I shouldn’t have walked through it when I took her the food. What was I thinking? I guess I didn’t want to walk all the way around by the road and Malachi had the truck. I got all these thoughts still running through my mind when I spoke.
“I say thank you, ma’am. I don’t know what came over my daughter to run off.” I peeked out the sides of my eyes at Sparrow, who was still standing too close to that woman. What a lie I told and I was ready to tell another. “But I sure am grateful that we have neighbors who watch out for us. We won’t bother y’all again. We know we shouldn’t be on y’all’s land.”
“I’m sorry I’m intruding. Please, call me Emma.” She went on before I had a chance to tell her no. “She, both of you—your whole family—are welcome in our woods and our home anytime.”
If I’d said those same words, it might have sounded like it just came out of a viper’s mouth. Poison and all. But when she spoke, it was like she meant her words. I done lost two of my children in the woods in a few days and she wasn’t judging me?
“Well, bless your heart, ma’am.” I almost tripped over my words because I got some sharp words I wanted to spit out at Sparrow. “Sparrow, tell her thank you.”
“Thank you.” It was almost a whisper and her buttery smile bugged me.
The woman looked at Sparrow like she knew her. Like she loved her. Like she was her kin. Like she want her for her own daughter.
She could have her.
Emma smiled at me but let it linger over Sparrow, then patted her arm. That darn girl didn’t even flinch but fairly glowed. Emma turned around to leave, but just before she slipped through the door she looked back at me. “What’s your name?”
Her blue eyes looked at me so nicely I couldn’t be rude. “Delilah Evans.” I didn’t say Deedee because I didn’t want no familiarity between us.
She bobbed her head nervously. “All right then. It’s nice to meet you, Delilah.” She looked at Sparrow and then back at me. “And I’m sorry to hear about the son you lost.” Her eyes diverted for a moment and they almost got bluer when they found mine again, and I saw that they got some grief in them. “I’m just so sorry.”
Her words brushed against me like the silk scarf my mama once gave me—all pretty and soft. But after Emma closed the door behind her, the silk-scarf words done wrapped around my neck and pulled so tight I couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t I have nothing to myself? The church got my husband. The Lord and Sparrow stole my baby from me. And now my grief was all spread out everywhere. But it was mine and I don’t want to share with nobody. Not this woman. Not with my daughter. Not with nobody.
EMMA
As I walked back through the woods, the air around me was still. The branches hung silently. But Sparrow’s words still echoed in the silence.
“I killed him.”
Those had been her words. I had paused when she spoke them. Just for a moment. Struck by her confession. Then I had to push myself onward.
“I didn’t mean to,” she added.
Of course it had to have been an accident. Of course it had been a terrible mistake. Of course no matter my concern it was not my business.
Learning about the death of Carver made that day in the woods, when I found George, make sense. The ache in Delilah holding on to George and me when he was found. I wanted to tell Delilah how sorry I was to hear about her son. I didn’t know her exact pain since my lost baby lost her spirit before she was born. Even my heartache had been worse than I thought possible. It changed everything, but still I didn’t think it could compare to the hurt of losing a little boy after having years with him. Giving him a real name. Looking in his eyes. Knowing he was breathing one moment and then the next he wasn’t.
I wanted to tell Delilah that while I hadn’t experienced that kind of loss, I wanted to be her friend. Only two people knew about my lost baby—John and my sister, Judith. Judith lived in Ohio and John had become almost as lost to me as the baby. I’d grieved alone. John helped his own grief with the power of wine.
I began retreating farther and deeper into the woods in my mourning. This turned me toward herbs and what they could do— and how they could help me never to go through the pain of losing a child again.
When the path got closer to home, my heart beat faster. What if Johnny said something to John about the girl and that I had walked her back? I would have to talk to Johnny today and tell him that we needed to keep anything that happened with the new neighbors between us.
It wasn’t that I’d ever heard John say anything particularly against Negroes, but I didn’t want any of his input because I knew he would err on the side of keeping to ourselves. I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to know my new neighbors—Delilah and Sparrow.
John had become distracted more than normal and didn’t notice me unless it served his basic needs. I did the laundry, cooked, cleaned, and got our home back into order after our company. I watched John carefully. I needed to talk to Johnny and even prayed John would drink more than normal to make it easier for me to talk with my son about Sparrow. Praying for John to indulge in sin was my own personal hell. But I didn’t know where else to allow my mind and heart to retreat to.
It was Friday before Johnny spoke to me of Sparrow.
“Have you seen her again?” he asked me as I washed dishes. He leaned over my shoulder and handed me a bowl from the table. John was in the living room with his Bible open.
I shook my head no. But I wanted to say more. This might be the one chance for a long time to have a conversation and maybe even start a new relationship with my son.
“We can’t let Dat learn anything about her. He wasn’t happy when her mem—” I paused. I didn’t want to say anything that would raise questions.
A heaviness weighed between us and I took the bowl from him, letting him free. But he turned back to the table and picked up the pitcher of water and returned to me. He wanted to have this conversation. He wanted to speak to me.
“I won’t say anything about Sparrow,” he said. I saw he wanted to say more but he didn’t. His gaze hung on to mine for a moment, then something shifted. “I need to go do chores,” he mumbled and left.
SPARROW
Go wash up, girl,” Mama told me when the Emma lady left. I liked the way her name felt saying it. Not many adults wanted me to use their first name like that.
I didn’t say nothing back to Mama when I turned on my heels to go upstairs to get clothes for my bath. Didn’t have nothing to say to her and nothing she wanted to hear anyway.
“Don’t you ever tell a stranger about our grief. Not our joys neither,” she said when I was at the bottom of the stairs.
“What joys? Ain’t none.”
The silence was thin. I was sure she could hear me thinking. But then I realized I didn’t just think those words, I’d said them. I hadn’t meant to.
“What you say?” She stepped real close. But I wasn’t nervous like other times. I imagined how happy she would be without me.
“I know you wish you could’ve left me with Aunt Doris.” I about smiled when I spoke because it made me feel glad to be brave and just say stuff to her.
Mama’s face went pale and any words she was gonna say got all stuffed back in her throat. I hoped she’d choke on them.
“Now, Sparrow.” She used my name. That didn’t happen much. She tried to open her mouth to say more but I cut her off.
“It don’t matter. I wish you would’ve left me. Would’ve been nice to be so far away.” I left out from you.
She don’t say nothing when I walk away upstairs, like maybe I got her good this time. I never got the last word with Mama. Nobody did. But today I just did and I’m proud of myself because she needed to know that I heard what she said to Daddy. She was the reason I ran off and she couldn’t push me around no more.
When I come back down she got the water going in the bathtub. She was standing in front of it. I still thought about how she had to swallow down them words and I wondered if th
ey tasted as bitter as the words I said. I hoped they had.
When she turned she looked at me with her face like something cut out of stone. I felt myself tuck in my chin and pull back a little. She got that fire in her eyes that never went well.
“You think you is all big and brave for talking to me how you just done. But you ain’t. You still that selfish little girl who was thinking about kissing on a boy instead of watching her baby brothers. I hope that’s the last kiss you ever get, girl. Ain’t nobody want to take on a selfish girl like you, who can’t think of nobody but herself. That’s just who you are and that’s who you’ll always be.”
She walked past me and let her shoulder bump mine on the way. I wasn’t feeling brave or smart no more. I wasn’t feeling like I got my mama neither. She was right.
I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the lukewarm water and wished it was hot enough to scald away all my shame. But I figured it ain’t gonna go nowhere for a long time. Maybe never.
The water wasn’t very deep and it didn’t take long for me to feel cold. Mama must’ve done it on purpose so I would finish fast. I bent my knees to get farther under the water, and when my ears went under I could hear him. Carver. His little laugh and his chatterbox way of talking that was so different from George. We had to remind him to take a breath sometimes.
My heart stopped a little when I thought of those words— take a breath. It all hurt so bad. His voice sounded so real to my ears when I closed my eyes and I just about saw him. I pushed my head down a little more. Just my nose and mouth were above the water.
All my sad memories weighed me down and my nose went under the water now.
My chest was tight but I stayed underwater.
Even though my lungs burned, I fought to stay under. I imagined a clock ticking and could see the second hand go around the clock face. One more second.
I didn’t know how long I was under the water, but my body forced me to sit up and I gasped. Not my mind. If it had been up to my mind, I would’ve let myself breathe in this water and all of this would be over. Then I’d be close to him.
I pictured my own grave. Probably would be back in them woods hiding and not a cemetery to be visited. Mama wouldn’t take no dirt of mine with her. There wouldn’t be no marker for me. Soon enough there would be track marks all over the ground above me. Daddy would come. Maybe Emma and Johnny because they were so nice. But not Mama. Nope. She wouldn’t care. She would be glad to forget me. I knew this.
At that thought I lowered my face into the water again. This time I tapped out the seconds with my hand against the porcelain. How long could I stay under? How long could I bury myself with water like Carver was buried in the dirt?
DELILAH
It didn’t matter that the black clouds were white now. It had rained earlier and the puddles on the road were deep and muddy. The three little ones were under strict orders to keep far away from the muddy water. It was our first time walking into Sinking Creek and I didn’t want my children looking like they weren’t taken care of. Those wild children just run ahead and make wide swoops around the puddles with their arms out like airplanes. I walked with my purse gripped tight—I got Carver with me—trying not to breathe too heavy from walking fast and from my nerves about visiting town. Sparrow lingered behind me.
I’d already had to answer all sorts of questions from the little ones—were we walking because there was a bus boycott up here too? Told them that this town didn’t have any buses. We hadn’t ridden a bus in months, but the kids asked about it every time their daddy drove somebody somewhere. But we didn’t have much more than some breakfast cereal and it was time I got myself to a grocery store.
I heard a motor behind me and turned to see a pickup tearing down that gravel road like they were late for their own funeral. Somebody else’s funeral was about to happen if we weren’t careful.
“Mallie, y’all get off the road and stand in the ditch—far in,” I yelled. “Pickup’s coming.”
I made toward the ditch myself and stood facing the road so I knew I was clear to let them pass. Sparrow did the same. The whole time my heart raced. Too many accidents happened to walkers like us. The pickup didn’t slow down none, and when it got closer it swerved toward Sparrow, and puddle water and gravel sprayed her. She was a mess.
The driver laughed when he passed. He looked like the young man with some awful carrot-colored hair from the woods. He yelled some awful words at us that I done heard enough already.
“Mama, let me go home,” Sparrow whined as she wiped a hand down her face that dripped dirty water.
Her shirt was now more brown than blue. Her too-tight trousers were dark at least, but her white stockings were almost the color of her legs. I heaved a sigh. Why? Not just why some folks got to act like that, but why now? We needed to make a nice impression in town, and now my girl looked like she was half pig and had rolled around in the mud. But I couldn’t trust her if I let her go home alone.
“You’re coming with us.” I turned around and started walking. I waved at the little ones ahead of me that they could keep going. They listened right away.
“Mama, I can’t go to the grocery store like this.”
I didn’t even turn around. She was going to listen to me like daughters were supposed to do. That was that.
When we got to the crossroads outside of town, the road became paved. We passed a few houses and businesses and then I stopped for a moment and looked at the road behind us. I couldn’t even see the church steeple no more. I hated feeling like such a stranger.
We moved onto the sidewalk and took in the town. Saw the shopkeepers talking and sweeping. Now that we stood at the main street I took in the view. The municipal building seemed larger than needed for such a small town. Beyond the main street I saw a pretty white church and farther was the lumber mill and yard Malachi had pointed out. But everything was so small compared to Montgomery, like a different world.
I saw a shiny pink sign that said Soda Shoppe and The Filling Station next to it. Music was coming from that way and that was at least familiar. Everywhere got the same music that was new and popular, I supposed. There was a funny-named beauty shop, Pretty’d Up, and a barber like before. Several men in white aprons stood outside talking. The competing diners and a few other businesses, I couldn’t make out much about them. A buggy came clopping on down the street and I thought my kids—all but Sparrow—were going to jump right out of their own skin. They got all tickled by the Amish carriages.
As we walked down toward the grocery store, we passed another barber. Why a small town like this got to have two barbers was a wonder. But when I got closer I saw that this one was run by a Negro man. A newspaper office and a doctor and dentist clinic was opposite us. Did they see colored folks? If they didn’t it made me think on how the colored barber might be the pulling-teeth kind.
It was a strange thing, walking around a town without all the signs up telling me where we could and couldn’t go—where we could stand or where we could ride. I’d seen those signs my whole life but not today. I got this measure of pride about how my children could come up in a place that don’t tell them no with those dang black-and-white signs.
“Look, Mama, it’s a candy machine,” Harriet yelled in her cheerful way. Just like a happy, innocent puppy she started toward it, and I had just enough time to grab her braid to pull her back. “Ouch.”
I took in every part of the grocer’s entrance. I didn’t see no sign at the door. No sign at the vending machine neither. I wished I could spare a dime so’s we could feel what it was like to use something that was usually meant for somebody else. Somebody different from me.
“Mama,” Harriet said and I let go of her braid.
She didn’t say nothing. Her braided ponytail just stuck straight out and no one moved to fix it.
Once we got inside Coleman’s Grocery, I saw that the supermarket was small. Several white women and their young children were inside. They all turned to look, then turned awa
y. The clerk at the counter looked at us a little longer. He didn’t say hello before he turned back to his paperwork. If that was the nice owner Malachi told me about, I questioned his study of a person.
I looked around and saw a dozen or so shiny grocery buggies.
“Get a buggy for me,” I told Harriet and I tried not to let my voice get shaky but it was.
“Ma’am,” the clerk said with a small glance at me. His hand pointed. “Those carts are yours. Your produce is in the back.”
“What?” I asked stupidly. But he don’t got to answer. I knew what he meant and when he opened his mouth I said, “Thank you, sir,” before he could say anything. And I smiled at him real nice. I didn’t want no trouble. I directed the children toward the back.
Harriet ran ahead and picked out one of the five buggies waiting for us. She pushed it over to me with a twinkle in her eye as she pretended to be a haughty grown-up lady pushing that thing around the market. She got it to me while I was still in the white section that ain’t marked. If it weren’t that I was nervous to be there, I’d have thought Harriet was cute and funny. But my blood pressure was too high for that and I didn’t know who was nice around town and who wasn’t. My senses wasn’t up for any horsing around.
“Mama, it’s so clean,” Mallie pointed out.
“Mm-hmm.” I handed George’s hand over to Mallie. “Hold tight now, boy.”
He “yes, ma’am’d” me and little George winced a little at his grip. He loosened it up and I didn’t have to say nothing.
I put the market bag next to my Carver purse in the front of the buggy. The front bar was cold in my sweaty, warm hands. It was an old buggy with the front plastic handle worn off and when I pushed it the front right wheel jiggled. I don’t want to make something of it so I didn’t replace it.
I missed my market back home. ’Course we got most of our vegetables from Ms. Maddie who had a big garden outside of the city. Every week she sold us city folk all sorts of good produce. But I still had to shop at the store for other stuff. But I knew the clerks and I knew how I would be treated. Of course, a white person would be served first, but we still got pretty good service anyhow.
The Solace of Water Page 10
