“Ain come ta sat, bout ta die and I got some thangs ta say foe I go. Foe ya push me in dat hole ya dug.” She point at ’im then start stepping lively, we moving on up to the pulpit.
I hear people making noises of shock, whispering and moving they weight round on them wood benches. I ain’t never seen a woman in the pulpit, don’t know if anybody has, but Miemay ain’t just a woman, she our mama. When we get up there and turn to face the church, all of Zion looking at us and I feel shy.
Reverend Patrick offer us the mike, but Miemay turn ‘a head to it and tug my arm saying, “Ya say what I say so’s dey can hear me.”
My heart drop but I don’t flinch, I just say, “Yes, ma’am.” Then I say it almost like her: “The other day, I came to the church after I looked at my house. Had Linny take me round, tied of laying down, I can sleep when I’m dead.” She pause and laugh a lil mean, looking round for anybody got the nerve to laugh, too. They don’t.
We go on, “Then I see one of my grandsons over here with his shirt off in the graveyard. After I talk to him, I find they digging MY grave. But as you can see, I ain’t dead yet, and my house ain’t fixed neither. So much as you wont me to crawl in that hole you digging, it ain’t time yet. So if you gone send yah children to do something for me, you send them to fix my house and help get it in order. Send them today, cause we ain’t promised tomorrow and everybody know, specially Reverend Patrick, I sho ain’t.”
***
When the roosters crow, I wake up. I’m starting me and Miemay’s breakfast when I hear folks moving round outside. Looking out the window, I see what looks like most of the men of Zion.
I run to tell Miemay but stop dead in my tracks when I see how she laying, with ‘a arms up and fingers together on a chest like she in a coffin. I cain’t tell from here if she breathing, but she look peaceful.
Sometimes when she sleep, I put my hands over ‘a mouth to see if I can feel ‘a breath. I worry all the time she ain’t gone wake up, even though I know one day she gone die. We all is really. A little sadness come over me and my heart feel heavy.
“Ain dead yet,” she say, moving and scaring the bejesus out of me.
“They out there,” I announce, pleased, relieved and happy she still alive.
“Bout time,” she push ‘aself up. It’s ironic, this morning she stronger than she been in a long while. She even fanning me away, look at ‘a nah.
A smile escapes me.
She getting ‘a own cane.
I stand close to ‘a, to catch ‘a if she fall.
“Gone nah chile,” she fuss, walking at me with ‘a cane. Walk so good look like she don’t need it. “Let’s git some ta eat.”
“Yes, ma’am!” I smile and follow ‘a to the kitchen.
When she sit down, I serve ‘a grits, eggs and toast. She point to the jarred apples. I open it and put some on ‘a plate, and some on mine.
“I wont ya ta stay with me, so’s I can tell ya some thangs.” Soon as she start to talk, the front door open on us.
“Yall up?” Reverend Patrick ask and we both nod yes. “These boys gone work on that house and paint it like ya say.”
Miemay nod ‘a head like he ain’t said nothing special. Turn ‘a nose up, let ’im know she still mad bout that grave digging business.
He just stare at ‘a for a while, then go back out. I hear him give ’em orders. He kinda like run the town, since everything happen at the church.
“See if Zachariah and David out thur, Patrick don’t know nothin bout no ‘letricity,” Miemay order.
So I get up and run outside to make sure they here.
Chapter Four
LAWYER
I’m sitting on the front porch separating tabacca leaves for curing, when I see the dust gathering on the road, way a car do, not a wagon. It’s Reverend Patrick, as always, but he got a white man in the backseat with ’im. When he stop he jump out, and get to strutting like the only rooster in a hen house, to get the white man’s door. Make me laugh a little bit.
“Where Miemay at?” he ask, like he ain never been to ‘a house.
I just nod towards the front door, cause whatever he up to, Iain into putting on with ’im.
“You ain gone tell ‘a we here? This the lawyer, Mr. Prescott, she, ask for,” he order me more than ask.
I don’t say nothing else cause folks round Zion just knock, they don’t go round announcing they comings and goings. Not even for white folks. I know this white man from Beaumontville, it’s just one town over. Done seen ’im a thousand times, and he sure to know us all. Plus Reverend Patrick done brought ’im, and he say Miemay know he coming, so cain’t be no harm. On top of that, Miemay ain’t the type of woman need warning. Shoot, folks need to be warned bout her.
“Well what she doing? Don’t want to go in there if she laying down,” he looking round trying to get me to go back and forth with ’im.
I still don’t speak, cause now he insulting Miemay. Ain’t no nigga worth nothing can sleep through them roosters crowing, and it’s the middle of the day, too. Sick or not, I got to fight Miemay to rest. Since he talking crazy, he really can ask that white man to wait and go check on ‘a hisself.
Acting like he ain been over here every other day since we was told she gone die. He come to pray for ‘a soul, and to beg ‘a to come back to church, and get ‘a heart right with the lord. He talk to ‘a while she laying down some of them times. He usually come and go without even knocking on the door, much less being announced. Now I think I know one reason why Miemay don’t go to church, after seeing all this putting on.
Finally, when I’m tied of him looking at me I say, “She cooking some kinda stew.”
“What chu here for if she cook’n ‘a own meals? Spect you got ‘a doing ‘a own laundry, too. Aincha?”
“If she wont,” I say, feeling like I got to explain, or else my mama be over here fore the day end. “Say she tied of being fussed over. So I wait til she get tied then I finish whatever she done got started. Always just let ‘a do much as she can, try to stay out ‘a way, and never get more than a ear shot way from ‘a.”
“She wouldn’t have no choice if somebody older was walkin ‘a home. You over here letting ‘a do whatever she wont,” he chastises me, gripping his belt buckle and fronting like he making a real statement.
“I’s jus doin what I been told, Reverend.” I speak in a slow drag, so my silence don’t look like insolence to the white man. Make ’im think I’m slow and dumb and Reverend Patrick even dumber for arguing with me, or a big bully. Then I bite my lip hard, to keep from laughing.
“That’s enough, Patrick. Iain got all day, boy. Get on in there, and let Miemay know I’m here.” Mr. Prescott settles it.
I feel Reverend Patrick looking down at me separating this tabacca. I’m holding my “good nigga” pose, while he being a trouble maker. I stare humbly at the ground. A tear escapes me, I want to laugh so bad. Look like I done out foxed ’im, and he got to quit showing out and do what he shoulda done from the beginning, leave Mr. Prescott on this porch and check on ‘a hisself.
“Hot day ain’t it?” Mr. Prescott finally say after staring at me for what feel like a long time. So long I get a little nervous.
I don’t say nothing or look up at ’im either, just nod my head yes like Miemay told me. Miemay say just nod your head, and they leave you alone, think you dumb and no threat. Iain really figured out how to talk to white folks no way. My daddy or Reverend Patrick always speak for me. Reverend Patrick usually speak to ’em for all of Zion.
Here in Zion, we serious bout our relationship with the white folks in neighboring towns. We keep our eyes to the ground like I’m doing, and try not to say much. Shoot, with the Black Codes, any kinda response could be taken as disrespect, and a reason to be jailed or worse, hung.
Shoot, it’s a law called Reckless Eyeballing. Reckless Eyeballing get you hung. We so afraid of being accused of doing something to somebody white, we get off the sidewalk if a white person passing
, if we even use the sidewalks. Ain’t as bad for nigga women as it is for our men. If men strangers, they automatically vagrants. A man could be in prison for years on a vagrancy charge.
Ever since the Union pulled out and Reconstruction ended, the old Confederates been mad they lost the war. So they made up all these crazy laws trying to keep niggas slaves. The rest of the country done turned they back on us niggas in the south. We wont to work in our own fields and stay in our own town, but they make laws forcing us to work in they homes and fields. We scared to be round ’em, and wont to be left alone, but they always needing niggas for something.
Some of our men, arrested after Reconstruction, who survived prison said it was worse than being a slave. If a man goes to prison here, they work him for long hours without pay. If he get tired, they use the whip on him just like during slavery, but they beat ’im worse than they woulda in the old days. The difference is, niggas don’t belong to nobody now. Ain’t nobody paid for ’im. So the white man beating him don’t care if he die or not. A white man’s dog got more value than jailed niggas.
Then they get all kinds of diseases in jail. Soon as a man get convicted, his mama start mourning cause folks don’t spect he’ll make it home. I heard one of the men say, they fed him so little, every day he had to fight for food. They say, the strongest men treat the weakest like women at night. Ain never heard nothing that crazy.
Reverend Patrick come back out, hold the door open. “Mr. Prescott, sir, she ready forya.” They both disappear in the house. I start looking out at the corn growing, and missing the fields. The fields gimme time to think, and stay out folks’ way. When you round the house, people expect you to talk too much about nothing. I rather work or read.
The door open again, Reverend Patrick come sit down next to me, done got his self some cold lemonade. He looking at me all crazy again, til he get some corn I got waiting in baskets, and start shucking.
“Most folks just tell me what they last wishes is. What Miemay need a lawyer fa?”
“Why you ain stay in there and find out?” I ask, jabbing him a little bit. He always in somebody business. We sitting in silence, and I’m thinking. The more I think the more I realize, everybody in Zion in everybody business, guess he ain’t no different. So I say, “Iain know nothing bout no lawyer til yall showed up.”
“You know I woulda stayed,” he say and smile a little looking over at me, “but she told me to ‘git’.” He roll his eyes like a child do, and I smile at him being told to git.
I don’t say nothing else.
We work in silence til the white man come out. Reverend Patrick jump to his feet, and Miemay come behind the white man, no cane, her hand on the door way. I jump up to help, but the way she look at me, I know she okay and don’t want no help.
“I’ll draw it up. Just send word to Beaumontville when you get two witnesses.”
“We right here,” Reverend Patrick offer smiling, thumbing his suspenders and poking his chest back out.
“Nah ya ain’t,” Miemay fuss at Reverend Patrick. “Linny, go show Mr. Prescott dah house back there.”
“I could show ’im.” Reverend Patrick beams proudly, still showing out.
“Nall, you can shuck dat corn why she gone,” Miemay order, before dropping the screen door on any disputing he might do, disappearing in the house.
Chapter Five
QUILTING CIRCLE
I love mornings before the rest of the world wakes up, before the roosters’ start crowing, and before you expected to do anything, or be anyone, or go anywhere. It’s just you and God, and the sun, and the dew on the grass. It’s you alone with your thoughts, and the early birds. The smell of morning has no word or sound to push into dreams so you can sort things out.
Mornings are better than the end of the day quiet moments before sleep. In the morning, you are not tired from the day, or worried bout tomorrow. In the morning, feels like the night has washed away the footsteps of yesterday, and you could do anything, go anywhere. If you get up before everyone else, the morning is slow, patient and you enter the world peaceful. Getting up before everybody, it’s like you got control of the day, and you go into the world only after you ready.
Yesterday was wash day, so today all is silent cept the wind whipping through the clothes outside on the line. The fog done settled on the earth, leave it cool for when the sun finally get up.
After I start the stove, cook me and Miemay breakfast and we eat, I leave Miemay to ‘a cooking. Go looking for some pants she don’t wear that much to cut. I don’t want to get none she gone miss. Reverend Patrick say Miemay house be done in bout two weeks. So today the women coming to Miemay’s for quilting. We gone make curtains, a table cloth, pillows, sheets and whatever else Miemay say she need, so it’ll all be ready when the house done.
Quilting is one of the biggest social events for women along with Spring Promenade, getting married and baby showers. It’s house raising for men. I quilt and go to house raisings, too.
They both feel the same in some respects. We all working hard towards something, and learning from each other. Whoever got a good idea, they share it, and we all better for it. Great grandmothers, grandmothers, mothers and daughters learn from each other, get to know each other better. Great grandfathers on down do the same for they boys when we building houses.
The men don’t like to talk around me, so when I go Iain really welcome. I still like house raisings though, cause I get to work side by side with my brothers and Daddy. I like working with all new things and the idea of putting something together a family can grow in.
Was a time when me and Daddy was real close. He use to say proudly, I was his favorite child cause I didn’t whine like my brothers, or strut around like some kinda princess the way my sisters do. He said I learned quick and was a hard worker. So I was the only girl he took with him when he went to work on things, or sell crop in neighboring towns.
Way I am, use to be a relief to him. I what’n never sweet on no boy, but now I think he wondering when I’m gone be sweet on somebody and get married. Now he always after me to act like a lady, saying I cain’t be no tomboy forever.
I love quilting cause it’s the one place women don’t seem to be at odds with each other, or themselves. Whoever makes the best cornbread dressing, roast, string beans, macaroni or whatever is appreciated and praised. Nobody in competition like they usually is round here. It’s the one place I feel free being all parts of me, cause you gotta bring every part of yourself to quilting.
This the only time other women, and my mama, appreciate me being different, stronger. Here, I’m helpful. They tell me to move things, lift things, and do things they’d usually ask a man, but cain’t since they ain allowed here while we quilt.
Women seem to reconnect with each other and find parts of themselves they gave up for love, children, family and God. We laugh, sometimes they cry, but we all eat good. Quilting is a sacred space where victories, battles, dreams, fears and sorrows are shared, then weaved in blankets.
A good quilt has the signature of almost every woman in Zion. Not just in the making and planning it, but the pieces come from our lives. Quilting different from house building, cause it take a whole bunch of old stuff, scraps of time and become something new.
Most quilts got little pieces of suits, shirts, wedding dresses, christening blankets, even baby blankets of babies held in them too short a time. We keep friends and family done went on to glory, or just left Zion close with quilts.
I’m going to take some of the first pants Miemay gave me, and a few pieces from one of ‘a pants as my part. I keep some of ‘a pants for myself, for later, for other quilts.
I think, whenever she go, I won’t be allowed to wear no more pants, and I want to remember these days, I want to remember Miemay. I want to wrap ‘a stubbornness round me and other folks when the world telling us who and what to be. I’m gone keep so much of ‘a clothes every time I quilt a little piece of ‘a be in it.
I’m helping
Miemay cook, lost in my thoughts. Miemay making ‘a famous pies and cobblers. It already smell good in here. The sweet potato pies is done. I’m thinking bout how Miemay make things just right. Even though folks say I’m a good cook and my food taste like her’s, I cain’t seem to get it just right.
I’m trying to be here now, and not start missing ‘a before she gone. She been real tired lately. I see the fight in ‘a to stay. I don’t like to think about it. Now, I’m wondering bout ‘a soul too.
“Gone spit it out, chile, been wontin ta ax fa ever,” Miemay order, pushing in my head, cutting the silence. She been reading my mind like all the time. It work out most times, cause I don’t talk a lot, but right now it’s hard, I don’t want to ask ‘a this.
“You ain’t gone have no peace less ya know,” she encourage me more.
I search for the words, not to be disrespectful.
“Jus ax me. Iain gone hold it ginst ya.” Miemay console my spirit, smiling.
For a long while I’m kneading dough silently, waiting on the words. Miemay cooking pie fillings on the stove. I knead the dough harder, trying to find the words in it. Feeling like I might cry, I breathe slow, and work through it, I don’t cry.
Finally, I feel strong enough to hear the answer, so I ask the question, “You think you going to heaven?”
Miemay don’t answer right away, but that’s how we is, ain’t no rush. Sometimes a question or some words linger in the air for days.
I feel a little ashamed like me asking is like letting ‘a down. Everybody got something bad to say bout ‘a. I don’t wont ‘a to think I think she the devil, too. I’m just so use to Jesus being our lord and savior, and she ain’t never said nothing make me believe she “saved.”
Descendants of Hagar Page 3
