Paul didn’t know what to say. He understood how it felt to not know your relatives the way you thought you ought to. He sighed. “So, you really gone sleep down here on this lumpy ass couch?”
She nodded.
“You want me to go get you another pillow or something?”
“No, thank you,” she said, folding her arms across her chest and looking like a sad little girl.
1955
On Easter Sunday, everyone came to church in color. Most people in pastels: soft yellows and baby blues; others in bright oranges and purples. It was one of those warm Easters, smack in the middle of April, and many folks walked to the church from several blocks away, promenading past row houses with tiny front gardens that burst with new flowers that competed for attention with the women's new hats. Some of the little girls' dresses matched their mothers’; others matched the pale yellows and greens of their fathers' ties. If Jesus had been looking down on them from above, which he wasn't, he would have seen tiny dots, moving along the sidewalks, their colors bright and sure as candy wrappers, waving to each other across streets, catching up to each other at corners, and leaning out car windows, honking their horns and shouting, "Happy Easter, y'all."
Sitting in Sunday school, in the basement of Blessed Chapel Church of God, Ava listened to Sister Hattie as she read from the children’s bible the story of the Resurrection, and it was mostly due to the promise of jellybeans and colorful marshmallow bunnies and chocolate that she did not challenge the logic of the tale. She knew that right after Sunday school was over and before church service began, all the kids would be given straw baskets full of paper grass and sweets. Last Sunday, after she had been "disruptive" during class, her father had told her that if she didn't behave this week in Sunday school, he would take away her Easter basket. So, when Sister Hattie said, "Jesus died on the cross for our sins," Ava concentrated hard on the muscles in her forehead, forced them to remain still, so as not to raise an eyebrow, and only smiled when Sister Hattie glanced cautiously in her direction.
"So that if we believe in him, our sins will be washed away," Sister Hattie continued.
Ava closed her eyes and tried to imagine the taste of the smooth confections coming her way, all of them soft and a little bit melty from the warmth inside the church, ready to stick to the foil wrapper as it was pulled away, ready to smudge her fingertips with sweetness that was bound to find its way onto her lacy yellow dress, like a badge of chocolate honor for holding her tongue.
"It was the greatest sacrifice ever made," said Sister Hattie.
Ava's hand was in the air before she could stop it.
"Ava, don't," Geo whispered, from his seat next to her.
Sister Hattie said, "Yes, Ava?" with a tired in her voice that had not been there a moment ago.
"But if he came back to life three days later, and then went up to heaven," Ava asked, "what did he really sacrifice?"
Sister Hattie frowned.
Later, after the Easter baskets had been given out, Ava saw Sister Hattie talking to Regina and George, glancing over at Ava, who added another jellybean to the five she already had in her mouth.
"Daddy's gone take your candy," said Geo, who was standing beside her by the altar, rummaging through his basket. “How come there aint never no—”
“Butterscotches? ’Cause only you and old ladies eat those.”
Across the room, Ava saw Sondra, Doris Liddy’s daughter, looking like a giant Easter egg in her pastel pink dress and matching hat. Beside her, Lamar Casey looked uncomfortable in a too-small suit.
“What’s he doing here?” Ava asked Geo. “Caseys never come to Sunday school.”
Geo shrugged. “He probably just came—”
“For the candy?”
He nodded.
When her parents came over, they were both frowning at Ava. "Can't you ever just behave?" George asked.
“But, Daddy—”
“Don’t but Daddy me. Give me that basket.”
Ava clutched the basket tighter and shook her head, no.
“I aint playing with you, Ava,” George said. “Don’t make me ask for it again.”
“It’s mine,” Ava said.
George reached for his belt buckle. “You think I won’t whip your behind right here in front of all these people?”
“George,” Regina said, putting a hand on his arm. “Don’t.” She looked at Ava. “Give your father the basket, please.”
Glaring at her father, Ava handed it over, and watched as he walked over to Sondra Liddy and gave the basket to her. Sondra grinned meanly at Ava from across the room.
“Mama, look what I did,” Geo said to Regina, holding up a drawing of an Easter bunny he’d made during the last twenty minutes of Sunday school, a cute crayon sketch in pink.
Regina took it, saying, “This is wonderful, baby.”
Geo beamed.
“Did you do a drawing, Ava?”
Ava, still glaring in her father’s direction, held up her drawing, and Regina studied it. Unlike her brother’s drawing, Ava’s did not look like the clumsy crayon sketchings of a nine-year-old, but rather like the effort of a child much older. The little details, in the fold of the bunny’s ear and the light, playful curve of its whiskers, were amazing.
“It’s a masterpiece,” Regina said.
Ava, hearing those words, stopped glaring at George and smiled up at her mother. “Thank you,” she said. “I know.”
The Easter Bazaar was held out in the sunshine. Right after the church service was over, the congregation of Blessed Chapel spilled out into the church parking lot, where tables had been set up, decorated with balloons and crinkly paper ribbon. Some of the tables were full of sweets, cakes and cookies and pies for sale, and others held crafts. Ceramics. Hand-knit afghans.
Regina and Maddy sat behind a table adorned with bright red balloons, with a handwritten sign that read, "Cakes, cookies and pies by Regina and Maddy." They had spent all Saturday evening in Maddy's kitchen, baking coconut cake and cherry pie, apple cobbler and chocolate brownies, and peanut-butter cookies, all of which were now outselling everybody else's baked goods.
"We should have made a second cobbler," Regina said, after selling a piece to Hattie Mitchell. "This one's already half gone."
"Save me a piece of that," George said, walking up to the table with Chuck.
"You got twenty cents?" Maddy asked him.
"You should have caught him before they passed the collection plate," said Chuck, and they all laughed. Regina watched George put his hand on Chuck’s shoulder.
Doris Liddy came by the table and asked for a slice of cherry pie and, distracted, Regina grabbed the knife by the wrong end, and the blade sliced into her finger. She sucked at the pie-tasting cut and watched George, who had not noticed the accident, walking off towards another table with Chuck.
When Malcolm said, "Let me get two slices of that coconut cake, Regina," she wasn’t listening, and had to ask him to repeat himself. "Coconut," Malcolm said again. "Two."
She cut him a couple slices and took his thirty cents.
Malcolm lowered his voice and asked, "Y'all hear about Grace?"
"What about her?" Maddy asked.
"Afternoon, Pastor," Regina said loudly, as Pastor Goode walked over.
Maddy and Malcolm said, "Happy Easter, Pastor."
"Same to y'all. Regina, this all looks wonderful. You sure pulled this thing together."
Regina had been in charge of planning the bazaar. It had not been a big job, just a matter of borrowing some tables and buying some decorations, at the church's expense, and getting some folks to help set up. "My part was easy. Let’s just thank the Lord for this lovely weather."
"If you're able," said Pastor Goode, "I'd be mighty grateful if you'd lend a hand with the planning of next month's Mother's Day Breakfast. Hattie can't do it all on her own."
"I thought Grace Kellogg was in charge of that," Regina said.
Pastor Goode shook his head. "Gra
ce aint part of this church no more."
Malcolm and Maddy exchanged a look.
"I need to go speak with Elder Jones," said the pastor. "Y'all excuse me?"
As soon as he was gone, Maddy asked, "Since when aint Grace a member of this church?"
"That's what I was 'bout to tell y’all," said Malcolm. "Eddie caught Grace with another man."
"You lying! Grace Kellogg? That quiet little thing?”
"You know what they say 'bout the quiet ones," Malcolm said.
"I don't hate nothing worse than being the last to know when juicy shit happens," said Maddy.
"Maddy, we in church."
"No, we aint. We only in the church parking lot."
“But I don't understand why Grace left the church," said Regina.
"Pastor had a talk with her,” Malcolm said. “Tried to get her to repent, but she wouldn’t. I heard she wasn’t even shamed of herself. Pastor told her there aint no place here for sinners who won’t repent."
“He threw her out?” Regina asked.
“Not exactly. But he let her know she wouldn’t be welcome no more, I guess.”
"Guess again," Maddy said, and the other two followed her eyes toward the entrance to the parking lot, where Grace Kellogg had appeared.
Sister Kellogg made her way around the tables near the entrance of the parking lot, and at first she did not seem to notice the backward glances and whispers. She said "Happy Easter" to some folks, smiling bright as that April afternoon, and they smiled back politely and said, "Happy Easter, Grace," and then shared scandalized looks once she had gone on past them. When she stopped at a table selling homemade jams, she said, "Oh, these look wonderful." Antoinette Brown, and her sister, Lonette, folded their arms simultaneously across their equally massive bosoms, and did not say a word in reply. A little wrinkle appeared on Sister Kellogg's forehead, right between her eyebrows. "Well," she said. "Y'all have a blessed day." Neither sister wished her the same.
She walked past other tables, stopping now and then to examine what was for sale and along the way her smile got less and less bright. By the time she reached Regina and Maddy's table, it was all but gone, though both Regina and Maddy chatted with her, the details of the chat unable to be heard over at the hopscotch game, from where Ava was watching. She had been playing hopscotch with her sister and Ellen Duggard when Sister Kellogg entered the bazaar, and she had watched the woman as she moved through the crowd of people, watched their strange reactions, the whispers and cold shoulders, not knowing what any of it was about. She saw Pastor Goode, standing with his arms folded across his chest, his eyes squinted suspiciously at Sister Kellogg, and she knew all this must have something to do with him. She didn’t like it one bit. Sister Kellogg had been Ava's Sunday school teacher the year before and, unlike Sister Hattie, she had always told Ava that questioning the bible, questioning everything in the world, was exactly what a smart girl like her ought to do.
She watched Sister Kellogg buy a slice of cherry pie with trembling hands from Regina, then turn and walk back past the other tables, heading out of the bazaar.
"It's your turn, Ava," Sarah called to her, but Ava was already walking away from the hopscotch game. She skipped over to Sister Kellogg, at the same time that Geo, who had been playing chase with some other kids, came up to her from the other side. Both children wished her a happy Easter in unison.
When she saw them both, grinning up at her, a shadow that had fallen over her face disappeared. "Happy Easter, Ava. And Geo. Don't y'all look precious?"
"How are you, Sister Kellogg?" Geo asked her, in that way he had that made it impossible for grown-ups to lie.
Sister Kellogg sighed. "Embarrassed," she said. "But not ashamed." Neither child knew what she was talking about, but Ava put her arms around Sister Kellogg, who put one hand on each child's cheek and said, "Y'all come see me sometime, okay? I got some books for you,” they both nodded, eagerly.
"Ava, you holding up the game," Sarah yelled.
Geo rejoined the game of chase. Ava went back to hopscotch, but she waited until Sister Kellogg had reached the end of the parking lot and was gone from her sight.
Regina had been watching her children from behind her table full of baked goods, and watching everybody else watching them, especially Pastor Goode. He was standing over by Minnie Jones’ table and had been eyeing the twins as they talked to Grace Kellogg, with a look of benign curiosity on his face, but with a stiffness in his shoulders that Regina couldn’t help but notice. She wondered what that was about. Whatever it was, it had seemed to be mutual, at least between the pastor and Ava. When Ava had opened her arms to give Grace a hug, Regina was sure she had seen her daughter look right over at the pastor as she did it, with no small amount of defiance in her eyes.
***
The whole house smelled of acrylic paint. Geo slid down the stairs on his butt, the way he liked to do, and landed with a soft thud in the foyer. He saw his father sitting in the living room, reading his newspaper, and he skipped over to him and climbed up onto his lap.
George frowned, took one hand off his newspaper and grabbed Geo’s arm, and pushed him off onto the sofa. “You too old for that.”
Geo blinked at him and rubbed the place on his arm where his father had grabbed him. Tears welled in his eyes.
“Stop crying,” George said. “You aint a baby.”
Geo wiped his eyes and left the room.
Ava was sitting in front of the makeshift easel their father had constructed for her out of pieces of discarded wood he had found while working around the city and had put together at their mother’s request. All around her, tubes of paint were strewn, as she sat finishing a portrait of their father she had been working on since just after breakfast. Examining her work, she tilted her head to one side and tried to think what was missing.
She smelled butterscotch and knew Geo was near, and a few seconds later he appeared at her side. “Let’s go make a snow fort with Kenny and them,” he said.
“Hold up a minute.”
Geo came over to Ava and looked at the painting of their father, with a large yellow beak instead of a nose. He shook his head. “Daddy aint gone like that.”
Ava looked at him. “It’s good.”
“Yeah. But Daddy won’t like it one bit.”
Ava didn’t care what her father would think about the painting. She never cared what anyone thought about her art. At school, she felt equally indifferent to her teacher’s praise over something beautiful she had drawn as to her shock and disapproval when Ava made something she deemed “inappropriate,” as she had when, a few weeks before, Ava had sketched the school janitor, Mr. Ennis, in a woman’s dress and heels, and red lipstick. She had painted him that way after seeing him stand up to a teacher who was talking down to him and she had decided he was bold and interesting, two things she associated mostly with women and the color red. Her teacher, Miss Hoffs, had not approved, and that evening she had called the house and told Regina that Ava had been disrespectful to Mr. Ennis.
“No, I wasn’t,” Ava had insisted. “I painted him like that because I like him. He’s brave.”
“That don’t make sense,” Regina had said. “Men don’t wear dresses, it aint natural.”
Ava did not think wearing dresses was natural for anybody, but she did not argue with Regina.
“If Daddy don’t get it,” Ava said now, to Geo, “that’s just too bad for him.”
Geo had heard Ava express this sentiment before, and he thought of it as one of the things that defined her, that made her different from other people, different, even, from himself. Ava did not need or desire to be seen or understood. At school, at church, even playing on the block with their friends, Ava was never the least concerned with other people’s understanding, or misunderstanding, of her. Often, when playing dolls with the girls on the block, Ava would suddenly become interested in the dodgeball game the boys were having in the street, and when the girls protested her leaving and joining the boy
s, insisting girls didn’t play dodgeball, calling her tomboy, or even, once or twice, dyke, Ava never bothered defending herself, never insisted she wasn’t a tomboy or a dyke, never extolled the virtues of dodgeball, nor the downside of dolls. She went and did what she wanted to do.
“I know what’s missing,” Ava said, and Geo watched as she painted bars around their father, making a birdcage that was a little too small for him.
When George came out of the living room on his way to the kitchen, he frowned upon seeing the twins. “It’s snowing out,” he said. “Y’all love the snow. Why y’all inside?”
“We about to go make forts in a minute, Daddy,” Geo said. “Come with us.”
George frowned. “Boy, you know grown men don’t play in the snow.”
As George passed them, he craned his neck to see what Ava was painting. “That’s a nice birdie,” he said. Then, squinting, he came over to the easel and peered closer. Ava watched his face, saw the corners of his mouth turn down a little bit. “That supposed to be me?”
Ava nodded.
George folded his arms across his chest. “Why in the world would you draw me like that?”
She shrugged. “I saw you sitting on the sofa by yourself, and you was humming, and you looked real small and trapped.”
The frown on her father’s lips turned into an angry scowl and spread to his forehead, his eyebrows drawing close together. “You shouldn’t be spying on people, Ava.”
“I wasn’t! I was just walking by.” She frowned, shook her head. “You have a paranoid nature, Daddy.”
The Summer We Got Free Page 12
