The Crowning Glory of Calla Lily Ponder (8 page)

Sukey looked at me, and I looked at Sukey.

“I think we kiss boys now,” I said.

“I think we can kiss
all
the boys!” Sukey said.

“Yes, dahlink,” I said, imitating the old movies, “once you have graduated from the ‘Calla & Sukey Kissing Academy,’ your lips are the only badge you need!”

I
n summertime, I had to wake up early. In Louisiana, if you’re not up by 6:30 or so, you miss the whole day, because it gets so hot that you have to do indoors stuff, trying to stay cool until evening, when you can go out again. Of course, it’s not so awfully bad to go out in the evening, because La Luna doesn’t have many mosquitoes that suck you to death and leave you itching and scratching for weeks. We’re blessed. It’s like some kind of huge mosquito net hangs over our little town, protecting us not only from the insects themselves but also from the DDT truck that comes and sprays in Claiborne across the river. M’Dear says that truck is full of poison, spraying ugly chemicals onto little children who ride their bikes behind it, trying to get covered by the spray so they can play outdoors without getting bit.

One summer morning I woke up, smelling coffee brewing and bacon frying. Pulling on a T-shirt and jeans, I ran down the stairs to the sight of M’Dear and Papa in the breakfast nook.

I sat down with them and ate quickly because I was meeting Tuck for a ride before the heat got too heavy for us and our horses. I gave M’Dear and Papa each a hug before I headed out, lingering with my M’Dear, breathing in her scent.

I love horses. They are not “essential to the very essence of my soul,” like Renée said about her horse, but I do dream about them sometimes. I dream about being on a horse and flying. I remember the magical day when I was old enough to stop riding Ricko, the Tuckers’ Shetland pony, and get on a real horse. It was my tenth birthday, and I woke to find a large red bow tied to the end of my bed. Next thing I knew, M’Dear, Papa, the boys, and I were tramping over to the Tuckers’ barn. There stood a palomino with red ribbons strung from her bridle! Her flax mane and tail were so beautiful that tears came to my eyes. “Happy Birthday, Calla Lily,” my family said.

I stepped forward and pressed my nose into her soft neck. “Golden Princess,” I whispered, as she and I met.

Since I was little I’ve been tantalized by the smell of horses and wet bridle leather. Once, before Golden Princess came into my life, I found a piece of broken rein in a pasture and brought it home to keep in my room so I could smell it at night. I kept it up on a shelf in my closet, along with special rocks and feathers that I collected from around our yard. Then, of course, I fell in love with Ricko. But I’d never loved anything—except for my family, of course—as much as I loved Golden Princess.

The morning had already begun to steam as I headed from our house to the barn. The sun was a couple of hours above the horizon when I got to the pasture gate, with carrots in my pocket. Golden Princess greeted me by nickering as she trotted over to take the treats from my hand. I was petting her and talking to her when Tuck came into the barn. Tuck’s horse, Sable Star, was following him across the clover, eager for a ride.

Tuck was wearing a worn white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He was growing up—we both were. I noticed the muscles of his chest under his shirt, and the muscles of his upper arms pushing out, making the shirt a little tight. The shirt was tucked loosely into an old pair of jeans that looked like he’d grown out of them a bit, so the muscles of his thighs—
Stop looking at him like that
. I didn’t even know exactly what I was feeling about the boy who was practically a part of our household. I only knew that it was territory I hadn’t walked, ridden in, or swam in.

“Mornin’,” Tuck said, looking at me, then turning away, like he had been doing lately—like he was afraid of me or something.

“Hey,” I said, giving him a little smile.

“Hey, you.” He gave me a little smile back, then looked down at his boots. His right foot was tapping, the way it did when he was nervous, the way it had since I met him when we were kids.

“Gonna be ninety-six degrees,” I told him.

“That’s a little high for early June.”

“Papa had on the
Farm Report
at breakfast,” I said. “And it’s going to be humid, 91 percent. Chance of rain, but not till this afternoon.”

“Whew,” Tuck said.

Temperature and precipitation didn’t just mean inconvenience or a hot ride. Every change in the weather affected the crops, as we all knew. My parents were dancers and musicians, but we lived in a farming community. When harvest time came, Papa, Sonny Boy, and Will helped Uncle Tucker in any way needed. Tuck helped out in the fields every day after school. The land and her gifts were close to us, just like the river was close.

“Well, we’re standing around here talking,” I said, “and we’ve got two horses here who want some attention.”

“Yeah, look who knows he’s so handsome,” Tuck said, stroking Sable Star’s forelock. The gleam of the brown gelding’s coat, all flashy with white socks and a star, was a beautiful contrast to my horse.

“Well, look who knows she’s the most beautiful horse in La Luna,” I told him, rubbing Golden Princess along her neck, making the cooing sounds she loves to hear from me, telling her that I am just loving up on her.

Tuck came over and gently chucked Golden Princess under her chin. “Sometimes,” he said, “when Sable Star breaks into a full gallop, I feel like I’m riding a wave.”

I extended my hand and fed some of the leftover carrots to Sable Star, admiring the dark brown beauty of his coat.

“You know something, Calla Lily? One of the things I like about you is that you’re beautiful, but you don’t go around acting like it. You’re beautiful like our horses are beautiful. They don’t know it, they just are.”

I loved hearing him say that, but I didn’t know how to answer.

“Sable Star’s a pretty good contrast to my palomino, don’t you think?” I said. It was getting hot, and I lifted my hair up off my shoulders.

“That’s for sure,” Tuck said. “That is one good thing for sure.”

I could feel his eyes on me as I reached in the rear pocket of my jeans and pulled out an elastic band. I pulled my hair back and slipped the elastic over it.

“Let’s go,” Tuck said. “But it’s too hot to saddle up our horses.” So we bridled and mounted and headed out bareback along the grassy strip next to the cotton field behind the Tuckers’ barn. A light morning breeze riffled the rows of cotton plants, tender, green, and young. I looked at them in their newness and somehow felt a kinship. Right then, the cotton plants were so fresh, so different from how they’d look in that late-summer push to blossoms and, eventually, at the harvest that came with the bonfires and gumbo and dancing.

I could feel Golden Princess’s muscles, strong and rippling under my thighs as we walked and trotted along for a half hour. Even at that pace, we were already sweating, and the horses were in a lather. My T-shirt and jeans were sticky and clinging to my body. Having been born in Louisiana, I loved that feeling—at least I did in June. And I could see patches of sweat forming under Tuck’s arms and at the back of his shirt.

When we reached the other side of the cotton field, a wide dirt road skirted a big pecan orchard before reaching the horse trail along the raised bayou levee. The levee was like a flat-topped hill, high enough to contain the waters of Bayou Semer, even during the spring flood season—at least in most years. Papa told me that the bayou connected our pastures and pecan orchards to the La Luna River, where steamboats had traveled from the 1800s up to when he was a boy, carrying loads of cotton down to the Mississippi River and into New Orleans for export. Eventually the river traffic stopped when the La Luna silted up. Now the river gave us the gift of rich, black soil that it dropped along its banks, making our farmland rich and fertile.

I’d always loved riding along the levee, fourteen feet above the riverbanks. There was so much wildlife to see. Sometimes I’d spot a king-fisher cruising for breakfast, a bunny in the brush, or mourning doves feeding on seeds in the grass. And it was cooler on the levee, so when we got there, Tuck and I broke into a trot and then into an easy canter. It felt like our horses were relieved to get the chance to cut loose.

So Tuck and I raced, just letting Sable Star and Golden Princess run as fast as they wanted. I looked back and saw that, behind us, the sky was getting dark, the sign of a Louisiana thunderstorm moving our way. My T-shirt and jeans were soaked now, from my own sweat and Golden Princess’s, but she just kept running. I think she could smell the coming storm before I could.

“Tuck, look,” I called out. “Look at the sky!”

“Whoa,” he said. “I smell the rain now.”

Sweat was soaking his hair, and I could see the darkening at his thighs and the crotch of his jeans, where he’d picked up Sable Star’s sweat.

Sable Star whinnied, smelling the storm too. He broke out ahead, with hooves pounding, and before I knew it, we were barreling at full speed along the levee back toward Uncle Tucker’s barn.

“Easy, Golden Princess,” I said, knowing it was better to hold a horse back than to let her run at will. But she and Sable Star had no plan to stop. They wanted to beat the thunder and lightning.

Then the rain started. Heavy drops hit me in the face as we galloped, stinging my eyes, sopping my hair. I looked down and saw that my white T-shirt was completely soaked, and that the nipples of my new breasts, which I wasn’t yet used to, were sticking out. I tucked my chin down to my chest to keep the rain from pounding my eyes and face.

Finally, we reached the pecan orchard. The pecan branches were swaying in the wind. Only the mighty live oaks at the edge of the pasture seemed solid and unshakable.

We raced toward them, those ancient trees with their huge limbs dipping down to the ground. I screamed out, “Yahoo!” as we rounded the stand of them and pushed hard around the edge of the cotton field.

“Yahoo!” Tuck called back.

Golden Princess and I were like one animal, racing and bucking together. I could feel her energy was mine, firing me up as I bent down over her neck. “Here we come!” I shouted.

Just as we made it to the barn, lightning cracked through the sky. I was afraid of the storm that would follow. Luckily, Tuck and I pulled into the shelter before it struck.

I slid off Golden Princess and began to dry her off with a towel. Tuck was toweling down Sable Star, and he came over to me. The smell of wet horses and the smell of us hung in the air.

Tuck looked at my face and my budding breasts poking through my sopping shirt. I could smell his sweat, a man’s sweat, mixed with the smell of Sable Star. It was a smell I’d never noticed before.

Suddenly he pulled me to him and pressed his lips on mine. The softness of his lips, the smell of him, amazed me. I felt faint, as if the center of my body had suddenly dropped down to between my legs, where I had a strange feeling.

Tuck licked his tongue along my lips, and I breathed in his breath. The softness of his tongue was like nothing I’d ever felt. Some memory of being a baby—of touching with my tongue, of sucking—came to mind. But I didn’t know what to do with that feeling.

Then I felt Tuck’s tongue inside my mouth. I could feel the sweat on his back, my own hair and clothes soaking with rain and sweat and horse sweat, the water running down my back. My breasts pressed against his wet chest. I was confused. I could feel Tuck’s heart beating under my hand.

Just as suddenly as the moment had begun, it was over. We pulled apart and quickly busied ourselves with currying our horses, cooling them off, leading them back into the pasture, and going separately about our chores.

A
few hot weeks later, I was sitting with Tuck on the Tuckers’ porch. Their porch was something like ours—a deep, big porch so there was plenty of room to visit, with fresh-painted light blue floors, a ceiling fan, a swing at one end, a table and chairs at the other, and little wicker end tables. But our porch was messier, with Sonny Boy’s
Popular Mechanics
magazines on the chairs and stacks of library books everywhere since Will was always reading, and my books were there, too.

The Tuckers’ yard was prettier than ours too, because Miz Lizbeth was a fabulous gardener. Much of it was shaded by big old live oaks and pine trees high as you could see, but there was a big sunny spot filled with all different types of roses, which Miz Lizbeth was famous for. Our yard had so many old, thick magnolia trees that you could stand under them and not even get wet when it rained. M’Dear liked a garden that just goes wild. She didn’t know why people got so upset about weeds. M’Dear said a garden should be a circus, filled with everything from Louisiana irises to impatiens to four-leaf clovers.

M’Dear and Miz Lizbeth were out shopping, and Papa and Uncle Tucker were at work. Olivia was cleaning upstairs, but it was just Tuck and me sitting in the swing on the porch, eating slices of Miz Lizbeth’s lemon pie.

Neither one of us could think of a word to say. I wasn’t sure whether this felt good or not. Then Tuck set down his empty plate, reached for my hand, and twined his fingers through mine. My stomach leaped, I let out a little breath, and we just kept rocking, both of us staring straight ahead. The feeling of his body next to mine was so exciting! Finally we both turned to each other and started to say something, but instead we just burst out laughing. “Did you know what you were going to say?” I asked him.

He didn’t answer. “I just want to look at you,” he said, finally.

I could feel a blush starting at the roots of my hair and sweeping down my whole body. Let Tuck just look at me? But he squeezed my hand and smiled so sweetly that I said, “Okay, if you want to.” He looked at my hair, then at my face, my eyes, my lips, and he just lifted his hand and took his finger and touched my lips. I couldn’t move a muscle.

“Can I look at your body just sitting there like I was painting you?” he asked, and I realized how much I wanted him to look. “Yes,” I said. “Yes,” I said again.

Tuck stared into my eyes until I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to look away.

He gazed at my shoulder blades and at my breasts and my belly and down my legs to my toes, the heels of my feet, the soles of my feet, and then he gave a little sigh. “I wish I could eat you up,” he said. “You’re sweeter than that lemon pie.”

I never had felt the way I felt right then, and my mouth was stuck wide open.

“Your mouth won’t close,” he told me. “Flies are going to fly into your mouth.”

So he reached up and gently closed my mouth with his fingers, and we both burst out laughing again.

Then we heard out of nowhere the sound of an old truck with no muffler. I knew that sound. There were so many trucks like that, Negro men coming in from the fields who couldn’t afford a muffler job. I wondered if it was some of Olivia’s people coming to get something. But no, I didn’t recognize this truck. And it was going fast, passing the Tuckers’ house, then it cut into reverse and screeched to a halt right in front, tearing up the lawn.

That made me mad. Couldn’t they see that this was a fine yard, a real lawn with pine straw at the edges, which had been well tended and mowed? Was this someone who couldn’t see, or who didn’t care?

A man jumped out of the truck, and I could feel Tuck’s body stiffen next to mine.

The man came strutting up to the house like he was the king of everything and God’s gift to the world, when really he was dirty-haired and greasy.

“Get outta here, you no-count of a man!” Olivia hollered, sticking her head out of a window upstairs, like she knew he was coming, like she had recognized the sound of his truck.

“Shut your mouth, nigger woman,” he said. I winced at the sound of him calling Olivia “nigger woman.” He
was
no-count. And he was wearing this blue Banlon shirt that was too tight even on his thin body, over tight dirty jeans and scuffed-up white patent leather shoes. This Mister No-Count had anger in him so strong that I could feel it up on the porch. My body shot up a shield like M’Dear had taught me to do, a strong shield circling my body so none of this man’s anger could touch me. I tried to stay calm by breathing through my nose, the way she told me to, in and out, real slow.

Behind the man was a lady, petite, with burned-out blond hair, dark roots showing, wearing a printed shift that hung on her like a dish cloth on a rack. But the dress was clean. Her hair was clean. She was trying, this lady. I could see all this before they even made it up to the porch.

“Hey, Tuck, my boy,” the man said.

Tuck was on his feet watching them, his legs spread like he was on the football field, ready for whatever might come his way.

“I’m not your boy,” he said to the man.

“Come on, Tuck, it’s your old man. I’ve come to take you home.”

I cannot believe that the Tuck I knew was the son of this man.

“Tuck!” the lady said, rushing over to hug him, and he hugged her back.

I was stunned and thought,
That must be his mother.
She seemed so small against him, and Tuck was only fifteen. “Oh, you’ve grown so fast! You’re so big, you’re so healthy. Oh Tuck, I’m so glad—”

She was right, Tuck was so tall, so healthy—so different than when he stepped into La Luna.

“Go on and get your things,” the man told Tuck. “Oh—and see if they don’t want to give you some going-away money.”

“What do you think you’re talking about?” Tuck said.

“We’re talking about how your mama begged me to come down here and bring your sorry ass back to Foret City. That’s what we’re talking about.”

“No, no,” said Tuck’s mother, “your father, he doesn’t mean it that way. We’ve come to get you, Tuck. I’m sorry it took so long for us to come find you. Things have changed. We’re all cleaned up now. I’m sober. I’ve missed you so much. Oh Tuck, baby, I love you.”

Tuck looked at his mother, closed his eyes, then opened them again wide, quick, like if he blinked a certain way, his mother would look different and his father would disappear.

Mister No-Count sleazed his way toward the open front door and leaned in to look at the living room. “Where’s the old man and the old lady, anyway?” he said. “They leave you alone with a pretty little thing like this?” His tongue came slightly out of the side of his lip. “Mmm,” he said, “you’re looking good, sweet thing.”

Miz Lizbeth had gone shopping with M’Dear in Claiborne. I knew Uncle Tucker was out in his fields taking a look at the cotton. How could they all be out of reach? I couldn’t believe it. Daddy was still at school, teaching band, but would Olivia think to go get him? And where was Olivia?

“Leave her alone!” Tuck shouted and moved toward his father.

“What do you think you’re gonna do, little boy?” his father said, like he was teasing. “Now get your stuff and get your ass in the truck.”

He shoved Tuck toward the living room. Tuck shoved back. I was shaking.

Tuck’s mother was crying now. I could see how delicate her features were. How her nose was slightly turned up, and her eyes were the same startling blue as Miz Lizbeth’s. Her hands were fine, but her polish was chipped and her nails were chewed to the quick.

“You made your mama cry,” No-Count said to Tuck.

“You’re the one who makes my mama cry,” Tuck said, “you sorry excuse for a man.”

No-Count punched Tuck on his shoulder, and I thought,
Danger!
Should I run for help? I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to leave Tuck alone with these people. I moved to Tuck’s side, scared out of my wits, but thinking I should help.

The cigarette Tuck’s father had stuck behind his ear was on the floor. I stepped in front of him, and I said, “Excuse me, sir, but your cigarette is—”

Tuck’s mother grabbed me, yanking me to her just before No-Count punched Tuck in the face. Blood spurted out of Tuck’s nose, and No-Count knocked him against the wall.

“No!” Tuck’s mother called out, “Please, Sam, don’t!”

She let go of me and reached out for Tuck. No-Count shoved her, and she crashed against the door, falling so hard her elbow tore through the screen.

Tuck came back from the wall, punched his father in the stomach, and No-Count fell backwards to the floor.

Then he got up, yelling, and lunged at Tuck, then hit him hard in the stomach. Poor Tuck made a scary gasping sound and crumpled to the floor, doubled over in pain. I started screaming.

“Shut up, bitch,” the man said to me. I pressed myself up against the wall, frozen with fear. Blood was spattered all over the porch boards, Tuck’s face was covered in blood, and I could feel the wetness where Tuck’s blood had hit my leg.

No-Count gave Tuck a kick, saying, “Oh, come on, little girl, get up. We was just starting to have fun.”

“That’s enough. Stop it, please stop. That’s enough. You hurt him bad. Please, Sam,” Tuck’s mother said.

“I said GET UP!” No-Count shouted and went to kick Tuck harder. But Tuck grabbed his foot and jerked it, making his father fall back and hit his head hard on the floor.

Just then I saw Miz Lizbeth’s big Buick coming up the street. “M’Dear! Miz Lizbeth!” I screamed at the top of my lungs.

Suddenly there was a huge explosion, and everyone froze. Olivia was standing in the doorway pointing a pistol straight at the father’s head. The gunshot had left a splintered hole in the porch ceiling.

“You move and I’ll blow your head off,” she said to No-Count.

Tuck was sitting up, still holding his father’s foot. Olivia didn’t move a muscle or take her eyes off the father as she said, “Tuck, you done won the fight. Now let him go, and I want you to back up against the wall.”

Tuck was kind of frozen and started to shake. Olivia told him, “Now do as I say, Tuck.”

Tuck did, and he was starting to cry in small sobs. I saw M’Dear and Miz Lizbeth jump out of the car and come running across the lawn.

Olivia’s voice was calm and cold as she told No-Count, “You piece of trash, you do one move wrong and I’ll kill you so help me God. Now stayin’ on your back, you drag yourself off this porch and down the stairs. Do it SLOW! Then you better run for your truck, ’cause I already done called the police.”

M’Dear and Miz Lizbeth stood to the side as Tuck’s father slid himself out of the screen door. He got up slow and swaggered back to his truck. M’Dear ran to me and threw her arms around me. I could feel her pulling me tight, her chest against mine, her arms strong around my back, her hands touching my hair. And she whispered to me, “Breathe, Calla. Breathe with me.”

I felt M’Dear’s deep breath as she inhaled and let it out. I breathed in slowly with my mama. I let my breath fill my body. I felt it go down to my toes, and then up, until I could feel it at the top of my head!

“Remember,” M’Dear said, “you’re a baby whale.”

I remembered. This is what M’Dear taught me in the mornings when we sat quietly next to each other, not talking. I breathed in, breathed the clean air into my body, circled it around, and then blew it out of my baby-whale head. My mama held me, and I remembered that so long as she was there, my world was safe.

But poor Miz Lizbeth! She grabbed Tuck’s mama and said, “Stay here please, Charlotte. Please don’t go. You don’t have to live like you’re doing. Your papa and I want you here with us, where you’ll be safe. Tuck needs you here. Don’t go off with that man.”

Tuck’s mama clung to Miz Lizbeth for a minute, but then she broke free. “I’m sorry, Mama,” she cried. “I’m sorry.” Then she rushed down the steps to her husband. Olivia kept the gun pointed right at them until they got in the truck and peeled out, with chunks of lawn shooting out from under those spinning tires.

Miz Lizbeth broke down in tears, and she looked like she was going to faint.

“Miz Lenora, it look like Miz Lizbeth ain’t gonna be good for comforting herself, let alone Tuck,” Olivia said.

“Tuck can come home with us,” M’Dear said.

M’Dear went over to Tuck, who was sitting on the steps with his head between his knees, dripping blood. He was shaking and rocking slightly from side to side.

“Tuck,” M’Dear said, sitting down next to him and stroking his hair. “Tuck, please look up. I’d like to see you.”

Tuck didn’t move.

“Come on, sweetie. It’s okay,” M’Dear went on. “You were so brave, Tuck. You defended your mother, defended Calla, defended yourself. You did a fine job. Tuck, listen, you’re safe now. He’s gone. You’re with people who love you.”

M’Dear kept stroking Tuck’s head until, slowly, he lifted it from between his knees. His face was caked in blood, and bruises were starting to form all over his face.

M’Dear didn’t seem to mind that Tuck’s blood was now on her hands. She reached out to him. Her arms were wide open. “Tuck?” she said. He leaned his head on her shoulder, so she put her arms around him, and he began to sob.

“It’s all right, Tuck. It’s all right.”

Miz Lizbeth was still crying.

“Tuck, why don’t you come on home with us for a little while?” M’Dear asked him. “Lizbeth, I’ll call our husbands and ask them to come home right away. Now you go on inside and try to get a hold of yourself.”

Then M’Dear followed Miz Lizbeth inside so she could use the phone before she took Tuck and me over to our house.

Tuck had the first bath, and then Olivia filled the tub for me, throwing in some of M’Dear’s bath salts. It felt so good just to soak that I was turning into a prune when Olivia knocked. “Come on out, Miss Calla,” she said. “Time to get dried off. Tuck done gone home for supper, and it’s getting on time for you to eat too. I’m fixing to go home.”

“Olivia, you probably want to get more cleaned up.”

“Oh,” she said, “I cleaned up enough. Things don’t stick to me like they do some of y’all. My skin is thicker. Blood don’t stick on me. Now you go on downstairs. I done fixed y’all a pan of cornbread.”