Chapter 38

WHEN I GOT TO HEAVEN, I WAS YOUNG AGAIN and getting younger every day. Ain’t that something? Jim was too. Every day we’d say, “Boy howdy, ain’t you looking fine today!” Lines and bulges disappeared right ’fore our very eyes. Mm hmm, every morning we’d just jump right out the bed and see how pretty we was getting.

I kept weaving too. I love the joy I feel weaving. Ain’t nothing like it to take your mind off the things that bother you. And lately, the situation with Henrietta and EJ’s been worrying me a lot. Jim and me never knew you could worry so much up in heaven but we do, anyhow. And it’s almost like the age is just sliding right back under our skin. It seems like we each put on a few pounds and gotten more tired ever since the Sweetgrass Soiree.

This morning, Jim and me’s over at the fishpond near our house, just a-setting there with our rods. Daddy Jim turns and looks at me funny. Says two new wrinkles done cropped up on my face, and he’s rubbing his sore elbow that hurts every time he cast his rod out.

We’s sure the fish are ’bout to bite when out the blue, Auntie Leona comes a-calling again.

“Essie Mae! Essie Mae! You got to take a look at this!” She’s pointing to the top of her head. “You see this?”

I look at Leona, a voluptuous woman with all them curves a man likes. Then I do see something strange. I lean in real close and stare at her widow’s peak at the top of her forehead. “Leona? You always had these gray hairs right up here? Seem like I’m just now noticing ’em.”

“Gray hairs—I knew it! No, Essie Mae, I ain’t been gray for years! I’ve been young for long as I can remember!” She grabs at her head and runs her fingers down her curves. Then she turns to us, pale as the ghost she is.

“What in tar-nation?” she says, mostly to herself. Leona walks ’round the pond, and I follow her.

“Leona. Tell me ’bout this turnin’ young again. Does it happen for everybody?”

“Well, I reckon it does, Essie Mae. Most everybody I seen in heaven turns young after while—some quicker than others. Your mama and daddy did. You did. I did. Let’s see. There is this one real old fella, Avery, you met him over at your mama’s house. Remember? He’s old as the hills, and he been here longer than me even. Come to think of it, he’s always complainin’ ’bout his rheumatism and such, but I never thought much about it. Poor thing, he’s got a grandson in New Jersey stuck in jail for killin’ a man.”

“You reckon he worries about him?” I ask her, an idea forming in my head.

“I reckon he does.” Leona looks at me concerned, and I take in a deep breath. I can tell she’s thinking the same thing I am. We’re both trying to figure out what in the world’s going on. I walk back around and sit down next to Jim who’s reeling in a pretty good size brim.

“Leona, somethin’ funny’s happenin’. Daddy and I was gettin’ younger every day. Now all a sudden since the Soiree and after EJ won’t let Retta come ’round no more, we’re startin’ to age again. That sound right to you?”

“Great God in heaven,” says Leona, plopping down on a log across from me. “Same thing’s happenin’ to me. Is it possible that worryin’ ’bout your family’s got us aging? ’Cause I can’t be gettin’ old again, Essie Mae. I just can’t!” She swipes at her pretty face and her nice plump lips and whimpers like a puppy left out in the rain.

Leona was always known for her good looks—well, her voodoo for sure—but she always was a looker too. She even died pretty. No, Leona never looked poorly a day in her life, and I reckon she ain’t ready to start looking poorly in heaven neither.

Next day, we’s all at a pig pickin’ over at the big magnolia ’hind Mama and Daddy’s house.

“Essie Mae, what wrong wid you?” Mama says. “You ain look good.” Mama’s frowning at me and Jim and at Leona too. “Ain none ob you look good.”

We stare at her right back and say the same thing to her. Seems there’s a pocket of flab what’s grown up and ’tached itself to her middle section. She’s rubbing it and confused as all get-out. That’s when we all stop in our tracks. We hear a yelp and see that old man, Mister Avery, collapse nearly dead in his frogmore stew.

Some men-folk haul him off home, and we all turn and stare wide-eyed at each other, worry lines growing by the second. That’s when Mama tells us ’bout a conversation she ’members having with Jesus once ’bout aging in heaven.

“’E say us all connected,” Mama whispers like she’s telling a secret. “Eb’ry las’ one ub us—on Earth, up in heaven, pas’, presen’, future . . . Us aw jus’ wound up an’ tangled tightuh den you can ’magine.”

“What you mean?” asks Leona. “What happens down there on Earth affects us even up here in heaven? But that ain’t right. That can’t be.”

“So that old man ain’t never gonna get young?” I cut in, starting to get heated. “Lord have mercy, I can’t believe it! Ain’t there somethin’ we can do? Lord, ain’t there somethin’ Jesus can do? We’re in heaven for God’s sake. Sweet Jesus, forgive me for takin’ your name in vain,” I say, getting right frenzied up. I got to lean up ’gainst that big ol’ tree to keep from falling. I’m sure of it now; we’s all getting older ’cause of my dad-gum offspring.

“Well, we could all stop a-worryin’,” pipes up Daddy Jim. He’s stooping over, rubbing his lower back.

“Now Jim, that’s ’bout the most worthless thing you ever said. There ain’t no way I can just let my babies stay torn apart,” I say, annoyed as all get-out.

“I ain’t finished, Mama,” says Jim. “I meant to say, either we can stop a-worryin’ ‘bout ’em, or EJ and Retta can start actin’ right. One or th’other.”

“Ain dat de truth,” Mama says, seeing I’m ’bout to cry and wrapping her arms around me. “Lawd, ain dat the truth.”

That’s when I know what I got to do. Looks like the only thing I can do for everybody’s sake is to keep a-praying for my young’uns and keep a-chattering in EJ’s ear. And seeing as Jesus ain’t intervened yet and EJ ain’t listened to a word I got to say, neither one’s gotten me nowhere so far.