Queen Sugar: A Novel (8 page)

Violet waved away the praise. “No sense getting bigheaded,” she said, though she sat up a little straighter. “But look who’s talking. You’re a big land owner now.”

“I wouldn’t say all that.”

“Now who’s being modest? Eight hundred acres is nothing to sneeze at.”

“More like eight hundred problems.” In the last week, after Frasier and Denton, after Landry and NeNee Desonier’s granddaughter, Charley had cursed her father’s name more than once for pressing this so-called gift into her hands. Yesterday, at the shop, she’d almost torn up the maps and photographs, shredded the legal documents, and turned her back on the whole enterprise.

“Well, I think what you’re doing is wonderful,” Violet said. “If more black folks around here took a page out of your book, we wouldn’t be in such a fix. We got all these smart, talented young men around here wasting away in the Bahamas.”

“The Bahamas?”

“Prison,” Miss Honey said. “That’s what they call it.”

“Call it anything they want, it’s still the same.” Violet shook her head. “All those young men. Stop ’em on the street, half will admit they’ve done time. Some have the nerve to be
proud
of it.”

“Violet,” Miss Honey said, her voice tightening. “You should watch dipping your finger into that Kool-Aid when you don’t know the flavor. People go to prison for all sorts of reasons.”

“I’m not saying they aren’t good people, Mother. I’m just saying something’s wrong when doing time is normal.” She turned to Charley. “What do you think?”

Charley looked from Violet to Miss Honey. In the past week, she’d seen the way Miss Honey marched around town—calling to people she knew, asking why they hadn’t been to church, reprimanding children she thought looked idle, telling them to tuck in their shirts, go home and put lotion on their ashy knees—and understood that Miss Honey considered Saint Josephine to be her own personal domain. Why, just yesterday she flagged down the mayor as he rolled through town in his red Cadillac Seville, and scolded him for not cutting the weeds by the playground. “Is something burning?” Charley said, and started to get up from the table. “I think I smell smoke.”

“I still say something’s happened to us black folks,” Violet continued. “You may not want to hear it, Mother, but we both know I’m telling the truth. Just look at Ralph Angel.” She paused. “No offense, Charley, I don’t mean to speak ill of your brother.”

At the mention of Ralph Angel’s name, Charley felt emotions pass through her like shadows across a hillside as clouds drifted over. Even now, her foot stung from the time he aimed a stone at an egret at the water’s edge, which it missed, hitting her so sharply, tears rushed to her eyes. At the time, she had thought it was an accident, but the way he always misbehaved with her made her wonder how much of an accident it really was. She remembered the look of hurt and bitter disappointment that darkened her father’s face when, a few years later, he discovered Ralph Angel had continued to cash the tuition checks he sent, even though he’d dropped out of school.

“Stop right there, Violet,” Miss Honey said. “I won’t have you talking about Ralph Angel outside his name. Besides, he never went to jail.”

“That’s about the only thing he hasn’t done,” Violet said under her breath.

Charley was about to ask what else Ralph Angel had done, when Miss Honey cleared her throat, glancing at Micah.

“I know what that look means,” Micah said. “It means you’re about to talk about grown-up stuff and I have to leave the room.”

“Every time he comes around, there’s trouble.” Violet turned to Charley. “The last time he was in town, three years ago, he and Mother got into an argument and he pushed her down.”

“It was an accident,” Miss Honey said.

“You broke your arm, Mother.”

“He got overexcited. He’s been that way since he was little.”

Violet sighed, wearily. “When the doctor asked Mother what happened, she said she tripped over the laundry basket. I don’t know why she always makes excuses for him.”

“Can we go back, please?” Charley said. “He broke your
arm
?”

“Mother found some drug paraphernalia in the deep freezer,” Violet said. “When she asked Ralph Angel about it, if he knew where it came from, he flew into a rage. ‘Get out of my business,’ he said. Mother grabbed his elbow, told him to calm down, think about Blue, the example he was setting. Well, that did it. Ralph Angel said, ‘Don’t tell me how to raise my kid,’ and when she blocked the door, he pushed her down and she broke her arm. She waited two hours before she called me. And of course, I called Uncle Brother and John. By the time we got back from the hospital, Ralph Angel and Blue were gone.”

Charley look at Miss Honey. “Is that how it happened?”

“I’m not talking about it,” Miss Honey said. “All I know is, whatever problems Ralph Angel’s got, he comes by them honest. Just look at his mother. Smart as a whip, but her head was never right.”

“Where is Ralph Angel now?” Charley said. After the college tuition incident, his father had never mentioned his whereabouts, never mentioned him at all, come to think of it. And there’d been no mention of Ralph Angel in her father’s will either, a fact that Charley had not thought of at the time, since they’d been out of touch for so many years, but that made her feel uneasy now. Had he really pushed Miss Honey down? Broken her arm? She had inherited a whole sugarcane farm while, at least to her knowledge, he had inherited nothing. What would he think about that?

“Last I heard, he was in Phoenix,” Violet said, leaning closer. “Still drinking and messing with that pipe. But what do I know? Mother keeps up with him.”

“Like I said, he comes by his troubles honest. We all got our cross to bear, Violet. Don’t forget that. Last time I talked to Ralph Angel, he sounded better. Said he’d cleaned himself up.”

“Well, good for him. Let him stay out there.”

Miss Honey pointed an accusatory finger. “I’m booking you, Violet. Shame on you for bad-mouthing your own family.”

“Fine, Mother. Whatever you say.”

“Good grief,” Charley said. “You two are at each other’s throats over someone who isn’t even here. Let me get us something to drink.” She reached for the pitcher, even though every glass was still brimming with ice water. If Ernest had left any cash, she might offer to share it. Maybe she’d buy him a car. But there was only a farm, and only just barely.

Violet and Miss Honey retreated to their corners, and for a while they ate in silence. Then Violet took Charley’s hand again and said, “The Rev and I are hosting an open house when we finish all the renovations. I hope you’ll come.”

“That reminds me,” Miss Honey said. “We’re having a family reunion in honor of Charley coming home.”

“How thoughtful,” Charley said. “Maybe after grinding. I need to work seven days a week till then.”

“Awesome,” Micah said. “I’ll bake cookies.”

“Next Saturday,” Miss Honey said. “I’ve already called some of the family. Violet, I want you to help get the word out to the rest. Tell them eleven o’clock.” She pointed to the baker’s rack crammed with cookbooks. “Micah, you can bake all the cookies you want.”

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do,” Charley said. “But the bills are stacking up, and I still haven’t found a manager.”

But Miss Honey had already pushed back from the table and started clearing the dishes. “Farm’s waited this long, it can wait a few more days. Violet can start making calls right now. Micah, look in my purse and hand my address book to your aunt. And Violet, be sure to call Aunt Rose from Opelousas.”

“Mother, did you hear what Charley said? She’s got a lot to do right now.”

Charley cast Violet an appreciative look.

“Besides,” Violet continued, “I can’t rearrange my schedule on such short notice. We’ve got choir practice next Saturday. The All-State competition is the end of this month.”

“There, you see?” Charley said, trying to sound gentle and ministerial. “Later this summer would be better for everyone.”

“‘Can’t rearrange your schedule on such short notice,’” Miss Honey muttered. She squirted dish soap in the sink, turned on the faucet. “Well, Violet, I guess you’re a white lady now.”

Violet sighed and let her fork dangle between her fingers. “For heaven’s sake, Mother.”

“Here I’m trying to plan something for Charley and you come telling me what I can and can’t do?” Miss Honey plunged her hands into the soapy water.

“I drove all the way over here to visit Charley,” Violet said. “Let’s have a pleasant afternoon.”

“Listen here, Violet. You’re going to call the family like I told you, and you’re going to cancel your practice.”

“Mother,” Violet said, quietly. “I may be your child, and I don’t mean any disrespect. But there’s nothing you can say that’s going to make me cancel that practice.” She folded her napkin primly. “I’d love to get the family together, but not next Saturday. No, ma’am.”

Miss Honey turned the faucet off, and lather dropped from her arms as she waved toward the door. “If that’s the way you’re going to act, then get out of my house. I’m tired of looking at you.”

“Mother, give Charley some time. Let her work things out on her farm before you go piling more on her plate.”

Miss Honey slapped the counter and they all jumped. “Okay, Miss First Lady. It’s a shame your prizewinning choir is more important than your family, but we’re having a reunion next Saturday and you’re going to help.”

Violet pushed away from the table.

“Wait.” Charley leaped to her feet. “This is crazy. Violet, you just got here.” She grabbed Violet’s hand. “Let’s take a walk.”

“No,” Violet said. “Charley, I’m glad you’re back. You look real good.” Charley tried to follow but Violet raised her hand. “I’ll let myself out.”

At the front door, Charley said, “Don’t go.”

Violet pulled her close. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “You’ll be fine. You can handle it.” The sound of clanging pots rang from the kitchen and Violet looked over Charley’s shoulder, her expression filled with anguish. Then she touched the nape of Charley’s neck. “I really do love your hair. I wish I had the guts to do it.”

•   •   •

Charley wasn’t the praying kind. She believed what her father always said: that God helps those who help themselves; that most people are too quick to slough off their responsibility like a pair of dirty gym socks, lay their problems at God’s doorstep. And until recently, Charley believed she was doing everything she could to make the farm a success. But now she was beginning to think she needed a little help. She slid out of bed and dropped to her knees as the morning sun filtered through the curtains.
Please, God. Let this farming thing break my way.
She cradled her face in her hands and waited for the words. The floor was unwelcoming. The rug smelled of dust and feet, and a faint trace of Murphy’s Oil Soap.
Please, God. Give me a sign. A flash of light. A burning bush. Jacob’s ladder. I’m not picky. I just need to know you’re there.
She strained for an answer, held herself still as she could, but heard only an empty silence, felt air so heavy it was a presence all its own.

•   •   •

Half past seven, and the kitchen thermometer already read eighty-six degrees. Charley wandered into the den, which was even warmer because Miss Honey insisted on running the space heater for her arthritis. Miss Honey and Micah sat riveted by
The Littlest Colonel
. Shirley Temple, in bows and lace, stomped into the stable, demanding Bojangles teach her to dance. “I got no time for dancing,” Bojangles said, in an apologetic drawl.

Micah, her breakfast on a TV tray cluttered with saucers—grits on one, scrambled eggs on another, sausage on a third—said, “She looks like Bo Peep.”

Charley scoffed. “She looks like a poodle.” Bojangles’s docile, childlike manner, the way he grinned—it sickened her, and after a few seconds, she said, “Isn’t there something else you could watch? Something educational?”

“Like that police show you had on last night?” Miss Honey took a swig of her Coke. “I don’t see what’s educational about some man chopping a woman into a hundred pieces and stuffing her in a garbage bag. I don’t see Shirley Temple running around with a hatchet.”

“Yeah, Mom,” Micah said. “Nice job of setting a good example.”

Charley winced. First the ring, then the garden, and now this. Coming down here was supposed to bring them closer, but they only seemed to be growing farther apart. “You know what I mean,” Charley said, wearily. The farm and her daughter—she worried constantly about both, was trying every trick she knew, and yet neither was improving. “All I came to say is I’m driving out to the farm after church. Micah, we’ll stop by the nursery so you can pick the seeds you want for your garden.”

“We’re not going to church,” Miss Honey said, as though the headline had been plastered all over town and only Charley had missed it. “We got a lot of errands to run for the reunion. So go in there and fix your plate.”

Between the heat, the ridiculous movie, and this last announcement, all at once, the sight of Miss Honey nursing her morning Coke and Stanback was more than Charley could bear. “Isn’t it a little early for that stuff?” She heard the edge in her voice and didn’t care. “I mean, is it even safe to drink?”

Miss Honey held the Coke up to the light, swirled it like fine wine, and took a long, deliberate sip. “I’ve been drinking Coke and Stanback every morning for fifty-some years and it hasn’t killed me yet. Now hurry up. We’re going to Sugar Town.”

On television, a pickaninny whipped out her harmonica and played “Oh! Susanna.” Bojangles couldn’t resist and started to dance, his eyes growing bulbous as he performed a noodle-legged jig and finally scurried out of the stable. Micah and Miss Honey looked at each other and laughed.

“That’s it,” Charley said. “You’ve got to turn that off. It’s lowering your IQ.” She marched over to the TV, punched the power button. “I’m sorry, Miss Honey, I won’t—First, it’s driving around without a map, then the reunion, now it’s—I can’t keep saying yes all the time. If I don’t find someone right away—” Charley felt her mouth moving, heard her voice, saw Miss Honey and Micah staring at her, their expressions a mix of focused attention and concern. It was the same expression hospital orderlies had, Charley thought, right before they wrestled the crazy lady into a straitjacket. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to go without me.”