A Long Time Gone (30 page)

Adelaide Walker Bodine Richmond

INDIAN
MOUND,
MISSISSIPPI
OCTOBER
1925

T
he streets of downtown Indian Mound were decorated with scarecrows and all manner of autumn gourds and more jack-o'-lanterns than I could count. It was the annual Harvest Festival, when the sharecroppers set up stalls on Main Street to sell homemade cakes and breads, handcrafts, and selections from their vegetable patches. John had teased me that I should open up my own stall, but that it wouldn't be fair to the other gardeners, because my vegetables would put theirs to shame.

The heat of summer and the dust of the harvest had passed, leaving a day of bright blue skies and a breeze that carried on it the scent of burning leaves and the coming winter. I looked forward to the evening, when there would be music and dancing and a large bonfire to ward off the chill of a cloudless night.

I'd always loved the festival, mostly because it was the only memory I had of being with both of my parents at the same time. It was before the war, when my mother still smiled and my father was there to hold her hand and carry me on his back.

This year it held special meaning for me. After two false starts, I was
in the family way again, further along than I'd made it the first two times. Aunt Louise said it was still early and that I wouldn't start showing for a while, but I felt my body changing already. John was extra careful with me, taking my elbow at every set of steps, and making sure I didn't stay on my feet longer than necessary. I told him I was expecting a baby and was not yet an old woman, but I understood his concern. I think he wanted to be a father almost as much as I longed to be a mother, the need in both of us growing stronger after the first two losses. They had been lost early in the second month, but that hadn't mattered. As soon as I missed my monthly courses, I'd felt like a mother. The losses had been no less devastating to me than if I'd had the chance to hold those babies in my arms.

We'd stopped in front of a farmer's stall, where six baby piglets snuggled up together in a pen. “It smells,” Sarah Beth said from behind us, where she walked with Willie. Behind them were Chas Davis and Larissa Belmont, Sarah Beth's hall mate from Newcomb College. We'd all been surprised when Sarah Beth had announced that she'd decided to go to college after all, but I'd understood why when I'd remembered that Newcomb was in New Orleans. From Willie's placid expression, I didn't think he'd yet made the connection with Angelo Berlini.

“It's a pigpen, Sarah Beth. It's supposed to smell,” Willie said, surreptitiously fishing out his flask and taking a swig before passing it back to Chas, while Sarah Beth and Larissa pretended not to notice.

I stared down at the sweet little pigs, pink and plump, and remembered the first time I'd met John at the jewelry store, when I'd wondered where Mr. Peacock kept his blind pig. I wasn't as naive as I'd once been, but sometimes found myself wishing that I were. It was so much easier believing that John was content to repair timepieces in the back of Mr. Peacock's store or help Uncle Joe with the farm. But one of the things that had made me fall in love with him was his ambition, and I'd made a vow to love and obey, and to stay by his side through sickness and in health. Everything he did was for us, and it was my duty to support him. It was only John's assurances that it was for just a little bit longer that allowed us both to sleep at night.

“Anybody up for a sack race?” Willie called out.

He'd meant it for the gentlemen, but I was feeling lighthearted. “I'd love to, but John feels I might break, so I can't. I'm just hoping that he'll
let me go on the hayride later tonight.” I glanced behind me. “But maybe Larissa and Sarah Beth would like to race.”

They sent me matching arched eyebrows, their pencil-thinned brows in marked contrast to the natural brows of the rest of the women we passed, including mine. Sarah Beth had changed a great deal since she'd started college. I'd expected her to be wilder, but except for her new and outlandishly short dresses and bright makeup, she seemed almost subdued compared to the girl I'd grown up with.

“Fine,” I said. “Then how about a horseshoe toss? We'll challenge any of you.” John and I, having been raised on farms, would have no match in our four companions. Even Willie, who now worked full-time at the bank along with Chas, liked to pretend he didn't even know what a horseshoe was.

Sarah Beth and her friend snickered, the sound erased by the sound of four Negro men in matching striped vests and boater hats singing “Shine On, Harvest Moon.” They stood on the corner with a hat on the ground in front of them. John reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a coin before tossing it into the hat. One of the singers tipped his hat to John, crooning the words as if they were meant just for us.
So shine on, shine on, harvest moon, for me and my gal
.

John put his arm around me and pulled me close, then whispered into my ear, “They're just too afraid they'll lose.”

I smiled up at him, pulling his arm closer. We passed a booth that had baskets of apples surrounding it, and trays of candied apples on sticks sitting on top of a wooden table. John was well aware of my sweet tooth and stopped. “Would you like one?”

I nodded eagerly, too happy to worry about the sticky mess that would cover my mouth and teeth. Larissa and Sarah Beth declined, pulling the collars of their fox-fur coats up to their necks.

We reached the town square, a tidy spot in the middle of town covered in grass and benches, with a monument in the middle to commemorate the town's Confederate dead. The man on top of the stone horse had been an ancestor of mine. He'd lost one arm and a leg in separate battles, but his likeness on the statue didn't show his battle scars. Uncle Joe said it was a disgrace to alter history like that, but I always thought that it was a lot like how people remembered the dead at funerals, with all of their warts and bad deeds whitewashed by the kind words in a eulogy.

A corner of the square had been fenced off as it was each year to showcase the foals from a Thoroughbred farm out near Olive Branch. Three colts galloped inside around the wooden corral, their eyes wide with alarm at the noises and movement around them. A man stood in the middle of the ring with a long whip, the tip barely touching their rumps, making them run in circles to show off their dark brown coats and silky manes.

“That one horse—the biggest one—is darb,” said Chas. “Let's go take a look.”

Larissa and Sarah Beth held back. “We'd rather not. It smells like manure. Besides, we'll get our heels all muddy in the grass just walking over.”

“I'll stay with the ladies,” John volunteered, although I knew he'd love to see the horses, too. He'd had his own pony as a boy on the farm in Missouri, and had missed it as much as he'd missed his family after he'd left.

I put my hand on his arm. “It's all right, John. You go on. We'll stay right here and wait for you men to return.”

The two girls shrugged in bored agreement before John kissed me briefly and jogged to catch up to the other men, who'd already started making their way toward the enclosure.

I turned around in time to see Sarah Beth opening her purse and pulling out a small flask, using her fur collar to hide behind while she took a sip before passing it to Larissa. I recognized a flash of blue at her wrist and bit my lip so I wouldn't say something I'd regret later.

She was wearing my Cartier watch, the one that had belonged to my mother and that John had given to me. Despite her own jewelry box full of expensive necklaces and rings and bracelets, she'd coveted my watch from the first time she'd seen it. She'd loved that it had been my mother who'd had it inscribed, and then was given to me by John. Despite so many actions to the contrary, I knew she was sentimental, something I'm sure was the reason our friendship had survived our childhoods.

But when she'd asked if she could borrow it, I'd said no. It had taken her tearful reminder of the fur coat she'd loaned to me that I'd lost to convince me that I was being the selfish one. She'd borrowed the watch twice before for special events, and then tonight, with a promise that
she would take care of it and return it to me at the end of the evening, I'd agreed. But I missed it. Missed the weight of it, and the heat of the words against my skin.
I love you forever.

I was about to ask Sarah Beth if she'd like a bite of my candied apple, but her eyes were focused on something behind me. Turning, I saw who she was looking at.

A table made of upturned cotton bales had been set up near the curb, a large quilt, its edges fraying, covering the top. On this was set an assortment of carved figures made from long oval root growths known as cypress knees. Each one had a humanlike face carved with exact detail, the hair of the brows and lashes and beard drawn as if God had designed them. The eyes seemed lifelike, watching us with solemn intensity.

“Ooh, let's go see,” Larissa said, marching forward before I could stop her, Sarah Beth and I holding back.

Standing to the side and a little behind the table was the man Leon. He was looking around as if he were part of the crowd, but I recognized the white woman sitting at the table as the same woman I'd seen him with at the Ellis plantation. I supposed it wouldn't be proper for them to be seen together at the festival, and so they had to pretend that they weren't. It didn't seem possible that either of them would have the skill or intellect to create anything of such beauty and artistry as the carvings displayed on the table.

“Who is that?” Sarah Beth asked quietly, squinting at the man and the woman as if she knew she'd seen them before but couldn't place them.

“They're just moonshiners. We saw them at the Ellis plantation,” I whispered, surprised that she didn't remember. But Sarah Beth rarely noticed people who weren't in a position to do something for her or to play a part.

I started to walk away, but she had stepped forward to stand next to Larissa, too close to the table now to leave without being seen. Leon came closer to the table when he spotted her, his big beefy arms crossed over his chest, his dirty undershirt showing beneath the open collar of his shirt. “Look who here, Velma,” he said to the woman. She remained seated, but her eyes widened with interest as we approached.

I noticed her eyes then, how they might have been pretty in a face
that hadn't been so weathered by the sun and circumstances. She regarded Sarah Beth with an odd expression that I couldn't decipher, something between dislike and surprise.
That girl ain't no better than she oughta be.
I remembered those words and the venom behind them, and I wanted to pull my friend away, knowing she had no business with these people.

Sarah Beth tilted her head back in the way she did when she felt threatened and wanted to show her superiority. She picked up one of the carvings, her kid-gloved fingers gently touching the face. “These are quite lovely,” she said, putting that one down and picking up another. “Did you make them?” She didn't look up to direct her comment to either of them, but the woman started laughing, revealing yellowed teeth and a gap in the front.

“I did.”

We turned around to see Robert emerge from the crowd, dressed neatly in an inexpensive suit and hat, his expression wary. Mathilda clung to his arm, her gaze darting from Sarah Beth to the couple behind the table, and then back to Robert. I felt as if I had suddenly been thrown onstage in the middle of a play, but somebody had forgotten to give me my lines.

Robert removed his hat and inclined his head to us, his gaze passing over Larissa before settling on Sarah Beth and me. “Miss Bodine. Miss Heathman.”

Sarah Beth tilted her head back again. “How do you know my name?”

My eyes met Mathilda's briefly, and she quickly shook her head, and it was clear that nobody was supposed to know about the night Robert had carried a drunk Sarah Beth into her bedroom.

“He's Mathilda's beau,” I said, desperate to end the awkwardness that bounced between us like an invisible ball.

Mathilda started to say something, but I didn't hear a word. My gaze had fallen to the neck of her dress beneath her open coat, where a single, perfect pearl glowed from the end of a thin strand of silk. I could almost hear the sound of Sarah Beth's long string of pearls breaking in her car that night, and Robert carrying her from the car to her bedroom. She'd had the pearls restrung without commenting that any
were missing, but I heard Sarah Beth's intake of breath and I knew she'd seen it, too. Nobody I knew had a colored maid who owned a pearl necklace, even if it was just one.

“I see,” she said, her nostrils flaring as if she'd just smelled a foul odor. “How much?” she asked, holding out the statue in her hands.

“A dollar,” he said without hesitation.

“That's a little steep, isn't it?”

“No, ma'am. It take me almost a month to make 'em, and I have to go out to the swamp and cut them from the dead trees. I'd say a dollar be a right bargain.”

Sarah Beth's lips pursed. “Yes, well, I'd say it's a bit too dear for my pocket money.” She replaced the statue on the table and then brushed her gloves together as if to remove any dirt that might stain them.

The woman, Velma, stood, the grooves around her mouth deepening as she frowned. “You da banker's daughter, ain't ya? You got all dem pretty dresses and jewels and you strut around town like you some queen of Sheba. Well, you ain't no better than us. Ain't that right, Leon?”

Leon shook his head. “Yes, Velma. I 'spect you right. She ain't no better dan us.”

She began to cackle as the large man threw back his head and guffawed, loud enough that I saw several people in the crowd look in our direction. I prayed one of them wasn't Willie, who wouldn't like Sarah Beth speaking to these people, much less being laughed at by them.