The Heart Calls Home

by Joyce Hansen

  “Mister Obi, I want to tell you, you help so many people during these bad times making all them baby coffins. All a body had to do was to ask you, and you did it.”

  “Thank you.” Her words were useful to him at that moment. He gazed at the wall behind her again. “Miss Mary, that wall ready to fall down around your head. I fix it for you next week.”

  She leaned on the counter. “Now Mr. Obi, I was going to ask you about that. This time I paying you for your work.”

  “I’ll take care of it for you.” As he walked along the shelled road, he wondered what kind of rude boy Jason had become. When Obi entered the cabin, the memory of illness and death and Araba weighed on him. Grace sat silently in the rocker, her face buried in her sister’s blue blanket. Scipio squeezed next to her, fast asleep. Simon put the plates on the table, and Rose stirred a pot of grits, while Little Ray, whining and whimpering, clung to her skirt.

  “What’s wrong with Ray?” Obi asked, picking the child up, hoping that he wasn’t ill.

  Rose lowered her voice. “He keeps asking for ’Aba.’” Rose looked at Grace sadly and then at Obi and shook her head. “Grace, you put that blanket down and come sit here with us.”

  Grace didn’t move.

  “Araba with Jesus now. You going to make yourself sick. Come and eat,” Rose insisted.

  As Obi listened to Rose, he remembered the feelings he didn’t even have words for when he was taken from his mother. “Rose, leave her be. She’ll eat later.”

  Rose sighed and sat down at the table.

  “You need to take a rest yourself. You look tired, Rose.”

  “I be okay tomorrow. Me and Grace clean this whole cabin thoroughly. Air it out too. Get all that sickness out of here.”

  “Rose, why don’t you let Little Ray stay with Melissa for a few days longer? Get some rest.”

  Obi knew Rose was tired when she agreed with him so easily. “Maybe I do that. Then me and Grace can work on that kitchen garden too.”

  “Don’t do any work tomorrow. Rest.”

  He told Rose that Jason had written to him. “He doing fine,” was all Obi said. “Singing and dancing.”

  “That’s the only thing that rascal know how to do,” Rose said, appearing to be too weary to think about Jason or anything else.

  Obi answered Jason’s letter later on that evening.

  February 2, 1868

  Dear Jason,

  I was happy to receive your letter and know you are fine. I am also happy that you enjoy your life in the minstrel shows, but you know that is not a decent life. Many of those show people end up beggars and vagrants in the street. I am sorry that I had to leave you. I was young and thinking only of myself. You and Easter are my family. Easter wants to stay here in South Carolina. I am not so sure, I am just waiting for her, then we want you with us. I know you will say that I didn’t want you when I left the farm. Again, I am sorry for that. But there is nothing I can do, as the people here say, them the days done. That’s the past. We have a future to look forward to. Easter worries about you, and I do too. It’s a hard life you’re in. You don’t have to be a farmer. I don’t want to be one either. Nor does Easter. But we want you with us. You need to come to be with people who love you, Jason.

  Another thing, Jason. When I see you I’m boxing you between the ears good. You ain’t too old for that. I know I still bigger than you. I show you what a big yam foot I have. And that wasn’t a nice thing you said about Rose. She is a good friend and was helpful to you too. Write me back soon and think about what I say.

  Love, Obi

  Chapter 20

  To everything there is a season....

  A time to keep silence,

  and a time to speak.

  —ECCLESIASTES

  On Sunday morning Obi planned to finish off his cabin. He woke up before everyone else, took a refreshing bath in the creek, and returned to Rose’s for tea and grits. All that was left to do was to whitewash the walls, make the shutters, and put in the floors. At least he would have real floors, no dirt floor.

  When he returned to the cabin, Grace sat in the rocker, her face buried in Araba’s blanket.

  “We all going to church. I think that make us feel better,” Rose said to the top of Grace’s head.

  Little Ray and Scipio were scrubbed clean and ready for church, though Scipio was quiet and Little Ray continued to ask for “Aba.”

  “Grace, leave the rocker,” Rose ordered.

  Grace had turned to stone.

  “Grace, Grace,” Obi called to her. He clasped her shoulders and shook her gently, as though waking a sleeping child. “Grace, come on, stop that. Mind Miss Rose.”

  Slowly she raised her head, and for no reason that he could comprehend, Obi thought about how he and Buka used to fish on Sunday mornings.

  “Grace, we going fishing.”

  “Fishing?” Rose wondered whether she’d heard correctly. “Did you say fishing? They have to go to Sunday school and church.”

  “God be everywhere.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “Fishing too?”

  “Maybe.” He lowered his voice so that it was barely audible. “I use to fish with Buka on Sundays, and it made me happy.”

  She shook her head. “That old African never really give up his heathenish ways, Obi. And he almost make a heathen out of you. Best let that child come with me. She needs God’s love.”

  “It ain’t go hurt her this one time.” He took Grace’s hand. “Come, we find a bucket and we make two hand lines. You ever been fishing before?”

  She shook her head.

  “You’ll like it.”

  “I going to pray for you, Obi,” Rose said as he and Grace walked out of the door.

  The morning was clear and bright. A perfect day for fishing. So they sat by the creek, Grace wiggling her toes in the water. He didn’t have to tell her to be quiet.

  He handed her the line. “See, this is how you hold it. Very still, and the fish will bite.”

  “Can I just keep my feet in the water? I like to look at the water.”

  The first time she ever say she like anything.“Why you like the water?”

  “They ain’t no trees in the water.”

  “Trees?” He frowned as he watched her stare at the water. He understood.

  “Grace, trees can’t hurt you, not unless they fall on you. Don’t think about them awful times.”

  When Obi caught a squirming catfish, Grace glanced and then looked away. “Maybe the people wriggle like that when they get hang in the tree.”

  “Grace, that’s over now. We have a good fish dinner tonight.”

  She let it be. The morning passed slowly and peacefully. He looked at the position of the sun and rightly guessed that it was about two o’clock. He felt almost as good as he used to feel when he fished with Buka.

  But when they returned home and Obi saw Melissa brewing a big pot of soup and several of the other village women leaving the cabin, he knew that something was wrong.

  “What happen?” he asked, rushing inside.

  “Rose took ill in church. Simon at my cabin with the two boys. Them two little ones can stay with me till she get better,” Melissa said. “She just have the chills is all. That bad weather and then taking care of the sick child. I think she just need a day or two of rest.” She eyed the bucket. “Look like them fish been biting.”

  “Yes. You take some, since you have the boys there. Send Simon back here.”

  “Don’t worry, Obi, Rose be strong. She had a touch of malaria last year. Just overwork herself.”

  Obi checked on Rose. “I tell you to rest. You always trying to do too much.”

  “I’ll be fine, Obi. Just caught a chill is all.” She sat up in her bed and took the bowl of soup Grace handed her. “Same thing happen to me this time last year. Melissa make such a fuss, just because she see me shivering some in church. It’s still dampish.”

  “I’m sending Simon to find that doctor who work with Miss Fortune
.”

  “Obi, that ain’t necessary. Let the doctor alone. She have real sick people to tend to. Have her running over here for nothing,” Rose complained.

  “There was men in my regiment who catch malaria and the doctor give them quinine and knock it right out of them.”

  “You bad as Melissa.”

  When Simon came back from Melissa’s, Obi sent him to find the doctor. He returned in a short time. “Miss Fortune say the doctor’s away. Won’t be back till tomorrow, maybe.” Simon looked worried. “Mr. Obi, Aunt Rose be okay?”

  Obi wondered when “Miss Rose” had become “Aunt Rose.”

  “She’ll be fine. Don’t you worry.” This start as a peaceful day.

  Obi and Simon cleaned the fish, and he made a fire outside the cabin and put the skillet over the fire, frying the fish the way he and Buka used to do. Grace made a big bowl of grits to eat with the fish. Rose insisted on getting out of bed and eating with them. “You all making too much of a fuss.” She tried to eat heartily. “Obi, you sure know how to fry some fish.”

  He could tell that she wasn’t really hungry and was forcing down the food.

  “Tomorrow I begin to plow over some of them field.”

  “Is you mad, Rose? You need to rest another day. And this weather never settle so early. Simon help you when he come in from school.”

  “I feel fine by tomorrow.”

  “Don’t you know what the word rest mean?”

  “I too poor to know what rest mean.”

  “If I see you outside, I running you back in the house.”

  Rose tried to laugh heartily. “You go on, Obi. Turning into an old woman, like Melissa.”

  The following afternoon, however, Obi didn’t have to worry about Rose not resting. As he and Samuel mixed sand and oyster shell to fill in the chinks between the logs, he saw Simon running toward him.

  “My Lord, what happen now?” Obi said.

  “Aunt Rose be too sick,” Simon gasped.

  Chapter 21

  For Death is a simple thing

  And he go from door to door

  And he knock down some, and he cripple up some

  And he leave some here to pray

  —SPIRITUAL

  “Why Simon send for you? I told Grace to make me some tea. Just caught a chill is all,” Rose said, her hands shaking as she picked up the tin cup. She wore her field dress, and her head was wrapped in a blue kerchief.

  “You said that yesterday, Rose. I’m sending Simon to see if the doctor return yet, or maybe Miss Mary or Melissa have some quinine. Rose, go back to bed. You can’t work in no field today.”

  Grace looked frightened as Rose shuffled to the bedroom.

  “I staying around to help. You go on outside and work on the garden,” he ordered Grace. She needed air and light, Obi thought. Maybe if she were outside, the warm sun and growing life around her would keep her mind away from thoughts of death.

  “Can I stay in, sir, and help Aunt Rose? Can’t see so good outside.”

  Now Grace too was calling her “Aunt Rose.” He wondered which one of the children started that. “But you saw good in the water.”

  “I know, Mr. Obi.”

  “You help Miss Rose, then. No sitting in that rocker, grieving over Araba. She’s in a good place, Grace. With your mama, you understand?”

  “Yes, Mr. Obi.”

  Simon returned an hour later with a large bowl of soup sent by Melissa and the news that the doctor had not yet returned from Beaufort. “Miss Mary say she don’t have no quinine, but she’ll pull up some roots for you. She say to come to the store this afternoon.”

  All day long, villagers stopped by to see “how she faring,” taking a moment from their own fields and kitchens. Virginia, Anna, and Isabel visited Rose, bringing herbs, teas, and prayers. After their work, Samuel, James, and some of the other men dropped in to see “how Miss Rose be.” And Miss Fortune also walked down the shelled road to call on Miss Rose.

  Even Julius made a quick visit on his way to a meeting on the other side of the island. “I going to help the people start a Republican club and tell them about the work we’re doing on the Land Commission,” he informed Obi.

  Rose insisted on sitting at the table and eating dinner with them. “I feeling much better now,” she said. But Obi knew better. Her eyes appeared cloudy and weak, and her hands trembled slightly as she put a spoonful of broth to her lips.

  After everyone went to sleep for the night. Obi sat at the table and wrote Easter.

  February 5, 1869

  Dear Easter,

  I hope that you are fine. I do not think you have yet received the letter I wrote to you a few days ago. Except for missing you, I am okay, but I can’t say the same for everyone else. Rose doesn’t feel too well. She would be fine if she stop overworking. The next time you write send a message to her to stop pushing herself the way she do. She want to plant cotton again, but if she does, she’ll kill herself for sure. The fields will take all the life out of her. She won’t make any money.

  I heard from Jason, but I do not like the sound of him. I think he is running wild in the streets. I will save the letter to show you.

  The cabin is almost finished. I think in the end, Easter, it will only be a temporary shelter for us. I am beginning to feel that New Canaan is a cursed place. I am waiting impatiently for your return.

  Your Obi

  The following morning, when Obi checked on Rose, she breathed heavily, and her quilt was drenched. She’d gone from chills to a fever. She needed a doctor. He touched her forehead, and it was on fire.

  Obi walked over to Miss Mary’s store. “Mr. Booker, I was expecting you yesterday.” She pulled a large sack from under the counter, containing her store of roots and herbs. “Mr. Booker, you take and boil this here tania root and add two teaspoonfuls of mustard and a spoonful of vinegar.”

  He dug in his pocket. “How much I owe you.”

  “Mr. Booker, I could never sell you a thing. Not after what you done for me.” She looked at the wall that Obi had shored up for her.

  He left Easter’s letter with Miss Mary for the mail pickup on Friday and then walked to the school to find Miss Fortune and let her know how sick Rose was.

  The doctor finally arrived that evening. Obi and Simon sat at the table, waiting for her to complete her examination. Grace sat in the rocker, held Araba’s blanket, and stared into space. Obi wondered whether she even remembered how happy she had been on Sunday. When the doctor walked out of the bedroom, she motioned to Obi to step outside. “She has recurring malarial fever. But I think she can fight it off.” The doctor handed Obi a vial of medicine. “This will help her. She needs rest.”

  “I hope you tell her that.”

  “I did.”

  Obi thanked the doctor for coming and offered to pay her. “No charge. We do this work through the missionary society. Miss Fortune told me about you, but I haven’t had the chance to meet you and personally thank you for putting up the school for us.”

  The next morning Obi stayed near the cabin so that he could be there until Simon came home from school. He let Simon plow the ground that Rose used for her kitchen garden. “You don’t go nowhere, Simon,” Obi warned him. “And you call me if Miss Rose take a turn for the worse. I’m working on my cabin.”

  Obi worked alone now. Samuel and the other men had to plow and prepare their fields for spring planting. Obi didn’t mind. He could take his time and do things the way they were supposed to be done. Once he had a piece of wood in his hands, carefully curing it over the fire and cutting and smoothing it, he forgot sometimes that this was supposed to be a temporary cabin, built by the men of New Canaan. Not the home he’d planned, made lovingly by his own hands.

  As he worked, he dreaded two things during those solitary February afternoons—Simon running to him, announcing Rose’s death, and having to make another child’s coffin. Neither occurred. Dr. Emmy returned with more medicine and a hopeful prognosis. “She’s basically
strong, and has a will to fight this. I think she’ll recover.” For the rest of the month, Rose’s life seemed to hang on an invisible thread, woven from prayers, Melissa’s broth, the doctor’s medicine, the people who loved her.

  On the last Sunday in February Obi stayed in the house to look after Rose and decided to send Simon and Grace to Sunday school, because he knew Rose would want that.

  “Mr. Booker, you don’t want some help ’round here? Want me to help you make them slats for the floor in here?” Simon asked. “Remember you was saying Aunt Rose’s floor need fixing?”

  “No, you and Grace go to Sunday school.”

  Simon didn’t look very happy. “Yes, sir.”

  “Don’t you want to see Scipio and Little Ray?”

  “They going to cry to come back home with us.”

  “I know. But they still be happy to see you and Grace. Go on out to the pump and clean yourself.”

  “Yes, sir,” Simon mumbled.

  When Grace came out of the bedroom with Rose’s bowl, half filled with broth, he said, “Grace, you and Simon go on to church and Sunday school. I’ll watch Aunt Rose.” Got me saying it too.

  “We not going fishing, Mr. Obi?”

  Obi was surprised. He had thought that the fishing meant little to her. She’d never asked him about going again since the first time. “You liked fishing?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “After y’all come from Sunday school, then we’ll go.”

  He saw her eyes begin to cloud over and stare, and then she bowed her head. “I like the water, sir.”

  Obi smiled to himself. Maybe the old African was right. God be everywhere. Now he and Grace had their own Sunday routine. “Grace, you see if Aunt Rose need anything else. We’ll go fishing when Simon come back from Sunday school.”

  Obi walked outside with Simon before he sent him off, explaining, “Grace say she can’t see so well. So I let her stay home.”

  Simon seemed relieved. “It all right. She ain’t going to do nothing but sit and stare no way. Then the other kids laugh at her.”