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To my parents, Mathias and Nezzie Whaley, who shared their stories with me and encouraged me to be the best that I could be. I am so blessed to have had you as parents. Thank you for showing me that life’s battles are never mine alone but belong to the Lord.
1959
Mavis
“Y ‘all best come on, we gonna be late for church,” Momma called after us. I was the oldest of Liliamae and Rufus Butler’s four children, so it was my job to be sure that all of us were ready and out before Momma. I hurried all three kids out the door past Momma carrying their church shoes in their hands. We started our walk down the dusty dirt road headed toward Beulah Baptist Church. Momma walked several feet behind us as she met up with some of the other ladies from church. They became engaged in their conversations about next month’s church picnic and how Bufford Stubbs seemed to be raising all of his prices at the local general store. Bessie, Lionel, and Ella skipped carefree down the road in front of me.
“Y’all best stop kickin’ up that Alabama dirt, y’all gonna look like little pigs when we get to church.” I bellowed after them. “I slowed my steps down just enough to see if I could get a glance at Ed Proctor. I knew he would be working early this morning, cutting wood for Mrs. Mathews, who lived down the road from Beulah. I thought I could sneak a peek before Momma noticed; Momma had a strict rule about boys and me. There would be no fraternizing with anyone of the opposite sex on Sundays—especially a boy like Edward Proctor. I remember her words. I don’t know why you set your eyes on a man that finds it fit to work on Sundays instead of taking himself to the Lord’s house.
Momma couldn’t possibly continue to keep her tight hold on me. I would soon be eighteen. I wanted to experience life for myself, and I wanted to find out more about Edward Proctor. There he was, out in Mrs. Matthews’ front yard, stacking up kindling. Ed was a tall, muscular man with skin the color of dark smooth, chocolate. We had first taken a liken to each other about two months ago. Momma and I had gone to pick up a few things at Bufford Stubbs’ general store. I waited for Momma in the front of the store, keeping an eye on my brother and sisters.
Ed came into the store that morning looking to find work. Bufford Stubbs, the owner, wasn’t there, so he said he would go back and talk with him later. Before he could leave, Mrs. Matthews, who had recently lost her husband, asked Ed if he’d consider cutting some trees down in her yard. Agreeing to her proposal, he started the next day. Mrs. Matthews’ house was set far off the road less than a half-mile from Beulah. Ed was standing with his back toward me. He was shirtless. I stood watching as the sweat poured down his back, glistening in the sun. Each time he raised the ax and brought it down to split the wood, I could see the muscles in his strong arms and back flexing. My gaze must have caused him to sense that I was there. Laying down the ax, he turned in time to see me standing in the middle of the road gawking at him. I stood there in total embarrassment because both Ed and Momma caught me looking like a lovesick puppy. Momma would think of me as a brazen hussy if I didn’t get myself in check. It was too late. Ed was moving toward me. As the distance between us grew shorter, I remained mesmerized. The penetrating gaze Ed was giving me made me feel like I was going to catch on fire. I blocked Momma out of my thoughts and momentarily focused on the man walking toward me.
Ed
“Mavis, wait up,” I called out. I caught sight of her standing there in the middle of the road. Quickly forgetting about the pile of uncut wood, I headed toward the beauty.
Mavis Butler was a beautiful woman; she was small in stature with curvy hips and tiny feet. I liked watching her walk down the road, the way her hips swayed back and forth beneath the fullness of her purple-flowered Sunday dress. Catching up with her, she turned. Today she wore her long thick hair pulled up in a high bun that sat on top of her head. Mavis had a clean beauty, one that didn’t need adornment. When she smiled, it caused my heart to leap out of my chest.
“I see you done found yourself a job cutting down that old tree for Mrs. Matthews.” Shyly looking up at me through long dark lashes. “
“Yep, sure have; she got a lot of stuff around this old place that needs fixin’.” Using the back of my hand to wipe the sweat from my eyes.
“Yes, I am sure there is plenty that you are good at fixin.” Playfully, she batted her eyes. Before we could continue our playful banter, Mavis’s Momma and one of her church friends had caught up with us. Mrs. Butler pursed her lips and pointed her finger at me. I prepared myself for her tongue lashing.
“Please walk away from my daughter. A decent young man would never approach a young woman in the middle of the road and on a Sunday.” Mavis tried to intervene, but her Momma put up her hand, indicating that if Mavis knew what was good for her, she would let it lie. Mrs. Butler was also small in stature; she was a light-skinned woman who wore her hair pulled back into a tight bun that rested on the back of her head. Pursing her lips aged her features. Resting her hands on her broad hips, she finished what she had to say.
“Now, Mavis, I suggest that you get a move on and catch up with your brother and sister and let this young...” pursing her lips, “get on with his work.” Mavis gave me a mournful look without replying.
With a final glimpse of displeasure in her eyes, Mrs. Butler continued walking down the road toward the church. I knew this would not be the end of the discussion for Mavis. Mrs. Butler was not one who let go of things quickly. Mavis would receive several more tongue lashings about how she had embarrassed her mother in front of her prim church friends. Mavis’ Momma would never approve of me; according to her, my family was from the wrong side of the tracks and would only soil her daughter’s good reputation. I was bound and determined to prove Mrs. Butler wrong.
Mavis
The Alabama dust met us at the steps of Beulah Baptist Church. Before entering the church, I called after my brother and sisters.
“Y‘all sit down on the steps and wipe the dust off the bottoms of your feet before you put on your shoes.” Little Ella gave me a sassy reply.
“I wish I could wear my shoes to church. What good is it to have shoes that you ain’t allowed to wear but on Sunday?”
“Don’t sass me, girl. You best know how blessed you are even to have shoes to wear on Sunday,” I replied, ignoring her question.
Bessie, the youngest, sat down on the church step and pulled the rag out of her shoe and wiped the bottom of her feet. Lionel did the same. When we all had our shoes on, we entered the church. I didn’t answer Ella’s question, but I understood how she felt. I hated being so dirt poor that the only nice pairs of shoes we owned; we could only wear on Sundays. Our everyday shoes were so threadbare that they were held together with pieces of black electrical tape.
After Poppa lost his hand in the lumber factory, we lost everything. Momma had to take in wash just to make ends meet. Poppa became cold and distant, he stopped going to church and eventually packed up his things and left. That was almost a year ago. Momma was not quite the same. Something in her seemed to go right along with Daddy. There was a hollow bitterness that remained. Nothing we could do ever seemed to make her happy.
I dusted the dirt off our clothes the best I could. We were greeted at the front door by Pastor Willie Wright. Pastor Wright was a tall man with an enormous potbelly. The younger kids said that he was the closest thing to Santa Claus Escambia County had. As he reached his hand out to shake Momma’s, he kept his gaze on me.
I noticed his eyes never met Momma’s as she babbled on how excited she was about being on the church picnic committee. Instead, his eyes rested on me, darting from my eyes to my breasts. This feeling of uneasiness caused me to shift one foot to the other and stare down at my dusty bare legs stuffed into shoes two sizes too small. I tried pulling away from Momma, but she had a tight grasp on my arm. Pastor Williams continued his unrighteous gawking, and as he did so, he licked his dry lips as if he anticipated some savory treat coming his way.
I felt my stomach turn and twist. Momma was quite flirtatious in her banter with Pastor Williams. In her pretentious desire to be looked at as more than she was, she casually mentioned that she had baked an extra sweet potato pie for him.
Pulling sternly on my arm, she added, “I wish I would have thought about it sooner. Right after service, I’ll have Mavis walk it over to you.” I slowly brought my eyes up to meet with Pastor Williams’ again. His gaze made me feel as though he could see through my clothes. Looking at Momma with fear, I quickly blurted out what I thought would be a good excuse for not returning to church with the pie.
“Momma, I got a test tomorrow in school. I need to study.” With a syrupy sweet smile, Momma turned her eyes toward me while pinching the inside of my arm.
“Now, Honey, it will only take you a few minutes to run on down the road after service and drop this here pie off to Pastor Williams.”
Once again, there were no words I could speak to get me out of this situation other than, “Yes, Ma’am.”
Ed
Gulping half the water from the tin cup, I poured the rest over my head and wiped my face with the sleeve of my shirt. The coolness of the fresh Adam’s ale felt good running down my face. Laughing to myself, I thought of Mavis’ Momma. That woman would never find peace with me wanting to court her daughter.
My Momma always told me that no woman would have a man like me. I was too black. I learned to wear her words like a cloak, putting them on over my head and wrapping my arms around them. I embraced her bitterness like an old familiar friend.
Mavis had a way of making me feel whole, handsome, and wanted. The way I saw it, if we were ever to get married, our babies would come out just right. Brewton, Alabama, was a small town, and our little county in Escambia was even smaller. If Mavis’ Momma would have her way about it, she’d marry her off to Silas Wilkerson.
Silas was high-yellow with green eyes; he could almost pass for white. The only problem was Silas wasn’t sweet on girls. It was no secret, either. Half the folks in Escambia County knew it. No matter how hard poor old Silas tried to hide it, he just sort of stuck out as being different. Most folks just kept it hushed.
Mrs. Matthews would be back home soon. I promised her that I would have this wood stacked on the side of the house before I left. I figured if I did it real slow, I could stick around to see Mavis again. Church would be letting out any minute. I closed my eyes and let the passing breeze cool me off.
I could hear the choir singing the closing hymn. The sound of the voices mingling together did comfort my spirit. I guess Mavis’ Momma did speak a bit of truth when she said that Mavis had fallen for a man that didn’t find himself in the Lord’s house on Sunday. Maybe it was time to change some things in my life, and maybe going to church might just be one of those things. If going to church would change Mavis’ Momma’s mind about me, I was willing to give it a go.
Mavis
I sat at the end of the pew, hot as a dog in heat. Momma needed to take her hands off my life. In less than two weeks, I would be eighteen. I would be considered a grown woman by the state of Alabama. When would she realize that I no longer would be controlled by her selfish desires and needs?
It angered me that Poppa had left us all to fend for ourselves. I wondered where he had wandered off to—never giving any word that he was leaving. After he left, Momma took her loneliness out on me. Being the oldest wasn’t the easiest. Taking care of two small children and doing a boatload of chores started to wear me thin. I wanted to find out what life had to offer. I wanted to find out what Ed Proctor had to offer.
After church was over, Momma, Ella, Bessie, and Lionel busied themselves with fussing over Lucille Parks’ new baby. Momma and half the congregation women flocked around Lucille, squealing like it was the last baby in the world.
“Why ain’t she a beautiful little thing.” I could hear Momma say.
I knew this would be the perfect time to head back down the road in hopes that Ed was still cutting down that tree in Mrs. Matthews’ yard. I also knew that I would pay a high price for sneaking off, but Ed was worth the price. I eased myself toward the door while Momma’s back was turned and dashed down the steps. Not looking where I was going, I ran smack into old potbellied Pastor Williams.
With a plastered grin on his ashy lips, he sneered at me, “Now, where are you going off in such a hurry, with your pretty, little self?”
There was no longer a need for me to pretend that I liked him. It was clear he realized that I knew he was as low as an ant to the ground and had a mangy dog’s morals. I tried stepping aside, but he moved his large body in front of me.
“Now, pretty, little miss, I suggest you run along home and bring that pie back to me before I have to tell your Momma that you are a bad, little girl.”
“Hurry on back so that we can play church.” My eyes met his gaze. I turned my head as he brought his face close to mine, whispering in my ear.
I could feel the heat of his putrid breath as he brushed his face close to mine. He stepped aside, and I ran down the dusty road.
Ed
I stacked the last piece of wood, and there was nothing left for me to do but head home. I regretted not seeing Mavis one more time before I started back down the road toward Murder Creek. Before I could get my shirt over my head, I heard her calling my name.
“Ed, Ed, please still be here, she wheezed. That old nasty buzzard Pastor Williams outta be ashamed of himself.”
Mavis came running down the road with a trail of Alabama dust flying after her. Slowing down to catch her breath, she ran into my arms. Breathing at a rapid-fire pace.
“Baby, what you talkin’ ‘bout? I said, looking at her with confusion.
“That old Pastor Williams ain’t no man of the cloth, he ain’t nothin’ but a nasty old buzzard.” She shook her head in an attempt to slow her breathing down and find her words.
Still not understanding the urgency in her angst, I begged her to tell me again. “Mavis, girl, I don’t know what you talkin’ ‘bout. What did the Pastor do?”
Stopping for a moment, Mavis looked up the road, realizing that her Momma and her brother and sisters would soon be headed this way.
Frantically pulling me down the road, she said, “Let’s walk down by Murder Creek, and I’ll tell you what happened.” There was a small path behind Mrs. Matthews’ yard that led into the woods. You could follow the path until you got to Murder Creek Bluff. Mavis and I ran through Mrs. Matthews’ back yard until we disappeared into the woody patch that led to Murder Creek.
These backwoods had always been my haven. Whenever Daddy had too much to drink, I would head to the quietness of the woods and the soothing sound that the rushing water would make as it gently beat against the rocks that laid near the Bluff. When we were a safe distance from the road and the sting of Mavis’ Momma, we stopped and fell to our knees on a soft patch of grass close to the water’s edge. We both laid on our backs, looking up into the sky, letting the hot sun play over our bodies.
Rolling closer to Mavis, I exhaled deeply and ran my hand over her cheek, “Now, you safe, tell me what you talkin’ ‘bout. Why you call the Pastor a nasty buzzard?”
Mavis turned toward me; her chestnut eyes were pooling with tears. Biting her bottom lip and tucking it inside of her mouth, her body began to shake uncontrollably. Burying her head into my chest, no words needed to be spoken. Mavis was right. That so-called pastor was a dirty buzzard. We laid there for what seemed to be hours holding onto each other in the silence of the Bluff. The sun showed itself a golden tone, gently resting its brightness in the Alabama woods’ thickness.
Mavis
I wanted nothing more than to stay wrapped in the safe cocoon of Ed’s arms. Momma would soon have a posse after me if I didn’t make my way home. I didn’t want to think about the harsh words that I would be subject to when I entered the house. Momma never yelled or became angry. She would just bite into you with words that would leave marks on your spirit. My spirit needed some loving. I needed to be held and caressed back into knowing that I was worthy and capable. Ed knew how to do that.
For a moment, I lost all count of time. Rolling to his side, he pulled me to him. Slowly Ed drew his lips close to mine. They were warm and soft. Slowly parting mine, I could taste the earthiness of his sweat.
Pulling away, he chuckled, “Mavis Unis Butler, we best stop ourselves right here. You done got me all worked up.”
Sitting up, he turned his back to me. Suddenly a shadow of embarrassment and timidity overtook us both. Ed cleared his throat, gaining control over the bass in his voice; he spoke, “Mavis, I plan on doing right by you. You, the girl—you the girl that I wants to marry when the time is right.”
My heart quickened, feeling like it was coming to a full stop. A thousand thoughts raced through my head. Marry? Ed Proctor, he wanted to marry me. That meant he loved me.
Then suddenly, the moment of joy was broken by the thought of Momma; she would never allow me to marry Ed. Quickly, I cast this thought to the side, remembering that I would soon be eighteen. I could do what my heart said to do, and right now, my heart wanted nothing more than to be in love with Edward Proctor. Ed walked me back home, stopping short of the house. Momma would not take kindly seeing Ed right now. There was about another hour or two before the Alabama darkness would wrap its heavy cloak around the dusty road leading to our little house.
Standing clear from the view of Momma’s usual perch at the kitchen window, Ed gave me one last kiss goodbye. We whispered our declared love for one another before we parted ways. I turned and watched as he headed down the dirt road and turned onto the path that led back to Murder Creek Bluff. With my head cast low, I slowly made my way to the house to face my penance with Momma.
Ed
I wasn’t sure if it was the hoot owl making his night calls or my growling stomach. I hadn’t eaten a thing all day. A bowl of hot grits and stewed squirrel was calling my name. I prayed that I would have a little portion set aside for me. When I left for Mrs. Matthews’ this morning, Momma said that she would do her best to keep it warm.
I walked back down through the hollow and took the short cut leading back to Murder Creek Bluff. There wasn’t much of nothing around on this road. Our house sat on the edge of the ridge closest to Murder Creek. The only other house near the creek sat up on the hill and looked down over the Bluff. We never knew their names. Now and then, I’d see a girl come down to the creek’s edge and dip a bucket in to fetch water. Neither house had running water. We were all poorer than Alabama dirt.
Modern conveniences hadn’t made their way to anyone living near the Bluff. That old hoot owl called out again, leaving a weariness in the air that something wasn’t right. My stomach keeps calling me, but now there was a sound that I never heard before. It was the piercing sound of a woman screaming. Not being sure of the direction it was coming from, I started to run toward Murder Creek.
The screaming continued to pierce the air. I feared that when I arrived that whatever was happening to this poor soul would be her death.
Mavis
I took a deep breath and stepped onto the front porch. Momma was not looking out of the kitchen window like she usually did. This change in habit frightened me. The knot that had settled itself in the pit of my stomach grew tighter as I opened the screen door and walked into the kitchen. Looking over and seeing two pies sitting on the shelf of Momma’s pie cupboard suddenly caused my stomach to curdle like spoiled milk.
I immediately thought about nasty old buzzard of a Pastor. I wondered if Momma knew or even would care that the man was as slimy as the scum on the bottom of Murder Creek. I wanted to tell her about the encounter I had with him outside of the church, but I am sure Momma would not believe a word. The effort would fall on deaf ears. I was not in a position to tell Momma anything but sorry, and I wasn’t too sure she would even be willing to hear those words.
I saw her shadow emerge from her bedroom. Slowly walking into the kitchen, she did not utter a word. Going to the sink, she picked up a cup from the drainer, moved to the stove, and poured herself a cup of coffee from the percolator that sat on the back burner of the stove.
Before putting the cup to her lips, she turned and calmly spoke, “I am glad to see that you made it back home in one good piece.” Taking another sip and giving me a syrupy smile, she calmly retorted, “I suppose you done had supper because there ain’t none been saved for you.”
There were no more words spoken; she turned and went back to her room. I slowly brought my body down onto the kitchen chair. I wasn’t quite sure of what this new change in Momma’s countenance meant.
Ed
For the first time, my surroundings felt unfamiliar. I ran toward the Bluff, stopping long enough to listen for the screams. There was that silence, the kind that makes the hair on the back of your head stand up and leaves you breathless. Reaching the top of the Bluff and running to the ridge, I could see two figures struggling. The screams started again, no longer piercing but muffled. I finally got close enough to see the figures against the shadows. My breath was taken away by who and what I saw.
The girl that lived in the house at the top of the Bluff was lying on the ground; her clothes ripped from her body. Powerless to fight off the brutal attack, she lay defenseless trying to cover herself. It was evident I had arrived too late to have saved the young girl’s virtue, but all I could do was stop her from being attacked a second time.
“Leave her alone, get away from her,” I called out. I could now make out the other figure’s face. This cruel, senseless act had been my father’s doing. I was overtaken with shock. Poppa had abused my own Momma, but now he was taking this hatred out on this innocent creature. Indeed, my eyes were playing tricks on me. Pulling himself off of his victim, he turned, pulled up his pants, and wiped his hand across his face.
“Get the hell away from here if you know what’s good for you.” Poppa spit out his nasty words.
Without thinking, I leaped from my feet and onto my father’s back. Locking my hands around his neck, I held on as tightly as I could. I could feel him reaching into his back pocket for some object I could not see, then suddenly there was a feeling of wetness running down my face and sharp pain. Poppa had taken out his pocketknife and sliced my face. I could feel the blade cutting through the flesh and muscle. I couldn’t help but let go of the hold I had around his neck. I felt weak and powerless. Letting go, I fell to the ground in a useless heap.
Even amid the chaos, I could hear his hackling, “Didn’t I tell you this wasn’t none of your business. If you had just left me to my business, none of this would be happenin.’”
“I am sorry, mister,” the young girl muttered. Reaching for her tattered dress, she looked at me and ran off toward the top of the Bluff; she left me alone to fend after myself.
Mavis
Almost three weeks have passed since I saw Ed. I thought he would have found a way to wish me a Happy Birthday. My heart sank when the day came and went without even a word from him. It seemed as if Momma had forgiven me. Going back to Beulah had been easier than I thought.
Pastor Willie Williams’ little secret of his love for young girls was no longer hidden in the darkness. The following Sunday, Miss Lilly’s daughter, Liddy, came running from the outhouse, screaming that Pastor Williams tried to look at her lady parts.
After Liddy came forward, a slew of other young girls from the congregation came out of the woodworks. I never did. I kept my secret hid deep inside, not wanting Momma to have something else to hold over my head about Pastor Williams. I knew Momma had her eyes set on finding another daddy for her three little ones. I believed she had her sight set on Pastor Williams. Sharing my secret would only leave the gaping hole that was growing between Momma and me bigger.
Praise God on high that she could now see for herself what kind of man Pastor Willie was. When I leave Escambia County, I could now rest assured that nasty Pastor Williams would be far away from my baby brother and little sisters. The church board voted him out, installing the new Pastor.
Pastor Hugh Riley was a distinguished man in his late fifties. The demeanor in which he carried himself was a stark contrast to that of the former Pastor. The congregation settled itself back into the business of praising God and doing the work of the gospel. Pastor Riley took his place at the pulpit with ease and grace.
Momma was in her glory as the head of the church picnic committee. Keeping busy organizing who brought what pies, cakes, and covered dishes left little time for Momma’s diligent watch over my comings and goings. Momma’s preoccupation and love for bossing others around gave me just enough freedom to feel like I could venture beyond our porch step without hearing questions of who I was with and where I was going. The church picnic was more than a casual event in Escambia County; it was the summer’s social event. Folks from all the local Baptist churches would gather for Beulah’s end of the summer tent revival. Twenty pastors would deliver the word of God for three days under a huge tent set up on the grounds behind Beulah.
On the third day, the men would push tables together for a huge feast. Children would play games, couples would walk down by Murder Creek, and men would sit around talking about sharecropping and whether they would get fair prices at the market. Bessie, Ella, and Lionel were off with their friends leaving me free of not having them under my feet for a few hours.
I believed God had given me the perfect timing to find my way up the road to Mrs. Matthews’ yard. I prayed Ed would be there. Quickly sneaking off the church grounds, I walked down the dusty road with my heart skipping a beat in anticipation of seeing Ed. Reaching Mrs. Matthews’ yard, I noticed the big oak that once covered the yard was now gone, and the kindling was neatly stacked on the side of the house.
I called out, “Ed, Ed, are you here?” Walking behind the house, I followed the trail that led to the Bluff. My heart sank. Ed was nowhere to be found. I sauntered to the main road finding my way back to church. I sat down under a tree and quietly cried. My thoughts were flying, where are you, Ed, and do you still love me?
Ed
I ran for miles until I reached Murder Creek Bluff. Looking down into the raging water, I saw Poppa’s reflection. Reaching out below the murky water were the hands of the young girl Poppa tormented at the edge of the creek. Suddenly, coldness and a feeling of wet stickiness poured down into my eyes and coated my vision. I saw the face of the young girl distorted in pain, screaming in agony, Please, no, please, I’ll be good, please no.
I tried to sit up. Cold sweat ran down my face, burning my eyes. I reached to bring my hand up to locate where the pain was coming from when I heard a voice say, “No, son, don’t bother it. You need to let it heal.”
I opened my eyes to see Doc Patterson wringing out a towel in a small pan of blood-tinged water. Bringing the towel over to me, he sat down on the side of the bed.
I grabbed his wrist, asking, “Why am I here? What happened?”
Doc Patterson was Escambia County’s one and only doctor. I could vaguely remember what happened; what I did remember caused my stomach to turn in disgust.
Doc Patterson tried to explain, “Son, you been in a terrible accident. Somebody found you down by Murder Creek.”
I let go of his wrist, allowing him to dap at the wound on my face. Asking the question, but not sure I wanted the answer, I groaned, “Where’s Poppa and Momma?”
Doc Patterson continued patting the side of my face with the bloody towel. The feeble attempt of a comforting smile brought me no relief, and neither did his answer to my question, “Well, son, nobody in Escambia County has seen them over the last two weeks.”
I sat up.
“I’ve been here for two weeks?”
Hesitating before answering, he threw the towel back into the basin.
“No, son, you have been here for two days. We found you lying face down in a ditch near Murder Creek Bluff. You must have tried to reach the main road; you were too weak to get back home. You’ve been lying in that ditch for almost a week. You hit your head when you fell.”
Looking down at his feet, he was unsure of what to tell me about the wound on my face.
“Son, you are going to have a__”
“Doc, give me a mirror.”
Slowly he rose from the bed and walked over to the other side of the room.
“Son, the wound is still pretty raw. It’s going to look better in a few weeks. You were running a pretty bad fever.”
I demanded again, “Give me the mirror.”
Handing me the small handheld mirror, I looked at my reflection. Doc Patterson walked toward the door; he stopped and turned, “Remember son__”
“I am not your son,” I bellowed back at him.
As the door closed behind him, I threw the mirror and watched as it shattered into pieces. Poppa had turned me into what Momma always said I was, ugly.
My right eye appeared lower than the left; the jagged scar ran from the top of my ear to the bottom of my chin. It had left the skin around it puffy and discolored. Doc Patterson’s handiwork, of course, black stitches were a resemblance of a Frankenstein creation. The mishappened incident was no accident. Poppa’s rage had finally reached a boiling point. It had surged from its place of containment. I could no longer stay still waiting until his anger became my rage. I needed to leave this place. I needed to leave Escambia County. I needed to leave the whole state of Alabama. Making a new start would have to be the plan; putting it into action was the problem. Throwing my legs over the side of the bed, I stood to my feet. A sudden intense, stabbing, electric shock-like pain suddenly grabbed me and brought me to my knees.
I called out, “Please, somebody, help me.”
Doc Patterson came through the door. Helping me back to the bed, I crumbled into his arms, weeping. After a few minutes, I gained my composure. I was able to face the facts of my situation. Doc Patterson told me that the nerves in my face had been severed. The pain that I was feeling would be part of me now. My strength was gone, and so was my will to carry out a plan for leaving Escambia. I settled back into bed and stayed there for the remainder of the week. Doc Patterson might not have been the best doctor I could have had, but he was the most compassionate. Nursing me back to health wasn’t an easy job, but Doc Patterson took it on wholeheartedly. Even though I had not completely healed, I felt strong enough to see my plan through. Doc Patterson did his best to convince me that I needed to rest a while longer. With a little money in my pocket from work, I had done for Mrs. Matthews, I could finally be free. I knew it was time to see my way out of Escambia County. There was only one dark spot in this plan, leaving Escambia would mean leaving Mavis. There was a heaviness that started to tighten my heart. I knew it would be best for both of us if we just let what had started brewing between the two of us go. Momma was right. Wouldn’t no woman want a man as black and ugly as me, anyhow. I thanked Doc Patterson for all that he did and headed to the general store to buy what I would need for the trip ahead.
Mavis
When Ed spoke to Bufford Stubbs, his voice floated through the air like the scent of honeysuckle on a warm summer day. When I heard it, I realized how much I missed that deep baritone sweetness. There was no indication that Ed was struggling through a great deal of physical pain. I wasn’t quite sure of what had occurred, but now he wore a dark grey fedora covering his eyes and a heavy coat and work boots. Ed didn’t notice that I was standing there waiting for Momma, who was shopping in the back of the store. Usually, Becky Stubbs, Bufford’s oldest daughter, would be working at the counter, but today she wasn’t there. Instead, Bufford Stubbs, the store owner, operated the front of the store this morning. Momma and I had agreed that Ed and I would only be cordial toward each other in public, that’s if we happened to see each other. Momma had a strict policy about courting before the age of eighteen, but I was eighteen now, those rules no longer applied, and Momma knew it.
I am sure that she assumed that I had lost interest in Ed.
We no longer bumped into each other on our way to church. Momma was glad our relationship had come to a sudden stop. Momma might have been satisfied, but Ed had broken my heart. There was never a word, no warning of his sudden loss of interest. Was it something that I said? More than likely, it was Momma’s fault. No man wanted to have to fight Momma’s hard ways. A part of me resented her for the hold she had. Neither of us had spoken on the subject of Ed’s sudden departure, but Momma knew that I blamed her for what happened between Ed and me. It had been three weeks since we last saw each other. Cordial was one thing, but Ed was not even friendly. Keeping his head tucked into his jacket, he never let his gaze meet mine. Ed sat two cans of pork and beans and a small tin of saltines down on the counter. Turning his head slightly toward me, I could now see a large bandage taped to the side of his face. I gasped in shock.
When did this terrible thing happen? I wanted to run into his arms and find out why and when this horrible thing had happened, but with Momma in the back of the store, I knew that it wasn’t the wisest choice.
Pulling the grey felt fedora low over his eyes, he said to Bufford, “These here beans still two cans for twenty cents?”
Moving the tobacco to one side of his cheek, Bufford answered, “Yep, ain’t that what the sign says? I guess a darky like you can’t read a lick?”
Ed pulled the fedora even lower over his eyes and yanked the collar of his jacket up; he laid two dollars on the counter, which Bufford quickly snatched up and put into the cash register—knowing that Ed only owed Bufford forty cents. I stood quietly, waiting to see if Ed realized that old man Stubbs had swindled him. Bufford put the beans and the tin of crackers into a brown paper bag and shoved the bag across the counter to Ed. With a snide sneer on his face, feeling like he had gotten away with his con, Bufford said to Ed, “Nice doing business with you.”
I knew Momma would skin me alive if I ever spoke to a white man how I was getting ready to open my mouth to Bufford Stubbs, but I was willing to take the skinning. I moved aside so that old man Bufford could see my face before I spoke. I swallowed hard and stepped up to the front of the counter.
“Mr. Bufford, I don’t means no harm, but I think you done overcharged this here gentleman for them beans and that tin of crackers.”
Ed turned in surprise when he realized it was me. I could tell that he wasn’t expecting to see me this morning, here at the store. I could see the red flash of anger boiling up in Bufford’s eyes, he was about to tear into me something awful, but before he could, Momma had reached me first. Grabbing me by the back of my head, she pulled me by the hair.
Turning me around, she bellowed my name, “Mavis Unis Butler.” Slapping me squarely in the face, I stumbled backward from the blow, in shock of what had happened.
I could hear her words as she humbly uttered them to Bufford, “Mr. Bufford, I am so sorry about this fast tail girl. I don’t know what she was thinking. Please, Mr. Bufford, she’s as sorry as sorry can be. Believe me when I say that as soon as we are out of your way, I am going to beat her close to dead.”
I was still recovering from the blow when Momma muttered between clenched lips, “Tell Mr. Bufford that you was wrong and that you as sorry as can be.”
I kept my mouth closed, refusing to utter any such apology, knowing that my choice would bring serious repercussions as soon as we left the store.
“Please don’t hurt her anymore, the extra money don’t make no difference to me; he can keep it,” Ed said in a hoarse voice.”
Bufford reached behind the counter; we all stopped and flinched, thinking he was going for his rifle. We were relieved to discover that he was only reaching for the tin tobacco cup. Bufford spat the brown liquid into the cup and bellowed after us.
“All you darkies need to get out of my store, and I do mean now before I have myself a good shooting time.”
Ed grabbed the bag, and Momma laid the items that she had planned on purchasing on the counter, and we all quickly left the store without looking back.
When we were all out of earshot of old man Bufford, Momma hissed at me, “Mavis Unis Butler, you done let this fool of a boy get in your head and probably your pants too; now look at what he’s done to us all.”
Momma turned and gave Ed a menacing look. “You put this fool talk into this girl’s head.” I hissed back at Momma, “Momma, ain’t nobody put nothing in my head. If you want to keep being white folk’s little mammy, then that’s what you can do. I don’t wanna do it no more.”
Momma stopped in her tracks, turning to look at me with both hurt and vinegar in her eyes. She spat the words back at me, “You’ll need to pack your bags and you in this- this so-called man of yours needs to head out of Escambia.” Momma continued to have her say, “Before sundown, I want you both out of Alabama before they come hunting for all of us. You know good and well Bufford ain’t just gonna let this go. We could wake up in the middle of the night with a cross burning in the front of the house.” Momma started stomping down the road toward home. Stopping, she turned and bawled at Ed, “They can find you swinging from a tree if you want to, but you ain’t taking the rest of my family with you. You can take this fast tail girl with you wherever you two decide to go.”
I knew that day that I could no longer stay home with Momma. I was now on my own. Momma had never been physically cruel to me in the past, but she had been given no other choice in the situation I had placed her in. We were living in times where wrong words spoken to a white man could get you killed. I knew what I had done had cost me my home. I knew Momma acted out of protection for our family. The pain that she caused hurt me to the core, but I understood why she did what she did. Jim Crow still lived and breathed in Escambia County. I knew it full well, but I was dog tired of being walked on, and I no longer was willing to hold my breath for the sake of some pretended peace that didn’t exist for poor, black folks. Taking my side in the situation would have put us all in danger. Momma let me come home to pack some of my things. That night Ed came and sat on the porch with me.
When the sun started to fall and change into darkness, Momma reminded Ed that tomorrow would come early, and the two of us would need to make our way away from her home and out of Escambia County, far from the state of Alabama. Ed’s condition was poor. The wound on his face had started to weep under the bandage. Looking at him caused me to wince. I spoke softly to him, wanting to care for his suffering,
“Ed, we need to get you to a doctor. Tell me how this happened.” Dismissing my desire to nurture him, he gently kissed away my words before I could insist.
“You never mind about this scar. I’m going to be just fine, just fine.”
I sat silently looking at him for a moment, realizing that everything I knew and loved was suddenly about to change. The three weeks away from each other seemed to disappear for the both of us. It was as if time had stood still. I wanted to know what had happened that kept us apart. We needed to leave, safety was first, but Ed knew that my mind would never be settled unless he told me the whole truth. Picking up the small bag that Momma let me pack, I sat it on my lap and opened it, pulling out a handkerchief held together with a safety pin.
“Momma gave me this; she’s been saving it for a while. It’s enough to buy us two train tickets out of Alabama.”
All Ed could do was shake his head and say, “That’s a blessing. We will need to get moving.”
I took the handkerchief and pinned it on the inside of my blouse for safekeeping. Closing the suitcase, I handed it to Ed, and we stepped off the porch into the foggy night.
Ed
After we left Mavis’ house, there was a sense of loneliness that seemed to set in for her. I knew she would miss her folks, but I also knew we would risk a lot if we stayed. We found ourselves walking alongside a dark, dusty road not too far from Murder Creek Road. Mavis held tight onto my hand. The night started to grow darker. I knew if we could just make it to the end of the road, we could get a ride to Birmingham Station to get a train. Just before I could put my mind to it, I heard the sound of an old pickup truck racing to catch up with us on the side of the road. There was nowhere to run or to hide. Bufford slowed down beside us and rolled down the window.
“Looky here, looky, here.” Bufford had three other men in the truck with him. I knew that we were looking at trouble. The two men in the back were passing a bottle of moonshine between them. Holding tight to Mavis’ hand, we took off toward the woods. We kept going until we reached the patch of woods that I knew a truck could not travel. We ran in a zig-zag pattern, maintaining sight of Bufford’s headlights in the distance. I could feel my pulse quicken and my heart racing. When we were safe inside the woody patch, we stopped to catch our breath. It was starting to get dark, but there was enough light that I could still see the terrified look on Mavis’ face. I placed a hand to her lips, beckoning her to remain silent. I knew these woods like the back of my hand. If we kept running, we’d end up near Murder Creek Bluff. A hidden path would lead us to the road where most folks traveled back and forth. There were only two houses that sat on this road, one was mine, and the other was a lonely older woman who lived with a young girl. Somebody would be sure to spot us and give us a ride into town. Bufford and his posse would have to leave the truck and chase us on foot.
I pulled Mavis close to me so I could whisper in her ear, “We gonna have to run fast and as quiet as we can be. Do you understand me?” Mavis silently shook her head. We took off and stayed low. We made it to the end of the woody patch near the shallow end of Murder Creek. We sat down and propped ourselves up beside an old rough elm tree. Soon it would be pitch dark. I dare not close my eyes. It had been days since sleep had come to me. We sat upright listening to that old hoot owl, telling the woods that it was up all night too. After a while, the sun peeked its head over the horizon.
I looked over at Mavis. Still sitting with her back propped against the elm, her eyes were as big as saucers. Bufford and his men had not pursued us into the woods. That could only mean one thing; they were waiting until our defenses were down. Spooking us would give men like Bufford more pleasure than harming us at this point. Once, he tortured us to the point of fearing for our lives; he knew he would have control over us. I promised myself that I’d never let anyone control me again, and I sure couldn’t do that to Mavis.
Leaving Escambia County would mean that Poppa would no longer have his hold over me. I would be free to find my place in the world. Now that Mavis would be beside me, I was sure that together we would be fine. I started to wonder where Poppa and Momma had gone. A part of me wondered if Momma ever came looking for me, did she even know what Poppa did, did she even care? Would Poppa notice that I was gone? If the two of them were still in Escambia County, I am sure he’d come huntin’ me down. It was early.
Could Poppa have spent the night drinking the moonshine he kept out in the back of the barn? Which would only mean one thing for Momma; she would be in for a beating. It was how it came. If I were not there to soften Poppa’s blows, Momma would have to take the brunt of it. The last bad beating left her eye permanently swollen shut. The brain-stabbing pain hit me again, making the right side of my head feel like someone had hit me with the back of a shovel.
I stood up and stretched out the stiffness from my back. I had lost feeling in the left side of my face, which I guess you could say was a blessing. It kept me from thinking about the botched-up job Doc Patterson did with stitching me up. It had been two days since Doc Patterson had changed the bandage. I closed my eyes and winced both from the pain and memory.
That night, less than a few weeks ago, down at Murder Creek was not such a distant recollection. Since Poppa had discovered my hiding place, peace had become elusive. My life was full of unrest and strife, and now Mavis, too, would be part of this tragedy if I didn’t get us out of Alabama. If I had only stayed hidden behind the bushes and kept quiet, maybe none of this would have happened. Poppa was raging mad that night, he was looking for me, and when he couldn’t find me, he took all his anger out on that poor young girl who was trying to fill a water bucket. I couldn’t just sit there watching him take her virtue from her as he did. Leaping without thinking, I ran to challenge Poppa and stop his wild madness.
This scene of misery and deprivation would haunt me for years. I blinked the pain away from my eyes and put my reminiscing on the back burner of my mind and set myself right to start thinking about Mavis. The morning was misty and dreary. We would need to make an early start of it. Mavis’ Momma made it clear that we needed to be headed out on the first train moving before the day got good and started. Mavis stood to her feet and brushed her hands over the dark blue trousers that she was wearing.
“Ed, I am scared. What if Bufford and those other men are still out there?”
“Mavis, I know how scared you are, but everything is gonna be okay. I reached for her, holding her tightly in my arms. We gonna walk around Murder Creek Bluff and get back on the road.”
“Ed, those men could have killed us. We gotta get out of Escambia. I don’t think I can walk anymore. I am so tired.” Mavis rested her head on my chest and let out a sigh. Lifting her head from my chest, I looked down into her chestnut brown eyes. I could feel the fear. I needed her to know that we would be safe soon.
Speaking words that were full of concern and worry, she said, “Ed, you need to see a doctor. This bandage does not look good.” I adverted my eyes in an attempt to avoid her questioning. I took her hand, kissing the palm.
“Baby, I gonna be just fine; this old scar is gonna heal itself up in no time,” I murmured. Mavis moved her hand gently to my face. I instinctively pulled back. Taking a deep breath and pursing her lips, she chose her words carefully before speaking.
“Ed, if you can’t tell me the whole truth about how this terrible thing has done happened to you, then how am I supposed to trust you with all we ‘bout to go through?”
Protectively, pulling the collar of my dirty jacket around my face, I did my best to shrink into it, avoiding her penetrating gaze. Again, there was a surge of pain that radiated from my ear down into my jaw. The pain was growing in intensity. I could feel a fever beginning to brew. My skin felt warm and clammy. I could hear my blood rushing, I have had better days, but I knew I needed to keep my strength up for Mavis. Mavis reached out again to run her hand over my forehead, which I did not pull away this time.
“Ed, you got a fever. We do need to get you to a doctor.” I closed my eyes, enjoying the coolness of her touch.
“Baby, we ain’t got time to worry ‘bout a doctor right now. If your Momma is right about old man Bufford, he’ll be planning something for us today. We best be on our way. I will be fine as soon as we far from Alabama.” I picked up Mavis’ suitcase and took her by the hand, and we started to walk the path that would lead us to the main road.
Mavis
Trying hard to believe Ed, I squeezed his fingers; I could feel the fever rising in his body. By the time we made it to the main road, I was tired, dirty, and hungry. We kicked up Alabama dirt into our nostrils. All I wanted was a good bath and something to eat. The early morning sun started to rise along with the warmth of the morning.
“Girl, even with all that dirt on your face, you still the prettiest thing south of dixie,” Ed turned to me and said.
“Why, thank you, Mr. Proctor, that’s mighty sweet of you to say. I knew he was doing his best to keep my spirits up, so I gave him my best smile and a dose of sarcastic southern accent.
We both snickered at each other for still dreaming our young dreams. For just a moment, I felt like things hadn’t changed. I pictured the two of us still sitting on my front porch sipping on Momma’s sweet tea. Our daydreaming was suddenly interrupted by the blast of a horn. Ed and I hurried to the side of the road, overwhelmed with the fear that Bufford and his buddies were back. Looking behind us, we both signed with relief to discover it was Silas Wilkerson. Silas and I had gone to high school together. Both Ed and I stood on the side of the road as Silas slowed his old pickup truck down and stopped.
My heart was still beating a mile a minute, relieved to know it wasn’t Bufford Stubbs. “Hey, you two, whatcha doing walkin’ out her this time of the mornin’?” Silas rolled down the window and called out after us.
“Silas, me and Ed gotta get out of Escambia. Can you give us a ride to Birmingham Station?” Running over to Silas, knowing that we didn’t have time for a long explanation, I quickly said.
“What y’all do to get yourselves in trouble?” Silas looked around hesitantly, his eyes big as saucers. Swallowing before speaking. Silas looked at the bandage on Ed’s face, and the feeling of fear began to overtake me again. I couldn’t catch my breath. I felt as though the ground was going to swallow me whole.
“Please, Silas, you gotta help us. You are our last chance. Please take us to Birmingham,” I begged him. Silas took a deep breath, reached over, and unlocked the back door of his truck. Ed and I climbed in.
“I don’t know what the two of you have gotten yourselves into, and I’m sure that I don’t wanna know. I will be grateful if you keep yourselves out of view of the window as much as you can until we outta Escambia.” Turning and looking at the both of us before moving down the road.
Ed and I lowered ourselves down in the back of the truck so that passersby did not see us. Silas started down the road. We knew the risk that he was taking in helping us. If Bufford Stubbs ever found out that he helped us get out of Escambia, Silas would indeed be in a boatload of trouble. The closest train station was in Birmingham, Alabama; it was a three-hour drive. Silas did not ask us to explain why we needed to leave so quickly, and we chose not to volunteer any explanation. The less Silas knew, the better. Time had passed as we slept in the back of Silas’s truck. Three hours and fifteen minutes later, Silas pulled in front of Birmingham Station.
“Y’all stay safe, and I wish y’all the best of luck.” Turning and looking back at us, Silas pulled away from the curb, leaving us standing in front of Birmingham Station. A sudden lump formed in my throat. Ed looked tired and ragged. Momma was right. Life on our own would not be a comfortable journey. I looked toward the sky and thanked the Lord for his blessings. Lord, thank you, you always show up when we need you.
Ed
It had been three days since I had eaten. I was beginning to feel weak and feverish. I could no longer hide my discomfort from Mavis. My legs were starting to quiver. Looking around, I saw a bench near the front of the station.
“Mavis, I’m gonna need to sit down for a minute or two before we go lookin’ for our tickets.” Venturing over to the bench, we both sat down.
“Ed, we gonna have to find something to eat and clean ourselves up a bit before we get on the train.”
Taking the pack off my back, I dug around and found the tin of crackers. I handed one to Mavis; her lips were slightly parted in anticipation of the dry cracker. Running her hand across my forehead caused my body to tremble. My heart felt heavy for what I had put her through, but my body felt the heat of desire mixed with the fever brewing inside me. Birmingham was a bustling city. Folks were coming and going to and from the train station. I knew I needed to rest. I laid my head on Mavis’ shoulder and closed my eyes.
“Mavis, I just need to sit here for a spell. We’ll be fine. I promise,” I whispered. I lifted my head and looked around; nothing was proving to me that we would be fine, but for some reason, because I was here with Mavis, I believed that we would be.
“Well, I guess we need to be getting on to the next leg of our journey.” After some time of sitting, I opened my eyes. I stood to my feet, feeling a little stronger. I put the pack back onto my back, took Mavis by the hand, and grabbed her suitcase, and we walked into the train station to purchase a ticket. There was only one problem with our plan. We hadn’t talked about where we were heading. I was hoping a sign would come from somewhere, pointing us in the right direction, and just at that moment, it did. There was a sign inside the station door. The sign said, Black Steelworkers and domestic workers needed in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.
“Well, Mavis, I guess Pittsburgh is gonna be our new home.”
“Well, Ed, I believe so.” Mavis looked at me in agreement. An hour later, we had managed to buy our tickets, with a little money left over that she tucked back into the handkerchief and pinned back to her blouse for safekeeping. A kindly Pullman porter, whose real name happened to be George, helped us settle in our seats. George was a regal older gentleman who presented himself as someone the younger porters respected.
Being a Pullman porter was a hard job, working long hours. Mavis and I were thankful George was there when he was. Mavis and I encountered an elderly white man who insisted on us giving up our seats, even though the Interstate Commerce Commission had banned segregated passenger trains in 1955. George was able to defuse the situation with grace and discretion delicately. Mavis said God had angels along the way to ensure our safety.
“Father bless your name for your protection and those you have provided along the way,” Mavis prayed as we settled into our seats. I sat quietly, listening to Mavis talk with this God she so loved. There was little I could say. I did not grow up hearing about or talking to God. Praying seemed to bring her such peace. I rested my head against her shoulder and closed my eyes, feeling protected, just like Mavis had prayed. After a few minutes, I found myself drifting off to sleep and feeling far away from Birmingham and Mavis.
I stood alone on the edge of Murder Creek’s Bluff, looking into the rippling water. I could hear her voice echoing in the distance.
“Please don’t do this to me, please, I’ll be good, I’ll be good, I promise.” Poppa put his hands around her neck, squeezing. There was a thrashing sound. Suddenly the blood started to pour through my fingers. I screamed out in my sleep. I could feel Mavis shaking me to consciousness.
“Ed, wake up, Ed, you gonna get us kicked off this train.”
Clearing my eyes from the fog, I ran my hands down my face wiping the cold sweat away. I could feel my body trembling. Mavis sat holding onto me, cradling my wet head in her lap, pressing her cool hands to my damp brow until finally, the nightmare that had taken hold of me released its vise grip. I drifted back into a dreamless sleep.
Mavis
Ed was cold and damp with sweat. The fever in his body still had not broken. I knew he needed medical help if we were ever going to make it to Pittsburgh in one piece. I sat on the edge of my seat, praying George would come back down our aisle. People were getting on and off at various stops. Soon I could see George helping passengers onto the train. There were loads of black men and women who were traveling with small children. They carried everything they owned in suitcases stuffed to the brim. I could smell the aroma of fried chicken rising from the bag of a woman who sat across from me. Traveling with two small children that could not have been any older than five or six, she settled them in the seat beside her—admonishing them to be on their best behavior. The woman looked over at Ed and me. I am sure we must have looked a fright. Me with dirt still smudged on the front of my blouse, and Ed, now drifting to sleep, propped up on my shoulder.
“Hi, my name is Ophelia Clement, but all my friends call me Queenie.” Smiling hesitantly, introducing herself.
Queenie was a woman with a warm, friendly smile and a thick southern accent. Forgetting my manners, I remembered she was waiting for me to tell her my name.
“Oh, my name is Mavis Butler, and this is my- husband, Ed.”
I silently asked God for forgiveness with my little white lie. In my heart, I knew that Ed and I were soulmates, so I told myself it wasn’t a total lie.
“Honey, your honey, don’t look so good,” Queenie said, taking a second look at Ed. Letting out a little smirk at her play on words, she started fishing around in the large carpet bag that sat on the floor in front of her feet. Pulling out a small glass bottle with a cork stopper, she handed it to me.
“That looks like a nasty wound.” Queenie dug back into her bag, and after a second, she pulled out a roll of clean gauze and some paper tape. My heart skipped a beat. Somehow the Lord had placed Queenie where she needed to be. Queenie seemed to sense my gratitude before I could speak the words.
“Back home, I’m a midwife, and any good midwife worth her salt don’t leave home without the proper supplies. My good buddy, George, told me your husband needed some lookin’ after. He switched my seat.”
Tears began to pool in my eyes. I had no words for the miracle that God had placed in front of me. I quickly woke Ed. His forehead was still warm, and the bandage on his face was dirty and oozing.
“Don’t worry, none; this salve will keep the wound from getting infected.” Looking at Queenie with concern, she relieved my worries.
“Would you like me to change his bandages?” Queenie asked, seeing my hesitancy,
Still too overwhelmed, not being able to find the words, I shook my head, yes. I gently patted Ed waking him from his sleep.
“Ed, sweetie, George found you some help. Queenie here is a midwife. She’s going to change the bandage.” Ed momentarily opened his eyes and sat up.
“Thank you kindly, ma’am,” Ed whispered softly.
Queenie slid out of her seat and switched seats with me. Her two little ones were busy looking out of the window. They were handsome little boys and very well behaved. As Queenie changed the bandage on Ed’s face, I couldn’t help to think about our future together.
Where would we live when we arrived in Pittsburgh? When would we get married? How many children would we have? All these thoughts bombarded my mind. I knew that we would have many obstacles to face. I tried to slip these thoughts to the back of my mind, but the more I thought of Momma, the more my heart began to ache for home. Queenie had quickly applied the salve and change the bandage on Ed’s face.
“Here, you keep this. The bandage will need to be changed tomorrow. Your husband should still see a doctor when you get to wherever you are going.” Handing me the roll of gauze and the tape, she offered me a warm smile.
“Thank you, Queenie. I am not sure what we would have done if you wouldn’t have come along.”
Queenie gave me a warm smile as we switched our seats. Ed repositioned himself and rested his head on my shoulder again. After a few minutes, we had all settled ourselves and drifted off to sleep.
Ed
I sat up and looked out of the window. The train interior was dark except for the flashlight the porter had attached to his belt loop and the overhead lights’ soft glow. Mavis was fast asleep. Sleep seemed to be the thing we both needed the most. I felt the fever start to break. I had a bit more energy. I sat up, careful not to wake up Mavis.
I could still make out the outline of her face in the soft glow of the cabin light. Mavis was a beautiful woman with skin the color of warm honey and a disposition just as warm. Every time she’d looked at me with those big, chestnut brown eyes, I knew I should tell her the truth about what happened that night at Murder Creek. Running away just seemed to be the coward’s way out. Knowing what happened at the general store with Bufford left us no choice. We had to go. I didn’t want Mavis to think I was a coward, but that’s how I was feeling. I didn’t stand up for her, I let her fight my fight, and she’s lost every good thing she’s ever known. I took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Mavis opened her eyes and looked at me; She spoke in a whisper.
“Ed, are you feelin’ better?”
I turned and faced her, “Yes, much better, and I have you to thank.” In the dim light, I could see the glow of her eyes.
There was something innocent and pure that rested in them. Mavis moved closer to me in her seat. I could feel the warmth of her breath. Drawn to her sweet soft lips, I reached over and ran the back of my hand across her cheek. Mavis’ Momma had forbidden us to display any type of physical closeness to one another. Being this close to Mavis without her Momma’s eyes watching between us was a new feeling for both of us. Taking advantage of the moment, I leaned over and gently placed a kiss on her lips. I could hear her give a soft moan.
“Mavis Butler, I love you.” The words just seemed to slip from my lips before I knew I had said them. Mavis lightly chuckled and then said the words I thought a woman would never speak to me.
“Why, Edward Proctor, I love you, too.”
“Why ain’t the two of you as sweet as sugar pie?” From out of the blue, we heard a voice say. Mavis and I could feel the heat of Queenie’s eyes from across the aisle staring at us. Even in the dim light, I knew Mavis was blushing from being caught sneaking my forbidden kiss.
“Ain’t nothin’ sweeter than a married couple in love,” Queenie squealed. I suddenly felt ashamed of our unmarried state.
I wanted to do right by Mavis. I had never given it any thought that we would be starting a new life together when we reached Pittsburgh. I guess it was only natural that Queenie would assume we were already married. I owed it to Mavis to keep our secret from prying eyes and ears. I rose to the occasion and returned a reply to Queenie.
“A man can’t help but steal a little sugar when he has a wife as pretty as mine.” We both giggled, knowing our little secret. Mavis wrapped her arm around mine and snuggled closer to me in her seat. I silently vowed to make an honest woman out of Mavis when we got to Pittsburgh, that’s if she would have me.
Mavis
I looked out of the window as the train slowly pulled into the station in Cincinnati. George was coming down the aisle with his flashlight. George worked feverishly, help passengers gather their belongings. Queenie’s youngest son stretched his bony legs out straight in front of him.
“Momma, I am hungry. Can we eat chicken now?” The little boy’s questioning immediately woke up his brother, who opened his large eyes and sat up straight from his nap.
“Momma, you promised we could eat the chicken when we got halfway home.”
Queenie reassured her two sons as she reached into the large carpetbag and pulled out another large brown paper bag. The aroma of room temperature fried chicken permeated my nostrils. My mouth began to water, and I started to think about the last meal I had and realized that it had been several days ago. Queenie gave each boy a cloth napkin made of a flour sack. Before giving each child a piece of chicken, she gently admonished them to ask grace before eating. Both small boys bowed their heads, and the oldest uttered a simple prayer.
“Dear God, me, Momma and Jamal, thank you for this food.”
Queenie then laid a piece of chicken on each boy’s lap and a large biscuit. The two hungry boys eagerly tore into the chicken. I sat watching every bite that they took until Queenie happened to notice my gaze.
“When’s the last time you and your husband had something to eat?”
I smiled, suddenly feeling embarrassed. I looked over at Ed, who had drifted back to sleep with his head against my shoulder.
Reaching back into the carpetbag, she pulled out two pieces of chicken wrapped in brown paper. “Wake up your husband, and y’all two eat somethin.”’
“Queenie, I can’t do that. You have children to feed. You already been too kind. Shaking my head, I sighed, “Queenie, I can’t do that.”
“Pride goes before destruction. In other words, you can keep your pride and your hunger, or you can eat this here chicken and have a little something on your belly for the trip.” Queenie gave me a light chuckle.
Taking the chicken and the biscuits, I thanked her and woke up Ed. Ed sat up and yawned. Sleep marks covered the right side of his face from falling asleep on my shoulder.
“Ed, Queenie is such a dear; we got supper. Sit up now and eat this.” I handed him the biscuit and the chicken. Fully awake now, he sat up and took the package from me.
“Thank you, kindly,” he said, looking over at Queenie.
We feverishly ate the meal, sucking our fingers and eating every crumb. God had continued to provide.
I started to think about Sunday dinners at home with Momma. After my Poppa lost his hand in the paper mill, we lost everything, the house, and the little piece of land that brought a little extra income. The accident had left Poppa cold and bitter. Losing his hand, put distance between him and Momma. Things were not the same. There weren’t many places where a man with one good hand could work in a little town like Escambia County. Momma had to take in wash to make ends meet.
My brother had taken a job at the same Mill where Poppa had the accident. I knew Momma couldn’t bear anything happening to her oldest child. My brother finally left the Mill and headed north. Momma was glad he wasn’t at the Mill, but she missed him something terrible. He’s somewhere in Chicago, we believe. Times were hard for a lot of folks. Now that I was gone, Momma would have fewer mouths to feed, but the thought of losing all her children, I am sure, hurt her to the core. After a few hours, the light of the early morning started to pour into the train’s car. I could see George coming down the aisle, calling to all the passengers that in a few minutes, their stop in Cincinnati would soon be approaching.
“Jamal, Mentarrio wakeup. It’s time to get off the train. Our stop is next,” Queenie said, gently rousing her two-sleeping boys.
The two young boys quickly obeyed their mother. They gathered their belongings, folded the lap blanket they shared in a neatly folded square handing it back to their mother, who placed it into the large carpet bag. Queenie turned to Ed and me before gathering her two children.
“It was nice meeting the two of you. When you get to Pittsburgh, go to the Copper Pipe Lounge on Center Avenue. I got a brother named Mike, who works there. Tell him Queenie sent ya. He’ll help you find a nice place to live.”
George’s deep, baritone voice announced we had arrived in Cincinnati. Ed and I sadly watched as Queenie and her two boys walked down the aisle and exited the train. A sadness came over us. Neither one of us said it, but we suddenly felt alone in the world. We snuggled closer to each other in our seats. I rested my head on his chest, being careful not to disturb the bandage on his face. Now that we had both gotten some rest, I knew we needed to talk about our plans.
Ed
I had spoken the words I didn’t think would come so quickly. The funny thing is I had meant them. I loved Mavis. I wanted her to be the woman who would have my babies, the woman I would come home to at night. I knew she would be there for me no matter what. I was finally free from Poppa’s hold, free to be the kind of man that one day my children would be able to look up to and say, That’s my Poppa. I knew if I wanted to have all these things, I would need to tell Mavis the truth about what had happened that night down at the creek. I just didn’t know where to start. Even after all we had been through, there was a small part of me that feared that Mavis wouldn’t accept why I had avoided the conversation.
I took a deep breath and swallowed hard. I held Mavis close to me; I could feel the warmth of her body, the softness of her skin where it touched mine. Mavis’ eyes were closed; her warm hands were resting on my chest. I ran my hands along her back. I could feel her soft skin pressed against me like a warm blanket. Lord knows that I never wanted to leave this feeling.
“Ed, we should be in Columbus, Ohio, soon. Only a few more stops to Pittsburgh.” Mavis stirred, raised her head, and stared into my eyes.
Yes, we had made it out of the south and away from Bufford Stubbs. We both would be forever indebted to Silas Wilkerson for getting us to Birmingham. Before I could speak, Mavis broke the ice.
“Ed, this is all so new to me. I’ve never been with any man except you.”
Mavis and I had never been intimate with each other, so I knew she meant she had never courted any man except me. I knew when the time was right, I would be her first.
“Ed, what I am trying to say is we need to be honest with each other. I know there’s something you are not telling me about what happened to you.”
I swallowed the lump that had formed in the back of my throat. I asked this God that Mavis knew for grace and the words that would let her know how sorry I felt for not sharing all I had endured.
“Mavis, I need to tell you I am sorry. I should have been upfront with you from the beginning.” Before I could continue, Mavis reached over and gently kissed me.
“Ed, I meant what I said about loving you. Just tell me the truth, and things between us will never change.” Looking me in the eye and tenderly saying.
I couldn’t figure out why this God, I didn’t know, chose to bless me with a woman like Mavis.
“Mavis, things for me haven’t been easy. I know that ain’t no excuse for keeping secrets from you. I just didn’t think you’d understand my situation.”
“What situation, Ed?” Wrinkling her pretty brows and letting out a soft sigh, she asked.
I hesitated to answer; the night at Murder Creek came flashing back to my memory. I closed my eyes. I could see the little shanty house that sat on the ridge’s top, right over Murder Creek. I slowly opened my eyes again, looking hard and long at Mavis. I could not bear to unload the entire truth, the truth about Poppa, and the pain he caused that young girl down at the creek.
Unearthing bits and pieces of Poppa’s demonic realities was not going to be something I could bear at the present moment. I started to unwind my truth about Poppa’s ungodly acts at the creek, but there was something that held me back from telling Mavis about all that had happened that night. I shared about the beats and the tongue lashings, but that night’s ungodly act would remain with me. I could not unleash these demons, not until I could bring them to submission in my mind.
Poppa had beat Momma something terrible that night. I couldn’t take the beatings any longer. Momma didn’t deserve to be treated that way. That night he walloped her so hard that she couldn’t get off the floor. I was sure she was dead. Something stirred in me, and I knew that I had to do something about it. Momma’s skillet was sitting on the table. When Poppa wasn’t looking, I picked it up, and I swung it as hard as I could. The bad thing about it was I missed. That didn’t do nothing but make him madder.
The retelling of my story caused tears to pool in her eyes.
“Ed, you poor thing, I didn’t know.”
I swallowed the lump that had made a crawlspace in the back of my throat. I knew what I was about to share would be the hardest part of my past. I needed to get it out while I still had the strength. Mavis sat close to me, holding my hand; there was no avoiding her deep chestnut eyes. Mavis had a way of looking at me that ran clear through my soul; she could see the parts of me that caused me shame. I spilled my soul and emptied a part of me that kept me held as a prisoner. Mavis rested her head on my chest.
I knew she could feel how fast my heart was beating. It scared me to be this close to somebody. I didn’t want to lose her. I didn’t want her to think I was an evil person like my Poppa. We sat there holding each other, the tears for both of us freely flowing.
“Ed, we startin’ all over, ain’t nobody ever gonna hurt neither one of us again. We are free to do whatever we want to do.” Mavis spoke after what seemed to be a long silence between the two of us.
This declared declaration of independence seemed to bring a bit of relief for us both. I wiped away Mavis’ tears with the sleeve of my jacket. “You mine now, and ain’t nobody can take you away.” Looking me in the eyes, gently pulling me closer and whispering in my ear. I found her lips and gently kissed them. We sat savoring the moment, silently looking out of the window as the train grew closer to our destination.
“Next stop, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.” George came down the aisle swinging his flashlight, announcing in his deep baritone voice.
“You mine now, and ain’t nobody can take you away,” I whispered in her ear as we smiled at each other.
It had been a long journey to this thing called freedom, but Mavis and I had taken the trip together. As the other passengers started to gather their suitcases, bags, and boxes together in preparation for the stop, Mavis and I gathered what little we had. “Come on, Mr. Proctor, you promised to make an honest woman out of me.”
I did my best to smile back, “Sure did, Mrs. soon to be Proctor.” Mavis looked at me and giggled.
1960
The warm April air felt good blowing in the kitchen window. It was a blessing right now, but soon it would be hot enough come June. Our little row house in the Hill District of Pittsburgh was nestled alongside other residents hoping the cool breeze would continue to stir throughout the summer. Ed would be home soon from the Mill. I hope he would feel up to taking me to the Copper Pipe Lounge tonight. Lena Horne was the opening act tonight. I wanted to hear some good music and dance in Ed’s arms. It had been a while since both of us had any time off. I walked over to the record player that sat on the gossip bench in the kitchen corner. Taking the 78 record out of its cover, I blew the dust off, placed it on the record player, and turned up the volume. The needle slowly edged its way over the grooves of the vinyl and the voice of Etta James singing A Sunday Kind of Love started to fill the kitchen. Standing at the stove, I took the lid off the pot of neck bones and potatoes and let the aroma float through the air.
Just as I said to myself, Ed, where are you? I heard his key in the door. I stood there, waiting to greet him. When he opened the door, I had a smile and a warm kiss already for him.
“Ed, you home. I missed you, baby.” Grabbing me up in his strong arms, he came through the door and pressed his lips hard into mine.
“I thought the day was never gonna end. I missed you too, Mrs. Proctor.” Coming up for air, he chortled. Coming further into the apartment, he sat his lunch box down on the little, red Formica table. Walking over to the stove, Ed lifted the lid from the pot,
“Girl, you got it smelling real good in here.” I gently smacked at his hand, playfully admonishing him to go wash up for supper.
“Go on in there and wash up for supper.” Grabbing me up again and pulling me toward him, he jokingly replied.
“Girl, I am not sure I wanna be away from you that long. I done missed you all day.”
I kissed him deeply, gently running my hand down the side of his face caressing the thin scar that ran from the top of his ear to just under his chin.
“Go ahead, you know I’ll be waiting right here when you get back.” He kissed me on the forehead and then nibbled on my ear.
“Hmmm... them neckbones and potatoes ain’t the only thing smelling good up in here,” Ed said.
“If you are a good boy, you can have dessert,” I flirted back. He chuckled as he went into the bathroom to wash up for dinner.
Scarred is the first of a four-book series featuring Edward Proctor and Mavis Butler. After writing the Emma Award-winning novel, A Warm Heart of Steele in 2020, I decided that my readers needed to know who Edward Proctor and Mavis Butler were. This book, featuring Edward and Mavis, gave me a chance to tell the story about Ed’s tragic past and how the novella got its title. It also allowed me to dust the description with bits and pieces of the intriguing history unique to the African American southerners who relocated to the north seeking financial and social freedoms from the Jim Crow south’s racial segregation. Ed and Mavis give us a bird’s eye view into the hardships of those who were part of the Great Exodus from the south to the north. I am writing this series in dedication to those who traveled by railroad to find liberation, love, and the voice to share their stories with writers like myself. Thank you for leaving the legacy of perseverance and grit.
I send many thanks to those who helped me tell this story and those who have chosen to read my stories; I would be nothing without your support. Be blessed!
Until the next time,
Roe
Contact Roe Braddy @