By this time, Mr. Camm was spending most of his nights away from home. Often he’d come staggering home, smelling like women and smoke. He’d stumble through the house looking for his bed so he could sleep off the remnants of too much corn liquor. When he couldn’t find it, the Davenport became his resting place.
One Saturday afternoon, Momma went to the Fergusons’ to serve a party. I wanted to go with her, but she made me stay home. I begged, “Momma, I’m sure there is something I can do.”
“There’s plenty to do right here.”
I didn’t want to be alone with that man. Less than an hour after Momma left, Mr. Camm got up. Smelly remnants of the night were still on him. He came into the kitchen after sleeping most of the day away. He sat at the table and made himself a cup of the stale brewed coffee, left on the stove from breakfast. The smell from last night’s corn liquor was an abrupt shock to my nostrils, and I had to cover my nose.
I continued to start the dinner like Momma had instructed. I was standing at the sink washing a few utensils when he walked past me, pushing up on me from behind. I stumbled forward and grabbed for the wall.
When I turned around, he said, “Sorry. I lost my balance for a minute.” He grinned as he stumbled back to the table. I clucked my teeth, not believing his apology. He’d bumped into me intentionally as he’d done many times before.
I hated being in the house with him. He was always in my way.
“I bet them boys like you, don’t they?” he remarked.
I kept on washing the dishes.
“Girl, do you hear me talking to you?” He raised his voice and banged on the table. The cup and saucer clattered.
“Yes, sir,” I said, startled. “I don’t have any boys liking me. I have one friend,” I said politely, even though it was none of his business. I wasn’t his child.
“I saw you and that boy Simon gazing at each other,” he said.
“He is my friend.”
“I bet you’re more than friends.”
“No, sir,” I said, and bit my bottom lip.
“You can fool yo’ momma, but you can’t fool me. I know y’all doing things grown-ups do.”
“No, sir, we’re not.”
He glanced at my stomach. “Time will tell.”
I took the potatoes off the stove and set them to the side to cool. I finished washing the dishes.
“Where are you going?” he asked as I turned to leave.
“I’m going to my room,” I mumbled, looking back. I went into my room and hooked the latch on the door. From down the hallway, he yelled, “I know you want me, girl.”
He made me very uncomfortable. He gazed at me like I was a piece of meat. Instead of occasionally, he was doing it all the time when Momma was out of the house, even out of the room.
I was sick of it.
When I heard Momma come in the door, I unlocked the latch and came out of my bedroom. Mr. Camm was sitting in the front room pretending to read. I had never seen him read anything before. I wasn’t even sure that he could read.
Plates rattled in the kitchen as Momma set the table. She didn’t like to eat past five o’clock in the evening, since everyone went to bed early. I sat down at the table. As Mr. Camm blessed the table and called out the Lord’s name, I thought he was the biggest hypocrite I knew.
CHAPTER 17
CARRIE
A knot formed in my stomach as Momma closed the squeaky front door behind her. Suddenly, I was overcome with an air of helplessness. Inching my body out of the bed, I felt nothing but stillness all around me. Another Saturday that Momma had to leave. I quickly made certain the old rocking chair was secure under my bedroom doorknob, careful not to make a sound as I checked it. I hurried and washed in the old tin washtub. As usual, I braided a cornrow on each side of my head. I put my journal under my pillow and made up the bed.
I removed the old rocking chair and looked down the hallway, making sure that I didn’t see Mr. Camm. I opened the door real slow, hoping that it would not squeak and wake him. As I stepped out on the porch in the direction of the barn, I heard him call.
“Good mo’ning.”
“Morning,” I said sullenly.
I had a funny feeling about the day, like something awful would happen. I took off in a hurry toward the chicken coop to gather the eggs. Every few steps I glanced over my shoulder. I hoped that he was not watching me. I grabbed the eggs as fast as I could from the smelly hen’s nest. I was determined to spend as little time as possible in the chicken coop, not wanting to be trapped. I slowed down when I crossed where Mr. Camm was standing, hoping not to draw attention to myself. Didn’t want to let the son of a bitch know I was scared of him.
Once I was inside, I grabbed the broom and started sweeping the hallway and the kitchen, continuing to make sure I was alone. Just as I began to feel safe, I heard the kitchen door squeak as it slowly opened. I shivered as Mr. Camm came inside. My chest started to heave again, and my breaths came short and fast. I braced myself against the wall and inhaled deeply to calm down. My legs trembled like shivering leaves moved by a brisk wind.
“Ain’t you gonna fix us something to eat?” He moved closer to me. He stank of corn liquor and sex.
“Momma left some fat meat and biscuits on the stove,” I said.
“I want you to fix me some of them eggs you got there,” he demanded.
I clenched my fist. “Yes, sir.”
I prayed, Father, please make this man leave me alone. I swept up the dirt from the floor and washed my trembling hands at the sink. Mr. Camm pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. Leaning back, he gazed at me, sliding his tongue over his lips. His stench made me gag, but I forced the choking sensation back.
I grabbed the cast-iron frying pan hanging on the wall and poured bacon grease in it. I cracked two of the hen eggs that I had gathered that morning and beat them together. Mr. Camm’s eyes were focused on me, panning my body from head to toe. It disgusted me, the way he leaned back in Papa’s chair with an air of authority. Scrambling the eggs, I put them on a saucer with a dry biscuit. I handed the saucer to Mr. Camm and poured him a stiff cup of coffee, hoping that he would sober up.
“Sit down, girl, and talk to yo’ pappy a spell,” he said, between the loud sips of coffee.
“I’m not hungry,” I said, trying to remain cool.
“Sit down anyway. I don’t like to eat alone.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I slowly dragged the chair, scraping it against the floor. The screeching sound made him cringe. I poured myself a cup of steaming hot coffee and set it beside me. As the steam vapor billowed in the air, I thought about how it could burn him. How it would become a weapon if I needed to defend myself. He remained still, his red eyes peering at me across the table.
“Momma should be back soon,” I said, trying to deter his focus.
“Why you worried ’bout her? She ain’t going to be back no time soon.”
“Just—”
“You don’t worry ’bout her,” he said. “I need you now.”
Every so often he would lick his lips and clear his throat. I avoided eye contact, afraid he’d see the fear and disgust that was written all over my face. I felt I was confined in Hell.
He gulped down his coffee and finished most of his eggs. As he was standing from the table, he commented, “You ought to learn how to talk to peoples.” I didn’t say a word. I kept gazing out the window, watching the trees’ branches wave in the stiff breeze. He pushed his saucer toward me and I slid back from the table, and stood up.
I had trouble concentrating on my chores the rest of the day, trying to anticipate what Mr. Camm might do. Although my hands had finally stopped shaking, my stomach was still knotted up, pulling my muscles in and churning with every brush of the broom.
I swept the back porch first, checking for him. Then I went on the front porch and, thankfully, he was nowhere in the area. For the moment, I felt relief from the tension in my neck. He had wandered off. It was n
ot unusual, since most Saturdays he’d wander off and come back at the pit of the night, or the next morning. I hoped he had done the same today.
I’d held my water all morning, waiting for an opportunity to use the outhouse without him seeing me. Momma didn’t believe in using pots during the day. I ran out to the outhouse and pulled the door shut. I held the door with one hand and my dress with the other as I released a long stream of urine.
I was out of breath when I came back in the house. My stomach growled from hunger, but I was too nervous to eat. On the way back from the outhouse, I had picked up a stick a little larger than my arm for protection. A part of my mind told me to get the shotgun and keep it at my side, but I knew that Momma would whip me if she caught me with her rifle. Besides, I didn’t want to kill him, only fight him off.
I wanted to leave and walk over to Mary and Carl’s house, but I feared Mr. Camm would be hiding in the bushes waiting to ambush me. I was so frightened of the man, I had a hard time calming down. Morning was turning into noon, and I was getting tired of guarding the door like a Union soldier. I was scared that if I went into my bedroom, he’d somehow get in. The terror of having Mr. Camm around had totally exhausted me. Then I moved my chair behind the table so that I could lay my head down.
Before long he came back. He walked right in on me. Startled, my eyes flew open. I shifted my position at the table. He was stumbling and moving slow. The strength of his stink was heightened and it flowed with him into the kitchen. Hopefully, he wouldn’t bother me because it was too late to pick up the piece of wood I’d brought back in the house.
“Was you sleeping, deary?” he slurred, his shirt hanging sloppily outside of his pants.
“No, sir.” I got up from the table and gave him a hard stare. My instincts told me to pick up something to use as a weapon, but nothing was close enough to reach.
My escape route was blocked by his smelly body. He cocked his head to the side and waited for me to react. I was walking toward the door, hoping to escape, when he lunged toward me. My whole body shivered uncontrollably. I backed up into the table, almost tilting it over.
Plates rattled.
He reached to grab me but lost his balance and tumbled to the ground. He quickly got back up.
“Mr. Camm, Momma should be back soon,” I warned.
“Shut up.”
“But Momma.”
“She ain’t coming no damn time soon. It’s me and you, so get used to it.”
I balled up both of my fists and waited for him to approach me.
“Come here,” he slurred, his arms open and waiting for me.
My adrenaline kicked in. “You better get out of my way.”
He stood there and didn’t budge.
“If you touch me, I will tell Momma!” I screamed, hoping to put a little fear in him.
“I don’t care. She’ll never believe you. She know that you’s a little liar, sneaking behind her back with that boy, Simon. Do you think she’ll believe a little liar like you?”
I tried again to get around him. He grabbed my arm and swung me close to him, pressing on my bottom. I pushed him back. With both hands, I hit him in the face and ran to my room. He came right behind me. As I pushed from inside the room to close the door, Mr. Camm pushed harder with his shoulder on the other side. I tried to scream but couldn’t. I didn’t think Carl and Mary would hear me anyway. Still, I screamed at the top of my lungs. Mr. Camm gathered strength and charged through my door. He grabbed my shoulders and swung me around onto my bed. My heart pumped so hard that I thought it was going to burst. I tried to kick but my legs met only thin air. I struggled with Mr. Camm for as long as I could. He wasn’t as drunk as I’d thought. I kicked so hard that I fell on the wood floor. He jumped on me and held me down with one arm pinning my hands. Tears rolled down my cheeks. I knew that I was in deep trouble.
The smell of corn liquor and sex nauseated me. He forced himself between my legs. I squirmed mightily, trying to break his hold on me. He was too strong. He held me down and tore off my bloomers with one hand. I tried to bite his arm, but couldn’t reach it. He took his other hand and grabbed my right breast like he was trying to pull it off.
“Help…please help me! Please, Mr. Camm, leave me be.” No one was around to help me.
He pulled his pants down as I squirmed underneath him. He slammed me back down. I tore his shirt and almost got my hands around his neck. He maneuvered on top of me.
Pain shot up my legs into my stomach as he pounded himself inside me. I screamed, “Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, please help me!”
When he was finished, he got up and pushed me aside. “You better not mention this to anybody, you little slut.” He pulled up his pants and grinned at me, lying there on the floor crying. Then he staggered out of the room.
Aching with intense pain, I inched up off the floor and closed my bedroom door. I pushed my bed against the door, scared that he might come back. I couldn’t stop crying and shaking. I was panting and breathing like an animal. I couldn’t calm down. I went to the washbowl and tried to wash the pain away. A stream of warm blood oozed down my legs. I washed all of my body over and over in the chilly water. I could still smell him on me. I sprayed the air with some of the perfume Mrs. Ferguson had given me. It made the terrible scent worse.
I crawled up in the corner of the room and held my head down, punishing myself with what-if thoughts. When he left, I should have left. Why didn’t I get up and beg to go with Momma until she said yes? What decent man would humiliate and rape his stepdaughter? What kind of animal had Momma married? I wanted to leave and never come back, but I had no money and no place to go. I laid my head on the cool floor and finally passed out in exhaustion.
CHAPTER 18
PEARL
I could not get over the feeling of someone lurking around watching me from behind an oak tree or around the side of the barn. When my momma and I went to town to purchase fabric, and we stood waiting for the owner to meticulously cut the piece of fabric, I could still sense a presence. I found myself glancing over my shoulder, peering out the side of my eyes at nothing and nobody. When we put the items in the buggy, I still felt someone was looking at me. At first I thought it was paranoia because of my boredom. Even though I had agreed to sing at the joint, the crowd could not give me the same elation as the ever-changing crowd in Washington, D.C. Then I realized my feelings of being watched were real and who the voyeur was. As the blue sky started to darken and the clouds rose across the sky and set off a turbulent storm, Willie showed up at my parents’ house with papers hanging out of his back pocket.
He stood tall, with his shoulders squared, petitioning to come in the house. Momma warned him before he took the first step, “Now, Willie, we ain’t gonna have no shit ’round here. You came to see Pearl. Now understand here, she my child and you better not raise a hand to her. The only ones with that authority is me and her daddy.”
“Mrs. Annie May,” he pleaded, “it was an accident. I didn’t mean to hurt her. I didn’t.”
She pointed her chubby finger at him. “You wait right here. Don’t step foot in here. Let me see if she want to see ya.”
Willie waited impatiently on the porch, pacing back and forth.
I had been listening the whole time. “It’s all right, let him in,” I said with reservation in my voice.
“You sure?” Momma asked, and paused before going back to the front door.
“It’ll be all right.”
She went back out there and allowed him in the house.
I was sitting in a chair, dressed in a housedress Momma had made for me. In my opinion it was a far too common design. She had said my clothes were too dressy for the work in the country. Willie had on a blue shirt, black pants, and brogan boots. He had shaved, and for the first time in a while, I could see his dark lips without the mustache. It had erased years off his face.
He reached to hug me, but caught himself and held back.
“You look good, Pearl,” he said a
nd sat down in the high-back chair facing me.
My momma stood with her arms crossed, monitoring our conversation, like she had when I was a teenager and boys had come to visit.
She’d sit in the chair across from us with a patch quilt across her lap and a needle and thread in her hand, sewing swatches of different colors of leftover fabric. Occasionally, she’d glance at us to make sure we kept a good distance between us.
My lips didn’t move. I sat right across from Willie on the Davenport and waited for him to speak.
“I know you mad at me. I don’t blame ya for coming down here,” he said. “I done been thinking. You’s got yo’ own career singing and I don’t want to hold you back, since I know you do it for the money, Pearl. I want my wife back.”
“I sing because I like it. And Willie, you’re too damn hotheaded. You get mad too quick for me. I can’t tolerate that.”
“I ain’t never gonna like no man with my wife.”
When he spoke, the fire still smoldered in his eyes.
I glanced at Momma, and she shrugged. She agreed with him.
“There is no man, Willie. You need to get over that.”
He didn’t comment, but the muscles in his jaw constricted, as if I’d hit a nerve.
My daddy had liked Willie from the beginning. “He a country boy. He takes care of his family. Look at his hands. That boy got strong hands and calluses, been wo’king most his life.”
Daddy never liked it when Herman stopped by and we told him we were good friends. “No man that’s just a friend look at a woman like he do you.”
Willie pulled the papers out of his pocket.
“I done did something for us, Pearl.”
I really didn’t care, but I wanted to hear what he had done. “What, Willie?”
“I bought us a piece of land right beside here. It’s enough to build a farm and you can be with yo’ people.”
My momma started grinning. A smile so big, it spread across her entire face. “I’m gonna go on in the kitchen now. You want something to eat, Willie?”
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