That night when Daddy came home from work he had a small paper sack in his hand. After he kissed my momma he took it out the back door. I watched through the screen, and the next thing I knew he was pulling his tiller out of the shed.
“Momma,” I said, “he’s fixing to till the garden.” Then I went out on the back porch and sat with my feet over the edge. I remembered how two years ago I was in this exact same spot—just about the same time of year. Daddy was away at the war. So Junior had come to till our garden. Peggy Sue was here with me.
I couldn’t believe how things had changed since then. I had run with Peggy Sue down into the woods while Junior had done the tilling. I’d actually run there and back. Now, I was just glad that I could walk without help from the edge of the porch to the tiller.
I watched Daddy pull the rope on the tiller. At first it didn’t start, but he pulled again and it cranked right up. I thought I would see a smile cross his face, but I didn’t. He jumped back and looked scared for a second like that tiller had just exploded in his face. But then he grabbed the handle and steadied himself and just hung on for a minute or two and breathed real deep.
The simple noise of that tiller—a sound he’d always loved—was scaring him somehow. I saw how hard he was working at convincing himself to do this job. He walked away for a minute and stared into the woods. I saw how he curled his hands into a fist and opened them again. He flexed them a few times and shook his shoulders and arms like he was trying to knock something loose.
Finally he came back to the tiller and grabbed ahold of it. It shook him all over while he walked it to the garden.
The whole time he acted like he didn’t even know I was on the porch. Maybe he hadn’t noticed. For as long as I could remember I’d helped him get his garden ready. Now I felt shut out.
He’d left the paper sack lying on the ground, so I went to it. I could feel the bumpy shapes of dried peas through the paper. I hugged it to my chest and wished I could take over the tilling for my daddy.
I watched him in the garden—how he leaned into the tiller and how the soil turned up red and soft between the tines. Already Mr. Shoes was chasing behind Daddy, sniffing after moles that had tunneled through the garden space.
I wanted in the worst way to put my toes into that soft, crumbly red dirt. To follow behind Daddy, making a row with the edge of a hoe and then dropping the peas in. I thought I could do it again if I sat in the dirt. I set the sack of peas on the ground and went in the house to get my overalls.
When I came back out, it was getting dark. The tiller wasn’t running anymore, and Daddy was sitting in the dirt with his fists pressed up to the sides of his head. He had only tilled about two and a half rows. I picked up the sack of seeds and stuffed it into the pocket of my overalls, and then I walked with my canes down to the garden.
I went and sat in the dirt beside Daddy. I leaned up against him and felt him trembling. “You did enough for over two rows,” I said. “If you get the hoe and make the rows, I’ll drop the peas in. I can scoot through the garden on my behind.”
Daddy didn’t say a word. He just got up and walked to the tiller and gave it a hard kick. Then he went to the shed and got a hoe and started making rows. I dropped the seeds in and he covered them with dirt, and by the time we were done it was too dark for me to know how crooked our rows would be.
I could see the shape of the tiller sitting there. I saw Daddy give it one last kick before he picked me up and carried me to the porch. He filled a basin with water from the bucket so I could wash my hands and feet. “I’m going to build you that bathroom before you know it,” he said.
That night when I was laying in bed I knew what I had to do. I wasn’t looking forward to it because I figured Junior never wanted to see me again. And Daddy didn’t want Junior on his property. But we had to get the rest of that garden tilled, and Junior Bledsoe was the one who could do it.
The next day after school I asked the bus driver to drop me off at the end of the Bledsoes’ lane. I made Ida and Ellie go on home and tell Momma I’d be there soon. Then I walked with my canes to Junior’s house and knocked on the door. I knew he wasn’t home from work yet, but I figured I could wait till he got there.
Bessie came to the door and it wasn’t two seconds before she pulled me into her big, soft hug. “Have mercy,” she said. “I have sure missed you.” She pointed me to a chair and said, “I was fixing to bring you a chocolate cake. But since you’re here, I’m going to cut it.”
She went into the kitchen and clattered around for a few minutes, and when she came back she had a tray with a glass of milk and a slice of cake on a small china plate.
“What a pretty plate,” I said. “It puts me in mind of Warm Springs.”
“Junior said you fit right in down there.”
“Well,” I said, “in some ways I did. But I just couldn’t believe it was really me in that ritzy place.”
I started telling Bessie all about Warm Springs and how, if it wasn’t for my momma and daddy, I would love to be there right that second.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s not all Junior’s fault. We both thought it would be best if you knew.”
“I don’t blame you,” I said. “Or Junior either.” I didn’t mention how mad I was at him for ruining my Warm Springs fairy tale.
The next thing I knew, Junior was coming through the door. When he saw me he stopped dead in his tracks.
“The school bus dropped me off,” I said. “I’m hoping you’ll take me home.” It was hard saying this on account of how I hurt him so bad on the way home from Georgia. But I couldn’t let that stop me from doing what had to be done.
“My daddy can’t run the tiller,” I said.
“Is it broke?”
“The sound of it scares him. He did two and a half rows and just quit. You should’ve seen how he was shaking.”
Junior hung his hat on a hook inside the living room door. And his car key beside the hat. Bessie went in the kitchen to get him some cake and milk.
He balanced the dish with the cake on his knee. He ate it without talking to me. He knew good and well I wanted him to come and till that garden for my daddy. But I could see he was going to make me beg. So I did.
“I’m asking you to till the garden for him, Junior. He wants to do right by his family. But loud noises bother him. And you know how loud that tiller is.”
“Your daddy run me off his property and I don’t suppose he’s going to let me come back two days later, now is he?”
“He won’t be home for another hour and a half. You’ve got time before he gets there.”
I knew Junior wanted to turn me down, but of course he couldn’t. And his momma was right there to make sure he didn’t. “Don’t argue. Just go,” she said. “Leroy needs you and you’ll kick yourself later if you don’t help out.”
Junior looked like he wanted to kick something right that minute. He ate one last big bite of cake and drank the rest of the milk. Then he stood and his mother took his dishes from him and carried them into the kitchen.
“Let’s go,” he said.
He went out the door and waited for me to come through before he shut it. He didn’t help me off the porch like he normally would. But I didn’t need his help. He opened the car door for me but went around to the other side and let me get in and close the door by myself.
Neither one of us said a word on the way to my house. He went straight to the garden and cranked up the tiller and was tilling the rows almost before I got into the house.
Momma was in the living room. She gave me a quick hug. “When Junior’s done you tell him to come in for a piece of chocolate cake I made today.”
“He just ate chocolate cake,” I said. “And right now I don’t think he would take it if I offered it. Or even come inside.”
I went into the bedroom and changed into my overalls and went through the kitchen door to the back porch.
It was a warm spring day and I could see little baby leaves fixing to pop out on the trees. I thought how strange it was that the world could be so beautiful and still hurt so bad at the same time. I sat in the grass at the side of the house and watched Junior.
The tiller made his arms shake too, but he held it steady and kept his eye on the ground. I could see how he was keeping just the right amount of pressure on the handles so it wouldn’t bog down in the dirt. His hair was rumpled and his shirttail was hanging loose. But he seemed so solid and unbreakable.
Not like my daddy, who seemed wobbly when he was behind the tiller. And even when he wasn’t.
Once when Junior got to the other end of the garden he looked up to where I sat. He went on with his job. When he was done he took the tiller right past me and put it in the shed.
“Thanks,” I said when he came back out.
Junior grunted.
“I sure do appreciate it,” I said. “Let me know if I can help you with anything.”
As soon as that came out of my mouth, I wished it hadn’t. What could I do for Junior? He’d never asked me for a single thing. At least not until we drove past Gaffney, South Carolina.
I knew he didn’t mean I should marry him right there on the spot. But he took a chance by letting me know how he felt. And the one thing he wanted from me—a little sign that I felt the same way—he didn’t get.
I knew one thing for sure. Junior Bledsoe deserved a good woman. And even if Mrs. Barkley did think I was a model citizen, I knew I wasn’t very good at all.