Out of Darkness (24 page)

But as Naomi said Wash's name over and over in the silence of her exhausted brain, her grip on the letter opener began to slip, and she descended into the blue depths of proper sleep. Naomi's body took over, and she dreamed.

Naomi was her present self, but in the dream she was shrunken to the size of a young child. She watched from beneath Henry's kitchen table as her mother and Wash sat drinking Ovaltine. As if it were normal for a dead Mexican woman and a black boy to sit laughing and talking in a white man's kitchen. Her mother's slender bare feet were within Naomi's reach, and she longed to touch them, massage them as she had on the mornings after her mother had danced late into the night. A pulsing fear displaced that simple longing. Naomi could not see the window over the sink from her position, but by dream magic she knew that Henry was there, watching. She wanted to warn them, but she could not move from under the table. She searched her pockets but could not find Wash's ring.

No disaster came in this dream, but it opened into another, and another. In whatever dream she faced, the fear of Henry was there and Wash's ring was not.

◊ ◊ ◊

Cold water soaked Naomi's chest. Her eyes flew open, and she jolted upright.

“Breakfast,” Henry said. He stalked out of the room, empty glass in hand.

Less than a minute later she was in the kitchen. She filled the percolator with water and coffee grounds, lit the oven with trembling fingers, and cut lard into flour for biscuits. The wet front of her nightgown clung to her under the robe Muff had given her, but she did not dare take the time to change. She glanced at the clock—6:02, half an hour late.

Ten minutes later, she placed a cup of coffee in front of Henry. When the biscuits were done, she slit two open and arranged them on a plate. She slathered them in peanut butter and drizzled dark Karo syrup on top. His favorite.

“Looks good,” he said when she put the plate on the table. She didn't look at him, but there was a note of apology in his voice.

She turned back to the stove. “I've never overslept like that. It's just that I couldn't, I haven't...” She trailed off. She couldn't explain. And anyway, she didn't owe him an apology.

Henry sat with his back to her. She could tell nothing from the movements of his fork. “Listen,” he mumbled through a mouthful of biscuit, “I shouldn't have thrown water on you. Long shift last night. And also ... you know.”

“It's okay,” she said.

She regretted her words instantly. Just like that, she'd forgiven more than she meant to. Far more.

She looked straight ahead when she hurried into the hall to call the twins to breakfast, but Henry caught her eye as she came back. He grinned at her like nothing had happened. No, not like nothing had happened, like something had happened. Something good. Something shared between them.

“The biscuits are great,” he said. He forked another bite into his mouth and glanced up at the clock. “Remember those first ones you made?”

“Like rocks,” she said.

“You've come a long way.”

Cari and Beto tumbled into the kitchen. She served them biscuits and milk and then licked the last of the peanut butter from the knife before washing it. She had never tasted peanut butter before coming here. She loved the thick creaminess of it and the salty shadow it left on her tongue. It was a food that beat hunger, and she thought again how she would take as many jars as she could whenever Henry allowed them to visit San Antonio.

Now, Henry headed to his room with a tired wave. “See y'all at suppertime.”

She surprised herself by telling him to sleep well. Part of her wanted to be angry, but the ease and gratitude that came with having slept were too great for her to hold on to any sourness.

And there was Wash.

No matter what happened here, no matter what happened at school, the afternoon would still come, and she would see him, and she would not allow even the shadow of a thought of Henry into their tree.

FEBRUARY 1937

HENRY
Once Henry was sure Naomi and the twins were gone, he came out of his bedroom and locked himself into the bathroom. He braced himself against the sink and held Naomi's slip up to his nostrils. He breathed in the smell of her and set to work on himself. It wouldn't be like this for much longer, but he had to manage until everything fell into place.

Sometimes he began by thinking of Estella or the plump redhead he'd frequented out at the Chicken Ranch before he got saved. But it was the same as every time since Naomi had come to live in his house: he needed to imagine her to finish. The sooner he finished, the sooner he could pretend he hadn't done it.

He closed his eyes, bunched the thin fabric in his hand, and pressed it back up to his nose.

After he washed his hands, he shoved the slip back into her drawer and closed himself into his room to sleep.

 

NAOMI
Naomi let her English book fall into her lap. The sun made an orange screen of her closed eyelids. The day had started out as winter but had warmed to spring. She felt the warmth of the stone she was sitting on creep through the fabric of her dress.

Arms slid around her waist from behind. She whipped her head around, terrified of finding Henry.

“Hey! Easy! It's me.” Wash held up his hands and took a step back.

Naomi jumped up onto the bank and rushed past him, throwing her words behind her. “Don't surprise me like that. Ever.”

“Sure, but—”

“Just don't.” She took a careful breath and worked at draining the distress from her face.

“Could you tell me—”

She shook her head. She could see he was hurt. His hands wandered, looking for something to do.

“All right, then.” He shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets. “You want to keep studying?”

She climbed back down to the river and sat on a log across from him. She nudged his foot with her shoe. “Sorry,” she said. “How about a Spanish lesson?”

He grinned. “That'd be good, seeing as how I keep telling the twins that you're teaching me some.”

“What time is it anyway?” she asked.

Wash pulled out his watch. “Almost four.”

“Okay, fifteen minutes for Spanish, and then we'll study in the tree.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“
Me gusta ésa idea
.”

He repeated her words. “What did I say?”

“I like that idea.”

“
¿Me gusta Naomi
?” he said, testing it out.

She smiled. “That works. Now, I'm going to ask you how you are.
¿Cómo estás?
”

“And I say...”

 

WASH
Wash learned fast and liked it. He took that learning with them into the tree, where he put
Me gusta besarte
into action. Gentle but bold. He could tell Naomi was enjoying herself, but all of a sudden she pulled back, frowning.

“You've done this before.” It wasn't a question, but he could tell she expected a response.

He hesitated a moment too long. “A few times.”

She was not pleased. “If I loved a liar, I'd hug you right now.”

“Okay, more than a few times,” he admitted. He tapped the wrinkle between her brows with his thumb. “But that was A.N. And I never liked it half as much as I like it with you.”

“A.N.?”

“
Antes Naomi.
Is that right?” he asked. “If I want to say ‘before Naomi'?”

“I'm not sure I'm talking to you right now.”

“Correct me at least.” He tried to play it off. Still, he could feel sweat pricking up on his forehead. She was beautiful when she was mad, but he didn't want her mad at him.

“
Antes DE Naomi
,” she corrected.

“
Gracias, señorita, mil gracias
.” He lifted her hand to his lips. Even in the dim light he could see that her frown was gone.

“You could charm the skin off a snake, you scoundrel,” she growled. She was smiling.

He pulled her close and kissed her. “You've ruined other girls for me, you know that?”

“
Así debe ser
,” she said softly. “That's how it should be.”

 

NAOMI
Naomi and Tommie sat at the kitchen table in Henry's house, studying their empty glasses of milk as if the answers to the problem of Tommie's project might be there. Tommie's first attempt at a dress for home economics lay before them on the table, a malformed monstrosity.

“Mrs. Anderson took one look and told me not to even bother putting it on,” Tommie said glumly. “I have until Monday to redo it. She said I could get some help but that I still have to do all the sewing.”

“Well, we could try to remake this...” Naomi hesitated.

“Lord, no,” said Tommie. “We'd better start over. Mama said I could use some of the fabric she bought for Easter dresses.”

“Okay, then there's the question of a machine. You could sew by hand, but that takes more time.” She slipped the last bite of her oatmeal cookie into her mouth. “Maybe ask Mrs. Wright down the street?”

Tommie shook her head. “She just took in a heap of sewing that she has to finish quick. Marla Kay from church has a sewing machine, but she said hers is jammed up bad.”

Henry came into the kitchen then. He was fresh from the shower and smelled of soap and aftershave.

“Hi, Mr. Smith,” Tommie said, blushing.

He nodded and reached for one of the cookies Tommie had brought. “Compliments to your mama. Listen, I might have a fix for your problem,” he said. There was a sly smile on his lips. “Follow me.” He shrugged on his jacket and headed out onto the porch.

“You know about this?” Tommie whispered. Naomi shook her head.

They followed him out onto the porch and then crossed with him to Muff and Bud's house. Naomi couldn't imagine what solution Henry planned to offer. She knew for a fact that Muff did not sew.

When Muff came to the door with Joe Joe on her hip, Henry leaned close and whispered.

“Of course. Come on.” Muff grinned and winked at Naomi. She hefted Joe Joe a little higher and stepped back to let them in.

“I'll take him for a bit,” Naomi said, reaching for Joe Joe. He waved a sticky hand and came to her happily.

“Thanks.” Muff smoothed her hair behind her ears and slid a hand to her round belly. “He's going to have to give up that spot pretty soon.”

They headed back to Muff and Bud's bedroom. In the corner there was something the size of a desk covered with an old quilt.

“Go ahead,” Henry said. “Look.”

Naomi tugged back the quilt to reveal an old push-pedal Singer machine. She'd used one like it back in San Antonio when she went with Tia Cuca to wash and sew for one of the wealthier Mexican families. It'd be easy to show Tommie how to use it. Then she remembered the radio, and her heart sank. There was no telling if the thing ran.

“It works,” Henry said. “See this?” He tapped his foot against a metal case about the size of a bread box. “I got it fixed up so that it runs off of electricity instead of you having to pump the foot pedal. Pretty slick, huh?”

“Wonderful. But why?” Naomi stammered.

“Muff was holding it for me for a special occasion.” He shrugged. “It just seemed like you needed it more now, ain't that so?”

“Thank you,” Naomi said. For the first time, she meant it.

◊ ◊ ◊

Later that evening, a few hours into working on the dress, Tommie put down her scissors suddenly. “When's your birthday again?”

“Seventh of August. Why?” Naomi said.

“And Christmas is nearly a year away...”

“Enough riddles.”

“Well,” Tommie said, “I was just trying to figure out what occasion, exactly, Henry had in mind.” She raised her eyebrows and tapped her chin. “My, but he's handsome. And thoughtful, too.”

Naomi frowned and went back to sewing. She didn't want to know what Tommie was talking about.

◊ ◊ ◊

On Sunday, Naomi walked with the rest of the congregation to the river for all the baptisms that had been put off during the winter. It was only mid-February, but the weather had turned suddenly warm and humid. The newly saved did not want to wait any longer.

Naomi stayed behind to carry Joe Joe for Muff. As they neared the river, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Glorious day, ain't it?” Pastor Tom said, falling into step with them.

“Heaven be praised,” Muff said. They'd only been walking for a few minutes, but she was already out of breath.

“Amen!” shouted J.R., who was running circles around them.

“There's gratitude, little brother.” Pastor Tom smiled. “Could I borrow this lovely young lady for a moment?” he asked Muff, nodding at Naomi.

She glanced at Joe Joe in Naomi's arms with a look of dread. With the extra weight of her pregnancy, Muff was struggling to make the walk as it was.

“He can stay with me,” Naomi said quickly. “I'll find you down by the river. That okay with you, Joe Joe?” Naomi asked. She flicked his nose lightly with her finger.

“No-mee!” He gave her a drooly grin and reached for her nose. “No-mee!”

“Thanks, sweetie,” Muff said to Naomi. She winked at Pastor Tom and then hurried J.R. down the path toward the river.

Pastor Tom walked slowly, letting the last of the churchgoers pass them.

Naomi matched his pace reluctantly. As far as she could tell, nothing good ever came of these little talks.

A blue jay swooped in front of them and started Joe Joe jabbering. Naomi smoothed the sweat-dampened hair from the baby's forehead and hummed a song about bluebirds and windows that the twins had learned at school.

Finally, the preacher spoke. “You sure have a way with kids.”

“Thank you,” Naomi answered.

“How are things at home?”

For a moment, Naomi thought he was asking about San Antonio. Then she realized that he must mean Henry's house.