marching into the woods each morning, a battalion of niggers behind them, until every stubborn stump of heart pine’d been boiled down in Pascagoula. To him, James’d already abandoned the family, though I knew that for James, Crampton’s was only his first chance at trying out himself on the world. “Momma? ” James said, still looking at me. “What’s this about? ” At least the two of them were still holding hands, I thought, this time of prayer what we had left to unite us. I whispered, “Just let’s pray.”
I smiled at him, gave a small shrug. Leston’s head was already bowed, waiting for us all.
The children were looking at me, and I reached to Annie’s hand, took it in mine, her hand bigger than even this morning, her growing up with every second that went through us all. I bowed my head, knew the children would follow.
Leston said, “Dear Lord, please make certain to take care of the new life in Momma. Amen.”
When I opened my eyes, every one of my family was watching me, all except Annie, who reached a hand to her plate for a piece of honey cornbread.
Now it was over. They all knew, and we’d begin the accommodations each had to make from here on out. Annie would be the hardest hit, I knew, her not looking at me was sign enough she didn’t yet know what any of this meant.
Billie Jean was first to speak. “What will I tell all my friends at school? ” she said, on her face some kind of pure horror, eyebrows twisted into each other, mouth fallen open. Her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and she had on one of Leston’s old shirts, the sleeves cuffed up to her elbows. She held a fork in one hand, her knife in the other, forearms resting on the table. “What am I supposed to say? Am I supposed to just say, Hey, y’all, my momma’s having yet another baby’? ” “Yes, you are, ” Leston said. “And you listen to how you’re talking to us. You listen.” He’d leveled his eyes at her.
That would be his last words to her about the whole matter, I knew.
Billie Jean closed her eyes, nodded. “Yes sir, ” she managed to get out.
She held them closed longer than need be, just to make to us some kind of point, one lost on Leston, who looked down to his plate, forked up collards.
“A baby? ” Annie said, looking up at me. She’d already eaten half the slab of cornbread she’d been given, the crumbs dusting her chin and hands. Nye-nye, like at every meal, was draped across the back of her chair, a thin and forlorn comfort, though Annie couldn’t see it unless she turned all the way around in her seat.
“Another baby, ” Burton said. “A baby, a baby. There’s too many of them here already, ” and he turned to Wilman, gave a push at his shoulder.
Wilman said, “You’re the only baby, the only burrhead pickaninny around here I know of, ” and pushed Burton just as hard, the two of them suddenly arms and hands.
“Wilman, ” Leston said. “Burton.” They stopped quick as they’d started, and seemed to draw down on themselves, the threat of Leston’s belt across their bottoms unspoken in this household, but always present.
He’d done it enough, just stood up from the table and carted them out the house to behind the repair shed, where off would come his belt. A few minutes later there they’d march, the three of them in a line headed back toward the house, Wilman first, Burton next, the two of them with red eyes and wet cheeks and not making a sound, Leston behind them and rebuckling the belt.
My heart broke each time that went on, but there wasn’t much I could do.
Once, a little over a year ago, he’d taken Billie Jean back there for painting on thick, red lipstick she’d been given by a friend at school.
I’d followed them out, certain I wouldn’t interfere. Leston was the daddy, the one whose job this was, but when I’d seen her bend over with her hands at her knees, Leston with his arm raised, belt in hand, I’d let out a small cry, sound enough
I smiled at him, gave a small shrug. Leston’s head was already bowed, waiting for us all.
The children were looking at me, and I reached to Annie’s hand, took it in mine, her hand bigger than even this morning, her growing up with every second that went through us all. I bowed my head, knew the children would follow.
Leston said, “Dear Lord, please make certain to take care of the new life in Momma. Amen.”
When I opened my eyes, every one of my family was watching me, all except Annie, who reached a hand to her plate for a piece of honey cornbread.
Now it was over. They all knew, and we’d begin the accommodations each had to make from here on out. Annie would be the hardest hit, I knew, her not looking at me was sign enough she didn’t yet know what any of this meant.
Billie Jean was first to speak. “What will I tell all my friends at school? ” she said, on her face some kind of pure horror, eyebrows twisted into each other, mouth fallen open. Her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and she had on one of Leston’s old shirts, the sleeves cuffed up to her elbows. She held a fork in one hand, her knife in the other, forearms resting on the table. “What am I supposed to say? Am I supposed to just say, Hey, y’all, my momma’s having yet another baby’? ” “Yes, you are, ” Leston said. “And you listen to how you’re talking to us. You listen.” He’d leveled his eyes at her.
That would be his last words to her about the whole matter, I knew.
Billie Jean closed her eyes, nodded. “Yes sir, ” she managed to get out.
She held them closed longer than need be, just to make to us some kind of point, one lost on Leston, who looked down to his plate, forked up collards.
“A baby? ” Annie said, looking up at me. She’d already eaten half the slab of cornbread she’d been given, the crumbs dusting her chin and hands. Nye-nye, like at every meal, was draped across the back of her chair, a thin and forlorn comfort, though Annie couldn’t see it unless she turned all the way around in her seat.
“Another baby, ” Burton said. “A baby, a baby. There’s too many of them here already, ” and he turned to Wilman, gave a push at his shoulder.
Wilman said, “You’re the only baby, the only burrhead pickaninny around here I know of, ” and pushed Burton just as hard, the two of them suddenly arms and hands.
“Wilman, ” Leston said. “Burton.” They stopped quick as they’d started, and seemed to draw down on themselves, the threat of Leston’s belt across their bottoms unspoken in this household, but always present.
He’d done it enough, just stood up from the table and carted them out the house to behind the repair shed, where off would come his belt. A few minutes later there they’d march, the three of them in a line headed back toward the house, Wilman first, Burton next, the two of them with red eyes and wet cheeks and not making a sound, Leston behind them and rebuckling the belt.
My heart broke each time that went on, but there wasn’t much I could do.
Once, a little over a year ago, he’d taken Billie Jean back there for painting on thick, red lipstick she’d been given by a friend at school.
I’d followed them out, certain I wouldn’t interfere. Leston was the daddy, the one whose job this was, but when I’d seen her bend over with her hands at her knees, Leston with his arm raised, belt in hand, I’d let out a small cry, sound enough
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