Sugar

by Bernice McFadden

  She stopped for a minute. Looked Sugar from head to toe and shook her head, unable to continue. Sara placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and squeezed it tightly. Sara picked up where Ruby left off.

  “Can’t say we did everything perfect while you was here. We know that now. But we can’t go back and change it now. The past is the past, and that’s where it belongs—behind you.”

  Ruby leaped up from the table, suddenly remembering the fish, which was beginning to smoke. Her sudden movement startled Sara, and she lost her chain of thought.

  “Uhm, oh yes. See, we feel we did our best where you were concerned. We gave you our name and our love.”

  Sugar’s skin crawled at the word “love.” What did the Laceys know of love? Whatever it was they gave her, it wasn’t love. She’d seen what love was at Mary Bedford’s house. She saw the hugs and kisses that were shared between Mercy and Mary. None of that went on at the Lacey house. Not without a price tag attached to it.

  Sara looked down at her hands, away from the frigid expression that had settled on Sugar’s face. May nudged her to continue.

  “We know you been waiting to hear ’bout your mamma and we know that your feelings for her ain’t what it should be. But we want you to understand that it ain’t fair for you to judge her by what she done, ’cause she did what she had to do. She had her reasons for running off and leaving you with us like she did. But we glad she chose us, ’cause you brought a lot of joy to this here house.”

  Sara’s voice thickened with emotion and she took the hem of her apron and dabbed at the corners of her eyes.

  “When she showed up here four years ago, we was shocked to see her. We ain’t heard nothing from her since the day she come and leave you with us. She look real bad. You see, she had the cancer, and that thing had ate her down to near nothing. She was no more than a bag of bones, and almost completely blind,” Sara said, and her voice trailed off.

  Sugar’s heart felt like it had stopped beating a while ago. They were talking about her mother in the past tense. Like she wasn’t around. Like she wasn’t napping upstairs in one of the rooms or in town shopping for vegetables.

  May was the first to see the turmoil in Sugar’s face. The rage and despair was blending together and rising quickly to the surface.

  “Baby, we are so sorry. So sor—” was all she was able to get out before Sugar exploded. Her fists were clenched so tight you could see the veins straining against the skin. She raised them and shook them in fury at the women.

  “You’re sorry? You’re sorry! Sorry for what? Sorry that she ain’t here? Sorry that you made me wait all day long before you told me she ain’t here! Or are you sorry for the love you didn’t give me the whole time I lived here? Exactly what in the hell are you sorry for? I’ll tell you all something . . . you’re a bunch of sorry asses, that’s what you are!”

  The women sat quiet while each word rocked them like a blow.

  “Ya’ll love me? Really? When I left here ya’ll didn’t even have the time to look over your shoulders to say good-bye. Ya’ll just acted like I was heading down the road somewhere. Didn’t even ask me to stay. Love would make you want me to stay.” Sugar slumped back down into her chair. She picked up the empty cigarette pack and dug a shaking finger into it, hoping one would be there. There wasn’t and she slammed it down hard on the table. “Just tell me where my mama is,” she said in a voice that was low and tired.

  May, who had been relatively quiet for the most part, stood up slowly. Anger was etched into her face. “Sugar, you don’t forget whose house you in. We don’t deserve that trash talk. Like we said, we done the best we knew how where you was concerned.” She slammed both hands down hard on the table and sent potato peelings flying in all directions.

  She walked around to Sugar’s side of the table, and for the first time, Sugar realized the woman had acquired a limp. She walked past Sugar and retrieved her cane, which was set in the corner of the room next to the large black cast iron stove. She leaned heavily on the cane and walked out of the kitchen.

  No one said a word. No one looked at the others.

  When May returned, she carried an envelope, which she flung onto the table. It landed dead in front of Sugar.

  “That there is what your mamma leave here for you. You know, the one you always thought ain’t give a damn about you,” May said sarcastically.

  “What she do, write me a letter?” Sugar said in disgust. She would not look at the envelope. “What, she was too afraid to stay around and wait to tell me what she had to say?” Sugar didn’t want to hear what she already knew to be true.

  May sucked her teeth and said, “You telling me you expected your mamma to wait around for four years? Lord, child, she wasn’t able to wait for four days! Weren’t you even listening? Your mamma was sick. She was dying. Your mamma come here to try to set things right between the two of you. Your mamma came home to die!” May said and grabbed her hip in pain. She sat down next to Sugar. “She died right here. Right here in this house, waiting on you to come.” The words dripped from May’s mouth like poison.

  There was a long quiet that was broken now and again by a passing car along the outer road.The guilt May’s words inflicted welled up inside of Sugar and gushed forth in waves of sorrow. “Why . . . why did she leave me?” Sugar asked between sobs and tears. Ruby shook her head in ignorance. The real story, the truth, would be too hard to repeat and just make it worse for Sugar. Ruby turned her eyes up to the ceiling and quietly asked the Lord for strength. Did she want to tell Sugar of the madness her mama, Bertie Mae, endured under the roof of Ciel Brown? The emotional and physical battering she lived with up until the day she left Short Junction with Ciel’s man, Clemon Wilks?

  No, she didn’t want to tell it, but she did tell Sugar that the day she was born everyone in the Low came out to bear witness to her life. Sugar’s wet eyes looked up at her. “True,” Ruby said, and embraced her.

  The truth be told, Bertie Mae ran scared. Scared that she would go mad and abuse her child like her mother abused her. She’d rather abandon her child than put her through that hell. But Ruby, May and Sara would keep that truth to themselves. Better that truth stay in the ground. Better for all of them.

  That evening, when the house was quiet and the only sound to be heard was the muted sound of music traveling from the small radio in Sara’s room, Sugar sat propped up on the bed in her childhood room staring at her mother’s envelope.

  The unmarked envelope stared back at her from its place on her lap. She traced its sharp borders with her fingers, and turned it over and over in her hands. Long after the music had stopped, she finally peeled it open and removed its contents.

  There was a deed to a house and property in Bigelow. There was a will, that clearly stated Sugar as the owner of the house.

  A small black and white photograph showed a woman leaning against a tree. Her hands were not visible, they were hidden behind her back, her long hair hung loose and wild about her face. The woman would have looked provocative, had it not been for the sad eyes. Sugar knew those eyes well. She had the same ones.

  She flipped the picture over.

  Bertie—Waco, Texas, 1928.

  The scrawled writing told Sugar this was her mother.

  She stood up and went to the large, square mirror that hung on the wall above the dresser. She held the picture up to her face and stared intensely at the vision before her. She wanted so desperately to see something of that woman inside her. Something other than the sad eyes.

  Sugar lay back down in the bed, placing the picture gently down on her pillow. She looked down at her hands, and thought how much she wanted to see the hands of her mother. A tear escaped and slid quickly down her cheek.

  The envelope also held a newspaper clipping from the Junction Gazette. It was an obituary:

  Mrs. Ciel Venita Brown

  SHORT JUNCTION, ARKANSAS. (January 3rd, 1932) A colored woman was buried during the night in a casket furnished by the county.
Wrapped in a shroud that had once been used as a tablecloth, the emaciated remains of Mrs. Ciel Brown, who died Saturday morning, were taken to a private cemetery on the edge of town and buried Sunday night. No friends assisted in preparing the body for burial and no preacher spoke over the body or to the grief-stricken sons of the deceased, who stood by silently.

  Mrs. Brown died while in the confines of the Arkansas State Home for the Insane (Colored Section). She was taken ill while her son, Abel, visited with her. There she breathed her last breath.

  She leaves to mourn three sons, Abel, Finis and Wylam. One daughter, Bertie Mae.

  Sugar read the obituary twice. This was her grandmother. Sugar had uncles. Where would they be? The Lacey women didn’t mention anything about family. Perhaps they didn’t know anything about Bertie’s family.

  Sugar thought some things were better left as is.

  She replaced everything except the picture in the envelope. She was disappointed that there was no letter. Some comforting words from her mother to her. She looked at the woman in the picture and the only word that came to her mind was: Why?

  The following morning, as the jay birds perched themselves on the limbs of the great pine trees and oaks to sing the world awake, but not before slop jars were emptied or breakfast made and coffee brewed, the Lacey women pulled their robes tight against the early morning spring air and led Sugar across the dewy grass to the edge of the property where her mother was buried alongside the Lacey ancestors.

  Fresh wildflowers, pink, yellow and vibrant purples, covered the grave like a colorful blanket. The Laceys stepped back a bit to give Sugar grieving space.

  Didn’t they know she’d been grieving her entire life?

  She thought of the little picture of her mother with the sad eyes, now wrapped inside the Mary Bedford handkerchief and pinned safely inside her bra. She touched it gently as she stood over her grave.

  A sudden breeze swept by and shook the weeping willow limbs that hung heavy above her mother’s final resting place. Ruby looked up and pointed toward the branches that still quivered in the aftermath of the breeze.

  “That’s yo’ mamma saying hello,” she said, her eyes sparkling with wonder. Sugar smiled up at the sky and mouthed, “Hello mamma.”

  Knowing each other’s past helped both Pearl and Sugar. Secret pains, now told, bonded the women together tighter than anything else in this world.

  They held each other and assured each other that better days were coming. Sugar wanted to believe it, but life had taught her otherwise.

  Chapter Eleven

  BIT, you sure you won’t come with me?” Joe asked again as he and Pearl stood watching the train pull into the station. The rush of air it brought in teased at the hem of Pearl’s dress, causing it to flutter about her ankles and threaten to rise to meet her knee.

  “We done been through this already, honey . . . we go through this every year.”

  Joe shrugged his massive shoulders in defeat. Pearl had not set foot out of Arkansas in fifteen years. The annual trip they took together each year to visit his family in Florida had come to an end when Jude died, but Pearl had insisted that he continue to go. “Joe, you acting like you gonna miss me or something,” Pearl said and slapped playfully at the hand he rested lovingly on her shoulder.

  The whistle sounded three times, signaling the departure of train #2438 to all points south. Young and old scrambled around them saying their good-byes. Redcaps moved swiftly through the crowd of people, expertly guiding dollies heavy with large black steamer trunks and beaten luggage to be loaded aboard the train. Children clung to the skirts of their mothers, crying to stay or begging to go along. Lovers pressed lips and bodies together as if it was the last time they would ever touch in that way again.

  Joe and Pearl stood in the midst of tears, kisses and smiles and said their own good-byes. Joe kissed her gently on the cheek and Pearl squeezed his hand and smiled lovingly into his eyes. “I’ll be back and blacker than ever before you know it.” He tweaked her nose and winked and then he was gone on #2438 down the same tracks he helped lay so many years earlier.

  Pearl found Sugar sitting on her porch and humming softly to herself. One leg folded beneath her, the other swinging back and forth like a long, brown pendulum trying to keep time with the rest of the world.

  “Hey, Miss Pearl,” Sugar called to her and waved her over. Pearl sighed heavily, not sure she was in a congenial mood. The heat had drained the little bit of energy it took her to see her husband off. She felt lonely and depressed. At the last minute she wanted to pull Joe back to her and beg him to stay, but she had fought that impulse and had waved instead, offering her biggest and brightest smile. Now she was hot and tired and wanting nothing more than to retire to her empty house.

  “Miss Pearl!” Sugar called to her again. She was standing now, hands on her hips, annoyance in her voice. “C’mon!”

  “Joe get off okay?” Sugar asked as she sipped slowly from a chilled glass.

  “Uh-huh,” Pearl answered in awe. “How you do that?” she asked, pointing at the frozen glass.

  Sugar laughed. “Just put it in the freezer, Miss Pearl!” she said in lazy exasperation. She got up and walked into the house to retrieve another glass for Pearl. Moments later she returned. “Here you go, something to cool you off.” She handed Pearl a frozen glass filled with yellowish liquid. Sugar sat down on the steps, giving her chair to Pearl.

  They sat quietly for a while watching the day recede and the night stroll in on the back of the cool September evening. “What is this?” Pearl asked after draining the glass dry. The liquid, which went down cold, did not seem to cool her body; instead it ignited a small warm fire in her belly.

  “Oh . . . Pike aid,” Sugar answered. “You drank it too fast to really appreciate it, though,” she said, laughing loosely.

  “Pike aid?” Pearl said stupidly and pulled at her collar, allowing a space for the heat to ease out from beneath her dress.

  “Uh-huh. Lemonade and corn liquor—”

  “What!” Pearl shouted and jumped to her feet. “Corn liquor! Have you lost your mind, child? I don’t drink!” She spat on the ground.

  “Oh calm down, Miss Pearl, it’s just a little dab of it in there, not enough to take any effect on you at all,” Sugar said, trying hard to control her laughter. “It’s just there to give the taste a little pick me up, is all.”

  Pearl calmed down a bit. “Well, even so, you should have told me.” She looked at the glass. All of the frost had melted away, leaving behind the worn rose pattern that clung to its sides for dear life. “Want another?” Sugar asked innocently.

  “I don’t suppose I should,” Pearl responded, but licked her lips in memory of the first glass.

  Sugar smiled and disappeared back into the house to retrieve the pitcher of pike aid. Pearl leaned back in her chair, shaking her head at her own foolishness. “Here you go.” Sugar was looming over her, refilling the glass Pearl still held in her hand. “Just a little bit, right?” Pearl’s eyes questioned.

  “Aw, go on, Miss Pearl, it ain’t gonna kill you,” Sugar said and stretched her body across the top step.

  Pearl took her time with the second glass, enjoying the slight giddiness that was gradually taking over her mind. Her fingertips tingled and she felt a strange quivering in the lower regions of her body. She shot a glance at Sugar to make sure she wasn’t watching her, then she squirmed in her chair, trying to quell the sensation between her legs. She patted the damp space between her chin and her chest and searched the sky for clouds.

  “Ain’t it beautiful, Miss Pearl,” Sugar suddenly said in a breathless voice. “Just sky and land for miles, umph!”

  Yes it certainly was beautiful. September days were unique in Arkansas. The sky was an enormous, pale blue pallet with white streaks and puffs. In September the horizon lowered itself and it seemed like you could reach up and touch it. The soil turned a deeper, richer brown and the trees, plants and flowers gave their all, knowin
g that in a matter of weeks fall would claim their brilliancy and tuck it safely away in winter’s pocket, keeping it safe till spring.

  “I didn’t know you noticed those type of things,” Pearl said.

  Sugar didn’t respond. She was beginning to notice quite a few things. Not only notice but appreciate them in a way she never dreamed possible. She smiled at the joy her small observation seemed to bring to Pearl’s face.

  Pearl sipped quietly and thought of the only other times she had ever digested alcohol. The first was as a servant in the McHenry home, during one of their infamous parties. It was the first party of the summer and rich white folks came from all over Arkansas and neighboring states to take part in the festivities.

  Men in starched white and blue seersucker suits and women in long flowing silk dresses that captured every color of the season glided here and there hiding their smiles behind gloved hands or tilting their heads back in polite laughter. Clinking glasses resounded around the property and added to the comically composed festivities. Tennis, lawn bowling and croquet filled the daylight hours before dinner was served. At the drop of the sun, massive quantities of food were laid out beneath huge canopies. Whole pigs lay staring with dead eyes, their mouths stuffed with huge apples. Cornish hens, one for each of the two hundred or more guests, goose liver patés, English crackers, chilled cantaloupe soup, wild rice, pheasant and duck—Pearl saw that the white people certainly did have everything and so much of some things she never thought existed.

  The mood would change after the meal. The band, brought in from Mississippi, would play ragtime and Dixieland music for the guests to kick their feet up to. Women would lift their legs to reveal seamed stockings. The liquor would flow like water, ice clinking against glasses; liquid falling out and over onto white patent leather shoes. Oh, a high time was being had.