Calling the Shots (6 page)

I felt like such a ditz. I could see now that the braves were nothing like real-life Native Americans, just white stuntmen in crude costumes and makeup.

The other passengers drifted back to their seats, but Lenny didn’t seem able to tear himself away. He stayed glued to the train window until the actors were microscopic dots. Then he leaned his forehead on the dirty glass and closed his eyes, as if he was replaying all the stuntmen’s cheesy death throes in his mind.

The train tracks curved and divided and began to run along beside a river, a river totally unlike any I’d ever seen in England. It was absolutely vast, like a sea. Huge steam boats like floating palaces chugged past, their paddles churning up the muddy river water. I’ve never seen anything so romantic as those riverboats. Their glitzy big-hearted names sounded like song lyrics to me: Delta Queen, Heart of Georgia, Memphis Belle…

The sun had started to set, and a path of gold and crimson rippled across the surface of the water. Honesty’s mother pulled down the window, letting in the hot, damp, sweet-smelling air. From the entranced expression on her face, I guessed we had reached the south. Grace seemed relieved and happy to be back in her home state - but I sensed tension underneath, as if she secretly dreaded meeting her parents again after so many years.

My mobile went off in my bag. It was Orlando checking if everything was OK. I explained sheepishly about the shoot-out being a movie stunt, and he said, “What’s that in the background?”

The train had just let out one of its plaintive wails, so I said, “You mean the train?”

“No, the music.”

“Oh, it’s just some guys on a riverboat playing jazz.” I held the phone up to the window so he could hear.

“Wish I was there,” he said. “It sounds amazing.”

I gazed out at the boat chugging past in the southern dusk. Suddenly its decks lit up with hundreds of tiny fairy lights. I said softly, “It is
so
totally luminous you would not believe…”

Next morning the sun rose over cotton fields. It was barely dawn and already sweating black men and women were working among the rows of fluffy cotton plants. A look of strain came over Grace’s face.

Lenny and Rose were in the corridor talking in low voices. Rose looked upset so I went out to see what was going on.

“I’ll make sure you get there safely, then I’m going to find those film makers and make them give me a job. I’m going to get into the movie business Rose.” Lenny sounded desperate. “You see if don’t. I’m a man. It’s time I made my way in the world.”

She gave a bitter little laugh. “Playing cowboys! Bang bang you’re dead! Oh, yes, a
really
big man!”

I could see she was trying not to cry. Lenny said earnestly, “Rosie, we’re not so different. You’re crazy about the past. Well, I’m just as crazy about modern times. Movies are where it’s all happening. I’ve got to do it, sis!”

I saw Rose’s face soften. She sniffed back her tears and patted her brother on the back. “It’s OK, Len,” she told him. “It’s OK. We’ll be OK.”

Lenny kept his word. He came with them to the gates of the fine old plantation house where Honesty’s mother had been born and brought up. Then he hugged them all goodbye.

Everyone else watched forlornly as Lenny trudged back down the road in the shimmering noonday heat. But Honesty kept her head down, kicking sullenly at the dirt.

Grace took a deep breath. “Let’s go meet your grandaddy,” she said to Clem. “See if time has improved the old buzzard any.”

And then she gasped, “Oh, my stars, it’s Isaac!”

A barefoot old black man with tufts of silver in his hair was coming down the porch steps. He looked as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. “Mizz Grace?”

Grace ran and threw her arms around him. “Isaac, I have missed you SO much!” Both of them had tears on their faces. “So how’s Celestine?” she said eagerly.

Isaac’s voice was so sorrowful, he almost seemed to be singing. “She passed, Mizz Grace. She passed. It’s just me and the children now.” He tried to smile. “Got me eight little grandbabies, can you believe that? Two of the girls work for your mama and daddy.” He yelled into the house. “Dorcas, come out here.” And Isaac’s granddaughter came running out.

In my opinion, she was way too young to be working as anyone’s maid, but apparently they did things differently down here. Dorcas was wearing a prim white cap and apron, but like Isaac she didn’t seem to own any shoes.

“Mizz Grace is back,” Isaac told her. His granddaughter gasped and a strange look passed between them.

I thought,
uh-oh
.

Dorcas showed Grace and her children to a sunny terrace where Grace’s parents were having breakfast.

Grace said nervously, “Hello Mama, Daddy.”

There was a moment when any normal parent would have jumped up and hugged their long lost child, but there was just this weird electric silence. Then her father dabbed his mouth with a snowy linen napkin and said, “Why, Grace, this is most unexpected. What brings you here?”

Honesty stepped forward. “If you must know, my papa got hit by a truck,” she said in her zombie voice. “And his sleazeball of a partner vamoosed with our mama’s money.”

Rose looked appalled. “Honesty, for Heaven’s sake.”

“But that
is
why we’re here,” she said, all innocent. “You don’t think we’d be sponging off our rich relations if we had a choice?”

Grace gave Honesty a look which would have reduced any normal child to a quivering jelly. “Please forgive my daughter,” she said quietly. “This is not an easy time for us.”

Her father ignored her and turned to Rose. Suddenly he was all folksy southern charm. “So what’s your name, pumpkin?”

“She’s Rose,” piped Clem. “I’m Clem and this is Honesty.”

“And honesty is obviously a quality dear to your sister’s heart,” said their grandfather, as if Honesty was invisible. “But when she becomes a little older and wiser, I hope she will also learn the value of simple southern courtesy.”

Grace’s mother tinkled a bell and Dorcas ran in and bobbed a scared curtsey.

Someone ought to tell these old relics that slavery’s over, I thought angrily.

“Get my grandchildren’s room ready,” Grace’s mother drawled. “They can have Miss Grace’s old room for now.”

Rose looked puzzled. “But where will Mama sleep?”

“We’ll talk about that later, dear.” Their grandmother tinkled the bell again and an even younger maid rushed in. “Take my grandchildren upstairs and run their baths,” she said in that same languid tone. “They’ll need to freshen up after their long journey.”

The children reluctantly followed the maid into the house. Something felt distinctly off, so I thought I’d better stay and find out what was going on.

It’s a good thing I did. As soon as Grace was alone with her parents, her father said coldly, “I’m sure you understand that it is quite impossible for you to stay here.” He made it sound as if this was a reasonable thing to say to your own daughter.

Grace looked as if he’d struck her. “You’re sending us away?”

“Just you, Grace,” he said in the same cold reasonable voice. “The children are welcome to stay.”

Grace opened her mouth but couldn’t seem to find her voice.

“It’s not as if they even look Jewish,” Grace’s mother said brightly. “No-one need ever know.”

Oh, NO way! I thought incredulously. No wonder Grace never came back home. These old monsters disapproved of her for marrying a Jew!

“I suggest you leave tonight, after the children are in bed,” her father went on. “That way you’ll avoid distressing them with overly emotional farewells.”

Grace was breathing fast. “Avoid distressing them? My children have already lost their father, you can’t possibly—”

Her father just talked over her. “We’ll simply tell everyone that you and the unfortunate Mr Bloomfield died in the same tragic car wreck.” He opened a drawer and pulled out a cheque book. “Don’t worry, I’m not sending you away penniless.”

“We can give them so many advantages, you see,” her mother said with her insanely bright smile. “Education, money, breeding.”

“Yes, everything, Mama,” Grace whispered.

“Yeah, right,” I muttered angrily. “Everything but love.”

Personally, I’d have just emptied the pitcher of orange juice over their heads, ice cubes, little sprigs of mint and all. But now she was back in her childhood home, all the fight had suddenly gone out of Grace. It was like she was actually starting to believe their poisonous lies.

That evening Grace came to kiss her children goodnight.

Honesty said pleadingly, “Mama, I don’t like it here. Can we leave in the morning?”

She said it in her real voice, not the zombie one, but Grace didn’t seem to hear. Actually Honesty’s mother sounded like a sleepwalker herself. “It’s bound to be strange at first, sugar, but you know your grandaddy can give you all a great deal.”

“I’ve seen what he can give me, Mama,” said Honesty, “and I would prefer to have rabies.” And she pulled the covers up over her head.

I could tell that deep down, Grace’s children totally sussed that their mother was planning to leave them. But they didn’t know it for sure, so they couldn’t actually beg her to stay; there was just all this silent agony going on.

I beamed angel vibes at that family like crazy, but despite all my best efforts, Grace Bloomfield crept out of the house about an hour later.

I know that Clem felt her go because he immediately woke up and started to cry. Rose took him into bed with her. Without a word, Honesty climbed in beside him, and the three children huddled like orphans in Rose’s king-sized bed.

Eventually Clem went back to sleep still quivering with sobs. But both the sisters lay awake under the slowly rotating blades of the ceiling fan, completely unable to mention that their sole surviving parent had just left them forever.

I was worried about Honesty. If her father’s death had turned her into a zombie, then losing her mum would probably tip Honesty right over the edge.

I groped in my flight bag, trying to find my mobile - and then I noticed some branches outside the window starting to shake. The window creaked open and someone climbed over the sill.

I heard a soft laugh. “I used to climb up and down that old magnolia all the time. Papa would lock me in and I’d be out of this window and cycling off to meet some boy, before he’d even reached the foot of our stairs.”

Rose snapped on the light. “Mama? Have you gone crazy?” she said shakily.

Clem sat up rubbing his eyes.

“No, sugar, I have just regained my sanity,” said Grace cheerfully. “I got as far as the crossroads then I said to myself, ‘Grace, those old dinosaurs have got you hopelessly confused, just like they always did. You
know
you can’t live without your precious babies. Now go and get them out of there’.”

She gathered her children into her arms and Clem clung to her tearfully.

“But, Mama, how will we manage?” asked Rose anxiously.

Grace seemed to have it all worked out. “Remember my cousin, Louella, in San Francisco?”

“The one who was mixed up in that big scandal!” Rose sounded shocked.

“I will admit that Louella is a law unto herself,” said Grace. “But she runs a successful dressmaking business and I’m sure she’ll give me a job. Will you take your chance and come to California with me?” Her voice faltered. “Unless you’d rather—”

Rose flung her arms around her mother. “Of course we’re coming with you, Mama!”

Clem’s eyes went wide. “We’re going to California - without Lenny?”

Grace gave him a hug. “Your brother’s a smart boy. He’ll find us when he wants to.”

The children scrambled into their clothes. Grace climbed out of the window first and they tossed down their bags to her. Clem slithered down the magnolia like a little monkey and Grace caught him at the bottom. Rose and Honesty went next, then me.

In the darkness the smell of magnolias was suddenly overpowering. The night was shrill with crickets, sounding exactly like tinny wind-up music boxes.

I saw Isaac watching from a shadowy veranda as Grace and her children crept around the side of the house. He didn’t say anything but I sensed he’d known all along that his Miss Grace wouldn’t abandon her babies. Actually I got the feeling Isaac knew a great deal too much about what went on in this family, so much that he could hardly sleep at nights, just sat up in his creaky old rocker, looking at the stars and softly humming to himself.

Chapter Six

O
n bad days we walked. On good days we hitched a ride in the back of some farmer’s truck or rickety horse-drawn wagon. Most days we did a bit of both. Just once, the Bloomfields accepted a lift in a shiny new Model A Ford. But after five minutes Grace had to ask the driver to stop. They barely got out before Honesty spewed her lunch everywhere. I wasn’t totally surprised. She’d turned white as chalk the moment the driver pulled up.

Being Honesty, she denied that her travel sickness was in any way connected with her father’s accident, just as she denied that she screamed out in her sleep night after night. But I think Grace knew the real reason, because after that the family stuck purely to wagons and pickups.