Chapter 25

January

I’LL TELL YOU A FUNNY THING, FELICIA’S ’BOUT THE BEST THING to ever happen to Henrietta. EJ’s only been married ’bout three months, but Henrietta spends more time at my old house than she ever did when I was alive. It took her a good while, but she actually likes being with Felicia, though she won’t admit to it outright. Yes sir, now that she knows her better, Henrietta’s grown real fond of that girl ’cause she just wants EJ to be happy. ’Course, that don’t stop her from worrying none. I listen to her talking to Eddie one night ’fore they turn the lights out.

“Edmund?”

“Yes, honey,” he says, rolling over ’cause he was almost asleep.

“You think they’re going to have children together?”

“Who?”

“EJ and Felicia,” she snaps at him. “Who do you think?”

“Well, of course, they’re going to have kids, Henrietta. That’s what married people do.”

“Well, that doesn’t mean they’ll be able to have them, now does it? We couldn’t have any more after EJ, and Mama and Daddy didn’t have any more after me.”

Eddie don’t say nothing.

“But—if they do have a baby, what’s he going to look like? White or black?” she asks.

“Heaven if I know, honey. Just go to sleep.”

“Edmund, what I mean is, what’s the child going to think he is? White or black? And if you tell me neither one, what in the world will that be like for him? He’s not gonna feel like he fits in anywhere.”

Eddie stays quiet on that one. Henrietta thinks he gone to sleep, but he ain’t. He’s just a-laying there, thinking ’bout what she said. After while, their minds go heavy, and both of ’em set to snoring. It’s a good thing they getting some sleep this night ’cause I know something they don’t know yet. I know Miss Felicia’s already carrying EJ’s baby.

EJ and Felicia are having Henrietta and Eddie over to the house for Sunday supper. Felicia’s made a nice big meal of spaghetti and meatballs and garlic bread just sopping with butter. EJ pours little glasses o’ red wine for everybody ’cept Felicia. Nobody’s noticed yet she’s only drinking water.

Everybody’s enjoying the supper, Eddie praising Felicia for what a good cook she is and EJ just a-beaming at her and grabbing her hand ’neath the table. Then everything gets real quiet, and EJ shifts in his seat. Henrietta can tell he’s hiding something, so she tells him go on and spit it out.

EJ folds up his napkin real nice, sets it on his plate, and stands up real slow. He’s a-grinning from ear to ear and walks ’round to Felicia’s chair, leaning down over her shoulders.

“Well, Mom, Dad, we have some good news.” You could hear a pin drop. Henrietta and Eddie both know what’s coming. “We’re expecting a baby. You’re going to be grandparents!”

Henrietta grabs at her chest and swallows hard. Eddie stands up real quick and knocks his chair back onto the floor. He comes ’round and hugs EJ real tight, then Felicia, ’course he’s a lot more gentle with her.

“Praise God!” I’m shouting. “Hallejujah, we gonna have a baby!” They can’t hear me but I don’t care. I’m gonna have me a great-grandbaby!

Henrietta’s got this funny little smile on her face and’s trying to take it all in.

“Well, Mama?” EJ comes ’round and grabs her hands. “What do you think?”

She stands up after a minute and wraps her arm ’round his waist, and then looks at Felicia.

“I think I couldn’t be happier,” she says, just like that. But that ain’t really what she thinking. Having a tough time with it. She done accepted a white girl as her daughter-in-law, but ain’t quite wrapped her mind ’round a mixed baby, no sir. Still worried about that, all “what kinda life’s a mixed baby gonna have” and so forth. She sucks it up real good though, and I’m proud of her for it. Sticks a big ol’ smile on her face. Then Felicia comes on over and hugs her tight.

“Well, we’ve got a lot of work to do, now don’t we?” Felicia asks, grabbing Henrietta by the hand and pulling her down the hallway to go look at where the nursery’s gonna be.

We’re in Henrietta’s old bedroom, and it’s all quiet. Retta don’t know what to say. Felicia’s on her hands and knees, looking through my leftover sweetgrass stuck back in the closet. I can smell that sweetgrass in her hands just as fresh as day. She runs it through her fingers and thinks about me sitting at my stand. She smiles when she remembers how EJ told her Daddy Jim used to sit with me, too, in his pink plastic chair. Then she looks up at the wall ’bove the crib. They painted the walls green but it’s bare ’cept for that.

Felicia hands Henrietta some grass to hold and says, “I want to know everything about EJ’s family. I know all about my family, but I need to know more about yours. I think it’s important.”

Well now, that’s a smart thing to do, child.

The boys head on outside, and Felicia makes some tea for the girls. The two of ’em sit down at the kitchen table, and I’m right here with ’em, happy as I can be. All a sudden, Henrietta just opens up and tells her word for word the stories I told her growing up. It sure is nice to see she paid attention to something I said, anyway. She tells her about me and Jim getting married. About my mama and daddy and Africa and New Orleans and sweetgrass. That’s when Felicia says, “I have the best idea! Will you make me some tiny baskets to hang over the crib?”

Henrietta’s quiet, thinking. “Well, I suppose I can . . . I haven’t sewed since Mama died, though.”

“But you know how. Oh please, you have to, it’ll mean so much!”

Henrietta smiles and they walk on back to look at the grass some more. She picks it up and brings it with her into the living room. Over the next few hours, Henrietta weaves tiny baskets while Felicia’s all hypnotized, listening to stories ’bout me. I ain’t never been able to weave that small ’cause my fingers was always too fat. The palmetto leaves is all dried out, so it’s taking her longer than it should ’cause they keep splitting in two.

“Mama used to spend hours and hours making baskets,” she tells her. “She’d weave ’til her fingers were raw and then if somebody came to her stand and she decided she liked them for whatever reason, she’d just give it to him—for free! Used to drive me crazy. She was always like that though, giving things away.”

“It’s a good Christian way, Retta,” I say.

“Like this one time,” she keeps going, “I think I was a senior in high school. I had this really nice pair of shoes. They were black with little straps that came up around my ankles. Mercy, they were the prettiest shoes I’d ever had. I wore them to the prom, and then when I went back in the closet to get them for a date, they weren’t there! Mama had taken my shoes and given them—along with a whole grocery bag of clothes—to this family at our church, the Chisolms, I think. Their house had burned down, and they’d lost everything.”

“Wow,” says Felicia. “That was pretty sweet of her.”

“Yes it was, child,” I say.

“Well, I know it was sweet of her now,” says Henrietta, “but at the time, I was furious. Yes, Mama and I just rubbed each other the wrong way most of the time.”

“Maybe it’s because you two were more alike than you thought,” says Felicia, with a sly grin on her face.

“Maybe.” Henrietta goes back to weaving and keeps her mouth shut for a while. “There. All done,” she says, showing off ’bout eight or nine of these cute little baskets.

“I love them, I just love them!” says Felicia, hopping up from the floor. She hangs them tiny baskets from her fingers and hurries on back to the room to hold ’em up against the wall. “These are perfect. Thank you so much, Henrietta.”

“Well, don’t tell anybody, but I kind of enjoyed it,” she says. “Maybe one day I’ll teach this new baby to make baskets. Boy, Mama sure would be happy to hear me say that.”

“Why yes, I am mighty proud, girl.”

“She always did want me to sew, or at least understand why she did.” If only I had done that before she got sick, she’s thinking. Maybe things would have been different between us.

“It’s okay, baby,” I tell her, though she can’t hear a word. “Don’t fret no more, Retta. I still love you.”