Trouble's Child (13 page)

“Ain't that girl jus like Titay?” one of them said.

“Lord, that's the sho nuff truth,” another replied.

It was dark before Martha was free to leave. People were beginning to arrive for the long night vigil with the dead. Martha was exhausted but satisfied that she had done all the things Titay had taught her—all the things the people believed were necessary to release Ocie's spirit from the house and send it on its long journey.

Ocie's house was filled with neighbors and friends when Martha slipped away home. Titay had left water on the stove for Martha's bath, but Martha was too tired to bring in the galvanized tub and prepare the water. She washed her hands and face at the pump and stretched out on the back porch, ignoring the heat and mosquitoes. Suddenly she was back in her own mind, and she remembered her dream about Tee and the dancing. Her mind filled with Ocie's screams and she felt hopeless. She could now see the faces of the women as they went through the ritual of shrouding. They seemed sorry that Ocie had died, but not a one seemed to understand that the death need not have happened. Anger flared in her as scalding tears burned her eyes and cheeks.

Then she was trapped in a dark place where silence filled the space and touched her every nerve. Yet she could not move, not even twitch, and knew she had to give in to this darkness. She was sinking. Suddenly there was a burst of light. She opened her eyes and the sun was beaming down hot and she was drenched with sweat. She remembered the dream and became alarmed. Maybe her life, like her friend's, would end in this place.

Days after Ocie's funeral the village settled to its rumors. Cora was said to be hiding in the woods biding time to return and take revenge against Ocie's father. Her few followers believed that if Cora had been left in charge, Ocie would have lived.

Martha knew that Ocie's father was out to avenge Ocie's death. She also knew that Cora would never be seen on the island again. Cora had been warned, and on the night of Ocie's wake Ovide ferried her away. Martha did not know where she had gone.

Weeks went by, and rumors about Cora gave way to speculations that Martha would soon show her quilting pattern. Her hand would be out for marrying. Beau and Hal were the two most often mentioned suitors, but there were older men on the island who were said to be hopeful.

When the women met at the commissary or under the chinaberry tree, their talk was about Martha. Hadn't she been most helpful in the preparations for Ocie's burial? Her way had been Titay's way and surely Titay's way was theirs. Martha would make a wonderful midwife and a beautiful bride. There was not enough praise for how she had covered the mirrors when they had believed all along that Martha thought herself above such a practice.

However, as the weeks sped by the women became confounded. Martha moved among them in silence. She spoke only when it was necessary, and often the look in her eyes seem to pass through them without seeing.

The dream of dark silence returned again and again. She often woke shattered by screams that brought her out of troubled sleep to find that nothing in her life had changed.

She began to shrug away thoughts of a response from her teacher and of leaving Blue Isle. Her teacher had failed her as she had failed Ocie. She could not dismiss the idea that if only she had talked to Ocie and warned her, then maybe Ocie would have come to see Titay. She told herself over and over again,
Ocie blieved I thought mahself better
.

Her mind was so riddled with turmoil that she could neither eat nor sleep. Loss of weight made her face small and drawn and her eyes large and unusually bright. But each day she made the rounds, throwing herself into the routine as if she had settled on this as her life's work.

Martha often caught her grandmother looking at her worriedly. With a hand lightly on Martha's shoulder, Titay would shake her head, but say nothing. Martha felt that her grandmother was giving her plenty of time, waiting for her to open up and share what was on her mind. She longed to tell Titay about the letter and her doubts and hopes. Yet because she had not heard from her teacher, she was glad that Titay didn't ask questions.

Then one day she stopped by the commissary to see if there was any mail. When told there was none, she burst into tears. She bolted out the door toward the trail that led to the Gulf. Then she stopped, angry at herself. Why had she put all her hope and trust in Miss Boudreaux? She should have known better. Why would her teacher think that someone like her would succeed away from the island? No young person she knew had ever left that place except by death.

She recalled the day Ocie died. It had been easy to forget all the questions, all the doubts, and act like Titay—to do things the way the women wanted and expected them to be done. There was no uneasiness, no fear, no one reminding her that she had been born to trouble. That day she had not been trouble's child. She had been one with them: one of their own. They had been joined in that ritual with only one thing in mind: the passage of Ocie's soul on its journey.

That day had been easy. But did she want the easy way? She cupped her face in her hands to stifle the sobs. Suddenly she was blocked on the trail, and looked up to see Hal. She turned to flee, but he grabbed her wrist and held her.

“Listen, I'm fed up with your treating me like I'm the enemy. Why are you doing this to me?”

She was surprised at the tone of hurt and anger.

“If you're upset because I said I'd marry you, I'm sorry. I didn't know what you had told your grandmother.”

She remembered that day. The humiliation she had felt returned and she was angry. “Yuh coulda ast.”

“Do you know what it's like facing your grandmother? The only thing I could think of then was doing what
she
thought was right.”

Martha laughed. “So you didn't want t' marry, no?”

By the change in his expression she could tell he had said more than he wanted her to know. She said, “I don't think you no enemy.”

“You won't believe this, but I was on my way to ask your grandmother to let me talk to you. I finally got news about schools for you.”

“I don't need no news bout schools. Too late fuh that.”

“What you mean, too late?”

“I ain't goin nowhere.”

“Why did you change your mind?”

“Cause o' Ocie. If I'd never said I was gon go way, mebbe she'd come t' Granma and be live tday.”

“Oh Martha, you don't believe that, do you?”

“Whyn't she come? I know. Tis cause she blieved I thought mahself better'n her.”

“Oh Martha … I …”

“She tole me so erself.”

“That's no reason to think you caused her death. Even if she had come to Titay, things could have gone wrong.”

“I don't know. But I can't fogit I didn't try t' bring peace after I went on yo boat.”

“I don't see how anybody can blame you. You're being too hard on yourself.”

“The women, they don't seem t' know that it needn't happen atall. Oh, if only she'd took care erself.”

Hal sighed. “Hey, listen to the news I brought, okay?”

“If you wanna tell it.”

He told her about schools of nursing and midwifery in places not too far away from the island. “Now you'll have to finish high school.”

“I tell yuh, I ain't gon go, no. They need me heah. They want me, yes. So I'm gon stay.”

“Martha, when you told me you wanted to see this place with two eyes, I thought you meant you wanted to go away to learn some new things. That you wanted to give to the women here some other ways of looking at their lives.”

At once Martha knew that was what she wanted, though she could not have said it that way. And there was nothing she could do about it. There was no one to help her even finish high school. She looked at Hal. “When I said that I thought I could, but I can't now.”

“But you must! Can't you see they need to know that maybe Ocie should not have died? If you stay here, Martha, how will you help them? You'll settle in their way and become comfortable knowing nothing more than what's here. I was so impressed with your wanting to be different. Don't give that up.”

How could she tell him that she had no one to turn to. She knew no place to go and she had depended upon her teacher with no results. She lowered her eyes and said nothing. There was a long silence. Finally she said, “When I said that, I really blieved I could. I can't now.”

“I'm leaving the island, Martha, soon.”

She looked at him, pained. “Oh, yuh have t'?”

“Yes. I hadn't planned to tell you that today. But I'm going back to finish school. I want to be a marine biologist. I rented the boat to come here to collect those things and now I think I have enough money to get my degree.”

Martha felt a sudden loss. “So I won't see yuh, no?”

“Change your mind and come to Florida for nurse midwifery. I'll help you all I can.”

She thought of her teacher and the letter:
For the sake of my life
. She held her bottom lip between her teeth, trying to hold back the tears, but they splashed her cheeks.

“Come on …” He took her hands and held them firmly. “It's not that bad. We'll find a way.”

She looked up at him and smiled. She knew what she had to do. Reluctantly she withdrew her hands and hurried back along the trail.

At home, Titay called, “Mat, come heah. I was waitin t' tell yuh, I'm gon invite the village soon t' nounce yo quiltin. You's fifteen and a bit mo. We ain't gon wait no longer.”

“But Granma …”

“Now you listen. Yuh done proved yuhself good. I mus say I never thought you'd make the woman you's made. I'm glad t' gi'e yuh up fuh marryin.”

Martha sighed and said nothing.

“Now I'm gon call the women. We gon git this quiltin on, yuh hear me?”

What could Martha say? Maybe she should be grateful. Titay would show her pattern and she'd be married. She was weary of going against her grandmother when she had nothing definite to back up her own will.

FIFTEEN

The August sun beat down on the island with a vengeance. Sweat poured off Martha, leaving her limp and without energy, but life went on. She did her house chores, made the rounds and listened, sometimes laughing, when the women teased her about her impending engagement. As the time drew closer, Martha became more tense inside, but she moved as though she was unconcerned about the plans Titay and the women were making.

Two days before the showing of the quilt pattern, it was so hot no one wanted to stir, indoors or out. Martha was up early, but because there were things to do to ready the house for the announcement, Titay left to make the rounds without her.

Martha hemmed and pressed her dress. She had a strong urge to try it on, but it was just too hot. She stretched out on the floor in the front room to take a break. She must have dozed, for she was startled by loud knocking and shouting at the front door. “Anybody home?”

Martha raised up. Hal was standing at the front door. She was so surprised that at first she didn't know whether to let him in or pretend she was not at home.

“Wake up,” he called.

Then she realized he could probably see her through the screen. Why had he come? Uncertain, she moved slowly to the door.

“I have something for you. Ovide sent your mail.”

Martha rushed through the door and took the envelope from his hand. Quickly, she read the return address. She was so excited she had trouble opening the envelope. Hal helped her open it.

“Here, tell me what it says, Martha.”

“Read it. Read it t' me. I'll jus die if she say no.”

“You read it.”

“No, no, tell me.”

“Read it!” he said, shoving the letter into her hands.

Her hands shook as she read:
Dear Martha, I am sorry that it has taken me so long to answer your letter. But you are a special person and I wanted a special place for you. I have found that place in New Orleans
. Martha let out a yell and threw the letter in the air. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

Hal picked up the letter and continued:
A doctor and his family will take you. You can help them in their home and maybe sometime in his office, earning room and board. Your schooling there in the city will be free. They do ask that you find a way to get to New Orleans
.

“Oh Martha,” Hal said. “I'll take you. That will be a good reason for me to visit the city.”

Martha could hardly contain herself when Hal left. She was going away! Should she tell Titay now or wait? What if Titay said she couldn't? She became frightened. She had to go. She would not let Tee and the women down. And how would she face her teacher again if she didn't accept that offer? But how could she tell her grandmother? She rushed to her room and hid the letter where she was hiding the mirror.

When Titay returned, Martha had finished her chores and cooked dinner. She felt tense inside, but she served the meal and ate her food as though nothing had happened.

After they finished eating, Titay asked to see the hem in her dress. Martha shyly displayed her work, her heart feeling squeezed in her chest.

“Oh, but you gon look good. I see no way yuh won't git ast t' marry.”

Martha carefully folded her dress. “Granma …”

“Yeah, Mat.”

“Aw … nothin.” She just couldn't break her grandmother's heart.

In spite of the rain, the August night was hot. The windows were closed, but moisture seeped in. The house had a musky, mildewed smell. Martha sat next to Titay sewing covers for the backs of two cane-bottom chairs. Titay was busy finishing the interlocking circles on Martha's introductory quilt. The only sound was that of driving rain.

Finally Titay said, “I worry bout yuh, Mat. You don't seem like no woman bout t' nounce a quiltin, no. I hope yuh ain't still mournin Ocie.”