Like Sisters on the Homefront

by Rita Williams-Garcia

  “Why Stacey, sweetie, please join us,” Miss Auntie said with a painted smile. Gayle hated that face on Miss Auntie.

  Stacey thanked her but declined, explaining that he had brought his roommate. Miss Auntie wouldn’t take no for an answer and tried to persuade Stacey to have his roommate join them, but Stacey said he couldn’t do that and apologized for “the intrusion.” He and Miss Auntie played out one more round of she offering and he respectfully refusing before Stacey excused himself to join his roommate.

  “Did you catch that, Miss Auntie? He liked to kill hisself not to look my way, let alone not speak. It ain’t really ’bout no roommate.”

  “I can’t imagine Stacey being rude, unless you gave him reason,” Miss Auntie said as they were taking their seats. “The truth is, Stacey is a well-trained boy. He knows this pew is reserved for family and special guests. Sitting here would be like making an announcement, almost bragging—and Luther would not appreciate that.”

  “Then why’d you invite him to sit with us?” Gayle asked.

  Rather than respond, Miss Auntie turned to acknowledge another church member.

  Um-hm, Gayle thought. People take being nice too far, saying and doing things they don’t mean. Then it’s your hard luck when you believe them. Like driving lessons, buying dresses, being sisters, being family. People should say what they mean and be who they are.

  “Can I get an amen on that?” she whispered to José, patting his chubby hands together.

  As the choir sang the processional hymn, the choir members, the deacons, and the two pastors marched to their designated stations. It was a beautiful sight. Sunlight poured through the great windows overlooking the front, shining down on the satiny blue of the choir robes, the potted lilies on the altar, the twin velvet thrones where Reverends Gates and Samuels sat poised for nothing short of glory. Then, in the final phrases of the processional, Sister Rebecca Lloyd appeared from the pastor’s chambers and took her place at the head of the choir, where the sunlight favored her and all of her lavender.

  The service went on nicely. Uncle Luther worked up his congregation, then handed them over to Pastor Samuels, who regaled them with anecdotes of divinity school days. From there he went into the heart of the sermon. The same preacher who made folks chuckle made them go um, um, um.

  Gayle wasn’t moved. Gayle chewed her gum.

  Upon the choirmaster’s nod, the choir rose in unison. Sister Lloyd also rose, but in her own sweet time. Once on her feet, Sister Lloyd proceeded to take over. Even the choirmaster got out of her way. Sister Lloyd spoke a silent language with her head tilting so that her hat feather talked. Glory seeped out of that short but grand woman, and people waved their hankies to catch it. She hadn’t even hummed a full string and people were falling out. Uncle Luther beamed, filled with the joy it gave him to sit back and show off his church.

  Gayle chewed and chewed, with eyes fixed on Cookie. Would she? Would she do it for Stacey?

  The choir obeyed the choirmaster, whose batonlike hands said, “Give her room, give her room.” They prepared a background harmony that was so soft, so perfect, Sister Lloyd floated above it.

  Although Cookie had once sung “I Am a Witness,” in Sister Lloyd’s interpretation the hymn spoke new meaning. Her voice knew firsthand the twists of the winding road as well as the promise of sweetness at journey’s end. Those who witnessed instantly became her people and called out to her, “I’m on that road with you!”

  Gayle chewed furiously. She saw Cookie’s eyes close as Cookie stepped forth from the body of blue satin. She heard Cookie’s mezzo-soprano climb and linger upon the crest of Sister Lloyd’s rolling contralto. Except for a momentary lapse—detectable only to someone looking for it—Sister Lloyd pressed on, completely unruffled. She had been there before and was able to answer. Sister Lloyd reached down and pulled from her lower drawer—yes she did!—thunder, circled with lightning—yes she did!—and hurled it at the interloper, knocking her down, down, down. With hat feather talking that talk, she snatched back her solo and made it all sound rehearsed that way—she was good, you know!

  Suddenly Cookie found herself disgraced and standing apart from the choir. There was nowhere to turn in the faces that surrounded her. Her mother’s face stood out high and reproachful above all others. Her father’s shame and disappointment were masked by his hand. She searched and searched but couldn’t find Stacey Alexander through her puddled eyes.

  Now satisfied, Gayle removed her gum.

  When the service ended Cookie ran straight for her father, but he would not speak to her. She went running to Sister Lloyd and made apologies spill out like rain. Sister Lloyd said, “Darling, we all get caught up in the spirit.” She was so gracious, she knocked Cookie down for the second time, as the hat feather danced.

  Stacey tried to break through the droves of worshipers to comfort Cookie, but Miss Auntie interceded and told him it was best that he didn’t see Cookie just now. Gayle flashed her teeth at Stacey. It was all so funny.

  When they got home Uncle Luther ordered Cookie into the study. Gayle tried to stand outside the door, but Miss Auntie wouldn’t have it.

  “I don’t see what the fuss is about,” Gayle said innocently. “All she did was harmonize with Sister Lloyd.”

  For a change, Miss Auntie didn’t drip sweetness. She looked tight. “Gayle Ann, you can’t begin to understand the seriousness of Cookie’s behavior. She embarrassed her father, made the choirmaster look a fool, and was simply rude to Sister Lloyd, and what’s more, she allowed herself to succumb to pride. And that’s one sin the saved dare not fall to.”

  The more Miss Auntie went on to explain the fall of Lucifer, the less sense Gayle could make of what all that had to do with Cookie’s homing in on Sister Lloyd’s solo. Miss Auntie saw this in the blank eyes and the gum chewing and told Gayle to bring the baby upstairs and to have Miss Foster come down to the kitchen.

  Gayle was slow taking José upstairs. She was afraid all the fireworks would become stifled in the big house. But Uncle Luther’s voice proved big enough. Midway up the stairs, Gayle heard Uncle Luther thundering pride and fall and Cookie crying as though the world had come to an end.

  20

  GAYLE TOOK THE CLOTHESPIN from between her teeth and snapped it on the line. She stood barefoot on top of the stool, enjoying the sky and the leafy trees that seemed to wave at her and filled the air with the smell of overripe peaches. It was wonderful. Almost as wonderful and filling as the spoiled sweetness of having Cookie all to herself.

  If Gayle wanted to, she could suggest to her uncle that it wasn’t really Cookie’s fault. Cookie had been overwhelmed by that Stacey dude telling her her voice was better than Sister Lloyd’s. Cookie probably saw Stacey out in the pews while she was singing and forgot herself. Sparks would really jump then. Uncle Luther would end that Stacey thing once and for all.

  Cookie would be past her kneesocks in misery, and Gayle knew about misery. They could wade in it together, trashing everybody, especially Stacey for starting up this mess, then Uncle Luther, and Miss Auntie, and Mama and Junie and Troy and Troy Mama, and the homegirls for not writing. Trash everybody. She and Cookie could plan their escape to New York in Cookie’s car.

  Gayle stared off into the waving trees, imagining herself and Cookie sailing along the highway, the radio broadcasting their freedom. She saw herself behind the wheel and heard Cookie telling her to slow down as she prepared to make a wide turn. Before she completely rounded the turn, the very real growl of an engine cut into her daydream. She glanced over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of Stacey pulling into the driveway. His car door slammed. Gayle went on hanging linen napkins as his figure grew in the corner of her eye. She armed herself with indifference.

  Stacey reached down into the hamper and lifted José. “Tell Constance I’m here.”

  Gayle scouted left, then right, and went back to pinning napkins. “Must be the wind shaking up the leaves ’cause I sho’ don’t see no one.”
/>   He sighed heavily. “Just tell her I’m here.”

  “Is my name Hazel? Do I look like a maid? How you gon’ order me around . . . didn’t even speak on Sunday?”

  “I had nothing to say to you Sunday.”

  “Well scuse me, your rudeness. I ain’t talking about no full-out conversation. Just the common courtesy of saying hi. You stand there in church looking ’bove my head like you got a crick in your neck.”

  “Look. I don’t appreciate you flapping that hole on the side of your face talking about dropping drawers. Especially where Constance is concerned.”

  “Ooh, Stacey. I’m trembling.”

  He bent down to put José back in the hamper. “Just tell her I’m here.”

  “She don’t want to see you.”

  “Says who? Tell her to come down.”

  “And I told you, my name ain’t Hazel.”

  “All right, all right,” he said, shifting his whole manner. “Would you please tell Constance to come down.”

  “Don’t you see I’m busy?” She didn’t care if he caught her grinning. It was funny.

  He offered to hang her laundry and watch the baby while she went upstairs. This was precisely the reason she couldn’t stand him. Dudley-Do-Right-Black-Knight-on-a-White-Mustang-Storming-the-Tower-to-Save-the-Princess.

  Gayle jumped off the stool.

  Everybody knocking themselves out to save Cookie. Ain’t no one trying to save me.

  “Just do me this one favor,” he added.

  He was making her sick with all that life-and-death begging. She sashayed over to the screen door, stuck her head inside, and yelled, “Yo, Cook, Stacey down here to see you,” loudly enough to draw Uncle Luther from his study. Stacey threw his hands up.

  As she hoped, Uncle Luther stepped outside, thumbs hooked in belt loops, to have a few words with Stacey Alexander. Gayle tried to listen but Uncle Luther kept whatever he had to say between him and the Black Knight, who was now reduced to nodding respectfully. Cookie made it downstairs in time to see her father entering the kitchen and Stacey driving away. She ran out to the gate, then back inside the kitchen.

  Gayle stood nearby, hoping to catch whatever sifted through the screen door. Cookie was naive enough to ask her daddy what her boyfriend wanted. Uncle Luther was too disgusted to answer. Gayle heard angry feet pounding up the stairs and a door slamming. Sounded like a Fourth of July special! The house was heating up good!

  Then Miss Auntie’s voice emerged. She was telling Uncle Luther, “A week’s worth of punishment is enough.”

  Uncle Luther bordered on comic rage, ranting and pacing just like Mama did when Gayle or Junie went too far. “If you could have only heard your daughter. ‘What did Stacey want?’ Not ‘Good afternoon, Daddy. Are you well, Daddy,’ but ‘What did Stacey want?’ I ask you, Ginny, is this the child we raised? Is it? No sir! That boy is not welcome here. He has my daughter under a spell.”

  “Luther, she’s in love. Keep on and you’ll push her to do the wrong thing.”

  “Can’t do nothing in her room.”

  “Love will find a way, Luther,” Miss Auntie argued. Smothered talk followed, nothing Gayle could make out except for “Ruth Bell.” That stopped her cold. She tried to hear better but all she could get was Ruth Bell, Ruth Bell, Ruth Bell, rising and falling in Miss Auntie’s hushed tones. Uncle Luther had stopped ranting.

  Gayle scooped up José, came inside the kitchen, and stole past her aunt and uncle. She had to race to Cookie’s room before Miss Auntie came up there with her sweetie pies. Cookie didn’t need all that sugar. She needed ugly. The kind Gayle could walk her through.

  “Yo, Cook, let me in.”

  There was no answer, so Gayle turned the knob and entered. Cookie was lying facedown on the bed, her fingers dangling over the side.

  “You ain’t crying, is you?” Gayle came closer. “This ain’t nothing to cry about. Stacey’ll be back and if he don’t, later for him.”

  Cookie swallowed a hard sob.

  “You can’t blame Stacey for cutting out. Uncle told him to stay away and you know Stacey big on respect. What you want? Him to slug it out with Uncle? Grow up, Cookie. That’s in the movies.”

  Cookie mumbled that she didn’t feel well and wanted to be left alone.

  Gayle wasn’t fooled. She knew that Cookie wanted her to speak up about Sister Lloyd. Tell everyone how she had planted that thought in Cookie’s head.

  Gayle ran the tip of her tongue along her chipped tooth. She felt bad for Cookie, but not that bad. No one can make you do what you don’t want. Not really. Deep down Cookie wanted to outsing Sister Lloyd and show off for Stacey. Everybody got some ugly in them no matter how saved they claim to be. Even Cookie.

  “Stop crying, Cuz. You know I can’t stand all that boohooing.”

  Cookie turned over so Gayle could see her tearstained face. “You don’t know how I feel. You’ve never been in love. You’ve never watched someone you love walk away when you need them. You don’t even have feelings.” She rolled over and continued to cry.

  Gayle stuck out the hip that carried her son. “Oh, yeah. My life’s been Disney World. One long fun ride after another. A real scream, starting with the birthing table . . . no Mama, no Big José, nothing for the pain. It really got funny in the hospital when José finally showed up talking about adoption. Oh, and let’s not forget Abortion Wonderland. I wonder where Troy went. I wonder why he ain’t tried to find me. My grand prize? Being sold off into slavery to my corny-assed relatives. I’ve been toughing it out since day one and my eyes are still dry. Know why? ’Cause I’m a woman. Can’t be crying about every little heartbreak.”

  “Maybe you should. Maybe you wouldn’t be so hard and ugly. Now leave me alone. I want to cry.”

  “Fine,” Gayle said. “Cry. Drown in it, why doncha.” She slammed the door behind her. Anything to get away from all that crying. The last thing she wanted was to let go. Not with the flood she was carrying. Crying would only sharpen hurts she had pushed way back. And who wanted to feel all of that?

  She dumped José into his crib, then turned her back to keep from looking at him. He filled his lungs and screamed, suddenly being out of her arms. Gayle went to the window, determined not to be moved. Her son, equally insistent, refused to give in and yelled with all his power to be picked up.

  She turned, feeling the shadow of another body in her room. Her heart jumped, anticipating Cookie standing there with an apology, thick and soppy as she imagined it would be.

  It was Uncle Luther. “What’s all this hollering?”

  Gayle folded her arms.

  Uncle Luther took heavy steps to the fat little arms stretching up from the crib. He picked up José and started marching to the door.

  “My baby!”

  “Hush.”

  “He was only crying. I got him. I got him.”

  “Leave us men alone,” Uncle Luther said.

  Gayle stood on the top of the stairs watching José’s head nestled in Uncle Luther’s arms. She ran into Great’s room.

  “Miss Great, Miss Great, Uncle Luther took my baby.”

  “Um-hm.”

  “Miss Great, I said Uncle Luther took José. You know he hates us. What you think he gon’ do?”

  “Grabbed him out of your loving arms, did he?”

  Gayle sucked her teeth.

  “Don’t worry about the baby. He’s in the best hands he could be in,” Great said. “What worry me is all that stir ain’t boiled over.”

  Gayle moaned. Cookie, Cookie. Everything’s about Cookie.

  “They still mad at Cookie over that Sister Lloyd business. Won’t let her boyfriend see her.”

  Great looked at Gayle. “I can’t picture Cookie forgetting her place like that.”

  “Maybe her boyfriend put it in her head. Snaked it in there, being all slick and sly. You know how boys are. Tell you anything to get you to lie down.”

  This was where Great was supposed to plant an “um-hm.” Great just let
Gayle go on talking, wrapping her tongue around herself.

  “Feeling ugly?”

  Gayle laid her head down next to her great-grandmother. She felt Great’s fingers, long and coarse with age, caress her scalp, then her temples. She stuck her thumb in her mouth and thought, Mama used to do this—pat her hair and scratch her scalp.

  “Maybe I’m a little sorry,” she told Great. “But she hurt me like I ain’t never been hurt before. I go thinking we’re for real, like sisters looking out for each other. But as soon as Stacey jump in the picture she push me aside, so I had to pay her back. I thought she just gonna be standing up there with a big ‘Oops!’ on her face. And after church I was gonna say, ‘So there,’ and it would be payback between us. I didn’t know the whole world gonna fall apart.”

  “Now listen, Miss Fresh Thing, and listen good. Bible says there’s a time to put away your childishness and the time is now.”

  “I don’t read the Bible, Miss Great. I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You know ’zactly what I mean. Whatever mess you started with Cookie is done with. You have a bigger job ’head of you.”

  “What job?”

  “I seen it in a dream ’fore you stomp on in here. Thought it was my time ’cause I could see the light. I was rejoicing, shaking off my burdens and my aches, and was marching to the light. I felt something godly grip my shoulders and stop me from marching. Before me stood a gate. Not forged with pearls like you picture for heaven but a plain gate like out the yard. It opened and the baby crawled through. Emanuel. Then before my eyes he rose into a man and swung the gate wide open and led the congregation through, showing them the way, preaching and baptizing and saying the praises of the Lord . . . with all them Luthers looking down on him. You know, Sonny still laughs full and loud in paradise. Then I woke up looking at you.”

  Gayle sat straight up. “Not my baby.”

  “Hush that, child. He’s theirs as sure as you mine.”

  Gayle shook her head unh-unh.