Perfect Peace (54 page)

Just as he stood, the Jordan began to sing him a lullaby. He closed his eyes and swayed. The rough, coarse melody, bubbling up from the deep, soothed his aching soul. He listened, for what felt like an eternity, to the cry of the currents until the notes reverberated in the abyss of his memory. He would recall the tune years later and hum it whenever his past threatened to overwhelm him. For now, he listened until his heart was clean. Until he was free. Until, with his scars and wounds, he was sure he’d been made whole.

The rains came at nightfall. They hadn’t been this late, Gus recalled, since the day of Paul’s birth. But, unlike then, there was no rush this time, so father
and son walked hand in hand to the place of cleansing. As the moon rose, so did their voices. Gus couldn’t figure out why Emma Jean had jumped into the river. She knew she couldn’t swim. Was she
trying
to die? Had the voices in her head led her astray? It didn’t make sense, but there was nothing he could do about it now, so he thanked God for all his boys and wept with joy that Sol was home again. Gus had missed him deep in his heart. He regretted that he’d stood with Emma Jean on the decision to halt Sol’s education, but he couldn’t do anything about that, either. Sol had succeeded against the odds anyway, and that’s what mattered, so Gus thanked a faithful God for making Sol strong enough to withstand it all. Neighbors had expected wailing and mourning, but when they heard exultation and praise, they knew that ole Gustavus Peace would be all right. He wouldn’t live to see Paul prosper, but the brothers would. They’d meet in New York in 1965, all seven of them, and watch models display, in radiant splendor, Paul’s breathtaking creativity. They’d clap as they remembered little Paul Peace, the one few—other than Sugar Baby—thought would survive, and they’d know that God’s hand had always been upon him. For now, Bartimaeus said, “So long!” to Emma Jean as he and Gus waded into the Jordan. By morning, their burdens had been lifted, and it was finished.

“Any o’ y’all seen Mister?” Gus called, emerging from the bedroom at dawn.

They would learn, days later, that he had hitchhiked to Memphis on his way to Atlanta. They’d never know how surprised and elated Johnny Ray was to see him. In his letter, a week later, Mister reported that he was working in Atlanta and doing fine. He asked Paul to check in on the NAACP meetings—now that Emma Jean couldn’t stop him—and to let him know what happened in the fall election. He also told Paul that there was something waiting for him in the barn loft. Sol wrote back that everybody missed him and that Authorly said he was going to whip his ass for running off without saying good-bye. Sol explained that the enclosed dried-up clover was from Paul, who said to tell him that he loved him. Mister sniffled as he placed the clover in the middle of his own Bible.

Paul had abandoned the loft the day Gus found him in Emma Jean’s clothes. Yet curious to see what Mister was talking about, he climbed the ladder and looked around. Eva Mae was with him.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t see anything.” He shifted a small pile of hay and gasped, “Oh my God. I don’t believe it. All this time.”

“What?”

Paul descended the ladder with Olivia swinging from his right hand.

“He had her all these years?”

“I guess so.” Paul brushed the dirt from the doll’s face and clothes. He smiled. What was he supposed to do with her now? He didn’t need her anymore. She didn’t even seem real, like she once did. He remembered how much he’d loved her and how much she’d meant to him—back in another lifetime.

“What chu gon’ do with her?”

Recalling what Emma Jean had done with the rest of Perfect’s things, Paul laid Olivia on the pile of rubbish Gus was burning behind the barn. Then, hand in hand, he and Eva Mae went to find Henrietta.