Francie

by Karen English

  “Natasha …” It sounded like a sneeze.

  “My book is going to be better than War and Peace,” she said, like just uttering the words would make it so.

  “My mama says it’s not nice to brag.”

  “I’m not bragging if it’s true.”

  “You can brag about things that are true.”

  Suddenly Mama was calling up the stairs. I looked at Clarissa and hurried out to the landing. She came after me. And before I could look down into Mama’s angry face, Clarissa pushed a big, thick book in my hand. “I finished this a while ago. You can have it.”

  I took it because I didn’t know what else to do. It was heavy in my hand. “Thanks,” I murmured before I rushed down the stairs to Mama’s scolding.

  “Girl, if you don’t get your behind down here … You think Mrs. Montgomery is paying for you to visit with her niece?” I set the book on the hall table. Mama didn’t notice.

  As I scooted by Mama to get back to the living room, she popped me on the head with her knuckle.

  Just when I thought we were finished, after Clarissa had skipped out the door and down the walk with her friends, Mrs. Montgomery came into the kitchen, where Mama and I were putting away the cleaning supplies, and stood there wringing her hands and smiling.

  “I hate to ask this, but can you two stay and polish the silver? I’ve got unexpected company coming tomorrow.” She smiled and shrugged. I looked at Mama but Mama didn’t meet my eyes.

  “Course, Mrs. Montgomery. I’d be happy to. But I gotta send Francie on home so she can look in on Lydia. She just delivered a short while ago and still needs help.”

  “And the upstairs linen. I forgot to ask you to change it,” Mrs. Montgomery said, as if her mind had never left her own concern.

  “I’ll get right on it.” Mama turned and left the room. I went over and picked up the book Clarissa gave me. It was War and Peace.

  Daddy’s Coming

  I went right over to Auntie’s and spent the rest of the day cleaning and washing for her, so she wouldn’t have anything to do but take care of Janie. Mama came by to pick me up and we were walking down Three Notch together when we noticed the flag was up on our mailbox. “Run over to the box and get our mail,” Mama said, climbing the porch steps heavily.

  We hadn’t heard from Daddy in weeks. I pulled the single letter out of the box and immediately checked the postmark. Chicago. I marched the letter to Mama.

  She took it out of my hand and leaned it against the sugar bowl on the table. She still had to wash her face.

  “That from Daddy?” Prez asked, coming over to look at it.

  “Yea, and don’t you touch it.”

  Mama finally sat down. She picked up the letter, opened it, and held it for a moment. Then she handed it to me to read. I read it aloud word for word, then raced to reread the part about him coming home. Sunday. Four days from tomorrow. Mama took it back and looked at it. “Where does it say that?”

  I pointed to the words. We all sat almost holding our breath and finding it hard to believe. It’d been over a year since Daddy had left us. He was tired of being without his family. When Mama said, “I’ma go on down and see how Auntie’s doin’,” I knew she was just trying to get away to hide her excitement. “You two go on and heat up the supper. We gonna have a lot to do between now and Sunday.”

  I knew what I was going to do. I was going to go buy Daddy a present. A pipe, God willing, because he’d look handsome smoking a pipe. I saw one at Green’s, so I wouldn’t even have to go into town to get it. I wouldn’t have to go to the place I’d been practically run out of.

  I woke up with a buzz of planning in my head early the next morning. I went to the outhouse and met Prez on the way. He’d already made his trip.

  “Perry was just here. He said he came to get Mama at dawn. Auntie’s not feeling well. She’s sick. Mama wants you down there as soon as you can get dressed.”

  He looked smug with this news and I could have popped him. With Mama distracted with caretaking Auntie, I knew he and Perry would be off to the fishing hole.

  “What about you?”

  “Me and Perry are workin’ over at the Early farm today.”

  Mama probably had plans to use up most of my morning, but if I hurried I could get down to Green’s by early afternoon.

  Auntie had visitors. Nola Grandy and her daughter, Violet, were there with a potato pie and a bouquet of black-eyed Susans. Granny was there, having come with a sugar tit for Baby Janie and some catnip tea. She brought a chicken feather tied in red flannel for Auntie to hang around the baby’s neck, but Mama had stepped in—taking it from Granny and dropping it in her pocket.

  “I ain’t puttin’ that nasty thing around Baby Janie’s sweet little neck,” Mama whispered to me when Granny wasn’t looking.

  Auntie looked tired and pale and I knew Mama was worried about her getting childbirth fever. Women died from it all the time. Mama had tightly braided Auntie’s hair into two thick cornrows that pulled her face to show her cheekbones. She looked pretty, but it was a tired pretty. Janie nursed at her breast.

  Two loud knocks sounded on the front door. Before anyone could say anything, Miss Mabel stepped into the room.

  “I’m comin’ to see that new baby,” she announced. She walked straight across the room to stare down at Janie. “My, that’s a fine baby.” She scooped Janie out of Auntie’s arms just as Auntie was settling her after burping her. Before Auntie could protest, she carried Janie to the window.

  “Mabel …” Mama said, standing.

  “Aw, I ain’t gonna steal her.” She squinted at Janie. “Bright like her daddy’s people.” She lifted a tiny hand to the light. “But the rims around her fingers are pretty dark. She’s gonna be brown.” Mama and Auntie exchanged uneasy looks. “She got a whole lotta hair, I see. It’s gonna be kinky.”

  Mama rescued Janie out of Miss Mabel’s arms and returned her to Auntie. “You don’t know that, Mabel.”

  “Yea, sure I do. Ain’t that right, Granny? You seen a bunch of babies and how they turn out.” Granny didn’t answer, just sat there, arms crossed.

  Miss Mabel got herself a comfortable seat at the table with the other women. “You heard about that boy they after.”

  “Sure did,” said Nola.

  Mama glanced over at me and gave a little quick nod that was meant to convey something to them. They all turned to stare at me then. I’d found a little corner to sit in, hoping to just sit and catch some grownup conversation, which was always interesting. “Go on, Francie, and get to washing them diapers,” Mama said now. “Auntie’s gonna need some before you know it.”

  “They offerin’ a reward,” Miss Mabel said as I walked out into the blistering-hot morning.

  A pile of wet diapers and sheets sat at my feet. One by one, I pulled them out of the basket, shook them, and pinned them to the line. It had taken all morning to wash them, and now the sun beat ferociously on my back and biting flies were making mad dashes at my arms. The baby was sleeping peacefully and the company had gone home to start their dinners.

  I grabbed a sheet and sunk my hot face into its cool, clean scent, almost missing a bright flash of red skirting the edge of the woods. If I’d blinked, I would have missed it. I squinted, staring at the place until I wondered if I’d imagined it. Just trees and undergrowth stared back. I finished hanging up the laundry, put the basket up against the porch, and skipped out of there. I had money from my can under the bed. I smiled, thinking of Daddy’s pleasure when I gave him his present.

  Run, Jesse, Run

  Some white farmers stood just inside the door at Green’s, huddled in conversation. When I squeezed by, they stopped talking until I passed. I found the rack of pipes. I chose a shiny black one with a white mouthpiece. At the register, Mr. Green leaned on the counter, picking his teeth with a toothpick and watching the group by the door.

  I put my pipe on the counter. Mrs. Early came up then with boxes of Musterole and Triscuit Shredded Whea
t. She set her items on the counter and with the back of her hand moved my item to the side.

  I looked up at her sagging chin and limp hair the color of mud. She started up some talk with Mr. Green about the hot humid weather. I waited. I whistled “Camptown Races.” My eyes drifted to the wall behind the register. Something pasted up there made me stop dead.

  It was a black-and-white “wanted” picture of Jesse Pruitt. My lips parted and my heart pounded and my hands shook. My mouth went dry. I nearly spoke his name: Jesse …

  The photograph was hazy, as if it had been part of a group picture once and someone had cut out his face and made it bigger. But the straight brow and hesitant eyes were unmistakable. Under it were the words:

  WANTED: A colored boy who goes by the name of Jesse Pruitt for the attempted murder of Mr. Rosco Bellamy, the foreman for Mr. Robert Early. Use precaution. He is considered armed and dangerous. Reward offered.

  “What you starin’ at, Francie?” Mr. Green asked me.

  I looked down, feeling like I’d been caught stealing candy.

  “Nothin’, Mr. Green.”

  “You seen that boy?” he asked.

  “No, sir,” I was able to answer honestly.

  “Well, if you do, you let me know directly, you hear?”

  I said nothing.

  “You hear me?” he said louder.

  Mrs. Early narrowed her eyes at me, making her face ugly and mean. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked.

  “Nothing, ma’am.”

  “Then what’s taking you so long to answer Mr. Green, here?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said quietly. Mrs. Early gathered up her purchases, dropped her change in her pocketbook, and snapped it shut.

  “You takin’ up smokin’, Francie?” Mr. Green laughed at his own joke.

  “It’s for my daddy. He’s comin’ home on Sunday.” I paid and stepped out onto the sidewalk in time to see Mrs. Early making her way across the road, where her husband was starting the engine of their car, his straw hat pushed to the back of his head and his fringe of hair plastered to his red forehead in dark sweaty points. He slowly scratched the back of his neck. I felt a deep abiding fear, watching after them.

  He gunned the motor then, and they took off in a cloud of red dust.

  “I know that boy,” Vell said suddenly from behind me.

  I whirled around.

  “I seen him.”

  “Where, Vell?”

  “I was out looking for my dog in the woods out by your place and I seen him. And he run from me.” He paused and his lower lip drooped. “He didn’t have to run from me. I wasn’t after him.”

  I believed Veil. “You gonna tell?”

  “Naw. Cause I know him and I like him.”

  “Don’t tell—please.” I felt I had to say it. “It’s real important that you don’t tell nobody, Vell, please. Please.”

  He looked insulted. “I told you I wasn’t,” he said and walked back toward the store.

  When I got home, I did a few chores, then I waited on the porch for Prez. Juniper slept at my feet, twitching through a dream. Prez wouldn’t be getting back from the Early farm until the sun was nearly touching the trees.

  Finally, I could see two little figures making their way up the road. I got up and began to pace. They seemed to be taking so long I ran to meet them.

  “When was the last time you seen Jesse?” I said, starting right in.

  Prez shrugged his thin little shoulders. I looked to Perry. “Jesse’s in trouble,” he said.

  “When you seen him last?” I repeated.

  “Before we went up to Benson visiting Uncle June,” Prez said. “Now everybody after him, sayin’ he tried to kill Mr. Bellamy.” Prez looked like he was going to cry. “Are they gonna catch him, Francie?”

  I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to think about it.

  I turned away and walked slowly back up the road to our house. I had supper to get on.

  Jesse filled my mind—so much so I couldn’t get to sleep that night, and when morning came, I couldn’t tell if I’d done more than doze. I’d talked Mama’s ear off with my fears and suspicions that he was hiding out nearby, until she turned over and said, “Francie, there ain’t nothin’ we can do about that poor boy but pray and hope for the best. I think he’s long gone anyway. Now go to sleep. We got tomorrow’s work plus gettin’ ready for your daddy’s homecomin’.”

  I let out a last shuddery sigh and kept my lips pressed together against all that I was feeling.

  Serving on a Budget

  At breakfast the next day Mama reminded me that we had the Grace tea to serve. I hadn’t wanted to think about it. Mama would be needing me all day, to wax and polish and get the finger foods together.

  I stopped in the middle of dishing up Prez’s oatmeal. He opened his mouth to say he wanted more, but I was protesting before he could get the words out.

  “Mama, I don’t want to serve at Mrs. Grace’s.”

  “Get a move on, Francie,” Mama said, busy at the mirror getting her hat on, and not listening. “You gonna have to grab a couple of biscuits cause you ain’t got time for oatmeal. We gotta go.”

  “Mama, I don’t want to serve at …”

  Mama looked over at me. “What?”

  I thought about telling her why but decided against it. “Nothing, Mama.”

  Holly Grace was nibbling on a cookie as she opened the back door. She looked me and Mama up and down, then turned and walked away. “Mother,” she called out, “the colored girls are here.”

  I checked Mama to see what she thought about being called a girl, but she acted like she hadn’t even heard it. She pushed open the screen door and stepped into the kitchen. I followed her. I’d helped Mama at the Graces’ before and knew where things were kept. I started collecting what we’d need, while Mama went to get special instructions from Mrs. Grace. I could hear their voices in the dining room on the other side of the kitchen door.

  Just then, Holly Grace came through the door and stood staring at me coldly. I pretended not to notice.

  “Don’t you be spreading lies about me.”

  I said nothing.

  “Cause if you do—I’ma make sure you get in big trouble.”

  I didn’t know how she’d do it, but I figured she had something in mind.

  “You listening to me?” She tossed her hair. I measured the flour into a mixing bowl for monkey bread.

  When Holly Grace reached the door, she gave me a look meant to seal her words on my mind, I was sure. I just went on with my work. But I was thinking: thief, thief, thief.

  “Now, Lil,” Mrs. Grace was saying to Mama over the platter of shrimp wheels me and Mama had just finished making. “I’m counting on you to make sure no one gets more than two of these shrimp wheels.”

  A whoop of laughter sounded from outside. Holly and her friends were sitting at the outdoor table under the big live oak playing cards. “Now, once you’ve determined a guest has had her two, Francie, you only go over to them with the tuna fingers.” Mrs. Grace checked my face closely. “You understand that, Francie?”

  “Yes’m.” Mama frowned at me. “Yes, ma’am,” I corrected myself. Mama didn’t like me to sound slack around grownups.

  Mrs. Grace sighed, patted her hair, and swished out.

  “You need to take these out to them girls.” Mama handed me a tray of glasses of iced tea. She noted my pout. “Go on, now. This is heavy.”

  Slowly, I took the tray from her. Mama stepped in front of me and held the door open. I made my way carefully down the back steps and the sloping lawn to where the girls sat fanning themselves and concentrating on their cards.

  I placed a glass beside each of the four girls. Only one, Eva May Holland, murmured, “Thank you.”

  As I turned to go, Holly said, “Wait a minute. This needs more sugar.” She held the glass out to me.

  She was shielding her eyes at me and cocking her head. I took the glass, then made my way back up the slope to the kitc
hen. I put a teaspoon of sugar in her glass, stirred it, and tasted it. It tasted fine, but I dumped another teaspoon in it just in case.

  Then I took it back to Holly, deposited it into her waiting hand, and started back to the kitchen. “Hold on, now,” she called after me.

  I looked back and caught her slyly smirking at one of her friends. “Not enough sugar still.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “It’s not sweet enough. Take it back.”

  “Did you give it a stir?” I’d put spoons and napkins on the table with the iced tea.

  “What’s that got to do with the price of rice in China?”

  Betty Jo Parnell burst into giggles at this. I glanced over at her fat, sweating face.

  “Well, the sugar has probably sunk to the bottom. If you stir every once in a while—”

  “If you’d just put enough sugar in it in the first place, I wouldn’t have to worry myself with stirrin’ it all the time.” Holly Grace held it out to me. I took it and went up the sloping lawn again. Once in the kitchen, I counted to twenty, then took it right back out to her.

  She took a sip, smacked her lips, and announced, “Now, that’s better.” Then, with a whisk of the back of her hand, she waved me away.

  I went back up the hill, grinning.

  Mama put a tray of shrimp wheels in my hands as soon as I came into the kitchen, and directed me toward the dining-room door. “Remember, no more than two per customer. They pretty big, so ain’t nobody gonna be able to take more than two. Most’ll take just one, so you have to remember who took two and who took one when it’s time to go around again.” Mama opened the door for me and nodded her head toward the waiting guests. The tray was heavy, but Mama was needed in the kitchen to get the tuna fingers ready to go.

  I advanced toward Mrs. Montgomery first—a familiar face.