The Secret North

by Ka Newborrn

  Gladys turned her ear towards the back seat. She didn’t fully understand her daughter’s rantings, but listening to them was oddly calming.

  “I can’t talk to her,” the reverend whined. “Did you teach her this? Where does she get this?”

  “And I’m tired of wearing dresses all the time. You’d think I was going to visit the White House,” Jana added defiantly. “You can wear pants if you want to. I don’t think it’s a sin.”

  The reverend looked lost. Suddenly aware of his failing façade, he remembered his purpose and angrily drew his body upwards, pulling the car to a curbside halt in front of Stack’s Ice Cream Shop.

  A freckled boy on a bicycle passed on the side of the passenger window, waving and ringing his bell. Gladys dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief and quietly cleared her throat. Feigning a smile for the boy on the bicycle, the reverend gritted his teeth so tightly that Jana suspected they would crumble and break.

  “Serpent!” her father mumbled as he turned off the ignition. “What else have you got to say for yourself?"

  By closing her eyes and slowly exhaling, Jana hoped to will away the onset of her tears and regain the air of confidence that always marked a victory over her father and rendered him futile. She succeeded. She brushed off her dress. “I sure would love some ice cream, Dad,” she answered, managing a tiny smile. Harlan glared as his wife and daughter got out of the car and walked to the door of the shop. He cursed under his breath and followed them inside.

  Sleigh bells sounded as they walked into the front door. Stevie Stack looked up from polishing the stainless steel appliances that lined the counter, set down his rag and smiled dazzlingly as the Montgomery family approached him. Harlan ordered a banana split and slid into an adjacent booth with his wife. Jana sat at the counter and ordered a double dip strawberry cone.

  “When you gonna run off and marry me for good, Miss Jana Montgomery?” Stevie Stack murmured in a low voice, eyeing the peculiar blonde girl with the mess of frizzy curls who sat before him. He tucked his chin into his neck, widened his eyes like a puppy dog and wrinkled up his forehead before handing over her ice cream.

  She wondered who had told him he looked cute when he did that. She also wondered if he made a point of remembering to use that face with every girl he came into contact with, or if it was instinctual by now. He was like a statue sculpted from marble: finely chiseled but devoid of detail beyond the surface. She could see the pitifully predictable wheels turning at half speed behind his eyes and wondered why she bothered being polite.

  He was the son of Arnold Stack, the shop’s owner, and a tenth-semester junior and former football scholar at Mississippi State University. During the summers, he returned to Natchez and helped his father in the shop. Most of the local girls seemed to swoon beneath his advances.

  “Let’s see, Stevie,” she patronized. “I have to start and finish high school. Then there’ll probably be a post graduate year or two to compensate for my back of the woods education. By then I’ll be ready for my scholarship to the university. After that, I’ll be heading off to medical school. That sure is a long time for a fine fellow like you to wait.”

  “Aww, Jana,” he rattled. “No one needs all that school. Elope with me tonight.” He abandoned his dishrag and walked around the counter. He dropped to his knees at Jana’s feet. He took her hands in his, indulging the chance to tuck his chin into his neck, widen his eyes like a puppy dog and wrinkle up his forehead yet another time. Jana prayed for a miracle.

  There was a knock at the side door. A black man opened it and stood in the doorway, carrying a large bundle of napkins and tableware. He was approximately thirty years old, and had pouty lips, full cheeks, and long, curly lashes.

  “Hi, Stevie. Is your father here today?”

  Stevie nodded stiffly and turned towards the back room.

  “Hi, Lonnie.”

  A voice that was neither rude nor friendly boomed from the back room. It was followed by an older version of Stevie. Arnold Stack had a receding brown hairline streaked with grey and a tidy moustache. “I wasn’t expecting you ‘til Wednesday.”

  Arnold glanced around the room and saw Reverend and Mrs. Montgomery seated at a booth, finishing up their banana split. “Hello, Reverend. Gladys.” He waved in acknowledgement and smiled. “How’s the banana split?”

  “Mighty fine as usual, Arnold.” Harlan smiled in response. Feigning satisfaction, Gladys raised her eyebrows and pretended to take a bite.

  Arnold rubbed his hands together and turned his attention back to Lonnie. “That’s right, Lonnie,” he repeated. “I wasn’t expecting you ‘til Wednesday after closing.”

  “I work fast,” Lonnie said. “I finished the linens already. I thought you could probably use them early.”

  Arnold Stack walked up to Lonnie and took the bundle from him. He placed it on the counter and began to critically inspect the linens, hem by hem. “They do all look good to me, Lonnie. You sure are quick with a needle and thread. Well, I’ll be. All right then.”

  He moved away from the bundle and took a key out of his pocket. “All right, Lonnie, you just wait a minute and I’ll go get your money.” He turned to face the booths. “Reverend!” he cried out jovially. “I’ll be right back. I want to talk to you.”

  Harlan stood up and folded his napkin next to the empty dish. “I’m afraid we have to get going. It’s getting pretty late.”

  “So soon?”

  “I’ll see you on Thursday.” He walked towards the counter. “Come along, Jana,” he said in his best company voice. “Your precious Stevie will have to wait.” He placed his hand lightly on her shoulder. “Come on.”

  Jana eyed her father with alacrity and ignored the grinning fool behind the counter. She did, however, nod politely to Lonnie when he cordially acknowledged the Montgomery family as they walked to the door. Gladys' eyes widened ever so slightly. Harlan’s hand was still resting on Jana’s shoulder. His fingers turned into claws.

  “What’s going on in your life right now, baby girl?” Jana thought to herself. “Do you have friends to keep you company, or are you lonesome? Do you have enough to eat, or are you hungry? Do you dream at night? Are you safe?”

  ✽✽✽

  At school, proud cheerleaders pirouetted front and center in the hallway as her rounded shoulders grazed the stale cinder walls. Rumor had it that she wasn't the reverend’s real daughter, which essentially relegated her to the lowest rung of social hierarchy. She didn’t care. Partially hidden beneath a lioness mane of blonde tangles, she hung her head, clutched a pile of books to her chest protectively and sat at the back of the classroom, daydreaming.

  When she came home, she paused briefly at the refrigerator for a snack before retreating to the privacy of her bedroom. It took her all of twenty minutes to complete the facile school assignments. After that, she scoured her bookcase and lost herself inside a collection of horror stories. That’s when the real learning began.

  In H.P. Lovecraft’s The Outsider, a ghoul escaped the confines of its tomb, only to glimpse its terrifying reflection in a mirror, retreat to the shelter of the tomb again, and find it locked. The lesson? When you discover who you truly are, there’s no turning back.

  Ambrose Bierce’s A Vine on a House was another favorite. Time and ambivalence conspired to hide the uxoricide of a one-footed woman, but a rogue vine growing in the likeness of her body ultimately betrayed her husband. The lesson? The truth always comes out eventually.

  Not that her bend was entirely sinister. She liked a good fairy tale, too. In The Brothers Grimm’s Aschenputtel, two sisters amputated their own toes to fit into a golden slipper. The lesson? Princes over selves, it seemed. But no matter the story’s end, the compromised footing of women was invariable.

  Life lessons brought the need for comfort, and Jana had favorites for that as well. She faithfully read a chapter from Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet every morning before going off to school. The Bhagavad Gita was something she hoped to d
iscuss with anyone who had the capacity to isolate religion from philosophy. Regrettably, she didn’t know of any such being.

  Gladys watched her daughter disappear into her room every day with a new stack of books and decided that it would be best to support her interests in the best way she could. She knocked on Jana’s door one evening, arms loaded down with a stack of Ladies’ Home Journal and Redbook magazines.

  “I thought you might like these since you like reading so much.” She put a hand to the back of her hair and sat down on the pink bedspread. “The pictures are pretty, too. I thought you might like looking at the dresses and the lipsticks.”

  Jana looked down at the magazine cover at the top of the pile. Suzy Parker was dressed in a fashionable grey suit. She wore a casual white scarf tied at her neck, tortoiseshell sunglasses and a matte red smile. Jana looked back at her mother. Everything about her seemed so appropriately polished.

  “Thanks, Mom. I thought I wasn’t allowed to wear lipstick.”

  “Not around your father, but I think some of these dresses would be pretty on you.” She looked at her daughter’s matted curls. “And some of these hairdos are very smart.”

  Jana put her hand to her hair and felt the knots forming at the base of her neck.

  “Can I, uh, bring you a sandwich or something?”

  “No thanks, Mom. I had an apple.”

  “Well alright then. I guess I’ll see you at dinner.” Gladys stood up to leave. She looked uncomfortable.

  She closed the door behind her mother and flipped through a magazine. Changing her mind, she went to her bookcase and pulled out her copy of The Bible.

  Her father’s angry, fear-based sermons seemed antithetical to her idea of mysterious desert sabbaticals fueled by visions, vibrations, and fragrant clouds of frankincense and myrrh. In her mind, The Bible meant gathering herbs and baking loaves from ancient grains, or catching trout in the river, roasting it over an open flames and sharing it with newfound friends. Harlan had it all wrong.

  It was just before sunset. Through the descending clouds, Jana thought she could just make out the light of the star that had illuminated the wise men’s path.

  Three men had loaded their camels with cumbersome gifts and traveled over the mountains. They were hungry, smelly and had likely engaged in multiple fist fights before their task was complete. They found a miracle nestled deep in a cave—hidden from Herod’s cronies by a spider’s web concealing the entrance. If the North Star was an oracle that somehow led to treasure, she, too, could follow its lead. Surely there were other miracles waiting to be had.

  She was vaguely aware of the sound of her father coming home and the faint clattering of dinner plates. A waft of roast beef came and went, as did the repetitive clattering of a martini shaker. Eventually, her surroundings ebbed away, and the Mississippi sky grew solemn and black. She dreamed of sparkling sand.

  A few hours later, she was awakened by the faint hooting of an owl and rose out of bed to investigate. Outside her window, the stars were pinpointed like needles on a compass. In that moment, she knew exactly what to do.

  She opened her bedroom door as quietly as she could and tiptoed to the staircase landing. Olive-littered glasses and an empty gin bottle were abandoned on the cocktail table. Based on the density of snores emanating from her parents’ bedroom, she estimated that her father had consumed three martinis. Judging from the size of the mess that hadn’t been cleared from the living room, she deduced that her mother had finished four.

  She tiptoed down the stairs and into the kitchen. Working quickly, she stuffed a paper bag with apples, carrots, and pecans. She wondered if Audrey Hepburn drank herself to sleep every night.

  She closed the front door silently. Placing the bag of food down on the doorstep momentarily, she paused at the base of a tree and pried away a tall branch. With her fingers curled confidently around her newfound staff, she proudly tapped the ground and set off on her way.

  It wasn’t cold outside, but she was grateful for her sweater. The thick cotton protected her shoulders from the tree branches as she followed the North Star and sauntered off the road. She clawed her way through thick, wooded brush and stopped to rest in a small clearing.

  The tree branches wavered as she enjoyed her modest meal. Pleased to have a visitor, the river beckoned like a naughty temptress.

  Three wise men once bathed in a river just like this.

  Taking the bait, she stepped out of her dress and dipped a toe into the shimmering water.

  The mud that squished between her toes was surprisingly warm. She arched her back and eased her head down. Her hair grew heavy under the water’s murky caress. She rolled onto her stomach and took a few more steps. Her fingers grazed a ropelike plant. She pulled and it came loose in her hand. She held it up to her nose, sniffed it, and put it her mouth. She chewed and chewed, but it was very rubbery, so she released it and watched it briefly float at the surface before sinking back down to the bottom.

  She thought it would be pleasant to stay naked for a while but knew that she needed to leave. She crawled back to the clearing, stepped into her dress, and knotted the hem around her thighs.

  Her newfound cleanliness heightened her sense of vulnerability as the landscape grew dense and wild. She had expected a journey of solitude but soon realized the woods were teeming with life. The sounds and movements were subtle, but the vibrations were deep and supernatural. All attempts to quicken her pace were futile. Vines and branches coiled around her ankles, seized her shoulders and slapped her in the face. She hacked at them with her walking stick. It snapped into two useless pieces. The oppressive humidity of the atmosphere filled her lungs and left her gasping for breath.

  Tree branches intertwined themselves in her hair. She removed them and wrapped the sweater around her head. Uncertain of her bearings, she circled around for a few moments before locating the star again and reclaiming her path. The faint trace of a small cabin became visible in the distance.

  She plowed on in pursuit of another clearing, only to trip over a decaying log that housed a sleeping water moccasin snake. It lunged forward, bit her on the arm, and slithered off towards the water, leaving her alone with the sound of her cries and the indifferent warbling of the river.

  NATCHEZ, MISSISSIPPI

  1954

  Lonnie

  “Moose?” Lonnie looked up from his sketchpad and towards the ladder that led to the bedroom loft. He slowly rose from the kitchen table and walked over to the pot of stew warming on the stove. He stirred it with a wooden spoon and tasted it. He wrinkled his nose and added a touch of salt. Dinah Washington wailed from the record player. He swayed his hips to the beat.

  “Moose!” Lonnie bellowed. He took two wooden bowls out of the cupboard next to the stove and placed them on the counter. He filled the bowls with stew and started towards the table. He placed them on the kitchen table and turned towards the loft. He jumped in surprise at the sight of Moose descending from the ladder. “Why didn’t you answer me? Aren’t you a bit big to be creeping around?” He patted his chest. “Don’t you know how delicate I am?”

  “I answered you the first time.” Moose was indignant as he climbed down the ladder. “But you didn’t hear it.” He walked over to the record player and turned it down. “Nobody told you to blast that hyena so loud until I can’t hear myself think and you can’t hear me answering.”

  “Then put that depressing Bessie Smith back on and stop complaining,” Lonnie said. “And have some of the dinner that I slaved over a hot stove to make while you’re at it. But first, take a look at my new creation.”

  “Stew?” Moose was sarcastic. He lifted the Dinah Washington record off of the record player and replaced it with Bessie Smith. “Tell me Lonnie, are we really having stew again?”

  Lonnie smirked. “If you wanna eat the bacon, you'd better learn to bring some home. Now bring your behind over here and take a look at my work.”

  Moose eyed the sketchpad. “What’s that? Design
er tablecloths for Arnold Stack?”

  Lonnie pursed his lips and rounded his shoulders.

  “I didn’t mean that,” Moose apologized. “I was just teasing. I’m sorry.” He walked over to Lonnie and enveloped him in his arms. They kissed.

  Lonnie took him by the hand and led him back to the table. He handed Moose a sketch. “It’s perfect for the lavender organza I have. It’s a bias cut, and the skirt is a little bit straighter than what they’re wearing now. Trust me, by the time the sixties roll around, all the ladies will be wearing straight skirts. I know I can sell it. Look.” He pulled a magazine from a stack of papers, flipped through the pages and rested on an image of Jane Russell. “Now picture the dress coming to life. Picture it on her.”

  Moose briefly studied the picture of Jane Russell and looked back at the sketch. “A bias cut organza gown?”

  “Yeah.”

  “On that behind?”

  They giggled. Lonnie put spoons next to the bowls while Moose continued to flip through the magazine. He stopped at a full-length photo of Suzy Parker. “I can picture your design on a beanpole like this.”

  “On who?” Lonnie asked. He sat down at the table and peered over Moose’s shoulder. “Oh. Her.” He rolled his eyes.

  “What’d I say now?” Moose looked puzzled. “I just think the line of a bias cut gown would fall better on someone with less, uh, stature.”

  “No you didn’t just put my dress on Suzy Parker,” Lonnie continued. He turned up his nose and pursed his lips.

  “Who’s Suzy Parker?” Moose asked.

  “That’s Suzy Parker,” Lonnie answered. He narrowed his eyes into a witchy glint. He shook his head and crossed his arms to his chest.

  “You don’t think she’s right for the dress?”

  “Nope. Wrap her bony ass up in a white sheet.”

  Moose raised an eyebrow and studied the picture. “What about her hair? Dippity Do?”

  “Nope.” Lonnie mockingly raised a hand to the back of his razored cut and pretended to shake it out. “A white pillowcase will be fine.”