Red Jacket (19 page)

Phyllis doesn't give her a hug, for which she is grateful. She'd decided it would be hypocritical to run into the arms of a person she's never seen before. Instead her mother takes both her hands, leans back, looks at her face for a long while, then says, “May I kiss you?” Grace nods and awkwardly offers a cheek.

Alicia Scott slides up, introduces herself, Andrew, Steph, Bruce, and Susie, tells Bruce to take Phyllis's suitcase upstairs, ushers her inside, takes her things, sits her down by the fireplace, offers everyone drinks, and asks about the ride down.

“As usual, I drove too fast, Alicia,” a grin splits Albert's face.

“Phyllis, I'm sorry if he flew at his usual speed. Albert, please apologize.”

“No need. I like going fast,” Phyllis smiles at her chauffeur.

“You look exactly like her!” Stephanie shrieks when she and Grace go into the kitchen to fix snacks.

“No, sir!”

“Don't be daft. It's like she spat you out.”

Well, it may be she's spat out where looks are concerned, but Grace is sure the similarity ends there. Thank God Phyllis doesn't seek her out or try to be chummy. She talks quietly. Her laughter is genuine, but restrained, her clothes nice but Grace sees neat patches on purse and scarf. Though she doesn't seem to say much, by next day they know she plays the flute well, drums and piano a bit, likes classical music, has a vinyl collection of classics in ska, reggae, calypso, and Chrissie tambu, likes long walks, sews, embroiders, and knits, in addition to her work running the children's centre at the convent.

Grace doesn't know if she likes her or not.

When Alicia Scott says, “You must be very proud of Grace,” Phyllis responds, “I am.” When Andrew says, “She's a great credit to you,” Phyllis replies, “Sadly, I had little to do with it.” When Steph declares, “You two are like peas in a pod! Grace can't have inherited much from her dad!” Phyllis studies her hands.

Letters and More Letters

4 January 1980

My dear Grace,

I won't try to tell you what it was like to see you. Only to say that God is good, and his grace truly amazing! I am so proud of you! Mr. and Mrs. Carpenter and Gramps were clearly God-ordained. I knew, never mind how much I missed you all those years, that they had a home and family, brothers and sisters to give you, none of which I had. I have given God thanks for them, every day, and those thanks I now repeat many times over.

Of course, I realized when I came back how foolish I'd been! I'd brought my camera, for I'd faithfully promised Daphne and Granny Vads pictures. I couldn't believe that I'd left without taking a single one! Perhaps you'd be good enough to ask Stephanie if she would let me have copies of the ones we took on the steps? I would be very grateful.

I am back at work, stealing a little time to write. It's always a challenge starting a new year. Some of our mothers are lucky enough to have somewhere to go with their babies at Christmas — to their relatives, or to families who volunteer to share Christmas, or to the homes of the fathers of their babies, one or two, that is. We work hard with the fathers if they are around. We try here, make a big effort, but there is no hiding that this is an institution.

I must go. Have a good semester and please write when you can.

With much love,

Phyllis

P.S. Granny Vads and I would welcome a visit during March break, if you'd like, and I will underwrite the bus fare. She's not so well, and it would cheer her up greatly to see you.

4 February 1980

Dear Phyllis,

I am sorry it has taken me so long to reply to your letter, which got here quickly. I think it only took two days. My excuse as always is work and more work. I am truly grateful I'm not one of your young mothers! Starting the year is hard enough with me alone. If I had a baby, I don't know what I would do!

I was pleased to finally meet you too. Of course, I didn't spend years and years imagining what you looked like, since I didn't know you were there at all. But I have wondered one or two things since Gramps gave me your letters. I've wondered if I resembled you, and sounded like you, and what other things we might have in common. Stephanie says I look like you “spat me out,” so I guess that's one query satisfied. I've decided we do have one thing in common. You must have been very determined to keep writing those letters, and Gramps was always saying he was going to crown me Miss Determination. The first time I remember him saying it is when I was trying to teach myself how to blow a conch shell. I must have been five or six!

My life in Wentley Park seems so far away now, like another life, never mind I left not very long ago.

Thanks a lot for the invitation to visit you in New York and the offer to pay my bus fare. I can't afford to go away for reading week. I have so much studying to do at that time, and after that I must keep my head in the books until finals. I promise to keep in touch, though. Please say hello for me to Grandma Daphne and Granny Vads. Perhaps I can finally meet them in the summer.

Must go. Till next time,

Grace

12 April 1980

Dear Gracie,

Nothing I would love more than to see you walk up and get that cerfiticate but we cant make it for money tight and we have to try to use it the best way. We save what we can ever since you leave, but is that money bring you home so you could see Gramps before he pass and since that time things continue tough same way. Mark you I am thankful we are in the rural and not town where people fighting the whole time for sugar, rice, and flour what a pass things come to when country people better off than town people. God have a way to run his jokes sometimes never mind that this is no time for joking but when you is God you could make joke as you wish and we are lucky that he laugh and distract himself for if he look hard down here he get so vex that this time he swallow the whole island for it plenty more sinful than the wicked Port Royal city in Jamaica that he so long ago send earthquake to swallow up under the sea. You never say if you get the letter Princess write to say thanks for the book of poems by the Red Indian young people. She read them out loud for us the ones she like. She and Edgar like pomes and the two of them make up some together when he come to visit us.

All of we send love sorry to take you away from your studies to read this please write when able Mister Wong ask for you every time I go to shop he say to tell you to walk good and take care

God bless,

Ma

27 April 1980

Dear Ma, and Pa,

I well understand why nobody can come to graduation. I will miss you and Pa. Don't worry, though. I know you will be thinking of me and the Scotts promise to take plenty photos. I will make sure to send.

Phyllis thinks she can come, so I will have family present. She and I get along pretty well though it is still strange for me. Ma is the mother I grow with, the mother I know and love with all my heart. Also Phyllis is so close to my age. Since her Christmas visit, we talk on the phone and write, so we are getting to know each other better. She says if I want, I can come back to New York with her after graduation and stay there for a while before I begin my studies at
University of Michigan. That way, I can meet Daphne and Granny Evadne. Only thing is Granny Evadne is suffering badly with rheumatoid arthritis. If Phyllis has her hands full, I won't burden her further, so I'm still considering. Of course, if I go, I will help all I can.

Phyllis says I must know I am smart for I've done so well at U of T and so many universities have offered me fellowships for graduate work. I think I'm fortunate. If I know to work hard, it's because you, Pa, and Gramps have given me such good example, so I am saying a big THANK YOU and I promise to keep trying.

How are Pansy and Mortimer and the children? And Edgar? Is he still at Miss Carmen's? And Stewie, Conrad and Princess? I pray Pa continues strong and the two of you are keeping your pressure under control. Salt beef and pig tail not worth dying for!

I send love and hello for all, esp. Mr. Wong and the Williamses.

Grace

A Graduation Fuss

“I can't take this, Phyllis. I wouldn't feel right.”

“Why not?”

“A thousand dollars is a lot of money.”

“It's yours, Grace.”

“Not if I don't take it.”

“It's yours whether or not you take it. It's been in a bank account with your name on it for years.”

“There's plenty things you could use it for.”

“That's true. But you've read my letters; you know when I opened that account. I put in a few dollars a week, whatever I could. There's still money in it. I'll keep putting in what I can, for as long as I can.”

“I don't need it. I've managed. I can still manage.”

“It has nothing to do with whether you can manage or not. How could it? I didn't know where you were, what you were doing, anything. I just put the money in, probably more for my sake than yours.”

“Please don't get upset. It's the end of a long day, a day that's supposed to be a happy day …”

“Can't you see it as part of the celebration, my contribution?”

“ … and it is late and everybody is tired. And is somebody else's house.”

“Grace, I fully appreciate that this isn't my home or yours. I wouldn't think of causing any kind of upset. But I've looked forward to this for years, thought about a moment like this every time I got a pay cheque.”

“Look, I'm really glad you could come, that somebody from my country, of my race, and my family was here to see me graduate. That's plenty. You don't need to do any more. You certainly don't need to give me money.”

“I need you to have it for the same reason I needed to deposit those few dollars week after week.”

“Okay, fine. I accept. Thanks. Argument now over.”

“Is that how you talk to your mother?”

“You are not my mother.”

“I am your mother, like it or not.”

“Blood is not everything.”

“Blood is plenty. Didn't you say just now that having family around you today made a big difference?”

“That's not the same thing.”

“Same thing or not, you can take my word about the blood business. Some African cultures have a concept of spiritual blood, something that's passed down through generations and contains the memory, history, and wisdom of the tribe.”

“Nobody use the word ‘tribe' anymore.”

“What kind of work you say you studying to do?”

“Development planning, something of that order.”

“Perhaps you should think some more about it. Those jobs need empathy, imagination. But we can speak about that another time. Good night.”

Grace was fixing up a cut-eye but she stopped herself, said a muted “Night,” put the cheque on the hall table and went to join Steph in the study.

That afternoon after the convocation ceremony they'd opened a bottle of champagne outside the hall, toasted Grace and Steph, and then headed back to Warsaw for the real celebrations. She and Phyllis were dozy and didn't say much on the drive down with Albert. When they got to the farmhouse, they cooked a St. Chris dinner: codfish balls with hot sauce, pumpkin soup, roast pork, rice and peas, roast plantain, boiled breadfruit, and a salad of avocado pear and greens. Andrew made coconut ice cream for dessert.

It had been a happy day till Phyllis produced the cheque!

The whole incident confuses her, not least because of her vehement reaction. She can't understand why Phyllis would give her money: a card, yes, or a present, but money? And her response was so bizarre! Phyllis hadn't done anything to her, after all. But she is exhausted and sleeps like a bear, despite the kerfuffle. The summer sun wakes her early. Grace dresses, pulling on a sweater, for in Warsaw it's still cool in the mornings, and runs downstairs just in time to see Phyllis, one arm bandaged wrist to elbow, getting into Albert's BMW. She pelts out onto the porch, halting beside Alicia who is waving goodbye. She lifts a hand to wave, but the car has gone.

Alicia turns inside to the business of the day just as Stephanie tumbles out onto the steps and begins dragging Grace down into the yard.

“What's wrong with you, Steph? Where you hauling me to?”

They are on a path leading downhill into a grove of young birches, funny, spindly white creatures with tiers of notched knees on shifting, slender legs.

“You had a fight with your mother last night?” Steph is whispering.

“What?” Grace is dazed in the morning's blue chill. “Why are you whispering?”

“Me aksin you if you fight with your Mumma las night? And don't bother tell me is not mi business, like how her hand bandage up and all!”

“You think we had a fight, and I hurt my mother's hand? Are you nuts? If nothing else, I'm too well brought up to fight in someone else's house!”

“Me just love how you talk posh when you vex!”

“I do not love
your
fumbling attempts at Creole.”

“You get up really mean this morning. The bed was so uncomfortable?”

“I apologize, Steph. Yes, we had a fuss, my Mum and me. And your Creole is excellent.”

“You hear yourself, Grace?”

“What? What did I say?”

“You call Phyllis ‘Mum'!”

“If you say so. But how did she hurt her hand? It looked bad!”

“If you promise to stop being nasty.” Steph affects hurt.

“Okay. No more nasty.”

“Three o'clock this morning, there's a crash in the kitchen and a little scream. My mother, who sleeps like a puss, runs down the stairs to find Phyllis standing in a steaming puddle of cocoa, crying, one hand under the tap.”

“Lord have mercy! Just because I didn't want to take the cheque?”

“She never say anything about a cheque, but she spill her guts to Alicia.”

“Phyllis spilled her guts?”

“You talk as if Phyllis is some kind of ice queen. She's in bad shape. That's why she dropped the cocoa and burned herself. The burn wasn't too serious, though.”

“Well, praise God for that. But I can't see Phyllis falling apart, especially if it wasn't about the cheque.”

“Like Mumma, like pikni
.
You're a pretty tough cookie, yourself. People always spill to my mother. I have to be careful around her, or she'll have me confessing every last thing. Anyway, seems your Granny Vads is so ill that looking after her has become a big trial. Her sickness makes her mean, and Phyllis is having a tough time. Plus, something she said led Alicia to believe you two had a disagreement yesterday.”

“But Phyllis never said a word to me about Granny Vads.”

“Apparently, your grandma who is looking after your great-grandma while Phyllis is away — Grandma Daphne, right? — is willing to stay longer, but Daphne's husband is raising a ruckus about her leaving his children.”

“Hang on a minute.” The only way Steph can know this is if Alicia repeated it to her. That doesn't seem like Alicia. “Your mother told you this?”

“Did I say that ...”

“How else could you know?”

“My mother's not the only person that sleeps like a puss.”

“You listened?”

“Thought you might like to be up to date.”

Christ! A mother she doesn't need causing trouble the second time they meet by proffering an extravagant and uncalled-for gift of money she certainly can use herself. So she's to feel bad about her mean response, and about her parent disrupting the household, keeping people awake, injuring herself — and God Almighty knows what else?

It isn't fair. Papa God is on her back again, like Old Higue.