He locked Mr. Jones’s rifle in an old gun safe, slipping the key into his shirt pocked. He let a cuss word slip from his mouth and slammed his fist into the safe.
I’d never seen Daddy like that, and it scared me so I took a few steps back from him.
“I’m sorry,” Daddy said, not turning toward me. “Sorry if I scared you just then.”
He said another cuss and rubbed his hand on the back of his neck.
Men couldn’t just cry like women did. I didn’t know why not, but that was the way of things. Sometimes they used a cuss word and an angry fist as their way of pushing out the scared or hurt that was inside them.
Cussing was a man’s way of crying.
“You go on home.” He still didn’t turn to face me. “Tell your mama she best not expect me for dinner. I’ll be home before long, though.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
I went to leave, trying to figure out if I wanted to run all the way home or take my sweet time getting there. On one hand, I wanted to be with Mama right away, smelling the food cooking in her kitchen and out of the chilly air. On the other hand, I didn’t figure I could talk to Mama or Meemaw at all without crying my eyes out.
I still didn’t know what had happened or what any of it meant.
So I just walked like I would have any other day. Not too fast and not too slow.
I even howdied back at the men standing with their backs against the building, watching folks go by.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I’d asked Meemaw to put my hair into two braids on either side of my head. She told me she would be happy to do just that. Pulling on my hair, she crisscrossed it, making it tight as she could. Crooked as her fingers were, somebody might have thought she couldn’t do that kind of work anymore. But she did and never with a word of complaint.
“Ain’t your hair long?” She secured the braids with a couple ribbons. “Most girls I seen got their hair cut all the way up to their chins.”
“I like mine long.” I felt of the braids, making sure she’d made them even.
“That’s my girl.” She leaned on my shoulder and pushed herself up. “I best get downstairs and help your mama.”
“Thank you, Meemaw,” I said. “You did a nice job on my hair.”
“That’s all right, darlin’.” She smiled. “You ought to come see if she wants your help, too.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She left me to myself. I sat on the bare wood of my bedroom floor and folded my legs like I thought an Indian girl would have done.
Daddy had let me read an old book about Sacajawea and Hiawatha. In those books, the girls had skin lighter than what I would have expected an Indian girl to have. All the Indians I’d ever seen were brown, not creamy-white colored. The girls in the book were almost as fair as me, but with black-as-midnight hair.
Dropping my braids over the front side of my shoulders, I pretended they were shiny and dark.
When I closed my eyes, I wondered what it had been like for them the first time they saw a man with skin so white they could almost look right through it. Would they have thought red hair was made of fire? For some reason I thought they must have been afraid when they met face-to-face with a blue-eyed man.
With my eyes closed, all I could see was Eddie’s face. His blue eyes.
Just thinking of him gave me the willies, even after a month of him being gone. I tried to shake off the thought of him, but he’d become like a tick under my skin.
All the sudden, I didn’t want to be alone in my room anymore, so I got up and hustled down the steps.
Mama wouldn’t let Daddy keep the radio on while we ate our Thanksgiving dinner. Not that we had anything special to eat. Just a chicken, some stuffing, and a bowl of mashed potatoes. Still, Meemaw and Mama insisted that we have a nice meal. After all, Millard had come to eat with us.
I caught Meemaw making eyes at the old mayor more than a few times. Millard made them right back.
Beanie had found herself a feather somewhere. Pure black and oily. Mama had told her it was dirty and that she was not to have something so full of sickness at the Thanksgiving table. Beanie had screamed and thrown a regular old snit fit until Mama gave up. I didn’t figure Mama had seen the way my sister grinned when she won.
Beanie sure did know how to get her way.
Daddy said grace, and we all sat still and quiet. He never did believe in long prayers. He was more for saying his few words and being done with it. I knew Meemaw would have liked him to go on a bit more. But Mama was glad, I believed, because he never prayed so long the food got cold.
Daddy’s was a simple faith. He lived it with easy words and the sweat of his brow. I believed God liked that well enough.
After Daddy said “amen,” Mama smiled at him in her way, soft and long. I liked it when she looked at him like that and the way he returned it. That was the way I wanted to look at my husband when I got one.
Daddy carved the small chicken, and Mama started passing around the potatoes. Clinking of serving spoons on Mama’s good dishes and smells of rich food put a pit of happiness in the center of my body.
I thought a simple prayer of my own. One of thanksgiving for my family.
Even Beanie.
Millard and Daddy had pulled two straight-backed chairs into the living room right by the little radio. They sat knee-to-knee, leaning close to hear the football game, and sipped the cups of coffee Mama had carried over for them.
“Who ever thought of making these boys play on Thanksgiving?” Meemaw shook her head. “Don’t they think their mamas would want them home?”
“I don’t know that they mind too much,” Daddy said. “Football players make decent money. I’m sure their mamas are just glad they’ve got a job.”
“Well, I don’t mind so much.” Millard slurped his coffee. “Hearing this game gets my mind off matters for a spell.”
“Who do you like to win?” Daddy balanced the cup on his thigh.
“Chicago.” Millard scratched his chin. “Now, I know full well Detroit’s had a good season. I still say Chicago’s the better team.”
“Well, then.” Daddy smiled and picked up his coffee cup. “Guess that leaves me with Detroit.”
“I hope you boys aren’t placing bets.” Mama sat on the davenport next to Beanie. “We’ve got nothing to wager but a yard full of dust. You’re welcome to it if you want it.”
“No thanks,” Millard said, chuckling. Then he winked at me. “How about you, Goldie Locks? You got a favorite team?”
“I don’t know.” I flipped the page in the Sears and Roebuck catalogue on my lap. “I guess I like whoever Daddy does.”
“That’s my girl.” Daddy patted his knee. “Come on over here.”
“Ain’t she too big to sit on your lap?” Meemaw watched me walk to Daddy. “She’s almost a lady now.”
“Nah, she ain’t too big.” Daddy pulled me up on his lap with one hand. The other held his cup to one side. “Beanie Jean, how about you come over, too?” He handed Millard his coffee before extending his arm toward Beanie. “God gave me a knee for each of my girls.”
I shifted to make room for my sister and tried not to get upset that he wanted to hold her, too. Some days, I just wanted Daddy all to myself.
Beanie stayed on the davenport and shook her head, making that oily feather loose, almost tumbling out of her frizzy curls. “I wanna stay here.”
Daddy sighed out his nose and raised his eyebrows at me. “Guess you get me all to your lonesome, then.”
I leaned back against his chest and rested my head on his shoulder.
Some kind of action was happening in the game. The announcer’s voice traveled up in pitch, and he talked faster. Both Daddy and Millard moved their heads closer to the radio for just a second. The excitement ended with Daddy smiling and Millard shaking his head. Whatever the words the man on the radio said, I couldn’t make any sense of.
“It’s looking good for my team,” Daddy said, sitting back i
n his chair and pulling me against his chest.
“It don’t matter,” Beanie said.
“You don’t have a favorite, darlin’?” Daddy asked. “Lions or Bears?”
Beanie shook her head again, the feather finally falling all the way out of her hair and onto her lap. “Wolves always win anyway.”
“I never heard of a wolf playing football,” Millard said. “I reckon that would be one heck of a team.”
Millard laughed and looked over my head at Daddy, winking at him. One thing I liked about Millard was that he never said a mean thing about my sister, even when she said something that made no sense at all.
“You know, I been up to Michigan once,” Daddy said.
“When did you go there?” I asked.
“Before your mama and I got married. A real long time ago.”
“You got family up there, don’t you?” Millard finished off his coffee and put his cup and Daddy’s on the floor.
“Sure do. A cousin of mine has a farm up there,” Daddy answered. “Good old Gus.”
“I thought he was a blast fool for moving north.” Meemaw clucked her tongue. “Now who’s the fool? Last letter we got from him, he said he’s got more crop than he knows what to do with. And look what we got.”
“Was it cold there, Daddy?” I asked, hoping he’d go ahead and tell one of his stories.
“Cold enough. I didn’t see no snow, though. It was fall when I was up there. But it was colder than I’ve ever felt it here.”
“Did you see an Eskimo?”
“Nah. But I seen an Indian or two.”
“What did they look like?” I glanced over and saw Beanie playing with the feather, twisting it between her thumb and pointer finger.
“Like the ones we’ve got here. Just those ones had more clothes on.”
“Tom,” Mama scolded. “Don’t go filling her mind with more of those stories.”
“All right.” Daddy kissed my cheek and pretended to whisper. “Your mama doesn’t want me talking about savages on Thanksgiving. But I think it’s fitting, ain’t it?”
“You can tell me about them later.” I liked being in on jokes with Daddy.
He winked at me.
We all listened to the end of the game, me still on Daddy’s lap. I never did figure out who won. Didn’t much care, either. All I wanted was to be held by Daddy, imagining the Indians tromping around in their loincloths with feathers sticking up tall out of their hair.
In my daydream, every single one of them looked like Beanie.
After dark, Millard said his thank-yous and good-byes. He even kissed Meemaw’s hand, making her cheeks turn red as apples. Daddy insisted on walking him back to his room at the courthouse. It seemed that men always found something important to talk about that the women weren’t allowed to hear.
Meemaw chattered about what a nice man Millard was while she and Mama cleaned up the coffee things. Mama answered with “uh-huhs.”
“Did you see how he ate?” Meemaw asked, a smile lifting her face. “Like he’s not had a good meal in ages. That man needs a woman to cook for him.”
“A woman like you?” Mama asked, grinning.
“Now, what do you mean by that?”
“I mean it’s clear you’re in love with that man.” Mama hung her damp rag to let it dry. “And the way he looked back at you, I’d say he feels the same.”
“Now, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But the way Meemaw looked out the corner of her eye at Mama with a smile playing on her lips, I knew she wasn’t too upset at the thought. “I’m too old for falling in love, anyhow.”
“How old is too old to fall in love?” I asked.
“Never you mind,” Meemaw answered, giggling.
“Now, who is that?” Mama asked, tilting her head to look out the window over the sink.
Meemaw stood next to Mama and squinted. “I can’t see anybody.”
“It’s …” Mama turned and, seeing me, left off. “Pearl, how about you go on up to bed now.”
I nodded.
“Make sure your sister cleaned her teeth. And do your own, too.” Mama reached for me, touching my cheek. “I’ll be up in a bit.”
On my way to the steps, I snuck a peek out the window. That Woman was standing on the back porch, lifting her fist to knock on the door.
“Darlin’?” Mama said, making the I-mean-business look. “Go on.”
That Woman knocked on the door, and I went running up the stairs. Halfway up, I stumbled, knocking my shin. I didn’t dare cry out, not with the way Mama had glared at me. I just sat on the step and grabbed my leg, letting the tears drop on my knees. Where I hit my shin was bleeding, and already a bump was raising. I didn’t figure I’d broken my leg. That would have made me faint like the ladies in the movies. Still, it hurt like the dickens.
Downstairs, the door opened, and I heard Mama say, “What are you doing here?”
“I want to talk to her,” That Woman answered. I could just barely see her from where I sat on the steps.
“You’re drunk.” Mama’s voice was full of disgust. “I can smell it on you. Why would you come over here smelling of booze?”
“You don’t know what it’s like—”
“Nope. I don’t imagine I do.”
“Days like this,” That Woman said, then paused. “I’m lonely. See? I don’t got nobody.”
“That’s none of my doing.”
“Isn’t it?” That Woman scrunched her eyebrows when she said that.
Meemaw stepped forward, the hem of her skirt swinging in and out of my view. “Listen here, you’re the one who—”
“Mother,” Mama said. “Leave it alone. She knows what she did.”
“All I want is to see her. That’s all.” That Woman hugged her arms all the way around her front.
“You can’t come here.” Mama almost whispered. “You know that.”
“But he said I got a right,” That Woman said. “He told me she needs to know who I am.”
“Who said that?” Mama asked.
“I think he’s right.” That Woman licked her lips. “She needs me.”
“Who is telling you this?” Mama waited. Then she yelled it. “Who is telling you that you’ve got the right?”
“Eddie,” That Woman answered.
I took both hands off my bleeding leg and covered my mouth to hold in any noise that might want to break out. The metal taste of my blood stung my tongue, but I didn’t care. All I could think about was breathing in and out and not letting myself get scared.
For all I knew, it was a different man. Eddie of the blue eyes and the smirk hadn’t been around in a long time.
“Eddie who?” Mama asked. “Do you mean that hobo?”
“He ain’t a hobo.”
“Fine. The man that hopped off the train and begged around for food, then.” Mama sighed. “What does he know about this?”
“He knows plenty,” That Woman said, her voice strong if slurring. “And he says I’ve got a right to see her all I want.”
“He doesn’t know anything about it.” Mama grabbed the door. “Now go on. I’m closing this door, and I don’t want to have to toss you out first.”
That Woman took a step back, and Mama pushed the door closed, clicking the lock into place.
Mama cried after That Woman was gone.
“I don’t want her to find out like that,” Mama said. “I’m not ready for her to know.”
“We’ve gotta tell her some time, Mary.” Meemaw’s voice was a gentle song. “We can’t keep secrets forever.”
“Just not yet.” Mama cleared her throat. “How does that hobo know anything about us?”
All kinds of wonderings clattered around my mind. I went to my bed, shin still bleeding, and tried to make sense of That Woman’s words and Mama’s tears.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Used to be, before the dust drove most of the people out of Red River, that an old Negro woman would clean the courthouse once a week for Daddy and
Millard. She would sweep off the steps and mop the one jail cell. She bleached the linens and even tidied up Daddy’s desk when the papers got piled too high. All without saying so much as one word or lifting her eyes off her hands.
I remembered her quiet way and simple brown dress and the kerchief she wore on her head, but for the life of me, I couldn’t think of her name.
It didn’t much matter, anyhow. She and her family had been gone for a while, and Mrs. Jones had taken her place as the courthouse maid. I wasn’t to tell Ray or Mrs. Jones that the city wasn’t who paid her. The money came right out of Daddy’s check.
Sometimes I worried we’d run out of money the way Mama and Daddy gave so much away.
On cleaning days, I’d come straight to the courthouse after school. Ray and I would sit and play with Millard’s old checker set. I wasn’t any good. Ray was, though. I liked letting him win just fine. It was nice to sit across from him inside for a change. The only sound between us was the tapping of round, wood pieces on the board.
Ray and I sat on an old church pew Daddy had put in the long entrance of the courthouse. We usually played on the marble floor, but Mrs. Jones had just mopped it. I didn’t give her so much as a glimpse, all I wanted to do was pay attention to Ray.
“Y’all don’t even look at that floor until it dries,” she instructed. “I don’t wanna see no footprints. Hear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ray and I both said, not taking our eyes off the game.
Ray reached across the board as his mother left the room. He moved his piece, skipping half a dozen of mine, all the way to my side. The sleeve of his shirt pulled part way up his arm, showing purple-and-yellow marks all over his skin.
My stomach flipped one way, then the other, and my chest got tight.
“You gonna king me or what?” he asked, not realizing that I’d seen his bruises.
“What happened?” I touched his hand with my fingertips, so soft I wasn’t sure he’d even feel it. “Did you fall?”
He flinched back, knocking a round checker to the floor. When he bent down to pick it up, I could see him blinking and jerking his eyebrows up and down like he always did when he was upset.
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