***
– The Mountains of North Carolina –
Ruthie
"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Ruthie, happy birthday to you!" The clapping and cheering was loud and raucous, and it was a good thing they were out of doors; an inside room, even a huge one like the living room of Beau's house, couldn't have contained so much sound. Somebody started For She's a Jolly Good Fellow and it quickly became an even louder proclamation of their love for her. She began to feel a bit emotional, but Nellie's insistence that she hurry up and blow out the candles so the cake could be cut quashed that. She inhaled deeply, held her breath long enough to make a wish, and blew. And blew again. And again, this time getting an assist from Mackie, until they all were extinguished.
"Let's cut the cake, let's cut the cake," Nellie sang, hopping from foot to foot. "I want cake."
Mack Jr. scooped her up. "Pa has to toast first, Nell, you know that."
"I forgot," she said, then beckoned to her father. "C'mon, Papa. Toast!"
Mack faced his wife and raised his glass to her. Two dozen other glasses were raised in her direction. Mack, smiling, began to recite: May you live a long time and your heart remain mine. May your body be strong, may your Spirit be free, and may all your good deeds be seen as the seeds that grow to fullness in your eternity. Since I love you, all that's left is for God to bless you. Ruthie touched her glass to Mack's, then lifted it to the crowd. After the clapping and cheering died down, she cut the first piece of cake, then passed the knife to Nellie and Mack Jr. so they could finish. Everybody stood quietly, watching, waiting, plates at the ready, for their piece.
"Is thirty-five old, Ma?" Wilton asked into the silence, starting the laughter and hoots and catcalls all over again.
"Depends on who's doing the counting," Ruthie answered through her own laugh, and kissed him. "If it's you doing the counting, then, yes, I expect thirty-five is rather old. If, on the other hand—" and she surveyed the crowd, eyes stopping on Beau, "it's my BIG BROTHER Beau doing the counting, well, then, no, thirty-five isn't all that old."
Beau bent over at the waist and began hobbling around like an old, decrepit man, to everyone's delight. He looked happier than Ruth had ever seen him. Of course he was thrilled that his baby sister had wanted to have her thirty-fifth birthday party at his home, and he was justifiably proud of the home he had created for himself and his family in the North Carolina mountains.
The central feature of the towering A-frame house was the stone fireplace that occupied an entire wall and which, in the winter, heated the entire structure. It was in front of the fireplace that everyone gathered—to listen to and tell stories, to listen to the radio, and to eat, sleep and just be. At night, the children would climb into the loft and look down on the grownups below, listening and learning before falling asleep. The three bedrooms on the ground floor always were occupied by Big Si, who lived there and kept his own room even when company came, by Big Mack and Clara, who slept in the guest room when they visited, and by Ruthie and Mack Jr., who slept in Beau's room while he, happily, climbed the ladder to the sleep-loft and joined the children. And that, she realized, was what was different about Beau, what made him look and feel happy: He now was an integral part of the family. No longer just the one who was summoned when there was trouble or a problem; Uncle Beau now was the one children wanted to visit, to play with, to talk to. He was the one who could repair a broken toy or fairly mitigate a dispute. He no longer was the brooding, silent, angry avenger. He had emerged as a man quick to laugh and to want to make others laugh.
The land behind the house had been cleared, and it appeared that Pa and Beau had planted every vegetable that would grow in dirt, along with several varieties of fruit trees. Along the front and one side of the house bloomed flowers of every color, and Ruthie's eyes misted as she imagined the joy her mother would have taken in the riot of blossoms. She knew, without a doubt, that her father was responsible and that her mother was the reason. She knew also that the chicken coop outside the back door was her father's—he loved fried chicken more than anything in the world, could eat it every meal of every day, and he kept the coop close to the house so he could prevent the foxes and mountain cats from eating the chickens before he did. He told her that Beau, now and then, would even eat a piece of fried chicken or fish if he hadn't witnessed its killing and gutting.
Looking at the land and the people, remembering her mother, reminded her of home, a long time ago, and the big June 'Teenth Celebration. It had been like this—their yard teeming with people, the scent of cooking food and the sound of happy voices carried on the breeze…a breeze that in Carrie's Crossing, Georgia, had been warmer than this one in the North Carolina mountains. Even in May, the nights could be chilly.
"What are you thinkin' 'bout, Baby Sister?"
He still could do that—appear beside or behind her, silent as an animal hunting its dinner, which always made her grateful that she was friend and not foe. "About, you, Big Brother, and how much I like your home. If they had schools up this mountain, I'd think about living here myself." She looked out at the merrymaking in the yard. "Schools and a few more Colored people," and they laughed dryly at what wasn't funny: No matter the oasis created, no matter where it was, being Colored was still a perilous proposition, even in this part of North Carolina, where there were a good number of Indians who definitely did not consider themselves Colored but who definitely were in the eyes of white people. "You all ever get lonely, you and Pa?"
He shook his head. "We work too hard for that. And in the evening, after supper, we listen to the radio and then go to bed so we can get up with the chickens." He paused and surveyed his surroundings. "Sometimes in the winter, though…"
He trailed off and even though she could imagine what he was going to say, she waited for him to tell her about the snow, and he did, how it snowed and snowed and how the wind blew it and how it drifted. How beautiful and quiet it was, and how frightening at the same time. She was reminded of the freak blizzard that paralyzed their world the winter after she and Mack first were married and still living in the Crossing. Even though they had each other and even though they knew that friends and neighbors were a stone's throw away—that they were not isolated and alone—it still unnerved and frightened them. She could remember the feeling still. But up here, where they truly were isolated and alone? She shivered, and Beau put is arm around her.
"Nothin' for you to be worried 'bout."
"Did they say when you'll be getting your phone?"
Now he did laugh. "You mean you're not happy 'bout the 'lectricity they finally strung in? Now you want telephone poles?"
She did, indeed, want telephone poles, and the sooner the better—preferably sometime in the next six months before winter set in again. "I wouldn't mind," she said in an offhanded way and poked him in the ribs.
"Then I'll just go right on down to the Bell telephone company office and tell 'em my baby sister said they better have me a telephone in my house before the next snow."
"And it had better not be a party line."
Between guffaws he asked, "You think they'll shoot me the deadest for bein' Colored or for bein' crazy?"
"There's a difference?"
They were holding their sides and laughing so hard their eyes were running, and it felt good. Ruthie tried to remember the last time she'd laughed until she cried and could not. Had there ever been a time she'd laughed so hard and so freely? Certainly not with Beau or because of Beau.
Mack and his parents were walking toward them, and Ruthie and Beau tried to compose themselves, but when Clara asked, "What's so funny?" and when they tried to answer, they only laughed harder, and soon the other three were laughing too. They all put their arms around each other and, still laughing, returned to the crowd, most of whom were busy with plates of ice cream and cake.
Nellie and Wilton ran to meet her. "Ma, Mackie cranked this ice cream all by his self," Nellie said, ice cream traces
all around her mouth, "and it is deeelicious."
"Himself, Nell, please. You know better."
The girl grinned up at her mother; of course she knew better, and to prove it, she repeated the statement in grammatically correct French.
"C'est bon, ma cherie," Ruth said, as Big Mack and Clara applauded. It never ceased to amaze them that their grandchildren spoke French. Truth be told, the children's father never ceased to be amazed, either, not to mention proud.
"Wil said I was the baby of this family. I'm not, am I? Angel's younger than I am which makes her the baby of the family. Will you tell him, please?"
Angel was Belle's new daughter and to quote Pa, "The less said about that, the better." And while Angel certainly was younger than Nellie, answering the question Nell posed was problematic, at best. Thankfully, the child's attention was easily captured by one of the half-dozen other activities and conversations swirling around her, and she ran off to join whatever game was in progress, oblivious to the fact that they shared Wilton's view of her status in the family, not to mention their ambivalence about Angel.
***
– Carrie's Crossing –
Jonas
It was their first big entertainment, and Jonas found himself as excited and nervous as Audrey. They thought the timing was perfect: All of the improvements, renovations, additions and enhancements to the house and property finally were finished. Mack and his crew put the final coat of white paint on the stable and the fences the previous day and drove away for the final time. Everybody stood in the drive and waved good-bye. Then they all spent the better part of an hour just walking around and looking at everything. Even Mack said he wouldn't have recognized the house had he not been the one to make all the changes, and Audrey was so happy she couldn't form complete sentences. For Jonas, the pièce de résistance was the stable. He'd always loved horses, loved to ride, and Audrey did too. The few times they took the children riding convinced them of the need to have their own horses, and they certainly had enough land for them.
Jonas's second favorite addition was the barbecue pit and smoker. It had been Mack's idea and his design—based, he said, on the one that his own father had built in their backyard. "You can grill, roast, smoke, cook any kind of meat you like on this pit," he had said, and when Charlie Pace from the Crossing Café came to take a look, he, like Audrey, was rendered speechless.
"You gotta let me cook on this thing, Jonas. I'll pay you to let me cook on this thing. I'll even buy the meat!"
That's when they decided that the Fourth of July would be a perfect time to invite all their family and friends for a backyard barbecue. Horace and Alice had insisted on coming over the night before because Alice wanted to "help," which had given Audrey so severe a headache that she threatened to cancel the whole event. And if Jonas hadn't intervened, the event would have had to be cancelled because there would have been nobody to cook the food. Ernestine and Ruby, who had had the dubious pleasure of meeting Alice and Horace once before, went from sullen to openly hostile and threatened to quit on the spot if Jonas and Audrey didn't get her out of "their" kitchen.
"What are we going to do, Jonas?" Audrey moaned.
"Get her drunk," Jonas said.
"You can't."
"It's either that or try to call thirty people on the telephone tonight and cancel the party," he said. "And look at it this way: We get her good and drunk tonight, she'll be so hung over tomorrow, she could be almost polite."
Audrey didn't like it, but she agreed; she even helped. She settled Alice in chaise lounge under an umbrella on the back patio and told her that Jonas needed her to try out a new drink he wanted to serve at the party, and because neither of them drank, he needed to be certain that it would be acceptable to serve their guests. Alice was only too happy to help. The drink was something Audrey had seen in a magazine—a gin fizz—but Jonas didn't bother with the precise measurements. He made it sweet, with plenty of lemon juice, fizzy water and ice, and he served it in a tall glass. She slept through dinner. Infuriated, Horace threatened to pack her up and go back home, but when the threat was met with little resistance, he backed off.
Audrey wanted Ernestine to feed the children in the kitchen, but Horace wanted them at the table so he could talk to them. Without Alice, Jonas thought, it would be all right. And it was—for a while. Audrey told him all about the party and the food and how Mr. Pace would begin cooking the meat that night; it already was marinating in his big refrigerator at the Café. Ernestine and Ruby would shuck several dozen ears of corn after dinner and peel and cut ten pounds of potatoes to cook for the potato salad that Rachel would come over later to make.
"His sister makes the best potato salad I've ever eaten," Audrey enthused.
"Your ma makes the best potato salad, Audrey, and you know that."
Jonas should have kept his mouth shut and he knew it. But he didn't. "If you want to go wake her up, Horace, and get her to make the potato salad, I'll call Rachel and tell her to stay home."
"Oh, Jonas," Audrey whispered. She was holding Alice, wiping the baby's hands and face, and Jonas barely heard her, but he heard her tone, and its sadness cut him. He had promised to try to be more understanding and tolerant of Horace; after all, she'd once reminded him, suppose Zeb were alive? Suppose there were two of them?
"Horace, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Alice needs her rest—we all know that. Tomorrow is a big day—"
The baby heard her name and began to laugh and gurgle and clap her hands.
"Yes, you, Alice. You need your rest too because tomorrow is a big day." He scooped her up and swung her over his head, eliciting more gurgles and a stream of drool on to his shirt front. "You also are a very messy girl," he said, giving her back to Audrey.
"Am I messy too, Papa?" JJ asked.
Jonas lifted him from his seat—he and Audrey were very conscious of giving the same time and attention to both children—"Not anymore, and do you know why?"
"Because I'm a big boy."
"That's right, you are, and the best big boy there ever was." He gave the boy a big kiss, and the child kissed him back and wrapped his arms tightly around his neck.
"You shouldn't be kissin' a boy like that. And lettin' him kiss you. You'll make a sissy out of him."
Before Jonas and Audrey could intervene, JJ asked, "What's a sissy, Papa?"
Jonas turned to Horace. "I don't ever want to hear that word out of your mouth in my house in front of my children again." To JJ he said, "It's a bad word to call a person, and we don't call people bad names, do we?"
"No, Papa."
"And since tomorrow is such a big day, it's time for you little ones to get bathed and ready for bed." He walked over to the wall and pressed a button. "Let's call Miss Ernestine and ask her to come get you and your baby sister—"
"Miss Ernestine." Horace gave a nasty bark of laughter. "Y'all got these chil'ren callin' the niggers 'miss'? No wonder they're the way they are."
Audrey jumped to her feet and startled Jonas by yelling at her father. "What do you mean the way they are? What way are they, Pa? Are you saying something is wrong with my children?" His daughter's fury surprised, frightened and chastened the man, and he tried back-pedaling, stuttering out a kind of apology, but she wasn't listening to him. Her raised voice—something none of them had ever heard—terrified the children, and their screams snatched Audrey back to herself, and she sought to soothe them.
The call bell, along with the raised voices and screaming children, had brought Ernestine and Ruby on the run. They stood in the doorway, waiting for Audrey to tell them what to do. Horace saw them and turned purple.
"What you niggers want? Get outta here!"
"Those people work for me. You don't tell them what to do," Jonas said, one arm around Audrey and the screeching Alice, the other holding a weeping JJ. He looked up at Ernestine and Ruby. "Y'all come on in and take the children, please."
Both women, studiously ignoring Horace, came in and each took a child
and as they whispered soothing words, the children quieted almost immediately. Before they could leave, however, Sam appeared, a wide grin on his face.
"'Scuse me, Miz Thatcher, Mr. Jonas, you wanted me to come tell you—"
Belle City Page 38
