Gone Crazy in Alabama (8 page)

The next day while we were hiking across the field, through the pines, and over the creek to see JimmyTrotter, Miss Trotter, and the cows, I told Vonetta, “Don't tell her everything Ma Charles said.”

Vonetta said, “You can't tell me what to say. You can't control me.”

“Come in, mission control,” Fern said in her walkie-talkie voice, then used another voice to say, “This is mission control, over.”

Vonetta told her to shut up and I told Vonetta to shut up. Then Vonetta took a swat at Fern and missed, then I took a swat at Vonetta and didn't miss. “So there,” I said.

“I hate you, Delphine.” She rubbed her shoulder.

“I don't care, Vonetta.”

Fern didn't seem to need my protection. She ignored Vonetta and kept on saying, “This is control. We have control. Over.”

I said to Vonetta, “Ma Charles is just telling us like it was. That doesn't mean she wants you to repeat everything she says.”

“How do you know?” Vonetta said.

Fern, suddenly back from playing “mission control,” said in Ma Charles's voice, “Don't
you
call her a liar.” She pointed at Vonetta. “You, you, you.”

“That's right,” I said, glad Fern paid attention, both now and last night. “Ma Charles said
she
could call Miss Trotter a liar—”

“But don't
you
do it,” Fern said, clunking her turtle head. “Don't you do it.”

“I'm not even going to talk to Miss Trotter,” Vonetta said. “I'm going to ride JimmyTrotter's bike because I'm good at it.”

“And I'm going to moo with the cows. Check out what's on their minds,” Fern said.

And that was fine with me.

This time we walked farther down to the shallower end of the creek and wriggled out of our sneakers to wade across. It took longer to reach our great-aunt and cousin but we needed to cool down. Once we made it over the creek and ran through the pines, Vonetta was galloping to
the house looking for Miss Trotter. I knew she was going to tell it and I couldn't stop her. Miss Trotter was eager for every word.

“Is that what she told you?” Miss Trotter said. “I'd have pulled her pigtails too, if she had enough to pull.” My great-aunt was no better than Vonetta. She only sought to have something mean to say about Ma Charles when she and her sister had the same type, color, and length of hair.

When she was done being snippy, Miss Trotter said, “I can't fault her. No sir.” Then I felt badly for thinking the worst of Miss Trotter now that her tone had changed. “Can't say I blame her at all.”

I grabbed on to the sorrow in her voice it like it was hope. Maybe for once our great-grandmothers would stop acting like Vonetta and Fern and behave like sisters.

“It's not her fault she had no father to tell her about the family. The history. How could she know what is true? How could she know our father?” Then she said to Vonetta, in a voice so sweet I almost believed her, “But dear one, don't tell her she grew up with no father. No, no. Don't you tell her that. Don't tell her how our father's boots stood outside this very porch before he came in to supper. My mother kept a clean house, so Papa's boots had to stay out on the porch. I remember clearly, but my poor sister had no fine, happy memories of a father coming home to tuck her in or tell her stories. How can she tell
you the right and true history if she doesn't know it? Poor sister. Dear sister.”

I was disappointed. I almost believed her pity. I saw through her, but Fern and Vonetta were reeled in. “Poor sister,” Fern cooed.

“I have all my remembrances of him and how he loved
my
mama,” she crowed. And then she began to story-talk. “My father walked on land like a man who could walk on all the elements. Land. Air. Water. He was good with the coloreds and good with the whites. He was good with the men, and the women thought he was mighty fine. When he was a boy among his people, he'd wave to the trains passing through the reservation. Wave and wave. When he got to be about JimmyTrotter's age, maybe older, a man from the railroad went to the Indian Affairs agent and got my papa a pass to work on the railroads. Those same railroads you pass along the way. My papa was long-limbed and scrawny, but he worked hard and caused no trouble. They let him work on the Montgomery and West Point train. He loved his trains. All the railroad companies wanted a worker as fine and hardworking as Slim Jim Trotter. He was what they saw: The coloreds called him a good man, slim as a rail. The whites called him a good Injun. They gave him the hardest work but that didn't stop Papa, no sir! He worked his way from being on the section gang repairing railroad track, and then he became a fireman shoveling coal
on the freight train. Train always stopped in Autauga County, where cotton, the lumber mills, and textile mills were king. Papa rode with the trains. The work was good. He was always gone.”

At this point JimmyTrotter slipped away and left us with Miss Trotter. He'd been hearing these stories for years.

“The prettiest sight my papa ever seen was my mama, Miss Ella Pearl, gathering white potato vine. He loved her from the start, brought her to the courthouse in town and married her, and she became his legal wife.

“But don't let on you know your great-granny's shame,” Miss Trotter said. “Don't hurt an old woman with the truth. No, no, dear one,” she told Vonetta. “Don't let on you know.”

I wouldn't let my sister carry half-true histories back and forth between Miss Trotter and her sister. I said, “Aunt Ruth,” because that was her name. Ruth Trotter.

“Great Miss Trotter was all I agreed to.”

“Great Miss Trotter,” I said. “Vonetta can't repeat all of that. I won't let her.”

“You can't make me do anything. I'm liberated,” Vonetta said. “It's up to me to tell or not tell.”

“That's right,” Miss Trotter agreed. “That's up to you to don't tell, like I said, not to tell.” Even with all of that “don't telling,” Miss Trotter was egging Vonetta on to tell.

“That's right,” Vonetta said.

“That's right, dear one,” Miss Trotter said. And Vonetta
rolled around in that “dear one” name like it was a pink rabbit-fur jacket.

Since Vonetta couldn't see she was a bouncing ball being played between the two sisters, I knew I had to do what Pa and Cecile wanted me to do. I had to look out for her.

So I asked Miss Trotter, “Why can't you go and see your sister, Aunt Miss Trotter? Why can't you talk to her?”

“She's the one who must beg my pardon. She must walk to my home.”

“But she's the only sister you have.”

“She's the only one I know about.”

“That's why you should see her.”

“Before the sweet by-and-by,” Fern added.

For a second Miss Trotter's pride fell from her face. Then it found its way back to her eyes, cheeks, and mouth. “We all have to go sometime. It's the way of things.”

As sure as Miss Trotter counted on Vonetta to be showy, crowy, and unstoppable, Vonetta couldn't wait until Ma Charles said, “Well?” Vonetta couldn't get the story out fast enough, throwing in every pause, hand motion, and “No sir!”

“Is that what she told you?” Ma Charles said.

“‘He loved her from the start, brought her to the courthouse in town and married her, and she became his legal wife.'” It was the one of the few phrases that Vonetta got word for word.

“Truth is, the train stopped in Prattville proper. But Papa didn't like town so much and he roamed the country until it was time to pick up on the train again. My papa, Slim Jim Trotter, found my mother on her way to teach Bible school. My mother, your great-great-grandmother, said, ‘The Lord put this man in my path, so I married him in the church of God.'”

Then she said to Vonetta, “Let me see how you're going to tell it. Go on, little Miss Ethel Waters. Let's see.”

I had seen enough old movies to know Ethel Waters was an old-time actress in the black-and-white pictures. Vonetta didn't know who she was but that didn't stop her from reciting, “The good Lord put this man . . .”

By the time Big Ma had come out of her room to see what all the commotion and cackling was about, it was too late. Vonetta already had her instructions for the next day's performance.

“Well, I have heard enough of it,” Big Ma said. “Your father sent you down here to play checkers and read a book. Not to stir up stuff.”

Ma Charles said, “If they want to milk cows and fill up on silly half-Indian tales, let 'em go.”

Vonetta and Fern hollered, “YAY!” and Big Ma told them to stop gobbling like wild turkeys at a Thanksgiving turkey shoot. That only encouraged them to gobble and strut around, and Ma Charles got a big kick out of that.

“All they're doing is getting your pressure up. That's
right. They'll leave me motherless when your pressure flies sky high.”

“Off to the sweet by-and-by,” Fern sang.

Only Big Ma's pressure went up. Ma Charles was enjoying the evening performances.

“But if you marry Mr. Lucas, you won't be lonely and you'll have peach cobbler every Sunday,” Fern said.

“Even Rickets knows the truth!” Ma Charles hollered.

But just to make sure the attention didn't stray too far from her, Vonetta became Little Miss Ethel Waters and practiced the next day's retelling for Ma Charles.

It rained so heavily over the next two days, we stayed at Ma Charles's and played Old Maid. When the sky's color returned to clear blue and the air was once again clean-smelling, we ran outside and let the chickens out of the coop, and between us and Caleb, we kept an eye on them so they wouldn't get away. Big Ma had me help her clip their wing feathers, which neither the chickens nor Fern appreciated, but clipping their wings made it easier to keep track of them while they strutted about the yard. When they had enough freedom, we chased them inside the run, where they could still strut about freely.

The next day we went back over to Miss Trotter's, happy to have the walk and to wade down at the shallow end of
the creek. After we had our fill of being on the other side, I told Miss Trotter, “I don't understand why you can't talk to your sister face-to-face, Miss Trotter.”

“Respect your elders, Delphine,” Vonetta said. “Great Miss Trotter can do what she wants.”

“You tell her,” Great Miss Trotter said.

“Well, she is eld,” Fern pointed out to me. “Past tense for old.”

Miss Trotter said, “She's the one who must come this way and beg my pardon. She has to walk to my home and wipe clean that hex she put over my generations.”

“Hex?” I asked.

“It means bad luck,” Vonetta said.

“I know what it means,” I snapped at her. She was only brave because Miss Trotter was right there.

Miss Trotter said, “My sister has done many a wicked thing against me out of envy. Many a wicked thing.”

“Ma Charles?” I asked. “Our great-grandmother?”

“She wasn't born a great-granny,” Miss Trotter said. “She was a young, wicked, jealous girl. When Steven Hazzard courted and married me, she married Henry Charles to keep up with me. My husband understood about my father and let me keep my name and let me name our son after my father. But the wicked one couldn't let that be. One Sunday as we strolled in town, she on one side of the street with her husband, and me with mine and my son in arms, she said, ‘Well, if it isn't
the Trotters. Hiya, Steven Trotter.' That was the last I seen of my husband.”

Miss Trotter didn't strike me to be a crying woman, but I saw her tears well up although she wouldn't let them roll. She pointed her finger at me and said, “She wiped out every sprig of my generations—she hates me so. Wiped out each one but JimmyTrotter.”

“Ma Charles didn't do any such thing. She wouldn't.” As I held my stare with Miss Trotter I knew it didn't matter that I didn't believe in hexes or curses. My great-aunt did, and for that matter, so did my great-grandmother.

Miss Trotter turned to Vonetta and put on her sweet voice. “What was that you told your sister?”

Vonetta knew when she was being coached and ate it up. “I told her to respect her elders.”

“That's right! Respect!” Miss Trotter cried out. “You!”—she went from sweetness to pointing and almost shouting at me—“haven't lived as long as my toenails! You don't know what Naomi did and didn't do. Would or wouldn't do. Now, if she has something to say to me, she can journey over the creek on her two feet. Her two feet.” She turned to Vonetta, her helpmate. “Go get that cane, dear one.”

Vonetta took off like a foot soldier in Miss Trotter's army. She returned with the wooden cane, presenting it with pride to her general.

“Yes, yes,” Miss Trotter said, and kissed Vonetta on her
forehead. We weren't a kissing kind of family, so Vonetta ate that right up. “She can borrow the cane she gave me to come beg my pardon.”

When we got to the house I asked my great-grandmother, “Why won't you talk to your sister?”

My great-grandmother said, “I talk to her every day.”

“How is that?”

“Through prayer. I pray to the Lord for my half sister's wicked soul.” But Ma Charles wasn't joking with me. There was no winking or twinkle in her eyes.

Vonetta said, “Don't worry, Ma Charles. I didn't believe the part about you chasing her husband out of town.”

Ma Charles just laughed and laughed. “You tell the widow Hazzard I'm sorry for her loss.” She laughed some more.

“Cut it out, Vonetta,” I warned. “If you're not going to say it right you shouldn't say it at all.”

“Oh, hush,” Ma Charles said, eager for more. “What else she say?”

“Know what she said, Ma Charles?” Vonetta asked.

I kicked Vonetta, a really good one. Then Ma Charles said, “Don't let me see you do that again.” And Vonetta moved closer to Ma Charles and rubbed the side of her leg.

“Now, what did the old cow say?”

“I'm not calling her an old cow, but Miss Trotter said if
you want to talk to her face-to-face, you have to walk on your two left feet over the creek with the cane and take the hex off her first.” Vonetta added the part about “left” feet to stir up trouble. It worked.

Ma Charles leaped out of her chair—and she was generally slow-moving. “Oh! Oh! Spare her, Lord! Spare her, Lord! For I surely will get her! I surely will! Where's my tambourine?”

Big Ma came running. “Mama, Mama! Mama, sit down! Sit down, Mama!” She turned to me. “Delphine, what did you do? What did you—”

Before I knew it, my grandmother backhanded me across the cheek so hard I saw white.

I stayed away from everyone for the next day and night. I stayed up in the pecan tree with my book when I could and slept on the porch at night. Since I had already run through the other two books I had packed, I had no choice but to finish
Things Fall Apart
. It was the perfect book, since Okonkwo couldn't do right, and neither could any of the adults on this side of the creek or the other.

When I finally came down from my tree I went to Little Miss Ethel Waters first.

“Vonetta. You have to stop going back and forth telling those tales.”

“I'm not telling tales and you can't tell me what to do.”

I wanted to hit her right then and there. If only Cecile could see her precious Vonetta now. “Watch out for Vonetta” my fat fanny.

“Our aunt and our great-grandma should be rocking on this porch together. Not sending poison pen letters back and forth through you.”

“So.”

“They're old, Vonetta. And one of them is going to die first.” I refused to say it the southern hymn way—“the sweet by-and-by.” “Then the one left alive will say, ‘I miss my sister.' And you'll feel rotten in your rotten little heart because you helped to keep them apart. Then what?”

“Yeah, then what?” Fern asked.

Vonetta crossed her arms. “One thing's for sure. I'll never miss you.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I hope you don't act like this when Pa and Mrs.'s baby comes.”

There was a lot of silence before there was anything else.

“What?” one asked loud.

“Baby?” The other, soft.

I didn't mean to tell them like this. It slipped out. From the looks on their faces, one trying to be proud and cool, the other crumbling, I wished I had told them sooner. And nicely.

“Pa and Mrs. are having a baby,” I said. “That's why she's been so sick.”

“Babies don't make you sick,” Vonetta said.

“This one's making Mrs. sick,” I said.

“A baby?”

“A B-A-B-Y, baby,” Vonetta sang. “That means you won't be the baby, you crybaby.”

“That means you won't be the middle, you show-off.”

“Baby, baby, 'bout to cry. Wipe that tear from your eye.”

Fern didn't bother to ball up her fists or bang them at her sides, her warning that she was about to strike. She just started to windmill-punch at Vonetta, and I let her. Vonetta whipped free and dodged to her left, then right, like a fighter in the boxing ring, taunting and teasing Fern. Vonetta was discovering her longer legs, dodging and dashing off, avoiding Fern's blows. Fern could never catch her, but I could.

“Stop picking on Fern just because you can!” I yelled at her.

“Fern's a big baby.”

“And you're afraid to get your watch back, you chicken.”

“I am not.”

“Chicken.”

“I'm not a chicken.”

“You're more chicken than all those chickens in the yard—waving and smiling at those girls who are laughing at you. What do you think they call you? Certainly not Vonetta.”

“I hate you, Delphine.”

“I don't care. Just stop picking on Fern. She's your little sister.”

Vonetta opened her mouth like she was about to say something, then shut it and walked away.