Songbird (21 page)

I’ve ranted at Harlan. “Why? Why do I do this?”

“You don't do it for Grace, honey, you do it for her parents.”

“Still.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know.”

“Will she ever wake up to herself?”

“I don't know. But that's not our concern.”

“It will be if she disgraces the ministry, Harlan!”

“How in the world can Grace do that?”

I don't know the answer to that. But I’m sure it isn't out of the realm of possibility.

“Well, I shouldn't lie, though. At least we can agree on that.”

“You're right. But I’m not going to pretend I can't understand why you do.”

We've had this conversation so many times it makes me sick. And still something inside me tells me not to let Grace go, to hang in there for her parents, if nothing else. If I was honest, I’d realize it was more, I’d realize I was assigned to Grace as surely as I’d been assigned to sing.

What a pain!

Oh, Lord!

I lay Hope in the bed for a nap, grab a can of Diet Coke, and walk over to the girls’ trailer. I knock. “Grace? You there?”

“Come on in, Charmaine.”

I do. She sits at the dinette with a glass of clear liquid. “Hey Charmaine, I’m just having a glass of water. Want some?”

I know it isn't water but I play along.

“No thanks. I brought my soda. Where's Leo?”

She points to the bed at the back of the trailer. He lies in a lump on the bed, shoes still on his feet, face in need of a good wipe. Four years ago Grace, who swore she'd never sing gospel songs and fled Ruby and me, showed up at one of our crusades with a newborn. Little Leo. “Grace.”

“Don't say it, Charmaine.”

“Don't say what?”

“Oh, come off it. You know.”

“Look, you can drag yourself down this path you've cho-sen. But what about your boy? Doesn't he deserve better?”

“Yes, he does. Better than this two bit
crusade !
Better than traveling around in a trailer and singing in tasteless, homemade costumes. I’ve ruined my life and I’m taking a baby along for the ride. Yes, he deserves better. Feel good, now?”

She is talking about my life, too, only I don't think it's so bad. “So what can I do?”

She grates out a laugh and I see a deadness in her eyes that hasn't been there before, as though a precipice has been tumbled over, finally, after all this time. And I am surprised that it took this long, really. “You already do everything for me but drink my drinks and sing second soprano.”

“Am I keeping you with us?”

“Yes. But only because I don't know where else to go.”

“You can always go back home, Grace.”

She lifts her glass and sips, looking so much like Mama I feel my skin raise at the chill. “Maybe I will someday.”

I look back at Leo's sleeping form. “Do you want me to care for Leo for a while? Let you concentrate on straightening yourself out?”

She only nods.

“Have you thought about going someplace to dry out?”

She nods again. “But I don't know where.”

“There's a place up in New York State, it's just for women. But it's a Christian place, Grace. I can make the calls.”

“Do whatever you have to do, Charmaine. I’ll cooperate.”

I sigh. “Let me know when Leo wakes up. I’m going to go make a chocolate cake. Maybe he'd like some with a glass of cold milk.”

“He'll sleep for a good two hours more.”

“Just let me know.”

But Grace says nothing else. She just reaches into her pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes.

I see her puffing out behind the trailer a minute later and think, I am watching a living tragedy. I wonder if God will life her up out of the miry clay and set her feet upon the solid rock.

I mix up the batter for the cake, put it in the oven to bake, and run into the church. Ruby sits at the piano playing like no tomorrow. “Ruby?”

“Yeah, Char?”

“Can you go sit in the motor home for a few minutes? Hope's asleep and I got a cake in the oven. I just have to make a couple of quick calls.”

“Sure thing.”

I sit down in front of Tanzel's desk and ask her if I can use the phone.

“Of course, honey. Is it a private matter?”

I nod.

“Go on down to the kitchen. There's an extension there and nobody will bother you.”

“You sure you won't pick up your line and listen in?” I joke.

“I’m not promising a thing!”

I call the home for addicted women and explain Grace's situation.

Twenty minutes later I pack her things and ask Melvin to carry the sleeping Leo to the motor home and lay him on the bed next to Hope. Then I drive her to the train station for an express north.

When I return, I awaken Leo from his nap, bathe him, put on a fresh pair of pants and a shirt, and show him the loft of our motor home. “This is your bed now, sweet boy. You like being up high like this?”

He nods effusively.

Melvin builds a little railing right away and by the time we finish the service tonight, it is securely installed. At twenty-three years of age I am the practical mother of two children.

Leo doesn't even cry for his Mama that night. He eats another slice of cake and flinches every time I put my hand out to stroke his full, sweet cheeks, or smooth his soft blond hair.

I pray Grace will make it to the home. I even bought her a bottle of Seagram's to make sure she had no reason to get off the train.

You know, I really have to wonder about life sometimes.

14

T
oday one of the deacons and his wife took us to Shoney's for a nice lunch, and now I am resting before Ruby and I begin practice for tonight's service. We're singing “Beulah Land” and that newer song, “I Want Jesus in My Life More Than Anything.” Of course, we lead the music with Henry Windsor and tonight is Gaither night. How the folks love to sing those Gaither tunes, and I don't blame them. Tomorrow night is “Life Is Like a Mountain Railroad.” I just love that song.

Without Grace's high parts we'll have to do a little adjusting, I guess, especially when we simulate that train whistle.

But, I feel close to sleep now as I lay next to Hope here in the back of the motor home. And I look down and see her little body there, her eyes closed in slumber. She's so pretty this little one. Her eyes move beneath her lids, which is really pretty odd-looking but nonetheless amazing, and I know she's dreaming about something. I can see the pulse beat in the artery in her neck, so strong and rhythmic and real. The human body never ceases to astound me.

Now it confounds me how living, moving beings just walk about as self-propelled machines. We don't plug ourselves in, and once we're older and we don't have mothers stuffing food in our mouths, we fuel ourselves. It's not like a car that a human has to put gasoline into.

As I said, a real miracle.

I wonder if a time existed when Mama ever laid down next to me and stared at me while I slumbered? How I wish to Jesus I could take for granted that she did. I wonder if her mama, Grandma Min, stared down at my mama, Isla Jean Whitehead?

It's a hard thought because I believe I know the answer. As wonderful as our bodies are, they are also terrible and mysterious and things go wrong. Fine-tuned things like our brains. I ‘picture Mama's brain now and I see this shriveled-up, sick thing sitting there in her skull.

Mentally ill.

I went to the doctor earlier today. I know my life is good, but I can't shake the feeling it isn't. The Sominex isn't working and I think of Harlan's brother E.J. and figured that maybe if his wife had just done something not so drastic when she first realized she had a problem, that maybe all that stuff wouldn't have happened. I told him about my sleeplessness, my tiredness, and how angry I could get at Grace sometimes.

“Do you ever cry for no reason?”

“Not really. But I do get the urge to throw things against the wall every once in a while.”

“Do you?”

“Throw things? No, sir.”

He gave me a test where I answered all sorts of questions like, “Do you ever feel those around you would be better off if you were dead?” to which I answered “no.” But despite that, he tallied things up and said yes, I was depressed. “I thought depression was more extreme.”

“Not always. People have their own way of manifesting symptoms.”

I nod. “What if you just give me a better sleeping pill? Maybe if I get more rest that will do the trick.”

So he does. And I am glad because I sure don't want to get on some awful medication. I’ll bet Harlan's happy mother didn't take a pill her entire life!

He suggested counseling, too, but with my life of traveling hither and yon, I know that is impossible. And while I can hide a bottle of pills in my Tampax box, I can't hide a weekly visit to a shrink. And after the damage that psychiatrist did to Harlan's sister-in-law, well, I’m a little reticent, and who can blame me? Mama never trusted doctors either.

Two more days and our time in Suffolk will come to an end. We hit the road on Thursday and head down to Atlanta. Or “Hotlanta” as they say.

Oh, my lands.

Ruby is in hog heaven now that the travel trailer is her own. We boxed up the rest of Grace's things and stored it in a corner of the utility truck that carries speakers and such. We'll drop it all off at Bee's when we go by that way. Ruby already put up new yellow curtains, bought a new spread for the bed and a new lamp. It looks like a real little home in there now. All that space for one person, and then there's four of us in the motor home. I don't blame Ruby, but what I wouldn't kill for a little ranch home somewhere. It could be brick or just siding. I wouldn't even ask for shutters as long as I could walk across floors and not always down aisles.

But guess what? Harlan agreed to get new carpet for the RV and he said I could pick whatever color I want. I never could get all the mud out from that gravedigger night. He asked me to just hold off for a few months until our finances strengthened a little. So I’m going with plum. And Ruby and I are going to reupholster the dinette and van seats, too! Won't Melvin have a fit? I can look into his mind right now and see his thoughts. I can see him thinking biblically. “Talk about easting your pearls before swine. And purple? How can a decent man drive in a purple seat?”

He won't say anything though.

I sit at my dinette imagining the possibilities. I’m going to try putting up border again, the adhesive kind, and some mirrors to give the illusion of space. I had the idea of installing a ceiling fan in the bedroom area and Harlan looked at me askance. “What're you trying to do, Shug, decapitate me?” So there went that idea. That's okay though, because I’ll tuck it away for later when I want something else and I’ll be able to say, “Well, I couldn't get that fan I wanted so I thought this would be a good second.”

Ha.

I love our womanly tricks of the trade. And you know what? Some of these things just come naturally. I know this because Mama sure didn't teach me.

Hope and Leo sit on the bench across from me. Leo's coloring and Hope's shoving crayons in her mouth. But Leo's in his own little world and doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he takes the cornflower crayon from her pillowy fist and starts on a sky. He's got potential, I do believe. I wonder if Grace ever noticed?

I gaze at his little head, the straight cap of blond hair swinging slightly as he bears down on the crayon and practically digs a blue pond into the paper. I gaze into his little head and I see myself there. I see a small child with a drinking mama. Only at least my mama made sure I was clean. I have to give her that.

“Leo?”

He looks up and nods.

“You doing okay these past couple of days here with us?” He nods. “Uh-huh.”

“Would you like another piece of chocolate cake?”

“Uh-huh.”

Shoot. Why did I offer that? Now I’ll have to give Hope some and she insists on feeding herself and I’ll be giving her yet another bath today! So much for trying to get a glimpse of Grandma Min this afternoon. I’d better get a move-on soon because tomorrow is the last day.

15

T
onight its “This Old House” and “Suppertime.” Now that “Suppertime” song always makes me want to cry. Those gospel songwriters and their mamas! Makes me wonder if I should pick another genre of music to sing.

MaryAnna Trench called me today. Some man down in Atlanta wants to hear me sing for something he organizes each summer called “Gospelganza.” Next summer it will be Gospelganza ‘84 and they travel all over the country. Talk about good exposure. When I told Harlan about it, he just shrugged his shoulders. “Well it can't hurt to check it out, Shug. But don't get your hopes up too high. There's crazy people everywhere.”

And that sure is the truth.

What a day today is. I love weather for some reason because although it's always changing, it rarely does something other than what you're used to. Weather is like God, always unexpected, but never completely unpredictable. ‘Course there are times when a cyclone hits, and it catches you unawares. It's violent and swirling and moves like an army catching anything that's not nailed down to the earth. And God's like that too sometimes, only it's not about being nailed down to the earth, it's about being nailed down to the Kingdom of God. Today is one of those autumn days that have been dropped in a toasterfor just a spell. Not much else has changed, the air still feels thin with October and smells of leaves and smoke. So I slip into my yellow sweater, strap the kids in their car seats, and head on out in the truck over to Freemason Street. I’ve already decided I’m not going to go and see Grandma Min, but I am going to try and get some clues as to who she is and to see if this is the house my mama grew up in.

Hope, in the middle of the truck bench seat, already looks like she's falling asleep. Praise God! What a morning! This child is turning into a pip. Getting into everything. I wonder if I was like that. Leo just looks out the window. The nice thing is that he and Harlan have always had a shine for one another. I wish I had taken some more time with him before Grace left. Now, I just am not sure what to do for him.

But my heart couldn't be more full for the little fellow.