Apron Strings (19 page)

Mista Joe, Stuart, and world peace showed up one right after another, leastwise it seemed that way. Stuart was the first to make her arrival. She was the most beautiful baby I ever did see, and I couldn’t have loved her more if she had been my own. From the moment I laid eyes on her I loved her. Miz Ginny was so proud of that baby, I thought she’d pop. She went righ’ back to tha size she was befo’ the baby in less than a month, and you just know she was happy ‘bout that too.

Miz Bess come to help out when Miz Ginny brought Stuart home from the hospital, and I have to say, where Mama and Miz Pansy found sweetness in that woman, I don’t know. She was the bossiest old battle-ax I ever run across. Nothin’ was good enough. She had me cleanin’, washin’, and ironin’ mornin’, noon, and night. She’d find a wrinkle in a crib sheet and she’d ball it up into a knot and throw it in the dirty clothes—for a wrinkle! Babies can put stains on things that no amount of scrubbin’ will take out, that don’t mean it ain’t clean. I was changin’ the baby while Miz Bess supervised. It weren’t like I didn’t know how to change a baby’s diaper. I’d been doing it since I was might near five-years-old. I picked up a diaper, newly washed, boiled, line dried, and ironed. Who irons diapers? Miz Bess spotted a stain on that diaper. She looked at me like I had taken my big foot and ground that baby diaper into the dirt. “Don’t you ever put a diaper on this baby that looks like that. Do you hear me?”

I nodded. “Yes’m,” I said. I found a spotless diaper and put it on the baby, wrapped ‘er up good in a new clean blanket, and handed ‘er to Miz Bess. Bless that baby’s heart: she spit up the whole bottle of milk I’d just fed her all down Miz Bess’s back. I took her from the old bag. She fussed like a sour goose on her way out of the room, and when she was gone, I snuggled with that precious child and kissed her all over. I knowed she and I was goin’ to be good friends.

When Mista Joe walked through the door three months later, I don’t rightly know which of us was happier to see him, Miz Ginny or me. But it was plain as the grin on his face that little Stuart was Mista Joe’s hands down favorite girl. That wasn’t an observation I made alone, neither. Whatever chance Miz Ginny had of being a good mother to Stuart went out the window when Mista Joe came home from war. Miz Ginny wasn’t holdin’ any
truck with sharin’ Mista Joe with nobody, even that po’ little baby. Turns out Miz Ginny was a lot more like Miz Bess than anybody knew.

Mista Joe, along with most ever’ man I knowed, includin’ Junior, was changed after he come back from the war. He stayed on in the army for almost a year. The whole time he’d be goin’ back and forth to Washington and stayin’ for a week or ten days ever’ trip. Miz Ginny had worked out a routine of partyin’ with her girlfriends during his time away. That didn’t set too well with Mista Joe now that he was back. The parties had begun to wind down some even before Stuart came, since a few of the ladies’ husbands had been killed or injured in the war. Some of the others got pregnant and didn’t have the healthy constitution Miz Ginny did, so they didn’t feel like gettin’ out. But there was a few hangers-on who could party with the best of them; ladies Mista Joe didn’t cotton to much. Him and Miz Ginny had more than one row about it, too.

Sometimes I wonder if maybe Mista Joe and me hadn’t been there, if Miz Ginny and Stuart might’ve learned to love each other. Every time Miz Ginny picked that baby up, Stuart would start screamin’. Mista Joe would take her and she would start up cooin’ like a little dove. On my ha’f days, I worried more than I kin say ‘bout that po’ lil’ baby; ‘specially if Mista Joe weren’t home. It wasn’t like Miz Ginny would have hurt her. I know she loved that baby; she just didn’t have the interest. And even when Miz Ginny was interested, you would have to go some to get her attention.

But Miz Ginny was proud that Stuart was beautiful; the most beautiful baby you ever laid eyes on. Nobody could see her and not say so. And Miz Ginny dressed her as pretty as a baby has ever been dressed. She played with that child like she was a doll baby: puttin’ on and takin’ off dresses just as often as turnin’ water on and off at a tap. And every one of them needed to be pressed and starched. An’ there was the diapers, an’ the formula, an’ ster’lizin’ the baby bottles when I wasn’t pushin’ an iron around. It didn’t take long for Miz Ginny to move on after the sameness set in. She sorta lost interest in takin’ the baby out for walks an’ showin’ off her new slim figure.

“Ethel, will you take her? I can’t stand the crying, not for another minute. Make her stop.” She looked at me like she was ‘bout to cry herself.

“I’ll see what I ken do.” I took the hollerin’ lil’ bundle from her mama and cooed to ‘er a little while I bounced ‘er in my arms real soft. The baby’s cryin’ stopped, but Miz Ginny picked up right where it left off, jest boohooin’ like she done lost her only friend. “Lord, what’s the matter, Miz Ginny?”

“I’ve been rocking and cooing all morning long,” she blubbered. “I’ve walked her and bounced her just like you showed me. What am I doing wrong?” She slumped in the rockin’ chair, covered her face with her hands, and cried softly. My heart like to broke for the po’ soul. I had no idea what to say.

There sho’ weren’t as much joy in the house when Miz Ginny found out that Gordy was on the way. But Baby Gordy sho’ loved his mama. Miz Ginny got as close as I ever seen her to bein’ a dotin’ parent with him. He was a fat, happy baby for ever’ body, includin’ Stuart, who loved her baby brother. But nobody loved them children more than Mista Joe. He might come home tired and wore out, but the minute he seen them babies, he lit up like a Christmas tree. Stuart would run to him with a book. They would sit and read for as long as Miz Ginny would let ‘em.

By the time you—lil’ Miss Sallee—was on the way, Mista Joe had got fed up with lawyerin’ and was head over heels interested in that shoppin’ center. The wave of the future, according to yo’ uncle, Mista James. Mista Joe and Mista James would sit on the sofa talkin’ ‘bout how the downtowns was dyin’ and everything was movin’ out of town. I didn’t have any notion what they was talkin’ about. Whatever it was, they was hot on the trail of it. Mista Joe talked about progress and how important it was, and Mista James agreed. After a while Miz Ginny stopped havin’ Mista James and his wife, Miz Lisbeth, over to the house. Then she stopped seein’ ‘em altogether; her own brother, flesh and blood. She blamed Mista James and Miz Lisbeth for leadin’ Mista Joe into that dangerous new world of his; one that didn’t seem to ‘specially include Miz Ginny. But I didn’t see Mista Joe shuttin’ her out. It was more like she didn’t want to go there. Whatever rows Miz Ginny and Mista Joe had before couldn’t hold a candle to the ones they havin’ now.

Chapter 11

Sallee

“P
regnant,” Gordy screwed up his face like he smelled something bad. “She’s gonna have a baby?”

“Yeah,” I whispered, nodding my head solemnly. No one was around to hear us, but whispering felt appropriate given the gravity of the information I was imparting. “He came home around one o’clock, got some clothes, and then left because Mama’s pregnant and he doesn’t want it.”

“Who doesn’t want?”

“Why, Daddy doesn’t, on account of his already having us.”

“Well, I don’t want one, neither,” Gordy said, swinging his leg over the tree limb we’d been sitting on and letting himself down to the ground. “What do we need another kid around here for? And why does she have to go and have one if it means Daddy doesn’t want to live here anymore?”

His spin on things startled me. “Whaddya mean he doesn’t want to live here no more?” I demanded. Up until then it hadn’t sunk in that Daddy’s stay at the office might be more than a tactic to win the argument. “He’s just staying at work. He’ll come home when she gives up,” I insisted. I wasn’t so sure, though. I didn’t know the first thing about what it took to talk someone out of being pregnant, or even what that meant; but I did know that my mother rarely budged on any subject.

Gordy shrugged and seemed unwilling to take the matter further. He kicked the grass and looked out toward the street. “We still gotta find out who killed Lance. Come on.”

“Not me. I’m not going to sneak around—no more hiding in closets.”

“Nobody but a dummy hides in the broom closet to find out clues for who killed their dog. You know Ethel didn’t.”

“I don’t know nothing anymore. Daddy’s drinking beer with Ethel. Mama’s having a baby. Lance is dead. Oh, oh I can’t believe I almost forgot this. Daddy decked Mr. Dabney. Nothing makes any sense anymore.”

Gordy spun around. “Daddy decked Mr. Dabney? Are you nuts? How do you know?”

“He said. When he was talking to Ethel. And the time before, I saw his hand was all bloody.”

“On my way back from school yesterday I saw a police car driving around going real slow. They stopped at the Dabneys’ house.”

“Well yeah, He’s tryin’ to get Daddy arrested for deckin’ him. Did the police get out?”

“No, just slowed down and took their time looking into their yard. They must think they did it. Wait, Mr. Dabney’s tryin’ to arrest Daddy?” He started walking in the direction of the Dabneys’ house.

I wasn’t as sure as Gordy seemed to be. Mr. Dabney was creepy, but Miz Dabney had always been nice to me. I couldn’t picture them as dog killers or people who would try to ruin your tires with a bunch of nails, but then he was trying to arrest Daddy. “Where are you going? You’re not going over there, are you?”

“Nope,
we
are. Come on.” He slipped under the fence.” Don’t worry, you won’t get in trouble. Nobody will see us cuz we’re going to sneak up on them,” he whispered loudly as he disappeared into the bamboo that grew wild behind the garage. I ran to catch up. Bamboo is rough stuff to get through without a track. Gordy used to go this way often. His friend George lived four streets away. They had figured out how to visit each other without having to cross streets by cutting through backyards. Gordy’s trail had already grown over, but since he knew where he was going, he made much faster progress than I could. “Gordy, wait!” I called, as I plowed through the bamboo, running into dead ends, and doubling back. I searched for a trail or signs that Gordy had passed that way. “Gordy!” I shouted.

I tripped over bamboo shoots and stumbled over their sharp little stumps. The clumps were so thick it was impossible to get through them. It was as if the bamboo plants were directing me deep into a maze. “Where are you? Gordy!”

“Would you shut up?” he said, coming up from behind me. “Jeez, how are we going to sneak around if you’re screaming your head off?”

“You went off and left me.” I wanted to sob but felt like it was some kind of test. Since I hadn’t done well so far, I tried to pull myself together. “Where are we?”

“Look,” he said, pointing through a clearing in the bamboo. As I followed his finger, I realized that I could throw a rock through my bedroom window from where I stood.

“Oh.”

“Now look, do you want to do this or not? Cuz, if you do you can’t be crying and yelling like a ninny. If ol’ Dabney killed Lance, he could kill us too.” The thought shook us both.

“I don’t know if I want to. What if we get caught?”

“We’re not going to if you keep quiet. Now come on.” Gordy took my hand and led me through the bamboo. Soon we were at the side of the Dabneys’ brick house, which, like their yard, was completely covered in ivy. We climbed the picket fence that separated their yard from a neighbor’s. The paint peeled off the rotten boards leaving a chalky residue on our hands. I was grateful that the weather was cold. Ivy was creepy enough to walk in without having to worry about snakes.

“Gordy, look—they’re here,” I said, pointing to the car parked in the driveway.

“That car has been in the same place for the last month. I don’t think it works,” he whispered back. “They can’t see us if we stay on this side of the house.”

“How do you know if you haven’t ever been inside their house?” I asked. I was impressed by his knowledge. “I have, but I couldn’t tell you what they can see from the inside. Besides, they always have the shades drawn.” I looked at Gordy like he had amazing magical powers.

“Their house is just like my buddy Bobby’s. Look.” Again I followed his finger as he pointed to the windows on the house. “See, there’s the bathroom and the kitchen and the back steps.”

“Wow,” I relaxed. “How did you figure that out?”

“All ya gotta do is pay attention,” he said offhandedly. “Come on, we’ve got to get going.”

“What are we looking for, anyway?”

“Antifreeze,” he hissed.

“I don’t know what antifreeze looks like.”

“You can read can’t you? Just look for a can with a-n-t-i-f-r-e-e-z-e written on it. Let’s go over and look around under the back steps.”

We scurried from tree to tree as we made our way to the porch. The ivy was so thick in places it was like running through knots of string. I tripped and fell several times. Gordy bent down to help me up, not once calling me a name. Overwhelmed with gratitude, I vowed silently not to let him down. I would find Lance’s killer, no matter what it took. We poked around under the steps that climbed up a full story above our heads. I poked Gordy and pointed. The car that scared us so badly the day we were playing with Lil’ Early was there, right there. “I knew I’d seen it before. The car. Look, it’s the one; the one from that day.”