The Pecan Man (3 page)

"My Lord, Blanche, you
never said a word about that.”

“Wasn’t much to say,” she said
and shrugged. “Marcus, couldn’t have bought it anyway.”

“Too much?” I asked.

Blanche looked at me like I had
two heads.

“Yeah, Miz Ora, that’s it,” she
said, “It cost too much.”

Her sarcasm wasn’t lost on me,
but I was too exhausted to pursue it further. I poured a glass of tea and
headed for my porch, leaving Blanche to deal with the groceries. 

Within a month or two, I had my
shopping excursions down to two hours every other week. I grew to appreciate
the fact that I could get pantyhose AND medicine in the same store where I
bought chicken legs. I wondered why I hadn't tried this before. Blanche
reminded me about old dogs and new tricks when I said that out loud. Sometimes
I wonder why I kept her around all those years.

September 24th. I'll remember
that date for as long as I live. That was the day that really set this thing
into motion. 

I came home from the Winn Dixie
to find Blanche sitting in my recliner, clutching her youngest child Grace to
her chest. The child was sleeping, but I could see muddy streaks of tears that
had dried on her face. Blanche's face was still wet, though the only sound that
came from her mouth was the song she was singing soft and low to her baby girl.

"What in the
world..." My voice trailed off as I dropped the sacks I carried to the
floor. "Blanche, what has happened?"

I heard someone clear his
throat behind me and turned to see the cab driver with an armload of groceries.

"Oh...yes...set them down
here. Are there any more?"

He nodded as he put the grocery
bags on the seat of the hall tree next to the door. Blanche still had not
looked up or altered her low singing. I followed the cab driver out, paid what
I owed and took the last of the groceries from his arms. I tottered back into
the house and set the paper bags on the dining room table.

Blanche still hadn't responded
to my question. She just kept up her soft crooning while a tiny river of tears
ran down her cheeks. I knelt beside the chair and quietly laid both my hands on
her arm.

"Blanche. What is it? Tell
me what happened."

She didn’t respond, but began
to whimper softly.

"Blanche, it's all right
now. It's all right."

"It ain't all right, Miss
Ora. It ain't all right and it ain't never
gonna
be all right."

Grace stirred in her mama's
arms and Blanche held her tighter and rocked harder in the chair.

"What’s not all right,
Blanche? What happened? Lord, please tell me what happened."

But Blanche did not respond.
She closed her eyes and rocked her child.

I suddenly felt faint. In all
the time Blanche had worked for me I had never seen her cry. I kicked off my
shoes and went to the kitchen. I could still hear Blanche's rhythmic rocking
and the soft, sad tune she hummed to her baby girl.

A pitcher of tea and two
glasses were already out on the counter. Blanche had apparently been
anticipating my return. I cracked a tray of ice and winced as the ice cubes hit
the insides of the glasses.

Too loud,
I
thought.

The cubes cracked again as I
poured the warm tea over them. I took a long drink from one of the glasses and
took the other to Blanche. Her shoulders pulsed up and down as if she were
bouncing Grace like an infant with colic, but as I approached I saw that the
shaking was caused by the deep, silent sobs Blanche was trying to control. I
set the tea down on the lamp table beside the chair, then leaned over and
reached for the child.

“Let me have her, Blanche.”

I’d never heard my own voice
sound like that - low, firm and commanding. Blanche responded by rolling Grace
even tighter to her bosom.

“Give her to me, Blanche.”

“She too heavy for you, Miss
Ora. Jes’ let me hol’ her here a while. Then I’ll get up and put those
groceries away.”

“For crying out loud, Blanche.
I don’t give a rat’s ass about the groceries! The child’s exhausted. I’m going
to put her to bed, and then you are going to tell me what happened so we can
figure out what to do about it.”

“Ain’t nothin’ we can do about
it. Nothin’ a’tall.”

I reached down again and lifted
Grace into my arms. Blanche didn’t try to stop me this time. I was surprised at
how tiny the child felt, not heavy at all. I’d never held her before.

Grace took a shuddering breath,
but stayed asleep as I carried her down the hall to the guest bedroom. Sunlight
streamed through the window on the west wall and fell on the child’s face as I
bent to pull back the covers. I stopped and stared at her for a moment.

I put her in bed and removed
her patent leather shoes and ruffled socks. I saw the streak of blood then,
already turning brown and blending into the black scuffs of dirt and grass
stains on the once white cotton. Gracie’s skin was dark like her mama’s, and it
took a moment to realize that her legs were covered in the same dirt and scuffs
and, though I could see no open wounds on her body, blood. It lay in streaks
down the insides of her thin, baby legs. I covered them then, willing myself
not to see what I was seeing. My soft white sheets and pink chenille spread had
never suppressed such offense and I would never look at them again without
remembering.

I drew the shades and stopped
at the door to look back at the sleeping child. I hadn’t felt angry until that
moment, only concern and confusion. But, as I stood there watching Blanche’s
precious child sleep, fury churned in my stomach and spread its heat through my
chest and down my arms. I didn’t feel my fingernails cut into the palms of my
hands as I clenched and unclenched my fists, but I saw the marks later and knew
exactly when it happened.

I closed the door and went back
down the hall toward the living room. Blanche was carrying the last sacks of
groceries to the kitchen. I didn’t say a word. What could I possibly have said?
I did the same thing Blanche did. I tried to force normalcy back into our
world. I put the canned goods into the pantry while Blanche worked on the cold
food. She closed the refrigerator door just as I came out of the pantry. Our
eyes met and we froze.

Then, as I stood there trying
and failing to find words of comfort or wisdom or anything that wouldn’t be
dismally inadequate, I watched Blanche collapse into herself. It began with her
forehead, then her eyes and mouth. Her hands flew up to cover her face, but the
rest of her went down, down, down. I reached for her, but there was no way to
hold her up. My rage was no match for her sorrow and we went down together.

I don’t know how long we stayed
there. Long enough for Blanche’s anguished sobs to dissipate. Long enough for
the room to grow dark with the setting of the sun. Long enough for Blanche’s
oldest daughter to worry about her mother not being home to fix supper.

Four

The harsh jangling of the telephone brought us
both to our feet. Blanche reached the phone in the hallway first, but I took it
from her before she could speak.

“
Hello?
”
My voice cracked a little.

“
Miz
Beckworth?
”
It was Patrice.

“
Hey,
Sugar. You worried about your mama? I shoulda called you a long time ago and I
just forgot.
”
I forced cheer into my voice and rushed on
before she could respond.
“
Blanche isn
’
t
feeling too well, honey. I
’
m just gonna put her in
the guest room and have her stay the night. You
’
re
all right there, aren
’
t you? Can you get the others
fed okay? How old are you now? Sixteen, isn
’
t it?
”

“
Yes
’
m,
I
’
ll
be seventeen next month. And we done had supper, but
…
Is Mama okay?
”

“
She
’
s
just feelin
’
a little poorly, but she
’
ll
be fine. I think she ate something that didn
’
t agree
with her.
”

“
Is Grace
all right there, too? Do you want me to come get her?
”

“
No,
that
’
s
okay. She
’
s already asleep, so she
’
ll
stay here, too.
”

“
I didn
’
t
mean for her to stay the whole day over there. She drew Mama a picture at
school and was just set on takin
’
it
straight to her. I thought Mama
’
d send her right on back
home and I
’
ve kinda been worried about her. I hope she
hasn
’
t
been botherin
’
you.
”

“
Lord,
child, Grace is no bother. Don
’
t you worry a bit. Your
mama will call you tomorrow mornin
’
to
check on y
’
all, okay?
”

“
I don
’
t
know, Miz Ora. I really think I oughta talk to Mama about it. Can she come to
the phone?
”

“
Well,
”
I hesitated,
“
not right this minute, but I can have her
call you in a little bit if it
’
s not too urgent.
”
Blanche reached for the phone and I turned away tugging the receiver close to
my ear.

“
Well...I
just need to know what she wants me to do. You sure she
’
s
okay?
”

I could hear the concern
in her voice. It bordered on panic.

“
She
’
s
fine, Patrice. I
’
ll have her call you. Bye!
”

I hung up before she could
say another word. That was not one of my finer performances I
’
m
sure, but I didn
’
t want Blanche to talk to
anyone until we
’
d had a chance to talk about
Grace.

“
I cain
’
t
leave my children overnight, Miz Ora.
”

“
Patrice
is no child, Blanche.
”

“
I ain
’
t
never left
‘
em alone all night.
”

“
I
’
m
well aware of that,
”
I said.
“
Tell
you the truth, I don
’
t know how you
’
ve
done half the things you
’
ve done by yourself since
Luther died.
”

“
It
’
s
been six years now, I
’
m
‘
bout
used to it. And Patrice helps
me.”

“
What do
you reckon Luther
’
d want you to do about this
thing with Grace?
”

Blanche squared her
shoulders and sucked in a long breath.

“
Luther
woulda landed hisself in jail or worse over
‘
this
thing
’
. I never thought I
’
d
say it, but it
’
s prolly good he ain
’
t
here to deal with it now.
T
he way I see it, they
ain
’
t
a thing we can do that wouldn
’
t make it worse than it
already is.
”

“
Not
even calling the police?
”

“
Huh,
”
Blanche grunted.
“
Especially not callin
’
the police.
”

“
You can
’
t
believe that, Blanche.
”