Child of the Storm (5 page)

As
the days grew shorter toward year
’
s end, Celeste
’
s father was coming home after the sun
was nearly down. He would come in through the front door and come to wherever
Celeste was. He would smudge her nose with his sooty hand before washing up and
greeting Marie. It was a ritual that rarely changed.

The
first day of winter was different. Christmas was only days away. Celeste was
hopeful in spite of missing her brother, and sat at the table drawing things
she had never seen before
;
snowflakes, reindeer and
angels. Sandrine had told her a little about angels, but it was hard to follow.
The sun was still up and there was time to finish before helping fix dinner
—
before her father would be home to smudge
her nose and admire her work.

There
was a noise in the back yard, not a loud one, but on a quiet afternoon it stood
out. She looked up and caught sight of her father through the window. There was
something odd and unsettling about seeing him there since he should have come
in through the front door and smudged her nose. Something made her hesitate.
She looked to the door of her parent
’
s room but her mother
did not appear at the door, and there was no sound of her. Days had passed
since a letter from Augustin had lifted her mother
’
s spirits for a while, but then she
started getting tired again. As the sun would drop and the shadows leak into
the house in late afternoon, her mother would often slip away to her bed to lie
down, rubbing her forehead and looking sad and old.

“
Just need to lie down
a moment before your father gets home,
”
she would often say.
“
Wouldn
’
t want him to see me
all run down.
”
And she would sleep for an hour or
more until the sound of the front door closing behind him would wake her. Today
there was no sound of a closing door, and she continued to sleep her troubled
sleep. Celeste got up quietly, and just as quietly slipped out the back door to
see about her father.

A
mist was moving in through the trees
;
the wet breath
of the Gulf turning thick and visible in the cool air of December. Her father
saw her at once and motioned for her to come out to where he stood under the
Climbing Oak.

“
What are you doing
out here?
”
she asked.
“
Something
’
s wrong, isn
’
t it.
”

It
wasn
’
t like her to be so forward, but this
was strange and she was frightened. His right hand was scraped across the
knuckles and red with blood. Not a lot, but still not something she was used to
seeing. He was careful about his hands since he made his living with them.

“
You hit somebody?
”
she asked in a whisper.

He
looked at his knuckles then cast a nodding glance back to the house.
“
Your mama
’
s sleeping?
”

Celeste
nodded. Nothing needed to be said. They
’
d seen the Sadness
coming on.

Bernard
nodded as well,
then
inspected his knuckles.
“
I didn
’
t hit anybody. Got
mad and hit the wall. It was stupid but I was just too angry not to.
”
He took a long deep breath and let it
out slowly.
“
Things will be fine child, but we have
a rough patch to get through coming up. I hate it came along at Christmas-time,
but it was bound to come along sooner or later. I just hoped it would be later
and I
’
d have a chance to sidestep.
”
She saw his jaw clinch for a moment
before he continued.
“
The boy your brother fought with was
the grandson of old Mr. Franklin who owns the shop where I work. Did you know
that?
”

She
nodded. Augustin had told her.

“
Well, the boy
’
s father isn
’
t like old Mr. Franklin, and it seems
he
’
ll be taking over ownership and running
of the place. Old Mr. Franklin valued my work, but seems his son isn
’
t of the same opinion, no matter how
good my work is.
”

Celeste
thought she followed.
“
Like Augustin and that teacher Miss
Bolton.
”

“
Near enough,
”
he agreed.

“
So young Mr. Franklin
won
’
t let you work there any more. Is that
it?
”

“
I
’
m afraid that
’
s it. He came in this afternoon and
sent me away. Just like that.
”

“
So what
’
ll you do now? Will you find somewhere
else to work?
”
She knew it would be seriously bad if
he couldn
’
t and the words of Miss Bolton
’
s ghost came back to haunt again.

He
sat down on the ground in front of her to put them more eye to eye and studied
her face.
“
Don
’
t you worry about
that.
Not for a minute.
”

“
You won
’
t have to go away like Augustin did?
”

He
considered this a while before answering.
“
If I can
’
t find something near home that
provides enough for us to live off, then I might have to look farther away and
send money home. My father had to do that for a time, but he came home when he
could and he came back for good once times were better. It
’
s not what I want. The thought of being
away from home for even a day is painful to think about, but if it has to be,
then it has to be. I
’
d expect you to look after your mother
and you
’
d have to draw me a picture of the two
of you for me to keep.
”

Celeste
listened but only some of it got through. It was like he had already decided
that he would have to leave
—
just
like Augustin. She was getting lightheaded and didn
’
t realize she had gone tense and rigid,
almost holding her breath until her father reached out and took her gently by
the arm.
 
She gasped.

“
So what
’
s going to happen now?
”
she said.
“
Mother doesn
’
t know, does she?
”

“
It
’
s like when a storm is coming,
”
he said.
“
You can see the clouds a ways off.
”

It
was like a storm had hit their lives, turning things inside out. While Bernard
spent his days searching for work, farther and farther a-field which kept him
away from home for some days at a time, walking or catching wagon rides where
he could, Marie continued what sewing and mending she could find to do, and she
taught Celeste to help. Celeste proved to have nimble and clever fingers for
sewing, though she lacked the strength in them to work as long as Marie. Where
Bernard looked out ahead to find a new path for them, Marie focused on each day
as it came, taking nothing for granted, setting aside, paring down, stretching
everything for a long dryness, like great trees do in a drought. She moved from
one thing to the next, never pausing to let anything catch up with her
—
like the Sadness. Celeste remembered
how Augustin had warned her about the mean dog across town. She should never
look it in the eyes, because it would come after her. The Sadness might have
been that way.

Letters
continued to come and go between them and Augustin, off in New York now. Even
New Orleans hadn
’
t suited him for long. None of the
letters mentioned Bernard
’
s bad turn of
fortune. Only Odette was told, and she visited with them as often as she could
and would spend long spells talking in whispers to Marie as she worked. Celeste
sewed, stealing glances at her mother and great aunt when she could, and more
than once pricking her finger when she should have been minding her work. Marie
listened intently to the long lectures from Odette but would always shake her
head at the end, wanting no part of Odette
’
s suggestion.
At least not yet.

Her
father was home for Christmas but gone again the next morning. If something
didn
’
t come through soon, it was his plan to
go clear to New Orleans and find work there. He told this to Celeste but not to
Marie, and Celeste was cautioned not to mention it. So, he was off again.

Celeste
woke from a dream about a woman with hair like the wings of a gull, a dress
like a moonless night, and eyes like mirrors. She had fallen asleep on the
floor at her mother
’
s feet where she too dozed, seated in
her rocking chair. They had both been awakened by a sound outside and were
looking, first at each other and then the front door. It had been the clopping
step of a heavy mule that woke them, stopping out front before starting off
again and moving away.
Then clumsy steps on the front porch,
but clumsy steps trying to be quiet.
Silence, and then an awkward soft
shoe back off the porch again. It was a still night and the walls of the house
were thin enough to let in the sound of those footsteps fumbling their way into
the back yard.

There
was only enough light to let them pick out the familiar shape of Bernard as he
sagged down against the Climbing Oak. Marie took up the nearly spent candle and
went outside, followed closely by Celeste. They
’
d tried to stay up
for his return, but it was so much later than they thought it
’
d be, and now he was back from his
long, job-begging trip to New Orleans
—
the
last resort, and it looked to Celeste like he had come down with something bad.

Celeste
dropped down beside him on one side while Marie knelt on the other and took his
face in her hands. The candle sat on the ground away from Celeste, and all she
could see of her parents
’
faces was a thin
outline as if they were nothing more than drawings Celeste might do, but with dream
light instead of pencil lead.

“
I
’
m so sorry,
”
he said.
“
Think I
’
ve messed it all up.
Messed everything up.
”

“
Tell me,
”
Marie said.

“
I was thinking how
wrong things are.
Wrong about Augustin.
Wrong about my
job. Wrong for you and Celeste. The way things are is just wrong and nothing to
do about it.
”

“
We get by,
”
she said. She was trying to settle him
down. Make him feel better and calm. Celeste could see that
’
s what she was trying to do, but it
wasn
’
t making him feel better. She could see
a tear run across his cheek in the light and then drop away like a falling
star.

“
Some of us were
drinking. Know I shouldn
’
t have but
…”
The rest of what he said fell away.
“
Me and some other men I met, looking
for work too. One man told us about the war going on. How we should enlist.
Looking for black men to enlist in the army. Started thinking about how that
might make a difference.
”
His head fell
forward then rose back up till he found the tree behind him and stopped with a
bump that made Celeste flinch.
“
Get a job and make
things better. Guess that
’
s what I thought.
”

“
You
’
d have to go to war?
”
Celeste asked him, then asked her
mother too.
“
Pappa
’
d
have to go to war?
”