Authors: Danny Johnson

The Last Road Home (7 page)

BOOK: The Last Road Home

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C
HAPTER
11

B
y Friday the snow had mostly melted, leaving frozen piles here and there in the early morning cold. Saturday night, despite the weather, I went to the clearing on the chance Fancy would come. Snow patches in the woods caught light from a clear sky, and I could spot deer tracks in places.

She was already there, munching from a paper sack of pork cracklings. “Hey, Junebug.”

“Where'd you get the rinds?”

She stuffed more in. “Mrs. Wilson made 'em.”

I took a handful. “How does she fix them?”

“Cuts up hog skins, boils to get the fat off, and deep fries them crispy. I helped her, ain't that hard.”

“What else you been doing?”

“Nothing. Too cold and messy to ride my bike, but when it warms up I'm going to come visit and see what you think.”

“I never rode one.”

“You thought anymore about us kissing?” She brought it up right out of the blue.

“Some.” What a lieâI'd ended up with sticky underwear more than once.

“I don't think we should do it anymore for a while. Lightning used to say when his jisim backed up, it would make his balls hurt something awful.” She sat there like a chipmunk with full jaws. “Yours hurt?”

I felt my face flush. “No.”

“So what do you think?”

“About what?”

“About kissing, stupid. Ain't you listening to anything I say?” She munched and talked at the same time.

“I heard you. You're right, ain't proper anyway.”

“Why? 'Cause I'm colored and you're white?”

“Do you always have to say that? I mean it ain't right for a boy and girl our age to be out here in the woods kissing.”

“Who's going to find out? I ain't told anyone.”

My arms went out in exasperation. “I don't know.”

“Sometimes you get on my nerves, Junebug.” She turned her head away. “You didn't like kissing me, and now you're making up excuses not to do it.”

“I am not! You're the one who just said we shouldn't do it anymore.”

“Well, kiss me to prove it.” She leaned her head over, daring.

“I'm not kissing you with a mouthful of cracklings.”

Fancy ran her finger around her mouth and then spit out the chewed-up pieces. “Satisfied?”

“Okay, if it's what you want to do.”

Fancy's eyes narrowed. She stood up, fist on her hip. “Hold on just one damn minute. What do you mean, âif it's what I want to do'? You didn't seem to mind last time. Now I ain't good enough for you? You better consider how you talk to me, Junebug Hurley. I can whup a boy's ass as quick as a girl's.”

I got up and put my nose to hers. “Is that so?” We circled. Fancy leaped to get me in a headlock, but I grabbed her, one arm under her legs, the other under her back, and swung her around. We glared at each other.

She slid her arms around my neck and mine went around her back. A piece of straw couldn't have squeezed between our bodies. It set my insides on fire when our lips touched.

We pulled back. “That was some better, don't you think?” Fancy said.

“Pretty good, I thought.”

“But that's the last time for a while. We agreed?” Fancy watched my eyes.

If there was a time I knew another person would punch me in the face if I said yes, this was it. “No.” I pulled her down to sit.

Fancy took a few rinds from the bag, stuck two in her mouth and one in mine. The hint of a grin showed. “I could feel your business on my leg, don't want you having a heart attack.”

I pushed her sideways. “A man ain't going to have a heart attack because of that.”

“How you know?”

“ 'Cause if it did, every man would be dead.”

Fancy play-slapped me on the head. “Just messing with you, Junebug. Come on and walk me home.” At the field, she took off running, then bent over, crunched a handful of leftover snow into a ball, and threw it at me. “You dream about me, Junebug.”

C
HAPTER
12

R
ed maple trees started to bud and spotted salamanders sneaked from their burrows in the pond bank by the end of February. I managed to get the plant bed ready for sowing tobacco seeds by burning off weeds to get some ash into the soil. March sunshine coaxed the smell of moist dirt from the ground as winter's grip started to relax. April would be on us soon, and the real work of farming would begin.

On the last Sunday in March, I got back from morning chores expecting breakfast, but Grandma wasn't up. She should have been getting dressed for church by now. I called through her bedroom door. “Grandma, you okay?”

“Be out in a minute.” Her voice sounded sort of weak and feeble. When she came into the living room she was wearing a heavy housecoat. “If you don't mind, we're going to skip church this morning. I ain't feeling too good.” Her face was pale, and her blue eyes looked watery.

“What's the matter?”

“Must be a touch of a cold coming on, didn't sleep much and everything aches.” She gave me a look. “Thought I heard you up sort of late.”

I'd been with Fancy. “Had a bit of an upset stomach, probably all them collards I ate for supper.”

“Mix some vinegar and water if you need it.”

“Just a passing thing. Want me to cook you some eggs?”

“Do for yourself. I'm going to lay back down, probably feel better after a while.” I watched at the door while she got in bed. “Will you bring me another cover?” I got one of the homemade quilts from the closet. I'd seen her with cut hands, hurt knees, and her back so bad she could hardly walk, but I'd never seen her sick. She slept through the morning.

I was on the porch enjoying the early afternoon sunshine when I glanced toward the road and saw Fancy riding her bicycle. I stepped out to the yard. She had on a pair of bib overalls cut off at the knees. The bike slid to a stop in front of me. “Told you I might come see you one of these days. Got home from church and decided to ride over.”

“That's a mighty nice bicycle.” Roy had given it a coat of shiny red paint and used a clothespin to attach a playing card in the spokes to make a chatter.

She hopped off. “Want to ride?”

“I'll try.” It was hard getting the thing to go straight at first, but I soon got the idea and rode up and down the dirt road. I tried to make a sliding stop the way Fancy had and fell off. “Man, that's fun.”

“Keeps a person from having to walk. How was church?” She straddled the bike while we talked.

I squatted, pulled a new grass sprout, and twirled it in my mouth. “Grandma was feeling bad so we stayed home. She ain't got up all day, said she might be getting a cold.”

“Does she have a fever?”

“Don't know, but she sure don't feel good.”

Fancy pushed the kickstand down. “Can I go see? I can tell.”

I knocked on the bedroom door. “Grandma, Fancy's come by to show me her bicycle, and wants to check if you got a fever. Is that all right?”

“Bring her in.” Her voice sounded weak.

Fancy went ahead of me. “Junebug says you ain't feeling good, Miz Hurley.” She gently laid her palm on Grandma's head, then the back of her hand to her temple and neck. “Seems real warm to me. You keep anything for a cold?”

“There's some liniment in a green bottle in the kitchen cupboard. Show her, Junebug.”

We found the medicine. Grandma had a coughing spell, dry-heaving a little. “Junebug, go out for a minute so Fancy can rub it on my chest real good.”

Fancy came out and closed the door behind her. She didn't say anything, but concern showed on her face. “I'm going to fix some soup so your grandma can eat something. She needs to keep her strength. Show me the canned vegetables and pots and such, and I'll fix enough for supper while I'm doing.” We found jars of tomatoes, okra, butter beans, and got a little piece of salt pork from the refrigerator.

“You sure know your way around a stove.”

“Shoot, Momma's been showing me how to cook since I could walk.” She stirred the soup, tasting before adding salt, pepper, and butter. “We need to let the flavors melt for a few minutes.” We sat while the pot boiled. “You keep an eye on her, Junebug. She's got some fever and I don't like the sound of that cough.” Fancy stirred and tasted one more time, then held up a big spoon to me. “What do you think?”

“Taste good to me.” She filled a small bowl and let it cool.

Fancy fixed the pillows so Grandma could sit up, and managed to get her to eat about half of it. “That hit the spot, Fancy. Your momma taught you good.” She pulled the quilt back around her neck.

“Oh, wasn't no trouble. Plenty left in that pot for you and Junebug to have for supper. Be glad to come tomorrow and rub on more of that medicine?”

Grandma squeezed Fancy's hand. “I appreciate it, but expect I'll be better by then. Your folks probably got other things for you to do.”

“If you don't feel better, send Junebug and I'll bring some of the potions my momma keeps for sickness. They work real good.”

Out in the yard, Fancy cautioned, “Come and get me if you need to.”

C
HAPTER
13

A
t supper, Grandma wouldn't eat, and when I felt, her skin was hot. I wet a washcloth with cold water and laid it across her forehead. It was getting to be bedtime when I checked again. Not only was her head and face hot, but she was also breathing real heavy and sweating. I didn't know what to do, but knew I needed to do something. I shook her shoulder. “Grandma, I'm going to get Mrs. Wilson.”

She managed to open her eyes. “I feel mighty bad, Junebug.”

“I'll be right back.” I got the truck and went flying to the Wilson place, pounding on the door. Mr. Wilson came. “What's the matter, Junebug? It's the middle of the night.” In his long nightshirt, he looked like a barrel with two legs. Did he think I'd show up like this for no reason?

“Grandma's real sick.”

To his credit, he didn't hesitate. “Lila,” he hollered, “get up. It's Rosa Belle.”

She called from the bedroom. “Is she sick?”

“Junebug says she's bad off.” He turned back to me. “Go to the house and wait with your grandma, we'll be there in a minute.”

I put another cold rag across Grandma's head. “They're on the way.” I should be smarter about what to do, but my brain wouldn't work right. I was scared.

The porch door slammed, and Mrs. Wilson came hurrying to Grandma's bed. “Hey, Rosa Belle. Junebug says you're right smart sick.” Her voice was unruffled and soothing, not her usual nervous flitting. She touched Grandma's head and neck and listened to her raspy breathing.

“Hated to bother you, Lila, but it's been a long time since I've felt this poor.” Grandma's voice was shaky.

“Well, I'm here. Have you been vomiting?”

“No,” Grandma wheezed, “but I'm having a hard time breathing.”

“Get me a glass, Junebug.”

When Grandma had another coughing episode, Mrs. Wilson made her spit into the glass. She came in the living room, rolled the phlegm around, and inspected it under the light. “There's blood in this, and she's burning up with fever. I think its pneumonia.” She was very matter-of-fact. “We need to get to the hospital.” Mrs. Wilson put warm clothes on Grandma, then we all helped her to the truck.

“Ain't enough room up here, Junebug,” Mr. Wilson said, “and you'll freeze in the back. You might ought to stay home.”

“I'm going.” I climbed into the bed of the truck. We headed to Durham. Through the back window, I could see Mrs. Wilson wrap her arm around Grandma. All I could do was sit and shiver from worry and the cold wind.

It took about thirty minutes to get to Watts Hospital. At the emergency entrance, nurses came out and put Grandma in a wheelchair. She was slumped over, holding her head in her hands. Mrs. Wilson followed them while Mr. Wilson and me found a seat in the waiting room. The white plastic chairs were stiff and hard.

“Grandma don't look good, does she?” My knee wouldn't stay still.

He had his elbows on his knees and held his hat in his hand. “They can probably give her medicine to get the fever down; just got to trust the doctors.”

“I should have come get you sooner.” I couldn't sit still and prowled around, looking in the vending machines and reading the signs. Despite the bright orange and blue walls, the place had a sense of misery. A strong smell of turpentine and vomit came from the end of a hall where a janitor was mopping the floor. I wondered how many people died in this hospital every day.

A round wall clock read two fifteen when I spotted Mrs. Wilson coming through the double doors where she had followed the nurses. She forced a smile. “She's mighty sick, Junebug. They're going to keep her tonight and probably a few more. It's definitely pneumonia. All we can do is go home and come back tomorrow.”

“Will they let me see her?”

“Not right now. They're giving her oxygen to get her breathing better, and medicine through a tube in her arm. They said she'll probably sleep and that's what she needs most. We'll come back in the morning.”

I stared at the white tiled floor. I didn't want to leave Grandma with strange people. Mr. Wilson gripped my shoulder. “Only help we can be is to go home and say some prayers. She's got good folks looking after her.”

“Why don't you stay with us tonight?” Mrs. Wilson put her hand on my arm.

“Appreciate it, but I'll be all right. Besides, I got to take care of the animals in the morning.”

She didn't argue. “If that's what you want to do, we'll be after you right after breakfast.” She gave me a sideways hug.

At the house, I didn't bother to turn on any lights. Strange how you don't miss noise until there is none. I pulled my feet up on the couch, gripped around my middle, and pressed everything tight. “Lord, if you let Grandma get well, I'll go to church more, anything. Just make her better.” I rocked back and forth.

The screen door slammed. “Junebug, you here?”

It startled me. “Fancy? It's three in the morning. What the heck are you doing here?” It came out harder than was meant.

She stopped. “I came to make sure you were okay. But if it makes you mad, I'll go home.”

I waved her in. “No, it's fine; you just surprised me, that's all. Wasn't trying to be ugly.”

“I heard the Wilsons come home and got up to see what was wrong. Mrs. Wilson said they had to take your granny to the hospital.” She sat on the couch beside me. “I told Momma I was coming to check up on you.”

I leaned my elbows on my knees and scrubbed my face up and down. “She's really sick with the pneumonia, Fancy. What if something bad happens?”

“The first thing is trusting the Lord will take care of things. It'll be okay, Junebug.” She leaned her head against mine and rubbed my back.

“You know some prayers, don't you, Fancy?”

“Sure I do. Come on, let's get on our knees so He'll take us serious.” Both of us knelt on the floor. She started with the Lord's Prayer and I joined in. “
Our Father who art in heaven
. . .” We prayed to God for Grandma to get well, and I repeated my bargain about changing for the better if He'd help her. Fancy threw in plenty of “
Praise Gods
” and we used up about all the religious words we knew.

Fancy stood up. “You got any coffee?”

“In the kitchen.”

Fancy found a pot and the can of coffee. “It'll be ready in a bit.”

“I'm grateful you came; I didn't mean to be cross with you.”

“What's a sister for anyway? We got to take care of each other when we can.”

It was hard not to believe I had a black cloud over me. “Do you think maybe I'm just bad luck?”

“Junebug, you hush.” She squatted in front and pushed her face close to mine, her eyes squinted and angry. “Stop being foolish enough to think you got that kind of power. God's got more to worry about than just you.”

The clock chimed four. “You need to go on home. It'll be time for your school bus soon. I need to feed the animals before Mr. and Mrs. Wilson get here.”

Fancy walked over to a small silver-framed mirror hanging on the wall near Grandma's bedroom door. She took a cloth doily off the sewing machine and covered the glass. “Old folks say this keeps bad spirits away.”

I walked her to the door.

She turned and pecked me on the cheek. “You give that to your grandma for me.” I watched the bouncing of her flashlight beam until it faded.

BOOK: The Last Road Home

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