Gone Crazy in Alabama (16 page)

After all of the eating, talking, praying, and being among family, the house finally fell quiet. No one paid Caleb any mind, baying and carrying on into the night. He hadn't been the same since Sheriff Charles gave him Vonetta's nightie to sniff. He had “the scent” and kept pulling at his chain and baying.

The churning of things both bad and unknown kept me awake. It was mostly being in our room. Feeling the before and the now in every corner. Caleb's noise didn't help any more than knowing my father must have driven the Wildcat as far as Virginia by now. Or North Carolina.

All I had wanted was to have every single one of us under one roof. Now, with so many of us, and Papa and
Mrs. coming, I felt like I couldn't breathe. I crept by Mr. Lucas, who was asleep on the sofa, and picked my way through my uncle and cousin camped out on the living room floor. I hoped the floorboards wouldn't give me away. Thanks to Mr. Lucas, our floors didn't creak as much as Miss Trotter's old wooden floors. Uncle Darnell turned over and I froze at the door, but neither he, JimmyTrotter, nor Mr. Lucas woke up.

I stepped out on the porch in my bare feet. Caleb wouldn't stop barking. His chain never bothered him before. He had been content to sit in the sun and watch the chickens scratching around in the chicken run. But now he tugged at the pole, spiked down into the ground extra hard by Mr. Lucas.

I listened to him and heard something familiar in his song. It was more than Caleb wanting to be free of his chains. He made the same sounds as when Sheriff Charles came riding up in his police car and again when Miss Trotter, JimmyTrotter, Sophie, and Butter came from out of the pines. I never thought about a meaning behind Caleb's baying. Only that he made his noise. But now I could hear that Caleb's third dog song—two during daylight and one at night—was a song to announce an arrival.

Still, I said, “Hush, boy.”

Caleb wouldn't hush. He pulled at his chain and sang louder.

I turned on the porch light. I saw movement in the
dark. A person approaching. My eyes combed through the dark for a better look but all I could see was the figure that was now coming through the field and moving toward the house.

I didn't move. I only watched. The dog kept crying as the figure came closer. Then she was upon me. It was my mother. Cecile.

She hadn't even gotten fully to the porch but she was already speaking. “They find Vonetta?”

I had to stop myself from saying, “No, ma'am,” knowing my mother wouldn't like that southern talk. I said, “No, Cecile. They didn't find her.”

“Your father here?”

“Not yet,” I said. I wanted to hug my mother but she didn't open herself to let me. So I stayed where I was. All she wanted from me were answers, so I gave what I had. “Uncle Darnell said the way Papa drives, he and Mrs. will be here just after noon.”

“Mrs.?”

“Pa's . . . wife.”

“Her name is Marva,” Cecile said flatly.

“Yes, ma'am.” It slipped out. I knew right there my mother hated the South in me. She cut me up with her glare.

Then Uncle Darnell came to the door and pushed it open. “Sis!”

She clomped past me—her footsteps heavy, like I
remembered, and hugged his neck so hard. They stood there wrapped in each other. Her eyes shut tight. I heard her say to him, “I never meant to leave you.” Something she'd never said to me or my sisters.

Then he spoke into her neck. “I know, sis.”

“I just couldn't stay,” she told him.

He said, “I know.”

I was right there but on the outside. It didn't seem real. My mother, wild-eyed and tired, suddenly here. Close enough to touch, although she didn't reach out to me or let me touch her. But I smelled the coconut oil in her hair and the sweat of someone who'd been marching ten miles. When I thought I had the right to hate her, she was there. Right there. But not for me to touch. Except for the big drawstring bag slung around her shoulder that hit me when she went to hug Uncle Darnell. The bag was soft and full, its punch dull against my side. It was a bag I knew she'd made of old clothes.

My mother stomped on the welcome mat to shake the dirt from her boots and went inside with Uncle Darnell. I stayed outside with Caleb, who was now back to baying and pulling at his chain.

I stayed out on the porch all night and didn't slip back inside until nearly daybreak. Cecile slept in the living room next to Uncle Darnell as if they had fallen asleep talking. Mr. Lucas now lay on his back. But JimmyTrotter
had moved from his spot. I walked through the living room into the kitchen and out the back screen door. There was JimmyTrotter with Sophie and Butter.

He had one of Big Ma's mixing bowls on the ground and sat at Sophie's side. “Come on, girl. Come on, Sophie.”

I sat at his side. “Maybe she can't.”

“I'm hoping she can,” JimmyTrotter said. “It's too early for her to be dry. We don't have much use for a milk cow that don't milk.”

“Don't let Fern hear you say that.”

He gave a weak smile. “I don't know. Maybe I'll try breeding her in a few months. Maybe she'll give me a dairy cow. We sure haven't been lucky lately. Both Butter and Sophie gave us bulls.” He shrugged. “Couldn't keep them.”

Even as he spoke, I didn't quite believe him about breeding Sophie to try for another milk cow. I think he said those things because they were hopeful things. I think he said those things for me.

“Who's that woman?” he asked.

“Cecile,” I said.

“Cecile, as in your mama? All the way from Los Angeles?”

“Oakland.”

“Same difference from where I'm sitting.” He looked up at the sky. “She flew to get here. A red-eye from Oakland to Montgomery, I'll bet. I'm figuring on a Boeing 707
or a DC-8. You know they're coming out with commercial planes almost as fast as the speed of sound. Wouldn't mind flying one of those.”

“Is that so?”

He gave up on milking and set the mixing bowl aside. He kept looking to the sky. “My model planes are all smashed,” he said. “If only I could have saved the Warhawk—or my brother's bomber. I only had time enough to grab Miss Trotter and the picture. Had to get the picture. She wouldn't move without her mama and papa.”

“Onchee,” I said.

“Onchee is right.”

I told him I was sorry about his model planes when I wasn't. A model plane wasn't a sister, but JimmyTrotter was the only one speaking to me. And he had lost a brother, a mother, a father, and a grandmother. All at once. He knew.

“Wanted that Cessna, too. Last kit my daddy bought me.” He wasn't really speaking to me. Just talking into the sky. “All of them gone.”

Out of the blue I said, “It's not my fault.”

“I didn't say it was.”

“She's my sister. I want her back.”

“I know, Delphine.” Then we said nothing for a while.

“You must be glad to have your mama here,” he said. “Even as sad as things are.”

I knew from that he didn't believe we'd get Vonetta
back but I couldn't think that way.

“Cecile's not a mama,” I told him, but not angry or snippy. I was just stating a fact.

“What do you mean?”

“She's Cecile. That's all.”

He nodded like he understood, but I knew he didn't. We'd never run out of things to talk about before but we hardly had anything to say to each other now. I figured he'd stop talking to me like everyone else. And then Papa would be here and it would get worse before it got better. And it might never get better.

JimmyTrotter got up from his stool and I stood with him.

“Darnell's going back with me to pick through what's left. Maybe we can find some photos or something.”

“I'll come too. I can help.”

“Cousin Del, you don't want to see the house. Tornado hit us hard. Radio says it was a two but I think it was a level three.”

There it was. His nice way of saying,
Leave me alone. I don't want you around
. I said, “Cousin, I just don't get it.” He waited for me to finish. “Why did it take down your house and Mr. Lucas's house? Why is ours still standing?”

JimmyTrotter shrugged. “House is here. But you still got hit. Hard.”

I followed Cecile as she walked inside each room looking for Big Ma. When she found her she said, “Mrs. Gaither. I'm here.” I expected Big Ma to be thrown for a loop or to jump out of her skin. There was no reaction from Big Ma, as far as I could see. She cocked her head, crossed her arms, and said, “I see that.”

There were no more words between them so I led my mother to the room that Ma Charles and Miss Trotter now shared. I said, “Ma Charles, Miss Trotter, this is our mother, Cecile.”

Cecile said, “If it was a good morning, I'd wish you both a good one. Instead, I wish you're both well.”

“Daughter!” Ma Charles cried. “Come over here so we can look at you.”

My mother walked up to them like she was home.

“Didn't have to tell us who she is,” Miss Trotter said. “That's your face, right there,” she said to me. “The other ones, too. But that's you.”

It was the one small burst of pleasure I felt, even though my mother and I hadn't hugged or really spoken to each other. Not really.

“Wake up, Fern.”

“No.”

“Wake up, Fern.”

She kept her eyes shut. “Is Vonetta here?”

I said a soft no. She slumped over to give me her back.

“Wake up, Fern.”

She pretended to be asleep.

“Little girl. Get out of that bed.”

Fern sprang up and screamed. She ran to Cecile, bulling her head into Cecile's belly like she was trying to get back inside of her. Cecile picked her up and hugged her tight and swung her around.

I wanted nothing more than to be invited in, but I stayed where I was. I never knew I could feel so awful, so jealous, but I couldn't make those feelings go away.

Cecile put Fern down on the bed, sat with her, and told her she wasn't leaving until we found Vonetta. I almost backed out of the room but Cecile said, “Don't go nowhere,” and continued talking to Fern. Now she faced me. “All right,” Cecile said. “What happened?”

“It's Delphine's fault Vonetta's gone,” Fern said.

Cecile turned to me. “Speak up, Delphine.”

I didn't know what to say because it was true. It was easier to agree than to explain, so I said, “Yes. She left because of me.”

My mother put her head down, cupping her forehead with one hand. It looked like she was praying but I knew she wasn't. I took a step toward her, then one away from her.

“I
told
you to look out for Vonetta.” Her voice trembled like she was fighting herself. And then she spoke louder. “I told you but you don't listen!” She was up on her feet and Fern shrunk inside of herself. Shrunk into the ball I wanted to shrink into to protect myself. “You're hardheaded. You think you're grown and you know everything.”

I stepped back, fearing the worst.

“And whose fault is that?” Big Ma was in the doorway, right behind me. “Who do you think you are, coming in here yelling at these children? I won't stand for it. You need to leave this house. Now!”

Big Ma was no match for my mother, but I knew she meant what she said.

Cecile seemed to grow bigger but she stood where she was. “I'll leave when my child is found and not a minute, hour, or day sooner.” Cecile was the mountain. The crazy mother mountain. It was the calm in her voice that was crazy.

“Minute? I can get the sheriff up here in a minute,” Big Ma said, while Fern said, “No, Big Ma. No, Big Ma.”

Big Ma said, “This is my house. If I say you go, you're going.”

“Get the sheriff,” my mother said again, calm. Too calm. “I'm here for my child. I'll stay out there with the dog but I'm not going until I see my child.”

Uncle Darnell was now in the room and stood between Big Ma and Cecile. Mr. Lucas tried to calm everyone down and then Ma Charles made her way into the room.

“This is my house.
My
house,” Ma Charles said. She turned to Big Ma. “Ophelia Fern Charles Gaither, don't shame me.”

My mother's face turned a shade darker when Ma Charles said all of Big Ma's names. In that moment, as I heard it myself for the first time, I knew it was partly true: My mother had left us eight years ago when my father said she had to name my baby sister Fern.

Big Ma turned to her mother. One minute she was puffed up with anger, and now she was just hurt. “You only see someone who gave you your bloodline.” She meant us, my sisters and me. We were the bloodline. “But Ma, as sure as I'm standing here, she's been stirring up trouble and heartache from day one and I'm tired of it.”

Ma Charles said, “She's a mother like you are. A mother can't rest until she knows her child is fed, safe, and well.
You can't be mad she's not here one minute, then mad she's here the next.”

Big Ma just looked at her mother, wanting something from her, and then stomped off to her room. Uncle Darnell said, “Come talk to me, sis,” and led my mother outside. And Miss Trotter said, “I tell you, I don't miss the picture shows or television at all. Not at all.”

That left Fern and me alone. She on her bed and me by the door. I was used to my little sister running to me. There was this saying that my Muslim classmate, Rukia Marshall, had taught me: If the mountain won't come to Muhammad, then Muhammad must come to the mountain. As sure as Fern sat with her arms crossed, I knew she was the mountain and that it was my turn to come to her. I walked over and sat on the bed next to her. She uncrossed her arms and inched away, so I let her keep the distance.

“I was only looking out for you,” I began.

“Well, don't, Delphine. I can look out for myself.” She clunked her turtle head, a hard “Surely can.” Fern was the baby I saw coming out of Cecile on the kitchen floor. She clung to me and hid behind me practically every day after that. I didn't believe Fern could look out for herself without me but I still said, “Okay.” I had always seen myself as mighty and unmovable among my sisters. For the first time I felt so small next to my baby sister. Small like a hill. I added, “I'm sorry. I'm sorry about Vonetta.”

She snapped, “Sorry doesn't bring Vonetta back.”

“I know,” I said softly. “I want her back here in this house. With us.”

“You do not.”

“That's not true, Fern. I miss her.”

She turned her face to me, looking every bit like Cecile. “Pants on fire!” Even angry Fern stuck to Big Ma's rule about never using the word
liar
.

“I love Vonetta,” I said, “but I don't always like her.”

“You surely don't.”

“And neither do you.”

She said nothing.

“But she's our sister, and we want her back.”

We sat on the bed until the space between us eventually closed.