Francie (8 page)

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Authors: Karen English

BOOK: Francie
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“Want to see my room?” Clarissa said on Tuesday.
I couldn't look at no room. I had work to do. I wiped the sweat off my forehead with my apron. I was down on my knees, rolling up the heavy area rug in the living room. Me and Mama had come to wax the floors. “I can't,” I said. “I gotta roll up the rugs.”
“I can help you.”
“No you can't, neither.”
“Why?”
She looked funny with her sunburned face peeling across the nose, her face round and plain as the moon. Her pink shirred sundress showed off red shoulders.
“Cause my mama wouldn't like it. Your aunt neither.”
“Well, come up then, for just a bit.”
I looked toward the dining room, where Mama was working. Maybe I could sneak up for just a little while.
“I was going to show you my books.”
I looked toward the dining room again. I thought about them books.
“Okay,” I said, standing quickly.
Clarissa led the way and I tiptoed up the stairs behind her, while she chattered on. “Aunt Myra decorated this room for me because she thought I needed cheering.”
“Do you need cheering?” I asked. Such a thought was unknown to me. I couldn't remember anyone concerned with cheering me up.
“Not much anymore,” Clarissa said, throwing open the door. Stepping aside, she allowed me to go in ahead of her. It was like something I'd never seen. One whole wall was nothing but bookshelves like a library. I'd never really been in a library, but when I moved to Chicago, I was going to find me one.
I cocked my head sideways and began to read the titles: some I'd read already, some I ain't never heard of. I'd read
Silas Marner
in seventh grade. And
David Copperfield
last winter.
Clarissa was pulling back her curtains over a window seat covered in the same fabric. “I picked this fabric myself. Aunt Myra and I got it in Mobile.”
It
was
pretty. I liked cornflowers. What was it like to wake up in a room like this every morning, I wondered. I pictured myself sitting in the gazebo on a summer
evening, with a glass of lemonade with shaved ice and a good book.
“Can you keep a secret?” she asked suddenly.
“I guess …” I said slowly.
“First”—she squinted at me—“how old are you?”
“Almost thirteen.” I already knew Clarissa was fourteen.
“Skinny little thing like you? Is your growth stunted?”
“Mama said I take after her people, small and wiry.”
Clarissa seemed to consider this. “What grade you in?”
“I just had my eighth-grade commencement.”
“And you ain't even thirteen yet?”
“I'll be thirteen soon—at the end of summer.”
“I guess you're old enough to keep a secret.”
She went to the bed, bent down, and pulled out a notebook from underneath. She patted the bed beside her. I crossed the room and sat down.
Her eyes were bright as she searched my face. “I'm writing a book.”
“How you doing that?” I asked. I'd never heard of a person writing a book before, though I guessed someone had to.
“I'm writing a little each day. It's going to take me a long time, because I want it to be longer than
War and Peace.
” She stopped. “You've heard of that book?”
“I know it's real long. I haven't read it yet, though.”
“So far, it's my favorite book. In fact, I've decided to name my first girl Natasha because of it.”
“Natasha …” It sounded like a sneeze.
“My book is going to be better than
War and Peace
,” she said, like just uttering the words would make it so.
“My mama says it's not nice to brag.”
“I'm not bragging if it's true.”
“You can brag about things that are true.”
Suddenly Mama was calling up the stairs. I looked at Clarissa and hurried out to the landing. She came after me. And before I could look down into Mama's angry face, Clarissa pushed a big, thick book in my hand. “I finished this a while ago. You can have it.”
I took it because I didn't know what else to do. It was heavy in my hand. “Thanks,” I murmured before I rushed down the stairs to Mama's scolding.
“Girl, if you don't get your behind down here … You think Mrs. Montgomery is paying for you to visit with her niece?” I set the book on the hall table. Mama didn't notice.
As I scooted by Mama to get back to the living room, she popped me on the head with her knuckle.
 
Just when I thought we were finished, after Clarissa had skipped out the door and down the walk with her friends, Mrs. Montgomery came into the kitchen, where Mama and I were putting away the cleaning supplies, and stood there wringing her hands and smiling.
“I hate to ask this, but can you two stay and polish the silver? I've got unexpected company coming tomorrow.”
She smiled and shrugged. I looked at Mama but Mama didn't meet my eyes.
“Course, Mrs. Montgomery. I'd be happy to. But I gotta send Francie on home so she can look in on Lydia. She just delivered a short while ago and still needs help.”
“And the upstairs linen. I forgot to ask you to change it,” Mrs. Montgomery said, as if her mind had never left her own concern.
“I'll get right on it.” Mama turned and left the room. I went over and picked up the book Clarissa gave me. It was
War and Peace.
I went right over to Auntie's and spent the rest of the day cleaning and washing for her, so she wouldn't have anything to do but take care of Janie. Mama came by to pick me up and we were walking down Three Notch together when we noticed the flag was up on our mailbox. “Run over to the box and get our mail,” Mama said, climbing the porch steps heavily.
We hadn't heard from Daddy in weeks. I pulled the single letter out of the box and immediately checked the postmark. Chicago. I marched the letter to Mama.
She took it out of my hand and leaned it against the sugar bowl on the table. She still had to wash her face.
“That from Daddy?” Prez asked, coming over to look at it.
“Yea, and don't you touch it.”
Mama finally sat down. She picked up the letter, opened it, and held it for a moment. Then she handed it to me to read. I read it aloud word for word, then raced to reread the part about him coming home. Sunday. Four days from tomorrow. Mama took it back and looked at it. “Where does it say that?”
I pointed to the words. We all sat almost holding our breath and finding it hard to believe. It'd been over a year since Daddy had left us. He was tired of being without his family. When Mama said, “I'ma go on down and see how Auntie's doin',” I knew she was just trying to get away to hide her excitement. “You two go on and heat up the supper. We gonna have a lot to do between now and Sunday.”
I knew what I was going to do. I was going to go buy Daddy a present. A pipe, God willing, because he'd look handsome smoking a pipe. I saw one at Green's, so I wouldn't even have to go into town to get it. I wouldn't have to go to the place I'd been practically run out of.
 
I woke up with a buzz of planning in my head early the next morning. I went to the outhouse and met Prez on the way. He'd already made his trip.
“Perry was just here. He said he came to get Mama at dawn. Auntie's not feeling well. She's sick. Mama wants you down there as soon as you can get dressed.”
He looked smug with this news and I could have popped him. With Mama distracted with caretaking
Auntie, I knew he and Perry would be off to the fishing hole.
“What about you?”
“Me and Perry are workin' over at the Early farm today.”
Mama probably had plans to use up most of my morning, but if I hurried I could get down to Green's by early afternoon.
 
Auntie had visitors. Nola Grandy and her daughter, Violet, were there with a potato pie and a bouquet of black-eyed Susans. Granny was there, having come with a sugar tit for Baby Janie and some catnip tea. She brought a chicken feather tied in red flannel for Auntie to hang around the baby's neck, but Mama had stepped in—taking it from Granny and dropping it in her pocket.
“I ain't puttin' that nasty thing around Baby Janie's sweet little neck,” Mama whispered to me when Granny wasn't looking.
Auntie looked tired and pale and I knew Mama was worried about her getting childbirth fever. Women died from it all the time. Mama had tightly braided Auntie's hair into two thick cornrows that pulled her face to show her cheekbones. She looked pretty, but it was a tired pretty. Janie nursed at her breast.
Two loud knocks sounded on the front door. Before anyone could say anything, Miss Mabel stepped into the room.
“I'm comin' to see that new baby,” she announced. She walked straight across the room to stare down at Janie. “My, that's a fine baby.” She scooped Janie out of Auntie's arms just as Auntie was settling her after burping her. Before Auntie could protest, she carried Janie to the window.
“Mabel …” Mama said, standing.
“Aw, I ain't gonna steal her.” She squinted at Janie. “Bright like her daddy's people.” She lifted a tiny hand to the light. “But the rims around her fingers are pretty dark. She's gonna be brown.” Mama and Auntie exchanged uneasy looks. “She got a whole lotta hair, I see. It's gonna be kinky.”
Mama rescued Janie out of Miss Mabel's arms and returned her to Auntie. “You don't know that, Mabel.”
“Yea, sure I do. Ain't that right, Granny? You seen a bunch of babies and how they turn out.” Granny didn't answer, just sat there, arms crossed.
Miss Mabel got herself a comfortable seat at the table with the other women. “You heard about that boy they after.”
“Sure did,” said Nola.
Mama glanced over at me and gave a little quick nod that was meant to convey something to them. They all turned to stare at me then. I'd found a little corner to sit in, hoping to just sit and catch some grownup conversation, which was always interesting. “Go on, Francie, and get to washing them diapers,” Mama said now. “Auntie's gonna need some before you know it.”
“They offerin' a reward,” Miss Mabel said as I walked out into the blistering-hot morning.
 
A pile of wet diapers and sheets sat at my feet. One by one, I pulled them out of the basket, shook them, and pinned them to the line. It had taken all morning to wash them, and now the sun beat ferociously on my back and biting flies were making mad dashes at my arms. The baby was sleeping peacefully and the company had gone home to start their dinners.
I grabbed a sheet and sunk my hot face into its cool, clean scent, almost missing a bright flash of red skirting the edge of the woods. If I'd blinked, I would have missed it. I squinted, staring at the place until I wondered if I'd imagined it. Just trees and undergrowth stared back. I finished hanging up the laundry, put the basket up against the porch, and skipped out of there. I had money from my can under the bed. I smiled, thinking of Daddy's pleasure when I gave him his present.
Some white farmers stood just inside the door at Green's, huddled in conversation. When I squeezed by, they stopped talking until I passed. I found the rack of pipes. I chose a shiny black one with a white mouthpiece. At the register, Mr. Green leaned on the counter, picking his teeth with a toothpick and watching the group by the door.
I put my pipe on the counter. Mrs. Early came up then with boxes of Musterole and Triscuit Shredded Wheat. She set her items on the counter and with the back of her hand moved my item to the side.
I looked up at her sagging chin and limp hair the color of mud. She started up some talk with Mr. Green about the hot humid weather. I waited. I whistled “Camptown
Races.” My eyes drifted to the wall behind the register. Something pasted up there made me stop dead.
It was a black-and-white “wanted” picture of Jesse Pruitt. My lips parted and my heart pounded and my hands shook. My mouth went dry. I nearly spoke his name:
Jesse …
The photograph was hazy, as if it had been part of a group picture once and someone had cut out his face and made it bigger. But the straight brow and hesitant eyes were unmistakable. Under it were the words:
 
WANTED: A colored boy who goes by the name of Jesse Pruitt for the attempted murder of Mr. Rosco Bellamy, the foreman for Mr. Robert Early. Use precaution. He is considered armed and dangerous. Reward offered.
 
“What you starin' at, Francie?” Mr. Green asked me.
I looked down, feeling like I'd been caught stealing candy.
“Nothin', Mr. Green.”
“You seen that boy?” he asked.
“No, sir,” I was able to answer honestly.
“Well, if you do, you let me know directly, you hear?”
I said nothing.
“You hear me?” he said louder.
Mrs. Early narrowed her eyes at me, making her face ugly and mean. “What's wrong with you?” she asked.
“Nothing, ma'am.”
“Then what's taking you so long to answer Mr. Green, here?”
“Yes, sir,” I said quietly. Mrs. Early gathered up her purchases, dropped her change in her pocketbook, and snapped it shut.
“You takin' up smokin', Francie?” Mr. Green laughed at his own joke.
“It's for my daddy. He's comin' home on Sunday.” I paid and stepped out onto the sidewalk in time to see Mrs. Early making her way across the road, where her husband was starting the engine of their car, his straw hat pushed to the back of his head and his fringe of hair plastered to his red forehead in dark sweaty points. He slowly scratched the back of his neck. I felt a deep abiding fear, watching after them.
He gunned the motor then, and they took off in a cloud of red dust.
“I know that boy,” Vell said suddenly from behind me.
I whirled around.
“I seen him.”
“Where, Vell?”
“I was out looking for my dog in the woods out by your place and I seen him. And he run from me.” He paused and his lower lip drooped. “He didn't have to run from me. I wasn't after him.”
I believed Veil. “You gonna tell?”
“Naw. Cause I know him and I like him.”
“Don't tell—please.” I felt I had to say it. “It's real important
that you don't tell nobody, Vell, please. Please.”
He looked insulted. “I told you I wasn't,” he said and walked back toward the store.
 
When I got home, I did a few chores, then I waited on the porch for Prez. Juniper slept at my feet, twitching through a dream. Prez wouldn't be getting back from the Early farm until the sun was nearly touching the trees.
Finally, I could see two little figures making their way up the road. I got up and began to pace. They seemed to be taking so long I ran to meet them.
“When was the last time you seen Jesse?” I said, starting right in.
Prez shrugged his thin little shoulders. I looked to Perry. “Jesse's in trouble,” he said.
“When you seen him last?” I repeated.
“Before we went up to Benson visiting Uncle June,” Prez said. “Now everybody after him, sayin' he tried to kill Mr. Bellamy.” Prez looked like he was going to cry. “Are they gonna catch him, Francie?”
I didn't answer. I didn't want to think about it.
I turned away and walked slowly back up the road to our house. I had supper to get on.
 
Jesse filled my mind—so much so I couldn't get to sleep that night, and when morning came, I couldn't tell if I'd done more than doze. I'd talked Mama's ear off with my fears and suspicions that he was hiding out nearby,
until she turned over and said, “Francie, there ain't nothin' we can do about that poor boy but pray and hope for the best. I think he's long gone anyway. Now go to sleep. We got tomorrow's work plus gettin' ready for your daddy's homecomin'.”
I let out a last shuddery sigh and kept my lips pressed together against all that I was feeling.

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