I found the garden overgrown with weeds and peas dried on the vine. They would take longer to cook, but the peas were edible, not like the huge pods of okra with the outside hard as a rock.
I filled my basket with peas and also found some turnip roots. The turnip leaves were yellow and brown, and I discarded them. I took my harvest into the kitchen and soon had the peas shelled and in a pot of boiling water. I added a piece of smoked bacon to the pot. The turnip roots had to be cleaned and trimmed before I could cook them.
When I walked, with feet dragging, out to the well to draw another bucket of water, Uncle Colt and Aunt Jenny drove into the yard.
The bucket slipped from my grasp and clattered to the hard-packed ground. I ran to the wagon and engulfed Aunt Jenny in an embrace before her feet touched the ground. I looped my arm through hers as we headed toward the house.
“Where’re Zeke and your momma?” Aunt Jenny asked.
“In the house. I was cooking lunch and needed a bucket of water.” My step faltered, and I turned toward the well.
“You go on in with Jenny, and I’ll get the water,” Uncle Colt said.
He patted my back, and I shot him a grateful look.
Momma was rocking by the fireplace, her face haggard and her uncombed hair falling around her shoulders. Zeke wasn’t around, and I wondered if he had gone back to sleep.
“Hi, Molly. How’re you doing today?” Aunt Jenny approached Momma’s chair and laid a hand on her arm.
“I’m a living.”
If you called this living, I thought. We just existed, dwelling in a gray area while waiting for a storm to clear. Momma rocked more vigorously, forcing Aunt Jenny to step back to keep from having her toes rocked on.
Uncle Colt came in with the water, and I followed him into the kitchen. I stirred the peas before going to work on the turnips. Uncle Colt took a seat on the bench, and Aunt Jenny came in and slid beside him.
She picked up his hand, laced her fingers with his, and shook her head. As if a question had been asked, he nodded.
I stirred cornmeal and water together, poured it into an iron skillet, and popped it in the oven before joining them.
“Do y’all want to stay for lunch?” I asked. Momma may not like it, but I was the one doing the cooking.
Uncle Colt shook his head. “We just came by to see why you didn’t make it to church today.”
I lowered my head and traced a pattern on the wood. My finger found the hole Dan had burned in the table, the one I had tried to sand out. “I was tired. I’m sorry.”
Aunt Jenny reached across the table and took my hand. “There’s no need to be sorry, sweetie. We know what you’re going through.”
I nodded. “Where’s Laurie and William?”
“They walked home. They’re working on a project for school.”
I frowned, and Aunt Jenny squeezed my hand before releasing it.
“Tell them I said hey.” I rose to stir the peas again.
“Why don’t you tell them yourself?” Uncle Colt asked. “Come home with us for a couple of days.”
I shook my head. “We have to get the cotton picked.”
“Jay.” Uncle Colt cleared his throat. His eyes sought Aunt Jenny’s before he spoke again. “I hired a man to finish up for y’all. You and Zeke are all done in.” He paused. “And your momma, too.”
“You hired someone?” My eyes widened. “Did you tell Momma?”
Uncle Colt shook his head and lowered his voice. “We’ll tell her when we leave. Do you want to come home with us?”
I nodded. “But Momma won’t let me.”
Aunt Jenny’s face hardened. “You let us worry about your Momma. If you want to go, get your things ready.”
“How about lunch?”
“I’ll finish it for you, and we’ll leave this for your momma. I already cooked a big dinner before we left for church this morning.”
My mouth watered at the thought of Aunt Jenny’s cooking. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.” I handed Aunt Jenny the spoon.
I went into the bedroom, and, sure enough, Zeke was asleep on his bed. I stuffed his clothes and mine in a pillowcase before shaking him awake.
“We’re going home with Aunt Jenny.” I pulled him to his feet.
He nodded his head, still groggy, and his hand slipped into mine as we left the room.
Momma spotted the pillowcase in my hand, and the chair quit rocking. Her eyes darted from Zeke’s face to mine. “What’re you doing with that?”
I swallowed and looked down. “We’re going to spend the night at Aunt Jenny’s.”
Zeke tightened his grip. Uncle Colt came into the room from the kitchen and stood behind us, placing his hand on Zeke’s shoulder.
“Molly, the kids are going home with us for a few days. I’ve hired a man to help finish picking the cotton.” He cleared his throat. “He’ll be here first thing in the morning.”
Momma snorted. “That’s a waste of money. If you’re wanting to get rid of money, throw it my way. Me and Sarah Jane can finish the cotton.” The rocking chair started up again. “There ain’t no need to hire anyone. This is my home, and I’m a planning on keeping it that way.”
“Take a good look at your young’ns. They’re exhausted.”
“A little work ain’t never killed no one.” She pressed her lips together, and the rockers slapped against the floor with a vengeance.
“You’re making children do the work of grown men. They need rest and nourishing food.”
Aunt Jenny joined us, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “The food Jay cooked is on the stove.”
Momma pretended not to hear her, and we headed toward the door.
“Wait,” Momma said. “When are you bringing them back?”
I paused, hoping to hear “never.”
“We’ll bring them back Wednesday,” Aunt Jenny said.
I sighed and followed them out. None of us told Momma good-bye, not even Zeke.
LUNCH WAS DELICIOUS, and Zeke and I were in bed for a nap as soon as we finished. Laurie’s mattress was stuffed with feathers, and I snuggled my aching muscles into its comfort.
I allowed myself the luxury to think of Michael. Cedar Spring formed in my mind, and I remembered every moment, every scene, every smell, every touch. I breathed deeply and fell asleep.
When I awoke, it was dark outside and everyone slept. Laurie slept next to me, and I crawled over her to make a quick trip to the outhouse before crawling back into bed. When I awoke again, Laurie was up, and the sun shone brightly. I got up and dressed and went into the kitchen. Laurie and William sat at the kitchen table with their books spread out.
“Aren’t y’all going to be late for school?” I asked.
William laughed. “School’s over for the day.” His voice was gentle.
“What?”
“You’ve been asleep all day,” Laurie said.
“All day?” I fell into one of the chairs. How could I have possibly slept that long?
“Zeke’s still sleeping. But he did get up this morning and eat breakfast.” Laurie grinned at me.
Aunt Jenny came in from outside with fresh turnips.
“Awake at last. Are you hungry?” She laid the turnips on the counter.
“Starving.” I started to get up to fix a plate, but Aunt Jenny motioned me back down.
“Now, what do you want? Breakfast, lunch, or supper?”
“All three?” My mouth watered, and a smile tugged at the corners of my lips.
They laughed.
And in Aunt Jenny’s laugh, I almost heard Poppa.
Chapter 31—The Newspaper Clipping
Momma didn’t wait for Wednesday. She arrived Tuesday morning while we were eating breakfast. Uncle Colt opened the door, but she refused to come in.
“I want my young’ns now. Tell them to get their things.”
Her voice quivered, and I wondered if it was from anger or nervousness. I jumped up from the table, and Zeke clung to me.
“
I don’t want to go home,” he whispered.
“We’ve got to go, Zeke. She’s our mother.” I knelt to give him a quick hug. “Everything will be all right.”
Although I said it, I didn’t believe my own words.
Aunt Jenny pressed a basket of food in our hands as we left.
Momma had arrived on foot, and we walked back home, Momma almost trotting. Zeke and I struggled to keep up with her. She didn’t stop at the house but headed straight to the fields.
I deposited the pillowcase of clothes and the basket under the oak tree. Momma thrust a cotton sack toward Zeke and me. The fields of white still flowed before me. Would we ever be through?
“Where’s the man Uncle Colt hired?” I asked.
Momma had already begun picking, and for a minute or two she didn’t speak. Then she straightened her back and caught my eyes with a cold stare.
“He wasn’t a bit of good. Leaving cotton behind.” She went back to picking. “I told him to clear off my land.”
Zeke and I looked at each other, and then we moved as one to fill the sack with cotton.
DARKNESS DESCENDED as we stumbled our way back to the house. Zeke went to the barn to start the chores while Momma and I entered the house.
I was glad Aunt Jenny had packed so much food in the basket, and I wouldn’t have to cook supper. I stepped into the kitchen to unpack the basket and gasped.
The pots were still on the stove, and dishes littered the table and counter. Inside one of the pots, the liquid from the black-eyed peas had dried and formed a crust. Anger swept over me.
“Momma!”
As usual she was sitting in the rocker. She pulled her gaze from the fireplace and let it fall on me.
The heat of anger burned my cheeks. “Momma, why didn’t you clean up the mess in the kitchen?”
“Why should I? You’re the one who made it.”
My hands yearned to jerk her from the chair and shake her. “I’m not cleaning it up.” I stomped toward the bedroom with the basket still in my grasp. She jumped from her chair and caught my arm.
“Give me the basket. I’m hungry.” She wrestled with me.
With an effort, I yanked the basket away. “Fix your own food.”
She dropped her arms and observed me for a minute. “Give me the basket.” Her voice had lowered to a gruff whisper.
Zeke came in and stopped inside the door, and I looked at him.
When I did, Momma struck me across the face with a blow so hard that I staggered. My hand flew to my cheek, and she seized the basket, swirled around, and marched toward Zeke.
He pressed his back against the door, eyes wide. When she grabbed the straps of his overalls, he cringed and tensed, waiting for the blow. Instead, she slung him out of the way.
“Chance!” she called as she pulled opened the door.
It took me a moment to realize what she planned. I ran after her, but she was already emptying the basket out by the time I caught up.
Chance gobbled it down while we both watched in silence. All the anger drained from me, replaced with a coldness.
Zeke’s faint sobbing returned me to reality, and I entered the house to find him still hunched in the corner.
Sighing, knowing I still had to prepare supper, I brought him in the kitchen with me. While I fried cornbread and tried to wash the crust from the pot, I wondered what we should do.
Could we continue to live like this? What choice did we have? What would happen to Momma if we left her? What would Poppa think if we abandoned her?
Zeke swiped at his eyes, and I gave him a wet rag to wipe his face. When I heard the striking of the rockers against the floor, I knew Momma was back in the rocking chair.
“Jay?” he whispered.
“What?” I asked listlessly.
“I think the cows need milking.”
After I finished the cornbread, I slumped into a chair beside Zeke and ran my fingers through my hair.
Did Momma not milk the cows while we were gone? I’d better go see since I wasn’t hungry anyway. I rose wearily to my feet, and Zeke left his food to go with me. I reckoned he didn’t want to be left alone in the house with Momma.
Our two cows were wretched, their udders swollen like a maypop. I leaned against one of the cows, misery washing over me. Zeke, precious Zeke, brought me the stool and the pail, and I sat down and began milking. The cow turned her head to watch me, the light from the lantern reflecting in her large brown eyes.
If we left, who would take care of the cows, pigs, and chickens? But if we left, perhaps it would force Momma to, knowing there was no one else to do it. Yet, she had left the cows unmilked while we were gone. Had any of our livestock been fed?
Maybe the man Uncle Colt hired fed them? But if he fed them, wouldn’t he have milked the cows too? I decided to feed them just in case.
After Zeke helped me with the feeding, we trudged back to the house. I asked Zeke if he wanted to eat the cold cornbread, and he shook his head. I covered it with a cloth and piled the dirty dishes on the counter. If Momma could do it, I could too.
We scuttled to our bedroom, and both of us crawled into bed without undressing. Despite the extra sleep I had gotten, I slept as soon as my head hit the pillow.
The next morning, I awoke before Momma. I scurried out to milk the cows. The cows’ eyes thanked me, and I gave each an extra pat.
I carried in a fresh pail of milk and was surprised to see Momma still not up.
After depositing the milk on the kitchen table and lighting the lantern, I checked on her. She still slept, softly snoring, and compassion filled me. In sleep, the lines of her face had softened. No matter what, she was my mother.
But what could I do? What alternative did I have? Could I allow her to bully and frighten Zeke? He was only five—far too young to be made to work in the fields all day.
I bowed my head and began to pray. When I raised my head, I caught sight of the trunk.
I tiptoed to it with the lantern and studied it for a minute. Momma never locked it. All I had to do was reach down and open it.
But it was Momma’s.
Still, would it be so wrong to see if she had anything of Poppa’s in there?
I twisted my hands before I reached to open it. The lid fell back to reveal clothes, clothes I had never seen Momma wear. I pawed through them until I reached papers at the bottom.
I glanced around. All was still. Momma and Zeke still slept.
I pulled the papers out.
Some of them made no sense to me, and I shuffled through them until I found a wedding certificate. Momma and Poppa’s wedding certificate. I held it closer to the lantern and traced Poppa’s signature and sighed.
I started to put the certificate back when I noticed the date. February 16, 1923.
A shock ran through me. I had been born in 1922. Had someone made a mistake when they wrote the date? I shook my head, trying to make sense of it.
What if it was the correct date? Would that mean I was born out of wedlock? I sat back on my heels. Why would Poppa not marry Momma before I was born? Unless . . .
Aunt Jenny would know. If she would tell me. . .
I slipped the papers back under the clothes. When I did, my fingers touched another paper with a different feel.
I pulled it out and saw it was a newspaper clipping. Thin rays of sun spilled through the window. I studied the clipping. Birmingham, Alabama. It was about a man who lost his life in a house fire.
Why did Momma have this clipping from a Birmingham paper? The picture showed a partially burnt house. It didn’t make any sense.
I heard footsteps and put out my hand to slam the trunk.
Too late.
“Sarah Jane! What are you doing?”
I struggled to my feet and held the clipping to her. “What is this?”
She laughed harshly when she took the clipping from my hand. “Why are you going through my things? It ain’t none of your business. Ain’t nobody’s business.” She narrowed he
r eyes.
Zeke came to the door, rubbing his eyes. Momma sat down in one of the straight-back chairs, and Zeke groggily tried to climb in her lap.
She pushed him away.
He came over to me, and I took him in my arms and sat down. Momma stared at the clipping and shrugged her shoulders.
“Ain’t nobody’s business,” she said again. Her eyes clouded and then cleared. A smile played on her lips for a second as she looked at the picture in the clipping. “This is the house I used to live in.” Momma nodded her head, her eyes softening at the memory. “A beautiful house. We lived there, my husband and me.”
I frowned. “You and Poppa?”
“No, not James. I was married before.”
“Married before?” I widened my eyes. “And you lived in Birmingham?”
“Yes. I was married three years. We were happy.” Her eyes got misty. “One night, after we had gone to sleep, the house caught on fire.” Her voice cracked, and she took a deep breath.
“I heard someone yelling. I got up but didn’t know where I was. I reckon the smoke had befuddled me.”
She rubbed her temples. “Someone was banging on the window. I opened it, and he grabbed me and pulled me through the window.” She looked at me. “It was your father. He went in for my husband but came back without him. House burnt to the ground.”
Her face contorted. “It was two o’clock in the morning. Your father was drunk. He always blamed his drunkenness for not being able to save my husband.”
“Poppa was drunk?” I said, shaking my head in disbelief.
“Drunk as a skunk,” Momma said. “I was in the hospital for a while. James came to visit me every single day. Brought me flowers. I didn’t have any family. Your poppa took care of me.” She cleared her throat and locked eyes with me. “James helped pay my debts, for my husband’s funeral and some other things.” She sighed heavily. “Now you know everything. Are you satisfied?”
No, I didn’t know everything. Why was the date on the marriage certificate a year after I was born? Was Momma pregnant with me when Poppa rescued her? Poppa wasn’t my poppa?
I felt sick.
Momma rose. “Let’s go. We’ve got work to do.” Momma took Zeke from me. “Get your clothes on. Hurry.”
Thunder Snow Page 14
