Celeste's Harlem Renaissance (25 page)

Once when I was taking down clothes in the backyard, Swan waved and came over to the fence. “I’d come over more but I never see you outside,” she said. “Momma wouldn’t let me come back over that night. She said not to be bothering you too much because your hands are so full with your aunt. But here, I can help you take down clothes.”

“Thanks, Swan. I miss you so much. Sometimes I don’t have anything to do, and other times I work so hard all I can manage later is to fall into bed. I figure Evalina’s gone to her granddaddy’s farm like she said she would, but where’s Angel Mae?” I asked.

Swan shrugged as she helped me fold a sheet. “I haven’t seen her myself. With it being so hot and dusty this summer, her asthma’s been kicking up bad, so that might be part of the reason,” she said. “It’s so hot I don’t feel like walking all the way over to her house. Well, I gotta go. Come to the back porch more and wave or something, so I know when I can come over, or at least meet you at the fence.”

“All right. And thanks, Swan.” Watching out for the duck poop, I headed back to the porch with my arms full of clothes.

That afternoon while Aunt Society rested I was sitting on the front porch sweating and fretting when Mrs. Bivens, Lissa, and Buster swung around the corner. I hurried out into the street toward them, waving. “Great day in the morning, you sure have grown,” she exclaimed when she got the mule stopped. “How’ve you been? How’s your aunts? How’s your father?”

“They’re all holding on, thanks. Can you take me to the sanitarium to see Poppa one day soon? I haven’t been able to get out there since I got back.” I patted Buster, who was happy to see me.

She pursed her lips. “That’s a long trip. I’ll need a little something, you know, for Lissa’s wear and tear.”

“How much?” I held my breath. “Like a dollar?” I still had a little money saved from Café Noir Le Grande and scrubbing. I was trying to make it last.

“That’d be fine. I expect she’ll make it if we rest a lot. You wouldn’t be taking your aunt, would you?” she whispered.

“No, ma’am. I got to find somebody to sit with her before I can go.”

“Well, you let me know the day before. Much as we need the rain, it’ll muddy up the roads too bad.”

That afternoon a lady brought us over a pot of greens. When I asked if she could sit with Aunt Society, she smiled, blessed me, said no, and kept going. When I saw Mrs. Smithfield walking home, I asked her about sitting with Aunt Society. She said she couldn’t this week because the governor was having guests and she’d have to fix fancy meals. She might be able to next week, though. “And call the sanitarium to make sure they allow children. You got grown folks’ responsibilities, but you got a child’s age,” she advised me gently. “Sometimes places like that won’t let children come around.”

Nobody else stopped by that whole week, not even any ladies with food. I was about to drop with the heat, and loneliness. One afternoon, after I’d snapped bushels of green beans for canning and cleaned yellow corn that Mr. Smithfield had left on the back porch, I heard a knock at the front door. I rushed out to the porch, with corn tassels hanging off the front of my dress and my face.
Praise God, Angel Mae!
We danced around, screaming.

“I’da come by sooner, but my asthma’s really been bothering me,” she said, “and then I caught one of those awful summer colds. But girl, you look good! I’ve been missing you so!” We hugged again and sat down in the porch swing. She brought me up to date on things happening in Raleigh, which wasn’t much different from what I already knew. I told her some more things about what I’d done in Harlem.

“Yeah, I know all that. We got your letters and your Statue of Liberty postcard. Evalina came over before she left and told me you were bragging about everything and had your hair done up fancy and thought you were cute. You know Evalina.” She wiped her plump, sweaty face.

“Can I ask you something?” I asked. She nodded. “She and Swan didn’t really seem interested in what I was saying. What was wrong with them?”

“Nothing really. But Momma and them say when someone they know goes to Harlem, they always come back with the big head, bragging and carrying on. All we talked about while you were gone was that we hoped you wouldn’t get the big head, too. So maybe that’s why.”

“The big head? Do you think I do?” Without meaning to, I touched my head.

“No. You always talked about New York, so that wasn’t new. Remember when we met at the Butterflies Club how we all loved to talk about what we wanted to do? Evalina said she wanted to be a cowgirl and live in Texas after we saw that cowboy movie at the Royal. She didn’t even know where Texas was!”

“Oh, and how Swan said she wanted to be a Red Cross nurse and help our wounded soldiers in France, but that was only because she loved the white uniform and the red cape!” I giggled.

“And I wanted to be a teacher and open my own school like that lady Charlotte Hawkins Brown did for us Colored over in Sedalia. I still do,” she said softly. “But now we’re just canning pig snouts and getting fat” — she pointed to herself — “while you’re out there meeting Broadway stars, eating foreign food, and seeing fancy sights.”

She nodded at my bosom. “And growing those.” I looked down proudly. “Girl, Evalina’s having hissy fits because you grew
those
and got your womanhood, and she hasn’t.” She laughed. “She just
knew
she’d grow hers before you grew yours. So don’t pay that girl
no
mind.” Angel Mae, who was stout, had had her bosom for years.

I got her some sweet tea. We laughed and talked some more. She even asked me about Big Willie. I felt so comfortable, finally being with her again. I wanted to show her some of my New York treasures, like the Statue of Liberty statue, and my clothes, but thought I’d wait. I didn’t want to act like I had the big head, even though she said I didn’t. After about an hour, she said she had to leave.

She hadn’t got down the steps good before I heard, “Ha ho!”

I stamped into my aunt’s room. “Now what?” I snapped.

She blinked and closed her mouth. “Na-nothin’,” she mumbled.

“I didn’t think so. Just let me
be
for a minute, will you, please?” I slouched back to the porch and sat with my chin resting on my fists. I knew I didn’t need to sound so ornery to her, but my goodness! Hearing her voice reminded me of how much work I had to do, like wash and can those beans, finish the corn, and — when was Aunti Val, or Mrs. Smithfield, or a church lady, or anybody coming to help
me
?

The sun beating down so fierce the whole month didn’t help, either, even though we all prayed for rain. Almost all North Carolina was dry. I read in the paper that cotton and tobacco crops were withering in the ground. Our yard was so dry it looked like a red bald head with a few brown strands lying around. I slowed clothes washing to save water, which I didn’t mind a bit. I made sure I watered the forsythia bush, though.

Dry weather didn’t bother the mosquitoes. They grew so big they nearly carried Aunt Society and me off the porch. Even rag fires didn’t help. But I did notice that my aunt’s speaking ability was getting better, especially when she was outside, and that was good.

When Mrs. Smithfield stopped by the next day to tell me she could get off next Thursday, I nearly jumped into her arms. I rushed to let Mrs. Bivens know. She said Thursday was all right, but did I call the sanitarium first to make sure Poppa would be available? No doctors’ appointments or anything else scheduled? I’d forgotten to call about age requirements, too.

What if Poppa wouldn’t be free or I’d be too young? So close to Poppa but yet so far! Well, that sent me into snapping at Aunt Society, frowning at Mrs. Smithfield, and hollering at the ducks and guinea hens doing their business right under our clothesline. And then my womanhood came on, and that didn’t help at all!

The next Wednesday afternoon while Aunt Society was having her nap, I ran to the Stackhouse and called the sanitarium. The lady who answered said visitors had to be sixteen. I figured I looked mature enough now, so I told her I was. I asked to speak to Poppa so I could warn him about my new age, but she said he was out in the fields. She’d tell him I was coming.

Panting, and amazed at my little lie, I hurried to the Bivenses’ house, told Mrs. Bivens things were good for tomorrow, and gave her four quarters. About to drop from running in the heat, I staggered back to our house to write a note for Mrs. Stackhouse, when the cowbell rang. I tightened my lips as I caught my breath.
Now what? Can’t I leave you alone for a second?
I charged into her room and stopped, stunned.

My aunt lay on her side on the wood floor, clutching her bell. “What happened? Are you hurt?” I screamed and ran to her. She smelled like pee. I spent the next hour changing her clothes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I kept saying. “But couldn’t you have waited?” I knew she couldn’t, though, because her kidneys were still weak.

I expected her to be angry but she ate her dinner quietly in her wheelchair. I know she wondered where I’d been. “Aunti, I’ve fixed things so I can visit Poppa tomorrow.”

She brightened up at that. “Hi ho! Me too.”

“No, it’ll be too long, too hot and uncomfortable for you.” She frowned up. “You don’t like the Bivenses’ wagon, remember? Mrs. Smithfield’ll stay with you. Everything’s all right.”

She slowly turned her wheelchair around. I jumped up to help her, but she waved me away and rolled herself into her bedroom. At least she didn’t throw her tray on the floor. The next morning when Mrs. Smithfield arrived, Aunt Society was scowling so bad I thought her whole face would go crooked.

“What’s wrong, Society?” Mrs. Smithfield asked, but Aunt Society just glared at me silently. “Naturally your aunt’s upset she’ll miss seeing her brother,” she told me outside after I’d explained, “but is something else wrong?”

I told her about the fall and how I’d been snapping at her lately. “But it wasn’t my fault. I can’t be with her all the time.”

“Cece, I’ve been planning to say that you should bottle and sell your fine bedside manner,” she said. Her usual soft gray eyes turned cold. “But if you’re saying unkind things to your own kin, you’ll not make a good doctor for anybody.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said. Those words were so unlike Mrs. Smithfield that I felt lower than a snail’s tail — for a minute. Grabbing my sun hat and my lunch, I hurried around to Mrs. Bivens’ house. I’d sweated up my white blouse before I’d even climbed into her wagon.

That sun broiled down on us like we were chickens in the pot. The roads outside Raleigh were so dry we stayed in a dust storm, and so full of ruts I thought ole Lissa would turn the wagon over trying to jerk through them. Each time we stopped to let her rest under a tree, we worried whether that poor ole thing would move again.

Since Mrs. Bivens was concentrating on driving and not talking, I thought back to what Mrs. Smithfield had said about my treatment of Aunt Society. Mrs. Smithfield didn’t understand. I’d hardly jumped salty with my aunt at all, compared to all the years she’d jumped salty with me. Nursing her was worse than nursing Gertie. And who’d take care of Aunt Society when my school opened next month? I hoped to be going into eighth grade if the school didn’t hold me back for leaving so early the spring before. Poppa and I had never talked about furthering my education, other than he knew about my dream of being a doctor. He and Momma hadn’t got past eighth grade, which was normal for their generation. In light of our situation, with Aunt Society having nobody else to take care of her, maybe Poppa would think I’d had enough learning for now and make me postpone eighth grade till she got better. What a terrible thought!

“We’re nearly there.” Mrs. Bivens broke into my worries. “These corn fields, apple and peach orchards, pecan trees, the cow pastures, all belong to the sanitarium. Your daddy’s in a nice place. Good thing he gets that veteran’s pension, with him not working anymore, you know.”

I agreed. But Poppa’s pension wasn’t as much as she thought it was. That was why he
did
work. Maybe he’d need me to work now to help make ends meet. We’d never talked much about finances. Why would we? After living with Aunti Val and seeing how we’d done without, and then splurged, I suddenly was very concerned about money and bills. I did know that we owned our house, praise God. Grammaw Lassiter had given it to Momma and Poppa when she passed on. Maybe I shouldn’t play the radio so much, to save on electricity. Maybe Aunt Society had a good reason for running it only on Sunday evenings.

After toodling up a long, winding road, we stopped at a three-story white house with a wide wraparound porch. Colored people stood and sat around talking, playing cards or checkers. A couple sat in wheelchairs or leaned on canes and crutches. Heart pounding, I brushed at my hair and swiped at my blouse, which was splattered with so much mud it looked polka-dotted.

“There he is! Poppa!” I waved. He’d gained weight. In fact, his face was fat. I jumped out of the wagon before Lissa had stopped, as he stomped down the steps.

Chapter
Eighteen

M
y little girlio!” Poppa shouted, scooping me up, which he hadn’t been able to do for years. I fell on his neck. He smelled like lemons and oranges. “Whew! You got big! Let me put you down. Lookin’ more like your momma, Miss Hazel Eyes. Mrs. Bivens, I can’t thank you enough for bringing my girl to me.”

“Glad to do it, and glad to see you, Taylor,” Mrs. Bivens replied, smiling. Puffing on her pipe, she turned the wagon around to situate Lissa under a tree while Poppa and I, arm in arm, stepped up onto the porch.

We sat down and Poppa began introducing me. A stout light-skinned, freckle-faced woman Poppa said was Thessalonia settled herself in a chair beside him, until he firmly told her we wanted privacy. “All right, dear,” she said, and sat down farther away, but with us still in sight. Mrs. Bivens reached the porch just then. She and Poppa hugged, then she flopped down in that chair and closed her eyes.

“How’s Aunt Society? She behaving?” Poppa asked, coughing a little but not nearly as bad as before. I told him about Aunt Society, leaving out the parts where she and I tangled. Poppa kept saying “Good, good” to everything I said. He said he left for the sanitarium a few days after I reached New York. “Society had Mr. Toodlums calling me most every day, agitated about the mail, or ducks and guinea hens scratching in our flower beds, or
something,
till I entertained the thought of returning home.”