Jump into the Sky (11 page)

“You’re probably just looking around this place, thinking to yourself, ‘Where in the sweet and sugar world am I? All this laundry hanging up? And who’s that fat dumpy lady sitting over there in that rockin’ chair?’ ” The woman stood up slowly, big pumpkin belly leaving first, and came closer. “I’m Peaches. You met my husband, Cal, last night. He’s the one who brung you here. I’m sorry you didn’t get a good look at our pretty town of Southern Pines when you came in last night. Probably seemed liked forever driving in that bad storm.” She glanced toward the one window in the small bedroom. “You ain’t real far away from civilization here, though, even if it feels like it. Only about an hour’s drive to the bright lights and big city of Fayetteville.”

That news didn’t bring me much comfort, but I didn’t let on.

The lady smiled and patted her stomach. “Oh, and this here is baby-about-to-be-born.”

I eyed the big stomach uneasily and hoped baby-about-to-be-born would stay where it was for a while. I wasn’t a big fan of babies. Seemed like Archie’s family always had one or two crawling around with nasty things coming outta their noses, you know what I mean? The lady must’ve noticed my uncomfortable look because she switched the subject fast. “So, I hear you’re Charlie Battle’s son, right?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Maybe she was just being nice, but she said she remembered him talking about having a son back in Chicago and how there was a clear resemblance in our looks. That she coulda picked out our similarities anywhere. “You got his chin, no doubt about it. And you smile the same way. And your eyes are exactly alike,” she said, studying my face for a minute. “They got the same serious look your daddy’s eyes always does. Is he worrying about something—or just thinking? You never know for sure. A man of few words, that’s him.” Reaching upward, Peaches started plucking some of the laundry from the clotheslines above her head and kept on talking. “So, how about hitting a baseball? You as good as your daddy?”

I shook my head. “No ma’am.”

Like I said, I didn’t inherit much of the Battle talent for athletics. My batting was average and Archie, short as he was, had a better throwing arm than I did. I got the tall part
of the Battle family and Queen Bee Walker’s ear for being in tune when you sang—although I’m not sure how those two gifts were supposed to be useful to me.

Peaches laughed at my answers. “You as humble as your daddy is, I can tell already. He always insists he’s nothing special and then he tears the leather off the ball with one swing. When Cal’s on his team, they always win big against the other army boys. My Cal’s a catcher.”

With an impressive tower of laundry tucked under her chin, Peaches turned toward the door and I jumped up to open it, like the gentleman I been raised to be.

“I know how much you boys like to eat,” she said over her shoulder. “So I got breakfast waiting in the kitchen whenever you’re ready for something. Kitchen’s down the hall on the left. Washroom’s at the end. I’ll leave you be for a while.” As the pillar of laundry and stomach tottered through the doorway, I gotta admit I held my breath until it was safely down the hall.

Peaches and Cal’s house was roomy but completely empty of people. I gathered that much information on my short stroll down the hallway. Like the barracks, everything had the air of being recently left—and I sure recognize that feeling when I come across it. There was a row of empty towel hooks nailed on the bathroom door with no towels on them, except for a frayed blue one with somebody’s initials. A chipped ceramic bowl full of Ivory soap bits sat next to
the sink. Used them to wash off the grime of the trip. As I wandered back down the hall, I could hear the cheerful din of cooking pouring out of the kitchen. Made me miss Aunt Odella’s fried chicken already and I hadn’t even been gone three days.

“Come on in and have a seat.” Standing at a cast-iron range that looked like a relic from the Civil War, Peaches waved a spatula in my direction. The kitchen was small, but you could tell somebody had tried to fix it up nice. There was a red-checked tablecloth on the table and a jar of droopy flowers. Curtains on the window. And a calendar showing a tropical scene of palm trees and water. Which is something you’d never see on a wall in Chicago, that’s for sure.

I pulled out one of the four kitchen chairs and sat down, feeling kinda uncomfortable sitting in a kitchen—in a house—that wasn’t mine. My knees caught the bottom of the wobbly table and nearly pulled off the nice tablecloth by accident. Good grief, what a mess that woulda been.

Peaches chuckled at my choice of chairs. “You know that’s the one your daddy always chose whenever he came over here for Sunday dinner with the other fellows from Mackall. Always that chair at the end of the table. Funny how you picked the same one.”

I couldn’t help casting my eyes around their kitchen as if some other sign of him might still be hanging around. Wondered what were the chances of traveling all the way to
North Carolina and ending up in the same spot where my father had eaten Sunday dinner? Half my brain insisted this coincidence must be a good sign. The other half said,
Who the heck cares?
because he still wasn’t around.

Standing at the range, stirring a bubbling frypan of sausage gravy, Peaches started lobbing a bunch of questions at me. I had the feeling she and Cal must’ve come up with a whole list of them the night before, after he’d brought me here, and now she was sorting through the pile, one by one. “First thing I want to know”—she reached for some flour and dumped a powdery handful in the gravy—“did Boots know you was coming down here or not?”

See, there was the same tricky question Cal had asked me. No, my father didn’t know I was coming—but it wasn’t exactly his fault. Or mine. Not sure what made-up answer to give, I finally admitted he didn’t have any idea.

Peaches frowned. “Cal told me your aunt was the one who sent you down here. She’s one of your daddy’s folks, then? His sister?”

I nodded, picturing Aunt Odella at the train station again—those sad old shoes she was wearing, and everything about her looking worn and tired.

“So she sent you here, not knowing your daddy had gone and shipped out. She thought because he was training down here, you could drop by and pay him a visit, right?”

I mumbled, “Yes ma’am.”

Not saying the visit was supposed to be permanent, of course.

Peaches kept stirring and I cast a desperate glance toward the pan of sausage gravy, hoping it would cook faster. Peaches must’ve seen my look because she slid a steaming bowl of gravy and a plate of biscuits in front of me soon afterward.

Man oh man, it was like going straight to food heaven.

She wasn’t giving up on the conversation, though. While I filled my plate, Peaches kept talking. “Well, we don’t want your aunt worrying about you. Soon as we can, me and Cal will let her know what happened, and we’ll get you back on a train to Chicago.”

I tried to be as careful as a soft-boiled egg with what I said next. “Not meaning to be rude, ma’am,” I mumbled between mouthfuls, “but I don’t believe my aunt wants me back right now.”

“What?” Peaches stopped what she was doing and gave me a hard stare. “You in some kinda trouble back home, Levi? That why she sent you here—for your daddy to straighten you out?” The lady looked like a symbol of female righteousness, standing there glaring at me with the crusty gravy spatula still in her hand. “You tell me the real story straight out. Right now. I got four younger brothers and I don’t put up with no nonsense.”

Heck, where was I supposed to begin? Way back with how my life was always about leaving? Or with Aunt Odella
deciding my time was up? Mostly I just wanted to make it quick before my gravy got cold. So I started with how my aunt often got stuck taking care of everybody in our family and ended with how it wasn’t my daddy’s fault he had to make a living, and then the war had come along, and the army had shipped him from one place to the next.

I could see my story was having an effect on Peaches, but not the one I expected. As I talked, her whole face took on the appearance of a warrior queen. The spatula in her hand started to resemble a deadly weapon. “That ain’t right,” she said after I was done. “Your aunt sending you down here like a cast-off because she’s tired of taking care of you. Who does that to a boy? Especially when your daddy’s been sacrificing and serving his country these past three years.”

I shrugged and told the lady how I was thirteen now and fine with taking care of myself. Hadn’t learned to walk yesterday, you know.

“Thirteen ain’t grown-up in my book.” The cast-iron pan clanged heavily on the range as Peaches moved it from one side to the other. “Me and Cal will have ourselves a little talk. Your daddy wouldn’t want us sending you back home if your people don’t want you there.”

Well, Aunt Odella wasn’t that bad, I wanted to say. She wouldn’t fry me for lunch if I came back, anyhow.

The lady eased into the chair across from me, her angry eyes still popping like sparkle-fire sticks. Next to the table was a shabby icebox, and Peaches reached over to open it.
Scooping out a handful of ice chips from the top, she offered me one and folded the rest into a dish towel to hold on her neck.

“It’s gonna be a hot one today,” she said after a long silence.

I was eyeing the gravy bowl left on the table, wondering about taking thirds, but she nodded toward the screen door that separated the kitchen from a little side porch. Flies were already collecting on it. “Why don’t you go and do some exploring while Cal’s away this morning? We got a real pretty creek running through our town. Called McDeeds. Maybe you could try some fishing or catch some crawdads or something like that. Cal’s got a pole outside if you want one.”

I’m sure Peaches was only trying to be helpful and make me feel at home, but I wasn’t keen about exploring anywhere, not after all the things that had happened to me the day before. Honestly, I’d just as soon stay put and not set one foot in a world where people would shoot you over a soda pop. Took my time chewing on that ice chip and tried to change the conversation.

“This your own house?” I said, glancing around.

“Naw.” Peaches smiled and shook her head. “We only rent one room. For a while there were eight of us army wives renting the house and sharing this tiny kitchen. Couple of children running around too, if you can believe that. We were like pickles in a jar.” She looked around as if the people
were still there. “With so many of the soldiers shipping out this spring, all of the families have been moving out and going home. Can’t get used to the quiet these days. Guess it’s just us until some new folks move in.”

The other soldiers had their families with them? Hearing that news kinda set me back a little, and I think Peaches must’ve seen the look crossing my face as I put two and two together, because she hurried on to say, “It was just a few little ones here and there. Nobody as old as you.”

Which just goes to show you—not all mothers take off and leave their children behind.

Peaches waved her hand toward the screen door again. “Go on and take a wander around outside this morning. You don’t want to be cooped up with me all day.” Putting the cold cloth against her pretty forehead, she closed her eyes as if she wanted some peace and quiet. Not wanting to wear out my welcome, I unfolded my legs reluctantly and stood up.

Beyond the kitchen door, you could see the yard already shimmering in the morning heat. It didn’t look real friendly. An overgrown shrub crowded the porch steps. A few big pinecones lay scattered here and there on the open stretch of sandy dirt. I stood at the door for a good few minutes before getting up the nerve to ask how white folks in Southern Pines felt about colored folks.

Peaches laughed. “Ain’t no white folks living around here,” she said. “This is the west side of town. West Southern Pines. White folks live over on the east side, where the sun
rises and sets on money. You’ll know it if you happen to stumble over there. Golf courses. Big fancy houses with tile roofs and iron gates. Flowers like something outta a magazine. All you have to remember is the clay roads are always our roads. Paved roads are theirs. The creek’s mostly ours too. You’ll be fine. Around here, white and colored folks are polite enough to each other, not like some other places.”

Paved roads for whites. Clay for coloreds. White water. Colored water. Criminy, who could keep it all straight? The South was a complete mystery.

Peaches told me it was simple to find the creek. She drew a map on the checkered tablecloth with her finger. Go down the road they lived on, which was called Stephens. Turn left at the house on the corner with the chinaberry tree. Walk down the hill toward the bridge and the railroad tracks, and there’s the creek. Can’t miss it.

Just being polite, I took Peaches’s advice and headed for the creek later that morning. Wearing one of the school shirts Aunt Odella had packed, I swear I stood out like a target with my brown skin and my starched white shirt. Good God. I coulda been one of Jim Crow’s signs, walking around.
COLORED
.

If it were up to me, I woulda rather stretched out on the shady porch that wrapped around Peaches and Cal’s house and taken a snooze under the drying pillowcases flapping there. I didn’t give a darn about exploring a creek. As I
started down the dusty road, my body was a walking ball of knots.

On both sides of the street you could see small tin-roofed houses with wide porches and square dirt yards around them. Some of the houses sagged like tired grannies on their concrete blocks, but others had nice victory gardens and fresh-painted outsides. I could hear voices as I walked, but I didn’t spot a living soul. Couldn’t help gawking at some of the odd-looking pine trees growing in the yards around me, though. Never saw trees like them before. They reminded me of something from a cartoon, with their skinny trunks and hairbrush branches. Guess I was so caught up with staring at those crazy trees, I almost missed the sound of somebody calling my name.

“Levi?”

At first I thought it might’ve been a radio playing. Nobody knew me down there in Southern Pines, did they? I moved a little faster, my fists bumping like rocks against my sides.