Leaving Gee's Bend (10 page)

“I wouldn’t do that if I was you.” I pulled back my hand and faced Patrick.

When I opened my mouth to speak, he put his finger to his lips. “Shhhh, quiet now.”

I wanted to ask him about Mrs. Cobb and the armadillo. I wanted to know if she was the Mrs. Cobb Ruben warned me about. But Patrick didn’t give me no time to say any of them things. “It true you from Gee’s Bend?”

“Yessir.” I looked from Patrick’s face back down the hallway. I could just see the doorway to what must be the washroom.

“You not one of them witches, is you? The witches of Gee’s Bend?”

I wrinkled my brow. Witches? My mind went right to Etta Mae and the devil’s lye and the knife she shoved into Mama’s mattress.

Witches of Gee’s Bend. The way he said it was like something everybody knew about, like “Montgomery is the capital of Alabama.” And witch
es
, as in more than one. What on earth was he talking about?

I gripped the quilt top that was still in my hand. “Nossir.” Wasn’t nothing I could say for sure about witches.

Patrick held my gaze. “I reckon you’d be better off if you was.”

I couldn’t get a breath. “Better off?” What did he mean?

“Look, child. Mrs. Cobb done had her some hard times lately. Her mind ain’t quite right. Unless you got some magical powers, best thing for you to do is get yourself back to Gee’s Bend just as soon as you can.” Patrick’s eyes got a little shiny then. “I’d help you if I could. But times is hard. I got to have this work. Got seven children to feed.”

It was too much. Witches and Mrs. Cobb and Patrick and seven children. I couldn’t sort it all out right then.

As Patrick tiptoed away from me down the hall, I hurried into the washroom and closed the door behind me. I still didn’t know what, or who, Patrick was talking about. Wasn’t nothing magical about me, that’s for sure. Or else I would have done healed Mama all by myself.

But what if what Patrick was talking about was the same bad luck stuff Daddy talked about? Or the bad things Etta Mae said happened in Mobile.

Dear Lord. What if the witch was me? What if the reason Mama got sick was all because of me?

I stood in front of the sink that looked like a fancy bowl. Then I turned the handle that was shaped like an X. No toting water up from the spring in this house. It poured into the sink just like a little waterfall.

And above the sink I saw something I ain’t never seen before, at least not clear and close up the way it was now. My own face looking back at me.

Was I ever a mess! No wonder Mrs. Cobb was poking at me with her shotgun. Bits of hair was fuzzing up all around my braids, and even with my dark skin you could tell my cheeks was all smudged up with dirt and Lord knows what else. And the eye patch. Can’t forget that. It was tattered around the edges, I reckon from pushing it on and off all the time.

Was this what a witch looked like? A witch from Gee’s Bend?

I lifted the eye patch. Surely a witch wouldn’t have an eye that was useless as mine.

Wasn’t no answers in that mirror. None whatsoever. “Oh, Mama.” I snapped the eye patch back in place and washed up quick as I could. Before I opened the door I was careful to wipe down the sink with the small towel that was hanging from a silver hook next to the mirror. Didn’t want to make more work for Mrs. Cobb. Not when she was gonna take me to Camden in a motorcar.

“Mrs. Cobb?” I said as I came out of the washroom. She was waiting by the front door, right where I left her.

“This way, Ludelphia. Come have yourself a seat in the living room while Adelaide fixes you some breakfast. Can’t be running off to Camden without a nice breakfast, now can we?”

My belly starting rumbling just from the talk of breakfast. If I’d known how nice Mrs. Cobb was, I would have knocked on the door the night before. Wouldn’t have had to sleep the whole night in the barn.

We came into the living room by walking under a doorway that had an arch in it. There was a fireplace with a fancy mantel clock, and the facing wall was all windows that looked out over a pasture that was dotted with cows. In the middle of the room was a giant piano. Not box-shaped like we had in church, but real big and rounded on one side. It was shiny black and it gleamed like it’d been polished just that morning.

“Do you play?” I said as I walked toward it. If Etta Mae was here, she’d make the whole house lift off the ground with the sound of her playing.

“Of course,” Mrs. Cobb said. Of course. I nearly bit my tongue for asking such a silly question. Why else would she have a piano?

Mrs. Cobb walked toward the piano. She ran her finger along the shiny black top of the piano as she came around the other side. “Would you like me to play something for you?”

I clapped my hands together. “Do you know ‘Swing Low, Sweet Chariot’? That’s my favorite. Ain’t heard nobody play it ever since they sold the church piano. Why, I’d just about die to hear that song, Mrs. Cobb!”

“Never heard of that one,” Mrs. Cobb said, her face flat. “But what about this one?” Mrs. Cobb arched her fingers over the keys and began to play. It was a happy tune, like something you’d dance to. Not like “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” at all.

“‘The Entertainer.’ By Scott Joplin,” she said when she was done. Then she got a far-off look in her eye. “My niece, Sarah . . . she’d dance around every time I played that one. Her little eyes just sparkled.”

“Yes’m,” I said. “It’s a right good song. But ‘Swing Low, Sweet Chariot’ is still my favorite.”

Mrs. Cobb gave me a look like I’d hurt her, and I knew I’d gone and said the wrong thing. “Well, pardon me,” she said, putting her white hand against her throat. Then she banged out a few awful-sounding chords that didn’t sound anything at all like “The Entertainer.”

For a minute it seemed like Mrs. Cobb had forgotten all about me. Then she real quick lifted herself from the piano bench and scooped up her shotgun.

“Adelaide! Got some breakfast ready for our guest?”

“Yes’m,” a sweet voice called. “It’s waiting in the dining room.”

Mrs. Cobb waved her hand in the direction of the archway. “Shall we?”

I followed Mrs. Cobb into a room that had a long table topped with a lace cloth. There was china dishes laid out for a dozen folks. My mouth watered thinking about all the food that would fit on them plates. And on each plate except one was a white napkin folded so it looked like a bird that was ready to start flying.

I ain’t never seen nothing so fancy. Why, if I had just one of them napkins I could add a whole other section to my quilt. Wouldn’t Mama be tickled about that?

Wasn’t no mystery where I was supposed to sit. It was the only plate that had steam curling up from it. There was a fluffy white biscuit and two kinds of preserves to choose from. There was sausage links fat as three fingers. And not grits, but hash-browned potatoes.

I sure was in for a treat. I couldn’t hardly stop myself from scooping everything up with my fingers. But one look at Mrs. Cobb and I knew I’d best use the fork and knife.

Just as I was spreading fig preserves onto my biscuit, Mrs. Cobb set a bottle on the table. I didn’t have no idea where it came from, but I knew just what it was.

It was a Coke to drink. A genuine Coca-Cola. I ain’t never had one of ’em before, just seen ’em in the newspaper pages. Wasn’t no money for things like that. Nothing but the essentials, Mama always said.

“For me?” I said. A Coke for breakfast? I’d always imagined it as a treat for a blistering-hot afternoon, not first thing in the morning. Who ever heard of such a thing?

“Of course.” She watched me closely as I reached for it. The bottle felt cool and wet under my fingers, like it was sweating. Dear Lord, what if it slipped through my hands and spilled? I put my other hand up under the bottle to make sure that didn’t happen.

“Go on,” Mrs. Cobb said, leaning back in her chair.

I real slow lifted the bottle and put it to my lips. It’d been a whole day since I’d had something to eat or drink! Unless you counted river water and alfalfa.

I closed my eyes and took a small sip. It was good and cold. Mrs. Cobb must have stored it outside all night long to get it that cold. And it bubbled as it went down, like I was swallowing a bunch of air. I wrinkled my nose and Mrs. Cobb laughed. It was an honest laugh, one that came from someplace deep inside her belly. But soon as she heard herself, it changed to a hollow sound.

“Now, when you get home, Ludelphia, I want you to tell everybody Mrs. Cobb gave you a Coke. Ice-cold sunshine. Just like the label says. You see what they say about that.”

“Yes’m,” I said. Then I did something I knew I shouldn’t. “Mrs. Cobb?” I said. “You reckon I could have one of them napkins for this here quilt?” I held up the bundle. “I’m making it for my mama.”

Things got so quiet I could hear the mantel clock ticking from the other room. I was sure I had gone and said the very wrong thing. Again. Mama would die of embarrassment if she knew.

Just when I was fixing to tell Mrs. Cobb I was sorry for being so rude, she pulled one of them napkins from its spot and real quick snapped it in the air so that the fancy folds fell out of it. Wasn’t a bird no more, just a square of cloth.

“It’s yours,” she said, dropping the napkin into my lap.

I don’t reckon she would’ve given me that napkin if she was mad. She looked from me to the plate, like what she wanted was for me to eat. So I ate bite after bite and washed it all down with that Coke. I couldn’t remember a time when I had so much for breakfast. But before I could get the words “thank you” out of my mouth, there came a buzzing sound from outside. Like a giant bumblebee. I ain’t never heard a sound like that before in my life.

Mrs. Cobb stood up. “You ready to go to Camden?”

“Yes’m,” I said, placing the empty bottle on the table. Then I followed Mrs. Cobb to the front door.

As I walked out, I glanced back at the smooth walls and the pictures that hung in the hallway. I wanted to remember everything so I could tell Mama. When my eye drifted down and found the rug again, I saw that my footprints was gone. That rug was clean and pressed. Like I ain’t never been in that house at all.

WHEN I GOT OUTSIDE, MRS. COBB WAS ALREADY behind the wheel of the motorcar. She had on a wide-brimmed hat with a netting that fell right in front of her eyes. In her lap was the shotgun.

Patrick opened the motorcar door and motioned for me to get in. “You remember what I told you, child. Get yourself back to Gee’s Bend. Don’t say nothing except yes’m and no’m.”

“What’s that, Patrick?” Mrs. Cobb called over the sound of the motor.

“Not a thing, Mrs. Cobb. Just helping the child get in.”

I slid across the leather seat as Patrick closed the door behind me. The motorcar didn’t have a top, so the seat was warm from the sunlight streaming onto it. I wasn’t ready for the way the whole motorcar shuddered. It felt like I was in a nice warm nest that happened to be in a real shaky tree. My heart shuddered right along with it.

Then, with a jerk, we was moving. Mrs. Cobb pressed pedals with her feet and used her gloved hands to steer the wheel. Behind us the big house got smaller and smaller.

Look at me,
I wanted to wave and shout. Across the river and riding in a motorcar. It was turning into some story, and I didn’t have no idea how I was gonna fit it all into my quilt. But with Mrs. Cobb’s fancy napkin to add to my bundle, I was sure gonna try.

The motorcar bumped along for what seemed like hours. Wasn’t no talking due to the noise. I braced myself with my feet to keep from sliding into Mrs. Cobb’s shotgun whenever we hit them rough spots in the dirt road. And rocks was the worst, on account of the way they lifted me right up and out of my seat. Then there was the bugs that kept getting in my eye.

I wished I had me a hat like Mrs. Cobb’s. And I wished my teeth would stop rattling. Seemed like every bump and bounce set ’em off again. It was making my belly feel sick.

Was we ever gonna get to Camden? I reckon that ferry sure did take me a long way downriver. Or else them miles just seemed longer when you was bouncing around in a motorcar. I didn’t say nothing about it to Mrs. Cobb, but I’d just as soon have walked all the way to Camden.

When I got tired of watching the fields go by, I rested my head against the seat and closed my eyes. I was about to drift off when Mrs. Cobb tapped my knee with her finger and pointed toward a group of houses on the right side of the street. They was big like Mrs. Cobb’s house but lined up in a row like the cabins in Gee’s Bend. I reckon you could fit four of our cabins into one of them houses. And seemed like every one of ’em was wrapped in a big wide porch that had fans hanging from the ceiling. I reckon them fans was mighty fine during summertime.

Mrs. Cobb turned left at the next street. There was a white painted sign that said WELCOME TO CAMDEN. And right there on the corner was the Wilcox Hotel. Next to the hotel was Dunn’s Gulf Service Station, just like Daddy said. Across the street was Camden National Bank and W. E. Cook’s. I could see in the window some of them fancy coats just like the one in the newspaper ad at home.

I didn’t need nobody to tell me this was the main street in Camden. And sure enough, next thing I saw was a street sign painted Broad Street. Which meant this was where I would find Doc Nelson.

I couldn’t believe how crowded the street was. I didn’t like the way the motorcars and horses and wagons was going every which way. It was like my eye couldn’t move fast enough to keep up with it all.

There was a few folks that looked like me, but most folks was shades of white. One man carrying a load of cotton in his wagon looked more red than anything else. His neck and arms looked like they had been just about burned up by the sun.

I rubbed my feet together. Whatever the color, they all had shoes. Not a single one of ’em was barefooted. And the clothes they was wearing covered their arms and legs and didn’t look to be patched up or let out. Most of the men wore suits and hats, and the women’s dresses were cut out of crisp cloth that kept its shape. Not like my old sack dress at all.