“Ma Pearl lied,” she snapped. “He didn’t throw me out. I tripped and fell.”
I took a deep breath and let it out. But I didn’t respond to Queen. I knew for myself how Ma Pearl could dress up a story, but I doubted she was making things up this time. I was sure Jimmy Robinson had thrown Queen out of that truck. He had discarded her, just the way his mama discarded the things she no longer wanted. He discarded her and handed her over to Ma Pearl.
October
Chapter Thirty-Two
SUNDAY, OCTOBER 2
“‘WADE IN THE WATER. WADE IN THE WATER, CHILDREN. Wade in the water. God’s gonna trouble the waters.’” The words were meant to comfort the fourteen of us lined up along the sloping path that led to the banks of Stillwater Lake. Mother Edwards, Deacon Edwards’s wife, and Ma Pearl had lined us up according to age, with the youngest, nine-year-old Obadiah Malone, leading the way. Queen, being the oldest, as she’d turn sixteen in less than a week, was last. I was in front of her, and Fred Lee stood before me.
The old saying goes that if you aren’t truly saved, if your sign was false and you didn’t have religion, God would allow you to choke and strangle in the water when the preacher plunged you under. The night before, Queen had confessed to me that she was scared to go down into the water. After Ma Pearl’s discovery of her secret, she had said she didn’t want to be baptized. But Ma Pearl wasn’t hearing it. Queen was already about to bring her enough shame without backing out of her baptism as well. So there she stood behind me, all dressed in white, from the turban wrapped around her head to the thick stockings covering her feet, scared half to death that when she went down into that water, God was going to make it choke her to death.
Reverend Jenkins said that “troubling the waters” referred to a Bible story about a healing pool, where an angel troubled the waters during a certain season and the first person in the pool after the stirring would be healed. But my teacher Miss Johnson said the song was a secret slavery song, directing runaway slaves to wade through water to throw off their scents so dogs couldn’t track them. She said God would trouble the waters to keep snakes or alligators from attacking the slaves. I didn’t know whose version of the song’s story was correct, but I did know that I felt my own knees knock a bit just from the thought of my body being dipped backwards underwater. What if I slipped? What if Reverend Jenkins and Deacon Edwards dropped me? How deep was the water? I couldn’t swim, and I doubted whether any of them could either. What if I, like Queen, felt I wasn’t truly saved? Would I choke?
“‘See that host all dressed in white. God’s gonna trouble the water. The leader looks like the Israelite. God’s gonna trouble the water.’”
My knees knocked harder as our seemingly fear-free little leader Obadiah waded into the water. He was flanked by his older brothers Abner and Abel, both fifteen and already deacons. All the Malone children had been baptized before they’d reached the age of accountability, but at only nine, Obadiah had outdone them all. I prayed that his conversion was sincere and that he hadn’t been like me at that age, confusing the deacons’ words, “I move that so-and-so become a candidate for baptism,” with “I move that so-and-so receive a box of candy for baptism.” I would hate to see him come out of that lake sputtering to catch his breath.
“‘If you don’t believe I’ve been redeemed. God’s gonna trouble the water. Just follow me down to the Jordan’s stream. God’s gonna trouble the water.’”
With the water covering the deacons’ waists, it nearly swallowed little Obadiah’s shoulders, so much so that he could have bent his knees and he would have been baptized as soon as he stepped into the lake.
The little brown face peeking out from all the white of the turban and the baptismal robe didn’t look so fear-free once Reverend Jenkins and Deacon Edwards faced him toward the crowd. I was sure Obadiah was about to cry. But when Reverend Jenkins asked him if he believed that Jesus was the son of God, that he died on the cross for our sins, and that he rose again on the third day to conquer death, hell, and the grave, little Obadiah boldly proclaimed, “Yes, sir. I do!”
“Amens” reverberated around the banks of the lake, after which Reverend Jenkins bent his face toward the sky and belted out, “In obedie-e-e-ence to the great head of the church and upon the profession of your faith, Obadiah Malone, I baptize you in the name of the Father, in the name of the Son, and in the name of the Holy Ghost.”
I could feel everyone, including myself, hold their breath as Obadiah was completely immersed in the water and swiftly brought back up.
“‘If you don’t believe I’ve been redeemed. God’s gonna trouble the water. Just follow me down to the Jordan’s stream. God’s gonna trouble the water.’”
By the time the line got down to just Fred Lee, me, and Queen, I wasn’t as nervous anymore. Maybe that was why they let the younger children go first—to show the older ones that there was nothing to fear. No one had choked or even hiccupped coming out of the water. All eleven of the first candidates had truly been saved.
I held my breath again as Fred Lee was led into the water. He was taller than Reverend Jenkins and Deacon Edwards. What if they dipped him under and couldn’t lift him back up, and for that brief moment, he choked? Ma Pearl would have a fit if one of us embarrassed her. Lord, don’t let him choke. Don’t let him choke, I prayed over and over. When Fred Lee was lifted out of the water, I released my breath. Then the nervous feeling that had left me earlier returned. But it didn’t come alone. It brought company—a gurgling in my stomach. I suddenly felt like I needed to run to the toilet. Lord, not now. Not while I’m wearing white.
When the deacon took my hand, it was shaking. “Don’t be afraid, Sister Rose,” he said. “If all these little ones can go down to the water, I know you ain’t scared.”
I got to the edge of the water and froze. My socked feet would not move. Both deacons tugged at my arms, lifting me into the water. I was glad the moment was meant to be an emotional one, as tears were streaming down my face.
The muddy water was still, just as its name implied. Yet I felt as if I were floating, as if I could just float up and float away. When Reverend Jenkins and Deacon Edwards faced me toward the congregants of Greater Mount Zion Missionary Baptist Church, my eyes met Fred Lee’s. With a towel draped over his shoulders, his arms crossed over his chest, he smiled reassuringly at me.
Reverend Jenkins spoke. “Rosa Lee Carter, do you believe that Jesus was the son of God …” And before I knew it, a toweled hand was cupped over my nose and mouth and I was bent backwards under the water. Ma Pearl had said to make sure we closed our eyes, but I didn’t. I knew it was no more than a couple of seconds that I was under there, but it seemed as if I were staring up at that few inches of water covering my face for an eternity. Above the water loomed a clear blue sky, which I took as a sign that one day my life would be as clear and beautiful as it was.
Two days before the baptism, I had asked Ma Pearl to show me my birth certificate. I had never seen it, because she kept it locked away in her chifforobe. I never had a reason to ask for it before, but I wanted to see for myself what name Miss Addie had scribbled there. And just like Papa had said, the name, written in Miss Addie’s crooked lettering, was Rosa Lee. So when Reverend Jenkins asked which name I wanted on my baptism record, I told him “Rosa” because that was my name. The name that was recorded upon my birth. Rosa Lee Carter. The name I would carry with me to Saint Louis when I started my new life.
I came up out of the baptismal waters of Stillwater Lake gasping for air. But I hadn’t choked. I was happy to feel the warmth of tears rolling down my cheeks, because it was commonly believed that the truly saved would cry after baptism. When I came out of the water, Ma Pearl draped me in towels.
By the time I wiped my face and looked out at the lake, Queen was already in the water and facing the crowd. She looked peaceful rather than afraid. Maybe being the last one was good for her. I just prayed she didn’t choke.
And she didn�
��t. She came up out of that water like the queen she was meant to be. Regal and proud, despite the trouble she had gotten herself into.
Chapter Thirty-Three
SUNDAY, OCTOBER 2
AFTER THE BAPTISM AND THE CHURCH SERVICE THAT FOLLOWED, a large gathering of people came over to enjoy Ma Pearl’s chicken and dressing. With her having three grandchildren baptized in one day, she was the envy of all the mothers of the church.
Baptism, it seemed, had even changed Queen. Or maybe it was that little issue of the trouble she found herself in that changed her. Either way, she surprised us all by joining Hallelujah, me, and Fred Lee as we sat in the shade of the ancient oak tree in the front yard. Fred Lee, as usual, didn’t have much to say. But Hallelujah, in the presence of the Queen, couldn’t seem to shut his mouth. And I wanted to punch him in it.
Although he had previously been talking about how colored folks in the South would soon have to stand up for their civil rights, for Queen’s entertainment he began to prattle about some up-and-coming rock-and-roll singer he’d heard who was sure to become a favorite of both coloreds and whites.
“Elvis Presley, huh?” Queen said absently as she stared off into the distance.
“Yeah, out of Memphis,” Hallelujah said. “Came from Mississippi, though. Tupelo. Just got out of high school a couple of years ago and already got a music contract. Heard he was just up in Clarksdale last month …” He babbled on.
Queen nodded but said nothing.
Fred Lee seemed more interested. Staring buck-eyed at Hallelujah, he said, “I didn’t know you liked white folks’ music.”
I held back a chuckle. Hallelujah wasn’t any more interested in white folks’ music than I was in being Mrs. Robinson’s maid.
Hallelujah beamed. “Oh, it ain’t just white folks’ music Elvis sings. He’s got his own style.”
Sometimes he sounded like such a fool when he got around Queen. Besides, if this Elvis fellow was on the radio, I was sure Queen had already heard of him, as much as she had her ear pressed to that thing, running down Ma Pearl’s “batt’ries.”
“I even hear that colored women are starting to name their sons after him,” Hallelujah continued. “Can you imagine a colored boy named Elvis?”
Queen snapped her head my way and shot me a dirty look. I shook my head discreetly to let her know that if Hallelujah was throwing any hints her way, it wasn’t on account of me. I hadn’t told him a thing about her. Oh, I wanted so badly to tell him. To let him know there was no point in trying to impress Queen anymore, as she was already ruined and unfit to marry a preacher’s boy. But it wasn’t my business to tell. Time and Queen’s growing belly would do that eventually.
“That ain’t Aunt Ruthie, is it?” Fred Lee said, pointing up the road.
We all leaned forward and peered up the road to the west, in the opposite direction of the Robinsons’. Anybody with eyes could see that it was Aunt Ruthie and her brood of young ones stirring up a small puff of dust on the road.
“I hope she didn’t walk seven miles with them chi’ren again,” Queen said, leaping up from her chair.
“There’s no sign of a car anywhere,” I pointed out.
Queen ignored my sarcasm. “I hope Slow John didn’t beat her again,” she said. Without another word, she stormed across the yard toward the road. Within seconds she had joined Aunt Ruthie and begun gathering the children in her arms. In that instant, I knew, despite all her other shortcomings, she was going to make a fine mother.
When they reached the yard, Aunt Ruthie acknowledged us with a nod. Otherwise she kept her head down. Her right arm was wrapped with one of the baby’s diapers, and there was blood on the sleeve of her faded plaid dress.
Out of nowhere, Hallelujah said, “Preacher almost married her.”
My head jerked toward him. “Who?”
“Preacher asked your aunt Ruthie to marry him after my mama died.”
“Your real mama?”
Still staring at Aunt Ruthie as she ambled across the porch, Hallelujah nodded.
We watched Queen settle on the edge of the porch. Her legs dangled from the solid blue trim of her blue and white checkered skirt, and her forehead wrinkled with concern as she gathered Aunt Ruthie’s children on either side of her and cradled the baby in her lap.
“I never knew Reverend Jenkins wanted to marry Aunt Ruthie,” I said.
Hallelujah shrugged. “He said she was one of the smartest women he knew.”
“Ain’t too smart,” Fred Lee said, “lettin’ Slow John hit her like that.”
“Said she used to be one of the prettiest women in Stillwater, too,” Hallelujah said.
“Reverend Jenkins said Aunt Ruthie was pretty?” I asked.
“She is pretty,” said Hallelujah.
“But she’s so d—” I stopped myself when I realized what I was about to imply.
“Dark women is pretty too,” Fred Lee said.
“That ain’t what I was about to say,” I snapped.
“You was,” Fred Lee countered.
Fred Lee was right. I knew Aunt Ruthie was pretty. So why did I find it hard to believe Reverend Jenkins would find her pretty too? For the same reason I couldn’t think of myself as pretty—my own grandmother had made me feel ashamed of my complexion, saying I was as black as midnight without a moon. But I had to remember my own strange words to Hallelujah on the night before the murder trial ended: stars can’t shine without darkness. And I was determined that one day, instead of fretting over being as dark as midnight without a moon, I would shine as bright as the morning star—which, Reverend Jenkins told us, is the planet Venus and is also a sign of hope.
“How come Reverend Jenkins didn’t marry Aunt Ruthie?” I asked Hallelujah.
“Miss Sweet wouldn’t let him,” he answered.
“Wonder why,” I mumbled, staring at the house.
“I wish she had,” said Hallelujah. “She’s too smart and pretty for a man like John Walker. Preacher said after Miss Sweet wouldn’t let her marry him, she ran off with the first thing with legs.”
“She’d have been better off marrying a spider,” I said.
“I’m glad she didn’t marry Preacher,” said Fred Lee.
Hallelujah and I stared at him.
“All o’ yo’ mamas die,” Fred Lee said matter-of-factly.
We tried not to, but laughs slipped out of Hallelujah and me anyway.
Yet we knew this was no laughing moment. Here was our aunt, again at her parents’ home, again having walked seven miles with her children, again having been beaten by her no-’count husband. And probably would, again, leave the safety of our house and go back to him.
I let my head lean back, and I looked up at the clear blue sky. The evening sun streaming through the leaves warmed my face. October had just begun, so the leaves on the ancient oak towering over me had not changed. They were still full, green, and fluffy. But I knew they would soon change. They would become orange and red and gold; then, eventually, they would fall from the tree. Change was inevitable in nature, as Miss Johnson used to say, but not in people. People had a choice, whereas nature did not.
Reverend Jenkins was sure that a change was coming to Mississippi, that life for the Negro would get better. I had made a promise before the church and before God that I would change, and today my sins had been washed away. Queen and Fred Lee, too, had made that profession of faith to change. And long ago, when she was our age, so had Aunt Ruthie. Now, years later, it seemed she needed to make a commitment to change again. A commitment to permanently walk away from a life where she wasn’t really living. I closed my eyes and offered up a prayer for her. Only two people could help my aunt: God and herself.
Change. It’s what I had been thinking about since that Monday after the Emmett Till murder trial—the day after Aunt Belle and Monty headed back to Saint Louis. So many thoughts warred against one another in my mind. I thought about what Hallelujah had said on the night before the trial ended, about why folks
like Reverend Jenkins and Medgar Evers chose to stay in Mississippi even though they could probably leave, just like Mr. Pete, Mama, and Aunt Belle.
Dreams have more meaning when you have to fight for them, he’d said. And that’s why some people chose to stay. They knew they had a right to be there—this land is your land, this land is my land. And they wanted the freedom to do so.
But I also thought about Papa. The thought of leaving him broke my heart. I thought of my own words to Queen when I asked her, “How could you do this to them?” But then I had to ask myself, “How could I do this to Papa?” Especially now that Queen had disappointed him so.
How could I leave Papa? How could I leave Fred Lee? Leaving him would make me as bad as Mama. Who could know what might happen to him if both his mama and his sister left him, not counting the fact that his daddy had never bothered with trying to be a part of his life?
And Hallelujah. Yes, he sat there making a fool of himself over Queen, but he was still my best friend. How could I leave him? And what kind of friends would I make in Saint Louis? If any?
My heart ached, both at the thought of leaving and at the thought of staying. Levi had stayed, and he didn’t live to see a week over the age of twenty-one. Would that happen to me? I didn’t know—couldn’t know—but I had to be strong enough to find out. I had to stay—not just for the sake of those I didn’t want to leave behind, but for my own sake. I had to know if I could shine in the darkness.
Imagine how bright a star would shine at midnight without a moon!
I had to be bold enough to write to Aunt Belle and let her know my choice. And I had to write that letter without delay—before I had time to change my mind. A chill came over me at the thought. But then, right there, the warmth of the Mississippi sun crossed my face while a single leaf fluttered down and brushed my cheek. I opened my eyes and stared down at the leaf that had landed in my lap. It was still green, with hints of yellow. Yes, a change was coming. And I, Rosa Lee Carter, would be right there to be a part of it.
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