Letters to Missy Violet (2 page)

Tell her to look underneath the bed. Roula has been hiding things under the bed for quite some time now. I'm afraid my dear friend is getting a little feeble-minded. I believe the tonic will help her, but don't expect her to be like she was before. I believe something happened to her mind when her husband passed away. But don't worry, Viney. Miss Roula will be fine up in New York with her daughter. Amabelle will see that she gets good care.

You are a sweet child, Viney, to worry so much about other people. That is why I think you would make a good midwife.

I'm so happy to hear about your new teacher. I think I got a glimpse of her at church one Sunday. She is pretty, in a quiet, dainty way. Sorry I didn't get to meet her. I'm so happy she encourages you children to read. If you know how to read well you can learn most anything.

Give a special hello to my redheaded boy, Charles. You and Charles are my special dumplings. Tell him not to put a cow patty in Amabelle's car—that wouldn't be nice. Remember, you reap what you sow. Tell him to write me and let me know how he is doing in school, too. Be good to one another.

Give all the family my love. Tell your daddy to stay off that foot as much as he can. And I'm so proud that you remembered what I taught you about bleeding wounds. Good job! Thank your daddy and all the children for looking after Duke and the cow for me. Hope to hear from you again soon. Be a good girl—study hard and say your prayers.

Yours very truly,

Missy Violet

After I read the letter, Mama told Papa she was going to whup me for being so fast and nosin' in grown folks' business. I think Papa was tickled, but Mama didn't think it was funny at all! Mama took the letter from me and kept shaking it at me. “Viney Eleanor, didn't I tell you not to go worryin' Missy Violet with letters and things while she's down there in Tallahassee?” she said. She never calls me Viney Eleanor unless she's real mad.

I wish she had taken me aside like Miss Glover would have done instead of talking all in front of Charles. He loves to see people get into trouble. I saw a big smirk sneak across his face when Mama chastised me, and I could hear him laughing underneath his breath until Mama saw him and reminded him about the part of the letter that told about the cow patty. That wiped the grin off his face right quick. I tried to explain to him later that I was really on his side about the cow patty, but he wouldn't speak to me. “I'll getcha for this!” was all he said.

Mama made me go in the yard and get her a switch. Then she made me go to her room and sit on the bed until she was ready to whup me. But before she came in the room she fussed about the letter all afternoon and poor Papa had to sit and listen because he couldn't walk away on his sore foot. I kept poking my head out of the bedroom door to let Papa know he wasn't the only one in misery, that I was miserable waiting in the bedroom too.

“I can't believe that gal went behind my back and wrote that letter!” Mama kept saying. “I didn't know that child had such Judas ways.” That really hurt my feelings when Mama called me Judas. I hate for Mama or Papa to be mad at me. Nothing feels right until they get glad again. “I'm gonna fix her business good with that switch!” Mama kept saying. “Goin' behind my back writin' that letter, sayin' all those awful things about Ama­belle. Amabelle is a good woman. I'll never forget how she helped me when my grandmama was sick. She'd come by every day and give me a hand. Ooooh, I'm gonna get that Viney real good with that switch. You'll see.”

Then I heard Papa say, “Amabelle is kind of persnickety, Lena.” I think Papa was trying to help me out.

“I know she a handful,” Mama said. “But Viney had no right talkin' that way about a grown woman and tellin' Miss Roula's business like that.”

“The child didn't mean no harm, Lena,” Papa said. “She just worried 'bout Miss Roula. I think it's kinda sweet. Besides, she didn't say nothin' that wasn't true. It does seem like Miss Roula done gone around the bend. Roamin' up there in the cemetery in her housecoat.”

“I know,” said Mama. “She's probably up there lookin' for her husband's grave. She probably forgot where he's buried.”

“How long were they married?” Papa asked.

“About thirty-eight or forty years, I reckon,” Mama answered.

“Treated Miss Roula like a china doll,” Mama told Papa. “She was never the same after he passed away, poor soul. Her heart was just eaten up with grief. I reckon I'd feel the same way if anything ever happened to you, James,” Mama said, and her voice sounded all funny and cracked.

“Honey, you would miss me that much?” Papa asked.

“Sho' I would,” Mama answered.

“Come here,” Papa said, and I stuck my head out the bedroom door. And there was Mama and Papa sitting together on the settee with their arms locked around each other. I put my hands over my mouth so they wouldn't hear me giggle.

“I'll go over to Miss Roula's tomorrow and tell Ama­belle to look underneath the bed for the jar of boneset tonic,” Mama said.

Later on Mama came and sat down next to me on her bed and explained to me about Miss Roula. She said that sometimes when people start to get old, their mind starts to go. It starts to play tricks on them and they may say and do foolish things. “That's the way life is sometimes, honey. And we just have to accept it,” Mama said. She didn't give me the whupping she promised me, and she said I could write to Missy Violet, but only about school.

August 28, 1929

Hey Missy Violet, this here is Charles,

I diding write you befor now becose Viney didn't tell me you sed to write. I jus snucked up on her reading a letter you rote her one day and then she tell me you say to write. She always keeping things lak that to hersef like she grown or somethin. Then when she give me the addrest she say “Don't be worryin Missy Violet wit a whole lotta letters.” But I ain't payin her no mind. She just gellous becose I went to New York City. She say, “Charles, don't you know nothing els to talk about besides New York City?”

I'm gonna write about my trip in the essay contess. I know its gonna be good and I am gonna win firs prise, cose I seen everything up in New York Ciy folks down here ain't never seen! All kinds of cars and peoples. I saw Buicks and Cadillacs and Oldsmobiles. Even big ol Packards like Mister Som Grit got. I even saw Mayor Jimmy Walker ridin around in his Duesenberg. Diding see no old timey cars on the streets up there.

I even rode downtown on the subway, that's a cho cho train that runs under the ground. I was just lookin and lookin all around. Downtown I saw all the tall billdins and stores where the rich people shops. But they got plenty stores up in Harlem too.

A lotta people up in Harlem got radios. They lissen to the ball game and the boxin match and music and evything! They lissen to the Amos and Andy show. A show about colard people livin in Harlem. Bess show I ever heard. Wish we had it down here. “Ow wah, ow wah, ow wah!” That's what Amos and Andy say at the end of the show. Don't none of the colard people down here have radios. I asked Mama and Papa about getting one. Papa sed they cos too much money and use up too much lectricity. Mama sed it was the work of the devil and wood catch the house on fire when it thunderstorms. She say she even hear people say they wood make you sick. Papa say he not even sure they have the Amos and Andy show down here. Everybody down here all wet, man. When I gets grown, I'm gonna buy mysef a Buick and drive back up to New York City quic as I can. Man, I love that Big Apple!

Missy Violet, when you comin home? I am tired of Viney ackin like you lef her boss over evything. Bring me something from Floreda when you come back.

Charles

 

September 9, 1929

Dear Charles,

How is my handsome redheaded boy! Missy Violet was so glad to hear from you. I'm happy you had such a good time up in New York City. I have never been there, though I hear it is some fine place. I would love to see Harlem, a place with lots of different kinds of colored people all living together. Maybe someday before I get too old I'll get a chance to visit. Maybe you will drive me up there in your Buick when you finish school?

I think it's nice you want to go back when you grow up, but, child, you must go back with some schooling under your cap. Please try to finish school. You know the world is changing all the time and there is a place for colored in every trade.

Charles, I enjoyed your letter so much, but I want you to work on your spelling, son. I know you can do this because you spelled the names of all those cars you liked correctly. I think if you take your time and learn to spell the small everyday words well, you will have a good chance of winning that contest.

How is your dear mama? Is she feeling better? I pray so. Give her and your papa my regards when you see them. I am sorry they would not let you have a radio—I would love to have one myself. But they are expensive, costing between fifty and one hundred dollars, I've heard. I don't know how so many people in Harlem can afford one. Maybe they buy on time or maybe they buy used radios. Whatever it is, it certainly would be nice to have one. I guess one day we all will.

Charles, I just love it when you children write to me. You and Viney are my special dumplings. I miss you both and look forward to seeing you all when I get back home. Be good in school—mind the teacher and work hard at your lessons. And remember to say your prayers.

Yours very truly,

Missy Violet

September 11, 1929

Dear Missy Violet,

I have some bad news: Not long after school got started, our favorite teacher, Miss Glover, got married and moved away! She married a man from Fayetteville. That's all we know about him. He came to church one Sunday, but nobody knew who he was. And nobody knew he was there looking for Miss Glover. Well, nobody except Arma Jean, that is. She figured it out right away. While we were walking on the church grounds that morning she said, “Look at that fine-lookin' man. I bet he got his cap set for Miss Glover.” Yep, that's what she said, just like that! Arma Jean's good at figuring things out. She figured out that Charles was sweet on Winsome, too.

More bad news: Miss Battle is back! And the first thing she did was change our desk partners. She made me sit next to Margie Poole even though she knows I've been sitting next to Arma Jean ever since the first grade. I hate sitting next to Margie Poole—she acts so uppity and snooty. I try to be nice to her but she acts like I'm not even there. I sure miss sitting next to Arma Jean and she misses sitting next to me, too. All we can do now is wave and give each other sad smiles from across the room. Sometimes, Arma Jean mouths me a silent message. I can read her lips real good. She mouths, “See you at recess,” or “What you got for lunch?” Sometimes she gets caught and Miss Battle scolds her. “YOUNG LADY!” she shouts. “IF YOU TALK ACROSS THE ROOM ONE MORE TIME, YOU'LL GO STAND IN THE CORNER!” Then everybody looks at Arma Jean, and Arma Jean snaps her head back around to the front. That's when Margie Poole just smirks and looks all satisfied and I want to hit her in the head with a brick.

Arma Jean now sits next to a big ol', simple-lookin' girl named Ruby Dean Baker. Ruby Dean should be sitting in the back with the older children, but Miss Battle says Ruby Dean is slow and puts her in the middle with the eleven- and twelve-year-olds. Miss Glover wouldn't have done that. All the kids tease Ruby Dean about sitting with the younger children because she is so big, but I try not to join in because Mama says, “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” And I sure wouldn't like to have all those kids teasing me. But Ruby Dean is pretty slow. Even Miss Battle can't make her learn.

Missy Violet, you would say that Ruby Dean needs “special care.” The kind of care you give to little babies who won't nurse or who are slow to grow. I remember one time I went with you to catch a baby named William—“Teeny William” you called him because he was so small.

You looked worried when you saw how little he was. You didn't think he was going to live. Right away you grabbed three baby blankets and laid them one on top of the other and wrapped Teeny William up in them real tight. Then you warmed a brick in the fireplace and wrapped it in a cloth and put it underneath his cradle. “We got to keep this baby warm, warm, warm,” you told his mama and his papa.

But poor Teeny William wouldn't nurse, so you went by his house every day and showed his mother how to feed him with an eyedropper. William still wouldn't take his mother's milk, remember? You said this happens sometimes with sickly babies—the mother's milk is too rich for the sick baby's stomach. So you brought soybean milk to the house and mixed it with a little water and squeezed it into Teeny William's mouth with the eyedropper and Teeny William kept it down.

Every day you would go by to see how Teeny William was doing and once a week you would weigh him on your funny little scale. Soon Teeny William started to nurse and to pick up weight. Now he is four months old and plump as an apple dumpling! I think that's the kind of special care Miss Glover would give Ruby Dean if she had stayed, because you and Miss Glover are kind ladies.