Big Ma and Mr. Lucas returned with their courthouse papers, only to find Vonetta and Fern practicing their walk down a make-believe church aisle in the living room. Vonetta looked more like Frankenstein than a flower girl, limping and lugging her white-casted arm while Fern imitated her so there would be two Frankenstein flower girls. Both had missed out on being Pa and Mrs.’s flower girls. No one would deny them their only chance.
I expected Big Ma to put an end to Vonetta and Fern’s traipsing and prancing but she said she was tired and needed to sit down.
Ma Charles and Miss Trotter put their heads together to speculate about what Big Ma meant by “tired,” and if she would go through with the wedding vows. Mrs. said she had the right to change her mind. Although each thought there was a chance that she might not go through with it, both sisters said, “Hush,” and went on speculating.
I’d made a gallon of iced tea earlier and brought out four full glasses. Two for the Trotter sisters and one for Mrs. Everyone else could get their own. I took the fourth glass down the hall and knocked before pushing open the cracked door to Big Ma’s room. She sat by the nightstand, her hat still on her head, its feather drooping, and her black Bible in her lap. A single sheet of paper lay facedown on the Bible. Big Ma caressed the paper along its center crease like it was a living thing that needed caressing. Her eyes were lost in the nothingness of the wallpaper lilies.
My first guess was that Miss Trotter and Ma Charles were right about Big Ma. She was having second thoughts about marrying Mr. Lucas. I spoke softly so as not to startle her. “Big Ma, do you want me to put that away? It looks important.” I pointed to the paper.
Her hand brushed across it. “I almost forgot it,” she said, as if she was talking to air. “I almost forgot it. Then I remembered, you have to bring the death . . . bring the . . .”
By its coloring and its less than sharp crease, I knew it was something Big Ma had been keeping for years. Something she had gotten into the habit of rubbing, like she was doing now.
It wasn’t the courthouse papers from her trip into town with Mr. Lucas. It was my grandfather’s death certificate.
She looked up as if she was seeing me for the first time. “Just let me sit for a minute, Delphine.”
I placed the coaster with the glass of iced tea on the nightstand. She didn’t look like she would move, so I removed the long, dull-ended pin from her hat and lifted the sea-green hat from her hair, her own hair, and returned her Sunday hat to its eight-sided box. I unbuckled her shoes, pulled off each one, and rubbed the swelling in both feet. Then I left her alone.
A week later, Pastor Curtis came to the house with an even bigger Bible than Big Ma’s black Bible and married our grandmother to her next-door neighbor in the living room. Pa and Uncle Darnell insisted on standing on both sides of Big Ma to walk her up to Mr. Lucas and the pastor while she fussed about being escorted like a common criminal. Instead of pronouncing all of Big Ma’s names, the pastor presented them as “Mr. and Mrs. Elijah Lucas.” Ma Charles raised her tambourine as high as she could and gave it a good shake. Vonetta and Fern threw purple maypop petals and blew dandelions as they hobbled down the aisle. Since Vonetta hobbled, Fern also hobbled. Miss Trotter scolded them for using “good medicinals” to throw at the rug. Big Ma told Vonetta and Fern to clean up every last bit of field weed and seed before they went to bed. Mrs. behaved herself, although I caught her shaking her head woefully when the pastor called Big Ma Mrs. Elijah Lucas and not Ophelia Lucas.
In spite of Big Ma’s fussing, I knew my grandmother was happy, but no one grinned wider than Mr. Lucas. Like Ma Charles said, “He waited longer than Jacob waited for Rachel.”
Miss Trotter said, “I call that waiting, sister. I surely do.”