The Seventh Mother (6 page)

T
hat Thanksgiving in Campbellsville was the best I can remember in all my life. Emma roasted a turkey breast in the oven and made real mashed potatoes, not the instant kind, and green beans cooked with bacon.

In the morning, before the turkey went into the oven, she baked two pecan pies, and I proudly carried one of them to the Johnsons’, still warm from the oven.

“Come on in.” Mr. Johnson held the door open for me, smiling broadly. “It’s cold out there.”

“Hi, Jenny!” Lashaundra grinned at me from her bunk bed, laying aside the book she was reading. “Can you eat dinner with us?”

“No,” I said. “Emma’s cooking and I’m helping. She wanted me to bring you a pie.”

I set the pie on the table beside a huge bowl filled with chopped sweet potatoes and a bag of brown sugar.

“Well, isn’t that sweet of her.”

Mrs. Johnson turned from the oven and smiled at me.

“And I guess it’s true that great minds think alike, because I’ve got one for you-all, too.”

She handed me a pumpkin pie from the counter, whipped cream piled in the center.

“Thanks, Mrs. Johnson!”

I carried the pie back to our trailer and put it on the table.

“Look what Mrs. Johnson sent.”

“Hell yeah!” Daddy said. “Now my Thanksgiving is complete. Pumpkin
and
pecan pie for dessert. Is there anything better?”

I looked at Emma, who was staring at the pie, her cheeks reddening.

Oh no,
I thought.
Please, Emma, don’t send the pie back just because it was made by a black woman. Please don’t hurt Mrs. Johnson’s feelings
.

Then I saw a tear roll down her cheek, and she smiled.

“It really is nice,” she said softly.

Daddy wrapped his arms around her from behind.

“They’re good people,” he said.

“Yes,” she agreed. “They’re the best.”

We sat down to a full table that day. It smelled heavenly. I picked up my fork and reached for a roll.

“Shouldn’t we say . . . something before we eat?” Emma asked.

“You mean like a prayer?” Daddy’s forehead wrinkled. We’d never said a prayer together. Daddy said prayers were for ignorant, superstitious people.

“No, just . . . I don’t know, just something.” Emma shook her head and smiled. “Never mind, I guess I’m being silly.”

“No,” Daddy said. “It’s okay. We can say . . . something.”

Then we sat a moment in silence, and I wondered what to say.

Eventually, Daddy said, “How about we each just say what we’re thankful for this year? Will that work?”

“That would be nice.” Emma smiled and took his hand.

“Well, I know what I’m thankful for,” Daddy said. “I’m thankful for the two of you, my best girls.” He winked at me. “And I’m thankful for a job and a place to live.”

“I’m thankful that Lashaundra is back,” I said. “And for you guys. I’m thankful for both of you,” I added.

Daddy and I both looked at Emma then, waiting. She sat quietly for a long time, then took a deep breath, reached for my hand, and squeezed it tightly.

“I am so grateful that I finally have a family,” she said, her voice soft, her eyes filling with tears.

Daddy leaned over and hugged her, then opened an arm for me. We all hugged and Emma cried some more and I thought to myself,
Please, God, if you’re really there, let that be true. Please let us really be a family
.

So one of us did say a prayer that day, after all.

And then we ate, and we ate some more. And then, we ate some more.

After we’d eaten as much as we could possibly eat, Emma rose and began clearing the dishes from the table. I watched as she stacked and began washing them in the sink, Daddy standing next to her with a towel, drying as she washed. I just sat watching them and letting myself feel happy and a little bit hopeful for the first time in a long time. Daddy was happy. Emma was happy. Maybe this time it would last.
Please, God
. . . I began again.

A knock at the door startled all of us. I ran to open it and found Lashaundra standing on the step, her coat wrapped tightly around her. A bitterly cold wind whipped at her braids.

“Come in, Lashaundra,” Emma called. “And close the door! Good Lord almighty, it’s cold out there!”

“This from the woman who lived year-round in Idaho,” Daddy said, flicking her bottom with a dish towel.

“That’s a different kind of cold,” she said, smiling at him. “It’s cold, yeah. But the cold doesn’t seep into your bones like it does here.”

“That’s the humidity,” Daddy said. “Dry cold is better than wet cold, just like dry heat is better than wet.”

“Your pie was really good,” Lashaundra said, rubbing her belly and beaming at Emma. “Daddy said it’s the best pecan pie he ever ate.”

“Well, your mom’s pie was amazing!” Emma smiled back at her. “I think Brannon ate half of it in one sitting.”

“Do you want to spend the night?” Lashaundra turned to me. “Mama’s gonna make spiced cider.”

I licked my lips, remembering Mrs. Johnson’s cider.

“Can I, Daddy?”

“Sure,” he said, leaning back in his seat.

“She said you-all should come, too,” Lashaundra said.

“Not to spend the night,” she added quickly. “Just for cider.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Daddy said.

And so we all spent the evening together, eating the last of the pie and sipping Mrs. Johnson’s spiced cider.

By the time we climbed into Lashaundra’s bunk, my tummy was aching from so much food.

“Guess what,” she whispered.

“What?”

“Daddy says we might be staying here for good.”

“Really?” I stared at her. “How come?”

“There’s talk at the warehouse about some of the temp workers staying on. If Daddy gets asked to stay, we’ll sell the RV and move into a real apartment.”

“Wow.” I thought about it for a minute. “Do you think my dad will get asked, too?”

“I don’t know.” Lashaundra sighed. “I hope so. Wouldn’t it be great if we both stayed? Then we could go to school together and everything.”

I nodded. It would be great to stay in one place and to have a real friend.

“Mama said we should pray real hard about it.”

I nodded again. Would that work? If I prayed, would that help Daddy get a real job, so we could live in a real house and I could go to a real school?

I thought about what Daddy always said about people who prayed. Then I thought about Emma wanting to say something at lunch. She didn’t seem ignorant or superstitious. Neither did Mrs. Johnson, and she prayed all the time.

I shut my eyes tight and held Lashaundra’s hand.

“Dear Lord,” she said softly, “please let Daddy get a permanent job. And let Mr. Bohner get one, too, so Jenny and I can be friends forever. Amen.”

“Amen,” I said.

Long after Lashaundra was asleep, I lay awake listening to the sounds in the RV and wondering about praying. Finally, just before I fell asleep, I whispered, “Dear God, if you’re there, can you please help my dad get a real job? If you do, I’ll be really good for the rest of my life. I promise.”

I waited a minute more, but couldn’t think of anything else to say. So I just said, “Amen.”

“O
rder’s up!” Harlan called from the kitchen. I picked up the plates and carried them to a table, managing to set the right order before the right customer.

My first couple shifts at the diner had been pretty bad. I messed up so many orders, I thought Harlan was going to fire me on the spot. But then I started getting the hang of it. And Resa was fun to work with.

“Ya’ll got room for some dessert?” Resa asked the table behind me.

“I’ll have the apple pie with ice cream,” the man said loudly.

“How ’bout you, Shirley?” Resa smiled at the woman sitting in the booth.

“It all looks good,” she said softly.

“Well, your fat ass sure as hell don’t need no dessert.” The man’s voice boomed through the restaurant. Other people stared at their plates. I felt my cheeks redden.

“How ’bout some more coffee, then?” Resa asked.

The woman nodded in silence, her head low.

I followed Resa into the kitchen. “Who’s that?” I asked, nodding at the table she’d just left.

“That’s Damon Rigby and his wife, Shirley. Poor thing, she just ain’t got no backbone at all.” Resa shook her head. “If I was married to Damon, one of us would be dead by now, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be me!”

“Ya’ll keep your gossip to yourselves,” Harlan growled from behind the counter, slamming down a slice of pie and a cup of coffee. “Ain’t none of our business.”

He handed me another plate. “Table seven,” he said.

I carried the plate to the table and smiled at the young man in the booth. His greasy hair hung low over his forehead and he slouched like he was half-asleep.

“Anything else?”

He shook his head. “Thanks, Emma. I’m good.”

As I worked the dinner rush, I kept glancing at the table where Damon Rigby was shoveling pie and ice cream into his mouth, while his poor wife sipped decaf and never raised her eyes. It made me angry, angrier than I’d felt in a long time.

When they finally left, I bused the table, collecting a very small tip for Resa, not even ten percent. What a jerk!

That night as we cleaned tables and mopped the floor, I asked Resa, “So what’s the deal with that Rigby guy?”

“He’s bad news,” she said, grimacing. “A real bully, always has been. Even when we were kids in school he was mean. I don’t know why Shirley stays with him. Don’t know why she married him in the first place, except maybe because he had money. He owns that car lot out on Greensburg. Inherited it from his daddy.”

I sighed, thinking of the women I’d known as a child. “Maybe she doesn’t think she has a choice,” I said.

“Honey, this is the United States of America!” Resa leaned against the mop and frowned at me. “Of course she’s got a choice. She just ain’t got no backbone.”

“I knew a lot of women like that back home,” I said. “They didn’t feel like they had any choice. It’s the way they were raised. If no one ever treats you like a real person, you kind of start thinking maybe you’re not. Like maybe nothing good happens to you because you don’t deserve it.”

She stared at me. “Well, hon,” she said after a pause, “you are the living proof that you always get a choice. You could’ve stayed where you were and been like that. But you didn’t. You got a spine. I don’t see you staying with a man who treated you the way Damon treats Shirley.”

I bent over to wipe a table. I didn’t want Resa to see my cheeks, which were hot and red.

“Sometimes, it takes a little help, is all,” I said.

“Now you listen to me, Emma.” She walked over and put her hand on my shoulder. “I know it ain’t pretty to watch, but Shirley’s marriage is her own problem. Don’t you go getting any ideas about trying to save her. Damon Rigby is bad news. You don’t want to cross him.”

“Resa’s right about that,” Harlan yelled from the kitchen. “You stay the hell out of his way.”

I nodded. “I’m not going to do anything stupid,” I said.

“That’s my girl.” Resa beamed at me. “I knew you were a smart one the minute I laid eyes on you. Well,” she laughed then and flicked me with her washrag, “when I could tear my eyes off that man of yours. Lord God almighty, he is a fine-looking man.”

I smiled at her and then laughed. “He is nice to look at, isn’t he? I feel pretty lucky.”

“And your little girl’s a beauty, too.”

“Oh,” I stammered. “Jenny’s not my daughter. I’m kind of her stepmom, I guess. But not really.”

“Ya’ll ain’t married?” Resa looked me up and down.

I shook my head. “We only met in June.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” she said. “I thought you were an old married couple. And the way that little girl looks at you, you could be her mama.”

I smiled and shook my head again.

“Don’t wait too long,” she said, walking toward the kitchen. “A man like that, you gotta snare him up while you can. Make him put a ring on your finger.”

I laughed again and followed her to the kitchen.

“I’m good,” I said. “I’m happy just the way things are.”

“That’s because you’re still young and pretty,” Resa said. “Wait another ten or fifteen years and you’ll wish you’d married him before you got old. Hell, when I was your age I’d already been married and divorced. I knew if I didn’t get married again soon, I’d be an old maid all my life. Probably turn into one of those crazy old ladies they find dead in a house with twenty cats or something.”

“If you don’t finish up here and get yourself home, Earl might just be gone,” Harlan said. He sounded mean, but he was grinning at her. “You could still get in on that crazy-cat-lady thing.”

She laughed and swatted at him. “The day Earl McCoy tries to leave me is the day you’ll find him dead with his balls cut off and mounted on the wall. Ya’ll ready?”

Harlan turned out the lights and locked the back door, then walked with Resa and me to our cars. He was a cantankerous old man, but he walked us to our cars every night.

“Good night, Emma,” he said, nodding at me. “You did a good job today.”

I smiled as I drove home, surprised at how much that small compliment had raised my spirits.

Jenny was spending the night with Lashaundra and Brannon had left for work by the time I got home. So I got a can of beer from the fridge and sat down to watch
Criminal Minds
on the television. Brannon always laughed at my addiction to the show.

“That’s going to give you nightmares,” he said again and again. “I don’t know how you can watch that stuff.”

“I don’t like the gory parts. I just like watching how the team solves the crime. It makes me feel better, somehow, to know there are people like that in the world, people who can solve murders and things.”

He just laughed. “It’s TV, babe. It doesn’t work like that in the real world.”

I wondered if he was right. But I still watched the show every week, hoping that there really were people like ones in the behavioral analysis unit, people who could track down and catch the bad guys. I wished they were in Campbellsville, Kentucky, right about now. I wished I could call them and ask them to check in on Shirley Rigby.