I followed Cecile as she walked inside each room looking for Big Ma. When she found her she said, “Mrs. Gaither. I’m here.” I expected Big Ma to be thrown for a loop or to jump out of her skin. There was no reaction from Big Ma, as far as I could see. She cocked her head, crossed her arms, and said, “I see that.”
There were no more words between them so I led my mother to the room that Ma Charles and Miss Trotter now shared. I said, “Ma Charles, Miss Trotter, this is our mother, Cecile.”
Cecile said, “If it was a good morning, I’d wish you both a good one. Instead, I wish you’re both well.”
“Daughter!” Ma Charles cried. “Come over here so we can look at you.”
My mother walked up to them like she was home.
“Didn’t have to tell us who she is,” Miss Trotter said. “That’s your face, right there,” she said to me. “The other ones, too. But that’s you.”
It was the one small burst of pleasure I felt, even though my mother and I hadn’t hugged or really spoken to each other. Not really.
“Wake up, Fern.”
“No.”
“Wake up, Fern.”
She kept her eyes shut. “Is Vonetta here?”
I said a soft no. She slumped over to give me her back.
“Wake up, Fern.”
She pretended to be asleep.
“Little girl. Get out of that bed.”
Fern sprang up and screamed. She ran to Cecile, bulling her head into Cecile’s belly like she was trying to get back inside of her. Cecile picked her up and hugged her tight and swung her around.
I wanted nothing more than to be invited in, but I stayed where I was. I never knew I could feel so awful, so jealous, but I couldn’t make those feelings go away.
Cecile put Fern down on the bed, sat with her, and told her she wasn’t leaving until we found Vonetta. I almost backed out of the room but Cecile said, “Don’t go nowhere,” and continued talking to Fern. Now she faced me. “All right,” Cecile said. “What happened?”
“It’s Delphine’s fault Vonetta’s gone,” Fern said.
Cecile turned to me. “Speak up, Delphine.”
I didn’t know what to say because it was true. It was easier to agree than to explain, so I said, “Yes. She left because of me.”
My mother put her head down, cupping her forehead with one hand. It looked like she was praying but I knew she wasn’t. I took a step toward her, then one away from her.
“I told you to look out for Vonetta.” Her voice trembled like she was fighting herself. And then she spoke louder. “I told you but you don’t listen!” She was up on her feet and Fern shrunk inside of herself. Shrunk into the ball I wanted to shrink into to protect myself. “You’re hardheaded. You think you’re grown and you know everything.”
I stepped back, fearing the worst.
“And whose fault is that?” Big Ma was in the doorway, right behind me. “Who do you think you are, coming in here yelling at these children? I won’t stand for it. You need to leave this house. Now!”
Big Ma was no match for my mother, but I knew she meant what she said.
Cecile seemed to grow bigger but she stood where she was. “I’ll leave when my child is found and not a minute, hour, or day sooner.” Cecile was the mountain. The crazy mother mountain. It was the calm in her voice that was crazy.
“Minute? I can get the sheriff up here in a minute,” Big Ma said, while Fern said, “No, Big Ma. No, Big Ma.”
Big Ma said, “This is my house. If I say you go, you’re going.”
“Get the sheriff,” my mother said again, calm. Too calm. “I’m here for my child. I’ll stay out there with the dog but I’m not going until I see my child.”
Uncle Darnell was now in the room and stood between Big Ma and Cecile. Mr. Lucas tried to calm everyone down and then Ma Charles made her way into the room.
“This is my house. My house,” Ma Charles said. She turned to Big Ma. “Ophelia Fern Charles Gaither, don’t shame me.”
My mother’s face turned a shade darker when Ma Charles said all of Big Ma’s names. In that moment, as I heard it myself for the first time, I knew it was partly true: My mother had left us eight years ago when my father said she had to name my baby sister Fern.
Big Ma turned to her mother. One minute she was puffed up with anger, and now she was just hurt. “You only see someone who gave you your bloodline.” She meant us, my sisters and me. We were the bloodline. “But Ma, as sure as I’m standing here, she’s been stirring up trouble and heartache from day one and I’m tired of it.”
Ma Charles said, “She’s a mother like you are. A mother can’t rest until she knows her child is fed, safe, and well. You can’t be mad she’s not here one minute, then mad she’s here the next.”
Big Ma just looked at her mother, wanting something from her, and then stomped off to her room. Uncle Darnell said, “Come talk to me, sis,” and led my mother outside. And Miss Trotter said, “I tell you, I don’t miss the picture shows or television at all. Not at all.”
That left Fern and me alone. She on her bed and me by the door. I was used to my little sister running to me. There was this saying that my Muslim classmate, Rukia Marshall, had taught me: If the mountain won’t come to Muhammad, then Muhammad must come to the mountain. As sure as Fern sat with her arms crossed, I knew she was the mountain and that it was my turn to come to her. I walked over and sat on the bed next to her. She uncrossed her arms and inched away, so I let her keep the distance.
“I was only looking out for you,” I began.
“Well, don’t, Delphine. I can look out for myself.” She clunked her turtle head, a hard “Surely can.” Fern was the baby I saw coming out of Cecile on the kitchen floor. She clung to me and hid behind me practically every day after that. I didn’t believe Fern could look out for herself without me but I still said, “Okay.” I had always seen myself as mighty and unmovable among my sisters. For the first time I felt so small next to my baby sister. Small like a hill. I added, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry about Vonetta.”
She snapped, “Sorry doesn’t bring Vonetta back.”
“I know,” I said softly. “I want her back here in this house. With us.”
“You do not.”
“That’s not true, Fern. I miss her.”
She turned her face to me, looking every bit like Cecile. “Pants on fire!” Even angry Fern stuck to Big Ma’s rule about never using the word liar.
“I love Vonetta,” I said, “but I don’t always like her.”
“You surely don’t.”
“And neither do you.”
She said nothing.
“But she’s our sister, and we want her back.”
We sat on the bed until the space between us eventually closed.