Chapter 7

THEM TWO HAIRS OF MISS SUSANNE’S AND JEFFREY’S been burning a hole in my pocket. But my grandson, EJ, come by this morning to haul me to church, and he brung me a good surprise. Now EJ, he’s a fine young man. Gonna be somebody big some day—maybe a doctor or a lawyer. Right now he’s studying something called “political science.” Not sure what he’s gonna do with that, but he goes to that college they got downtown, the one that’s spreading every which-away like Confederate Jasmine.

EJ dragged me outside the house and showed me the back of that wagon just as full as it could be with a whole heap of palmetto leaves, pine needles, and real nice sweetgrass—already dry, too, ’cause he left it in the sun a couple weeks. Being May, it’s a good time to start pulling sweetgrass, if you can find it that is. EJ gets mine near the marsh off Highway 41 still, even though Miss Nancy’s son says he got to go plumb all the way to Georgia to find his. Sweetgrass is fixing to run out, I reckon, what with all the big developers coming in and clearing it all out to make room for big buildings and houses and such. It’s a crying shame, what it is.

Well, I sure was happy to see that mess of grass he brung me ’cause I had me a real special basket I was fixing to make.

EJ waited for me in the living room while I fixed my hair and put on a nice blue skirt and blouse. I grabbed me a banana and a swig of whole milk, same as I always do when we’s heading out the door. EJ likes to visit my church over here in Mount Pleasant better than the one his mama and daddy go to ever now and then. Says he likes the singing a heap more and the preacher is better at preaching. I reckon Henrietta don’t like hearing about that.

We drove over to the Mt. Zion AME Church up yonder, and I was just a-singing and a-grinning the whole way there. “Take my hand, Lord, take my hand. Lead me on to the promised land . . .” I know, I know. I said my mama was Baptist, and I was raised that way, too, but I like the singing and all more at Mt. Zion. Anyway, I don’t think God cares much where you worship, so long as you do it.

I took us a seat near the back ’cause I needed some space to do my thinking. Inside, the stained-glass windows was steaming up since we ain’t got good air conditioning, and the Reverend Jefferson was preaching on the virtues of a godly man. “Praise God!” I shouted, thinking about my sweet Jim. “Hallelujah!”

“You sure is in a good mood, Essie Mae,” said Bertice Brown when the dancing stopped for a minute. She looked like she was just itching for some gossip. Bertice is the one who always knows everything ’bout everybody else’s business. I think every church got a Bertice Brown. Sure ’nough, that woman got a mouth bigger than a bass on a hook.

“I’m just feelin’ good, is all, Bertice,” I told her. “God is good, praise Jesus!” She was hoping I’d go on more about my life, but I just smiled and grabbed EJ’s arm. It was all I could do to make it through the service, but I sang my hymns and thanked God for my new sweetgrass. I asked Him, Please, can You find me the money so I can save my house? Please don’t make me go live in no nursin’ home. I asked Him a couple times, and I hope He heard me. I reckon we’ll see about that.

EJ drops me off back at the house after church and gives me a big hug.

“See you tomorrow morning bright and early,” he tells me. “You make sure and get some sleep now. I don’t want you staying up all night sewing with this new grass.”

I just smile at him and nod ’cause I don’t wanna lie to him, what with it being the Lord’s day and all.

Walking back to my bedroom, I’m ’bout to start skipping ’cause I’m so happy with the love basket I’m fixing to make. I ain’t ever made a love basket before. Never done no magic myself come to think of it—just let Auntie Leona take care of all that. I pull out the drawer in my night table and lift that big ol’ Bible up onto the bed. Opening up the cover, I see them two little hairs I done grabbed still taped up next to my name—one belonging to Miss Susanne Maybree, the other to Mister Jeffrey Lowes.

I reach over ’cross the bed to another little table full of pictures and stuff and grab me a good one of Auntie Leona—the one where her hair’s all pulled up in a fancy do. God rest her soul, looking in her eyes I can hear her say just as plain as can be, “Now Essie Mae? What I taught you is some powerful magic. Don’t ever let your Auntie find out you used it for bad. Only use it for good, you hear?”

I say to myself and Leona too, “Well, if this ain’t for good, I don’t know what is.” I grab them two hairs and twist ’em up together ’til I can’t see which one’s which no more. Then, I hold that little bitty hair braid real careful and carry it out front to the magnolia tree where my sweetgrass is waiting for me. After I set it in my bosom for safekeeping, I make a nice, tight coil to use for the coaster bottom and stick that hair braid right down in the middle of it.

The dad-gummest thing happens next. I’m ’bout ready to start saying a love chant over ’em just like Auntie Leona used to, but ain’t nothing comes to mind—not one silly word! I close my eyes tight as I can and brace myself on the edge of my chair. I hold my breath, and I can see Auntie just as clear as day. Can hear her voice too—just can’t hear a dad-gum thing she’s saying. Well, it comes to me then, real natural-like. The only thing I can do is get down on my knees and start to praying.

“Oh, sweet Jesus, let these two souls come together. Don’t let them be ’lone no more. Lord Jesus, rest Your hand on ’em and bring ’em together. Yes, Jesus! All things through You, Lord. All things through You.” I keep praying and praying, and I’m right near frenzied, so I know He done heard me—I can feel it in my bones.