I decided to pretend to sleep until Eula got here so we could get our stories straight. I closed my eyes and folded my hands on my chest. A nice sleepin’ pose—like Snow White after she ate the apple.
For all of her rules and politeness, Miss Cyrena didn’t have much respect for a sleeping sick girl, ’cause she kept right on talking. “Eula is quite a remarkable woman. She slept on the floor right here beside you every night. Did all of the doctoring herself—even though I offered to pay for a doctor visit when I learned your funds are limited. I’m afraid I was little help other than offering aspirin. You see, as many children as I’ve nurtured and seen grow up, I’ve never nursed a sick child. When children are sick, they don’t come to school. But Eula knows so much. She figured you’d gotten ill from your fall into the river while you were playing. And she knew just what you needed to bring you back to health.”
Now I knew part of the made-up story. But it wasn’t much help; I sure didn’t think Eula woulda told Miss Cyrena that Wallace tried to drown me in the swamp.
“She used vinegar and hot compresses on your ear, then she put in some garlic oil and plugged it with a cotton ball. I’d never even heard of such a thing, but it worked. Before long you’d stopped moaning with pain. She spooned slippery-elm tea into you like you were a baby bird. Kept you propped up when your breath got rattly. Made a tent over you and kept putting pots of hot water under it so you could breathe the steam. She’s smart, that one.”
I nodded. I wondered what Miss Cyrena would think if she knew the main reason Eula probably didn’t want a doctor was ’cause we was lawbreakers travelin’ invisible.
I kept my eyes closed.
“But there’s something about her. . . . I think she has a lot of fear bottled up inside. Big fear.” Miss Cyrena sighed. “Has something happened to her, do you know?”
I finally opened one eye. “She seems fine to me . . . just like always. I’m real tired.” I closed my eye. I sure wasn’t gonna tell her ’bout Wallace’s meanness ’cause I’d have to explain where Wallace was now. And I didn’t feel right telling stories about Eula’s momma and pap to a stranger.
“Oh, of course, dear. I just want to help Eula. I feel in my heart she needs it. But I can’t get to the crux of the matter. She’s very . . . quiet.”
“She’s always like that. It’s her way,” I said without opening my eyes.
“Hmmm,” Miss Cyrena said, like she was thinking—and not about being quiet. “When you arrived, she said she’d already called your mother and told her of the delay. If you were my child and ill, I’d figure out a way to get to you. Would you like to call your mother now—tell her you’re getting better?”
My eyes sprung open. “That’d . . . that’d be long distance.” Even if I had the money and wanted to, I couldn’t call Momma. I didn’t know her number. I didn’t know her address. I’d planned on hunting her down once I got there because of her being famous. I figured if I had trouble, I could find Sun Studio, where she’d made her record, and they could tell me where to find her. “’Sides, she’s . . . sick herself.That’s why she can’t come get us.”
“I see.” Miss Cyrena said it in that way teachers have, saying they see when they think they see more than you’re telling them. She started out of the room, then stopped and turned to me again. “Just one more thing. When I sent the neighbor boy to the garage to bring your things from the truck, Eula’s suitcase was the only one in it.” She stopped talking for a second, like she was waiting for me to explain why I was travelin’ to live with my momma with only the clothes on my back. But I was too smart to fall into her quiet trap and kept still. “Eula figures someone took your and James’s things before the tow truck got there.” Another of those sneaky quiet spots. “Once you’re better, I’ll take you to the church and we’ll see if we can get some clothes for you and the baby from the charity box. That’ll get you by until you can travel on to your mother.”
I mumbled something and closed my eyes like I couldn’t help falling asleep. Then I tried to breathe slow and deep. I’d only meant to pretend so she didn’t ask me more questions. But the real thing got ahold of me and the next thing I knew I woke up and the room was getting dark. Miss Cyrena was standing at the front door looking out, her yellow dress light against the shadows around her. I could smell that it had rained.
I rubbed my eyes, then looked around. “Where’s Eula?”
“Not home yet.”
“I thought she was supposed to be home by supper.”
Miss Cyrena stayed real still. “She was.”
“Why are we in the dark?” The fan was electric, so I knew she had lights.
“Better to watch outside this way.”
The way her voice sounded gave me a little rush of goose bumps. “Why you need to watch outside? When Eula gets home, she’ll walk right in, won’t she?”
She moved then and came to stand beside the couch. “I’ve asked Mrs. Washington from next door to come and sit with you and James for a bit.”
Right then I heard the back door open and close. “Cyrena?” the voice wasn’t much over a whisper, and it sounded nervous.
“I’ll be back shortly.”
“Where you going?”
“To look for Eula.”
“I’m comin’ with you.” I started to get up, but got so dizzy I had to stop as soon as my feet hit the floor beside the couch.
“No.” Miss Cyrena put a hand on my shoulder.
“But—”
“Shh!” She pushed me back onto the pillow. “You’re still too sick. Now just lie back down and Mrs. Washington will bring you some tea and toast.” Miss Cyrena started out of the room. Then she stopped. “Leave the lights off.”
“Why?”
“Do as I say.” She sounded almost mad. Then she added, “Please. It’s important.”
Then she was gone.
I tried to get up again. As soon as I stood up, my knees turned to jelly and I had to sit right back down. I couldn’t do nothing but sit in the dark and worry about Eula—and wonder why leaving the lights off made any sense at all.
16
t
he worry must have wore me down ’cause I woke up to voices in the kitchen. Mrs. Washington was talking, even though she had sat with me in the dark while I ate my toast and not said a word. She didn’t like me.
“What’s wrong with her?” Mrs. Washington asked.
Was she asking about me? Well, she coulda found out herself if she’d just opened her mouth while she was sitting here, instead of acting like we didn’t both speak American.
Miss Cyrena’s calm voice said, “Just sit here, Eula. I’ll get you something to drink.”
I sat straight up. Eula was back! I started to get up and hurry to the kitchen, but just then Miss Cyrena asked, “Is Starla asleep? She doesn’t need to hear any of this.”
I froze like a rabbit.
“Yes. The baby’s back down, too,” Mrs. Washington said.
I heard Miss Cyrena’s sharp footsteps coming toward the living room. If there was something she didn’t want me to know, the best way to find out was to play possum until I heard what I needed to hear. Real quick, I laid back down and closed my eyes.
When I heard her footsteps leave the doorway again, I got off the couch, nice and quiet. I was a little dizzy, but better than before I ate the toast. I made it to the kitchen door by holding on to the furniture to keep my balance. I plastered my back against the wall by the door, then slow and easy peeked around the jamb. I was real good at this, having had a lot of practice spying on Patti Lynn’s brothers.
The only light burning in the whole house was the tiny one on the back of the stove top. It was just bright enough that I could see the funny way Mrs. Washington was staring at Eula. I could only see Eula’s back. She was sitting at the table with her head bent and her face in her hands.
I wanted to hurry in there to see what was wrong, but kept myself still. They’d clam up for sure if they saw me. Or they’d make up
some story that even a three-year-old wouldn’t believe.
Mrs. Washington leaned close to Miss Cyrena and whispered, “I told you strangers would bring trouble. You gonna keep on goin’ until the Klan burns your house and runs you out of town like they did Purnell Morgan? You got a good job . . . a life. Why you want to risk it?”
“Shush! Trouble was here long before I, or Purnell, allowed strangers in our houses. We’d all just been putting up with it.”
“It ain’t worth it,” Mrs. Washington said, shaking her head.
Miss Cyrena looked like she was getting her back up. “This”—she pointed toward Eula—“tells me it is worth it. If we don’t take some action, this kind of thing will never stop. This woman just went out to earn a day’s wage and now look at her!”
I bit my lip. What had happened to Eula?
Now Mrs. Washington looked to be getting her back up. I edged out a little farther, maybe get a better look at Eula; those two women were staring at each other so hard, they weren’t gonna notice me.
Eula was so still I thought maybe she’d gone inside herself again.
Mrs. Washington said, “All you and your N-double-A-CP friends are doing is making things worse!” Her whisper was sharp. “More outsiders always bring more trouble. Nothin’ is ever gonna change in Mississippi.”
I was getting all antsy-pantsy. Why couldn’t they stop talking about strangers and N-double-A-CP, whatever that was, and talk about Eula?
“This has nothing to do with the N-double-A-CP,” Miss Cyrena said.
“You don’t think so? I suppose you don’t think it had anything to do with Tober Bryant getting beaten within an inch of his life, either?”
“It wasn’t the N-double-A-CP who beat him and left him bloody in the road! It was the Klan . . . and the Klan has been doing wrong long before the N-double-A-CP showed up. Besides, Tober knew the risk and he decided it was worth it.”
I was itching to jump into the kitchen, get a look at Eula, and ask what trouble they was talking about. But I held tight, listening.
Mrs. Washington raised her chin and humphed. “I reckon we’re never gonna see eye to eye on this.”
“Probably not.” Then Miss Cyrena put a hand on Mrs. Washington’s arm. “Thank you for staying with the children.” Her voice had lost all of its mad, just like that.
“I did it for you, not for them.”
“I know. You’re a good friend.”
Mrs. Washington put her hand over Miss Cyrena’s. “Have a care, Cyrena.” Then she went out the back door.
Miss Cyrena turned around and I had to duck out of the doorway.
“Now, how about that something to drink?” Miss Cyrena asked Eula.
I held my breath, waiting. Hoping she hadn’t gone inside herself. Miss Cyrena wouldn’t understand. She might even send Eula to a hospital—or the loony bin. I couldn’t let that happen.
I was just about to go through the door when I heard Eula say in a faraway voice, “Maybe some tea?” She didn’t sound normal, but at least she was talking and still in the world.
A cupboard door opened and closed. “I think some of Kentucky’s finest might do you better tonight.”
“Don’t care for hard liquor,” Eula said in her tiptoe-around-Wallace voice. “Tea be fine.”
I heard a bottle clunk on the counter. “Sometimes it’s best to let hard liquor care for you. I’ll add just a splash to your tea. It’ll calm you.” I heard the kettle fill. “As for myself, times like these call to forego the tea.” I heard the cap come off a bottle and something glug into a glass. “Bourbon straight up. The school board would be mortified.”
A chair slid across the floor. Then it creaked; I figured Miss Cyrena sat down.
The kitchen stayed quiet. I wondered what they were doing in there, not talking, but was afraid to peek around the corner. I was getting real shaky, so I slid down and sat on the floor.
Finally, the teakettle whistled.
“Ah,” Miss Cyrena said, “there we are.” The whistle stopped. The refrigerator opened and closed. She clattered some dishes and silverware. “I added honey and milk. You won’t even taste the bourbon, but it’ll calm your nerves.”
The cup and saucer rattled onto the table.
Miss Cyrena’s chair creaked again. It was quiet for a second, then she sighed. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I really don’t drink much. Lately occasion has called for it.”
The teacup and saucer made some noise.
I started to think they wasn’t gonna say anything interesting at all and I might as well just walk on in there, admit I was awake, and get a look to make sure Eula hadn’t got a new black eye or something.
Then Miss Cyrena said, “The men who followed you . . . they were white?”
Eula must have nodded ’cause Miss Cyrena said, “I thought as much. Why did you feel you had to hide?”
It was quiet again.
“Eula, did they hurt you?”
“No.” Eula’s voice was so soft, I barely heard it.
“Did they threaten you?”
The teacup rattled and I heard Eula take a slurpy sip.
“Eula?”
“I didn’t want ’em followin’ me back here . . . to you and the young’uns.”
“So they did threaten you.”
Eula didn’t say anything.
I listened close. Her breathing changed, getting noisy and deep. In my head I could see her face, the way it had looked when she figured out that Wallace wasn’t getting back up. It was that kind of breathing, the kind you did to keep from screaming.
“Ain’t them followin’ like that a threat?” Eula finally said. “Went on for blocks. I even turned round and went back the way I come and they stayed just over my shoulder like the devil’s shadow.”
It hit me hard. Eula’s keepin’ a secret. A secret about what all them men done to her—or what she done back to them. Eula was used to being bullied and scared. Why, most of the time she just went on about her business when Wallace was doing regular bullying. If she went and hid, it was ’cause of more than followin’ like the devil’s shadow. It was ’cause she’d seen the devil.
“It certainly seems like a threat to me. Although I’m afraid the sheriff won’t think so.”
“No sheriff!” Eula then lowered her voice. “I was prob’ly just worked up from what they done earlier. No need for the sheriff.”
“Earlier? You didn’t say they’d bothered you earlier.”
“T’weren’t nothin’.” The teacup clattered a little.
“Eula, you hid behind those stacks of sour-smelling milk bottles on the loading dock of the dairy for two hours. I think it must have been something.”
I heard Eula sip her tea again.
“I won’t call the sheriff, Eula,” Miss Cyrena said. “But I’d like to know what happened.”
Eula sighed. She sounded real tired.
“Please,” Miss Cyrena said.
“When I was workin’ in Miz Clark’s front flower beds, they come by in a truck.”
I leaned so I could see into the kitchen. I was so low, I saw mostly legs. Miss Cyrena’s knee was jumpin’ like a jackhammer. I knew how she felt, all jittered up inside and no place to put the aggravation. Happened to me a lot.
Eula went on, slow, but steady enough I was pretty sure she was gonna stay in the world. “Passed two or three times before they stopped right in front of Miz Clark’s, hung out their windas, and hollered round some—like they do; nasty man-talk. I could tell they was in the juice real good. I kept my head down and ignored ’em, like always.” Eula stopped for a second.“Then I heard one of the truck doors open and a foot hit the ground. One of ’em yelled for me to look at him when he talkin’.”
“Oh, dear.”
“I held myself still, tryin’ to decide if I should get up and run or stay put, when I heard the screen door squeak. Miz Clark, she come out on her front porch. I was afraid she was gonna fire me, ’cause of the trouble I was causin’. But that weren’
t what she had in mind. She had a shotgun—ain’t never seen a white woman hold a shotgun. She yelled at them men, ‘Y’all get your white-trashy selves back in that truck and get on down the road. Leave my woman alone, else I’ll have to use this.’ Then she cocked the gun and put it up to her shoulder.”
Miss Cyrena slapped her palm on the table so hard and sudden, I jumped. “That’s why I respect that woman! No man is going to get away with any mischief while she has her eyes open. So, did they leave?”
“Uh-huh. Didn’t see ’em no more while I was at Miz Clark’s.”
“But when you left? They followed you?”
“I think they been waitin’. I hadn’t got two blocks when that truck got to creepin’ up ’hind me—” Eula stopped talking suddenlike, just the way she did when she didn’t want to tell everything.
Her head shook and she put her face in her hands.
“Eula?” Miss Cyrena’s voice got softer. “Eula, I need to know . . . in order to protect you—and the children. You must think of the children.”
Something changed in Eula’s shoulders right then, she looked like she got smaller. She said, real quiet, so quiet I leaned forward and almost lost my balance and fell through the door. “You know what them kinda men’re like.”
“Oh.” Miss Cyrena’s leg got going faster. “Did they . . . ?”
“Tried . . . but I got away.”
Did they what? Tried what? If I went in and asked, I knew they wouldn’t tell me. Why did grown-ups have to talk with so many blank spots?
“How?” Miss Cyrena asked.
“Eye pokin’. They was pretty drunk and clumsy.”
“Good . . . yes, good.” Miss Cyrena sounded like she wasn’t sure it was good at all. “Tell me about this truck. New or old? What color was it?”
“Not new, but not old. Red-and-white. Had a Confederate flag painted on the hood.”
Miss Cyrena hissed. “Jenkins brothers. Mrs. Clark was right, those men are white trash. Worthless, do-little scraps of humanity. Make themselves feel important by picking on women and children—and of course, Negros.” She paused. “I only hope . . . well, it’s good you hid and they don’t know where you are.”
Whistling Past the Graveyard Page 14
