The Last Road Home (3 page)

“They're coming by to pick me up in the morning. You need anything from town?”

Grandma got up and started piling dishes in the washbowl. She was broad across the shoulders and wide in the butt, built sort of like a square, a bit heavy but never slow or lazy. There was a picture of her hanging in the living room. She was young then, around sixteen she said, and sat on a buckboard smiling at the world. I was always surprised at how pretty she was in those days.

She gazed out the window over the sink, watching a big orange sun drop lower on the horizon. Maybe she was thinking about Granddaddy too. “Wouldn't mind having some fresh peaches. Haven't made a cobbler since last year.”

“I'll check at Salem's.”

“Pick up a few if they ain't too expensive. I'll give you money.” She looked over her shoulder at me.

“No need. Mr. Wilson paid me a little extra today.”

“Oh?” She was curious. “Well, remember to save part of what you get, Junebug. Never know when you might need it.”

I didn't tell her how much. Lately I'd taken to keeping little secrets for myself. “What needs doing after supper?”

“We can shell butter beans if you want. We'll see after you're done with the chores.” She went back to looking out the window.

After taking care of the animals, the two of us relaxed on the screened-in porch. A late-evening breeze was cool and carried the smell of sweetgrass from the pasture. The hoot owl that lived down by the barn announced he was up looking for mice, and when the moon got bright, bats looped around the corncrib, snatching weevils from the air. Everything seemed to be in its right place.

“Lightning's gone,” I said. “Fancy told me he took up with a bunch of migrant workers over at the Jackson place.”

She turned toward me, her mouth open in surprise. “Hate to hear that, Junebug. Nigras running them crews can be mighty mean. Hope he don't get hurt.”

“Me too. Grandma, why do you call them ‘nigras'? Everybody else calls them ‘niggers'.”

“ ‘Nigras' is more respectful.” Grandma let out a big yawn.

* * *

I got in the shower, scrubbing quickly under the cold water. We'd put the inside toilet in last fall, the last thing I helped Granddaddy do. The house had three bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, and a screened-in porch. The place was almost a hundred years old and had been built with hand-sawed boards that were tongue-and-grooved together to form the floor, walls, and ceiling. Granddaddy used to say if Grandma wanted to move, we could just roll the house down the road.

Sticking my face up to the mirror over the sink, I combed my sand-colored hair to the side. Grandma kept it cut close to my head, and the sun had turned my face deep brown, making my pale eyes look bluer than they really were. I'd inherited Granddaddy's big ears, so I couldn't decide if I was handsome, but thought I would do.

I almost didn't have time to close my eyes before sleep came. I dreamed about Momma, seeing her pretty blue eyes and the long brown hair that fell across her face. In the next minute she was on fire, her face black, her mouth open to scream, but all that came out was smoke. I reached across the burning car to help her, but Daddy's skeleton hand grabbed my arm and pushed me away.

C
HAPTER
3

A
fter chores and breakfast the next morning, I sat on the porch steps and pitched green chinaberry balls at birds, the dream about Momma still on my mind. The climbing sun burned off a layer of low clouds, letting a bright cornflower sky show through.

Grandma came out to sit. “Might get a cloud this evening.” She pointed to the maple behind the woodshed. “See the leaves? They'll turn over like that when rain is coming.”

“Huh, never knew that before. Grandma, let me show you something.”

She followed me to the edge of the dirt road that ran between our house and the stables. I stopped at a spot close to the mailbox post and bent down to run my hand over a piece of board showing under the grass. “What is that? I felt it the other day when I got the mail.”

She leaned over and brushed away some dirt. “That's where the first well was dug on the place. Your granddaddy covered the hole with wood and sowed grass over it. I hadn't noticed the ground was worn away like that. We need to lay some more boards, could be dangerous if somebody stepped on it.” As she raked, the outline showed.

“How deep is it?”

“Not more than fifty feet or so. At one time a spring ran across here”—she swept her arm toward the woods behind the house—“but over the years it changed direction. After it went dry, we put potatoes and onions in sacks and lowered them down to keep through the winter.”

“Why'd you quit?”

“When we built the pack house, we dug a good-sized cellar for storing vegetables and my potting flowers.”

I pushed on the edges of the wood. “Reckon there's any water down there now?”

“Don't think so. Them planks are probably rotten by now. You can make another cover for it next week.”

I looked up to see the Wilsons turning off the main paved road. Mr. Wilson drove slow in his brand-new '61 Chevy truck, “so as not to wear it out too quick,” he said. I fingered the ten-dollar bill, wanting to remember to get something for Fancy.

Grandma and I walked over to greet them. “Morning.” Mr. Wilson leaned across his wife. “You doing all right, Rosa Belle?”

“I'm well and I appreciate you asking.” Grandma smoothed her bun. “Morning, Lila.” Her and Mrs. Wilson were second cousins. I hopped into the back of the pickup and waved as we pulled off. Grandma stood with her hands behind her back, the trees, the house, and the woodshed in the background. It reminded me of a
Saturday Evening Post
magazine I'd seen at the drugstore.

When we got to Apex, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson headed toward Salem General Store, and I walked up the street. I liked the clean smell of the drugstore, and nodded hello to the lady behind the counter. She was tall and thin with dirt-brown hair piled up in a beehive. Big black glasses made her look older than I suspected she was, and were too big for her face.

They kept the comic books against a wall in the back. I stuck one to my nose to sniff the odd scent of the paper. After some mind wrestling, I decided on ten I wanted, and picked up a magazine for Grandma. While the saleslady totaled, I asked her to add in a good-sized bag of Hershey's Kisses. All together it cost three dollars.

I took my time walking down the sidewalk opposite the one I'd come up. On this side of the two-lane street was a café, a jewelry store, a Woolworths, and a doctor's office. In front of Salem General Store, baskets of golden peaches sat on a wooden fruit stand. I sniffed a few, and then filled a paper sack. They cost me two more dollars. I followed Grandma's advice with the five I had left.

I spotted Mr. Wilson coming out of the barbershop across the street. “Got your ears lowered, huh,” I said.

“Needed one.” He rubbed a hand over his bald spot. “Let's get some ice cream. The missus should be done with her stuff by then.” We took our time, looking in windows at this and that. Mr. Wilson stopped in front of the window of Rosen's Jewelry Store. “All jewelry stores are owned by Jews, Junebug. That's why it's called JEWelry. They'll gyp you coming and going; ain't nothing but white niggers.”

I stayed quiet. Granddaddy used to say, “Any man that works for what he has and lives in fear of the Lord deserves respect.” I thought about Roy and how hard he worked for what little he had. Yet Mr. Wilson treated him like just another mule, figuring as long as he put a few ears of corn in his box once in a while, he pretty well owned him until he died. Roy was a man who deserved more respect than that.

“Mrs. Wilson wears a pretty wedding ring. Where'd you buy it?” I stared in the window, thinking how Fancy might like a pretty ring one of these days.

He hesitated while his face turned red. “Bought it here, but it was a long time ago, when Old Man Rosen ran the place.”

“Was he a Jew man? You think he gypped you?”

Mr. Wilson rubbed his heavy jaw. “Son of a bitch probably did.”

The door to the jewelry store opened, and an elderly man stepped out and looked at the blue sky. “What a glorious Sabbath we are blessed with.” He extended his hand. “Mr. Wilson, how are you? Your wife's ring, is it still wearing well after all these years?”

“Seems to be.” I waited for Mr. Wilson to lay into him, but he just stood red-faced.

“You must bring it by one day, let me clean it for you. No charge.” Mr. Rosen smiled and headed down the sidewalk. “Good to see you.”

I dropped my head and smiled to myself. Granddaddy also told me talking to a man's back took a lot less bark than talking to his front.

C
HAPTER
4

G
randma took the bag of fruit. “Let's set them out here on the porch in the sunshine.” We spread them over a towel.

I yawned. “Think I'll go lay down and read my comic books.”

She put her arm across my shoulder. “You do that while I see if I can remember how to make a cobbler for our supper.” Grandma had a wide face, like somebody had grabbed both cheeks and stretched them. She joked that her wrinkles were a road map of hard times and bad luck.

Hundred-year-old poplars and sweet gums shaded my room and a good breeze came through the window screen. A rumble of thunder sounded. Grandma was right. Outside, limbs bent away from the wind, causing leaves to chase each other in circles along the ground. Snuggling into the feather mattress, I listened as the first drops tapped on the tin roof. To me, rain always signaled a time-out from bad things.

* * *

After supper, we sat on the porch and watched an orange sunset color cloud slices until darkness slipped over us like a blanket. The strong smell of wet manure from the mule lot and pigpen rode the breeze toward us. “I'm going to ask Mr. Wilson about letting us use Clemmy and Roy to help pull tobacco Wednesday.”

“That's a good idea, it'll need priming by then.” Grandma got up and changed the flypaper hanging by the screen door. She yawned. “Stay up long as you want. I'm going to bed.”

I waited a few minutes after her bedroom door closed before getting the candy for Fancy, then slipped quietly out the back. A heavy yellow moon lay low in the east, shining through the treetops like a giant headlight. The walking was quiet in the damp leaves and pine straw. I got to the stumps and plopped down, figuring to eat a chocolate.

“Boo!”

I jumped, tripped over my feet, and threw up one arm to protect myself.

Fancy started laughing so hard she was bent over. “I didn't know a white boy could get whiter.” She reached out to help me up with one hand and tried to stop laughing by covering her mouth with the other.

I slapped it away and brushed at my britches. “Smart-ass. Here.” I handed her the bag of candy.

“Thanks . . .” She snuffled to try and stop her giggles. “How was your trip to Apex?”

“It was okay, good to get away for a little while. Hear anything from Lightning?”

She peeled wrappers and stuffed kisses in her mouth. “Don't expect to any time soon.”

I sat beside her and stretched my legs out. “You ain't going to be running off, are you?”

“Heck no. I'm fine right at home. Besides, Momma said them menfolk with the migrants ain't particular how old a girl is.” Her jaws were full of chocolate, and she kept wiping her teeth with her tongue.

“Would hate to see you get involved in such mess.” Lightning had given us the lowdown about sex. By thirteen, he'd found a steady girlfriend at school, and we hardly saw him, said he was practicing what he preached. I looked at Fancy. “You ain't had sex yet, have you?” Immediately I felt embarrassed asking such a question.

Her head jerked around. “Don't make me pop you one. Have you?”

The only experience I'd had was in my head. “Nope.”

“Seen my Daddy's business by accident once, and it was a lot bigger than Lightning's.” She stared innocently, the moonlight catching the whites of her eyes. “How big is yours?” Fancy looked at me like she was expecting an answer.

“What kind of question is that?” I looked the other way, heat running up my neck.

“Ain't ever seen a white one.” She leaned closer, giggling again.

“Well, you ain't going to see this one neither.”

“You're funny, Junebug.” She punched me on the shoulder. “Going back to school this fall?”

“Maybe. Can't see much need in it, though. I already know how to farm. You?”

“Heck, yeah. I like school, seeing pictures of all those far-off places like France and England and Spain, hoping you'll go visit them one of these days. Besides, you need to be educated for when you're grown so you can do for yourself.”

“I can look after myself now.” We sat listening to tree frogs and thicket crickets, eating chocolates, and pitching little balls of silver wrappers into the bushes.

“That's true, you seem right smart for a white boy.” She got up and walked around the clearing, looking up through openings between the trees. “Do you reckon that's heaven, Junebug?”

I got up to stand beside her. “Most folks hope it is, but I don't know for sure.”

“Wonder how a person gets there?” She hooked her arm through mine and studied the sky, like she hoped to catch a glimpse of somebody headed up at that particular moment. “Preacher says we ride on angel backs, fly until we get to the road of gold where we won't have these burdens of earth no more.”

“Maybe.”

Fancy cut her eyes up, then soft-slapped me on the chest. “Don't be a man of doubt, Junebug, God's got a plan for all of us.” She leaned her head against my arm. “You know I'm going to be depending on you now that Lightning's gone.”

The shine of her brown skin reminded me of the top of a chocolate pudding. “Why?” I had about all I could handle already, but it made me feel good she felt that way.

“Who else do I have to talk to? And who'll protect me from the bogeymen in these woods?” She poked me in the ribs with her finger.

It was my turn to laugh at her. “The only haints around here are in your imagination.”

A gust of wind blew through the trees. Something heavy suddenly thumped the top of my head and rolled down my neck. I dodged in a circle, slapping and swinging. “Shit, oh shit. Is it a snake, Fancy?”

That set her off again, laughing loud enough to wake the dead. “It's a pinecone.” She jumped at me, arms out. “Boo! I swear, Junebug, you are going to make me pee in my britches.”

I was disgusted at myself. “Ain't it time for you to go home?”

“Don't suppose you'd walk with me part of the way?” She held my hand with both of hers.

I strongly considered saying
hell no,
then circling around to scare the piss out of her. But I liked holding her hand. We started walking, as usual Fancy talking up a storm about anything that came to mind. In a few minutes we were at the edge of the woods and the clover field. I held to her fingers for a minute. “You all right from here?”

“Will you wait there until I get to the yard?”

“Okay.”

“ 'Bye, Junebug. And thanks for the candy.” She gave me a quick hug I didn't expect. I watched her hurry across, turning to wave when she reached her house.

On the way home, I decided I liked being alone with Fancy.