Apron Strings (18 page)

The next morning Stuart, Gordy, and Helen went to school, but I stayed home. I told Ethel I had a stomachache, and I kind of did. Truth is, I knew my father had to come back at some point and I wanted to be there when he did. I waited in my room for what seemed like forever while my mother hung around the house, chattering distractedly and making a nuisance of herself as Ethel did chores. Finally, my mother left for her bridge meeting. I crept downstairs. Ethel was outside hanging up laundry. Almost without thinking, I ducked in the broom closet, leaving the door ajar. Ethel came back inside. Before long the back door opened and my father walked into the kitchen. It was almost like he’d been waiting for my mother to leave. My first impulse was to run up and hug him and demand to know where he’d been, but the look on his face stopped me. He sat down at the table. He looked tired and worried. Ethel handed him a cup of coffee and started to fix him some toast. He lifted his hand to stop her. “I can’t eat,” he said.

“Go on, do ya some good.” He just shook his head. She wiped the already clean counter. “Mista Joe, ya know she don’t mean no harm. She’s a good woman; tries as best she can.”

Just then, trying to reposition myself to get a little more comfortable, I slipped and knocked up against the vacuum hose. Ethel caught the movement out of the corner of her eye. Our eyes locked for a second. Then she gave me one of her hairy eyeballs and turned back to Daddy.

“She’s pregnant. Ethel, I can’t do it. Jesus, we’ve got four children already. Four we can’t take care of now. Another baby…” He leaned his elbows on his knees and hung his head. “Oh God, what the hell’s a baby
gonna help? It’s her answer to everything. I don’t know what I’m going to do. Can you talk some sense into her?”

“You know I can’t. It ain’t my place, Mista Joe.” Ethel looked over at me. Without a word she conveyed the thought right into my brain that if I didn’t get out of that closet and up to my bedroom there was a good chance I would never walk again. I inched the door open, checking with Ethel to see that Daddy couldn’t see me. I slipped out of the broom closet and turned to leave, quietly moving into the hall and up the stairs. I was so panicked I hardly knew what to make of the information I had gathered. Then, realizing I might be missing some pretty important information as far as my future was concerned, I crept back down the stairs to listen from the coat closet with the door open.

Ethel was saying, “‘Sides, what’s there ta do? Too late to take the bull out of the field now.”

“There are ways, but she won’t even listen. She’s acting like she’s got me…like I’m in a trap.”

“Mista Joe, you don’ really mean it.”

“What choice do I have? I swear to God, one more thing and I’m afraid I might lose my mind. Where would the kids be then? She spends money like we have the damn United States mint in the backyard. I can’t take it. If I leave the kids, God knows what would happen. With that temper of hers, what if she…God, Ethel, she could hurt one of them and then where would we be? I’ve talked with a lawyer. If you don’t testify, Ethel, she’ll get the children. He said I didn’t stand an iceball’s chance in hell of getting custody. Apparently in the state of Virginia, judges don’t take children away from their mothers unless there are dire circumstances. You are my only hope. You know her friends and brothers will circle the wagons. I need you to think long and hard about this Ethel. And like a damn bonehead I had to go and get charged with assault. Aw Jesus,” he said as he put his head between his hands and looked like was crying.

“What yo mean assault? Who? I mean if ‘n ya donne mind me axen.”

“Dabney, he mouthed off one time too many and decked him the other day. The bastard swore out a warrant.”

“Well sir, I’s can’t thinka no one mo deservin’. But Lord have mercy.”

I could feel my eyes growing wide in the darkness; my head pounded so loudly I was sure they could hear it. I bit my lip hard to keep from crying. Nothing was said for a while. Then Daddy continued, “I’ve got to clear my head. I’m going to stay at the office for a while. Promise me you’ll look after things until I can figure out what to do. I can’t take the kids with me right now. I’m going to get some of my things and go. You’ve got my number. I’ll call and check in. You call me if you need me. I hate this,” he said. His voice thickened and quavered. “Ethel, I’m serious. You’ve got to help me.”

I sat shell-shocked in the closet, suddenly realizing that I had forgotten to breathe the entire time he’d been speaking. I let out my breath as quietly as I could. A bnvbgnbaby? Daddy leaving? Decking Mr. Dabney? And what did he mean he couldn’t take us with him? I was torn: part of me wanted to barge out and put a stop to the nonsense, but the stronger part of me was fearful of being discovered eavesdropping on such a secret exchange. Then I heard Ethel say, “I’d never let nothin’ happen to my babies. Mista Joe, you jest got yo’self all riled up. Miz Ginny ain’t bad off as all that.”

“Yes she is Ethel,” he said then pushed himself away from the table and stood to go.

“Don’t you worry. Ethel ain’t gonna let nothin’ happen to my babies,” she repeated, but she said it to herself. Daddy left the kitchen and was on his way upstairs. I silently pulled the closet door closed. Through the ceiling I could hear his dresser drawers opening and closing.

When he left the house again, Ethel got up and went upstairs. I eased out of the closet and tiptoed upstairs behind her, intending to sneak into bed before she could scold me. But when I got to my room she was already there, staring at my empty bed. She turned to look at me in the doorway. I was sure I was in for a bawling out and a spanking, but Ethel didn’t even look annoyed.

“Lord a mercy,” she said as she bustled across the room to wrap me tightly in her arms.

Chapter 10

Ethel
1942

M
ista Joe and Miz Ginny was happy as cows in fresh clover after they set up housekeepin’ in an apartment near the law school. Miz Ginny took to makin’ friends like she’d been doin’ it her whole life, which I knowed for a fact she hadn’. But she was makin’ up for lost time. They had parties might near every weekend, and she always had someone over for dinner during the week.

Cookin’ was not a thing Miz Ginny had much interest in, though I have to hand it to her, she did give it a try once or twice. After they come home from their honeymoon, she gushed about how she wanted to cook all of Mista Joe’s meals. She said she was going to make bread and soups and roasts every night. So she asked me to help her make up a shoppin’ list. That was one thing she was good at—shoppin’.

“So?” she said, lookin’ at me like she thought I had the keys to the kingdom.

“First thang ya gotta do is pick what you gon’ fix,” I said feelin’ sorta stupid since it was clear as day to me.

“Oh, of course. Well, we’re going to have soup for our first course.” She stopped and waited with her pen ready to write.

“Miz Ginny, what kinda soup you gonna have?” I ‘bout rolled my eyes at her. I knowed she wasn’t
that
stupid.

“I don’t know. What do you think?”

“Lord a mercy. I don’t even know what ya’ll likes to eat. Mushroom?”

She shook her head.

“Why don’t we start small and work up to courses later?” I said. “How ‘bout a nice roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans?” Even my simple sister Huberta could about handle cookin’ that by herself, so I thought Miz Ginny could get by all right. She thought that was a fine idea. She took up her pen again, waiting for me to tell her what to buy. “I tell ya what, I’ll jest call down to Mista Maupin’s an’ his boy can drop it by.” She thought that was another fine idea. Maupin’s boy brought the groceries by about an hour later. “Miz Ginny, the groceries is here. We best be getting that chicken in the oven if ya wantin’ dinner tonight.”

“Ethel, would you do it? I’m going over to Miss Charlotte’s to play some bridge. When Mr. Joe gets home tell him where I am, won’t you?”

And that was pretty much the way it was. Whenever there wasn’t some bridge party or tennis game to go to, she would play at cookin’. She made such a mess I quit suggestin’ it and fell into fixin’ most of the meals myself. The ones I didn’t cook, Mista Joe did. I could always tell if she’d been doin’ what she called cookin’. When I come into the kitchen in the mornin’, the pots an’ dishes would be stacked in the sink—that is, the ones that’d fit—the others would be on top of any space that would hold ‘em: chairs, tables, books; even the trashcan would have a roaster or pot perched on top it.

Then them Japanese up and bombed Pearl Harbor on Miz Ginny’s birthday. She cried the whole livelong day, blubberin’ about how her birthday would never be the same. “Everybody from now on will remember it as the day we were attacked and went to war,” she wailed.

Mista Joe tried everything he could think of to cheer her up, but she wasn’t havin’ it. Nothin’—flowers, champagne, chocolates, fancy under things—could make her happy. It was a ruined day for her. Then when Mista Joe told her a few months later he was goin’ to war, all she could say was, “You can’t go off and leave me alone.”

“Lord, Ginny,” he said. “Could you think about anybody for one minute besides yourself?” That was the first time Mista Joe raised his voice to her in my hearing. “Hitler is doing dreadful things in Europe. He’s bombing the bejeezus out of England. I can’t just sit back and hold your hand while the world is going to war.” He slammed the door and
stomped out of the apartment. I understood what Mista Joe was feelin’: Early’s boy, Junior, done went off to the war.

Miz Ginny came into the kitchen—face all tearstained and swollen.

“He can’t leave me. I don’t know what I’ll do. Oh God, Ethel, what am I going to do?” She laid her head on my shoulder and sobbed. I patted her on the back.

“We’ll get through, and it’ll be alrigh’, Miz Ginny. I’m sho’ it will.” I weren’t sho’ at all, but I didn’t know what else to say.

A few days later Mista Joe came home with some excitin’ news. He’d been offered a job in an old Charlottesville law firm, and Miz Ginny was tickled. “Oh Joe, that is wonderful news! Now you don’t have to go off to that old war. We can settle down and have a great big family and you can fight injustice right here at home. Honey, I’m so happy.” She patted her hands together like a little girl, jumpin’ ‘round and kissin’ the man all over his face.

That woman couldn’t read her husband no better than she could a recipe book. All you had to do was look at him to see he wasn’t gon’ take that job. Ever’ time she kissed him, his jaw got a little tighter. I decided it was best I go out and get the clothes off the line—I could see that storm comin’ a mile away.

Mista Joe didn’t go away for almost a year. He spent a lot of time going back and forth to Washington for his trainin’. I don’t know for sure what it was. He never said, but I think he was some kind of spy. Miz Ginny was happy as she could be. All her friends’ husbands were gone off to the war, so it was like one big hen party. There were knitting parties and card parties and war effort parties. And they wasn’t no coffee or tea parties, neither. They was some hard-drinkin’ women in that bunch, I’m here to tell you. When Mista Joe came home on leave, Miz Ginny got to show him off to all her friends.

There ain’t a whole lot of things to do in a five room apartment, takin’ care of one woman; although Miz Ginny could keep a soul busy doin’ for her. She would worry a saint into sinnin’ askin’ silly questions about how she looked and did I think this would look better than that. What kinda fool would axe me questions ‘bout fashion? And talk about going through laundry—that woman could make a pile of laundry
faster than a nursery full of babies could. I never seen the like. But there was a sweetness ‘bout Miz Ginny that I couldn’t help but love. She might try on four dresses before she decided on the right one, and there was a good chance she’d toss all the three that didn’ make it into a heap so they needed re-ironin’, but she made sure to give me all them clothes and shoes when she got tired of ‘em. Miz Ginny knowed full well theys wasn’ goin’ be fittin’ me, but Mama and the girls could get a few years outta’em. We goes way back, me and Miz Ginny, and we turned out to be a good fit. She needed motherin’ ‘bout as much as I needed to mother.

In April of 1943, jus’ a week befo’ Mista Joe was to ship out (he couldn’ tell where, though she hounded ‘im hard to say), Miz Ginny come up pregnant. It was the happiest I’d seen them two since the first week of their marriage.

At first it seemed like Miz Ginny was a natural born mother. She sailed through bein’ pregnant like it wasn’ a thing at all. Her friends had mornin’ sickness, swollen ankles, and gained too much weight, but Miz Ginny went to party after party and smoked like a chimney. I don’t know if she’d say so, but I would guess them war years was about her best. There was a letter from Mista Joe most ever’ day. If a day went by that she didn’t get one, she would get two the next day: one in the mornin’ post and another in the evenin’. She was good about writin’ him too. Ever’ day she had a note for the postman. Sometimes after a party, she’d write another for the afternoon; a long one explaining all about the party she went to the day before and how sorry she was she hadn’t written more, but she had to get ready. She knew he would understand. Before she would seal the letters she would read ‘em to me, skippin’ over the private parts. I asked her a few times to write a letter to Junior, which she did. Then it was me that was the stupid one—just the opposite of when I was tryin’ to teach her ‘bout the meal plannin’ and cookin’. She’d hold her pen and ask me what did I want to say to Junior, and I’d look at her dumb as a post. “I dunno,” I’d say. “What you think?” Then she’d go and write the sweetest little note and read it back to me and we’d sign it, Love Ethel/Miz Ginny. It made me feel righ’ good that Junior was gettin’ some mail, an’ gettin’ it from me, too!