Saving CeeCee Honeycutt (21 page)

The thought of being so far from Oletta was unbearable, but I took a deep breath and did as I was told, the whole time chewing the inside of my lip. When I reached the far edge of the garden, I spun around and was relieved to see her standing in a shaft of sunlight, watching me.

“Okay, now go ahead and cut me some flowers,” she called out.

After I cut enough for a good-size bouquet, Oletta said, “Now take the basket and go over to the side of the house. Cut me some roses.”

Going to the rose garden meant Oletta would be out of my sight. “But . . . but, will you go with me?”

“It’s all right, child,” she called out. “Go on now, cut me some pretty roses. I like the red ones with the pink centers. I’ll be waitin’ right here.”

I knew I had to do it, so I wrenched my feet free from the earth and headed for the side of the house, turning twice to make certain Oletta was still on the porch. Quickly I snipped a handful of roses, never once caring that I pricked my fi ngers till they bled. I raced to the back of the house and looked for Oletta. And there she was, standing on the porch, just as she’d promised.

“Now c’mon and walk back to me, but take your time and do it nice and slow. Hold your head proud. Walk like you ain’t afraid of a thing.”

I tried real hard not to run, but when I reached the patio I propelled myself up the steps at a preposterous speed.

Oletta held me close. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it? Every day you’ll get stronger and stronger.” She stepped back, held me at arm’s length, and looked deep into my eyes. “Just remember what I told you. Don’t let
nobody
rob you of your freedom. Now let’s go inside and get the flowers in some water.”

As Oletta stood at the counter and arranged the flowers in a vase, the doorbell sounded. I followed her down the hallway, still her shadow, still fearful of what might happen if she got out of my sight. When she opened the door, Nadine all but shoved Chessie into the foy-yay and said, “Oletta, did you see the morning paper?”

When Chessie saw me standing behind Oletta, she reached back, grabbed Nadine’s arm, and flashed her a warning look.

Nadine forced a smile. “Well, hello, Cecelia. How’re you doing today?”

“Fine,” I answered thinly, immediately sensing something was wrong.

“Oletta, can we talk to you for a few minutes?” Chessie said.

Though Chessie and Nadine tried to act casual, I saw the look that telegraphed between them, and there was nothing casual about it.

Oletta’s face eclipsed from surprise to concern as she closed the door and turned the bolt. “Cecelia, go on up to your bedroom and stay there till I call you.”

“But . . . but I don’t want to be alone. And—”

Oletta raised her eyebrows. “Did you already forget what we talked about today?”

I looked down and shook my head.

“All right, now you go on and do as I say. I won’t be long.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I climbed the stairs as the three of them headed toward the kitchen. When I reached the second floor, I stopped and leaned over the railing. Oletta’s voice boomed up the stairs, “What did I just tell you?” She put her hands on her hips and gave me a warning look. “When I ask you to do something, you do it. Understand?”

I nodded and walked to the door of the third floor. But instead of going to my bedroom, I stopped and waited a moment. Slowly I inched my way down the hall. I tried to hear what was going on, but the texture of their voices was low, as if they were conducting some sort of serious tribunal. I pulled off my sneakers and tiptoed down the steps. But I still couldn’t hear their words. Though I knew disobeying Oletta was the absolute worst thing I could do, I couldn’t stop myself from darting down the hallway. If I couldn’t see her, knowing she was close was the next best thing. I crouched beside the china cupboard that stood outside the kitchen door and listened.

Oletta let out a moan, and I heard the rustle of paper. “I can’t believe it. What’s he tryin’ to pull?”

Nadine’s voice was bitter. “He’s tryin’ to frame us is what. I just hope nobody saw us.”

“Royal Watson knows we was there.”

“Oh, shit, that’s right. But she’s so stupid she don’t count.”

“And don’t forget, Miz Tootie knows too. She let us take her car.”

“When’s she comin’ back?” Chessie asked.

“Not for a few more days.”

“Good, maybe by that time things’ll quiet down. Just make sure you throw out the newspaper so she don’t see it.”

“She’ll hear about it no matter if she sees the paper or not,” Oletta said. “When she gets home, I’ll tell her about it myself.”

“No, you can’t!” Nadine said.

“You don’t know what’s been goin’ on here. Cecelia is scared half outta her mind. When Miz Tootie comes home, I’ll tell her what happened. She’ll go to the police and tell them the truth.”

Nadine’s voice shot up. “Oletta Jones, what’s
wrong
with you? Have you lost your mind? You know it don’t matter what the
truth
is. This is a setup, plain as day.”

“Nadine’s right,” Chessie said. “He hates coloreds. It’s a hate I ain’t seen in a long, long time.”

Her words sent chills racing up my arms.

Nadine’s voice was fi lled with fear. “You wouldn’t be talkin’ about goin’ to the police if you’d seen his face when he pulled that knife. He wanted to slit my throat just for the fun of it.”

“But Miz Tootie will help us if—”

“Oletta, don’t you get it? He robbed me and ended up getting his ass shellacked by Chessie. Now he’s spittin’ mad. He’s tryin’ to flesh us out. He
wants
us to go to the police so he can find out who we are! Me, Taye, and Chessie stayed up half the night talkin’ about it. Taye says if we go to the police, it’d be the same as diggin’ our own graves. That son of a bitch is connected to the Klan. He had a tattoo of a red circle with a black cross on the inside of his arm. I saw it with my own eyes!”

“Hush, Nadine,” Chessie said. “Keep your voice down.”

“You can’t tell Miz Tootie about this,” Nadine whispered. “It won’t matter to the police who Miz Tootie is or what she says—
she wasn’t there
. It’s our word against his. I said it yesterday and I’ll say it again: ain’t nobody gonna take the word of three colored women.”

After a long pause, Oletta sighed. “I have to tell her, for the child’s sake.”

Nadine’s voice was fi lled with fear. “Oletta, we been friends for over thirty years. I’m beggin’ you not to tell Miz Tootie. You’ve got to give us your
word
.”

There was a long moment of silence, then Chessie said, “Oletta, you gotta to do what you feel is right. Nobody in this room is in trouble but me. I’m the one who hit that man in the head. And I don’t regret it, neither. Good thing I was wearin’ them overalls, at least he thinks I was a man. That’ll throw the police off. Lord, they’ll be roundin’ up every big darky from here to Mississippi.”

“There’s nothin’ we can do about it now, but pray,” Oletta said. “So, c’mon, let’s pull ourselves together and give this up to the Lord.”

Afraid they were about to walk out of the kitchen, I flattened myself against the wall and held my breath.

The sound of chairs scraping across the floor was followed by a long moment of silence. Oletta then spoke, in a soft but powerful voice. “O Mighty Father, we come to you today in need . . .”

I crawled around the cabinet on my hands and knees and peeked into the kitchen. They were sitting at the table, heads bowed and eyes closed. They held hands across the table, making a circle with their brown arms. The image of them was a sight to behold: Chessie in a baggy plaid dress, Nadine in a flowery halter top and jeans rolled up to her knees, and Oletta in her white apron stained with cherry juice.

“Have mercy on us, Lord. Hold us close and guide us . . .”

I knew I had to get out of there, and fast. I pushed myself up from the floor and darted down the hall.

After supper, Oletta and I took glasses of sweet tea outside and sat on the porch—she mending a torn pocket on one of her aprons, me munching an apple and reading a book. Throughout dinner Oletta had been quieter than usual, and now she had fallen so silent that she wasn’t even humming a song like she usually did.

When I went into the house to throw away the apple core, I noticed the edge of a newspaper shoved deep inside the wastebasket. There was no doubt in my mind that it was the paper Nadine and Chessie had brought for Oletta to see. Quietly, slowly, I dug it out and brushed off bread crumbs. I needed time to examine it, so I tiptoed across the kitchen and peeked out the window. Oletta was still absorbed in her sewing, so I took the newspaper into the bathroom and locked the door. I sat on the floor and smoothed out the wrinkles, but there was nothing of interest on the front page. I turned to the second page and scanned the columns, and when I got halfway down, I drew in a quick breath.

So
this
was what Nadine meant when she’d used the word “framed.” As the vision of what had really happened flashed through my mind, a blistering heat rose from my belly. The fear I had been feeling was replaced with an anger so powerful that my hands shook.

After reading the article one last time, I crumpled the newspaper into a tight ball and returned to the kitchen. Careful not to make a sound, I shoved it deep into the wastebasket.

As I stepped toward the screen door, I heard Oletta mutter to herself, “Lord, Lord, we’re in a warehouse full of trouble . . .”

I waited a moment, then pushed the door open. Oletta stopped talking and glanced up. “I was just about to go in and see what you was doin’.” She put down her mending and looked at me closely. “Your face is flushed,” she said, reaching out and pressing her palm to my cheek. “You’re warm. Do you feel all right?”

“I’m okay.”

“Must be from all that sun you got yesterday,” she said, touching my cheek one last time.

I nodded and sat in the rocker while she returned to her mending.

For a long time I stared across the garden. The flush on my face had nothing to do with sun. It was the heat of my awareness that Nadine was right: Lucas Slade was trying to pull something. Something really bad.

Mrs. Odell once said that God watched out for us. But if that was really true, then why did He allow bad things to happen? Supposedly He had all the power; people prayed to him, built churches in His honor, and turned to Him in times of need. So why didn’t He bother to take a look now and then and help people?

I turned and watched Oletta; each stitch she made was so tiny and precise it became invisible when she tightened the thread. I wondered why God couldn’t do the same thing—why couldn’t he mend things when they needed mending? As far as I could tell, God just left us down here to figure things out all on our own.

After she finished repairing her apron, Oletta asked me to help her water the gardens before it got dark. I plucked dead blooms from a few potted plants as she uncoiled the garden hose. While spraying the flower beds, she looked at me and said, “You feelin’ all right?”

I smiled up at her and nodded. “I’m fine now. You were right, Oletta. Starting today, that man doesn’t have any power over me.”

Whether it was the newfound strength in my voice or the way I had peered into her eyes, I didn’t know. But whatever it was, Oletta’s shoulders stiffened, and the look on her face slammed me broadside. With equal measure of wonder and dread, I watched her psychic barometer rise to the danger zone. How she knew I had disobeyed and eavesdropped on her conversation with Nadine and Chessie is something I’ll never understand, but she knew.

She lifted her chin and pressed her lips together till they thinned to pale blades. Thunder rolled across her face. Never had I seen anyone look so angry. But there was fear in her eyes too. It was just a flicker, but I saw it as plain as day.

Agony gnawed at my bones as I held her gaze, but there was no turning back. I stood tall and squared my shoulders. “He’s evil and he’s a liar. Nadine and Chessie are right. He’s trying to set us up. We can’t tell the police and we can’t tell Aunt Tootie because she’ll
go
to the police. I know she will. There’s nothing more I have to say about it. Not to anyone. Not ever.”

Oletta never blinked, never moved a muscle. The storm in her eyes flickered one more time and then vanished as quickly as it had come. With a single, nearly imperceptible nod, she slowly turned away and began to hose down the patio.

A
s she had done every morning since leaving for Raleigh, Aunt Tootie called to see how Oletta and I were doing. Oletta cradled the phone in the crook of her shoulder as she whipped eggs and cream in a bowl. All Oletta said was the occasional “Um-hm” and “Yes” and “That’ll be fine.” After a minute of that one-sided conversation, Oletta handed me the phone. Aunt Tootie said she’d be gone for a few days longer than expected, but was quick to assure me that Oletta was happy to stay at the house until she got back.

When our conversation ended, Oletta began cooking omelets while I set the table out on the porch. The clock above the stove read 8:40, and already the humidity was pressing down through the moss-covered trees. Oletta set our plates on the table and eased herself into a chair. After saying grace, she glanced into the sky and shook her head. “Weatherman on the radio said it’s gonna hit ninety degrees today. I hate to ride the bus when it’s this hot.”