Stella by Starlight (24 page)

39

Mama never missed church, but for the first time in years, she decided she would stay home with Jojo. Despite her dosing him with the cherry pectoral every few hours, and rubbing his chest with camphor oil, he had still hacked most of the night, sometimes having trouble catching his breath.

“I'm goin' out to the woods to fetch me some elderberries and mint to make this boy some tea—maybe a bit of willow bark too,” Mama called to Stella as she pulled on a floppy hat. “You wanna come with me? Jojo will nap for another hour or so.”

“Oh yes, Mama!” Stella replied right away. Papa had gone on to church, and she relished the alone
time with her mother. She grabbed a jacket—the weather was sharp and biting.

Dusty, who usually was the first thing to whip out the door, simply lifted his head, then rested it once more on his paws. Since yesterday, he had left Jojo's side only long enough to eat or run out to relieve himself.

“I'll make some extra tea for Tony and take it to his mama,” Stella's mother told her as they pushed their way through some brambles. “Willow is good for pain and swelling, and elderberry will halt an infection. I keep a little bit of elderberry at the ready.”

“You sendin' healing stuff even though his father is a doctor?” Stella asked, curious.

“Can't hurt. Might help,” her mother replied. “People been findin' and usin' healing herbs since forever.”

Stella grabbed her mother's hand as they climbed over a log on the path. She kept trying to block out the memory of boots coming down on her friend's body. Then she remembered the silly leaf bouquet Tony had offered to her and wished she hadn't tossed it away.

“Tony's inside wounds are the ones that will be harder to heal,” Mama was saying. “All the salve in
the world can't cure what gets broken in somebody's soul.” She gave Stella's hand a squeeze.

A cardinal, with a fluffing of wings, emerged from a nearby elm tree.
Flying
. Zalika, in that story, flew, Stella remembered. She wished Tony had had that same memory.

“You know who else was at the store yesterday, Mama?”

“Who?” Her mother stooped down to snap off a dark-green leaf. She sniffed it, nodded, and held it out to show Stella before tucking it in her apron pocket. “Arnica,” she told Stella. “Makes a good salve for wounds, but not for tea. It'll hurt you if you eat it.”

“I saw Paulette Packard. Looked like she was in the store spending her daddy's money.”

“Hmm,” Mama said, brushing aside some larger plants to get at a wispier-looking one. Mint.

“I'm mighty scared of her daddy,” Stella admitted.

“So are we all, child.”

Stella stooped to help find more mint. They were lucky to find it so late in the season. “You think white folks like that talk bad about colored people while they're eatin' supper?”

“I imagine they pay us no mind at all, Stella. I don't think we are important enough to them to be dinner conversation.”

“Do you think Paulette saw what happened to Tony?” Stella sniffed at a leaf. Except for mint, she had no idea what she was looking for, but she wanted to show her mother she was trying.

“It doesn't really matter, Stella. Even if she had seen it, that girl didn't have much more power than you right then.”

“I wonder if Paulette is gonna grow up to be mean like her father,” Stella mused. “Or if people like Max Smitherman and Johnny Ray Johnson are gonna have children who hate us 'cause their daddies do.”

“You think too much,” her mother replied wryly. “And you can't blame the child for the father's sins.” They headed closer to Kilkenny Pond and the woods behind it.

“Oh, look, Mama,” Stella said, pointing. “Figs!” She hurried over to the fruit-laden tree, which had grown full and golden close to the pond. “Didn't we pick figs already back in June?” Stella happily gathered a couple of soft ones that had fallen to the ground. She
loved
Mama's fig preserves.

“Fig trees give twice a year,” her mother explained, showing her a full branch. “Here, twist the fruit just a little, push it up toward that stem, and there you be!” The honey-brown fruit popped easily from the low-hanging branch.

“Pie tonight?” Stella asked hopefully.

“Next week for sure,” her mother told her. She knelt close to Stella, then called out happily, “Ooh-wee! Look what I found—elderberries! These are surely the last of the season.” As her mother plucked the purple berries, Stella coaxed a half-dozen more figs from the tree and placed them carefully into Mama's basket. Then she jumped backward, shaking her hands. “Ewww!” she cried. A half-dozen flat brown bugs—prehistoric looking—went flying. “Stinkbugs!”

“Mind you don't squash any,” Mama warned. “You'll be washing your hands for a fortnight!”

“I stepped on a mess of them a couple of weeks ago. They stunk like a skunk!” Stella admitted.

“So
that's
what that smell was, stinkin' up my house!” Mama said, snickering. “Maybe when you be typin' on that machine of yours, you can write about
that
!”

Stella reached for a few more figs. “I, uh, typed something last night.”

“I heard you click-clickin' down there at the table,” her mother replied as she sorted the elderberries in her basket. “How's that goin'?”

“I had no idea how hard it would be. It takes me a real long time, and I mess up a lot. But it makes me feel mighty fine to see it all typed up. Even with all my mistakes.”

“You keep at it, honeygirl. Just keep at it.”

“Thanks, Mama.” Stella plucked one of the dark-purple berries from the basket and lobbed it into her mouth. “Have mercy!” she cried, spitting and spitting and spitting. “My mouth is going to die! They're awful!”

Mama laughed out loud. “Elderberries make good wine, good jelly, and good medicine. But only bears eat 'em off the vine. I bet you'll never forget
that
!”

Stella spat again. “For sure.”

“Let's start heading back,” Mama said, still chuckling. “But first, I wanna grab a bit of that willow bark.” She wandered over to a tree with deep, bowing branches. “Make sure the twigs are alive.
Dead bark, like these on the ground, won't work.”

“How can you tell?” Stella asked, still sucking and smacking her tongue to get the bad taste out.

“If the twigs are bendy and the insides are green and wet, we've got what we need.”

“Green and bendy,” Stella mumbled, shaking her head, pulling at the branches, twisting them this way and that, peeling away at the bark. She tossed some thin shreds of bark into the basket, hoping she'd chosen correctly.

“Be mindful of snakes sleepin' in that dead wood, Stella,” Mama warned. “Most of 'em just want to be left alone and won't even give you the time of day. But step on one, and you'll know real quick-like what time it is, that's for sure!”

Stella did a quick, dancing sidestep, looking down to check her bare toes. “Oh Lordy, Mama! Let's go home!”

“Good idea. We've got everything we need, plus a figgy bonus. Now we just need to boil the willow and the mint for twenty minutes or so, then let the tea sit awhile.”

“We gonna put elderberries in it?” Stella asked dubiously.

“No. Those need to dry first. I'll be using those this winter.”

“How do you
know
all this?” Stella asked, poking at the gathered bits in the basket.

Mama shrugged. “My mama taught me. I'm teachin' you. You will teach your daughter. Now, let's go check on Jojo.”

40

STELLA'S STAR SENTINEL

a
newspaer
newspaper with just one reader--me

mama says some folks have
gifs
gifts, like knowing which plants can heal and which ones can hurt you.

Some
pepple
people have the gift of
writtin
writing i think I must of been sleep when that gift was given out.

I
wundder
wonder how people who write real good know what to say.

Im not even sure why I keep writing. Maybe I should just stick to
reeding
reading.

I like the way books smell. I gues that is
strange. The pages feel good as I
tern
turn them.

I wonder if there are books about elderberries or figs in the library. I would like to go to the library ands read the books
inthere
in there.

I would even wash my hands
afirst
. first.

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