Although the house would never be the same, we made ourselves busy putting things in order. Uncle D and JimmyTrotter managed to rig up a clothesline, tying cords from the bent-but-planted pole to the remaining sturdy branch of the pecan tree. With more people under one roof, laundry day began early and clean sheets were a priority.
Mr. Lucas found parts of the wire chicken run two miles from the house, flattened and wrapped around some trees. He planned to get another one set up once he rebuilt the chicken coop. Sixteen hens were a lot of chickens to account for. They needed constant watching, and Fern and I had nowhere to go but the back and front porches. We brought the chickens up from out of the root cellar to get fresh air and sunlight. Fern did her best to keep the fussiest hens away from the cows, Butter especially.
Cecile stretched tall in the door frame and then stepped outside to join us on the back porch. I started to motion for Fern to be quiet. Cecile liked the quiet. It was one thing I remembered from being little and sitting with her in our house on Herkimer Street. The quiet kept her calm. She always closed the bedroom door on Vonetta and let her howl until she fell asleep. I raised my finger to my lips but there was no need to whisper “Shh.” Fern ran off after a chicken headed for Mr. Lucas’s land. Once Fern herded the lone chicken back to the flock, she stayed close to her chickens, her dog, and her cows. She’d look up to see that Cecile was there, but that was all.
Cecile’s gaze roamed from the hanging sheets, up the broken pecan tree, to the animals, the garden, and then out beyond the pines until I was sure she was staring off into her mind. I knew better than to ruin it with chatter. As long as she let me be with her I kept the peace and quiet.
Shortly after one o’clock Caleb started to sing his song. I didn’t have to puzzle over the meaning of the song. I got up and Fern and I ran around to the front. Cecile eventually followed.
I couldn’t see the Wildcat but I knew it was coming. Two minutes feels like two hours when you’re waiting. The tan-and-black car made its way up the road as far as it could before reaching the trees blocking its path. The Wildcat veered off the road and onto the field, bumping along toward the house. Fern shouted, “It’s Papa!” and I felt sick all over again.
The Wildcat was here. Pa and Mrs. were here. My heart wanted to leap toward my father but my stomach soured. It was the first time in a long while that I feared my father. I dreaded the look of pain and disappointment I’d see in his eyes. I dreaded the words he had waiting for me. Without thinking about it I stepped closer to my mother until I felt her there. She stood firm, letting me stay.
Fern raced down to the car, and before I knew it the whole family was on the porch to greet them. I didn’t move from my mother.
Pa got out of the car and came around and opened Mrs.’s door, giving her his hand. It seemed as if she didn’t want to, but she eventually took it, and then she pulled herself up and out of the passenger seat. When she stepped out into full daylight, shielding her eyes, I could see that we were going to have a brother or sister. Not very soon, but the baby was more than a secret. The baby was real.
Fern threw herself over Pa. Instead of telling her she was too big for that, he held her tightly. She leaned over and kissed Mrs. and I felt Cecile’s eyes on Fern kissing Mrs.’s belly.
“That’s for my brother,” Fern said.
“Could be a sister,” Mrs. said.
Fern shook her head no. “Our good luck is gone,” Fern said. “It’s a brother.”
If it weren’t sad, it would have been funny. Mrs. hugged Fern to her belly and told her not to give up hope, and then Big Ma, Uncle Darnell, JimmyTrotter, Fern, and even Mr. Lucas surrounded them. Ma Charles and Miss Trotter stood on the front porch with Cecile and me.
It was both a happy and sad meeting. The hugs were more about Vonetta than about being glad to be among one another. And after that began to wind down my father and my stepmother moved toward us. Cecile and me. They were only a few feet away but their walk from there to here dragged on like the way time dragged on while I waited for the Wildcat to come into view. My father saw my mother first, and he led Mrs. toward us. My mother stepped forward and gave my father a kind of a smile but then went to shake Mrs.’s hand first.
“Congratulations,” Cecile said to Mrs. “How are you feeling?” she asked plain and factual. Not sugary and phony.
For the first time that I had known her, Mrs. lied. She put on a face that wasn’t her own and said, “I couldn’t feel any better.”
Miss Trotter said, “Why pay for a picture show when you can stay home with family?” I wasn’t sure she meant that in a nice way, but Ma Charles thought it was funny and the two cackled.
“We’d have been here sooner, but I had to stop every minute and a half to find a bathroom,” Pa said.
Mrs. shot Pa a look and I knew all the honey and sweetness had flown out the window.
There was nowhere to hide. I faced my father. There was no running from him so I lifted my eyes and Pa said, “Come here, baby.” He never called me “baby.” The pain I’d been feeling began to melt, although it hadn’t gone away completely. It couldn’t. Not until Vonetta was home with us. I only knew at this moment, my father forgave me for not having done what I was supposed to do: look out for my sisters.
When Pa finally let me go, he cocked his head, looked Cecile up and down, and said, “I figured that’s where they went.”
Mrs. said, “Where what went?”
Pa let Mrs.’s question hang in the hot air. He looked at the pants my mother wore and shook his head. Cecile always wore men’s pants. But then it dawned on me. My father didn’t shake his head the way Big Ma did when she saw a woman wearing slacks. He shook his head because he recognized them. My mother had kept and been wearing his pants all these years. If he meant to jar my mother or make her smile, he failed. All he got was her everyday Cecile face.
It was a good thing Mr. Lucas had added the extra room to Ma Charles’s house. Pa and Mrs. stayed on their side of the house while Cecile stayed on the other side, mostly with Uncle Darnell, who called her “sis” no matter how many times Big Ma said, “She’s not your sister.” Or Cecile was up under Ma Charles and Miss Trotter, who called her “daughter” or “dear one.” Big Ma had eye rolls and “hmp”s for that as well.
That night Cecile didn’t sleep out on the floor where Mr. Lucas, Uncle D, and JimmyTrotter slept. We pushed the twin beds together in our room and she slept between Fern and me. She cradled Fern while I held on to one of my mother’s braids, and fell asleep twirling her braids for their coarse and soft feel. The smell of coconut oil. And she let me.
Caleb sounded the alarm early the next morning. Once JimmyTrotter said, “Sheriff Charles,” we all gathered in the front room, but no one spoke. We waited as the black-and-white car barreled up to the house. He came alone. Without his dog. Without Vonetta. Big Ma lost her knees and melted down into the chair. Mr. Lucas, Pa, and Uncle Darnell rushed to her.
I studied the sheriff from the window. His hard, slow walk. The tilt of his hat. I studied him to know what he’d say before he said it. Cecile’s hand squeezed my hand. Tight. So tight I could scream. But I didn’t.
JimmyTrotter opened the door and Sheriff Charles walked inside. He nodded once to cover greeting us all and said, “Folks,” but he spoke only to Ma Charles thereafter. “Mama,” he started.
“Speak, boy,” Ma Charles said.
“Mama,” he said again. “It was how I said.”
Big Ma moaned and called for Jesus but Mr. Lucas was there.
“Taranada throwed her here and there. Li’l thing like that hardly stood a chance, but she’s in the hospital. S’maritans found her. Picked her up. Took her to Mercy. One sore heinie, one broke arm. Face scratched up. Could have been worse.”
And then the screaming and the hallelujahs broke out. JimmyTrotter, Fern, and I jumped and hollered and ring-danced. Sheriff shook his head and said, “Just like a bunch of . . .” He didn’t say “Negroes.” Everyone was too busy praising the Lord over Vonetta, and we refused to hear him.
Except for Mrs. “How dare you!” she said. “How dare you speak to this family like that!”
Pa said, “Calm down, dear. We’re not in Brooklyn.”
My mother said, “Call me what you want. I want to see my daughter.”
Miss Trotter poked her sister and said, “Slim Jim Trotter and his two wives.”
“Isn’t it the truth?” the other said.
Darnell said, “Lou, you got the Wildcat. I’ll take the truck.”
A revived Big Ma said, “Let’s all go see Vonetta!”
Mrs. was too disgusted to partake in the glee. She didn’t understand; if you prayed for the miracle you’d sell your most treasured possession for, you don’t care about anything else but waiting on that miracle. I knew I had a piece of the South in me but I didn’t know it was that much.
Sheriff Charles said, “Now look. Mercy’s a good Christian hospital but they don’t want to see all you . . . Negroes showing up at once. I’ll take the mother and father. Road’s still not good.”
We all wanted to go but Pa said, “Just me and Cecile.” To the sheriff he said, “We’ll take our car. I’ll follow.” Mrs. didn’t like it but he said, “Marva, you’re in a family way. You need to rest. We’ll be right back.”
Big Ma said, “Junior, I’m coming with you. I just have to get my hat and purse and change my clothes.”
But Pa was already walking away. Sheriff Charles had a word with my father before he got in the patrol car. Pa called Cecile to come get in the car.
“Tell Vonetta we’re glad she’s not in the sweet by-and-by,” Fern said.
“Tell Vonetta I’m sorry,” I said.
Cecile said, “You’ll tell her.” But her voice was soft on me and not pointed. I almost smiled. Then she slid into the front seat of the Wildcat. The Wildcat coughed a little before she started growling and rumbling. I stood on the porch and watched my mother and father follow the sheriff down the road.