Big Ma said “Git,” but there was no place to go. It wasn’t as if we were in Brooklyn, where the candy store, the record shop, and my best friend were around the corner. We were in deeply wooded nowheresville, and Uncle Darnell, our only hope of getting a ride, was long gone to work and then to school. We didn’t have a bike to pedal the nearly three miles to the nearest store, and even if we did, only Vonetta and I could ride a bicycle well enough. The pecan tree could hold one, maybe two of us, but only I’d be unafraid to climb it. To boot, our nearest neighbor was an older man without any kids or kids’ games. I didn’t know how we would stay out of Big Ma’s sight. But when Ma Charles said, “That boy must have girls on his mind. He left his great-granny’s denture rinse,” I said, “We’ll take it over!”
“See if I care if she gets it or not,” Ma Charles said, which was as good as permission to cross the creek and hike over to Miss Trotter’s.
We were glad to leave Ma Charles’s house, and Big Ma was especially glad to see us go. I took the canning jar filled with water, mint leaves, baking soda, and whatever else swam in it, and my sisters and I set out in the direction of the creek that separated Ma Charles from Miss Trotter.
I knew the way to Miss Trotter’s but my sisters had never been. I’d crossed the wooden walkway over the creek with Pa when we last came down for the Trotter funerals. Vonetta and Fern weren’t up to walking that far so it was only Pa and me, and I wanted to show him I could keep up with him.
Now that they were older and bored, Vonetta and Fern were glad to take the short hike. We walked across the dried grass field dotted with purple flowers until there were none. Just bugs that kept us slapping our legs and arms. Then we continued on through the skinny pines, more open fields, a little less than half a mile before we crossed the old wooden planks. Pa said his great-grandfather, Slim Jim Trotter, built that old crossing, which turned out to be part of his undoing. I had asked him what he meant by that and he said, “Nothing you need to know right now.”
Once over the walkway we took a path too small for a car, but perfect for a horse, a bicycle, or for walking.
I recognized Miss Trotter instantly when we approached the house made of wood. She sat spine-straight like Ma Charles on the porch, in her chair—the same handmade wooden chair as Ma Charles had. Her eyes seemed to be closed so we approached carefully, to not startle her. When she did open her eyes we wanted to give her a hug or say, “Hi, Auntie!” but she didn’t smile or hold out her arms. If she didn’t mirror Ma Charles so much, we would have kept walking.
She inhaled deeply, lifted her pointer finger to the air, and said, “Feel that? The warm and the cool?”
“It’s hot to me, Miss Trotter,” I said, smiling. I was sweating to prove it.
“Burning hot,” Fern added.
Somehow we disappointed our great-aunt, Miss Trotter. She was already shaking her head no. “You’re talking about the sun. I’m talking about the air.”
“Doesn’t the sun heat the air?” I asked.
“The sun isn’t the wind,” she said.
Fern and I shrugged, but good old mouthy Vonetta spoke up. “What’s the difference?”
“The difference? If you have to ask I might as well not tell you the difference.”
What do you say to that? I held out the jar with green mint leaves. “For your dentures, from Ma Charles.”
“Dentures? Dentures?” She bared her teeth to show them but not to smile. “Go on. Run your finger ’longside the uppers and lowers. You can go all the way back if you want to.”
“No, thank you, Miss Trotter,” I said. I didn’t mean to be rude but “No, thank you” was better than what I kept from coming out of my mouth. After all, she was an elder and the second-oldest Trotter—according to Ma Charles.
“You tell her . . .” Her was Ma Charles—our great-grandmother, Miss Trotter’s half sister. “Tell her my teeth are just fine. Why would a wolf need more teeth than the ones she already has?” She peered suspiciously at the greenish mixture, and I couldn’t blame her for making a face. “Denture rinse. I got something for her. You wait.”
She talked on and on while we stared. Miss Trotter and our great-grandmother were crowned by the same gray-and-black hair, but it was styled differently to suit them. Miss Trotter’s hair was loosely parted and braided in pigtails. Ma Charles’s hair was finely parted down the middle and pooled in a bun and hairnet. Their cheekbones made their faces seem long, although Ma Charles’s face was slightly rounder, a feature both she and Big Ma inherited from Great-great-grandmother Livonia Trotter. I knew this from the brownish faded photograph of Livonia and Slim Jim Trotter that sat on the china cabinet next to an all-watchful Jesus. When I had come over with Pa to deliver our condolences personally I had seen what I thought was the same picture as the one that sat on the china cabinet in Ma Charles’s house. I’d been fooled because my great-great-grandfather wore the same suit and the same grim face in both photographs, his hair thick and long. The only difference in both pictures was the bride standing next to him. I didn’t think too much of it back then, but now I could see how the wooden crossing over the creek might have led to my great-great-grandfather’s undoing.
Except for the funerals I can’t say I remember my great-aunt and great-grandmother being under the same roof or together under the same piece of sky. Their resemblance was closer than that of my sisters and me, and we looked alike. It didn’t seem right that Miss Trotter and Ma Charles didn’t visit or speak directly to each other when they were half sisters.
Pa had told me their relationship had always been strained. He’d said that when it was time to take care of the funeral arrangements and the repast three years ago, Ma Charles had to step in and handle everything because Miss Trotter wasn’t able. After that, instead of things getting better between the half sisters, they only grew worse.
JimmyTrotter must have heard us, and he came out of his room and onto the porch to greet us. His hands smelled like strong glue. Fern coughed, and he brushed his hands against his pants and said by way of apology and explanation, “Model-airplane glue.”
Miss Trotter couldn’t understand how we couldn’t feel the cool moisture in the air. She passed her thumb over her fingertips. “Feel it, JimmyTrotter?”
“Yes’m. Sure do.” But he said it so quick and plain I was sure he didn’t feel a thing.
Miss Trotter was satisfied with his answer. “Good.” She clunked her head the way Fern does when she’s proud of herself or when she knows she’s right. “Good. At least you won’t get caught in the storm.”
“The weatherman didn’t say storm,” I said.
She said, “The president didn’t say higher taxes, but anyone with eyes can see what’s coming around the corner.”
Vonetta seemed too awestruck by Miss Trotter to cheer my being put in my place by our elder. She gazed at Miss Trotter and kept her smart Vonetta sass to herself. I knew that look on her face. She gave the same hungry and hopeful gaze to new kids moving into the neighborhood, hoping to find a friend among them.
Fern wasn’t impressed by our great-aunt. She said, “We want to see the cows, Aunt Miss Trotter. Now.”
“Miss Trotter,” our great-aunt stated.
“You’re our aunt,” Fern said.
“Great-aunt,” I whispered.
“Miss Trotter,” our great-aunt insisted. “That’ll do. But I might answer to Great Miss Trotter if you want to be respectful.”
Vonetta finally showed signs of life. “Yes, Great Miss Trotter.”
Fern wasn’t satisfied. “We want an aunt,” she said, one fist balled. “JimmyTrotter has an Auntie Naomi and an Aunt Ophelia. Two aunties. We want one Aunt Miss Trotter.”
“I thought you wanted to see a cow,” Miss Trotter said.
“Surely do.”
“Then go on.” Miss Trotter pointed her chin to the field past the barn. “Go see your cow.”
“Come on,” JimmyTrotter said, smiling. He was amused that Fern annoyed and confounded his great-grandmother. “Butter and Sophie are over there.” He pointed to where the cows were resting. Fern took off running toward the black-and-white cows and so did Vonetta, but not before she curtsied and said, “See you later, Great Miss Trotter!”