BLACKWATER:The Mysterious Saga of the Caskey Family (61 page)

At this, Queenie marched over and took Malcolm's arm. She said, "Travis Gann, you got what you deserved. I'm not a bit sorry for you."

"I know that," Travis said, still grinning. "I know it very well. But maybe someday you will be. Sorry, I mean."

Queenie took Malcolm out of the courtroom. Travis Gann was returned to his cell to await transfer to Atmore. Two more defendants took the young men's place at the table, and Alabama law and justice continued.

That afternoon, sick of pumping gas and even sicker of his enforced penitence, Malcolm Strickland stole his mother's car, drove to Mobile, and joined the army. He did not think it necessary to tell his mother of Travis Gann's thinly veiled threats. It couldn't be that easy to escape from Atmore.

CHAPTER 46
SACRED HEART

After Miriam's departure for college, Sister remained aloof from her brother Oscar and his wife. But one evening in November, Sister sat in her dining room alone, eating leftovers and gazing out the window at Oscar's house next door. She could see her brother and his family having supper in their dining room. Frances was talking, and Oscar and Elinor were laughing at whatever it was their daughter was saying. Sister could even faintly hear their voices. She had a sudden revelation. She ran out and across the sandy yard, then called up toward the dining room window, "Hey, Oscar! Elinor!"

Elinor came to the window, and peered out into the evening gloom. "Sister?"

"Can I come in for a few minutes?"

"Of course you can. Come on in." Elinor went into the front hallway.

"Elinor," said Sister as she stepped inside the house, "I want to apologize. I cain't imagine what I was thinking of."

"Thinking of when?"

Oscar appeared in the dining room doorway with his crushed napkin in his hand and his mouth still full of food. "Hey, Sister, how you?"

"Oscar, you know how I am. I'm as lonesome over there as an old rail fence stretching off into nowhere."

"Then why haven't you come to see us before?"

Sister went into the dining room, sat at the table, and accepted the cup of coffee that Zaddie brought to her. "I don't know where my head could have been," said Sister.

"Sister, what are you talking about?" said Oscar.

"The reason I haven't come to visit was because of Mama and Miriam. Neither one of 'em ever came here any more than they absolutely had to."

Oscar and Elinor nodded in silent assent.

"But Mama's dead and Miriam's gone off to school, and I was sitting there all alone, seeing your lights over here, thinking, 'Well, I cain't go over there, Mama'd kill me or Miriam wouldn't speak to me.' Then all of a sudden I realized how foolish I was being, so here I am."

Oscar laughed. "Sister, those two had you trained."

"They sure did!"

"I hope you're going to come over and see us all the time, now," said Elinor.

"I sure would like to," sighed Sister. "And maybe I will."

"What's going to stop you?" asked Elinor.

"Who knows?" said Sister darkly. "That's the problem with this family—you cain't count on anything staying the same for long."

Thereafter, Elinor and Oscar wouldn't hear of Sister's eating supper by herself in that dark old house. In the afternoon, Elinor frequently called across the yard, "Sister, come on over here and keep me company." Sometimes, Sister and Elinor went shopping together. "Elinor," Sister once said, "you married Oscar seventeen years ago. We've all grown old since then, but this is the first time you and I have spent any time together. I get mad at Mama and Miriam when I think of all the things they kept me from doing."

"Blame Mary-Love," returned Elinor. "Don't blame Miriam. Miriam wasn't grown up. You could have told Miriam what to do, and Miriam would have had to do it. You were weak, Sister. But after being brought up by that mama of yours, I don't see how you could have been any other way."

There were other alterations in the relationships within the Caskey family that autumn. When Malcolm ran away to join the army, Queenie was distraught, and begged James to send somebody to fetch him back. But James argued that Malcolm was twenty-one and could do what he pleased. "Besides," James pointed out while they were choosing an automobile to replace the one that Malcolm had stolen, "you have always said that what Malcolm needed was a good dose of army discipline." So Queenie allowed herself to be lightened of the burden that had been her son. She no longer worried about him, but indulged herself to a greater extent than ever before in James's company. Lucille complained that her mother was never at home, and that she always knew where -to find her, which was over at Uncle James's. James and Queenie gossiped, James and Queenie went shopping in Pensacola and Mobile, James and Queenie had no secrets from one another. Then they began making visits in Perdido as a couple. Some lady in town would say to her friend, "I'm bored to death. Let's call up James and Queenie and see if they won't come over and talk a spell." Or another lady would say, "Let's ride by James's house and see if Queenie and him are out on the porch."

Together, Queenie and James paid visits to Elinor. Often they found Sister with her. These visits soon lost the formal aspect that they had had at first; they became as easy and natural as Perdido had always thought they should be, with all the Caskeys living in adjacent houses. Soon the households began taking meals together. It seemed foolish to have Zad-die, Roxie, and Ivey cooking three complete different meals when everyone might meet at Elinor's for the big meal of the day and enjoy themselves more. The three black women got together early in the morning, planned the meal, then retired to their separate kitchens to prepare their individual parts. In mid-morning, Roxie and Ivey could be seen bearing steaming pots and casseroles across the sandy yards beneath the water oaks. Everyone gathered at noon. James or Oscar said grace, and for an hour the Caskeys were as happy as any family had the right to be.

One day Oscar, from his usual spot at the head of the table, said, "Y'all, I just thought of something. None of this would have been possible when Mama was alive. She would never have let us do this."

Everyone at the table grew quiet. Everyone knew that Oscar spoke the truth, and the indictment against Mary-Love was telling.

Ivey, bringing in a plate of hot rolls, said, "Miss Mary-Love didn't like to see nobody rich, 'less she was the one put the fi' dollar in their hand."

Roxie, who was serving iced tea, said, "Miss Mary-Love didn't like to see nobody happy less she was the one put happiness in their head."

Zaddie, holding open the kitchen door, said, "Miss Mary-Love wouldn't speak to me, just 'cause I belonged to Miss El'nor and not to her. If Miss Mary-Love was to see all of you here together, she'd fall down to the floor in a fit!"

There was another moment of silence, as Mary-Love Caskey was remembered by her family.

"Mama's dead, though," said Sister, lifting her glass with a slight smile.

After this noontime meal, when Oscar had returned to the mill, Lucille to the Ben Franklin store, and Danjo and Frances to the high school, the others usually went upstairs and sat on the screened porch with more glasses of iced tea. One afternoon a few days before Thanksgiving, Queenie, Sister, Elinor, and James were on the porch making plans for the holiday meal, when Luvadia Sapp made an appearance in the doorway and said, "Mr. James, they's a car out in front of your house, and somebody getting out."

"Who is it?"

"Don't know."

Everybody rose and peered out. They could see only a corner of the automobile parked in front of James's house.

"I better go down and see," said James.

Everybody went down to see, and what everybody saw was James's daughter Grace, striding up the sidewalk with two enormous suitcases.

After graduation from Vanderbilt, Grace had taught physical education at a girls' school in Spar-tanburg, South Carolina, and had lived with another young woman whom the Caskeys always referred to as "Grace's particular friend." At first this particular friend's name was Georgia, but then it altered itself to Louise, and later to Catherine. So far as Grace's father and the rest of the family knew, Grace was perfectly happy, and that, despite the unorthodox manner of her achieving such contentment, was all that really mattered.

"Grace!" called James.

"Daddy!"

Grace, twenty-six now, appeared stronger and sturdier than ever. The suitcases appeared to weigh nothing as she swung them onto the porch. Everyone gathered around her, and James cried, "Darling, I didn't know you were coming back for Thanksgiving."

"I am home for good and all," said Grace defiantly.

"No!" cried everyone. And: "Grace, what happened?!"

"Grace," said her father, "is something wrong? What about your friend Catherine?"

"Oh, Catherine left that school year before last, Daddy! I told you that." She sighed. "It was Mildred this time."

"Did you two girls have an argument?" asked Queenie solicitously.

"I hate her!" cried Grace. "And I don't want to talk about Mildred, 'cause I'm never gone see her again. If she calls and wants to speak to me, tell her I've moved to Baton Rouge or somewhere. Have y'all eaten? I am famished. I have driven straight through from Atlanta."

"What did Mildred do to make you so unhappy?" asked her father. "I thought you liked that school."

Grace pursed her lips. "She's gone get married. And, Daddy, I don't want to hear another word about Mildred, 'cause it just drives me crazy even to think about her. Y'all," she said to her family in general, "I loved that girl to the bottom of my soul, and now she up and tells me she is gone go off and marry some old man that sells property in Miami! So nobody ever mention her name to me again!"

"You've quit your job?" asked Elinor.

"I have. Daddy, you're gone have to support me. I am weary unto death of giving away my heart to people that don't deserve it."

"Good for you, Grace," said Queenie. "We are so glad to have you back—you cain't imagine how we have missed you. I never laid eyes on Mildred in my life, but one thing I know for sure is, she didn't deserve you."

No more was learned about why Grace gave up her employment at the Spartanburg girls' school, but somehow the rumor in Perdido arose that Grace had not abandoned her position voluntarily, that she had been ousted from it in some obscure but serious disgrace. Grace Caskey, though, never acted as if she had returned to Perdido in dishonor. She tackled this new stage of her life with energy and resolve. The day after her unexpected reappearance she went to the principal of the high school, showed him her certificates, and said, "Let me coach the girls' basketball team."

"We don't have one," the principal replied.

"Then I'll form one," said Grace. "And in the spring we'll talk about softball."

She formed a girls' basketball team, drilled her girls relentlessly, and then drove them all over five counties of Alabama and Florida to play other teams. She taught dancing classes at Lake Pinchona that winter, and itched for warm weather so that she could start lessons in diving and water-rescue. She put on her high boots to go rattlesnake hunting with the boys in the high school. She put on a straw hat and stood with Roxie on the Baptist Bottom bridge, fishing for bream in the lower Perdido.

"I remember," said James to Queenie, "when Grace was little, I couldn't hardly get her to sit on the back steps on a sunshiny day. She was so shy she'd run and hide anytime somebody knocked on the front door. Now I cain't even begin to keep up with her, and if I want her to stay in the house for five minutes, I have to rope her to the breakfront."

Grace's phenomenal energy was exceeded only by her appetite. She was in the kitchen half an hour before dinner every afternoon, fishing out pieces of chicken and getting her hand slapped by Roxie, who still thought of her as a little girl. At table, she always called for more chopped steak, more little green peas, more creamed corn, more rolls, more butter, and greedily snatched whatever was left on the serving plates when everybody else was filled to bursting. She was the first to sit down and the last to get up. She never appeared to gain weight.

At table one afternoon in mid-December of 1938, Grace at last pushed her plate away, signaled for one final glass of tea, and said, "Well, somebody tell me how Miriam's doing down at Sacred Heart."

All the Caskeys looked at one another.

"Nobody knows," answered Elinor at last.

"What do you mean?" demanded Grace. "Hasn't anybody written to her?"

"She doesn't answer," said Sister, appearing suddenly troubled.

Grace looked around astounded. "You mean that poor child went away in September, and nobody's spoken to her since?"

"How?" asked Oscar with a shrug of helplessness. "Miriam does what she wants. If Miriam wanted to speak to us, we figure she'd write or call. She didn't tell anybody where she was going until the very morning she left. Nobody wanted to interfere, Grace. But I guess," he said, looking around the table, "that maybe we've let it go a little too long..."

The fact was that Miriam reminded them all too much of Mary-Love. While none of them ever actually had said it aloud, the Caskeys, reunited after so many years of division and animosity, had not felt any great desire to have Miriam return to provoke old hostilities. Even Sister, who loved her most, had been glad that she had stayed away. However, not one of them, even for a single moment of the three months of her absence, ever worried that Miriam might not be well, or content with the lot she had chosen for herself.

"Well," said Grace, with her hands on her hips, "I have never seen or heard of the like. I want y'all to look at me." Everybody did as they were told. "When I get up from this table, I am going to drive directly down to Mobile and the Sacred Heart College and see Miriam, and I am going to ask her to her own face how she is getting along. Has anybody even thought to ask her if she's coming home for Christmas?"

No one had.

"Maybe...I should go with you," said Sister tentatively.