Perfect Peace (52 page)

“Well, that’s good. It sho is good to see you, boy!”

“It’s good to be home, Daddy.” Sol restrained his emotions. “I was hopin’ I hadn’t missed the party.”

“Oh no! It’s just gettin’ started! You right on time!” He wanted to hug Sol again, but he didn’t. “What you doin’ wit’ choself now? You teachin’ school somewhere?”

“Not yet. I’m in graduate school, studying to be a psychologist.”

Gus frowned.

“It’s the study of human behavior. You know, why people do the things they do.”

“Un-huh, I see.” Gus nodded several times. “Well, that’s all
right
!”

James Earl finally said, “Hey, King Solomon,” as though only now recognizing him. Sol hugged him again, then stepped through the front door.

Paul stared and trembled, like the disciples beholding their resurrected Savior. Sol smiled, freeing Paul to leap into his brother’s arms as if the two had been separated during slavery. Weeping freely, Paul didn’t care what Gus or Authorly or anybody else thought. He held on to Sol the way he used to hug Olivia and wouldn’t let go. Sol needed the embrace, too. He had been away from the family long enough to convince himself he no longer had a
place or a people in Swamp Creek. Paul’s quivering arms reminded him of who and what he was.

“Come on, boy,” Sol soon whispered. “You gon’ make all of us cry.”

Paul relaxed his hold and sniffled, “My brother’s home.”

“Yes, I am.”

“King Solomon . . . you just don’t know.”

“I don’t know what?”

Paul sighed. “You just don’t know. You just don’t know.” Tears came again as years of pain vanished. Sol rubbed Paul’s back.

“All right, all right,” Gus said. “Say hey to yo’ momma.”

When Emma Jean first heard Sol’s voice, she tried to decide what she’d say. He hadn’t been home once in all the years he’d been in college, and so much had changed. Or so little. Silence had reprimanded her for how she hadn’t loved him, and now she didn’t know how to fix it. “Let me handle this,” she murmured.

Authorly had informed Sol of Emma Jean’s condition—he dictated the letter to Eula Faye, who sent it on behalf of the family—and he’d sympathized with her. Now, staring at Emma Jean’s sullen, shrunken figure, Sol looked past the last vestiges of hurt in his heart and said simply, “Hey, Momma. How you doin’?” He knelt before her.

Emma Jean looked up, prepared to behold vengeance in Sol’s eyes. When she saw compassion, she said, “Hi, baby,” reaching for his hand. Sol surrendered it. “I didn’t know you was comin’.”

“I know. Authorly asked me not to tell anyone. Happy birthday.” His voice cracked. He never thought he’d see Emma Jean this way.

“Well, it sho is good to see you. It’s been a long time.”

“Yes ma’am, it has.”

He looks good, no thanks to you.

“I said, let me handle this!” Emma Jean shouted to the air. “He’s my son!”

Sol looked at his brothers, confused. They dropped their heads.

“I’m sorry I didn’t let you go to school. Back when you shoulda gone.”

That’s right!

“Shut up!”

“It’s okay, Momma. I went and I’m all right now.”

“I know, baby, but please don’t hate me. I just thought that since Paul—”

“You don’t have to explain.”

“Yes I do! I
need
to explain.”

You sure do.

“Leave me alone!”

Emma Jean’s wild eyes and unpredictable outbursts made Sol uneasy. “Why don’t you get some rest, Momma.”

“I don’t need no rest, son! I need for you to understand how sorry I am for what I done.”

Very good.

“And how wrong I was. If I could do it all over again—”

But you can’t.

“I know I can’t!”

“Momma, I’m all right now. Don’t worry yourself about me. God took care of me.”

“I know, honey, but
I
didn’t! And I should’ve.”

Right!

“And I don’t want you to hate me”—Emma Jean sobbed—“the rest o’ yo’ life.”

“I don’t hate you, Momma.” Sol closed his eyes as Emma Jean’s tears dripped onto his right hand. “You did what you thought was right.”

“But it wasn’t right! It was wrong! It was so wrong!”

“I understand. I know.” For a brief moment, Sol’s hurt resurfaced. He remembered his childhood longing and he felt, once again, the pain of Emma Jean’s rejection, yet he refused to pick back up what it had taken him years to let go of. “I’ve survived, Momma. I’m okay. You can let it go now.”

“No! I cain’t let it go! I hurt you and I didn’t mean to! I need to fix it now!”

It’s too late for that.

“It’s all right, Momma.” Sol gently pulled his hand away. Seeing her like this was more than he could bear.

“Don’t worry about it, Emma Jean,” Miss Mamie said, rubbing Sol’s long, slender arm. “He’s gon’ be just fine.”

“This is my business, Mamie Cunningham, and I don’t need you in it!”

“Emma Jean!” Gus admonished. “She’s our guest.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” Mamie said, smiling. “She don’t mean it. She ain’t in her right mind noway.”

“I
am
in my right mind, and I meant exactly what I said!”

People began to retreat.

You’re messing up again!

“Leave me alone!”

“Why don’t we all go outside,” Gus suggested, “and give Emma Jean time to calm down.”

“I don’t need to calm down!”

Yes you do. You’re starting to scare everyone. You’re even starting to scare me.

“Why?”

Because you’re screaming and no one knows why.

Emma Jean watched everyone scramble away. Gus touched her arm lovingly as he passed.

Did you ask Sol for forgiveness?

“No. Not yet. I was getting to that.”

You cain’t do nothin’ right, Emma Jean.

“Kiss my ass! I’m tired of you anyway!”

Fine! Then I’ll just go away. For now.

“No! Don’t go! I need you. I ain’t got nobody else.”

Silence went away.

“Hello? Are you there?”

Outside, folks bombarded Sol with questions about the outside world. Gus asked about a wife, and Sol said he was looking. Authorly wondered where Sol got his snazzy clothes from, and Mister asked if he had a bedroom all by himself. The distant laughter and cheering, without Emma Jean, made her believe she wasn’t needed anymore, and that’s what initiated her final descent. Mae Helen had been right after all, she thought. Everybody deemed her crazy now and maybe she was, but after a lifetime of giving to Pearlie and Gracie, Gus and the boys, then that damn Henrietta, the sad thing was that she was back where she’d started from.

There was only one answer, one way to be made whole again. Why hadn’t she thought of it before?

Emma Jean wiped her tears, put on her best Sunday dress, and slipped into her good black shoes. She even took a pocketbook, although she didn’t know why.

“Where’re you goin’, woman?” Gus called as she stepped into the yard.

“Don’t worry ’bout me. I just need to do somethin’. I’ll be back in a little while.”

“You ain’t got no business walkin’ ’round by yo’self! You know you ain’t well. I’ll come with you.”

“No! No.” Emma Jean’s trembling finger, pointed at Gus’s nose, got everyone’s attention.

“I’ll be fine.”

Miss Mamie and Henrietta shook their heads. Eva Mae and Paul tried to guess where Emma Jean was going and why.

“Let her go, Daddy,” Sol said. “She can’t get lost around here.”

Her guests left the house shortly after she did. Most saw no reason to loiter if the birthday girl was gone, so they told Gus to take care and keep on praying. Sol walked Miss Mamie home. Mister accompanied Henrietta. Eva Mae never warranted an escort.

Passing the bend in the road, Emma Jean headed toward the Jordan. If it had cleansed Gus and Bartimaeus all those years, then it could cleanse her, too. Sugar Baby saw her, zigzagging along the same path where Paul had been assaulted, looking more drunk than he ever had, but he paid her no mind.
She probably just needs a little air
, he told himself.

The Jordan welcomed her. A comforting breeze blew as Emma Jean folded her arms and breathed deeply. She looked around, like one who’d never been there before. She’d been a child, hunting berries with Gracie and Pearlie, the last time she was there, and now it looked different. Was it always so broad
?
Why did it flow like it was angry?

Emma Jean stood on the banks and reviewed her life. What a mess she’d made! Everyone she’d tried to love, she ended up hurting. Maybe she’d been cursed from the beginning, she thought. Maybe the point of her life had been to show people what
not
to do, and, with such a mission, she’d been doomed from the start. Gazing across the water, she shook her head and sang, “I need thee! Oh, I need thee! Every hour, I need thee!” Her arms stretched toward the heavens as she continued: “Oh, bless me now, my Savior! I come to thee!” Waiting for the magical moment, she swayed and hummed as the roar of the Jordan promised an imminent transformation.

It’s up to you now.

“I did the best I could.”

It wasn’t good enough.

“I’m not a bad person.”

Oh really?

“Really! My momma hurt me!”

Don’t start that again.

“It’s true!”

Then come and be with me forever. I’ll love you. There’s nothing more you can do here. No one else needs you now.

“What about Paul? He’s so young.”

You’ll never fix what you did. Never.

Emma Jean believed it.

I’m your only friend now. Come, and be with me.

“How?” Emma Jean whimpered. “How can I be with you?”

Meet me in the water. I’ll carry you away.

“Will you love me?”

Yes I will.

“Forever?”

Forever.

“Do you promise?”

Yes, Emma Jean. I promise.

Emma Jean didn’t hesitate. Unable to foresee herself in the future, she marched boldly to the edge of a jutting rock and, with the help of God’s heavy hands, plunged headfirst into the chilly Jordan. It swallowed her whole and rocked her in its tumultuous bosom. It loved her and accepted her for who she was. And who she wasn’t. It embraced her with loving arms and never let her go. The Jordan was no respecter of persons, so it stripped Emma Jean of everything she had—clothes, memories, guilt, shame—as it prepared her for the land of everlasting love. She couldn’t swim and, even if she could, she wouldn’t have tried. She’d gotten precisely what she’d come for. She was cleansed now, and no one—including Mae Helen—could tarnish her again. The hope for perfect peace had finally been realized, and now she’d have it forever.

She’d get a new body and a new spirit, too. That’s what Reverend Lindsey had said. And maybe, if she got the chance to live again, she’d come back as a pretty little black girl, she thought, one others would smile at and want to give sweets to. She’d ask God not to make her so dark this time that her mother would beat her for it, but to give her hair like her sisters’ and soft, caramel skin like Paul’s. But if she couldn’t live again, she wouldn’t be angry. She’d lived once, and once had certainly been enough.

When Sol returned, Paul met him on the front steps. The sun was beginning its descent.

“You ain’t seen Momma, have you?” Paul asked.

“No. She’s not back yet?”

“Un-uh. But she shoulda been by now.”

“I’m sure she’s fine.”

Several seconds passed before Paul gathered the nerve to ask, “Is you still mad at her, Sol?”

He stared across the horizon. “Naw, I don’t think so. Some days are harder than others, but for the most part I’ve let it go.”