Momma was not going to give Ms. Pearl the benefit of doubt. In her mind, the mention of the name Pearl was trouble; folks in Jefferson left the room and ducked their heads. She had that effect on some of the frightened, confined residents. It was so troubling for Momma that frown lines spread horizontally across her forehead. We finished eating and I washed the dishes like I had always done, putting them on the drain board to air-dry. Momma went to bed humming one of her spirituals, her voice as raspy as a tobacco-smoking man. She seemed happy. She put Robert in the bed beside her, and he glanced up at her and smiled, his little gums shining with spit. Simon and I slept in my old room. The sky was so black, and the moon neon bright. I fell asleep in Simon’s arms peering at the moon.
The next day we got up early. I went outside to the chicken coop and gathered the eggs. Momma sat in the kitchen chair watching me through the window. When I came back, she reached for the eggs and began breaking them into hot grease left from frying fatback. The aroma filled up the kitchen, and immediately my tongue started to salivate. It was almost like old times, until she stopped and turned around with a serious stare in her eyes.
“You know you really have grown up, Carrie.”
I smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Try to enjoy your life. Don’t live it for nobody but yourself and the good Lawd.”
“I will, Momma. Don’t worry,” I assured her, surprised by her comment.
“I ain’t worried. I just want better for you. Girls don’t supposed to live hard,” she said.
“Momma, I live a good life.”
“Good!” she murmured. “Good.”
All I could think about was that we were here for yet another funeral. It hadn’t been a year since Mr. Camm had been murdered, and now we were going back to the same church where my Momma and Papa had taken us to fellowship with God and the neighbors. Carl came over as Momma was getting ready to serve breakfast.
He saw me, grabbed me up out of the chair and draped his long arms around me. “I’m so glad to see you, Sis. I thought you weren’t ever gonna come home. People leave from around here and never come back,” he said, studying me hard.
I blushed. “You know I will always come home,” I said, still in his embrace. Then I took a seat at the table.
“I sure miss you. Mary and I done decided to start a family. It is lonesome up around here without children. Little Robert can come down and spend the summer with us when he is old enough to use the outhouse.”
“He is growing fast. I can’t wait to know my nieces and nephews. I’m so glad you decided to start a family,” I said, smiling and wishing they already had children.
“You know folks still talking about Mr. Camm. Now with Willie gone, I’m sure the sheriff is going to come back around here.”
“We don’t have anything to do with Camm.”
“I know, but his brother come through here a time ago and he’s got the sheriff all roused up and ready to hang somebody.”
“The sheriff don’t care about coloreds,” I said.
“The sheriff promised his brother he’d look into finding his killer. But you know white folks don’t care if one of us gets killed. They still haven’t found the person who murdered James Sanders. I’ll bet it was one them white boys dressed in sheets.”
“You are right. The sheriff is not going to find out anything. Besides, no one trusts white folks around here enough to open their mouths.”
“Camm was not right. He hurt too many people,” Simon commented.
“He deserved everything he got,” Carl said.
“Shut your mouth, boy. That ain’t no way to talk about the dead,” Momma said in a frustrated voice.
Carl looked at me and shook his head. I lowered my head.
Simon inhaled and then said, “Momma, you know he did hurt a lot of people. He even hurt you.”
I could tell she didn’t like what he said. Her eyes rolled around in her head, and she took a deep breath.
“Well, no matter what he done, he is still a child of the Lord’s,” she replied.
Nobody said another word. It was like her words had a certain biblical meaning even though not one of us felt sorry for the bastard.
“This is gonna be another sad funeral. The boy just got home from the army and now this. He never had a chance.” Momma shook her head.
“I didn’t know him too well, but he seemed to be a good man,” Simon said.
“Anybody who can put up with that Pearl Brown is a good man. She seems to always come out smelling like a rose, after getting men murdered.”
Carl mumbled, “Momma, I can tell you don’t have any love for her.”
“Seem to me the sheriff needs to talk to her,” Momma said, and filled her cup up with coffee.
None of us said anything.
We arrived at the church around 12:30. Willie’s body was already dressed and lying out in the front of the church. He had on his turtle shell-colored army uniform, and he looked like he was finally at peace. His hat was lying across his chest. Ms. Pearl was standing at the foot of his casket when we came into the church. Her hat with a black veil shadowing her face was the first thing I noticed. She had on black from head to toe. She even used a black, silk handkerchief wiping tears no one could see behind the veil.
Momma grunted at the sight of her. We took a seat toward the back of the church. She said, “The front seats are for the family.”
The church started to fill up fast. Funerals were like family reunions. Country people sadly searched for any opportunity to fellowship with the community. The town gossipers were also welcomed, since no matter how many people looked down their noses at their wise talk, all ears were tuned in.
Ms. Pearl relished the attention of the community. The men boldly walked up to her, shook her hand, and patted her on the back. Simon even walked up to her and waited for his turn to shake her hand. Momma and I just watched, and at times Momma shook her head. A few of Willie’s army friends also came all dressed up in army dress uniforms. I couldn’t help thinking about the night he was shot. The white man who did the shooting, what was he really to Ms. Pearl? Would he show up?
“I wish they would get started,” Momma said, “Pearl need to take a seat. She done got enough attention.”
Before taking a look at poor Willie lying stiff on his back in the casket, most of the people walked straight up to Ms. Pearl. It was like she had given a show and was receiving guests. I could see her lips moving, and an occasional smile at some of the comments; she seemed to be taking his passing with stride.
After the church was full, a little after 1 p.m., the reverend, with his Bible in his hand, took his place at the pulpit. He started with a scripture, and then he began to preach. In a few minutes, he was jumping and hollering; he almost lost his balance and I imagined him tumbling into the opened casket. One of the deacons caught him before he hit the floor. They helped him up and he continued with his sermon, never missing a beat. I knew if Willie could be awakened, he would certainly sit up with all the noise. The reverend was loud and boisterous. At one time, I discreetly put my hands over my ears. He was proclaiming hallelujah and speaking in tongues, shouting so much no one could understand a word he was saying.
“This is a shame,” Momma whispered. “All that shouting is not necessary. I wonder if he is shouting for Pearl’s attention.”
“Momma, I think he is just preaching,” I whispered.
“He needs to get on with it.” She grunted and rolled her eyes.
I peered across the room at Ginny who was sitting on the side of us. She turned to look at me when the reverend almost slipped off the pulpit. As Carl and another deacon stepped in to catch him when he stumbled, Ginny raised her eyebrows, frowned and shook her head. A couple of other members lowered their heads and attempted to wipe off their smiles. I wanted to laugh myself, but remembered the inappropriateness of laughing at the good reverend.
Willie was buried in the back of the church. After watching the deacons throw dirt on
the casket, we headed back to the front of the church. I was coming around the corner of the church yard when the sheriff hastily walked over to me swinging his arms erratically.
“I see you made it back here…been waiting to catch you in Jefferson. I hope you don’t know about this murder.”
“No, sir, I don’t,” I answered.
He was chewing snuff, his red jaw stuffed with it. Bobby, the sheriff, was not a bad-looking man, but he was anal. And it made most people dislike him.
Bobby walked off as quickly as he had appeared.
Chapter 12
I’m going with y’all back to the house,” Ginny said. “That Bobby done got in Carrie’s face way too many times. I’ve got to remind that boy coloreds have sense too.”
Ginny climbed into the car, poking her cane in first and stuffing herself between Momma and Robert. She insisted she wanted to be there when Bobby stopped by. She had been Bobby’s nanny as a child, and felt she could handle him and keep him honest. “Most of them white boys don’t care about coloreds. Bobby don’t neither, ’til I remind ’em of my tittie being in his mouth. He gets quiet then, and leaves me alone. You see, he don’t want nobody to know. I remember many nights he fell sound to sleep with my nipple in his mouth.” Every time she told the story, I nearly upchucked at the thought.
We all sat around the kitchen table talking about the day. Although I was nervous about talking to Bobbie, the conversation at the table kept my interest.
“Lawd knows Pearl ought to be ’shamed of herself. She done got in the car with a white man right in front of the peoples at the church,” Momma commented.
“They say he killed Willie too,” Ginny said, shaking her head in disgust.
“Now you know he should be behind bars. But ya see Willie’s a colored boy. White boys don’t get charged when they kill us. Besides, Pearl ain’t got no business with that man,” Momma stressed.
“They say Willie threatened the man,” Simon interjected.
“That damn Pearl is always causing problems. I can’t wait for somebody to pull her to the side and give her a piece of their mind. I ought to do it myself,” Ginny said.
“Aunt Ginny, she hasn’t done anything to you.”
“She don’t have to do anything to me, but if she mess with my family, she done messed with me. She done caused enough uproar for the whole damn town.”
“We should all try to put Pearl and all the rest of them behind us and move forward,” Simon said. “The people around here will not let things go. They are stuck in the past.”
“If only Bobby would let this thing rest,” Momma remarked, standing at the stove, wiping her hands on her starched apron.
“Now, Simon, I’m gonna need you to take me home after Bobby come,” Ginny commanded.
“I will, Aunt Ginny,” Simon answered.
“But I ain’t going nowhere until he come down here. You know Bobby can be nasty like his daddy. He ain’t like coloreds too much. He don’t mind you feeding ’em and caring for ’em, but he couldn’t stand us any more than that. His momma was nice, though. She came from peoples with money—knew how to treat folk.”
“Does anybody want a slice of cake?” Momma asked.
“I’ll have a slice, Mae Lou, with some buttermilk, if you got some cold,” Ginny requested.
Momma sliced a piece of chocolate cake and poured Ginny a glass of milk.
Simon and I tried to be cool, but both of us were bothered by the sheriff’s visit. Simon had a dark, serious stare in his eyes, and kept wiping sweat dripping from his forehead. He had swiped his face several times with a handkerchief. And all the while we were sitting at the kitchen table being amused by Ginny and her comments about raising white children for people who had little love for the caretaker, we had locked hands. My hands were gluey with moisture from rattled nerves. Neither of us knew what to expect. Momma had warned me when she visited about the sheriff opening up Mr. Camm’s case, all of it unusual for Jefferson, since most times no one cared about the concerns and troubles of the colored people. We were like the ants; we worked and it was all we did. Our emotions were of no value. I suppose it all started with slavery.
Around five p.m., somebody knocked on the door. It was a steady, hard knock, one which would wake up anybody sleeping. It was the kind of knock all of us knew, even me. Before we opened the door, Momma whispered, “Don’t offer no answers on your own. Only answer, yes, sir or no, sir.”
“I will.”
Bobby sighed at the sight of Ginny sitting at the kitchen table. “Now, Ginny, what are you doing over here?” he said, staring at her with regret.
Ginny had a quick and fierce tongue when necessary. “Well, the law ain’t never said folks couldn’t visit, Bobby.”
“You right, Ginny. I was just askin’,” he answered, and backed down.
“This is my family. I thought today was as good as any to pay them a visit. Why are you ’round c’here?”
“Carrie, could you step in the front room for a few questions?”
“Yes, sir,” I sputtered, and Momma cut her eyes at me.
I got up, patted down the pleats in my dress and went into the front room. Simon followed close behind me. “Now, you need to go on back. I need to talk to her alone,” Bobby said to Simon.
Simon stopped in his tracks and held his hand out. “No problem, sheriff.” Simon turned and walked back toward the kitchen, where Ginny and Momma were sitting so still. I knew they were straining to hear the conversation.
I sat down in the paisley, high-back chair my Papa always sat in. Bobby stood in front of me, his hand resting on his pistol. It was an intimidating pose. He cleared his throat. “Now don’t be nervous, Carrie. I just got a few questions to ask you,” he said in a long Southern drawl.
“Yes, sir.”
“Now what was your relationship with Herman Camm?”
“He was my stepfather.” I answered, paying close attention to the hand he held on his pistol.
“Did you have a good relationship with him?”
“No, sir.”
“Why you didn’t have a good relationship with him?”
“I just didn’t. I was still mourning my papa when he married Momma.”
“Did he do anything to you?”
“Like what, sir?”
“Did he touch you in the wrong places?”
“Why are you asking me, Sheriff?”
“I am the one asking questions here. Gal, you answer them.”
“He touched me once.”
“Did you hate him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you get mad when he touched you?”
“Yes, sir, I did.”
“Did you want to kill ’em?”
“No, I never wanted to kill anyone. I wanted him to leave our house.”
“Did you sneak out the house and go looking for him on Christmas?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you kill ’em?”
I started to tear up. “No, I would never kill anyone. I did not like him, though.”
“I hope you ain’t lying to me, ’cause I ain’t got time to be playing with no nigga, I mean, colored killer.”
Bobby quickly caught himself.
“I’m not lying, sir. I didn’t want him dead.”
Before Bobby could say another word, Ginny had come down the hall. When he saw her, he paused and threw up his hands. “Ginny, now I asked you to stay in the goddamn kitchen.”
“I asked you to not hurt my kinfolk. This is my niece. She crying.”
“I didn’t make her cry. She doing it on her own.”
“I heard her tell you she didn’t do nothing to Camm. You know he had a lot of enemies, Bobby. Now, you need to gwon.”
“Ginny, if I didn’t know you, I’d lock you up for messing with my investigation.”
“I ain’t messed with no damn ’vestigation. I want to help you. She didn’t kill ’em.”
Bobby adjusted his holster. Then he said, “I guess yo
u telling the truth.”
“Yes, sir, I am.”
“You better not be lying to me or I will lock your colored butt up.”
He started toward the front door and stopped. “Ginny, you need a ride home?”
“Naw, you gwon. I’ll get home directly.”
Bobby changed his entire disposition when Ginny walked in the room. His approach was less intensive. It was like he had some compassion, at least for Ginny. She knew it, and used her influence to get him to stop his nonsense interrogation of me.
“Y’all folks have a good evening,” Bobby said, tilting his hat, before walking out the door.
Ginny put her arm around my shoulder. We walked back into the kitchen. Simon, Carl and Momma all had concerned faces. Little Robert had even been quiet in Momma’s arms.
“I’m so glad he is gone,” I said.
“You all right, Carrie?” Simon asked.
“He made me nervous. I am so tired of hearing Mr. Camm’s name.”
“All of us are tired,” Carl reiterated.
This was the first time I had seen Carl so flustered; his round eyes were glaring. He had always appeared relaxed about most things, and he reminded me of my papa. My papa had a mild spirit. Today Carl seemed unsure and overly concerned for someone who had nothing to do with the crime. He moved without control. He got up from the chair, gazed out at the clouds and sat back down. Beads of sweat rolled down his temples. Even Ginny recognized it. “Carl, are you all right?”
“Yes, ma’am. I didn’t know what to expect from a white sheriff. You know white people do not like us.”
“Yo sista is the one he wanted to talk to, not you,” she said. “Now you calm down.”
Momma was silent. Her beautiful eyes narrowed, and she bit her lip. Carl was shaking his leg relentlessly up and down. It was something he’d do whenever he was nervous. I did it too. Momma and Carl seemed drained by the visit even more than I was, even though I had puffy eyes from crying. At that moment, I wondered who really was the guilty one.
After Bobby was out of sight, we all sat around the table talking about the funeral. None of us brought up Mr. Camm. We all discussed the amount of people who came out to show Willie respect, and pretended Bobby was never there.
An Elderberry Fall Page 8
