Have No Shame (7 page)

A knock on my door brought my thoughts back home.

“Come in.”

My door pushed open and Mama stood in the hallway. She glanced toward the stairs, and then slipped inside, closin’ the door behind her.

“Hi, honey,” she said, and perched herself on the edge of Maggie’s bed, her hands folded in her lap. I sat up, smoothed my skirt, and crossed my ankles, as she did.

“Hi, Mama. I’m sorry I missed dinner.”

She shook her head. “That’s okay. I’m not here about that.”

She adjusted herself on Maggie’s bed, then came to sit beside me. She took my hand, and I knew for sure I was in trouble.

“Honey,” she began, “you know I’d never go against your father’s beliefs if it wasn’t very important, right?”

I nodded, afraid to breathe. She’d let me in on her secret, now what? She began rubbin’ the back of my hand.

“Well, you know I love your father, no matter what I tell you, right?”

I nodded again, wantin’ to shove my fingers in my ears and yell,
Na na na na na, I can’t hear you!
Even though I was enjoyin’ the secret between us, I sorta wanted to keep the image of my mama as I’d always seen her, as a woman with no secrets. Learnin’ her secrets put me in a place of keepin’ more secrets from Daddy. Although it was gettin’ easier to do, I found doin’ it a bit scary, like I was drivin’ a wedge between us.

She dropped my hand and lifted my chin with her finger, lookin’ deep into my eyes. “I shouldn’t have brought you with me this mornin’. I was upset. It was wrong.” She took a deep breath, then continued. “The thought of that sweet boy bein’ beaten—” She turned away.

I wrapped my right hand in my left, excited and nervous about this newly forged relationship that was growin’ between us.

“Does Daddy know how you feel?”

She looked at me again, and shook her head.

So many questions rattled around in my head, I didn’t know where to start. Talkin’ to Jackson gave me strength. He had been just as relieved to get his anger off his chest as I’d been to talk about what I’d been feelin’. I took a deep breath, sat up straight, and asked Mama if she’d brought the woman things before.

“No. There was no need.” Her eyebrows drew together. “Until now.”

“Who is she?” I asked.

“She’s Albert’s mother. Millie Johns.”

“How long have you known her?”

“I’m not gonna lie to you, Alison. I’ve known her for as long as Albert has worked for us. His mother sought me out, one day, while I was in town shoppin’. She told me that Albert was her youngest.” Mama laughed under her breath, in a way that I read to be some sort of a secret joke that only another mother might understand. “Her older son was away at war, the others had moved away from Forrest Town, and Albert was all she had left.”

“But why would she seek you out? Why would she do that?”

Tension drained from Mama’s shoulders. She cocked her head and looked at me with so much love it made my heart ache. She brushed my hair away from my face, and said, with so much emotion that I wanted to crawl into her lap, “Because when you have children, you’ll do anything to keep them safe.”

The next mornin’, I lay in bed listenin’ to Daddy make his way toward the stairs. He peeked into my room, as he always did, and on the occasion I was awake, he winked at me. Today he blew a kiss my way and headed down the creakin’ stairs. I tried to go back to sleep, but half an hour later I was still too wound up from the evenin’ before. I got up and rushed through my mornin’ routine—showered, brushed my hair and teeth, chose my outfit.

Mama was in the kitchen when I came downstairs. “You’re up early. Are you hungry?”

Only for more information.
“No, thank you. Where’s Jake?” I asked.

“He was headin’ into town before school. He already left.”

I thought of the bruises on his knuckles, the way he’d followed Jimmy Lee into that fight like a puppy vyin’ for attention. The muscles in my neck pulled tight. “He’s never ‘round anymore.”

“That’s what happens when children grow up.” Mama sounded sad. I felt bad for her, but was lost within my own emotional hayride. “Are you gonna see Jimmy Lee later, before he goes back to Mississippi?”

“No, he’s leavin’ too early.” Guilt pushed at my heart, but I didn’t let it in. Jimmy Lee had hurt me, emotionally and physically, and he was the last person I wanted to see. After what he’d done to Albert, I wasn’t sure I could ever look at him in the same way.

I stood and walked to the window, starin’ into the fields. The farmhands were takin’ a break, sprawled out on the grass at the edge of the field. I thought about tellin’ Mama about Jackson comin’ to work later that afternoon instead of Albert, but was afraid to reveal my secret.

“I’m goin’ outside to wait for Daddy. He’s runnin’ me into town to pick up more of that molasses. He loved those cookies.”

“Your father has a meetin’ at the bank this mornin’,” Mama said.

“Yes, ma’am, I know. He said I could take the bus back home. I’m stoppin’ at the library anyway. He’ll probably beat me back home.” I kissed Mama’s cheek. “Love you,” I said, and headed for the door.

The mornin’ air was chilly, and as I sat in the rockin’ chair, the smell of dew-soaked grass in the air, I considered the farmhands showin’ up at five in the mornin’. How cold they must have been durin’ the fall, and scorchin’ hot in the summertime. There must’ve been many times that they were too tired or sick to come to work, but out of fear of bein’ fired, they showed up anyway. I wondered what Jackson’s family was doin’ right then. Were they sittin’ around a kitchen table cryin’ in anticipation of the impendin’ funeral? Or perhaps they were reminiscin’ about the life of Mr. Bingham. I thought about Clara, hidin’ out wherever she might be, her life altered in a way she may never recover from. 

I thought of Jackson and my stomach tightened. Could he be killed for bein’ alone with me? I wasn’t sure, though from what Jimmy Lee did to Albert—broken ribs and countless contusions—I’m sure that wasn’t so far fetched. When Jackson and I had left each other the evenin’ before, he followed the stream in the opposite direction of our property to the end of town, and I went back home the way we’d come. How hard must it be to live every moment watchin’ over your shoulder for somethin’ as natural as just bein’ alive?

“You’re early, Pix.” My father climbed the porch steps, his stained t-shirt and overalls a wicked mess of dirt. That’s when the guilt hit me. As much as I disliked his disregard for the colored farmhands, I was still a Daddy’s girl, and I wanted nothin’ more than for him to reach out and pat my head, as he always did.

He held his palms up.  “Been fixin’ the tractor. Think your mama will mind?” he asked.

“I think Mama’ll tell you to hose off out back,” I laughed.

“You’re probably right,” he said as he touched my head. “I’ll be ready in twenty minutes.”

As he walked inside, I looked up at the clear sky, glad there was no rain in the forecast. Our family’s income relied on the farm, and too much rain could wipe out our crops. My father listened to the weather on the radio every mornin’. The familiar tinny sounds made their way upstairs to my room. Some mornin’s I’d lay in my bed and listen, tryin’ to nod back off, until Mama woke me an hour later. When Maggie was still home, on really cold mornin’s, I’d crawl into bed with her and steal her warmth.

I spent hours millin’ about the library, readin’ the backs of so many books I couldn’t keep track. I loved to sit between the rows of shelves, pullin’ book after book into my lap, and takin’ my time nosin’ through ‘em, lookin’ for the one that held voices that called out to me in a way I couldn’t turn away from. I’d run my fingers over the covers imaginin’ what I’d find inside. I was struck by how different I was from Maggie, who’d snag two or three books, leaf through the first few pages, and be ready to leave. To me, each book held the promise of a secret world, and disappearin’ into that world is simply delicious.

Later that afternoon, the bus dropped me off two blocks from our house. I carried my library books down the long dirt road, the tips of my shoes covered in dust. I heard the pedalin’ of a bike behind me, and I walked to the edge of the road to let it pass.

Jackson pulled up next to me and dropped his feet from the pedals. I whipped my head around, makin’ sure no one was watchin’. If Daddy had found out about us meetin’, he’d be sorely disappointed in me. I worried about him comin’ around the corner in his truck and scoopin’ me right off the road. God only knew what he’d do to Jackson. The thought sent a shiver up my spine. Luckily, there was no one in sight right then. My nerves were afire with trepidation, and somethin’ else that I hadn’t felt in quite some time—anticipation? As wrong as it might be, every time I thought of our first meetin’, I got hot all over, like blushin’ gone haywire. There was no mistakin’ the growin’ attraction within me, but I knew I needed to get my feelin’s in check and get back on track with what Daddy was expectin’ of me.

It took all my strength to continue walkin’. “We can’t talk,” I said, and walked faster toward home. The last thing his family needed was more trouble.

He stepped off his bike and hurried beside me. “Meet me later?”

I wanted so badly to know how the funeral went, if his aunt had escaped town safely. I didn’t respond to him.

“Please?”

I glanced up and saw the same kindness that I’d seen the day before, the same open, hopeful smile, so different than what I’d seen in Jimmy Lee lately.

“Where?” I asked.

“Same place, by the creek. Later, after I work for your dad.”

“It’s too dangerous.” My heart slammed against my chest. I stole a glance at him, still walkin’ as fast as I could. His smile slowly sank, his lips pressed into a disappointed line.

“You’re the first person ‘round here who—oh, never mind.” He climbed back up on his bike, his muscular thighs burstin’ against his dark work pants. “I guess you are just like everyone else.”

I watched him pedal away, dirt kickin’ up behind him in a billowin’ puff of smoke. I hugged my books to my chest, wishin’ I’d agreed to meet him.

By the time I reached my house, Jackson was already helpin’ Daddy in the barn. His bicycle lay sideways across the grass next to Daddy’s truck. I went around the back of the house and found Mama takin’ clothes off of the dryin’ line and hummin’ a little tune. I plucked a few of the clothespins off of Daddy’s t-shirts and laid them in the basket, watchin’ her move through her chores as she had every day of my life. Had I not known her secret, I’d never have pictured Mama doin’ anything more than tendin’ to our meals, clothin’, and school needs. Mama was becomin’ someone else right before my eyes, and I wondered what other secrets she held. The more I thought about what I might not know about her, the more I wanted to share my burdens with her.

“Mama?” I asked tentatively. “What if you knew who hurt Albert Johns? Would you do somethin’ about it?”

She stopped hummin’, her eyes shot to the barn and back. When she answered, her voice was very quiet. I leaned in close to hear her.

“That wouldn’t do any good. There’s no punishment for beatin’ up a colored boy.”

Or killin’ a colored man.
“But, how would you live with yourself? Knowin’ what someone had done and that they didn’t get punished?”

Again her eyes shot across our property. She folded the sheet she had been holdin’ and came to my side. Mama took my hand in hers and walked me around to the other side of the house, out of sight from the barn. She reached in her apron pocket and pulled out an elastic band, wrapped it expertly around her fingers, then gathered her hair behind the nape of her neck, and fastened it in one quick movement.

“Honey, no justice will be served for this. There’s nothin’ we can do or say that will make this attack be justly punished.” Again, she eyed the barn. “I shouldn’t have taken you with me. It was wrong of me. Please, if you do one thing, please just live your life and forget about this nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense, Mama, and I can’t even believe you are callin’ it that.”

Mama remained quiet for so long, I feared I’d be punished for talkin’ back to her. When she looked back into my eyes, I saw so much more there than anger. They were drenched in defeat.

“Honey, you’re too young to understand the dangers that make up this kind of thing.”

“I’m not, Mama.” I paced beside her, adrenaline rushin’ through my veins. I had never stood up to either of my parents before, but I couldn’t stop myself. “Do you think that just because you and Daddy turn off the radio I don’t hear about what’s happenin’ in the world? Look at Mr. Bingham. He was murdered and the police didn’t even care.” The honesty felt good, even if it scared the hell out of me.

“Alison, lower your voice.” Mama peered around the side of the house toward the barn. “Please, just keep yourself out of this mess. You have a good life ahead of you. Marry Jimmy Lee, have children, let this kind of thing work itself out.”

“Work itself out? Well, can I do what you did? Can I help them?”

“No.” She didn’t hesitate or soften her tone. Mama grabbed my arm and squeezed tight. She’d never before laid a hand on me. She meant business, and it frightened me. “You are never to do what I did, do you hear me? Alison Jean, promise me.”

I tried to pull my arm away, but as confident as I had suddenly become, I had no strength to back it up. I relented. “Okay, I promise.” In my mind, I was already plannin’ my traipse down to the creek, more determined than ever to see how Jackson’s family was holdin’ up. I knew in my heart that I was doin’ the right thing, and though Mama feared for me, and was probably correct in doin’ so, I had to do what I felt was right.

I helped Mama with the dishes, nervously lookin’ for Jackson through the window. He had no way of knowin’ that I would meet him. I’d denied that I would, after all. A plan formed in my mind. While Daddy listened to the radio in the other room, and Mama finished the dishes, I stepped out on the porch where I’d left my library books. I grabbed a pencil, tore a piece of paper from my notebook, and scribbled,
I will be there.
Then I peeked in the window to make sure Daddy was still seated in his chair, which he was, and I ran out to where Jackson’s bike was layin’ on the ground. My hands shook as I lifted the seat and tucked the slip of paper underneath. I hoped he’d understand what the note meant, and I hoped we wouldn’t get caught.