Blackberry Days of Summer

by Ruth P. Watson

  “Why you so nervous, Ms. Mae Lou? You ain’t got nothing to hide, do ya?”

  “No, sir. It’s hard talking about it. I ain’t never had no trouble. I abide by the law. This questioning is making me nervous.”

  Before she could finish what she was saying, Carl came through the door. When Carl saw the sheriff sitting at the table, eating, his face darkened.

  “Sheriff,” he said, and removed his hat.

  “Why don’t you join us, boy?”

  When the sheriff called Carl a boy, I knew my brother wanted to bash his face in. He was long tired of people calling him a boy. He was a grown man, towering over six feet three inches tall. He wasn’t the redneck sheriff’s boy sitting in his momma’s house.

  Carl took off his coat and hung it on the back of the chair. “What can I do fo’ ya, Sheriff?”

  “I need to know what y’all know ’bout the murder.”

  Momma peered at Carl from across the table. She waited for him to answer the sheriff.

  “All we know is he dead and he had a lot of woman friends,” Carl said with a straight face.

  The sheriff turned toward Momma. She lowered her head.

  “Now, Ms. Mae Lou, I ask ya again, how’s that make ya feel?”

  “Not good, Sheriff, but I didn’t know this until after the murder. I didn’t know my husband had other women.”

  “Did he always come home on time? Did he ever give you any clues?”

  Momma was fidgety again, rubbing her hands together. “No,” she answered, but this time dropping the “sir.”

  “He drank whiskey, that’s all he did,” she stressed.

  The sheriff had downed the last spoonful of soup and was finishing off his coffee.

  “Look, if ya think of som’thin’, drop by the house.” He got up, put on his coat and left.

  Carl told Momma, “He really doesn’t care because it wasn’t a white man. I don’t like it.”

  CHAPTER 34

  PEARL

  I remained close to the house, anticipating the sheriff’s visit each day. It was rumored that he was a member of the Klan. Some had even heard a story about him lynching a colored man for being out late one night. Because of these rumors the coloreds never willingly asked for help from the law, only when it was forced upon them.

  “When the authorities come down here, keep your mouth shut, gurl,” Willie said, sitting on the side of the bed.

  “We need to go see the sheriff and turn ourselves in,” I pleaded with him.

  “No, wait.”

  “They’re going to know it was us. Somebody is going to say something.”

  “That joker had a lot of folks after him. If the sheriff comes down here, let me do the talking. I’m a United States soldier. My word means something.”

  Most times lying was easy for me, but not in a case where a man had been killed.

  “We can’t lie. Let’s tell the truth and get it over with,” I said.

  “He had a gun in my ear.”

  “I know.”

  “He wanted to kill me. He little, but he’s quick.” Willie was bitter about being taken by surprise. “He came up behind me and took my gun right out of my belt. He had been drinking, but he was strong as an ox.”

  “I’m sorry, Willie. He ain’t right,” I said, shaking my head because I was tired. I waited for him to lash out at me, but he didn’t. For some strange reason, he was ready to forgive me now that Herman was dead.

  The corn liquor Willie kept under the bed had been the best medicine for my nerves. Willie snuck a shot of liquor each night before he blew the wick out on the lantern, a habit he had brought across the sea after the war. For me it had been a refuge, used every time I reflected back on the night I’d stuck a knife in the back of the man I loved.

  “Pearl, he didn’t mean you no damn good. I done seen men like that. They come in and take what don’t belong to them. Look what he did to Mae Lou, and she’s a good woman.”

  My eyes became slits when I heard him refer to Ms. Mae Lou. I couldn’t believe Willie was pouring salt in my wounds.

  “That son of a bitch took advantage of her like he did you. He was nothing but a small-time gambler with a lot of street wit.” He raised his voice. “He nearly killed me. If you hadn’t come, I’s be the one in the ground. Forget about him, I’m yo’ husband.”

  Honestly, I was bewildered. For the first time ever, I regretted meeting Herman. I wished I could turn back the hands of time. I had been much happier before getting involved with either Herman or Willie.

  That same day the sheriff paid us a visit.

  Momma knocked on the bedroom door, and stuck her head in. “The sheriff’s out yonder.”

  Fear flashed across my face as I shifted my gaze over to Willie.

  “Let’s see what he wants,” he said, and stood up.

  Momma eased the door closed behind her. “Lord, are you in some sort of trouble, Pearl?” she whispered.

  “No, Momma, we’re coming. We’ll talk to him.”

  “You’re lying again. And you ought to know ain’t no white sheriff gonna be fair with coloreds. They mean to us, mean as hell,” she warned me.

  “It’ll be all right, Mrs. Annie May,” Willie said, and tapped her on the back as he moved past her.

  I remained sitting on the bed.

  After he left the bedroom, she said, “Go on in there with him. He yo’ husband, not that damn Herman.”

  I didn’t want to, but I got up and followed Willie into the parlor.

  The sheriff was a man of medium height with mixed gray hair around his temples. He had the bluest eyes I had ever seen, and peered at me with a stern look of authority. He didn’t have on a uniform or any type of regalia that signified his position as an official of the law, other than the badge pinned to the wide lapel of his jacket.

  He spoke with a Southern drawl. “Pearl, I need to ask you a few questions.”

  “Yes, Sheriff,” I mumbled.

  Before he could ask me anything, Willie interjected. “I’ll speak for her, Sheriff.”

  The sheriff’s face flushed pink, and he shot a look at Willie. “Did I ask you anything, boy?”

  “I’m a soldier. I just came home from the Great War.”

  He stared at Willie, and Willie dropped his head. He didn’t want to piss the sheriff off by looking him square in the eye.

  “I don’t give a damn about the war. This is my jurisdiction. I came to talk to Pearl, ya hear? You can leave.”

  Willie took a deep breath, and held his ground.

  “Now, back to my questioning,” the sheriff said. “When was the last time you saw Herman Camm?”

  “I haven’t seen him in a while,” I replied nervously.

  The sheriff grunted. “What is he to you?”

  “He’s a friend.”

  “What kind of darn friend?”

  “Why are you asking me these questions?” I asked, my breathing short and my heart racing.

  “He’s dead. Been murdered…”

  “What?” Momma blurted out.

  The sheriff pulled his shoulders back and jacked up his pants by the waistline. “The boy was shot with a rifle right square in the forehead. Had a stab wound in his back, too. Somebody meant to kill him cold.”

  “Sorry, Sheriff,” Momma apologized, apparently feeling obligated to the white lawman.

  “What about you, Pearl? You mighty calm, after hearing a friend is dead.”

  Tears welled up in my eyes, even though I was not one for crying. I knew how to put on a good act and tell a good story if I had to, though. I also knew Willie would go along with whatever I said.

  “I don’t know what to say. He was a good friend,” I muttered, and tears slid down my cheeks.

  “From what I was told, you more than a friend to the boy, he yo’ lover. Any truth to that rumor, Pearl?”

  “No, sir. We’ve been friends for years.”

  “Do you know anything that will help me with this case?”

  “
No, sir. Herman was a good person. Don’t know anybody that would want him dead.”

  My momma stood in the corner, frowning. Daddy knew to keep his mouth shut. It was much better for a colored woman to speak than a colored man.

  “I may have some mo’ questions for you later, Pearl. Seems like being a singing star done gone to yo’ head. You can’t tell the truth no mo’.” He put his hat and coat on and left.

  He was an incompetent sheriff. He hadn’t asked me where I was the night Herman died, or questioned Willie. He was doing what the law normally did when the killer was colored: harass folk for the hell of it.

  No one said anything until the sheriff had left the yard.

  “Do you know anything, Pearl?” Momma asked.

  “I do,” I admitted, “but I didn’t kill him.”

  She saw how upset I was, and bowed her head. “I believe you this time, Pearl. I believe you.”

  Willie and I slept a little sounder after learning about the gunshot to the forehead.

  “I knew we didn’t kill that joker,” Willie said. “Everybody wanted that gambler dead.”

  The words Willie was saying only brought more sorrow to my heart. While Willie was around, I turned off my tears, but once he’d blown out the lantern and was sound asleep and snoring, I mourned for Herman, my lover, my friend.

  CHAPTER 35

  CARRIE

  I’d been impatient about the investigation. I was hoping and praying that my rape at the hands of Mr. Camm was not discovered and mentioned to the sheriff. I finally breathed a sigh of relief when Carl informed me that the murder investigation had been concluded.

  The justice system in Jefferson County would never be fair to colored people as long as rednecks like the sheriff were in charge. I never expected the sheriff to spend a whole lot of time on it.

  The townspeople were still concerned about who’d killed Mr. Camm, but not the man himself. Was a serial murderer on the loose?

  The only person who knew the truth was me, and the rifle standing up behind the door in Momma’s room.

  I was learning to be a mother. I had learned without complaining how to breast-feed on a schedule, change diapers, and wash the baby’s clothes. Caring for a baby had taken a toll on me. I never got enough sleep, and some days it took all of my energy to dress myself.

  Ginny said, “What you doing ain’t nothing. I used to have one in the stomach and one on the hip, plus I wo’ked. Y’all new-style women is too soft.”

  After a couple of months, I got the hang of motherhood. I had the baby on a schedule and in between times, I’d chop wood and clean house like Ginny.

  One morning when I was feeding the baby, calling him sugar pie and honey bunch, Ginny said, “That chile is getting too old for those names. Don’t no boy want be called by them girly names. I ’spect you’s needs to come up with a name fo’ the boy.”

  I had thought about it, and the only name that had a meaning for me was Robert. That was my papa’s name. Ginny thought it was a good, solid name for a man.

  It was already March and the signs of spring were blowing in with the wind. Buds were appearing on some of the trees, and the brush was sprinkled with green. Spring was coming in faster than expected.

  I had been with Ginny for two months. I missed Momma, Carl, and John. Ginny and I had a wonderful relationship, but inside I yearned for my family. Ginny always had the instinctual ability to read me. “It’s time ya take that baby to visit his grandma.”

  “She probably doesn’t want to see us,” I said, and sat down at the kitchen table.

  “Ev’rybody wants to know their chirren, especially Mae Lou. She’s a good lady, been through a lot.”

  “Yes, you’re right. I hope she wants to see me, too.”

  I had prayed for Momma after Mr. Camm’s death. She was all alone. I hoped that she would acknowledge what he’d done and accept both me and my baby.

  The next day, just before noon, Ginny helped me hitch Ignite and Excite to the buggy. Her horses were named for her husband, who had been dead for over twenty years. “He was a young man when he left this world. Fo’ a long time after he went to glory, I’d think ’bout him. He knew how to please me, so I named them ole mules Excite and Ignite.” Ginny chuckled and her cheeks flushed.

  The baby was wrapped tight in one of the blankets Ginny made especially for him. She’d sewn gowns and booties for Robert’s feet. I held him close to my bosom and coaxed the ole mules along. The wind was stiff and chilly. The trees swayed with the breeze. The last time I’d traveled on this road was the day I’d left home.

  It didn’t take Momma long to open the door. A big smile rippled across her face as soon as she saw us. She reached for Robert, and I relinquished him to her. She was overcome. A tear slid down the side of her cheek. She reached in her apron pocket and pulled out a handkerchief and patted her cheek.

  After all of that, she hugged me.

  “I thought maybe you wanted to see the baby,” I said, hesitantly.

  “I’m so glad you came by. I’ve wondered about you, worried, too. But I knew Ginny would take care of you.”

  Momma went in the kitchen and sat down at the table. I followed.

  “It’s cold outside. Let me make you some tea, or maybe some coffee.” Robert was still asleep in Momma’s arms.

  It was cold but the sun was shining and everything around us appeared warmer than it really was outside.

  “Yes, ma’am, I’ll take some. The wind is stirring today.”

  Momma handed me the baby. I laid him across my knee while she poured a cup of coffee.. The kitchen stove was fired up with wood and it was comfortable in the house.

  “I am glad that Ginny took you in,” she said, and then sipped her coffee. She looked healthy, but her eyes were still sad.

  “She’s been a blessing to me. How are you doing, Momma?”

  “Chile, I’m still kicking.” She reached over to take the baby. He woke up, but he didn’t whimper. Robert was a good child. He rarely cried, only when he was wet or hungry.

  “What’s his name?” she asked, looking at the baby.

  “I named him after Papa. He had a fine name.”

  She was very pleased. “Yes, and he was a mighty fine man. I wish he was still living. He was one hardworking man.” She paused and sipped her coffee. “It’s been a little lonesome here without you.”

  I knew it took a great deal for her to admit that she missed me. Momma had never been good at expressing her feelings, even when Papa died.

  “Carrie, I’m sorry ’bout what happened to you. I didn’t understand at the time. I must’ve been preoccupied with my own self. I hope that one day you can forgive me for asking you to leave.”

  “Momma,” I said, “I’m sorry, too. I wish that I’d felt better about telling you what had happened, and maybe it would not have gone as far as it did.”

  “Oh, chile, I have made many mistakes in my life. One was alienating my children. I carried out some of the same traditions that my momma did to me. I couldn’t talk and I couldn’t show emotions. I wish that I could tell you how much I care, but I don’t know how.” She pulled out her hanky again to catch a stray tear rolling down her cheek.

  “Momma, I wish that I could have told you, too. Don’t blame yourself for what happened to me. You adopted me when I was a baby and gave me a home, as much as any mother could give. I owe you the world for that. I love you, Momma.”

  I stayed long enough to finish my coffee. Momma still looked good in spite of the hurt she’d been exposed to in the last two months. Neither one of us mentioned Mr. Camm’s name.

  “You are welcome to come see me. Your room is still empty if you need a place to stay. Please let my grandchild get to know me.”

  As I was wrapping my head and making sure the baby was tucked in tight, she went into her room and came back with a letter.

  “I know you’s will want to read this,” she said, smiling. “It’s from Simon.”

  I put my arms around Momma and
hugged her as tightly as I could. She needed a hug just as I did.

  I put the letter inside my coat. She stood on the porch and watched us until we were out of sight. The wind calmed down a bit on the way back to Ginny’s, and the old mules seemed to trot faster. I slowed them down to maintain control of the baby, who was starting to whimper.

  My curiosity was getting the best of me. I had thought about Simon for most of the time I’d been at Ginny’s. Inside I felt resentment toward him for his reaction. My first instinct was to throw the letter in the trash, but I loved him. Still, after I returned to Ginny’s, I didn’t open the letter until after I’d eaten dinner. I bathed the baby and put him to bed before I had the courage to read Simon’s letter. Lying under the covers with the baby snuggled close to me, I opened the letter, dated January 25, 1921. It read:

  Carrie,

  Please excuse my handwriting. I’m not used to writing long letters. I’m here in Richmond waiting for the season to start again. I’m ashamed of the way I acted when you told me about what happened to you. I was hurt because I wanted to be the man for you, and I should have supported you through the hurt you were feeling. It was wrong, the way that I reacted, and I hope that you can forgive me. I want you to be my wife and would like you and the baby to join me in Richmond. You can finish school here. Think about it and let me know. Please write back.

  Love always,

  Simon

  Tears of joy welled up in my eyes. I was speechless, holding the letter in my hand. I had never expected to hear from Simon again, even though I had said many prayers for him.

  I loved him, and I needed him in my life.

  I picked up my pen to write him back, yet I couldn’t find the words. I decided that I wanted to go, start a new life. It was now or never. I didn’t waste time writing a letter back to him. I pulled out the money I’d saved and counted it. My savings totaled twenty-six dollars. It was enough money to catch the train to Richmond, with quite a bit left over.

  The train stopped in Jefferson once a week. Each time it arrived at the same time from Roanoke, Virginia, and headed to Richmond and then on to Washington, D.C. I knew its schedule, as I had hoped the day would come when I’d leave Jefferson.