The Dry Grass of August

by Anna Jean Mayhew

  “Fathers of the church,” said Mary. “Yessuh, Deacon McHone,” she shouted, waving to one of the men. He waved back.

  I almost didn’t recognize George McHone. He had on a navy suit, a green bow tie, and a white shirt. It didn’t seem possible he was the same man who cut our grass.

  A group of women in choir robes marched down the street, singing slow and mournful, “Shall we gather at the river?” I heard someone right behind me, and turned. People had filled the space between us and the stone wall, and were pressing forward to see the parade. A woman tapped Mary on the shoulder. “Afternoon, Sister Luther.”

  “Sister French,” Mary said. “You looking good.” The air smelled of tobacco and perfume.

  How many people who belonged to Myers Park Country Club would ever get to see such a sight as the Daddy Grace parade? This was Stell’s idea, something I wouldn’t have thought of, and I was glad to have her as a sister. I looked at her. Her cheeks were red, her hazel eyes shining, her honey-brown bangs plastered to her forehead. She snapped her fingers, moving her feet to the music, utterly happy.

  Another band marched by, all brass, playing “When the Saints Go Marching In” as if it were a trumpeted announcement from God.

  “Here he come,” said Mary, “Bishop Grace.” A white Cadillac convertible, trimmed in gold instead of chrome, went by so slowly I could see the crowns on the hubcaps. Daddy Grace sat in the backseat, his arms raised, the same as Jesus blessing the multitudes. I recognized him as the man I’d seen on the front porch of the House of Prayer. His hands tapered off to fingernails so long they curled under at the end. How did he dial the telephone or button his shirts? There was no way he could pick his nose. The driver and two other men in tuxedos sat in the front seat, looking back and forth at the crowd.

  “His bodyguards,” Mary said.

  I asked, “Why’s he got bodyguards?”

  “Not everybody favor him. In Philadelphia somebody tried to stab him.”

  “You were there?” Stell said.

  “Sister Vellines was. She told me.”

  A wave of excitement swept through the crowd as Daddy Grace went by.

  “You like Daddy Grace, don’t you?” I asked Mary.

  “He all right.”

  “Colored people are emotional about religion,” Stell told Mama and Daddy when we got home. “We should show more feelings in church.”

  “Ha!” Daddy said. “That’ll be the day.”

  “Stell makes a good point, Bill. We really are sedate.”

  “I loved the music,” I said, “and the way people danced, clapping and singing.”

  “Did you see the man himself?” Daddy asked.

  “We did,” said Stell. “Daddy Grace and his bodyguards.”

  “Bodyguards?” Daddy said. “Ye gods.”

  I said, “His fingernails are so long they curl under.”

  “Really?” Mama looked astonished.

  “Uh-huh,” said Stell. “It’s sort of freakish.”

  At supper I asked Mama, “If a colored girl needed to use our bathroom, what would you do?”

  “I’d let her, of course.”

  That made me feel good.

  Mama put down her napkin. “We have Mary’s toilet, downstairs.”

  Stell said, “Jubie used a colored family’s bathroom.”

  “You went inside a Negro house?” Mama asked.

  “Yes. A friend of Mary’s. The bathroom was huge.”

  “Was it clean?”

  “Yes, ma’am, and beautiful.”

  “Hmm.” Mama shook her head as though she couldn’t imagine such a thing.

  CHAPTER 14

  The morning sky was clear, with a strong breeze from the gulf. I didn’t have to get into the backseat of the car again for three more days, finally on a real vacation. Mary knocked on the cabana door while I was putting on my bathing suit. She handed me a bottle of Coppertone. “Your mama says to put plenty of this on so you won’t get burned.”

  I took the bottle. “She’s the one gets burned. I never do.”

  “You got a nice tan, that’s for sure.” Her face was damp, even so early in the day.

  “Do you use suntan oil?”

  “No, and I been burned once or twice.”

  I touched her arm. “You get sunburn?”

  “Sure I do. Just doesn’t show on me the way it does on your mama.” She got our dirty clothes from the hamper. “Going to run a couple loads. You go on down to the water. I know you’re itching to.”

  I held the screen open and she headed for the house, her arms full of laundry. I went to the beach to lie in the sun and think about Leesum. I’d tried writing him, but what I put on paper looked stupid. I kept coming up against a fact: He could never be my boyfriend.

  Footsteps squeaked in the sand. “Hey, kiddo.”

  I didn’t look up. “Hey, Mama.”

  She spread her beach towel beside me, dropping her cigarette case, a book, sunglasses. “Let’s get wet.” She stepped out of her sandals.

  We stood in the damp sand, letting the water lap at our feet. Mama hadn’t put on any makeup and her freckles stood out. She looked sleepy. “You sure are somber this morning,” she said.

  “Where’s everybody else?”

  “Mary’s going to bring Puddin and Davie down in a bit.”

  We walked into the water, jumped an incoming wave. Mama yelped and took my hand for balance. I dove into the next breaker and came to the surface. When Mary, Puddin, and Davie shouted to us, Mama was breaststroking toward deeper water. She turned. “There they are.”

  We treaded water, side by side. “This is a great vacation.” Mama shook her head, her wet hair sending out brilliant drops.

  I let the waves rock me up and down. “Mama, I asked Sarah why she was moping and she said Daddy could tell me.”

  Mama’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?” She grabbed my shoulder. “June?”

  “Ow.” I pulled away.

  Stell and Sarah came over the dunes, carrying beach chairs. Mama waved to them. She said, “That is the silliest thing I ever heard. Let’s go in and play with the kids.” She called out, “Hey, girls!”

  I went to the cabana to use the bathroom and saw Mary at the clothesline, struggling with a wet sheet. I grabbed one end of it, and together we pinned it to the line, where it flapped in the wind. Uncle Taylor, like Mama, insisted on sun-dried sheets. “Your mama still down to the beach?”

  I nodded.

  “She enjoying herself.”

  “I guess.” I rubbed my feet in the St. Augustine grass Uncle Taylor was so proud of, thicker and pricklier than our lawn at home. We hung another sheet and I asked Mary, “Are you going to call your preacher tonight to be sure Leesum got there okay?”

  She fastened a pillowcase with a clothespin. “I gave Reverend Perkins your uncle’s number. He’ll call if Leesum hasn’t showed up. Any reason you think he won’t?”

  “No.” I turned to go to the cabana.

  “You probably not gone see that boy again.”

  “I know.”

  After supper I wound up lying on the floor in the den with Puddin and Davie, listening to Jack Benny, while Stell and Sarah went for a walk on the beach.

  What was Leesum doing—did he listen to Jack Benny?

  When Puddin and Davie went to bed, I walked down to the beach. I loved having it there, morning, noon, and night, a place where I could go and imagine things being different than they were. I followed the sound of the gulf, looking at the stars, and almost fell over my sister and my cousin sitting in the light of the half-moon.

  The three of us sat in the sand, looking out over the water to lights that blinked far away, a ship on the horizon.

  “I got to tell y’all something,” Sarah said. “I don’t know where to start.”

  “At the beginning,” I said.

  “I don’t know the beginning.” Her voice got quiet. I had to strain to hear her over the waves. “Mother had an affair with Uncl
e Bill.”

  Waves pounded the beach, sending misty spray into the night air. I dug my hands in the sand.

  “But—” Stell’s voice cracked.

  “It happened,” Sarah said.

  I felt lost and sure.

  “That’s why Daddy got a lawyer and divorced Mama. Why I have to stay with him and can’t see her.”

  “Ever?”

  “Never. Uncle Bill came to Pensacola and took Mama to a motor court. Somebody told Daddy.” She pulled the rubber band from her ponytail. Her glossy black hair, so like her mother’s, fell around her shoulders. “It started after Davie was born. Daddy thinks I don’t know.”

  I looked out at the waves crashing on the beach, not wanting to see the shadowy certainty on Sarah’s moonlit face.

  Stell said, “Mama and Daddy have been mad at each other for a long time, but I never thought—” Her voice stopped, her words snatched away by the wind.

  I asked, “How’d you find out?”

  “I overheard something when I was supposed to be asleep.”

  “Maybe they met at the motel just to . . .” I couldn’t think of anything.

  Stell said, “I don’t know why Mama stays with him.”

  The wind lifted my bangs off my forehead. “You stayed with Carter when he cheated on you.”

  Stell gasped. “He never cheated on me.”

  “He took another girl to a party. Y’all fought about it.”

  “We’re not going steady. We can date other people.”

  “You never do.”

  “You’re being so mean.” I thought Stell might start crying.

  “If you’re not going steady, why do you wear his cross?”

  “It’s not his!” Stell cried out. “It’s mine. He gave it to me.”

  The surf pounded, the breakers intense in the moonlight. I hated my family, all of them. Davie, who got attention because he was a boy. Puddin, who made me crazy, running off all the time. Daddy for beating me, Mama for letting him. Stell for . . . I had no reason to hate Stell. “I’m sorry.” I reached for her.

  She stood, taking Sarah’s hand and pulling her up. “You should be.”

  “Do you forgive me?” I scrambled to my feet.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  She’d get over it; she always did. This wasn’t the first time I’d been mean.

  Stell said, “Daddy and Aunt Lily.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Two weeks before Christmas of 1953, Meemaw’s doctor called Daddy and said that somebody needed to come to Kentucky to take care of her. Daddy told Mama what the doctor said. “She’s got arthritis, high blood pressure, and dropsy.”

  I imagined Meemaw strewing things behind her.

  “So what does she need?” Mama asked.

  “Complete bed rest for ten days, maybe longer. And she’s got to take her medicine. Apparently she hasn’t been.”

  Uncle Stamos and Aunt Rita agreed to go to Kentucky if Carly could stay with us for the holidays.

  I couldn’t wait to tell Stell Ann. We’d hardly seen Carly since he left for West Point three years earlier, but I remembered him so well. He’d always acted as if we were younger sisters, not just cousins.

  The afternoon he arrived, Carly stood at the den door in his West Point uniform, a duffel bag at his feet, his hat in his hand, his brown eyes shining. Daddy clapped him on the back. “Good to have another man around the house.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Mama hugged him. “My goodness, such broad shoulders! The army has put some muscle on you.”

  “Playing football has, that’s for sure,” Carly said.

  Mary stood in the door to the dining room. “Supper’s almost ready. I’m gone be leaving now.”

  I said, “Carly, you remember Mary.”

  “Yes.” He picked up his duffel bag. “Where am I sleeping?”

  Mary went back to the kitchen and Daddy said, “C’mon, son, let’s get you settled in the garage apartment.” Even from his height of six-one, he had to look up to Carly, who was several inches taller.

  Later, Carly returned to the house in what he called civvies—a plaid shirt, slacks, loafers.

  The dining room table was set with Grandmother Bentley’s silver flatware, which Mary had polished, and Mama’s good china. Did Carly think we ate this way all the time?

  When we got seated, Puddin asked Carly, “Why’s your hair so short?”

  “A lot of folks wonder what happened to my curls.” Carly rubbed his hand over the black bristle on his head. “It’s an army cut.”

  “Oh.” Puddin looked puzzled.

  Davie clapped his hands. “Milk!”

  Mama said, “I forgot.”

  Carly pushed his chair back. “Let me get it.”

  “No, no, Jubie will do it.”

  I returned with Davie’s cup and heard Daddy ask, “So what’s next for you, Carly?”

  “I go active as soon as I graduate.”

  “It’s a dangerous time for soldiers, if Korea heats back up.”

  “The army’s a great career.”

  Mama picked up a platter of fried chicken. “Help yourself, Carly, then pass it down to Bill.” She said to Daddy, “Four breasts, dear. Have all you want.”

  “Thanks, honey.” Daddy took two pieces and said to Carly, “Pauly knows how I love white meat.” He got up to refill his drink and leaned over Mama to kiss her cheek. “Wonderful meal, sweetheart.”

  Stell raised her eyebrows at me. I wished Mama and Daddy would be lovey-dovey all the time.

  Over dessert, Daddy explained to Carly about the hot water heater in the rec room. “It’s only thirty gallons, but it’s gas, so you should have enough. And when you shower, don’t stand on the drain or you’ll flood the bathroom.” In the shower, Carly would be naked.

  After supper Stell and I began to clear the table, and Carly picked up serving platters.

  Stell whispered, “He’s helping with the dishes.”

  He wiped the table and asked, “Where’s the broom?”

  I opened the pantry door. “Do you do this at home?”

  “Dad would skin me if I left everything to Mom.” He started sweeping.

  “Give you a whipping?”

  He looked at me. “He’d take away my car keys.”

  “He never whips you?”

  “No.”

  I turned back to the sink. I could feel him staring at me.

  Half an hour after we’d gone upstairs, I walked out of the bathroom and saw Carly on the landing.

  He said, “What y’all doing?”

  “Getting ready for bed. Where’ve you been?”

  “Talking with your parents. You know, ‘What are you going to be when you grow up?’ ”

  “I’m so glad you’re here.” I touched his arm. “C’mon, let’s go bother my big sister.”

  Stell was sitting cross-legged on her bed, brushing her hair. She had on her long-sleeved flannel pajamas, white with blue flowers, and she looked about ten.

  “Hey,” said Carly. “Long time since I’ve been up here.”

  Stell asked, “What’s West Point like?”

  He sat on the rug, leaned back against the dresser. “Uniforms, drills, reveille at dawn, that sort of thing.”

  “Do you like it?” Stell began brushing her hair again. It snapped and gleamed in the overhead light.

  “Yeah, I do.”

  I sat on the bed. “Are you scared? What if there’s a war?”

  “I’ve been training to be a soldier for three years.”

  “Girls?” Daddy’s voice boomed up the stairwell.

  “Sir?” Stell and I answered together.

  “Where’s Carly?”

  “I’m here,” Carly called down to Daddy.

  I heard Daddy on the stairs and there he was. “What’s going on?”

  I stood. “We’re talking.”

  Daddy looked at Carly. “It’s best if you don’t visit the girls in their bedrooms.”

  Carly jumped to
his feet. “Yes, sir.”

  I was too embarrassed to speak.

  Stell said, “Good grief, Daddy, we’re cousins.”

  But Daddy was clumping back down the stairs.

  Carly’s face was red. He opened his mouth, looking at Stell and me. “Jesus!” he said. He closed the door when he left.

  The next morning before breakfast, I sat on the floor in my room, looking through the Venetian blinds at Carly’s window over the garage, watching him shave at a mirror he’d hung over the sink in the kitchenette. I hated the tiny, moldy bathroom in the garage apartment and was sure he did, too. His shaving was the only personal thing of any interest that I learned, but knowing just that one private thing made me feel I was the closest to him of anyone in the family. Once he and his parents had gone blackberry picking with us, back when Carly first got his license. Stell and Puddin and I rode with him in Uncle Stamos’ car, and Carly had asked me to sit up front with him so he could show me how the clutch worked. Stell was ticked off about that. She tried everything she could to get his attention that day. But he liked me better.

  I was at the kitchen table when he came down for breakfast with a full laundry bag he dropped on the floor. “Tell Mary I want a heavy starch in my shirts. If she has any questions, she can call Safronia.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and came to the table. “Where’s everybody?”

  “Stell’s at Bible Club, Mama’s at the store with the kids, and Daddy’s at work. I think Mary’s—”

  He interrupted me. “Would you hand me a banana?”

  I reached for the fruit bowl. “Do you have any studies to do or is this a total holiday?”

  “A total holiday. I’ve got stuff lined up with friends, but otherwise it’s loaf city.”

  The next few days we hardly saw him. He left after breakfast and got back in the late evening, and Mama was so busy that I think she was relieved not to have anyone else to be concerned about.

  Early in the morning on the Saturday before Christmas, she gave me boxes of decorations to unpack. “Before Carly leaves for the day, ask him if he’ll test the strings of lights. There’s always one that won’t work, and I’m sure he can fix it.”