And “Welcome back.”
When the bus stopped at Whitener’s Store, Jean got on with her brothers and sisters. She caught sight of me just before she sat down. Her eyebrows went up and she smiled like I was a happy surprise. And when we got to school she waited for me outside the bus door. “Nifty!” she said. “No more crutches. Does my mother know you’re back?”
I shook my head. “I just got home yesterday.”
“What was it like? Did you have a good time? Did you learn to walk?”
Before I could even answer her, one of her friends got off another bus and called her name.
“I’ll talk to you later,” I said. And then I headed toward the school.
Wouldn’t you know, Rob Walker got to the steps just when I did. He was running. I could see he hadn’t changed a bit.
But I had. At Warm Springs, I learned I wasn’t a cripple. I was a polio. And I didn’t have to be afraid of anyone.
So when I saw him, I spoke first. “Look who’s back,” I said. “Can you hold that door?” In my mind I snapped my fingers.
Rob gave me a surprised look, but he actually held the door for me.
“Thanks!” I said. “Where I came from they had magic doors. You would think I was the queen of England the way those doors opened when they saw me coming.”
“I know that’s a lie,” said Rob. And he went on down the hall.
People were talking about me. I heard my name going up and down the hallway. It’s a wonder I even made it to my class for all the people stopping to watch me use those canes. I knew my walk was a little lopsided, but I just looked them in the eye and decided not to care what they thought of me.
Peggy Sue grabbed me in a big hug, and then she said, “Are you going to show me how you can walk or not?”
“What makes you think I can walk?”
“I know you, Ann Fay. If you went down there to walk, then I figure you did it. And anyway, you wrote me about that. Remember?”
So I handed her my Canadian canes and I walked the rest of the way to my class. I had to rest a few times and I hung on to the wall some. But it made me think I could almost leave those canes at home—if I took a notion.
When I got to my classroom the smile on Mrs. Barkley’s face made me think she was glad to see me. And she gave me a hug too. Later when the class went out to recess she made arrangements for someone else to supervise them. And she asked me to stay in. Then she sat in a desk across the aisle. “Well, Ann Fay, I guess your homecoming was unexpected.”
I just didn’t know what to tell her. So I sat there and stared at the cracks between the floorboards. And rubbed my foot in a figure-eight pattern in a bright spot on the floor.
“I’m sure they didn’t expel you from Warm Springs. You’re such a model citizen.”
I gave a nervous laugh when she said that. What would she think if I told her I ran away? And that an officer of the law had come looking for me?
“So why did you come back?”
“Warm Springs was wonderful,” I said. “Everybody there was like me—I mean, not exactly like me, but they had problems getting around too. Or maybe it was just one arm they couldn’t use. And some people were even twisted out of shape. Maybe they would look funny to normal people, but to me it was the most comforting place in the world. I was real mad when my neighbor came to get me.”
Then I stopped. How was I going to tell Mrs. Barkley about my daddy?
Mrs. Barkley got up and moved the desk she was sitting in. She pushed it right up against mine. Then she put her hand on my arm. “I want to help if I can,” she said.
And I knew it was true. But I just didn’t see how anyone could help. Still, I had told Momma I was going to find a way to change things. And I knew if there was anyone I trusted besides Junior Bledsoe—who would probably never speak to me again—it was Mrs. Barkley.
So I said, “Something is happening to Daddy. At first when he came home from the war it seemed like he was fine. But he’s not fine. He has nightmares. He doesn’t sleep and then he gets angry. Momma says it’s like they killed the man she used to love. It’s like his body is home but he’s back in Europe, still fighting that war.”
“Oh,” said Mrs. Barkley.
I didn’t know what “Oh” meant. Maybe it meant she didn’t know what to say. Or maybe it made her think of something she could do about it. But suddenly I wasn’t sure I wanted her to do anything.
“Please don’t tell anybody,” I said. “Please don’t.”
“Ann Fay, are you in danger?”
I didn’t know what to say about that. Because, to tell you the truth, I didn’t think my daddy would ever hurt me, but I didn’t exactly feel safe with him either.
Still, I shook my head. “No,” I said. “I’m not in any danger.”
I didn’t tell her about my momma’s black eye. I had probably said too much already.
31
Planting Peas
March 1946
That night when Daddy came home from work he had a small paper sack in his hand. After he kissed my momma he took it out the back door. I watched through the screen, and the next thing I knew he was pulling his tiller out of the shed.
“Momma,” I said, “he’s fixing to till the garden.” Then I went out on the back porch and sat with my feet over the edge. I remembered how two years ago I was in this exact same spot—just about the same time of year. Daddy was away at the war. So Junior had come to till our garden. Peggy Sue was here with me.
I couldn’t believe how things had changed since then. I had run with Peggy Sue down into the woods while Junior had done the tilling. I’d actually run there and back. Now, I was just glad that I could walk without help from the edge of the porch to the tiller.
I watched Daddy pull the rope on the tiller. At first it didn’t start, but he pulled again and it cranked right up. I thought I would see a smile cross his face, but I didn’t. He jumped back and looked scared for a second like that tiller had just exploded in his face. But then he grabbed the handle and steadied himself and just hung on for a minute or two and breathed real deep.
The simple noise of that tiller—a sound he’d always loved—was scaring him somehow. I saw how hard he was working at convincing himself to do this job. He walked away for a minute and stared into the woods. I saw how he curled his hands into a fist and opened them again. He flexed them a few times and shook his shoulders and arms like he was trying to knock something loose.
Finally he came back to the tiller and grabbed ahold of it. It shook him all over while he walked it to the garden.
The whole time he acted like he didn’t even know I was on the porch. Maybe he hadn’t noticed. For as long as I could remember I’d helped him get his garden ready. Now I felt shut out.
He’d left the paper sack lying on the ground, so I went to it. I could feel the bumpy shapes of dried peas through the paper. I hugged it to my ches
t and wished I could take over the tilling for my daddy.
I watched him in the garden—how he leaned into the tiller and how the soil turned up red and soft between the tines. Already Mr. Shoes was chasing behind Daddy, sniffing after moles that had tunneled through the garden space.
I wanted in the worst way to put my toes into that soft, crumbly red dirt. To follow behind Daddy, making a row with the edge of a hoe and then dropping the peas in. I thought I could do it again if I sat in the dirt. I set the sack of peas on the ground and went in the house to get my overalls.
When I came back out, it was getting dark. The tiller wasn’t running anymore, and Daddy was sitting in the dirt with his fists pressed up to the sides of his head. He had only tilled about two and a half rows. I picked up the sack of seeds and stuffed it into the pocket of my overalls, and then I walked with my canes down to the garden.
I went and sat in the dirt beside Daddy. I leaned up against him and felt him trembling. “You did enough for over two rows,” I said. “If you get the hoe and make the rows, I’ll drop the peas in. I can scoot through the garden on my behind.”
Daddy didn’t say a word. He just got up and walked to the tiller and gave it a hard kick. Then he went to the shed and got a hoe and started making rows. I dropped the seeds in and he covered them with dirt, and by the time we were done it was too dark for me to know how crooked our rows would be.
I could see the shape of the tiller sitting there. I saw Daddy give it one last kick before he picked me up and carried me to the porch. He filled a basin with water from the bucket so I could wash my hands and feet. “I’m going to build you that bathroom before you know it,” he said.
That night when I was laying in bed I knew what I had to do. I wasn’t looking forward to it because I figured Junior never wanted to see me again. And Daddy didn’t want Junior on his property. But we had to get the rest of that garden tilled, and Junior Bledsoe was the one who could do it.
The next day after school I asked the bus driver to drop me off at the end of the Bledsoes’ lane. I made Ida and Ellie go on home and tell Momma I’d be there soon. Then I walked with my canes to Junior’s house and knocked on the door. I knew he wasn’t home from work yet, but I figured I could wait till he got there.
Comfort Page 17
