Apron Strings (6 page)

When she turned and seen Wilson still standin’ idle, she boomed out, “Wilson, git on back there an’ see what you can do! I’ll call the doctah. I be right behind you wit’ Miz Bess. Lorda mercy, man, stop yo’ blubberin’!”

Wilson kept right on cryin’. He wiped his face with his hand, “Bertha,” he said. “Daddy an’ Cy’s in dat car wit’em.”

Mama looked at me. “What you standin’ there for? Git on outta here an’ do what I tol’ ya.”

The crystals on the candlesticks in the dinin’ room set to jinglin’ as I ran through the swingin’ kitchen door. I slowed down on the front porch so I wouldn’ scare Miz Bess. I tapped on the open door and peeked out on the porch.

“‘Scuse me, Miz Bess, Mama say she need you in the kitchen real bad. You gotta come quick.”

Miz Bess looked up from her sewin’ like I’d run up on her naked as a jaybird. “What?” she said. “Ethel, what is the matter with you?”

“Miz Bess, I’s sorry but she say she wantin’ ya, direc’ly. She say it’s real important.”

Miz Bess pursed her lips and stood up. She set her sewin’ in the basket and started for the kitchen. Mama had already come as far as the dinin’ room. I heard them whisperin’ and then Miz Bess let out a gasp. The crystals commenced a terrible racket, and I heard Mama and Miz Bess go in the kitchen. I stole a look at Miz Ginny in the parlor. She was workin’ on one of her jigsaw puzzles. I went in. She cocked her head at me, and then studied the puzzle.

“What’s so important that my mother has to run to Bertha’s beck and call?” she asked. She glided one of them pieces over the puzzle not lookin’ up. I stood there dumb. She fitted the piece where it should go then looked at me hard. “I asked you a question, girl. What is going on?” All I could do was shrug. I don’ remember when I felt a bigger fool. Here I was, a good year older than Miz Ginny, and I couldn’ find nothin’ to say. Her blue eyes felt like they was borin’ holes in me. She’d combed her blonde hair out of her face with her fingers. Right then, I hated myself. I never felt so ugly. Miz Ginny was tall, pretty, slim, and cream white. I was short, plump, nappy headed, with brown skin and freckles. I couldn’ think of nothin’ to say to her.

“Miz Ginny, you don’ know where Miz Pansy is at, do ya?”

“Why in the world would you think I’d know where Pansy would be?” she asked. “Probably sitting upstairs with her feet propped up in the guest room. That’s usually where she hides. Why?”

“Oh nothin’, I jest wondered is all. You wouldn’ wanna help me find her, would ya?”

“Are you out of our mind? Why in God’s name would I want to do anything with you?”

I was makin’ a mess of this. I couldn’ see my way clear how to do what Mama tol’ me. How was I supposed to get this smart alecky girl off her backside and up the stairs out of the way, and find Miz Pansy to boot? The good Lord musta been smilin’ down on me ‘cause jus’ about then I heard Miz Pansy hummin’ a tune. She was dustin’ the banister. I ran into the hall and motioned her to come down the steps.

“Girl, you crazy, wantin’ me to come down there?” she said. “If you got somethin’ to say to me, say it, ‘cause I ain’t got no time to be runnin’ up and down these stairs for the likes of you.”

“Miz Pansy, Mama say she need you in the kitchen. She say if she ain’t there, she be along directly. You ‘pose to wait for ‘er.”

“Since when Bertha tell me what to do? I be there directly. You go on an’ tell ‘er.”

I ran up the steps to where she was workin’. “They’s trouble,” I whispered. I was out of breath and excited, but I told her all I knew. She dropped her dust rag and bustled her big self down the stairs and off in the direction of the kitchen.

Miz Ginny was standin’ in the doorway of the parlor, watchin’ me. “Damnation, Ethel, you tell me what is going on right now.” Bein’ so scared myself, I couldn’ tell if it was fire or fear in them blue eyes.

“Miz Ginny, you needs to come up here with me right now.” I marched up the stairs with as much authority as I could manage, prayin’ that she would follow. I stopped on a step and looked over my shoulder. Thank the good Lord, there she was. “I gotta talk with you and I don’ want no one hearin’ what I gotta say,” I said.

I marched to the head of the stairs and took a right turn and stepped on into her room as if it was my very own. When she come in after me I said, “Shut the do’. You and me’s gotta talk.” I patted the pink bedspread across from where I stood. “Sit down on this here bed.” I was surprised she wasn’t putting on any of her high and mighty ways—she looked for all the world like a scolded puppy. She sat right down where I had just patted my hand and waited. I sat down next to her.

It probably was only a few moments, but it seemed like my whole life had passed when Miz Ginny finally said something.

“You saw us didn’t you? Ethel, promise me you won’t tell.” She had tears in them big eyes, looking as scared as a hare caught in a snare. “Please, Daddy would kill me. You don’t have any idea.”

“Miz Ginny, I got mo’ idea of it than you know. But yo’ daddy won’ kill you, he’ll kill Cy, and skin ‘im ‘fore he do. I can promise you that.”

“I love him and he loves me.”

I shook my head, just lettin’ it hang there, rockin’ back and forth; thinkin’ about what kind of mess I done got myself in. And that slip of a white girl sittin’ next to me with no more sense ‘bout the world than that bed she was sittin’ on.

“Lord have mercy,” I said. “You ain’t got no more idea what love is than my left shoe.” I looked down and seen I was barefooted. She did too and we both sorta laughed. “Lord, Miz Ginny, if you loves that boy you best be leavin’ him alone. I’m tellin’ you dey still string colored men up around here for touchin’ white women. You ain’t doin’ him no favors lovin’ him, if that’s what you wanna call it.” Miz Ginny was cryin’. Her shoulders shook as she sat on that bed lookin’ like I done kicked her good.

“But Cy looks as white as I do.”

“Yes’m, he might do, but he ain’t, and ev’rybody ‘round these parts know it. He gon’ be lyin’ in his grave wit’ you to thank in no time if’n you keep up like you was today. Ya’ll lucky it was me that come lookin’ this mornin’. Anybody else and they woulda called out the dogs.”

The last ice in her seemed to melt away and she near collapsed. She throwed herself at me and wrapped her long arms round my shoulders. She started up bawlin’ like I never heard. “What am I going to do, Ethel? We weren’t hurting anybody. He loves me, too. I just know he does.”

I sat there with that girl draped over me thinkin’ to myself,
That damn fool Cy oughta know better
. Cy was Mama’s sister’s boy, and after she passed, Mama took him in. Cy and I was the same age; he had been living with us since as long back as I could remember. Mama told him, more times than I can count, he best be keeping his hands to hisself with all
his girl cousins round, and don’t be trying to charm her or no body else with them spirituals he was always singing.

One day Mama sat us all down—Cy, too—and told us how you get babies. Cy started up singing and she cut him a hard look. “I can’t help it. De jest bubble up,” he said, with that quick smile of his that would melt butter on a cold day. Then she say she better not be gettin’ no baby surprises from the likes of us. She was lookin’ Cy square in the face when she said it, too. Weren’t too many peoples that wanted that look more than about once.

“Miz Ginny, it ain’t none of my bid’ness what you and Cy be up ta. But I loves him like a brother my ownself and I gots ta know if’n ya been at more than jest kissin’.”

She looked like I done throwed hot milk at her. “Kissing, that’s all. Ethel, what kind of girl do you think I am?” She sat up straight and started takin’ on some of her high and mightiness again.

Well, Miz Ginny
, I thought, but didn’t have the courage to say,
that’s ‘xactly what I’m tryin’ to figure out
.

“Ethel,” she said, like she had just snapped out of a trance, “You didn’t get Mother out of the way so that you could talk with me about Cy. What’s going on?”

Chapter 4

Sallee

S
ometimes Ethel would take us children with her on her errands. Those trips occurred when my mother had made plans to be out and there was no one to leave us with; or she was feeling blue and didn’t want us around. So Ethel would suggest that she had an errand to do, and couldn’t we come with her? We’d always take the bus since Ethel couldn’t drive. Few adventures were more alluring than riding the bus to Ethel’s appointments.

One Friday afternoon a few days before school started, Ethel was scheduled to have her half day off. But my mother suddenly asked her to stay, saying she had something important to do away from the house. Ethel told her that she couldn’t because she had a dentist appointment that afternoon, but she could take us with her. My mother hemmed and hawed then finally gave her permission.

In preparation for our adventure, Ethel gathered all her possessions: her purse, her sweater—despite the blistering heat—her hat, and her ubiquitous brown shopping bag. She walked from the house with the folded bag tucked under her arm, her purse dangling, and Helen planted high up on her ample hip. She instructed Gordy to hold my hand, and then grabbed my other hand. As we left the yard she said, “Gordy, don’ you let go of ‘er hand no matter what. If’n I gotta let go, you hol’ tight, ya hear?” Gordy nodded and squeezed my hand harder. I did my best to shake free. Before we’d even gotten to the bus stop at the corner in front
of our house, Ethel stopped twice: once to adjust Helen, her purse, and her bag, and again to ask Gordy and me, “Does I have to git a switch?”

“He’s squeezing my hand too hard,” I whined.

“But Ethel told me to,” Gordy protested, his face screwed up with earnest responsibility.

“Honey, jest hold ‘er hand an’ don’ let go. Now hurry on, here’s de bus.”

Like a monstrous green and yellow dragon spewing diesel fumes, the bus hissed to a stop in front of us. Its enormous doors sprang open, revealing steps. A uniformed driver at the wheel peered down at us.

“How did it know we wanted it to stop, Ethel?” I asked, mesmerized by the vehicle’s enormity.

“Cuz it’s a bus stop,” she said. I didn’t think that was much of an explanation since I’d often watched from the house as bus after bus drove up and down the road never stopping. But I let the subject drop. I’d learned that even with Ethel questions sometimes weren’t worth pursuing, and you could never tell which ones they might be until it was already too late. I learned that the hard way the time I asked her how Lil’ Early could be her grandson when she didn’t have any children of her own.

“He be Big Early’s son’s boy,” she said.

“How come Big Early has a son and he’s not yours, too?”

“Big Early was married befo’.”

Then I went one question too far. I had heard my mother say that Big Early and Ethel were only married
in common-law
. I had no idea what the phrase meant, but I remembered it, so I said, “Common-law, like you and Big Early?”

“What you know ‘bout dat?” Ethel shot back, giving me a cross look that ended my questions.

Boarding the bus proved to be awkward. Ethel, juggling Helen and her purse on one arm, let go of my hand to pay the bus driver. The driver had a mean look on his face like he didn’t like us. I glared at him. He kept putting his foot on the brake pedal then taking it off so the bus jumped and bounced as Ethel tried to pay him. I was going to help, but Gordy took it upon himself to be my sole protector while Ethel was otherwise
occupied. After we had a small skirmish at the head of the steps out of Ethel’s line of sight, I wrested my hand from Gordy and tripped to the vacant seat at the back of the bus. Gordy trailed after me doing his best to follow Ethel’s orders.

“Leave me alone,” I hissed. “I can’t get lost on the bus. There’s no one on it but us anyway.” With the fare paid, Ethel plodded down the aisle then plopped herself breathlessly down next to me. She placed Helen on her other side. She sat there on the wide back seat, legs splayed, fanning herself with her brown bag, sweat pouring down her face.

As the bus rattled and lurched its way downtown, Gordy and I stood on the seat and waved at the drivers following us. The honk of a car horn or the friendly wave of a hand through the great cloud of black diesel exhaust behind us provoked squeals of delight. We stopped several times to pick up passengers along the way. Just before our stop, Ethel said, “Gordy, reach up there an’ grab hold’a that cord. Give it a yank.” With great self-importance, Gordy climbed up on the seat and grasped the cord. A little bell down near the driver rang and rang. “Let it go, boy,” Ethel directed. I could see the driver scowling at Ethel in his big mirror.

The stop was across the street from Ethel’s dentist’s office, a worn red brick house with a crooked roof next door to the taxi office. Ethel gathered up her belongings, including Helen. I scampered ahead down the aisle toward the front of the bus, Gordy following. The back door swished open. Ethel stood at the top of the steps, jostling her load. “Com’on now, you two, git back here,” she said. Several passengers stood up between us, blocking the way.

As Gordy and I were swept toward the front door, he clung to my hand so tightly my fingers turned white. “Cut it out,” I said, trying to loosen his grip. “You’re hurting me.” As we stepped down, we were greeted by an out of breath Ethel who’d already made her way from the rear exit up the sidewalk to us. She glared at the bus driver as if he were solely responsible for our being separated from her. She helped Gordy and me down to the curb. The driver flashed us a nasty smile as he shut the door and the bus roared off in a cloud of fumes.