Gathering of Waters (4 page)

“Your man of God! Your reverend is fucking that devil he brought into our home!”

August trailed Ann, offering apologies to the neighbors.

“Forgive her, she is not well. I think she has fever.”

He pleaded: “Ann, please stop this nonsense. Come back home and let me get a doctor to see about you!”

She stooped down, gathered a fistful of pebbles, and pelted him. “Get away from me!”

Doubling back to the house, Ann went inside, shut and bolted the door.

August pounded on the door for three hours. He pounded until the side of his hand was raw as fresh meat, but Ann never allowed him reentry. He spent the night in the carriage, wrapped in the stinking, rough blanket he used to cover the horse.

The next morning, he was awakened by the sound of his wife’s voice issuing demands: “Put that there. Careful now, don’t break it.”

August rolled back the blanket and peered out into the hazy light. Two men were hauling items from the house. One man August recognized as Ann’s brother, Smith.

A chair, two side tables, crates filled with dishes, pots, pans, bed linens, drapes—all was loaded onto Smith’s wagon.

Vesta shuffled out of the house and plopped down onto the top step of the porch. Her head was bowed, and August knew that her eyes were swimming with sadness.

His heart tugged.

Ann stepped out, pressed her fists into her hips, tilted her head toward the sky, and took a deep breath. She had never looked happier.

“Is this it?” Smith asked.

Ann nodded. “Yes, it’s all I want.” She looked down at Vesta. “We are going to be fine, you hear me? Just fine.”

August would forever look back on that day, when his wife and child climbed onto that wagon and rolled out of his life, with great sadness and shame.

So you ask, why did he not leap from his hiding place, fall to his knees, and beg Ann to stay? While I know many things, there are many more that I do not know or understand. But I will speculate that in that moment, what was more important than his family or his reputation was his desire to bring his dreams to fruition.

After the wagon disappeared down the road, August went to sit on the porch steps. He sat until the sun was high in the sky and the flies took shelter in the shade. He sat until a rustling sound inside the house summoned his attention. He rose, stuffed his hands into the pockets of his trousers, and walked into the house. Doll was seated in his favorite chair, wearing nothing but the brown skin she was born with. Her legs were open and the dark pyramid was split in two, revealing a glittering pink star.

He was aware of the sound his boots made as he crossed the wooden floor. It was so loud he thought the entire world could hear him walking. When he reached her, he fell to his knees, grabbed hold of Doll’s waist, buried his face in her stomach, and began to weep.

The girl stroked his hair and patiently waited for him to unload his sorrow.

Afterward, of course, there was the suckling of the pink star, the heat and pulse of it against his tongue, and Doll’s moans, squeals, and writhing.

Poor August, a man of God, but still just a man, and now a doomed man.

After the coupling, the bursting into wild brilliant lights, August declared that he would follow Doll to the ends of the earth. Sorry to say that the only place she would lead him was to hell—which turned out not to be the fiery underworld he preached about, but right here on top of the world with me.

Chapter Six

H
e say his wife gone back home.”

“Gone back home?”

“That’s what he say.”

“And nothing else?”

“Nothing else.”

“He don’t say why she gone back home? Sick relative maybe?”

“You need your ears cleaned out? I say all he say is she gone back home.”

“Hmmmmm.”

“Sound to me like she left him. Did she take the girls with her?”

“The girls? Ha, they ain’t had but one between them.”

“Awww yeah, I forgot about that. But that Doll been with them so long that she started to favor the younger one.”

“Uh-huh, strange how that happens, ain’t it?”

“I’ll tell you what’s strange!”

“What?”

“I took a casserole over to the house, ’cause you know menfolk don’t know nothing about cooking, and—”

“But the girl, she old enough to cook.”

“Well true, but I wasn’t thinking ’bout—”

“What you make for him?”

“Shepherd’s pie, but that ain’t what I’m trying to get at.”

“Sorry, you were saying?”

“I was standing at the screen door, knocking. I knocked a good long time and then I went on in—”

“You just walked on in the reverend’s house?”

“I was knocking for a really long time. Yes, I just walked in and was gonna leave the plate in the kitchen, on the stove, but soon as I got my foot good in the door, there she was.”

“She who?”

“Doll. Like she just dropped from the ceiling—”

“Like a spider?”

“Yep, but I ain’t see no web.”

“You know that child always been peculiar.”

“Peculiar? Her mama claimed she was possessed by Esther.”

“Esther Magnolia?”

“No, girl, Esther the whore.”

“You don’t say?”

“Yep! So anyway, Doll standing there in her slip, hair tussled, cheeks flushed—”

“In her slip? What she say?”

“She don’t say nothing and so then I said,
I brought
y’all a shepherd’s pie,
and then I hear the reverend calling from the back room—”

“What? Wait … she was in her slip?”

“Now you’re with me.”

“Oh my God!”

“Mine and yours! And so I hear the reverend say,
Doll, Doll baby
—”

“Doll
baby
?”

“Yeah,
Doll baby, what you doing out there, bring that star
back on in here.”

“Star? What in the world?”

“After he call to her, she smiled, raised her hand, waved bye-bye, and turned and walked off.”

“In her slip?”

“In her slip!”

“You think the reverend is laying that girl?”

“More like
she
laying
him
.”

“But sister, what star he talking about?”

“I only know about the ones up in the sky. Do you know of any others?”

“No, ma’am, I do not.”

He would have married her without the talk, without the eyeballing, without the men of his congregation showing up unannounced to remind him what was proper and what wasn’t.

“Look here,” one man said, “we men, so we
understand
.”

They did understand because they left their Bibles in their wagons, tucked their religion into the back pockets of their trousers, and placed a bottle of Jack Daniel’s right at the center of the kitchen table.

Doll was in the bedroom, trying hard to contain the excitement the men walked into the house. Her skin was on fire and she began to spin to cool herself. When August came into the bedroom she was in the middle of the floor, whirling like a cyclone.

He caught her by the arm. “Here’s a quarter. Go to the store and buy yourself something.”

The men stood when Doll entered the room. She dusted them with her gaze, giggled, and then hurried out of the house. She was gone, but her scent hung as thick as mist in the air. The men inhaled it and swallowed.

“See, it’s like this August …”

They passed the bottle between them.

“… It just don’t look right, you know, having this young girl living here with you … without another woman in the house.”

“… Yes, we know you raised her and Coraline certainly don’t want her back …”

“… She is a fine-looking girl. Fine!”

“… Any man would be tempted to.”

“—Being that you are a man first and a man of the cloth second.”

“… We don’t want you to be tempted to do what a lesser man would …”

“… And the women clucking like hens about what’s going on here, and you know …”

“… That make them look at us funny, and we got enough problems already and don’t need our women accusing us of messing around, so you either.

“… Put Doll outta your house or divorce your first wife and take Doll as your second!”

August took their advice, and within the month the two were betrothed. It was a scandal, of course, and he lost 20 percent of his congregation. Some of the female neighbors stopped talking to him and would just as soon spit fire on Doll than address her as Mrs. Hilson.

“There’s only one Mrs. Hilson and that is Ann Hilson!”

When word reached Coraline, who had moved down to Sperry, she huffed and said, “I ain’t a bit surprised.” But she was curious and begged a ride from a man who was sweet on her. “Carry me into Tulsa, please, I gotta see about some business.”

“On a Sunday?”

Coraline gave the man a hard look.

“Aw’ight, come on.”

She slipped in the last pew and pulled her hat low over her forehead. On the pulpit August waved the good book until the sleeves of his robe flapped and billowed. He jumped and ballyhooed, stomped and spoke in tongues, and encouraged his congregation to do the same.

Coraline chose to reveal herself just as the collection was being taken up. Head held high, she strolled right up the center aisle, deftly ignoring the whispers and finger-pointing.

“Morning, Reverend.”

“Morning, Sister Coraline. Nice to see you again.”

Coraline turned and looked at Doll. “Doll,” she said.

Doll returned Coraline’s query with a polite and respectful, “Mama.”

Coraline looked at August. “It’s true? You done gone and married the girl?”

August shuffled, tried to smile, but it emerged as a frown. “Yes, ma’am, I did.”

Coraline stripped her teeth. “Okay,” she said with a toss of her head. “I just had to hear it from your mouth.”

“Well, now you’ve heard it.”

“Yes, I have.”

August didn’t know what possessed him, but he raised his Bible into the air and cried, “What God has brought together, let no man pull asunder!”

Coraline cocked her head to one side and said, “What the good book say about what
Esther
has brought together?”

Chapter Seven

I
ess than a year after they were married, Doll gave birth to a girl who they named Hemmingway. A boy followed three years later, and they named him Paris.

Doll didn’t make a good wife or a good mother.

She did not allow her children to call her Mama or Mommy—“You call me Dolly.
Doll-lee!”

She did not cuddle, tend to runny noses, or wrap their necks with woolen scarves to protect them from the cold. She may have fawned and fussed in public— but in the privacy of their home Doll avoided the children with the same vigor she used to evade housework.

For the most part, her days were spent lounging in her slip, sipping sweet tea, listening to George Tory and Skip Blake albums on the phonograph. The only reason she even attended church service was because she enjoyed the arresting effect her presence had on the congregation.

Besides all of that, one of the only other things she enjoyed doing was making johnnycakes. Even those people who did not like her had to admit that Doll’s johnnycakes were the best they’d ever tasted. Light, fluffy, heaven-on-your-tongue, melt-in-your-mouth type of good. So good it almost made her behavior acceptable.

Almost.

* * *

One evening, August bid Doll and the children goodbye and set off with two ministers to host a midnight revival.

“I’ll be back by sunup,” he said as he mounted his horse.

Doll shrugged, “Okay.”

In the darkest part of the night, Hemmingway awoke to Paris’s wailing. She climbed from her bed, went to his crib, and stuck her finger in his diaper. It was wet.

Hemmingway walked confidently down the hallway toward her parents’ bedroom. Unlike most children, she was not afraid of the dark. Upon reaching the bedroom door, she rapped softly on it while calling, “Dolly? Dolly?”

There was no answer, so Hemmingway turned the knob and pushed.

“Dolly?”

The room was cast in shadows. She could see the gray silhouette of her mother’s body stretched out on the bed.

“Dolly, Paris is wet and I think he’s hungry too.”

The silhouette shifted and the bedsheets rustled. A voice the girl had never heard before said, “Hemmingway, is that you? Come in here, sweetness.”

Can a voice have fingers? That one did. Icy fingers that closed around Hemmingway’s young heart.

The darkness shifted and the silhouette sat up. “Come here,” it cackled.

Hemmingway backed out of the room, ran down the hallway and into her bedroom. She dragged the painted wooden rocking horse across the floor and pushed it up against the closed door.

Paris was screaming by then, but his sister barely noticed above the sound of her galloping heart. The baby screamed himself hoarse and finally fell asleep. Hemmingway remained awake, watching the door and listening for the voice with the icy fingers. She did not know when sleep stole her away, but she would always remember the dream that followed of her and Paris running for their lives through a dark, lush forest. On their heels was a wolf wearing the face of their mother.

The next morning Hemmingway woke to find Paris gone. Fearing that the wolf in her dreams had taken him, she leapt from the bed and crept out of the room. The air in the house was soaked with the scent of bacon, eggs, grits, and johnnycakes. She could hear her father’s voice chiming merrily in the kitchen.

Doll was seated at the table, nursing Paris. When she looked up and saw Hemmingway standing in the doorway, her face turned bright with pleasure.

“Morning, darling, how did you sleep?”

“Hey, baby,” August smiled.

Hemmingway watched them. Not sure yet if this was part of her nightmare, she remained in the doorway.

“Oh, we’re not speaking this morning?” Doll sang.

August frowned. “What’s wrong with you?”

The girl took a tentative step into the bright light that streamed through the kitchen windows. “Daddy?”

“Yes?”

Hemmingway flew into him and nuzzled her nose deep into his neck. He smelled like night air, liniment, and scorched cedar chips.