Whatever it may have been, it was laughing at the faces Beanie made. Big and wide smiles and air-filled cheeks. Crossed eyes and stuck-out tongue. I couldn’t remember seeing her act like that before.
A man sat on a pallet under the tent nearby, watching the two, his stubbly face droopy and sun-burned. He nodded at Ray and me.
“Howdy,” he muttered.
Ray greeted him back.
“Beanie.” I marched right up to her. Mad as I was, I pulled on her arm and didn’t hide my temper. “You can’t run away like that.”
She didn’t take her eyes off the baby, but she yanked her arm away from me.
“I found her,” she said, reaching for the child who didn’t come to her. “I seen her and knowed it was her.”
“Who?” I squinted at the baby, trying to recognize its face.
“Baby Rosie.” Beanie beamed. “She went away, and now I found her.”
Ray made a sound behind us, one that was almost like choking or coughing or both.
“That isn’t Baby Rosie,” I said. Then I made my voice a lot quieter so only she’d hear me. “You remember? Baby Rosie died.”
“No.” She shook her head hard. “No. No. No. I found her. She’s right there.”
“Something wrong with that girl?” the man asked from his pallet. He pushed the greasy hair off his forehead and stood, unsteady.
“She’s all right. Just a little slow is all.” I touched Beanie’s shoulder. “Come on. We best get home.”
Beanie snatched the baby, holding it close to herself. I knew she hadn’t hurt it, just startled it. The baby wailed and struggled, afraid of Beanie.
“Put him down, hear?” the man said from where he stood. “Let him go.”
“She ain’t sick no more,” Beanie said, still holding on tight.
“You let go of him.” The man rushed over, putting his hands on Beanie, pulling on her arms. “Leave him be.”
“She’s got to go home to her mama. Her mama misses her.” Beanie fought against the man, trying to move away from his grabbing hands. “You ain’t got a right to keep her away from her mama.”
Ray dropped to his knees next to Beanie.
“Let me try,” he said to the man.
The man took a step back but still within reach, his face still bothered.
Ray put his hands on Beanie’s shoulders and got his face close up to hers.
“Beanie, simmer down a little, okay?” He blinked a tear from his eyelashes. “Can you look at me?”
Beanie didn’t loosen her grip on the baby, but she stopped jostling him.
“That ain’t Baby Rosie.” Ray swallowed hard. “That’s a baby boy you got. Do you remember? Baby Rosie was a girl.”
“This ain’t a boy,” Beanie said.
“This baby is. His daddy over there said so.” Ray kept his voice calm. “See him standing over there?”
Beanie looked at the man and then back at the baby.
“And Rosie had red hair.” Ray touched the baby’s blond curls. “See, it ain’t Rosie.”
“But I thought …” She trailed off.
“I know. You tried to do good.” Ray moved his hands under the baby’s armpits. “Can I get this boy back to his daddy? His daddy loves him just as much as we all loved Rosie. Do you understand? We gotta give this baby back.”
Beanie released the boy to Ray.
“I’m sorry.” She didn’t look at the man, but I knew she was talking to him. “I just thought …”
“No hurt done.” The man took the boy and patted his back. “He’ll be fine.”
Ray walked off a bit by himself. Every few steps he’d wipe at his face with the back of his hand. He was headed for the spot where we had climbed over to chase Beanie.
“Come on,” I said to my sister. “We’d better catch up to Ray.”
“Wouldn’t if I were you,” the man said, lowering the boy back to the ground. “Man needs time. ’Specially when he’s got that look in his eyes. I don’t know what that boy’s going through, but he needs him a little time to be alone.”
Beanie touched the dust, scooping it up in her hands and letting it sift through her fingers. She had little tears dropping fast from her eyes to the dirt, making beads of mud.
“She gonna be all right?” The man nodded at Beanie.
“Sure she is.” I touched my sister’s head, smoothing the frizzy hair.
The baby wobbled over and stood in front of Beanie. He stuffed most of his hand into his mouth and stared at her. She didn’t wipe off her face but looked at him and pulled her lips into a funny line. He gave a big, from-the-belly baby laugh.
“Seems Joshua’s forgave her.” The man squatted. “I don’t mind letting them play a spell.”
“Thank you, mister.” I kneeled in the dirt. “It’ll do her some good.”
After a little while, Joshua finished with their play and needed a rest. The day wasn’t too hot, being October, still I could tell it was nearing time for us to go home for the middle-of-the-day meal. We said our good-byes, and Beanie kissed the baby on his forehead and hands.
The man didn’t act too nervous about it.
Neither of us talked while we headed out of the camp and over the dune. It was easier to climb it from that side, and I was glad for it.
Once we climbed over, Beanie grabbed for my hand.
She held it all the way back home.
My sister didn’t eat any dinner. She went to bed and slept all the way through the day and night until the next morning. It worried Meemaw something terrible.
I never told Mama or Daddy about Little Joshua or Beanie’s fit. It was her story to tell, and she did hold onto it.
We never talked about it again.
A lot that happened that year and into the next never earned a discussion.
Mostly, it was because we found it all too hard to speak of.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Mama moved about the kitchen in an awful rush, packing glass jars into a wicker basket, baking biscuits, and checking on the coffee she had perking on the stove.
“How’s the porridge coming?” she asked, looking over my shoulder.
“Okay,” I said, stirring the watery oats. They were so soupy I could have sucked them up through a straw.
“They need a little thickening.” She bumped me with her hip to fix the mess I’d made of breakfast. “Go on and get the bowls from the cupboard, please, darlin’.”
She spooned the oats into the bowls and helped me carry them to the table. I put one in front of Daddy. He drizzled a little molasses on his and winked at me.
“Tom, are you still going down to the Jones’s?” Mama asked.
“Sure am.” He shoved a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth.
“I’m worried I’ve got too much in this basket. It’s heavy.” She tested it, lifting it from the handle. “I don’t want these jars breaking out the bottom. This is my good basket.”
“It’s fine.” Daddy scraped his bowl.
“Don’t you think it’ll be too heavy for you to carry?” She poured him a cup of coffee. “Maybe you should drive it over.”
“Mary, I’ll manage. No use burning fuel when I can walk.” He took the cup from her. “Thank you.”
“I’m just worried you won’t be able to carry it.”
“I’ve got plenty of muscles.” He held up one arm, flexing for her.
“Oh, Tom.” She giggled and swatted at him with her hand.
“Pearl, you want to walk over with me?” He blew steam off his coffee. “I thought you might want to see Ray for a spell.”
I never answered him. But I did gobble the last of my porridge.
“Don’t slurp,” Mama warned. “You’ll give yourself an upset stomach.”
“We’re in no hurry.” Daddy stood from the table. “They don’t even know we’re coming. Your mama has planned a nice surprise for them.”
He kissed Mama’s forehead.
“You, Mary Spence, are a good woman.” His eyes spar
kled when he said that.
Daddy carried the basket of canned goods and I had a plate of stillwarm biscuits. He took long strides, and I had to move my feet double time to keep up. I didn’t mind, though. Hardly thought of it, as a matter of fact. All that I cared about was that I got to be with Daddy.
“You coming along all right?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” I answered, trying to hide my breathlessness.
I wished I had thought to wear a sweater. Early November wasn’t cold, exactly, but my skin wasn’t used to the chilled air.
“I’m glad you come with me. I don’t believe I could have carried that plate along with this basket.” He smiled. “Mighty glad for the help.”
We reached the road that led to the sharecropper cabins. Daddy switched the basket to his other hand before we started up again.
“You ain’t seen that Eddie character around lately, have you?” he asked.
“No, sir,” I answered.
“That’s fine.”
“Do you think he’s gone for good?” I asked, keeping my eye on the road.
“Can’t know for sure.” He stepped off the road and along where there had once been a path to the cabins. “We’ll just have to see.”
We got in sight of the Jones’s dugout, and Daddy put the basket down again, rubbing his hands.
“That thing was heavier than I thought it’d be.” He chuckled. “Your mama was right. It’s about to break out the bottom. Good thing we’re here.”
Linens hung on the long laundry lines to dry. The way the sun shone through them and the wind made them sway, it looked like they were dancing. I would have been happy to stay and watch the movement all day long.
I remembered over the summer being in that same place. Ray and I chased each other between the hanging clothes and sheets. Mrs. Jones had hollered at us to be careful not to knock anything off the lines. She held a basket on one hip and Baby Rosie on the other while she watched to make sure we didn’t kick up too much dust.
She put Baby Rosie on the ground to play for a bit at her feet as she pulled the dry linens off the lines. Somehow she got everything folded, even with Rosie tugging at her. The baby had babbled and giggled so that Ray and I couldn’t help but stop our running to go play with her.
But Baby Rosie wouldn’t be among the dancing clothes that day or ever again. A burning ache spread up from the middle of my chest. I used the back of my hand to take care of the tears and hoped Daddy didn’t see them.
“Well, I’ll be,” Daddy said, a smile in his voice. “Si’s out in that old jalopy of his.”
Squinting against the sun, I looked at the ancient, rusted-out car. It had been in that same spot for as long as I could remember, and in all that time Mr. Jones hadn’t so much as turned over the engine. Ray had told me that he didn’t know if the hunk of metal was broke down or just out of gas. Most nobody in Red River had any money for gas.
“Wonder if he’d mind a little help,” Daddy said, walking toward the car with a quicker step, not waiting for me to catch up.
I let my eyes wander back to the graceful flutter of sheets on the line, the rippling shadow moving under them on the dust.
Then I heard the jars knock together, clattering and clinking. Daddy had dropped the basket, his hand still open, hovering over it.
“Go on. Get in the house,” he said to me. “And don’t look out the window.”
I hesitated, nervous at the hard sound in Daddy’s voice. The plate of biscuits slipped out of my hand and hit the hard ground. I didn’t look to see if the plate had broken.
“Run,” he told me.
I obeyed.
Inside the house, Mrs. Jones sat on the floor, hands over her ears. She hummed. Not a song, just one note, drawn out until she ran out of breath. She took a long gulp of air and then hummed again. Her eyelids wrinkled and bunched, she held them shut so tight.
Ray stood by the window. He glanced at me when I walked in, but turned his eyes back out to watch what would happen in the car.
Daddy had said not to look out the window. As much as I wanted to obey, I couldn’t. If I didn’t watch, my imagination would have created all kinds of terror and all of them ending bad for Daddy.
Standing next to Ray, I tried to watch what was happening outside. Lifting up on tiptoes, I could just barely see, but it was enough. Ray’s hand was sweaty, but I didn’t pull mine away when he grabbed it.
Even with our hands held tight together, we both trembled. I didn’t know why I should be afraid, but Daddy’s voice and Mrs. Jones on the floor and Ray holding my hand made it so.
Outside, Daddy took steps so slowly, he hadn’t even made it to the car yet. Mr. Jones’s voice growled, and his head shook back and forth.
“Leave me be,” he yelled.
Daddy didn’t stop his slow steps. Both men kept their eyes on each other. Daddy reached and opened the passenger door of the jalopy.
That was when I saw the rifle resting between Mr. Jones’s knees, the barrel digging right into the soft place under his chin.
Daddy climbed in. The slamming of the door made my whole body tense.
“He done it yet?” Mrs. Jones’s voice shook. “Ray, has he done it yet? Was that it?”
Ray grunted but didn’t turn to his mother. I looked over my shoulder, wondering if she’d understood Ray’s answer. Her ghost-gray eyes stared at the floor.
“Wish he’d just get it done with if he’s gonna do it,” she muttered.
I let go of Ray’s hand. It slapped against the side of his overalls. On my knees, I inched closer to Mrs. Jones.
She held her hands in front of her, watching them tremor. The cracked skin around the thick and split nails looked sore. She had the thinnest wrists I’d ever seen. The more she held her hands like that, the more they shook.
“He said all he’s got is just one bullet left.” She started rocking again. “Said a man can’t even afford to blow his own head off no more.”
I knelt right next to Mrs. Jones, not knowing if I should say something back to her. It was such an ugly idea, what she’d said, and too much for my mind to take in. I wondered if I shouldn’t just wrap my arms around her neck to give her a little comfort.
Since I was little, Meemaw had told me that I ought to do unto others as I’d like them to do unto me. So, I pulled Mrs. Jones into a hug. She didn’t lift her arms to hold me back and that was just fine by me. She did sink into me, though. It was like she was melting from blazing hot sadness. I held her limp body so she wouldn’t fall to the floor.
Then Ray cried out. Both Mrs. Jones and I tensed.
“What?” I asked.
Ray just clamped his teeth shut and leaned on the wall by the window.
The gun blast sounded like something had crashed. My heart jerked up into my throat and then down to my gut, making me feel dizzy. I fell backward, my arms losing their grip on Mrs. Jones’s neck. She supported herself, gasping in air, her eyes open wide.
“He done it,” she whispered. “He really done it.”
I couldn’t find the strength to move so much as my little toe, and I had the hardest time catching a breath. In my mind, I saw Daddy as the one with the blown-off head, not Mr. Jones.
That was when I started to pray. I begged God not to let it be my father who was dead. Then I felt all kinds of selfish for praying it.
Mrs. Jones crawled to Ray. He helped her to her feet, and she stood facing the outside.
“Lord God,” she sobbed and groaned and scrunched her face all up on itself. “Oh, Lord.”
Ray reached an arm around his mother and pulled her to himself.
Too stunned to cry, I stayed on the floor, unable to move. All I could do was feel the thudding in my chest.
“Pearl.”
Daddy. It was Daddy who called for me.
“Pearl,” he called again. “Let’s go home.”
My numb body made it hard to get up, but somehow I managed. The air around me felt thick, slowing down every move I made. I
got to the door without knowing how. Holding onto the doorjamb was the only way I could be sure not to fall down.
“Tell your pa,” Mrs. Jones said, not turning from the window. “Tell him thanks for what he done.”
Daddy stood in front of the house, Mr. Jones’s rifle in his hand. He pushed the basket of canned goods by the door with the plate of biscuits resting on top.
He reached for me with his free hand.
“Come on, darlin’,” he said, still reaching.
I was too afraid to move, even to take his hand. Scared that I’d catch a glimpse of the old jalopy with Mr. Jones inside, his head blown off. So I held tighter to the doorjamb.
“Pearl, come on.” Daddy’s voice was deep and smooth, but his hand shook. “Trust me, honey.”
I let go and shuffled forward, my feet too heavy to pick up. Daddy stepped up and took my hand, tugging me toward him.
“Is he …” My throat clamped on the word dead. “Mr. Jones?”
“He’s okay,” Daddy whispered. “I fired the shot into the dust so he couldn’t use it.”
Turning, I saw Mr. Jones still in the car behind the steering wheel. He held that wheel with both his hands, like it was what kept him from falling off the face of the earth. From where I stood, I could see he was crying, his whole face wrenched up and his mouth open as if he wanted to roar all the hurt out.
As far as I could tell, he wasn’t making any noise at all.
My hand throbbed, Daddy held it so tight. And my feet rubbed inside my stiff-soled shoes. We never stopped or slowed down. I was sure I’d get blisters by the time we reached home.
Daddy turned on the main road, pulling me along with him. A few men, old farmers with nothing to do but wait around, watching folks, stood with their backs against the empty building across from the courthouse. The overhang shaded their faces.
“Hey, Sheriff,” one of them called out.
Daddy didn’t even notice them. He kept on moving, pulling me along.
We walked up the steps to the courthouse, and he used a key to unlock the door. Both of us wiped our palms against our sides, they were so sweaty from holding together so hard.
A Cup of Dust Page 12
