work—or politics—when I was with his friends, it was going to be even worse. “And if they ever ask me what I think about the election,” I said, “I’ll play coy. But at least I’d like to be able to be honest with you. ” I looked away from him. The birth control pills taunted me. Who was I to talk about honesty? Robert thought we might start a baby on our honeymoon, and I didn’t say a word.
“Politics and religion,” Robert said as if I hadn’t spoken. “The two things we don’t talk about in public.”
“I told you. I’ll be careful around your friends,” I said, then added quietly, “But Robert … you knew who I was before you said ‘I do.’”
“You’re right.” He pulled me toward him and kissed the tip of my nose, and I wondered if I’d really known who he was.
6
Ivy
It was Lita Jordan who started the singing, as usual, and she started early, right as me and her began looping the first load of tobacco, tying the leaves to the long sticks that would hang in the barn to cure. “It’s been a long, long time comin’, but change is gonna come,” she sang. Her voice was clear as birdsong, ringing out in the steamy early morning sun. It echoed off the tin roof of the shelter we worked under. It spread out over the field in front of us, where her two oldest boys, Eli and Devil, worked with Henry Allen and the day laborers, and it traveled behind us down Deaf Mule Road. It made my heart ache, though I couldn’t of said why. It was a voice made for singing in church. When I was little and we’d walk past the AME church and I’d hear a lady singing, I’d say, “That’s Lita,” and Nonnie would say, “Every colored lady you hear ain’t Lita,” but I was sure it was her.
She could sing light songs, too, the ones that made us laugh. She could get us going with “There’s a Hole in the Bucket” and the one about the old woman who swallowed a fly, but it was like she knew that this song was one to start the day. The other colored girls, the ones Mr. Gardiner brung in each day to help with the barning, they came in with the harmony and I did my bit, too. We all knew the words. It made me laugh watching Nonnie sing a few lines and then catch herself. She probably thought the song was some of that race music she hated, but sometimes you just had to give in to the feeling and sing along.
Nonnie couldn’t stand on her feet for long these days, so she worked a while at the bench, then went home to rest for a bit, off and on through the day. Baby William was nothing but trouble and he ran around our feet with Lita’s youngest, three-year-old Rodney, both of them getting in the way. Rodney was a good boy, but he loved Baby William like some kids love candy and together they was up to no good. We had to watch them every second.
I was already sweating in my oilcloth apron, but I didn’t dare take it off till the dew was dry on the tobacco or I’d get soaked and break out in a green tobacco rash, like I did last summer. We all wore aprons, especially in the morning. Only Lita’s boy Avery, who emptied the sled at the barn and carried the full sticks to the racks, refused to wear something. He was fifteen, like me, but he looked older. All three of the oldest Jordan boys looked like men already. Avery was plenty big and strong enough to work in the field with his brothers, but his eyes was so bad, that even with them thick glasses he wore, he wouldn’t know which leaves was ready for priming and which needed a few more days in the sun. He hated working at the bench, except for being near Mary Ella, who was one of the handers. Sometimes he’d even help her, standing next to her as they pulled three or four leaves at a time from the bench and handed them over to me or Lita. I thought he liked how quiet Mary Ella was—how she didn’t sing with the others or gossip. It was like she was peaceful and he needed some of that peace, since he was always getting picked on by his brothers
“Politics and religion,” Robert said as if I hadn’t spoken. “The two things we don’t talk about in public.”
“I told you. I’ll be careful around your friends,” I said, then added quietly, “But Robert … you knew who I was before you said ‘I do.’”
“You’re right.” He pulled me toward him and kissed the tip of my nose, and I wondered if I’d really known who he was.
6
Ivy
It was Lita Jordan who started the singing, as usual, and she started early, right as me and her began looping the first load of tobacco, tying the leaves to the long sticks that would hang in the barn to cure. “It’s been a long, long time comin’, but change is gonna come,” she sang. Her voice was clear as birdsong, ringing out in the steamy early morning sun. It echoed off the tin roof of the shelter we worked under. It spread out over the field in front of us, where her two oldest boys, Eli and Devil, worked with Henry Allen and the day laborers, and it traveled behind us down Deaf Mule Road. It made my heart ache, though I couldn’t of said why. It was a voice made for singing in church. When I was little and we’d walk past the AME church and I’d hear a lady singing, I’d say, “That’s Lita,” and Nonnie would say, “Every colored lady you hear ain’t Lita,” but I was sure it was her.
She could sing light songs, too, the ones that made us laugh. She could get us going with “There’s a Hole in the Bucket” and the one about the old woman who swallowed a fly, but it was like she knew that this song was one to start the day. The other colored girls, the ones Mr. Gardiner brung in each day to help with the barning, they came in with the harmony and I did my bit, too. We all knew the words. It made me laugh watching Nonnie sing a few lines and then catch herself. She probably thought the song was some of that race music she hated, but sometimes you just had to give in to the feeling and sing along.
Nonnie couldn’t stand on her feet for long these days, so she worked a while at the bench, then went home to rest for a bit, off and on through the day. Baby William was nothing but trouble and he ran around our feet with Lita’s youngest, three-year-old Rodney, both of them getting in the way. Rodney was a good boy, but he loved Baby William like some kids love candy and together they was up to no good. We had to watch them every second.
I was already sweating in my oilcloth apron, but I didn’t dare take it off till the dew was dry on the tobacco or I’d get soaked and break out in a green tobacco rash, like I did last summer. We all wore aprons, especially in the morning. Only Lita’s boy Avery, who emptied the sled at the barn and carried the full sticks to the racks, refused to wear something. He was fifteen, like me, but he looked older. All three of the oldest Jordan boys looked like men already. Avery was plenty big and strong enough to work in the field with his brothers, but his eyes was so bad, that even with them thick glasses he wore, he wouldn’t know which leaves was ready for priming and which needed a few more days in the sun. He hated working at the bench, except for being near Mary Ella, who was one of the handers. Sometimes he’d even help her, standing next to her as they pulled three or four leaves at a time from the bench and handed them over to me or Lita. I thought he liked how quiet Mary Ella was—how she didn’t sing with the others or gossip. It was like she was peaceful and he needed some of that peace, since he was always getting picked on by his brothers
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