The Red Rose Box (9 page)

Miss Lutherine sat, idle minded like the devil's workshop, sipping the coffee Mama had poured for her.

Ruth and I filled the tub with water, then put in the borax and washed, up and down, up and down. Then we wrung out each piece by hand, changed to fresh water, and rinsed.

Ruth saw Mama in the kitchen window and said, “We need two washin tubs, one for washin, one for rinsin.”

I added, “Use the money Olivia been sendin us.”

Mama put one finger to her lips, not wanting Miss Lutherine to know and we knew to be quiet. Everyone knew that you could use a telephone, send a telegram, or tell Miss Lutherine and the gossip was bound to get where it was headed in equal time. Mama said that was what happened to some old maids and that she felt sorry for people who had no children. I supposed that was why she was letting us go to New York City, Olivia not having any children of her own. I supposed we were the next best thing.

We lifted our hands high toward the heavens, put the sheets over the line, eased a clothespin on each end and the wind blew them soft and dry.

I took one end, Ruth the other, and we folded them, making perfect squares. We washed more clothes, rinsed, hung them to dry.

We ran shoeless between the clothes, playing tag. The air was fresh, grass soaked, clouds heading west. The turquoise sky sat above us. Mama was making bread pudding and we could smell its sweetness. Saturdays passed too fast.

Emma Snow came by with her new checkerboard, one of the sneering rust-colored girls, Penelope Adams, shuffling her feet behind her. Penelope was fat. There was no other word to describe her. Even her earlobes were fat. She wore her mother's ruby ring that no one could get off her finger and glasses that had been broken and were held together by a piece of tape. She had kinky brown hair that grew long. Her clothes always looked as if they were going to burst and she liked to show her underpants to boys down by the creek after mass on Sunday. The boys all called her fatso. The girls called her Penny. Penny pulled jacks and a red rubber ball from her pocket, and Ruth and I played checkers and jacks with them while the clothes dried on the line.

I wanted to tell them that we were going to New York City, that we were going to see the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building, that we would be staying in a hotel and that one day soon our mama, Rita Hopper, would have more than one washtub. Instead I told Emma to “King me,” and tried to imagine why any boy would follow Penny down to the creek to look at her underpants. Penny whistled while she bounced the ball and picked up five jacks. In the distance, I heard a gunshot and knew another possum was ready to be skinned. I won the first game and Ruth took Emma's place. Then Ruth won and Penny took my place.

“Nathan Shine kissed me down by the creek yesterday,” Penny said.

“On the cheek or on the mouth?” Emma asked.

“On the mouth, twice. Then he said he loved me.”

“He don't love you. He just wanted to look at your underpants.” Ruth snickered.

I felt sorry for Penny because she was fat. “Maybe he loves her.”

“Maybe he don't,” Emma added.

“Did it feel good ... when he kissed you?” I wanted to know.

“Sorta.... He kinda smelled like tobacco. I thought he pro'bly had some in his cheek cuz his daddy and mama always gotta cheek full.”

“Well, I'm not kissin no boy who gotta nasty habit like that. B'sides chewin tobacco, even smokin cigarettes is a sin,” Emma said. Emma was a member of the Holiness Church.

“It ain't no sin cuz it don't hurt nobody,” Penny replied.

“But it makes you stink,” Ruth said.

Penny shouted, “King me!”

I looked into the distance, wondering what it felt like to kiss a boy on the mouth who had a cheek full of tobacco and brown lips.

I checked the clothes. They were dry and as Ruth and I went back to our Saturday work, Emma put her checkers and checkerboard in the box, Penny picked up her red ball and copper jacks, and they walked away, looking back to wave once, then again.

We folded Miss Lilly's clothes, placed them neatly in the basket, and walked the dirt path to her house.

Miss Lilly wheeled herself to the back door, opened her butter-colored change purse, took out two dimes, and placed them in our palms. “Thank you,” she said.

“Thank you, Miss Lilly.... Thank you, ma'am,” we said again.

“Tell your mama, no need to come tomorrow, my sister's comin from New Orleans tonight, stayin till Monday mornin. You all run along b'fore it gets dark.” Miss Lilly backed away from the door in her chair and closed it. The quiet of twilight surrounded us.

Two Saturdays later, Ruth and I took our seats in the back of the bus and rode into Lake Charles with Mama to shop for the trip to New York. Whites Only; No Colored Allowed signs sat in some shop windows. I wanted to tell everybody in that town that I was going to be somebody, someday. I wanted everyone to know that there were places where colored could go anywhere, everywhere.

Mama, Ruth, and I stepped aside and looked down at our feet as a white man, blue-eyed and bald-headed, passed us on the sidewalk. I remembered the stars in the sidewalk on Hollywood Boulevard and wished I was there.

The sun glared. The heat hovered and as we passed a whites-only drinking fountain, I looked around and was tempted to take a sip. Mama looked at me. She knew what I was thinking, and the temptation passed through me. I would stay thirsty until we could find a colored fountain.

We shopped for petticoats and gloves, shoes and socks where we were allowed, had lunch in a colored diner, found our seats in the back of the bus that took us back to Sulphur, and the sights and sounds of the Louisiana countryside passed. The willows hung low in the heat of the day and the dust from the road came in through the open windows. Few birds flew. We stepped from the bus and a blessed breeze found us.

We walked home, carrying bags. I looked at my mama, memorizing the lines of her face and curve of her back.

Daddy was sitting on the front porch, puffing on his pipe. He took a puff and grinned when he saw us. He stood up and took the bags from Mama's arms, and we walked into the house.

“Gotta get us a automobile ... somehow,” he said, taking Mama by the hand. “What y'all think about that? A brand-new Cadillac ... baby blue.”

“Tobacco got your mind in a daze, Willie Hopper. Stop teasin those girls with foolishness.” Mama didn't share his dreams but I did.

“We could drive it to church on Sundays and down to New Orleans come Mardi Gras,” I added.

“We would be the talk of Sulphur, everyone beggin for a ride.” Daddy smiled at me.

“I wanna yella car.... Why can't we have a yella car?” Ruth joined in the dream.

Mama said, “Lord have mercy,” went into the kitchen, washed her hands, and started dinner. Daddy went back out to the porch and the dream ended. I stood in the door and watched. Daddy lit his pipe and took two puffs.

 

 

 

T
he next few months flew by and Ruth and I were on a train bound for New York City, wearing black-and-white saddle shoes, pink-and-white checked dresses, white sweaters, new petticoats, and white gloves.

We stood in the train window, watching until we couldn't see Mama and Daddy, our two faces pressed to the glass.

A slim brown porter wearing a handlebar mustache came by, eyes twinkling. “How are you two little ladies doin?”

“Fine,” we replied at the same time.

The porter said with a smile, “Y'all need anything, you just let me know.”

We said softly, “Thank you, sir,” and sat down, close together. I had my red rose box in my lap and Ruth's pink box sat next to her.

Few words passed between Ruth and me until sunset.

Then Ruth said, “We oughta say prayers fore we fall to sleep.”

“I always say my prayers before I fall to sleep,” I said.

Ruth looked out of the window as we came to a stop at a station. “Sometimes I forget cuz I fall fore I remember.”

I told her, “Cuz is not a real word.”

Ruth twisted her mouth. “Shut up, Leah, you ain't no teacher.”

“I will be,” I said.

“So will I,” Ruth said, raising her head high.

I took my rosary out of the red rose box and told Ruth, “If we say a whole rosary ev'ry night nuthin bad will ever happen to us.”

“I ain't stayin awake for you to say no whole rosary,” Ruth said and turned away.

We said one Our Father and one Hail Mary, and the rhythm of the train put us to sleep.

Two days passed and midnight approached as the train pulled into the station. New York City. I wondered what time this city went to sleep. There were too many people everywhere. I looked into the crowd and saw Aunt Olivia. She was wearing a red hat, red dress, and red shoes. Her eyes met mine and we smiled. Uncle Bill was at her side. They found their way to us and hugged us for a long time, as if they had missed us. I liked the way it felt. Aunt Olivia kissed our cheeks and Uncle Bill patted the tops of our heads. Aunt Olivia took my hand and I held on tight while Ruth weaved her way through the crowd with Uncle Bill. We walked out of the station doors and a waiting taxi took us to the hotel. Uncle Bill sat in front with the driver.