by Anne Moody
It had rained heavily the day before and just about all the pecans on the trees had fallen. We all had gallon buckets and we could almost fill them just by raking them around on the ground. Even little Jennie Ann, who wasn’t a year old, was stumbling around on the ground picking up pecans. “C’mon, Jennie Ann! Looka here! Help your mama make some money,” Mama laughed every time Jennie Ann dropped some pecans in her bucket.
It was almost dark when Mama sent Junior up to the house to say we were ready to knock off. When Mr. Wheeler came down, we were all standing out there with muddy hands and knees. Jennie Ann was muddy all over. We looked like a bunch of clowns standing there behind four full croker sacks.
“Boy, y’all look like y’all had fun down here today. My land, I ain’t never had anybody work that fast! Look at all them pecans!” Mr. Wheeler said. The croker sacks were so heavy that all of us had to help him put them in the truck.
We had picked the pecans up on half. Since we had four sacks, I had expected Mr. Wheeler to give us two of them. But instead he measured them out, gallon for gallon, to make sure we didn’t have an ounce more than he did. He kept us there for two hours measuring the pecans. We got home about eight that night. Next evening after school we went back and finished them up. That Saturday morning Mama and Raymond drove the pecans to Woodville, where they could get eighteen cents a pound instead of the fifteen cents they got paid in Centreville. In all we had picked up a hundred and twenty dollars’ worth. Mama used the money to buy school clothes for us—shoes, dresses, and pants.
We picked up pecans the following week for Miss Minnie, an old lady who was living across the road from Mr. Wheeler. After we’d finished, Miss Minnie asked me to sweep her porch, then she asked if I would help her some evenings, so I began working for her. I had to burn her trash and then sweep her porches and halls. She paid me three dollars a week and also let me pick up the few pecans that were left after the first big picking. I sold them and made as much as six dollars a week during the season. Then when the pecans were all gone I started baby-sitting for Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins, a young couple who rented rooms next door from Miss Minnie. They had one child, a little girl named Donna who had just started walking, and another child on the way.
Since Mrs. Jenkins had had trouble giving birth to Donna, she was extremely nervous about her second pregnancy. She was expecting in two months and she had gotten so big that everybody thought she’d have twins. They couldn’t really afford help, but little Donna was getting to be too much for Mrs. Jenkins, so they hired me to keep the child out of her way. I took her for walks, read her stories, and made up games for her to play. We would spend hours under Miss Minnie’s pecan tree, playing and picking up pecans.
I used to feel funny calling Mrs. Jenkins “Mrs. Jenkins” because she didn’t look too much older than me. When she saw that it bothered me, she told me that her first name was Linda Jean and that when I called her Mrs. Jenkins it reminded her too much of her mother, who demanded that everyone, especially Negroes, call her “Mrs.” I began to really like Linda Jean after that. She treated me just like I was one of her friends and I never thought about our color difference when I was with her, except when she paid me. Only then was I reminded that I was her maid. When I told Linda Jean I was the oldest of five and that my mother was also expecting, she said, “Boy, you should know more about children than me.” Sometimes, when she would get one of her sick spells, she would even ask me what to do, like I was an authority on having babies.
She was so nice to me that when I saw her struggling with the housework, I started helping her even though I was only paid to take care of Donna. A few weeks before she was about to get down they began paying me to do all the housework and take care of Donna too. Altogether they paid me twelve dollars a week, the most I had ever earned. I felt a little guilty about taking that much money from them because I knew they couldn’t afford it, but things were so bad at home that I had to.
One day I was in the kitchen washing dishes for Linda Jean while she was up front talking to the lady who lived in the big white frame house next door. She was a good-looking, tall slim woman with mingled gray and black hair. I had just finished washing the cake mixer and I didn’t know where to put it.
“Linda Jean,” I called, “where do the cake mixer go?”
“Far left-hand corner of the cupboard,” she yelled back.
A moment later the lady from next door appeared in the kitchen door.
“Is that what you call Mrs. Jenkins—Linda Jean?” she asked angrily.
I looked at her, puzzled, thinking to myself, “Now what in the shit does she mean?”
Suddenly Linda Jean was there, shouting.
“Mama! Essie works for me! I told you about trying to run my life!”
She was standing in the door behind the lady who I now realized was her mother. Linda Jean was so angry that she was shaking. Her mother glared at her for a moment, then walked out.
Linda Jean was so upset that she went to lie down for a while. As I finished the dishes I wondered why Linda Jean’s mother, whom I had seen raking leaves in her backyard while Donna and I were playing under the pecan tree, had never said anything to me. I didn’t even figure she knew Linda Jean.
When I finished the dishes I knocked softly at Linda Jean’s door. She was awake and asked me in.
“I finished the kitchen. Would you like for me to do anything else while Donna is asleep?” I asked.
“Look, Essie, don’t get upset by Mama. She’s got to learn once and for all that I am not like her,” she said, not even answering my question. She kept on talking and I just stood there listening.
“At the last minute she comes over and wants to know if she can help! She didn’t approve of me marrying Bill and she didn’t help me at all when I had my trouble with Donna. She even wanted me to kill the baby when I was pregnant. After Bill and I ran off and got married she didn’t even speak to me for months. Now she wants to help! Bill doesn’t want her in this house!”
On Saturday of that following week Linda Jean’s mother, Mrs. Burke, was over again. She came in just as Linda Jean was paying me. She didn’t say anything, but before I left for home I stopped on the back porch to pick up some towels that had fallen off the line and overheard her saying to Linda Jean, “I don’t understand it! If you don’t have any money why do y’all pay her twelve dollars? The richest people in town don’t pay their help that much. Six dollars is the most anyone pays!”
“But, Mama, she does everything. It’s not fair. I don’t do anything around here,” I heard Linda Jean say.
I was surprised to hear that I was making more than any maid in Centreville and it made me feel closer to Linda Jean. At the same time I felt even guiltier about taking it. I headed home, feeling sure that Linda Jean wouldn’t let Mrs. Burke talk her into paying me less. But the next Saturday she gave me only six dollars. I was so shocked I couldn’t say anything. I just took it and went home. I thought about it a lot and almost didn’t go back. But since we needed even that six dollars so badly, I went back on Monday evening.
I noticed that Linda Jean and Mrs. Burke seemed to be getting along a little better, because Mrs. Burke was over a lot more. I figured Mrs. Burke was now helping them out. I knew that Linda Jean wasn’t like her and that she still couldn’t stand her, but that she was just going along with her for the money.
A few days later, Linda Jean went into the hospital. That Saturday I went up and gave the house a thorough cleaning. Mrs. Burke was watching Donna. I finished my work early, but since I had to wait for Mr. Jenkins to pay me, I went over to Miss Minnie’s to see if she needed anything done. While I was rinsing out some clothes for her she happened to mention that Mr. Jenkins was the son of the sheriff of Woodville. I had heard a lot of bad things about the sheriff. He was known as a “nigger hater” and was one of the meanest sheriffs in the whole area. The thought that I was working for the son of such a terrible man frightened me.
When I finished Miss Minnie’s
wash, I found something else to do because I was too scared to go back next door. Finally I heard Mr. Jenkins drive up in his big gasoline truck. Now I remembered how some evenings he came home all greasy and black and smelling of gas and oil, looking like he hated driving that truck for a living. The dirtier he was, the angrier he looked. Linda Jean would be quiet around him when he was in that mood. He had hardly ever said anything to me, so I couldn’t tell what he thought about Negroes, but now that I knew he was the sheriff’s son, I could almost see him being mean and cruel too.
I knew that the first thing he did when he got home every evening was scrub all of that gummy oil and grease off his hands, so I stayed over to Miss Minnie’s until I thought he had finished washing up. I didn’t want to have to wait around for my pay. When I finally went over, there he was in the kitchen, just as dirty as anything, going through a box of tools. He had a big wrench in one hand and was digging into the box with the other. I could tell he was angry by the way he dug into the box. Beads of sweat were popping out on his balding head. I stood looking at him for a while wondering if I should go home without my pay. Just as I was about to leave, he looked up and said, “Oh, Essie, I thought you were gone. Go over next door and get Donna and dress her for me, please. I wanta take her to see Linda Jean.”
On my way to Mrs. Burke’s I decided that even though Mr. Jenkins was the sheriff’s son, he didn’t talk mean to me. As the weeks went by, I gradually forgot who his father was.
Shortly after Linda Jean had her baby, Mama had hers. And she almost had it in the courthouse. A few days before she gave birth, she made up her mind that she and Raymond would finally get married with or without Miss Pearl’s consent. She had been pouting at Raymond for over a week. Then one day they got all dressed up. Raymond put on his old blue suit that had hung in the closet for so long it had turned purple. It was one of those old-fashioned, 1920’s-looking, double-breasted suits with wide sleeves and legs. Mama put on her best maternity dress. As they dressed, they barely said a word to each other. Raymond looked very sad and scared. I thought it was about time Mama made up her mind that she had had enough babies for Raymond without being married to him. She had told me that she didn’t want Miss Pearl them to know that she and Raymond were getting married. But I felt like running over there and throwing it up in Miss Pearl’s face.
I sat on the porch and watched them walk to the car, Mama all hump-shouldered and with her mouth still stuck out, Raymond walking a little behind her looking like he was about to cry. They looked just like they were going to a funeral.
It seemed as though it took them an hour to get to the car, when it was only a few feet away from the house. Mama got in without even looking at Raymond. She sat there staring straight ahead of her, not looking anywhere in particular. Raymond very slowly backed the car out of the driveway. He didn’t have a rearview mirror so usually he would turn to the right and look out of the back window to make his turn. But today, instead of looking in Mama’s direction, he backed the car straight out of the driveway without looking back at all. As he turned, he cut too short and drove the car right into the ditch. Mama didn’t even move. She just sat there putting a little more puff into her pout. Raymond slammed out of the car, gave a curse, got back in, gunned the accelerator and the car shot out of the ditch. In the mood they were in, I wondered if they would make it to the courthouse.
I was still sitting on the porch when they got back. My first thought was that they didn’t go all the way to Woodville, they were back so quick, but I could tell that they had gotten married. When Raymond parked the car, I could hear the radio blaring rock-and-roll. Mama was grinning down. For the first time in a couple of weeks they were talking to each other. Raymond got out of the car, leaving the radio on, and went on down toward the hog pen, looking as if it was slowly dawning on him that he had just gotten married. Mama remained in the car listening to the song on the radio. All of a sudden she got out of the car and started twisting to the fast beat. Her big pregnant belly swayed from side to side.
“Essie Mae,” she called, “look at me!” as if I wasn’t already looking.
“You better stop that ’fore you fall down and break a hip or somethin’!” Raymond yelled, looking back. Just then the song ended. As Mama hit that last note I thought she would sling that baby up on the porch.
The baby must have got the message that it was safe to come out, because a few days later he was there. Mama was loving Raymond so at the time that she named him Raymond, Jr. and called him Jerry. Now it seemed like I could never get away from crying babies. When I went to work, Linda Jean’s baby, Johnny, was bawling, and when I got home little Jerry was at it. And it was like that for a long while.
Chapter
EIGHT
I worked for Linda Jean throughout my seventh grade year. But that spring and summer Raymond tried farming again, and I was only able to help her on weekends. When I entered eighth grade the following fall we were poorer than ever. Raymond had worse luck with the farm than the year before, so we weren’t able to buy any new school clothes. I had added so much meat to my bones that I could squeeze into only two of my old school dresses. They were so tight I was embarrassed to put them on. I had gotten new jeans for the field that summer, so I started wearing them to school two and three days a week. But I continued to fill out so fast that even my jeans got too tight. I got so many wolf whistles from the boys in the class that the faster girls started wearing jeans that were even tighter than mine. When the high school boys started talking about how fine those eighth grade girls were, the high school girls started wearing tight jeans too. I had started a blue jeans fad.
One Friday in early October before school let out, Mrs. Willis announced that first thing Monday morning the class would choose its queen for the Homecoming competition. I couldn’t think of any girl in the class I liked enough to nominate. I figured that the boys would get together and pick one of the fast girls, so I didn’t worry myself about it.
Homecoming Day was in November. Each grade from fifth to twelfth was represented by a queen in the parade before the football game; the queen whose class raised the most money became Miss Willis High and was crowned Homecoming Queen during half time. Every girl in my class knew that our queen would certainly be the winner because Mrs. Willis’ class always raised the most money. Mrs. Willis knew more about raising money than any other teacher on campus.
On Monday morning, after roll call, Mrs. Willis passed out little slips of paper and asked us to write the names of our nominees. Just for the hell of it I nominated myself. I knew that the outcome of the election depended on how the boys voted because all the girls except Darlene and me, who stood alone, were split into two groups, the fast and the quiet. Even so it would be close since there were nearly twice as many girls as there were boys. All that day I could see the three groups in their separate huddles, speculating. When we finally got back to Mrs. Willis’ class in the last period, everybody got quiet.
“Class, durin’ my break I counted the votes,” Mrs. Willis said, “and I’m mighty glad I did because we’ve elected ourselves three queens!”
Everybody gasped and oohed and ahed. All the girls were looking at each other wondering who was the third queen, the one the boys had undoubtedly picked.
“Will the queens come forward as I call your names, please,” Mrs. Willis said. “Queen Amanda!”
Amanda, the prettiest girl in the quiet group, went shyly up to the front of the room and stood by the side of Mrs. Willis’ desk, looking down at the floor.
“Queen Dorothy!” Mrs. Willis called.
Some of the girls in the fast group clapped their hands as Dorothy switched up front in a real tight pair of jeans and with an overconfident look on her face. As she stood next to Amanda, she put her hands on her hips and stuck out her ass. A couple of the boys gave a low “boo” and all of a sudden she didn’t seem so confident. I was surprised at the boos because I also thought Dorothy was the boys’ favorite since she was the fastest
girl in the eighth grade.
Mrs. Willis cleared her throat. I could tell she was enjoying the surprises.
“Queen Essie,” she said. The girls in both groups nearly fainted and the boys started whistling and cheering. I began to look around for Queen Essie. Suddenly it struck me that I was Queen Essie. “The boys picked me?” I thought, with my mouth wide open.
“Queen Essie, we’re waitin’,” Mrs. Willis said, smiling.
“You mean me?” I said, poking myself in the chest.
“You’re Essie, ain’t you?” Mrs. Willis said.
As I started to get up and the boys began to whistle even louder, I realized I had on those tight jeans. So I sat right back down in my seat. One of the fast girls who didn’t like me whispered from behind me, “ ’Shamed to show that ass now, Moody?” I felt like spitting in her face, but instead I got up and purposely swayed my ass all the way up to Mrs. Willis’ desk. The boys were going crazy, whistling all over the place. Mrs. Willis was laughing like she got a big kick out of the whole thing.
Now that the three of us were standing by Mrs. Willis’ desk, she asked for a “standing vote,” but it went on so long without a clear majority that Mrs. Willis decided to have a money-raising contest among the three nominees and their backers. We were given three weeks. So for the next three weeks we went around on campus selling popcorn, hot dogs, candied apples, and all kinds of stuff. Dorothy and her gang put on a big act like they were raising millions of dollars. The act was so good that Amanda and her group fizzled out, but I knew it was only a bluff because if Dorothy’s gang were really raising lots of money they wouldn’t have talked about it so much. Besides, I knew we had an advantage because most of the boys worked after school, and so did I, and we put every penny we made into buying and selling. When the three weeks were up, we had raised fifty dollars more than the other two groups put together, and I became the eighth grade’s Homecoming Queen. Mrs. Willis and the whole class now worked to make me queen of the whole school.
